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On Sunday I ran my fifth marathon. It was the first one I have been really
satisfied with. Except for getting separated from the pace group I had planned
to run with, which happened at the very start, I ran the race I wanted to run.
Improved my personal best time by over seven minutes from last year, to
4:25:37. What was most gratifying is that, though I ran it slowly, I ran steadily,
ran well. Yes, I slowed down some after thirteen or fouteen miles, but I didn't
break down. I just kept putting one foot in front of another. I realized I
was on a good pace, and I kept thinking of how much more I had been hurting when
I'd been at those places on the course in previous years. I must have passed
hundreds of people in the last three or four miles, folks walking. Not many
people passed me in those miles, and many of the ones who did were relay runners
keeping a much faster pace than those of us who'd done 20 miles before they
even started. My brother and his fiance were in town, and they saw me on the
route--Bryan stopped his truck (easy to do in that traffic) and stood up and
waved at me. Unfortunately traffic and their unfamiliarity with the back roads
kept them from the finish line.
As I passed the 26 mile line, I had a moment of self-congratulation, but then
realized I didn't want to start my sprint for the last .2 miles yet, so I
just kept on with a steady pace. The crowd at the finish line was very loud and
enthusiastic, which is remarkable in that I was finishing two hours after the
winners. In the turn for the finish line, a space of about a hundred yards, I
put on my sprint. I easily passed three women ahead of me, and set my sights on
a tall young man ahead of me who had started his sprint. I was running
about as fast as I'm capable. I had left enough energy and enthusiasm in the tank
to do this sprint. The crowd got louder, screaming as they saw me running
hell-for-leather to beat the fellow at the finish. The young guy didn't see me
coming, and I passed him about three feet in front of the finish line. I was
quite satisfied to finish strongly. I've played in a few faculty-student
basketball games where I'd had some crowd reaction to my efforts, but never in my life
have I had hundreds of people yelling so loudly for my exploits. I did not
even remember to look at my watch until about two minutes or so had passed; I
got my time later from the website.
I came out of it with a little soreness in quads, calves, and knees, but
nothing major. I was so exhilarated at my finish that I threw my arms in the air
so hard I though I'd injured myself. After the finish line, I was in pain, not
from my run, but from my celebration. Well, that's the way these things go,
right?
At the end of the month I turn fifty.
Frank Pool A/F Class of 1999
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