Running history--Part B

The story resumes. It's July 1997 and I'm in Dallas for linguistics school, and more than the big hair, the southern accent, and the vista of non-stop shopping malls, I notice the heat and humidity. It's the first time I've dripped with sweat at 10pm. And it's here that I choose to make another attempt at a marathon. The goal is the Dallas White Rock Marathon in December.

I buy a pair of Asics 2020 and off I go. Probably the thing I love the most about the part of Dallas where I live is the fact that it's quite hilly. So, unintentionally, I get to strengthen my legs and do something like speedwork on virtually every run. I don't really have a plan, but I know enough to build up my mileage through increasing my long runs. I'm not serious or knowledgeable enough about running to keep a log, and ignorant enough to do every run at a fast pace (I think between 7-7:30). I top out at 35-40 mpw and only do one run of 20 miles. No speedwork, other than some hill repeats.

I don't remember many details from the marathon itself except that I finished in 3:16 and felt extreme pain in my feet/legs the last 4-5 miles. But the sense of accomplishment was greater than the pain because I never thought "Never again." In fact, I was pretty sure that I'd do it again.

And I did. After not running much and very irregularly from December 1997 to July 1998, I started training for another Dallas White Rock Marathon. The training routine was just about the same; I haven't learned much in a year. But I was fit enough and young enough to be able to BQ with a 3:05 finish. The last 3-4 miles were again very painful, but I manage to hang on and finish in the top 100, and be beaten by just one woman.* But because my work takes me overseas, I wasn't able to run the Boston. In fact, I don't start training for a race again until 2005. But I'll save that story for another time.

*A very irrelevant story about the male ego: A few weeks before the '98 marathon, I ran in a 5K with some friends. I went out too fast and in the second half, I began to be passed by some runners whom I had passed earlier but I have no gas left to try to keep up or repass. But about a half a mile from the finish, a girl (probably a high schooler) began to pass me. I decided that I wasn't going to be beaten by a girl, and somehow I draw on some inner strength (is that the same as the male ego?) and manage to beat her by a few yards. In the last few miles of the marathon, I'm suffering and being passed by some runners--including a woman. But I'm so dead tired that I don't even care--until after the race when I find out that the woman who passed me was the female winner. Then I wonder, "If I had known she was the only woman ahead of me, would I have found that inner strength again?" I don't mean to offend anyone with this story, but I am what I am.