Monday, December 01, 2008

Writer passed her first 26.2-mile test last year, and can't wait to try it again

By ADRIANNE MURCHISON
COX NEWS SERVICE

last updated: March 10, 2008 06:05:15 AM

ATLANTA -- A year ago, early on the morning of March 25, I was bouncing on my toes and punching the air, chanting the theme song from "Rocky" just hours before I'd start my first marathon. By noon, it was a different story. On a hot race day with perhaps slightly inadequate training, the loss of adrenaline dropped my pace from the nine-minute-per-mile neighborhood into the will-I-finish-in-seven hours neighborhood. By the time I reached my family at the 17-mile mark along Freedom Parkway, I was struggling, and my young nephew walked up beside me.

"I was just wondering," he said. "Why would anyone want to do this?"

Good question.

That was last year's ING Georgia Marathon. ING gave four minutes lag time for runners at the back of the pack. I came in just under the required seven hours and four minutes, and officially became a marathoner.

In less than a month, 15,000 runners will gather at Centennial Olympic Park for the second annual ING Georgia Marathon and Half-Marathon.

Again I will be among them.

"My very first marathon in 1972, I had only run eight miles (beforehand), which was crazy," said Gayle Barron, a former Boston Marathon winner. "But I did finish it on adrenaline. I couldn't walk for two or three weeks. Then I started thinking that I needed to train for this race."

I knew at the finish line that I wanted to run the marathon again, but with more long training runs under my belt.

I caught the running bug when I was living in New York City in 1995.

I woke up one morning and jogged through a section of Central Park. Within weeks, I was running the park's six-mile loop.

I always figured running would give me both peaceful solitude and exhilaration. Outside of prayer, it's how I clear my head, shake off stress and solve dilemmas.

Running put the New York City Marathon on my radar.

Each year, long lines form on the west side of Central Park to sign up for the race. On the Monday after the race, runners' names are posted on the windows of Chase Manhattan's Park Avenue building.

Walking past the lists of names created fantasies of finishing the race in four hours.

I never entered the race, but I became an avid runner when I moved to Atlanta. I feared a sedentary lifestyle here vs. everyday walking and the five-flight stair climb to my apartment in New York.

In Atlanta, three-mile runs occasionally turned into six miles.

And six miles turned into nine. Four miles became the standard -- along with ace bandages, knee pads and glucosamine supplements for my increasingly fragile ankles and knees.

When the inaugural ING Georgia Marathon was announced in 2006, I knew it was my chance to fulfill a goal.

I started to train in January 2007, just three months before the race. My brother in Alaska became my long-distance adviser. He ran the 1985 Marine Corps Marathon in Washington.

Training programs can last four to nine months, or more.

Generally, training schedules include a few core weekdays of five to 10 miles followed by a long run on the weekend.

My brother told me to run at least 18 to 20 miles before the ING and incorporate weight training.

Last year, I fell off the program. I did some weights. And my longest run before the race was 16 miles. That's also my longest run so far in this training season.

Ten miles of my practice route was extremely hilly, which I suspect helped me through last year.

Barron trains all levels of runners for 26.2-mile runs. She suggested I drop my next long run to 12 miles, and go up to 18 miles on the following long run. This should keep me healthy and prevent my body from hitting the wall at mile 17, she said.

Last March on marathon weekend, my brother had me eat a steak dinner on Friday and load up on pasta on Saturday.

He and several other family members came to town to cheer me on.

He walked beside me for the final nine miles while I trotted to the finish.

As I approached the finish line, he dropped back. Two friends appeared to urge me on. "You're almost there," one of them said.

Then I crossed the finish and fell into my older nephew's arms.

My name was announced over the grandstand microphone. I was exhausted. My face was covered with excess salt, but I was unaware.

A race official came through my crowd of supporters and asked me if I was OK. I thought, "Are you kidding? I'm great."

Maybe not completely great. About 20 minutes later, while we walked to the car, I vomited on the sidewalk at Fairlie and Marietta streets.

Everyone laughed. And all was good. I was euphoric.

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