Official results: 3:28:55 (7:59/mile). 747/8091 finishers, 647/3825 men, 127/635 men aged 35-39.
Holy sacred guacamole, am I happy to have finished the Portland Marathon this year. And I hit my goal time too! Just finishing, with this runner’s knee of mine, is a huge thrill. That said, this ended up as kind of an ugly marathon. As early as mile 10, I was thinking I might just jog back to my car and call it a day. But unlike my experience during the 14-mile training run — the one that was supposed to be 22 miles — the pain didn’t keep escalating. It got to some point and just stayed there. So I just kept running. Why did my knee do better? I’ll never know. At least three variables were different.

This picture has educational value.
- More time to heal. This is most likely the biggest factor, and may well be the whole story.
- Back to the old shoes. I had a few miles left of my old, pre-injury pair, an older model, and I wore them instead of the new ones.
- KT Kinesiology Tape. How embarrassing! Remember all that black tape on Beach Volleyballer Kerri Walsh’s shoulder in the Olympics? There was a free sample of the same stuff in the marathon’s goodie bag. It included a little pamphlet that showed you how to apply the tape for every athletic-type injury known to mankind. You can tell how desperate I must have felt to have gone along with this quackery, but there you are. When the pictures come in, you will see me with a kind of black “U” cradling my left knee. It is kind of a fun, stretchy tape, but I’m no believer.
It was plenty cold and damp in downtown Portland at 6 am, but I had scored a sweet disposable jacket from Goodwill the day before, a $6.99 powder-blue fleece number. Yeah, it was a lady’s, wrongly sorted into the men’s section (along with about half of the other jackets), but I’m secure enough to sport a lady’s blue fleece, at least as long as it’s dark out. Not much interesting happened waiting for the start, though I was concerned for the length of time some people spent in the portable restrooms. If someone were to pass out, or, God forbid, die, in one of those, it would barely slow down the line at all.
I had no “bathroom” problems all day and the weather was absolutely perfect for a marathon: mostly cloudy, dry, no wind, around 50-60 degrees. My nutrition went well; I downed four Clif Shots before mile 8 then had gummi bears from the aid stations after that. So I have nothing much to blame any problems on, other than my lack of training in the last few weeks before the taper.
I ran smoothly and cautiously for the first few miles, being careful to avoid doing anything stupid and taking care to run a nice straight line. I found myself in front of the 3:30 pacer, and not all that far back from the 3:20. The first six miles were all 7:40 or under, except for the uphill one. You can see all my splits and a bunch of other data on my RunningAhead log entry for the race.
Coming up to mile six I heard a certain “ding ding ding ding” and looking ahead, there it was: the crossing gate coming down for an Amtrak train. I apologize to those around me for my repeating series of expletives at this point. It looked pretty bad for making it across the tracks before the train did, and with the crossing gate down, I knew it would be stupid to try to do so. But that train was crawling pretty slowly by that point, and anyway who says I’m not stupid? A switch to the left side of the road and one really dumb 25-meter sprint later, and I was across. My two friends from my running group made it too. I feel absolutely terrible for the people who got stuck.

Is this a joke?
Should a huge big-city marathon have this happen? I really have a hard time saying “yes” to that. I’m sure the organizers believe it to be out of their hands. But if the train right-of way truly is immutable (I have no idea), well, that’s just one more great reason why the Portland Marathon should push as hard as they possibly can to find a new route. You know, one that also actually shows off the city for all these thousands of out-of-towners. And if the city of Portland isn’t willing to play ball with that idea and close off some major space on the East side of town, then they are idiots too. But tentatively at least, I’m willing to put the “idiots” mantle solely on the marathon committee. You know what the back of the finishers medal has this year? Portraits of long-time committee members! I nearly lost it when I saw that. Of all the smarmy, self-congratulatory moves imaginable, that takes the cake. “Here, you finished, congratulations, here’s your medal with our pictures on it.” Unbelievable.
Back to the run. My knee started feeling stiff somewhere after mile eight, and, as I said, by mile 10 or so I was really starting to think I might pack it in. Everything else felt terrific. I kept going, and stuck with the 7:40s. My emotions were see-sawing between “I’m going to have to stop” and “I’m going to run a 3:20 and qualify for Boston.” The truth, as they say, is somewhere in the middle.
I believe it was around mile 15 that I noticed my thighs (or, as we athletes say, quads) starting to hurt. It was just a small hurt at first, but this was far too early for it: my muscles usually hold out nicely to at least 18, maybe longer. I’m pretty sure this is the price I paid for missing my last long run, and excessively tapering down my mileage after that. I suspected it wasn’t a problem that was going to go away. It did take my mind off my knee some.
Some general fatigue was also setting in, of course. Getting up and over the St. Johns Bridge still wasn’t too bad. As always, it was beautiful up there. I was happy to have made it at least far enough for the crossing. I was also starting to think about various scenarios that might see me walking the rest of the way in, and whether I would endure it. I was carrying my cell phone (tucked into the palm of my stretchy gloves, inside a tiny zip-lock bag) so that I could call Sweetie for a lift if I needed to stop. But finishing would be nice. If nothing else, it would get me a shirt. With about nine miles to go after the bridge, I knew I needed to run at least a few more before I could seriously contemplate a long walk to the finish.
Running was getting harder. It was my thighs. I’ve hardly ever really cramped while running, but this was kind of like one long, milder, mobile cramp. And it hurt. My calves felt OK. All systems were go except for the knee and thighs. My lungs and heart seemed better than I could ever recall at this stage of a marathon. But I had slowed down to get over the bridge, and my thighs wouldn’t let me pick it back up to my earlier pace. I did a couple of 7:50s and then started seeing the miles come in over 8:00. I held it to the low 8:00s until the downhill on Greeley (which I took achingly slow), then saw my splits slow down to 8:30 and beyond. And my thighs hurt tremendously. With just three or four miles left, walking started to get pretty tempting. But I’ve run in pain before. The thighs weren’t an injury, just sore muscles. I could beat that. I kept jogging.
The 3:20 Boston qualifying time was out. Could I still set a personal record, beat 3:38? Yes, trivially, if I kept jogging at any pace whatsoever. Could I still meet my 3:30 goal? Yes, as long as my pace didn’t fall too much further off the cliff. OK then. Carry on. Endure the intense soreness. Don’t worry about all the people streaming past you. At least you’re not that guy writhing in pain on the ground. The last miles were just an endless grind. OK, they always are. But you feel better about them when you’ve not slowed down, too. Here, miles 24, 25, and 26 were 8:43, 8:27, and 8:47.
Quite emotional and with tears of several varieties very nearly in my eyes, I made it past the finish line. As is my predilection in these affairs, I then stopped running. I was quite surprised to find that when I just stood there, my thighs did not hurt. I know that sounds stupid, but I must say it is quite unlike every other long race experience I can recall. Usually, the moment I stop running is the moment I really feel just how sore my legs are. This time, standing still or sitting down was pretty much pain-free, although walking still hurt some. I can recall twenty minutes of exquisite agony after this year’s Hagg Lake 50K, and similar trials at all my previous marathons. Standing or sitting in the minutes that immediately follow is always painful. Not this time. I can offer no coherent explanation for the discrepancy. I can say that I am very glad I never stopped running during the race: starting again might have proved unthinkable.
One more rant. The Scientologists have a big tent in the finisher’s zone. It looks like an exercise-massage tent. Is it? According to the Scientology web site, this is one of their “good works in the community”: “Church volunteers also support amateur athletic events by caring for participants who may be physically exhausted or in physical pain, such as providing assists when asked, such as the help provided to runners at the Marathons and other long-distance races held in Portland, Oregon; Boston, Massachusetts; Los Angeles, California, and Clearwater, Florida.” Assist has a special Scientology meaning. Check out the Wikipedia article Assist (Scientology) for more information about this pseudo-scientific pile of quackery. Hey, marathon organizers? “Thanks, but no thanks” is what you say to a bunch of money-hungry nutcases who want to put up a big tent where they can give “nerve assists” by “stroking a person along the spine, around the torso, and down the limbs.”
Even though standing still felt OK, the walk through the marathon’s endless “finisher’s area” and back to the car was not easy. In addition to some leg pain and generally feeling cold and tired, I found that my pinkie toe on my right foot was giving me some trouble. I hadn’t noticed any issue with it while running. Once I got home I discovered that the entire toe had pretty much turned to blister. Should you be interested in such things, here is a picture. It looked considerably worse in person.
Other that that, I’m recovering well. The thighs are rapidly feeling better, the knee isn’t as crippled as I probably deserve it to be, I didn’t get run over by a train, and Sweetie — in addition to her usual great post-rest ministrations — treated me to a hamburger and two Manhattans at the Slow Bar. Life is good.
Oh, and I signed up for the May 2010 Eugene Marathon a few days ago. 3:20:00 here we come.