ING Half Marathon: Miami - Race Report
Exactly one month ago, I ran the ING Half Marathon in Miami. I trained for it as part of Team Challenge, a group that raises funds for Crohn’s and Colitis research. This is the story of my run… what I learned, what I did, whether I fell flat on my face or succeeded beyond all imagining. This will probably be long. It will also probably be boring. But here it is.
I’m going to start two nights beforehand. I had been told many times that the sleep you get the night before the race was not as important as the sleep you got the night before the night before the race. So on that night, I took a mild over the counter sleep assistant and passed out for around 10 hours - no kidding. That’s a long time for me. There was a scheduled group run on that morning, to see how people would acclimate in the Miami weather, but to be honest… that run was at 7 am, and I felt that sleeping in was much more beneficial to me both physically and mentally. It was the best sleep I’ve had in quite some time, matter of fact.
Fast forward: it is now the night before the race. And I can tell that such a restful night will not be on the agenda again. Whether it is because I am nervous about the race… or concerned about the 4:30 wake up call… or both… well, I’ll just say it is probably both. I lay out all of my racing stuff… I only really lay out clothes when I’m nervous. I arrange them carefully on my chair. I probably rearrange them a few times. It makes me feel a little better.
I lay down in the bed, toss, turn, and then I fall asleep… only to spring awake at about midnight. I had taken my Garmin Forerunner out and turned it on in hopes that it would acquire satellites and whatnot in the new location. I knew I needed to shut it off though, because I did not bring the charger and I couldn’t leave it out and on all night and have the battery hold up. I freak out, pick it up, look at the battery gauge… it’s not full battery. It’s not empty, but it’s not full. I can’t do anything about this, and I freak out about it unreasonably while powering it off, and I think about how I won’t know what I’m doing during the race without the Garmin. Finally, I convince myself I can’t do anything. I toss, I turn. Eventually, I may sleep.
I wake up at the wakeup call. I’m blurry, incoherent. I am not a morning person. I dress in the clothes that I had laid out and blearily make my way down to the lobby with Ali to meet my teammates. We all gather and stand around and blink at each other in the early morning dimly lit hotel lobby.
Eventually we make our way through the streets of Miami to the starting point. Not just my team, but ALL the Team Challenge participants that are staying in the hotel with us. We mob the streets, but the streets of downtown Miami (unlike, say, South Beach) are nearly empty, so it’s okay. There are cop cars and they are just about the only ones out and about. It’s dark. It’s not cold. I bring my running jacket with me but ditch it into my running bag as soon as we walk out into the night. Thank you, Ali, for toting that bag around.
We get to the starting area and mill around a little more. Most of the team is starting in a separate area than I am. I am in area C. There are staging areas A through ….. I think it’s J? Maybe it’s K. There are a lot of corrals, basically. A is for elite athletes. B is for those that are really fast. C is for me and my goal time. It’s a challenge just working my way up to the area. I finally get to that staging area… my coach and one of my training partners is there with me. And lots of other people, of course. The C area is really big, but it’s also fairly close to the front, since A is so small. I can see the mayor of Miami and the pre-race ceremony, though I can’t really hear much through the crappy speakers. Other athletes mill about. Someone smells bad. I hope it’s not me. Someone else starts tossing a beach ball around, like we are at a concert. Balloons are also bounced around. It is nearly impossible to stretch or warm up because we are packed as tightly as NYC Times Square during the New Years Eve ceremony. I give up trying to stretch, watch the sights, look at the arena where the Miami Heat play, and try to concentrate on settling my stomach. Note: concentrating doesn’t help. It might hinder.
Before I know it, the gun goes off and the lines are moving. It takes my group about 2 or 3 minutes to reach the starting line. I later find out it took some in the other staging areas much, much longer, to the order of 15 or 20 minutes. I am lucky in that regard. We shuffle. We shuffle. We shuffle. And then, there’s the start line, and then, we are running! Sort of.
Mile 1 - 8:48 Pace
The first mile is interesting. Lots of people start too far toward the front. One person is yelling about idiots that start too far toward the front, which is probably helpful. I’m dodging and weaving through a lot of different runners. At one point, I see a speed walker out there. I barely pass him though – I swear the speed walker is setting a 9 minute speed walking pace. Crazy. I run up beside him and say… “Dude, you are the fastest speed walker I have ever seen.†He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. Speed walking takes concentration.
I see people wearing costumes. I briefly wonder how much extra distance I am running as I run around speed walkers and a costumed Elvis man.
The worst hill in the whole race is also in the first mile, an incline up onto the expressway that goes over to the southern part of South Beach. But I’m feeling great. It’s dark out, but the night is illuminated from street lamps and lights on the water. And the cruise ships, out in the harbor. Just beautiful. I feel fantastic during the first mile.
Mile 2 - 8:28 Pace
And even better on the second mile, after the hill is gone and many of those that started out too far ahead have dropped back. The second mile is too fast, honestly, and I start trying to hit my goal paces.
My goal paces. My race plan was to run each mile between 8:40 and 8:50. If I did this, I would be in the ballpark of a 1:55 half marathon. I’d assess at Mile 10 whether I could continue to run those paces, or faster, or whether I needed to Just Finish Baby. It was very hard to see ahead to Mile 10. But that seemed like a good plan.
Mile 3 - 8:47 Pace
And by mile three, I am running that plan. Mile three is a textbook plan mile.
Mile 4 - 8:37 Pace
Right at the start of mile four, my coach leaves. He has other responsibilities – he needs to help others bring it home. I begin running my solo race. This starts okay, but rapidly becomes more difficult. All of my long runs, I had run with someone else. All of my short training runs, I had run with an mp3 player. I’m off my game a bit. I’m too fast in the pacing. I’d be lying if I said this did not affect me mentally.
About halfway through Mile Four, I exit the Macarthur Causeway with every other runner in the world, it seems. The exit is down and to the right, in the WRONG direction if I wanted to make a beeline to get off South Beach at the northern causeway. As sometimes happens when I’m running, the ridiculousness of this briefly crosses my mind. Why would I run away from my goal?
This is also where the race takes on a different tone. We can no longer really see water, like we could for the first 3.5 miles. And there aren’t as many spectators as there were at the start. The runners are starting to spread out.
Mile 5 - 8:45 Pace
As we end Mile Four, loop around the south end of South Beach and start up Mile 5, the race feels quieter. I can hear myself breathing more. This is not necessarily a good thing. But this time I’m hitting my goal pace. The fact that my paces are bouncing around is a bit concerning. I try not to think about that too much.
Mile 6 - 8:48 Pace
Up through Mile 6, we are running the main strip (pardon the pun) in South Beach. We do see some oddities, though we don’t see as many drunks stumbling around trying to get home after parties as some had foreseen. We did the math later, and figured since the clubs closed at 4, those that WERE stumbling around were probably not leaving the clubs but were probably doing the infamous Walk of Shame. (“I can’t believe I slept with HIM,†he thought. And so on.)
But we do see some characters. For instance, two gay guys alternately chanting, “Gay Pride!†and “Obama!†That may, in fact, motivate THEM at the moment, but it doesn’t do much for me. My mind struggles with the relevance before giving up and shutting down again.
And I’m starting to feel tired. I felt great, I felt okay, and now I’m feeling tired. I’m concentrating on not concentrating on how far I have left to go, and that’s probably too much concentration. I’m also starting to regret bringing my hydration belt and water bottle with me. It’s bugging me. I consider tossing it but I don’t find a trash can and I don’t want to toss it on the street. There are too many people watching anyway, I’d feel like I was littering.
Mile 7 - 8:47 Pace
Mile 7 puts me at the north end of the race layout on South Beach, and this is the point where I start feeling… really out of it. I’m still on my goal paces, but I’m starting to really see that this isn’t going to be the run I want.
Mile 8 - 8:51 Pace
I’m also seeing humanity start to fall apart a bit on the “Civilized†front. I see one woman grab water at a water stop and then, instead of throwing the cup down in front of her, she tries to throw it to the side. Of course, it catches air and spins and hits another person in the head. One of my team mates tells me later that she saw someone spit, not in front of themselves, but to the side. That’s just sick. They can end up spitting on other people.
Mile 9 - 9:33 Pace
The end of Mile 8 starts the path back across the water, on the Venetian Causeway. Somewhere around this point, we are running up the causeway and we get to a toll booth. I yell to the others around me… “Did anyone bring exact change?†One guy up ahead of me laughs. No other reaction. There aren’t a lot of talkers out there, that’s for sure, and about as many listeners. Many people in my grouping had mp3 players. I again briefly regret not having mine, even though I know it’s against the rules.
The course is pretty flat, but the causeways have really the only hills on the course. The ones on the Venetian are not too bad. But at that point they are unwelcome. Somewhere on Mile 9 I eat a caffeine/energy thinger that I got at the athletic expo. I feel pretty tired – this is the act of a desperate man, because I didn’t really train using that stuff. While I did this, I walked for a bit. This is bad. I yell at myself to go. I eventually do.
Mile 10 - 9:08 Pace
At the end of Mile 10, I can see the exit from the causeway. I’m running on this mesh drawbridge surface that really hurts my feet. And I’m really tired. And I do the Mile 10 Assessment, and I realize that, because I walked previously, I am no longer really on pace to do 1:55. Especially since I can’t imagine pushing myself at that point to make up the time I lost.
At this point, I must be honest; I kind of fall apart mentally. I go to Just Finish Baby mode, but… something happens here of which I’m not particularly proud. I stop caring entirely about my times.
If you were to ask Future Me about this, writing this recap right now, he would admit that this is the point he is most disappointed about. He thinks, looking back, that maybe he could’ve pushed a little more and finished at least CLOSER to the goal time.
Mile 11 - 9:11 Pace
But the Me in that timeframe didn’t. That Me DID continue. But that Me did not push at that point, and he may have even walked again once or twice, especially around the end of Mile 11. The slacker.
Mile 12 - 9:54 Pace
The whole of Mile 12, where most of the walking occurred, is a blur of just… keeping one foot moving in front of the other. As we get off the causeway, loop around that part of Miami, and started heading south again, there are a lot more spectators, which definitely helps. Actually, if there weren’t so many spectators I imagine it would have been even tougher. There is a bit of pride left in that version of me that did not want to walk in front of people – all my walking is in gaps in the crowd. But I am slow. And I am being passed a lot. I do not feel particularly strong.
Mile 13 - 9:12 Pace
At the start of Mile 13, there is a timeclock. I see it, do some quick math and realize… I am now in trouble of not getting in under 2 hours. I don’t know exactly how long it took for me to cross the start line after the gun went off, but the time does not look good to me. At this point, I do the only thing I could do. I reach inside somewhere and pick up the pace. I want under 2 hours. And already, I kick myself for being slow in Miles 10-12.
I apparently miss the fact that there is a group on a stage playing Rock Band. This is normally something I’d notice, given I love me some games, but to me they register simply as a band. I am not looking at much. I am trying to finish and do it in a time I can at least find respectable. I am scared. I will not hit my goal but I don’t want to be over two hours. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I push, I really do push myself hard. My garmin ticks over, it says I’m done. It says I’ve run 13.1 miles, but there’s still a lot of course to run. It says I ran it in 1:57:something, but there’s still a lot of course to run. Satellite oddities? Maybe it picked up the zig-zags at the start? I don’t know. But there’s still a lot of race to run, at least a quarter mile. I don’t know where it ends. I just keep running. And unfortunately, most of that pushing is after the Garmin turns off, so I can’t really see the results. But trust me, I did it.
Oh yeah, speaking of the garmin… and thanks, Garmin Forerunner, for having a battery that actually lasted. I briefly remember while running how nervous I was about that on the night before. This makes me happy. Briefly.
And there it is ahead of me. The finish. Thousands of people. Balloons. I have found something somewhere and I’m running stronger now than I did in the last 5 kilometers. And I cross the finish line. Under 2 hours. I feel like I win. I feel relief. I am disappointed in not meeting my goal time. But I am proud that I did push at least at the end. And now Future Me wonders what would’ve happened if I would’ve/could’ve pushed more.
I make my way to the finish area and grab a banana. I briefly sit on the grass, exhausted. I feel blurry. I can’t see my wife, which is understandable in the throngs of people. I feel lonely - none of my teammates finish anywhere near me. I run solo, I finish solo. I wander out of the athlete’s area… there are Team Challenge cheerleaders outside, and they cheer for me and point me to the Team tent, where I sign in. I finish third on our team, behind two guys who I never had a hope of catching. I’m also one of the first finishers in Team Challenge in general. This also makes me proud.
I can’t find Ali. I’m without my cell phone, and if you know me, you know this makes me feel naked and exposed. A girl next to me takes off her shoes. I think this is a good idea… I take off my shoes too… and I have a couple of huge blisters which I think disgusts this girl next to me. She deftly stops talking to me. Go Derrick! Always the charmer. “Hi, would you like to look at my disgusting feet? Baby?”
Finally, Ali shows up. I change shirts. It’s over. It wasn’t over until then.
In retrospect, I ran the race I trained to run. I only ran one run of 12 miles and it wasn’t a great run. In all my training runs, I would fall apart time-wise in exactly the same place I fell apart in the race. If I had had another month to truly build up distance endurance… I might’ve done better. I might’ve met my goal. But I really did get exactly the race that I would’ve guessed after my training.
But I finished. I pushed through. And I finished STRONG. And I’m proud of that.
3 Responses to “ING Half Marathon: Miami - Race Report”
shubbe - February 26, 2009
You already know I’m ridiculously proud of you, but I just wanted to remind you.. I’m proud of you.
And even prouder now that I know what you went through out there, and how strong you finished despite it all.
I’ll try not to get all sappy, but I’ve always felt like the real measure of accomplishment is in the training. You were out there every weekend, many nights during the week, in the cold (very cold) and on the dreadmill, when you didn’t want to be (and wisely listening to your body when it told you it didn’t want to run), and through injury and stomach problems. That really shows what kind of person you are. The race is one day, and can go either way, no matter how well trained you are. It’s hard NOT to use it as the sole measure of accomplishment, but you really shouldn’t.
Congratulations.
Oh, and on a technical note.. Houston was the second race I ran with my Garmin, before that relying solely on a watch. I think it’s easy to get caught up in the Too Much Information of a Garmin during a race. For Houston I turned off auto-lap and just split manually at the mile markers, because I’d read so many race reports where they said “My Garmin said I’d gone a mile, but I couldn’t see the mile marker.” And it really didn’t matter what Garmin thought.. my time would be whatever the course said it was. Something to consider for next time.
(And you didn’t address here the Next Time.
)
Alison - February 26, 2009
First - yay race report! Second - I second the thing about being proud. You pushed yourself in ways most people never even consider, you raised a bunch of money for a wonderful cause, and you made new friends - those are things worth celebrating. From where I was standing, you looked kick-ass crossing the finish line, and I swear you were smiling. Sorry it took me so long to find you, I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to just go to the Team Challenge area instead of trying to find you among the thousands of atheletes milling around in the finishing area.
Also - Congratulations, You Rock, and I Love You!!!
Therese - March 2, 2009
I can’t tell you enough how PROUD I am of you!! Even though I got the first-person account soon after the race, reading this report just made me even more impressed. You reinspired me. Thank you. You rock!!
And my Garmin ALWAYS says I’ve run farther than the race markers say. I think the race is wrong. Garmins never lie.
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