Slachte Marathon
Near Sneek, Fryslan, The Netherlands - July 8, 2000 - 3:28:49 - # 152
At night I dreamt that I got up. It was six in the morning and I was obviously late for the race. There was a feeling of stupidity—I came all this way, arranged transport, hotels and everything so I could enter and I screwed it all up by oversleeping. But the overwhelming sentiment was relief. Now that was a good reason not to run the stupid thing: I could not make it to the start in time even if I tried. I remember sitting back and looking forward to the day ahead. When I woke from this dream it was 4:00 am and I still had some time before breakfast. My double feelings switched sides: it was pretty cool that I had actually gotten up at four in the morning, but there was no excuse now: in two-and-a-half hours, I would be running a marathon.
Downstairs at the hotel, one man was sitting at the breakfast table that they had left behind for the runners last night. When I asked him about his intentions for the race he responded in a mumble and proceeded to look at me defiantly while I went around consuming my breakfast. I gathered he was just one of those peculiar types you always meet when you hang around the long-distance crowd. I used to get very upset about these people. They have a look in their eyes suggesting an extreme form of dimness of them mind; meanwhile, they are able to run much faster for much longer than I could ever manage. Suitably outraged at their performance, I used to think that they were just too damn stupid to feel the pain that I was experiencing, and thus that they were cheating me in a very perverse way. I finished my first cup of coffee and took stock of the situation (two men sitting at a table in a dark hotel at 4:30 in the morning) thinking that I should at least try to talk to him one more time. This time, he responded and his secret came out: the poor fellow couldn’t understand my question because he was German. Before I could think about the implications of all that, other runners came down the stairs and created an opportunity for him to bail the conversation. I didn’t see him again that day.
When we made for the bus stop from where they would shuttle us to the start, the streets started to fill with more and more runners, ending up in a parade of sorts. It was a mix of people not uncommon at big races: there were the reassuring folks who you would never think could run even ten miles seeing as to how they were at least sixty, overweight or limping. There were guys like me, all excited at the idea of marching through a sleepy village at five in the morning going off to a race. And there were those that you knew you could never beat in any event because they were made to do this stuff. Through it all there was that eternal the scent of runners, a mix of tiger balm and food supplements.
The start at 6:15 AM
I had been nervous about running in the morning. It seems a cool thing to do, exercise while the rest of the world is still in bed, but every time I tried it I was running through jelly. My legs would cramp up after a mile and I’d have trouble making it home from places like the park around the corner. But, as always, in a race everything is different. By the time I’m shivering at the starting line, it feels like a day has gone by already and cramping seems out of the question. At 6:30, the gun fires and we’re on our way for 26.2 miles, 42.195 km’s, a distance that is about 10 km above what the average human was designed to run.
Pack at the start
Last time I ran this far, I had a pretty bad trip. I had gone out cautiously, like everybody told me to, but after an hour I figured it wasn’t as bad as they said and accelerated, causing a nice crash in the final ten kilometers. I remember the humiliation of being passed by more conservative runners very well; the looks as they went by, leaving me staggering towards the finish line. This time I’ll be one of them. I am running comfortably in the back of the pack, targeting 5 minutes per kilometer and not a second more. Most people here are going slightly slower and take time to wave at the crowds that have gathered at this untimely hour. Another mistake that I won’t be making this time ’round: no efforts except running. The mantra in my head is clear: the race don’t start until after 30 k. Take it easy now—you’ll get a chance to excel later.
It’s easy to find people that target the same pace. They stick out against the landscape, pretty much the same way things on an intercept course do. Whenever I find someone like that I tend to use them to clear my path, running a few feet behind. After a while you get to talking and switch the lead a few times. Pretty enjoyable part of the race, really. Five minutes per kilometer is quite slow but I manage to control the urge to speed up. When I’m taking a leak in a bush on the road’s shoulder a large group passes that I quickly catch up with, after finishing business at the bush. They’re around the right pace and I spend another comfortable five k’s in their company. Among them a couple in matching outfits, both carrying what seems like an outrageous quantity of water. The way it’s shaking, it sounds like they are making cocktails. We are overtaken by two runners sporting t-shirts of the Paris marathon. They should know how much further it is. I decide to leave the group and follow them for a while.
The dike
It’s a pretty funny race. We are running on top of a centuries-old dike that by now lies in the middle of the countryside. Somebody discovered that this ole’ dam is just about a marathon long, which is as good a reason as any to organize a race along it’s length. After we’re done, close to six thousand people will walk this marathon today in a celebration of, well, being Frysian, I guess. I’m a foreigner here too. Anyway, that’s why we had to start off so early: we have to be gone by eleven, to make room for the walkers.
Knowing how many people will cross this path today, lots has been done to enhance the scenery. There’s poems on big signs along the route, life-size plastic cows, dressed-up people acting out scenes and other things that I can barely catch a glimpse of at my 5 min/km pace. I’m sure it’s a lot more fun when you’re walking this thing. The crowd’s ecstatic though, and that’s very nice of them, seeing how it’s only eight in the morning.
I was a little nervous before about the wind. We mostly run in one direction, so we could have had the wind in our face all the time. As it is, it’s a soft tailwind with scattered clouds and a nice 14 centigrade. Perfect running weather. By the time I’ve run a half marathon I start to worry about my strategy, though. I was going to take it easy until 30 k, and then use whatever reserves were left to dash to the finish line. I’m worried I might not have taken into account the proper bottleneck.
In operations research, there is a thing called the binding constraint. You are supposed to be optimizing something under restrictions, and the restriction that keeps you from increasing your objective is called binding. Any other restrictions are, of course, non-binding. It’s like you have 5 minutes and ten gallons of gas to drive your car as far as possible: obviously the time-constraint is going to be binding, and you’ll have some slack with the gas. So, what constraint binds during the marathon? There are several contestants:
- Anaerobic stuff. Which is binding if you run a mile or so. It’s about getting oxygen to your muscles as quickly as possible, and how that doesn’t work if you go too fast, and you feel like you’re gonna die. It’s not a factor in the ‘thon.
- Energy. This is the constraint that I bumped into last time: the muscles in my legs just ran out of stuff to burn. A nasty constraint that you don’t normally feel if you run under two hours.
- Feet. Boy, my feet feel like I have been taken around town shopping for a day. I would sure like to sit down for a while.
It feels like condition three is going to bind today. Such a silly constraint; in the much cooler oxygen department I’m nowhere near exhaustion. I imagine stopping because my feet can’t take it any more. It seems stupid, and I decide to push a little closer in the number one section. If I’m going to go down, I might as well throw in some reserves: at km. 21, it’s time to speed up!
"Don’t give in" says the first guy to the second guy I pass on my newfound mission to burn-it-all, "make your own pace, we’ll catch him later." He might be right, but it sure feels good to finally run. I catch a runner that I remember took off early on and feel some of the vindication I was expecting in the final miles. Now let’s see how long this lasts.
They’re handing out bananas and water and I try to consume it all. This leads to me running with a banana sticking out of my mouth for a few hundred yards. People think it’s comical, judging from their smiles. I’m not tired yet. I’m not tired yet. Ten kilometers pass and it feels like I could actually pull this off today.
Splits
Okay, I’m tired. We just had to cross a highway over a brand new steel overpass that was bouncing up and down. Now all three constraints are making their presence felt. It's not too much further, but boy, would it be nice to walk for a while. I am still putting in 4:45 kilometers, but it is getting harder and harder. Then again, slowing down to a walk is really going to ruin my time. Rats. After pondering the situation for a while, I decide that the best thing is to keep running, but at a lower pace. The time it took to reach this obvious decision is an indication that the brain has slowed down as well.
I need a new mantra. People are passing me again, and I don't need to remind myself when the race really starts. I decide on I don't mind running like an old fart, which is supposed to make me feel better about being overtaken all the time. Meanwhile, I need all of my attention not to trip over the rubber mats that they put on the course here—every five steps two mats are stacked and form a bump. It takes a lot of effort to coordinate my steps around the bumps. I get to km. 40 this way, where they're handing out drinks.
After the fimish
Okay, I get to stand still here. Oh, that feels good. Let's look at the watch. It says it's 3:19. Two more kilometers, so if I could just, I could, three and a half hours. I think. Oh boy. One more time. This is when it counts. Surprise yourself. Will soon be over. Come on.
Later, I wonder about those two final km's. I remember burning my absolute last resources and then some. The appearance of the tower where the finish would be helped. I was surprised how much I had left, and actually felt good crossing the finish line. 3:28:49. A cool 8 minutes better than last time. I called my parents, who asked how I felt. I told them, "good". It was ten in in the morning, and I had already run a marathon. It was going to be a nice day.
Links
Official results, in Dutch. Three cheers for the wayback machine!
Heart Rate
july 26 2000 - © all rights reserved 
