The inaugural Bend Marathon was not the fall marathon I wanted to run. I was training for the Sunriver Marathon For A Cause, but nagging abdominal and ankle pain convinced me in early August I needed a break from running. The subsequent hanging-out-on-the-couch made me feel thick and depressed. Three weeks before the Bend Marathon, Rosie asked me if I planned to run this one. No way! Not enough training! You can do it, she said. Your body will remember what needs to be done. I subsequently came across a book that preached this very same body memory mantra (if you search long enough you will eventually find something that validates your belief). So I'm in.
I drive the course prior to race day and find it consists of 4 distinct sections: an initial 8 mile flat section on the back roads of Sisters, a hilly 6 mile interlude on a dirt/gravel road to the Tumalo Reservoir, a third gentle inclination from the Reservoir to the outskirts of Bend, and a final 7 mile mostly uphill climb to the finish.
I take the bus from Summit High School parking lot to the start line 26 miles away and feel a queasy intimidation in the pit of my stomach. There is good energy and camaraderie on the bus. I meet a gal from Columbus Ohio running her 26th marathon and 3 girls from Portland running their first. "You picked a hard first marathon!" Columbus and I say in unison. They look a little crestfallen.
At the start line of the village green in Sisters the participants mill around. I use the outhouse twice, squeezing out all the excess coffee I can. I see a few familiar faces from running groups and trail runs. The race director calls us to the start line and a ripple of excitement flows through the crowd. The countdown begins.
"10" Do I really want to do this again?
"9" I'm not ready.
"8" Body memory.
"7" Right!
"6" Another training run.
"5" Let's go!
"4, 3, 2, 1, Go!"
The first 8 miles are easy and fast. Hunters on 4 wheel tractors studiously ignore us and aid stations feature Bend High cheerleaders and Gatorade. The clouds disappear, the sun beats down and the day heats up.
The next section is a hilly dirt/gravel section with spectacular views of the 3 Sisters. This is the money shot that lured me into this marathon:
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| Feel the love |
But I feel fatigue creep in and I'm irritated and not open to taking in the scenery. It is hot and as I take off my shirt I feel fat and out of shape. I sport a beer paunch and a group of chatty cathys approach from behind. They stop talking as they pass me on one of the uphills. Disheartened, I pull out the i-pod, hoping for a musical revival. I specially selected Radiohead for this section of the run, thinking the tunes fit in well with the environment. Electronic existentialism underscoring a lonely run through dry desert scruff. However I feel even more depressed as this section comes to an end at the Tumalo Reservoir.
I rejuvenate with some goo and water. I crave salt though and the water does not quench my thirst. The next five mile section features long sloping uphills and downhills, and is peppered with bicyclists. I hear one yell out my name as they pass and I'm not sure who it is, but I know they just saw me moving in slow motion. A hometown marathon cuts both ways: you can impress your neighbors that you can run a marathon, but you can also make a negative impression with your turtle-like pace.
Near the end of this section, the sun hides behind gathering clouds and a chill wind blows in from the north. I started running this marathon in spring-like conditions, then endured the hot summery backwoods, and will now finish in winter weather. The scenery and mood is gloomy and dark, which not even the sunny vibes of Jack Johnson or Brother Iz can dispel.
The final 7 miles is a blur of burning thighs and twitching calves, and a shuffling gait up twisting uphills. What kind of sadist leaves the hills for last? I reach into my bag of distractions, mulling over statistics and Les Miserables to keep the mind occupied. I find myself walking about every 10 minutes and my legs feel very tight. The last mile is along a sidewalk in the Northwest Crossing neighborhood and several runners with gas left in their tank pass me by. The final 200 meters goes past my friend Paul's house and I see him standing on his porch drinking coffee. He looks surprised to see me. I see my son Isaac and reach out for a high five. He gives me a sour look and shakes his head. Alanna and Rosie are glad to give me a high five. As I pass the finish line I hear my name mispronounced on the loudspeaker, then see my time and I hobble over to the food tent, to inhale some salty snacks and oranges.
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My time is 4:56, good for 52nd place out of 79 finishers.
Total uphill 1425 feet, downhill 845.
Swag included a most excellent beanie with the Bend Marathon logo and two beer glasses. Also a weird terracotta finishers medal. No free shirt, but they did sell me a long sleeved technical t-shirt. I will do this one again, though not next year.
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