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However, other runners—including many who consider themselves competitive—feel that music is an annoying distraction that interrupts their mind’s connection to their body and environment when running. Personally, I enjoy listening to music when I run, and do so periodically. I also enjoy listening to audio books on longer runs. However, I never race with headphones on, and encourage others to unplug during competition (primarily as a courtesy to other runners).
The USATF—America’s governing body for running and track and field—has banned the use of iPods and MP3 players at events it sanctions. This is not due to any perceived performance advantage but to safety concerns (it’s hard to hear the traffic officer shouting “Turn left!” when the
Chariots of Fire
theme song is blasting in your ears). My thought is that if you want to race with music, sign up for events such as the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon San Diego that provide live musical entertainment along the course. Then boogie to your heart’s content.
The more challenges you face as a runner, the more reliable your feel for fatigue will become. Yet this mechanism isn’t perfect in any runner, and it may be especially unreliable when you push unusually hard. So it’s only to be expected that your subconscious brain will sometimes become a little overcautious and cause you to feel miserable for a while in the middle of a long run, in order to hold you back, and then reassess the situation when you’re closer to the finish line and give you a second wind that allows you to increase your pace and finish strong. Therefore, it’s unlikely that you will ever “outgrow” the second wind. In fact, on some of the longer runs I’ve done—in the two-hundred-miles-plus range—I’ve experienced a dozen or more “second winds.”
More typically, a second wind occurs once within a single run. But the Florida Gulf Beaches Holiday Marathon was a different sort of second wind for me—different even from the multiple second winds I’ve experienced during a long ultramarathon. Specifically, this marathon was a second wind in relation to the entire Endurance 50. I had suffered immensely in the preceding three marathons, hitting the lowest of lows and staying low long enough to wonder whether I would ever recover. The Florida Gulf Beaches Holiday Marathon gave me just the reprieve I needed, and not a moment too soon.
The course winds through scenic parks and along gorgeous beaches on the Gulf side of Florida. It’s flat and paved. On the day we ran it, the temperature hovered in the mid seventies, and there was a refreshing breeze. Of course, it was still a 26.2-mile run, though compared with the preceding three it felt like a cruise with the top down.
There was levity along the course, which always helps revive the spirits. I saw the strangest roadkill ever: a fish. This thing must have jumped out of the water—we ran within spitting distance of the ocean—and been struck by a passing motorist. Even the seagulls circling overhead seem astonished by this one.
Coming around the final corner on the course, we heard some chanting. “Forty-two, we love you. Forty-two, we love you . . .” It was coming from a group of uniformed kids up ahead. The members of Team Trilogy, a youth triathlon club, had finished a “Mini Tri” earlier this morning and were now getting ready for a long cool-down. We ran the final stretch together, chanting their mantra along the way. Second winds don’t get any better than marathon forty-two (“We love you!”) was for me.
Day 43
October 29, 2006
Marine Corps Marathon
Arlington, Virginia
Elevation: 365'
Weather: 60 degrees; very windy
Time: 3:37:27
Net calories burned: 137,041
Number of runners: 34,000
My second wind continued through the Marine Corps Marathon, which I ran as a live event with thirty-four thousand other runners the following day. I felt very comfortable running at a pace that brought me to the finish line in 3:37:27, despite the blustery headwind.
I just might make it through this thing after all
, I thought as I ran the final stretch toward the patriotic Marine Corps War Memorial, which depicts the planting of the American flag on the island of Iwo Jima after one of the bloodiest battles of World War Two.
I have had more second winds than I can remember. One of the more unforgettable cases was my experience at the Angela’s Crest 100-Mile Endurance Run a few years back. I developed severe cramping in my left calf muscles twenty-five miles into the race. My first thought was that my day was coming to an abrupt and disappointing end before I’d even reached the marathon mark. But then I thought,
Well, let’s just see what happens if I walk for a while
, since I was able to walk relatively pain-free.
Preventing Muscle Cramps
It is widely believed that exercise-related muscle cramps are caused by dehydration or depletion of electrolyte minerals through sweating. But research does not support this. Rather, exercise-related muscle cramps appear to be caused in most cases by a sort of tendon fatigue that occurs when exercise is unusually prolonged. Some runners are more susceptible to muscle cramps than others, but all can reduce their susceptibility by gradually increasing the duration of their longest runs in training. There are few shortcuts when it comes to preventing muscle cramps. Those who pay their dues reap the rewards, or in this case avoid suffering the consequences that come with every shortcut.
I walked for five miles and was passed by roughly forty other runners. At the thirty-mile mark, I started running again, slowly, cautiously, experimentally. My muscle cramps were gone. Over the next seventy miles, I overtook all of the runners who had passed me while I walked, plus a few others, and finished the race in fourth place. I learned an important lesson that day: It ain’t over till it’s over.
When the early onset of fatigue causes you to have serious doubts about whether you can finish a run, try not to give in to those doubts. Instead, buy some time for a second wind. How do you do that? First, slow down, or even walk. Second, reflect back on any previous experiences when you felt just as bad as you do now, but still managed to get through it, and remind yourself,
If I could do it then, there’s hope
. Finally, don’t allow yourself to quit until you’ve gone at least one step farther than you thought you could go when your doubts emerged.
Sometimes quitting is necessary. My filter for determining when to stop is when I believe that continuing onward could cause serious acute or long-term harm. In these cases,
DNF
stands for “Did Nothing Fatal.” However, you don’t want to quit with that nagging feeling in the back of your mind that perhaps you could have finished after all, if only you hadn’t given up too soon. One way to avoid this scenario is to make the commitment that you won’t stop until the course is officially closed. This tactic is especially useful in ultramarathons. In a fifty-miler, for example, the course might be open for fourteen or fifteen hours. If you commit to keep going until the course is closed, rather than quitting before time runs out, you will go home with a confident certainty that you truly gave it your all.
Some people have the wrong idea about second winds, just as they do about the mythical runner’s high. A second wind will not necessarily make running easy; it just helps you continue running hard. It will still hurt. If you pace yourself appropriately and apportion your effort well, your second wind can carry you a measurable distance, perhaps even to your stopping point, be it a finish line or your front door. You can’t always count on a second wind. Some days you just have to put your head down and grind it out. Those runs can be the most satisfying ones of all.
I was reminded of this during the Marine Corps Marathon. There is a sculpture along the course called
The Awakening
. On this marathon route filled with prominent memorials and historic monuments,
The Awakening
remains oddly obscure, seemingly beneath the fanfare surrounding other popular sites along the way. Perhaps for reason. Most statues, you look at.
The Awakening
forces you to look in.
Situated at the terminus of a desolate and windswept promenade on the Potomac River, the haunting, massive, hundred-foot-tall figure embedded in the earth, struggling to free himself, is an unforgettable image. As runners round the tip of Hains Point at mile eighteen,
The Awakening
emerges into view. It’s a time when you are deeply questioning your own resolve to keep scratching onward—possibly wishing for a second wind to come save the day. Shocking and unexpected, this massive apparition crawling out of the earth is a lugubrious, eerie sight to behold.
The statue consists of five separate pieces buried in the ground, giving the impression of a horrified giant trying to pull himself to the surface. The left hand and right foot barely protrude; the bent left leg and knee jut into the air. A colossal right arm and hand reach skyward, while the bearded face, mouth wide open and howling in apparent agony, thrashes violently to exhume the creature from the entombing soil.
Awakenings are always terrifying, as they force you to realize that your past has been lived in confinement. The most disturbing part is when you recognize that the shackles holding you down are largely ones you have placed upon yourself. The prison is self-constructed. “We are all living in cages with the door wide open,” George Lucas once said.
It is so easy to live a life that has been scripted for you by others, to fall into the mire of conformity by following a path that society has laid before you, rather than heeding your own unique calling. Comfort, complacency, routine, the path of least resistance, the easy road—these things are the bane of humankind. It is a disquieting moment when you awaken to realize the trappings of conventionality have created a life for you that is entirely different from the one you wish to live.
This giant figure seems at war with his greatest adversary, himself. He appears to be struggling with the decision to follow what is in his heart, to buck convention and pursue an alternative course, a road less traveled. The grimace on his face comes from knowing that his past may have been a numb existence, and that he will require great courage and conviction in the future if he is to avoid sinking back into the tomb of conformity. There will be untold battles waged within himself, wars that will test his every thread of persistence and commitment. Yet there is a slight hint of pride in his contorted face, perhaps because he also knows that if he follows his passion with heartfelt intensity, if he dedicates himself unreservedly to his calling, he will persevere and ultimately find fulfillment, no matter where his life may lead him.
We all have dreams and ambitions, though few of us ever become all that we could be. We fight a silent war over purpose, over reaching our farthest destination. Onlookers watching us marathoners pass by today may have only seen the act of running, but as anyone on the course could tell you, there was a powerful, complex conflict under way. William James said, “War is, in short, a permanent human obligation.” The runner fights this war against the most savage of enemies: himself.
And, as with any war, this one comes with misery and suffering. War is hell, it has been said, and this marathon is nothing short of war, a raging battle to keep moving forward, to stay the course in the face of unimaginable pain. The marathoner asks more of himself than is reasonable. He commands his body and mind to do the unthinkable, to endure inconceivable hardship, all in the name of accomplishing something he deems noble and worthwhile.
By mile twenty-three, many of us racers were staggering haplessly, fighting with all our might to remain steadfast. People watching may have only seen the horror of it. Though in the horror, there is honor. To march proudly against a formidable adversary, to stand resolute for what you believe in while every shred of your material being is ripped to pieces: As marathoners—as warriors—this is our obligation. For with this struggle comes renewal. The marathon is not about running; it is about salvation.
The Marine Corps War Memorial—the finish—finally beckoned within eyesight. A gust of wind blew sideways across the racecourse, howling shrilly and sending great plumes of leaves and dust skyward. Through the swirling particulates, I saw a runner ahead stagger, then fall to the ground. It was a dream-like, surreal sight, his weary body simply collapsing under the immense physical strain it had been forced to endure over the past several hours.
Immediately, people rushed to his aid. It was a disturbing spectacle to behold. A brother had fallen short of his destiny; a soldier had lost the war in front of thousands of curious onlookers. The crowd was dismayed. Still, there was no cynicism or scorn—only sadness.
Crossing the finish line, I was not filled with joy or relief. The scene that had just unfolded before me left me feeling grief-stricken and empty.
So close to the finish line
, I thought.
So close
. What a tragedy.
Then I heard the roar of the crowd swelling. There were screams of encouragement, commotion, hands waving, though I did not know why. I found myself being shuffled forward with the other finishers, wrapped tightly in our Mylar space blankets, unable to see what was causing the uproar. I asked a marine in uniform what has just happened.
“A man crawled to the finish line,” he said.
My heart raced, my blood pulsed. He had awoken, dug deep into his soul and done the heroic. It was a poignant moment, one that no one present will ever forget. A man had arisen from the ashes, refused to give up, and fought the war crawling bravely on hands and knees through the finish line. His victory was shared by all of us and would inspire each one of us who was there to keep trying, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds and incomprehensible pain.
Life is a struggle. Life will always be a struggle, though we must never give up the fight. A man reminded us today that as human beings, this is our obligation.
