Bayshore
Michigan was a journey home of sorts.
After years of telling my college sweetheart I’d come visit her, I finally realized there was a marathon in her backyard (literally, the start line is across the street from her husband’s parents’ house). And a race did what decades of love had not. It got me to buy a plane ticket.
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I never know what it will be like when I haven’t seen someone in a decade, I’m awkward enough on a good day, but seeing Mi again was like walking back into a room with a fireplace that smells like comfort. Easy, warm, forgiving. Spending time with her was a balm for my sometimes heavy heart.
And I realized this was one more time that chasing marathons had brought me what I actually needed, a reunion with an old friend.
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I got there a day early, spent time catching up and enjoying the peacefulness of the midwest, and then before I knew it, race day.
I was awake before I should have been the morning of. I usually am. A habit I need to work on.
My morning meal was all laid out, Cyrus pre-stirred my almond butter the night before. My banana was on the counter, coffee cup diligently waiting under the drip. I consumed the things I’d planned to in silence and anticipation.
The drive over was dark. Quiet. The roads my own. Breathe, focus, go back over my plan. Start out slow. Stay with the pace group. Wait until mile 20. If you have something left push. Hydrate. Fuel. Take your salt tabs.
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As every marathoner does, I had a brief moment where I thought ‘yeah, you could PR, just don’t start out too slow and give yourself time to surge at the end!’ Later, in the starting corrals, I knew that was silly. I considered joining the 5:30 group, then considered the 4:30 group, and eventually settle at 5 hours. I met the pacers and chatted with a few folks, there were a lot of first timers in the crew.
And then we were moving and the start line was behind us. The views are supposedly beautiful for this marathon, but I wouldn’t know. The day never quite cleared up enough to show us what we were missing. Instead it was a languid overcast day, not cold, not hot, perfect running weather, if you’re not looking for a water view or anything.
My body never seemed to warm up to the idea of running Bayshore. Stiff and a bit tired, I got to the halfway point feeling as though I’d skipped all the benefits of a warm up and went straight to the aches of the second half. Which was odd, I started out around an 11 minute pace and I’d given myself a 2 mile jog before we even headed out.
Yet, here I was, at 13.1 miles with grouchy muscles. Better than achy ones, but still. I was resentful.
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Our pacers were an interesting pair. A police officer and a limmericist. We practiced call and response poetry as we jogged. It was fun, lighthearted, I heard about how to apply to be a pacer, and what it was like to spend decades meeting the same folks at different races. It made me nostalgic for a life I had never lived.
I suppose there’s still time to follow the roads from one race to another without going home. The future is both bright and tetherless. If I want it to be.
At mile 17 I felt good. Too good, in fact. I decided that’s the time I was going to push. Newbie. I had so much left in me I was certain I could pick it up to a 10:30 and then narrow it down from there. 9 miles left. If I took 10 seconds off each mile that would leave me at a 9 minute pace down the home stretch. Absolutely within reason.
Except that it wasn’t. I got to mile 20 and saw a sign that said ‘Welcome to the pain cave,’ and I was certainly there. I’d hit some solid splits for the last three miles but at mile 20 I started feeling it. Achey everywhere, but especially my right hamstring and calf. My right toes were burny. Everything was telling me to stop. I slowed up, interchanged walking and running, and eventually started looking back to see if my pace group had caught me.
Around mile 24.5 they did, and they finished carrying me until I was within sprint distance. The last 400 meters or so were on the school track, bouncy and forgiving. I started sprinting about 800 meters out, and the crowd in the bleachers gave me the final push.
After the finish line We followed the track around a bend and then behind a row of junipers to spit us out behind the bleachers. As we walked along I saw a girl in tears, seated alone on a bench.
I stopped momentarily to hug her. We exchanged no words, I just stood next to her, put my hand on her hat, and pulled her head into my midsection. She put her arms around me and weeped. The interaction was only a few seconds long, and then I was swept away with the rest of the crowd into the food tent.
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I went home and chatted with Mi for a bit, then jumped in the shower and headed to bed. I slept soundly for a few hours, a rarity for me. I typically can’t sleep after marathons, my muscles once charged for endurance do not rest easy on soft things. They want to keep going.
But there in Mi’s guest room my body eased. I woke up a bit later, in time to help with dinner. Mi, ever the gracious host, had prepared a meal with my needs in mind. Steak, potatoes, all the fixings, we ate seated around the fire pit and talked about adventure. I felt young. I felt worthy of new things waiting ahead.
