M A R A T H O N Fiction by David Brown (Author's note: This account is 5% fiction and 95% fact. Let the reader decide which is which.) **************** To those that finished, and to those that did not. **************** February 1, 1994 The Fox jogged slowly, without grace, full of self-hate and insecurity, as he slowly made a turn and reeled in his basement apartment two blocks away at the completion of a five mile run. Ice crystals lashed his face and he shifted his scarf beneath his balaclava. His nose was running again, and the water was freezing his scarf again, and his eyes were beginning to freeze too, so he yanked a mitt off and rubbed his eyes with his bare hand to get the ice and water off his eyelids. It was 28 degrees below zero, Fahrenheit, and pitch black at 5:30 PM in Edmonton, Alberta. Going inside, he called his girl. "Shannon, David here." "Hi. You said you were thinking about Vancouver. Have you thought about it?" "Yes. I'm going." "Oh honey." After making plans for dinner with her, the Fox took off a couple of layers and sat down slowly. He was now, he knew, five hundred miles from the start line of the Vancouver Marathon. Start line, BC Place, Vancouver At dinner, the Fox filled the air with his favorite topic -- himself. Shannon took an interest, then started to wonder if she was part of the conversation or not. She did jog on a regular basis, two or three miles at a time, but was no fanatic and would never bother with it in the middle of an Alberta winter. After forty minutes of hearing about shoes and schedules and training partners, she broached the fact that she was nearing completion of her Sociology program. "Honey, that's wonderful." "Yes, darling, graduation is this April." "I'm very happy for you. You know, I was down at Runnathon Sporting Goods today and you know what Adidas was charging for their top line training shoe? A hundred and ten bucks! Can you believe it? A hundred and ten bucks!" "That's terrible, darling. By the way, it's getting late. I have school tomorrow." "Of course, honey." He said good night. Now here was a girl who really understood him, he thought. Really understood him. February 2 It had warmed up considerably this Wednesday evening and the Fox was on the lookout for golfers, but saw none. Race day minus 87, he knew. He began another five miler in the blackness, and thought about schedules, and training effect, and physiology. A mantra took hold at the back of his mind.Five, five, ten, five, ten, five, twenty. Five, five, ten, five, ten, five, twenty. Five, five, ten, five, ten, five, twenty. These numbers summed to sixty miles over a seven day week, Monday through Sunday. With a training base inherited from previous years and a body weight that was way too high at 185 pounds, he could not hope to look at sixty mile weeks yet. The Fox planned forty miles a week in February, fifty mile weeks in March, and sixty mile weeks in April. Race day would be May first. He had a pretty fair idea, at age 46, what would be required. This would not be his first completed marathon, but his thirty-first. And, possibly, his last. Dinner with Shannon that evening was not uneventful. "David, we have to talk."He loved it when women said that. "Of course." "How many people are there on the planet, David?" "About six billion." "Wrong answer. There's only one person on the planet, as far as you're concerned." "Your Irish blood is showing." "It didn't even register with you that I've put three years of my life into this Sociology degree, and that I'm about to graduate with honours." When a girl is in this frame of mind, often the only thing to do is agree. "I'm sorry. I'll pay more attention next time." "All you think about is your goddamn running." "I said I was sorry." "I mean, you don't drink, you don't smoke, you don't go to discos. It's train, train, train." "I told you I'm a recovering alcoholic. And I'm not stupid enough to smoke." "I'm gonna find a fat boyfriend who likes miniature golf." "Just remember to turn off the lights before he takes his clothes off." She softened a little. "Well actually, you're not bad for a guy your age." "No, and your not bad yourself. You can take your clothes off any time with the lights full on as far as I'm concerned." The conversation took a turn for the better, and before long dinner was forgotten and they occupied themselves with other things. It snowed heavily for the next five days, but the Fox was getting some quality miles in with the group from Runnathon Sporting Goods. On Sunday the 13th he put in a 12 miler with them, then 14 miles a week later, and 16 a week after that. Total weekly mileage was in the 20 to 30 range, well below his planned 40. But it was damned cold most days. With the Runnathon group he tried to stay with the leaders as long as possible, but there was a hill about three miles out on our route, called Groat Road, and try as he might he couldn't stay the pace with the front runners going up it. If that wasn't enough, there was a woman, Maureen, who pulled away from him at this point. Insult to injury. "Let's face it," he thought, "I'm not a twenty year old any more." But he didn't feel any better for it. March 20 It was now race day minus 42. Edmonton International Airport lies about 21 miles south of downtown, on highway 2. On Saturday the 19th, the Fox drove to the airport arrival doors, zeroed his trip odometer, and started driving north on a secondary road. At 5.0 miles from the airport he stopped and put a one liter bottle of pop (with sugar) beside a roadsign. He did the same thing at mile 10.0 and mile 15.0. Then he drove on in to downtown and noted carefully the location at mile 20.0. He thought with a laugh of the day in 1986 he'd put bottles on his route outside Camrose, one at mile 5 out, one at mile 10 out. The bottles were clearly labelled: "Runner's refreshment. Do not disturb." That was the same day the local 4H Club came out and cleaned the roadside of debris, including his carefully marked bottles. The Fox was very thirsty that day when he finally made it home to mile 20, and not at all pleased with the little airheads from 4H who apparently couldn't read yet. But now, on the 20th of March, there were no such problems. He came out of downtown, across the High Level Bridge, through the University district, continuing south on 109 Street. Just south of Southgate Mall he picked up his first Pepsi and drank it though he wasn't thirsty. Staying hydrated is important on a distance run. He had read somewhere that it is extremely difficult for the average person to drink enough water on a distance run to replace perspiration. Leaving town, he jogged down secondary roads not far from the main highway, reeling in landmarks: a grove of trees here, a ranchhouse there. Far in the distance, a plane glided very slowly toward the airport. And the old doubts hit him. No one knows, no one cares. Too old. Face facts: you can never do another marathon. You're no good. What a slob. You'll be luck not to hit the wall today on this stinking little twenty miler. Your'e no good. You're too fat. You'll never lose that fat by May 1st. And on and on. While he was busy pitying himself, he drank his 10 mile and 15 mile pop bottles (fully sugared). Township Road 221 showed up and he crossed it onto Range Road 68, southbound. 2.6 miles away dead ahead was an airport control tower. Passing drivers waved. Now the control tower was half a mile out. Now it was 500 yards out. Now he was at the arrival doors, pale, gasping, looking for somewhere private to lie down and recuperate. And before too long he was on the Airporter shuttle bus, back to downtown Edmonton. At home he hit the couch. Five hours later he got up, took his shoes off, showered, and went to bed. Nodding off to sleep, he dreamt of waking at the Vancouver YMCA on Burrard Street. A wakeup call would come in at 5:30 AM. He would rise and say to himself, "This is Vancouver. I'm in Vancouver now. This is May the first. This is the marathon." Running He ran at night, and in rain, and on sunny mornings, and on mornings thick with mist. He ran with the running club, fighting off oxygen debt as he tried to stay with the lead pack going up Groat Road at mile three of a fourteen miler. He kept his hard days hard and his easy days easy. Slowly, imperceptibly, he became a runner. Rest pulse dropped to 48. Blood pressure was steady at 120/70. Body weight dropped to 179. His tissue capillarity increased. Blood pumping through his muscles moved more like water through course sand than water through dirt or clay. His maximal oxygen uptake increased, though he did not know the numbers. And on his hard training days, he hammered, pushing his speed up by perhaps five percent, until oxygen debt suggested he back off and recover. Backing off, he cruised a forest trail gently, listening to sea gulls, watching for squirrels, noting slush where last week there had been snow. On a twenty miler with a friend from the club, he challenged with fartlek techniques, introducing bursts of speed (perhaps as much as five or ten percent) for short periods. For hard runs he usually allowed 80 minutes, easy runs, 40 minutes. On rare occasions he did 60 second speed intervals as repeats, five times, but these hurt so much he didn't make a habit of it. April 24 Race day minus 7. A twenty mile run from the hostel at Athabasca Falls to the town of Jasper in the Canadian Rockies gave him a chance to cool out, observe the total indifference of the mountains, and trade insults with marmots and mule deer. Afterwards, he pulled up at the Dirty Dog Saloon of the Astoria Hotel and slowly drank cold beer while pretending not to eye the barmaid, then caught a scheduled bus south along the Lake Louise road, getting off at his start point. He now had three 18 milers and three 20 milers in his training log, money in the bank redeemable on race day. He thought of a hard day he had had back in 1983, at the Pike's Peak marathon, which was actually an ultra marathon at 28.3 miles with a 7500 foot elevation gain topping out at 14, 110 feet. Fox at Pike's Peak Marathon, 1983 April 29 and 30 Race day minus two, race day minus one. The YMCA on Burrard hadn't changed much, except to increase its rates. These days he spent strolling slowly along the West Side beach, checking out Lost Lagoon with its swans and Stanley Park, visiting the aquarium and Zoo, trading insults with the captured polar bear, who was wide awake for once. On Robson Street he did some serious people watching, and on Granville knew for sure that not all the animals were to be found at the Zoo. The night before the race, the Vancouver International Marathon association threw a dinner and social at a local hotel. There were even a couple of the old faces from Edmonton putting in an appearance. Of course the Japanese were there -- serious and sober young men, lean like greyhounds or whippets. Every year the Marathon association offers a trip to Hawaii to the top finishers, and every year the Japanese bow humbly as the tickets are awarded to them. The Fox was in no danger of having to accept a Hawaii ticket. With luck, he would finish perhaps 586th. Without luck it would be another DNF (Did Not Finish), and he had experienced four or five of these over the years. What he wanted was to break 3:30. His PR was 3:04:23, achieved in 1980 at Slave Lake, Alberta. This was disgustingly slower than his older brother's PR of 3:04:09. He accepted his race packet, basically two runner's numbers to be pinned to his shirt front and back, together with the schedule, race regulations, and thirteen ads from local merchants offering special discounts on gear. Following the Marathon association dinner, he went straight to his room and tried to sleep, having ordered a 5:30 wakeup call. The race would begin at 7:00 sharp. Right now, he knew, hundreds of course marshalls, volunteers, ambulance workers, police were readying themselves for the 3,000 runners. There would be timed checkpoints at each five kilometer mark of the 42.195 kilometer course, tens of thousands of liters of Gatorade and water, thousands of paper cups, priceless (to the runners) portable toilets at each checkpoint. Hotels were booked solid but the bars were empty for the most part, and the ever present hookers could have reported no increase in trade. He had come five hundred running miles in order to toe the line the following morning. The Fox, so to speak, had filled out his application form. *******************Continued, see "Marathon, Chapter Two."
kinda makes me think about this which ronnie posted in the uk forum http://youtube.com/watch?v=Z80XDK1QMX4 A health fanatic ?
DD, once again well done. I was thinking of writing a story with a similar theme. If you like I will PM you the idea and maybe you can actually turn this into a book.
Short stories are 20 pages or less. Books are 200 to 500 pages. I don't think I'm ready for a book. But, I'm always open to new ideas. I'm still waiting for fresh insight from Ronald MacDonald. This particular marathon story, of course, has a happy ending, but I want to get across to the reader what 'hitting the wall', and breaking through it to finish, is really all about, out there where the rubber meets the road.
Perhaps you can go for something in between, like a novella. If you haven't written a book before this might be the better option. Are you sure you haven't written any books?
ronnie is no more he has gone to the big piss take in the sky He got a bit cheky in a back alley and someone stabbed him up
Like most writers, I'm insecure, so it's a pat on the back like that that keeps the work coming. Thanks so much. Work is still in progress on "Marathon". "Write what you know." -- Hemingway
i came across your story marathon and thought .the first paragraph about training in the winter time really brought back memories for me.i too ran in the north.sub-zero,snow, it didn't matter we had to get our miles in.i ran from about '62 -'68.i used to get up early go for a 10 miler.i'd include it on my paper route.then home to get ready for school and walk to school all before subn rise on the shortest days.fall i ran cross country and followed the team trainiong and same thing in spring for track.summer i cut grass ran delivered papers saving up money for bus fare to nearby towns for races.i got to meet some great runners.a couple ran in the olympics,national champions etc.i knew a guy that traveled out to pike's peak every year.nice reminiscing with you.thanks for the memories.on heavy snow days hopeing a vehicle of some sort has gone through so i can run in the tire tracks until the plow is able to come through.
