CIM - A Failure That’s A Success

Today I ran the California International Marathon, regularly called CIM, in Sacramento. About 18 months ago, I had decided to see if I could take the next leap in marathon finishing time and find out if I could finish in under 2 hours and 50 minutes. I decided I’d do all the things and take one big moonshot at the time, chasing a time that seemed probably too big for me. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to run under 3 hours, but did so a few years ago and fairly comfortably. So I wanted to make sure I wasn’t leaving that next big 10 minutes improvement on the table before I gave up marathon time chasing.

I picked what is often considered one of the fastest legitimate marathon courses in the country. I worked through a variety of shoes to pick just the right pair. I tested lots of nutrition options. And I followed my training plan almost perfectly, missing only one workout in about 16 weeks. I did the work. And I failed. But even more so, I succeeded. And I’m totally satisfied, even happy, with the outcome.

There were hints in training that I was stretching too far. I was finishing the workouts and tempo runs as prescribed. But I was having to work harder than I should have to do so. I ran one test race, the Wellington 10 Miler, to see where my fitness was. And I didn’t have the day I expected there, though was able to chalk that up to humid weather and stomach challenges that began even before the race. But I arrived to CIM with some data points to suggest I was reaching.

I was okay with that. I wasn’t playing it safe here. I had a goal I wanted to try to reach, and I would take that shot. I had a feeling that I might be able to hit it on that perfect day. Perfect weather. Perfect taper. Perfect sleep the night before. Perfect nutrition. Perfect. If everything fell into place, I might be able to hit it.

So I went for it. The weather was great. The course was fast. The company at the race with me was excellent. I had slept remarkably well the night before. I shot out of the starting corral. I was just a few seconds off pace after the first 5 kilometers. Then a few seconds ahead of pace after 10 kilometers. This was by design. My goal in marathons has always been to start easy and build into pace, then hold a few seconds under the target the rest of the way. And I’d done that. But I felt like I was working too hard. It’s always been described to me that the first half of a marathon should feel effortfully easy. Well, it felt just effortful, but certainly not easy. Oddly, my heart rate data suggests it probably was effortfully easy, but it sure didn’t feel that way.

By mile 10 I started having a conversation with myself. The conversation, I was feeling good enough that I could probably back the pace off about 15 seconds per mile and still run under 2:55 which would be a nice solid personal best time. Or I could keep doing the work chasing sub 2:50 knowing it was a high risk decision at this point. It didn’t take me long to decide that I had done all the work and flown all the way out to the west coast for one reason, to see if I was capable of running under 2:50. I also knew I was in the toughest part of the course, from mile 7 to 12, with the most uphill and some of the sharpest downhills. I hoped that if I could minimize the damage and stay on pace for this stretch, perhaps I could find something extra for the second half of the race. So I went for it, kept pushing the pace, kept chasing 2:50, kept hurting too much too early, but also comfortable knowing I was doing what I came to do. 

No, that’s not right. I even felt proud of my decision. I’m normally quick to back off the pace when I struggle in a run. I’m quick to settle for a secondary goal. Heck, before today, I had mostly run my marathons safely. For my personal best race, I had trained to run 5 minutes quicker than my goal. Running to my goal on that day was pretty low risk. But today I wasn’t doing that. I was trying to find out what I was capable of. I was so pleased with myself to go for it and accept whatever misery lay ahead even as things started to crumble.

And the misery came. First, stomach misery. I was using a high calorie nutrition plan, eating a Maurten gel every 5k. It had worked in training, but perhaps contributed to problems when running at this much higher pace for so long. Just before the mile 13 marker, I had to stop at a porta-potty. I made my pitstop as quick as possible, but a good 90 or so seconds had been lost. I crossed the half marathon mark now 2 minutes behind pace. But I demanded of myself to keep pushing as the course was now gentler and I was close.

By mile 16, I had to make another pitstop and was experiencing stomach cramps. Again, a couple minutes lost, but worse were the stomach cramps that meant taking in any nutrition would become a challenge. This time I knew chasing my goal was over. (It was pretty clear before this as I was struggling to keep near the needed pace and definitely not experiencing a second half surge.)

And that was my race. From then on, it was just a matter of fighting my way to the finish with a cramping stomach and legs that didn’t feel like they wanted to create any power at all. I think the leg issue would have been manageable on it’s own, but with the stomach issue it became too much to overcome. An occasional 30 seconds of walking started finding its way into my run to let my stomach chill out. I watched 2:50 click over on my watch, but felt no frustration. Then I watched 3:00 click over, and that did cause me just a little frustration. I had kind of hoped to keep my pace under 3 hours despite the challenges. But even that frustration was minor.

Eventually I found myself running down the finishing chute and crossing the line in 3:04.35. Not what I wanted at all, but also exactly what I wanted. I would have loved to find myself crossing that line at 2:48 or 2:49. But I didn’t need that to be the case. I needed to know if I could do that. And I had learned I couldn’t.

I am not a sub 2:50 marathoner. Hard work (and I am willing to train hard) can only overcome so much lack of running talent. I found where my line was. I failed the small goal, to run sub 2:50, but I hit the big goal: to know that I haven’t left the next big benchmark on the table for my personal best before I’m too old to improve. Perhaps I’ve already reached that age.

Could I run a bit faster than my best time? Yes, without a doubt. Can I get to under 2:50? No, absolutely not. I know that know. I know I’m not willing to make the sacrifices that might be needed to get there. Not the training sacrifices. Not the dietary sacrifices. Not the sacrifice of focusing on what really jazzes me: big days out in the mountains. And that’s why today feels so much like a success. I now get to step away from marathons and focus on the High Five by 55 project and not feel like I’ve left any potential untapped.

I am satisfied. I am happy. I am fulfilled. I feel great success in this failure. I took my shot. I missed, but I took the shot. And that feels great.

Now, to make myself an exceptional mountain runner.