Be. Here. Now. (eBook)

CHAPTER ONE

HOW IT FEELS TO QUIT

APRIL 27, 2019 - MT. CHARLESTON, NV

The REVEL Mt. Charleston Marathon began, for me, at two thirty in the morning. Mt. Charleston, if you’ve never been there, is a tiny mountain resort town located about a forty-five-minute drive northwest of downtown Las Vegas. It feels about as far removed from the Las Vegas strip as you can get, even though it’s possible to actually see the Las Vegas skyline from the two-lane road leading up the mountain if you know when and where to look. A-frame cabins dot the mountainside on both sides of the highway. A miniscule ski resort offers the casual skier a chance to hit the slopes and play the slots on the same afternoon. An old-fashioned lodge with deer heads hanging on the walls, rustic wooden furniture, and mugs of steaming hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, is the main attraction in the village.

The road in front of the lodge is the starting point of the marathon. Due to the distance from the strip, as well as extremely limited parking and accommodations available in the petit village, race organizers provide buses to pick up contestants in downtown Las Vegas for transport to Mt. Charleston the morning of the race. Coordinating the five or six thousand racers on buses for a 6:00 a.m. start time in an area that is not designed to accommodate these masses is no easy feat. This meant that the first wave of buses departed (painfully) at 2:45 a.m. from a Lowe’s parking lot near our hotel.

Temperatures hovered in the mid-forties when my bus arrived at the lodge. Masses of racers moved in all directions through the dark gravel parking lot, lined up in front of a row of Porta-Potties meandered in and out of the lodge, and sat in small gatherings along the cinder block divider in front of the lodge’s outdoor seating area.

If you’ve ever competed in a marathon, you know there is a very specific kind of energy in the air during those dark, chilly pre-race hours as competitors prepare for the start line. A sort of electric buzz inhabits the shared space of thousands of excited runners checking their equipment, making last-minute pacing calculations, and shaking out race-day nerves. And running, unlike most other competitive sports, has a very “I hope you do your best today and crush your goal!” vibe to it. The vast majority of marathon runners are only “competing” with themselves to achieve a personal best. Of course, there are exceptions. There are racers who genuinely hope to “win” the race, but those are the elites of the sport, the unicorns who actually have a shot at some national title. The rest of us are conquering our own race, not worrying about yours.

The nature of this beast allows everyone to be excited not only for themselves but for everyone else as well. Pre-race time at the start line typically involves a plethora of motivating discourse: “What’s your goal today?” “Really? That’s awesome!” “Yes, I’ve tried that brand of energy gel, but it didn’t agree with me.” “You’re out of sunscreen? Here, borrow mine.” “This is your first marathon? You’ll do awesome! Just trust your training and don’t give up.” The atmosphere of shared positivity and support is intoxicating and is the reason most runners continue to trudge through this mentally tough, exhausting sport in the first place.

I was caught up in the excitement almost immediately. The cold temperatures drove me inside the lodge to find some warmth and a small patch of floor (every single table and chair were occupied) where I could eat my pre-race snack and apply sunscreen before it was time to line up. I located a perfectly sized square of ancient scuffed wood flooring near the bar, by the hallway leading to the kitchen. Dozens of other racers had the same idea, and we all found ourselves squeezed into tight Indian-style seated positions and leaning to get out of people’s way as they stepped over and around us through the lodge restaurant. Waiting alone for the race to start was a little lonely, but the cacophony of too many excited people in too small a room would have made it impossible to have a conversation anyway. I retreated mentally to my race-day strategies I had been practicing for weeks: visualizing the course (which Jeremy and I had visited a month earlier while on a long weekend in Las Vegas for his nephew’s college graduation), running through my pacing strategy mentally mile by mile, meditation techniques to keep calm and focused if and when I started struggling with fatigue, etc.

Later, I decided to meander outside for several purposes. Getting my body acclimated to the cold temperatures before I’d be required to actually start running should allow me to settle into a pace more easily once the race began. I knew there would be a long line at the Porta-Potties, as there always are at marathons, and figured I should get this unpleasant business over with so I would be relaxed.

When the race began, I was full of jittery anticipation. This was my chance to see if all the preparation would pay off. I marveled at the steep pitch of the road beyond the start line and pronounced camber of the pavement at the edges. I realized quickly this race would be more technical than I had pictured. REVEL specializes in races which are mostly downhill, for runners who want to achieve their best time performance. At that time, Mt. Charleston was the steepest course on their list of race offerings. Knowing this, I had spent a significant amount of time doing hill training and had done nearly all of my “race pace” training runs on a treadmill at a negative incline. But treadmills only incline and decline so much. I was shocked by how steep the downhill of the first two miles felt. I had also failed to account for the slant of the road around sharp curves, which caused me to change my running cadence.

I heard several other runners huffing and puffing as they attempted to adapt to the same challenges I was realizing. A few even made comments under their breath or to each other: “Wow, this is steep!” or “Holy moly! I didn’t think this would be so hard!”

The sun was beginning to crest over the mountains. Vibrant oranges, yellows, and pinks kissed the tips of the peaks to my right and bathed the entire hillside on my left. As we rounded a long sweeping curve in the road and downtown Las Vegas came into view far off in the distance, the sunrise glinted off several of the taller hotels. It was a beautiful way to begin a race but was also causing the temperature to rise quickly just as we were beginning to sweat and breathe heavily.

Around mile two and a half, I fell into a rhythm. I was no longer feeling the cold as my muscles loosened and warmed. My pace was steady and fast, but more importantly it felt comfortable. I had learned from experience that if I was running at the wrong pace and likely to have problems, those problems would usually show up early in the race. Problems keeping my pace even was a clear sign I had warmed up too quickly or had chosen entirely the wrong pace for my goal. It meant I would likely blow up later in the race. Struggling to keep up with my goal pace or ragged breathing usually starts in the early miles for me if it’s going to happen at all. At this point in the race, I was feeling none of those warning signs. The terrain was still steep, but the pitch had flattened considerably after the first two miles. I was still feeling a steady drop in elevation, but the road had flattened enough so it didn’t feel like my feet were slapping the pavement with each step.

I used a course loop through a parking lot as an opportunity to check my running watch, as the parking lot was flat, and the entire field of racers slowed collectively to make the sharp right-hand turn. I was slightly ahead of my goal pace and still feeling good. This was encouraging, but my internal warning light started flashing. It’s still early in the race! I told myself. You still have almost twenty-four miles to run! Don’t get too excited just yet!

We made another turn and exited the parking lot back onto the main road. The road slanted down and turned around a sweeping left-hand curve. All runners picked up speed again. I fell easily into a rhythm and consciously controlled my breathing again to guide it into a relaxed, steady, rolling pattern. For a while my mind wandered aimlessly. I enjoyed the scenery and watched other runners; some were passing me, and some I was passing. I relaxed.

As we reached mile eight, I glanced at my watch. I had unconsciously sped up during the time my mind had wandered. The combination of the downhill course and my relaxed state had caused me to speed up to slightly faster than eight minutes per mile. That was a full minute per mile faster than my goal pace! While I was impressed with my ability to run this pace for eight miles, it also concerned me a bit. Eight minutes per mile was significantly faster than I had trained for, and we were not even at the halfway point of the race yet. “Too fast too soon” is a mistake every marathon runner has made at some point. Every marathon runner knows what it means. It means you are very likely to implode at some point during the second half of the race with detrimental symptoms such as low glycogen levels, dehydration, and soreness. At best, it means you will slow down significantly and fail to achieve your time goal. At worst, in extreme cases, it can cause runners to be unable to finish.

I slowed. Checked my watch. Slowed a little more. I settled into an (8 min. 57 secs.) per mile pace and adjusted my breathing to match. It took a little while to fall into a comfortable rhythm,...