I'm still a little sore a week later. That's the best summary I can offer. As I said, all went well, but it was every bit the challenge one would expect and more.
After a start that was about 20 minutes late and a delay getting across the starting line, the first 14 or so miles were strong. We had a cruise through south Austin on a cool morning. I was going at a nice pace and feeling great, actually a little ahead of my expectations. The first 8 miles or so were easy terrain so I was careful to not go too fast, keeping tabs with the pace group I planned to follow. Then we hit some tougher, hilly areas, and all was still well. That specific stretch had been a frequent training run for me, and Sunday was better than most of the training runs, inadvertently leaving me ahead of the pace group.
My placement didn't concern me a ton, though, because I felt so good. My feet were moving; my heartrate was actually a little low for running; and my muscles felt strong.
Then came time to pay the piper at about mile 14
. The pace group ate me up. I was a struggling gazelle, and it was a hungry lion. I was crushed emotionally and sliding physically, too. I had been strong and feeling great, but all of a sudden, there was no gas in the tank, and my hips were sore. Thank goodness my wife and a bunch of our friends were at the next mile marker cheering me on. I really would have been in trouble if not for their good spirits.
From about mile 16 on, it was this alternating battle between hip flexors that demanded I quit and then all of a sudden let me feel great. Mile 16 was a drag, but at 17, all felt perfect again. It was crazy. I was consuming as much as I could to keep my energy up, but I was still hungry for most of the last portion (another downside to weighing 220 lbs).
The last third of the race was all about the crowd. Bless the people of Austin and my wife/friends who were following on bikes. The people were out on their lawns and generally going crazy. Boy Scout troops stood on the side of the road asking for high fives, and about 30 bands put on concerts at different points in the city.
A bunch of people had signs and followed the race, like my wonderful band of supporters, for example. Every few miles, the same groups would pop up and cheer for you again. One teenager had an "Only one more hill, Dad" sign and appeared every three miles or so. There was always more than one hill remaining so by the end runners were yelling at the kid: "Didn't you say that four hills ago?" or "Quit lying to me" (in jest, of course).
Plus--and this was the most entertaining--all the runners had their names on their bibs. The spectators would read these and yell out personal encouragement. Oh what a difference that makes (both for some good laughs and some genuine support). We'd be going by and hear: "Hey, pick it up, Johnson, quit being lazy" or "Nice job, Smith, think about why you're doing this."
I slogged through these miles thinking about the past year and reminding myself how badly I want to discuss this with future patients to let them know it's possible. Not to be overly dramatic or sentimental, but there were moments when this thought was the dominant reason to keep going.
Some short but tough hills popped up toward the finish so I had to walk a bit and just did my best to make progress. Some hip flexor tightness forced me to powerwalk to stretch my legs fully and loosen things up (noticed a couple of older guys doing this and figured I'd take a lesson).
At mile 25, we took a sharp corner and could see the buildings around the finish line. An active crowd cheered as we made the turn, and I noticed I could easily make my target time (4:30) with some continued hustle. I high-fived some guy who was enthusiastically yelling from the sidewalk and did my best to take off down the stretch. This went well until we hit the last hill at about mile 25 3/4.
I swear to you, it was straight up, a paved wall. I don't believe I've seen a bigger hill before in my life. It was like Everest on top of K2 on top of McKinley. OK, so maybe it was about .2 miles that don't even show up as a bump on Google Maps, but who are you gonna believe, me or the smartest company in the world? Yeah, thought so. Anyhow, this wiped me out for about a tenth of a mile.
Not quite realizing how close the finish was to the hilltop, I looked up and saw the railings along the street and the huge crowds and went to the line with everything left. I recall nothing about that last two-tenths of a mile. I was so busy pushing for the line that I kind of forgot to look around and soak it in. Oh well, there was plenty of that afterward.
My wife and friends who had been following the whole day were all there and oh-so-patiently waited while I tried to get myself together and get some food down in addition to a massage so I could kind of walk. After some brief celebrations, more urgent matters took over, and we absolutely demolished some French toast and breakfast tacos. Those poor things didn't stand a chance.
The next few days (Monday, Tuesday) were not especially productive, making the rest of the week a mess. But it was totally worth it. I have to admit, it wasn't much fun during and even after had lots of moments I could do without, but now looking back a week later, my memories are the positive parts. The notion of ever doing something like this strikes me as so implausible, surgery or no. Yet, here on the table still is this heavy finisher's medal that I can't help but play with every morning.
Attached is a picture of the finish line. If it looks like I'm walking on air, it's because I actually am. I jumped on the line with everything I had, and this photo is the rebound.
Thank you immensely to everyone here who has been so supportive and helpful (not to mention reading this novel--sincere apologies, there's just so much to get out after all this). Sumorunner, sorry about the confusion surrounding the Texas fireball as well. We just couldn't contain the post-race celebrating. Sometimes it gets out of hand, you know.
Oh, and as I'm waiting for the massage to loosen up my quads, who do I run into but a transplant nurse. She had just finished the race as well. All I could do was thank her profusely on behalf of lots of other people. Her and her husband were so sweet, asking about my situation and discussing the race. It sounds like she has some lucky patients who get wonderfully compassionate care.
There's the full story and nitty-gritty. Thank you again.
