“How do you warm up for a marathon?”
Sitting outside of Hopkinton High School an hour before the start of the most famous footrace in the world, I regret not directly asking my former college coach that question. I experimented with different warmup routines during workouts throughout my training, but I never really settled on one for race day.
Prior to today, I’ve always had a standard pre-race routine: about an hour before the gun goes off, run for 15-20 minutes. Start off jogging real easy and work your way into it. After that, find the restroom and evacuate the bowels one more time. No need for mid-race surprises. Should be about 30 minutes ‘til the start. Next, half-ass some stretches while in actuality try to relax before race nerves take over. 20 minutes to go. Spike up, put on the uniform, and jog to the start (or corral or warmup track, whatever’s available). 15 minutes. Finally, the dynamic routine: high knees, down-and-back; butt kicks, down-and-back; walk it out for a bit; at last, four strideouts, numbers one through three progressively faster and number four cruising. I want to feel that POP in my legs before we actually start racing. Pace back and forth until the race official puts us on the line, and then, “on your mark...CRACK!”
Pretty simple, right?
This routine served me well all through college, where I mostly raced 5k to 10k distance. I’ve used this in the few road races I’ve run since then, including one half marathon, but is it too much for a full marathon? I mean, that warmup gets me well into my second wind while also using up a lot of energy, and energy-conservation is the name of the game when it comes to the marathon. At least that’s what I’ve read.
Problem is, this is only my second marathon. My first marathon? Well, let’s just table that for right now. You don’t want negative thoughts to creep in before the race starts, because then you’ve already lost the mental battle. Your race is effectively over before it even starts.
Needless to say, I don’t have my marathon warmup routine down yet.
In the meantime, I figure I’ll check my singlet and bib number to make sure there aren’t too many start-line surprises. Did you know the back of these bib numbers have a spot for emergency info? We never had that in college races; then again, we never raced further than six miles, and all of that was in contained loops. If something went wrong, a coach was always there to pull you out of the race. I suppose I better fill this out; a lot can go wrong in 26.2 miles.
NAME: Eliot Swift
AGE: 24
EMERGENCY CONTACT: …
I arrived in Hopkinton hours before gun time. Woke up balls early and forced down a bagel with some peanut butter and honey while walking to Boston Common to catch a bus to the start line. This may have been the most cruel part of the morning: they bus you 26 miles out of the city and then make you run back. If the ride takes an hour, what’s it going to be like running back?!
Boston is fairly unique with its late-ish 10:00 am start time, when most road races go off early in the morning. On hot spring days like today, that can wreak havoc on the field. For someone like me, though -- an outsider, non-professional, decidedly wannabe amateur -- that can be an equalizer. At least that’s how I’m framing it.
That said, I’m surprised to see so much activity around the high school grounds leading up to the race. People walking around, chatting, wandering, exploring the athlete village, sitting out in the damn sun...presumably all these people are about to run the same race I am, and yet here they are wasting precious energy. Do they know? Do they even care?
I am used to the somber introspection of a track meet, trying to steal a few moments of solitude and prepare yourself for the suffering that you are about to subject yourself to; I am not used to the carnival-like atmosphere of tens of thousands of people all having a decidedly good time.
Me? I’m sitting in the shade, legs sprawled out, listening to a carefully curated playlist of songs that are relaxing yet motivating, energetic yet chill. The only time I’m getting up is when I’m hitting up the Port-o-let. Or, you know, waiting in line for it. Gotta get all that shit out of the system before race time.
One hour ‘til post, and I figure it’s time to make sure I have everything situated that I need.
Sunglasses? Check. I’m gonna need these today.
Shorts? Check. Show off them legs.
Socks? Check. A matching pair, not two left socks this time.
Singlet? Check. Bib number pinned on? Check.
I know they say to never wear anything new on race day, but I’m psyched about this singlet. Amelia and the team had it made for me about a week ago, and I just can’t wait to don it. It’s an all-white top with a racerback and, hand-written on the front, the words “FLINT HILL, KS” in bold, blue block lettering.
Bill Rodgers won his first Boston Marathon in a hand-lettered “GBTC” T-shirt that he pulled out of a dumpster, so I’m in good company with something handmade, right?
Less than thirty minutes ‘til the start, so it’s time to start heading over to the corral. Jersey on, flats tied snug, on final swig of Gatorade and I’m ready to race.
Following the hoard of runners all moving in the same direction, a small yard sign on the side catches my eye. It reads: “PLEASE respect our neighbors - people’s yards are NOT your bathrooms!” In the bushes behind the sign a handful of marathoners were doing their final business before the start; after all, why wait in the lines for the port-o-lets when all of nature is your restroom? Nothing like a little irony to ease the nerves before a big race.
I’ve always found the difference between regular social norms and running social norms interesting. For example, if I was just walking down the street and then stopped to pee against a tree, I could get arrested. But if I stop to do that during a run, no one bats an eye. If I got sick and threw up at work, I’d go home for the day and maybe the next. But if I puked on a run (only happened once…), I’d get it out and then just keep going. Running is a simple activity, but damn, runners are tough.
All those hours sitting in Hopkinton came and went without any warmup jogging. Nervous energy is leaking out of me; I have to do something hold it together. The walk down Grove Street to Main Street turns into a shuffle and then an easy jog, weaving in and out of the mass of humanity -- all of us heading to the start line.
After months, perhaps years, of training, the physical act of running becomes almost a state of being. When running is withheld from you -- be it injury, illness, or thousands of people and a corral system -- it feels unnatural, punishing, nerve-wracking.
26.2 miles is a long distance to be racing. Two-plus hours is a long time to be running. But moving past the starting corrals -- C, B, and finally into A -- there is more and more commotion. That nervous energy of thousands of collective miles run is leaking out of everyone, and the closer I get to the start line, the more the runners are like horses being gated before the Kentucky Derby.
And the pros? Who I can just spot over other people's heads? They are the thoroughbreds.
Watching over us at the town common is a sign which reads: “Welcome to Hopkinton: It All Starts Here!” It is an interesting juxtaposition of modernity and history. On the one hand, the lettering of the sign and graphic design are straight out of the 1970s. Indeed, a footnote on the sign informs us that it was erected in 1979, during the heart of the running boom.
On the other hand, countless nation flags sit on top of the sign, showing how much the marathon has grow into a mass participation event, not just in the U.S. but around the world. This may be America’s premier race, but let’s be honest: the winner most likely won’t be American.
That said, the Stars and Stripes do stand prioritized over the other flags. I hate to sound unpatriotic and all, but do we really need to go through the National Anthem before every race? Like the famous sign says: let’s just get this damn thing started already!
**********
**********
Comments
Post a Comment