Race Report: Smuttynose Hampton Rockfest Marathon

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Claire who was running her 12th Marathon - her 5th in 12 months. Though she trained diligently, she was always left feeling that she could have done more, which undermined her confidence. As she approached the big day of the race, she looked back at her training for past marathons, and she was scared. For example, she had run 227 miles in the month before the Boston Marathon - her fastest to date. Conversely, she had only run 165 in the month before her 12th. She was very much doubtful that she could run another PR. If she's being totally honest, she was looking for an excuse not to.

But she traveled to Hampton, NH anyway, because it was said to be a fast marathon course. She picked up her bib and she drove the course and she thought, "this doesn't seem like a very fast marathon course after all..." There we so many twists, turns, and out-and-backs that she was sure she would be accumulating extra mileage here and there, not taking turns tight enough, not running tangents, and she did not like her odds of having a fast race. She wished she had not publicly broadcast her ambitions for the race, but such is the risk with being an Internet celebrity. Which she also was.









But she ate a pasta dinner, and laid out her race day gear, and got into a hotel bed which was shaped like a taco, and she went to sleep (or tried to, but her boyfriend IMan had the habit of exhaling his used breath directly into her breathing space, which made sleeping difficult), all the while unsure of herself and this whole marathoning business.

In the morning, she awoke and it was raining. Not misting or spitting or drizzling. It was torrentially down-pouring. She may even have seen literal cats and dogs dripping from the clouds. She was very scared (not of the cats and dogs; Claire loves animals).

She said to IMan, who was also running the marathon, but who has a much more even temperament when it comes to racing (let the record show he is psychotic about other things), "What are we going to do?" To which he replied, "we are going to run a marathon."

So they put on their race gear and lubed up with Body Glide and unfurled trash bags to wear over their clothes, and they ate granola bars and drank coffee and watched SportsCenter, and finally it was nearing the start time (which was 9am, which was quite late, but also meant they didn't have to wake up too early, which was nice). So they put their trash bags over their clothes and saw pedestrians walking by with their umbrellas blown inside out and they were not very excited to run. Claire even suggested that they skip the race altogether and go to the beer tent at the finish instead.








But instead they waited under an overhang to stay relatively dry, and when it was time, they went back out into the elements and headed toward the start. IMan, who is very fast, headed towards the front of the pack. Claire placed herself several rows back. The rain kept coming down. Claire said to herself, "Let's see how the first mile goes, but I'm pretty sure this is not a day for PRs."

At the gun, Claire stripped off her garbage bags and began to run. While most races necessitate a little bobbing and weaving to get through the pack during the first few miles, Claire found she had no trouble carving out some space for herself. Her pace bracelet said she should run a flat 8:00/mile for the first mile. She ran a 7:32. Fast. But it didn't feel that bad, and since she'd driven the course the night before and knew there were no major climbs in the back half, she thought "well, let me be a touch fast now, and see how I feel after 5k. It'll be just like that crappy race in Park Slope last weekend."

Mile 2: 7:23. Oops.
Mile 3: 7:32.

Claire was still feeling decent, though she had to pee pretty badly. So she decided to keep running a little fast in order to bank time in preparation for a bathroom stop.

Mile 4: 7:27
Mile 5: 7:39. "Is two minutes of banked time enough?" she thought. "Maybe I'll keep going to the next portapotty.

Mile 6: 7:30
Mile 7: 7:32
Mile 8: 7:26

By now, the rain had tapered off, and Claire was pleasantly surprised by how she was feeling. Minus being soaking wet and urgently needing to pee. But she figured she could hover around 7:30s through the first half, and that even on tired legs, she could run 8:30s through the second half, since that is the pace she'd been doing for her long run. If she could make this positive split strategy actually work, she would come in right at 3:30. But positive splitting isn't considered so much a strategy as it is a grievous error...

Mile 9: 7:37. Oof. Claire did not recollect this hill from driving the course...
Mile 10: 7:23
Mile 11: 7:28
Mile 12: 7:30
Mile 13: 7:41

As she came through the half marathon point, two weird things happened to our protagonist: 1) She set a half marathon PR at 1:38:XX, and 2) the course marshal told her she was "about the 6th lady." You really shouldn't set half marathon PRs during the marathon, and upon looking at her watch and seeing her time, Claire thought, "this is going to get very ugly." But she was admittedly buoyed knowing that she was among the top ten women. The man running with her was buoyed too, until he concluded aloud, "Oh, I'm not a lady."

Claire still had to pee. Badly. "But if I keep pushing through 16, I'll only have 10 miles to go."

Mile 14: 7:40
Mile 15: 7:46
Mile 16: 7:50

Claire knew she was slipping. "Run 2 more miles hard. Just 2."

Mile 17: 7:54
Mile 18: 7:54. The course did a weird left turn onto a side street here, where runners went about 10 yards down the street, around some orange cones, and back out again. Claire was a few steps ahead of the man who was not a lady, and nearly took him the wrong way because the around-the-cones maneuver seemed so weird. Why couldn't they have just backed the finish line up 20 yards?

Course marshals said "the next woman is just 20 seconds ahead of you! Striking distance!" You know what, guy? Strike this, she thought. She'd been running with the man who realized he was not a lady for almost 5 miles now, but he had headphones on, so they didn't exchange anything but grunts.

It started raining again. Hard. But by this point, Claire had banked enough time that she could slow down a full minute per mile if she needed to and still come in at 3:30. This was unexpected, and Claire instead assumed her legs would someone break off in the next 8 miles. Her shoes were very squishy, and the Gatorade (extra credit for all marathons that serve orange Gatorade - not lemon lime, and not Cytomax - on the course) that spilled into her sports bra with every sip burned the spots that had been rubbed raw. "8 miles to go; that's just twice around Prospect Park from your apartment. And maybe it's raining hard enough you could just pee while you're running." Claire decided not to try that because of the chafing risk. But she did really consider it.

Mile 19: 7:51. She was passed by a woman, and became the 7th woman overall.
Mile 20: 8:09. That hill, again. The first mile over 8 minutes. "Here it comes," she thought. She was passed again. 8th woman now.
Mile 21: 7:59
Mile 22: 7:54. A big downhill back towards the ocean, and the finish line. Alett, who stood out in the rain and wind, with a cold, to cheer, spied Claire and snapped her picture. "I hear there's beer at the finish!" she told Claire. Claire wanted a beer. But she also really wanted to pee.










Mile 23: 8:07. "Just 3 and change. 3:30 is in the bag. See what you can do."
Mile 24: 8:13. Claire passed another woman, though not one in her age group. 7th overall. Marathons never have water this close to the finish, but Claire was quite thirsty here.
Mile 25: 8:13. "10 more minutes, 10 more minutes and you'll have run sub 3:30 and you can pee."
Mile 26: 8:19. Hamstring was completely cramped and form was going haywire. Stride, limp, stride, limp...

When she first spied it, the finish chute clock read 3:24 and change. Claire pushed. The hamstring pushed back. "Break 3:25," she thought. Claire screamed like a women's tennis player. The crowd cheered. The announcer said "Claire Walsh from Brooklyn, New York has gone the distance." The finish clock read 3:24:45.

"Don't throw up, don't throw up." Claire caught her breath, grabbed her metal (not particularly nice, but for a small local race, she'll take it; also, the criterium for deeming a metal "nice" are pretty subjective) and began stumbling back to the hotel a few blocks away. She chatted with a fellow finisher and exchanged congratulatory remarks. "7th woman overall, eh? You probably got an age group award!" But Claire couldn't think about that because, by now she was not only soaking wet, but also freezing, and if it hasn't been mentioned, she really had to pee. She returned to the hotel room with the bed shaped like a taco to find IMan showering. "Howdiditgoohmygodpleasehurryihavetopee."

"It was okay," IMan reported as he toweled off while Claire shoved him out of the way to get into the bathroom, "but that course sucked. I felt like it was all uphill. The wind was awful. I ran a 3:02. I think I was 9th."

9th place? Out of the whole marathon? Um, yeah, I guess that's okay...

"How did it go for you?" IMan asked. "3:24, 7th woman overall."

"Um, congrats on the 9 minute PR!" IMan exclaimed, though Claire barely heard him as she turned on the hot water in the shower.

She wriggled out of her sopping wet running gear and stepped into the shower (and peed! So much! Like, 4 straight minutes of shower pee!). The hot water hit all of her most chafed spots and was agonizing. She wanted to sit down, but the shower floor was covered with pee. But worst off all, she wanted a beer, and there were none.

"Get out of that bed, IMan!" she demanded as she dug through her bag for sweats. "We're going to the beer tent."

Showered and warm, Claire and IMan began to feel much better. IMan's feet were very chewed up from running the sandy roads in the rain, and Claire had a blister or two, but they were determined to walk those 5 blocks back to the beer tent. They ran 26.2 miles in the pouring rain. They were going to drink free race beers.









Pictured: 9th place finisher enjoying a Smuttynose Star Island Pale Ale at the beer tent. This is the first marathon after which he has actually put on his medal. Not pictured: delicious slices of Dominos consumed at the finish.

On their way back to the car, Claire and IMan took a look at the official results. IMan was indeed 9th overall, with a 3:02:54. Claire was the 7th female, with a 3:24:45. IMan also won his age group, and Claire took second in hers. (I'd link to the official results, but I'd prefer you didn't know IMan's real name and try to steal him from me because you love his beard and want to date a winner).

The moral of this story? Rain and wind make for pretty miserable racing conditions, and facilitate chafing and blisters. They are not, however, an excuse for a less than A+ performance, no matter how much one wants them to be. Trust yourself, trust your training, and don't make excuses. You're stronger, faster, and better prepared than you think.

That said, even seasoned marathoners psyche themselves out every once in awhile. It's okay to be nervous.

Also, don't hold your pee in for 3 hours and 24 minutes. It's very uncomfortable.