I didn't plan to run 32 miles the day of my 32nd birthday because of Dean Karnazes who apparently did the same for his 30th birthday. We just happened to have the same idea and I must admit that it's a very challenging one.
So I changed the training schedule of the last months to be able to finish 32 miles by the 30th of November. The very first idea was just to get my feet to the finish line, wish myself a happy birthday and drink a beer with some friends. But things went differently. Very differently.
First, I found a holy soul of a friend who accepted to be my pacer and support me by bike, providing me all the stuff that I might have needed while covering the distance of 51.5 km. Priya was very excited to help me. Although she's very passionate about sports and she loves running, I had the feeling that she was not aware of the type of work she would have been involved in and the responsibilities she had accepted to take.
Being a good pacer is not a job that everybody can do. Runners are usually pissed when something goes wrong with the pacer who has to stay as much as he or, as in my case, she, can. Attached to the runner, she has to search and deliver stuff in a matter of seconds and catch up as soon as possible when she falls behind while reorganising stuff in the luggage. Add to that the fact that the aforementioned backpack is usually heavy and that a live twitter stream had to be updated and the job might become a nightmare. I know how it can be. I used to be a pacer when my dad started running marathons and I was a kid on a bike usually much bigger than me, with a backpack definitely taller than me, a timer I constantly had to look at and all the duties that had to be carried out upon request.
We started at 10:30 CET from Leuven in the flemish region of Belgium, crossed the city and headed to Oud Heverlee in the countryside to have a peaceful run with no cars around. Peaceful places can hide trouble though, in the form of uphills and irregular terrain that usually make the run more exciting but not as smooth as an ideal course would be.
Since the beginning I was worried about the left foot which, coming from a stress fracture some months ago, could have given me a reasonable cause to quit the challenge. I had been worrying for nothing, or well, for the wrong foot. The right one was giving me some signs of weakness and stress from the extensors and another zone near the tarsus already at km 12. It was a very weak signal, weak enough to be completely ignored for the rest of the day.
The sight of a little blonde girl who smiled at me as she knew what I was running for convinced me of the fact that all those little aches were just a side effect of my body’s adjustment to the pace, the distance, etc. I knew I was wrong. But that helped. So I winked at her, she smiled me back and I kept running.
I was not following the pace I planned to run at and started a bit faster probably due to excitement and the low temperature. I was so sure I would have lowered the speed sooner or later. Therefore I ignored that too.
At km 15 we started going up, approaching a nice zone called Zoet Water, next to the forest of Oud Heverlee, with a natural water spring. No need to stop for a refill this time.
The run was going smooth and I was approaching the 21st km when I informed Priya that finally there would be no more climbs. I hadn’t even finished that sentence when we entered the city of Leuven again to go to de Vaartkom, the canal that goes to Mechelen. But, to get there we had to run on the ring, a quite steep and 3 km long ring. I was relatively fresh and that climbing gave me no reason to worry.
The second part of the course was all along the canal. Basically no elevation. But the milage was starting to kick in and the 34th km was the one that I felt for the first time on my legs. Numb, completely. I had a banana and two pieces of boiled and salted potatoes and kept sipping water slowly and constantly for about 10 minutes. At km 37 I felt fresh (such a beautiful oxymoron) again and kept going shrinking the distance to the full marathon. I don't remember much of that part. I passed at km 42.2 in 3h21' and felt great.
I didn't know that I was raising the wall I would hit very soon. That crash occurred just ten minutes later around the 45th km, when I suddenly felt my legs like two heavy stones, my stomach incapable of processing any food nor fluid. Any action was kind of futile. But the clock was ticking and the only thing I could do was to read the pace of 5 min sharp per km. I found it hard to go below it.
Less than 7 km and I would have been allowed to wake up from that nightmare. But 7 km is long, especially when the body is not helping to move on and when the foot I had been ignoring started yelling out its disappointment in the form of an acute pain like the one of a large needle stuck in the middle of the extensor tendons, ripping apart tissues at any collision with the ground.
Still, 5 minutes per km. Not slower. Not faster.
At km 48 things got better again. So much better that I got excited again and when I met a group of old retired people on their saturday afternoon promenade along the canal, I shouted at them "gentlemen, I'm running since 48 km". They were scared.
I was not running the last three on my legs. Rather on my mind. My fuel was a mix of adrenaline, dopamine and endorphins I was producing for free that made me forget everything around me and focus on the finish line I could see now.
I raised my arm to the sky, then stopped the timer and hugged Priya.
The 30th of November I thought myself a lesson. Achievement is an attitude. Sometimes it is good to keep such statements in mind.
I am 32 miles old.
