Portland Marathon, Oct 6, 2009

I am not a runner.


I am a climber. That's what I do. Since 2002, Gloria and I have climbed a myriad of peaks from Canada to California. We've slept in the crater of Mt Kilimanjaro. I read guide books before bed every night. My golfing buddies are a distant memory (as is my single digit handicap). When I read trip reports, my brow sweats with anticipation. Recently, I met Jess for coffee. We discussed which three week period of time we planned to block out for Rainier 2010 (did you get that, Rick Barry?). Kautz Glacier? Fuhrer Finger? Ingraham Direct? Hey, we only have nine months to figure it out.

I am not a runner.

Kilimanjaro Summit 2007

Back in 2004, Gloria and I were part of a delightful Mt Olympus team led by Herb Fecker and Bill Saur. On the last day, we decided to hike all the way out. Eighteen miles with a 50lb pack. It took us eight hours. That got me thinking. If we can haul all that weight over 18 miles, surely we can run a marathon (26.2 miles) in running shorts and a t-shirt! We're climbers! Running is a piece of cake! There's only one problem.

I am not a runner.

Mt Olympus 2004 - Jerry, Herb, Glo, & Matt

Ok, so I run some. I run as part of my training program so I can climb. Short distances. It's a means to an end. Run hard, run fast. Get it done. Make it hurt. No pain, no gain. January 2005. We start training for The Portland Marathon. I mean, we have to run to get in shape anyway, so it's perfect. "C'mon Glo!", I belched, "we gotta pick up the pace!" Two weeks later, Glo was down with shin splints. Our marathon training regime was dust. Climbing on hold. Not surprising.

I am not a runner.

Fast forward to Thanksgiving, 2008. Gloria wants to take up running. She likes climbing, but she feels like she's accomplished more than she ever hoped to accomplish, and now she wants to try something else. She joins the women's running group at Gallagher Fitness Resource in Salem. What do I care? I can still hang out with my girl while she piddles around with her new hobby. I have to do a little running anyway. I run to climb. Running is cake. It's not going to kill me. Just as long as we're clear.

I am not a runner.

January 2009 - Cascade 10K

All her talk of running a marathon gets me going. Ok, I'll do it. I'll give it a try for Glo. Of course, now I have to do it her way. Interval training, 5K's, 10K's, run slow to build endurance. What a bunch of hooey. But for Glo, I'll do it. I'm still going to climb. I only run to climb. Up at 4:30am for another training run. "What are we doing today? 4 & 1's? 6 & 1's?" I asked. (Why do I know what that means?) "What's our target heart rate today, Glo? If we run short-long-short, I think we can keep it in the high 140's."  Ok, so this new Polar running watch is kinda cool. I like new gear. The watch even gives me data on my split times, and I can download it into a report that...... wait a minute!

I am not a runner.

4:30am. Here we go again. Today is "hill day". Eight miles. I hate hill day. But I have to do the hills to prepare for miles 15-17, the spot in the marathon leading up to the St John's Bridge. The place where most runners bonk. Gotta prepare. Gotta stick to the plan. Next weekend we run twelve. My week is set. Cross training, rest, short, medium, rest. Then twelve on Saturday. "Naw, I can't go to Smith Rock this weekend", I lied. "I have to.... uh.... I have too much work around the house." Right. Gotta get in twelve. Stay the course.  The following weekend we run another 10K. I must admit, the shirts are pretty cool. Light weight. Technical. Maybe I'll use it as base layer on Hood. Hmm. I haven't climbed in awhile.

I am not a runner.

After eight miles at Minto-Brown Park

A month to go. Fighting nagging injuries. Calling in favors from generous friends, just to keep my body together. You know who you are. THANK YOU. Running 22 this weekend. My toes are numb. My achilles is screaming. Cortisone is awesome. Vitamin "I" is a runner's staple. We've run 5K's in Eugene. 10K's in Turner. We ran in the Cascade Lakes Relay in July. Up at 4:30am on countless mornings. I know every bark chip around Bush Park. Intervals. Heel cups. Nipple tape(!) Body Glide. More Vitamin "I". I've lost 15 lbs. Almost time to taper off. Stick to the plan. Sigh. This is tougher than I thought.

I am not a runner.

Finally, we're ready to begin.  Us and 8,500 others.

Today is the day. The countdown has begun. We're off! No stopping now. The heck with intervals. Slow and steady. Mile eight, and we're not even breathing hard. The half way point. 2:29.58. Keep moving. Mile 15. Here comes the St John's hill. Glo looks strong. I'd love to walk. Everybody else is walking! Dang, Glo looks strong. Gotta keep running. Passing walkers one at a time. Mile 22.5. A new personal best! My feet are killing me. Every step is closer to the end. Every step is a personal best. Keep running. My knees are toast. My wind is good. Body bad. Keep running.

Crossing The St. John's Bridge

Mile 24! Mile 25! Keep running. Holy crap my feet are trashed. The final turn. Hundreds of people line the route. They're cheering! This feels good! Keep running! There it is -- the finish line! "Give me your hand Glo! We're going to make it!". Together we cross the finish line of The 2009 Portland Marathon!

Yeah!

Wrapped in a space blanket, my body is numb. They hand me a rose. A kiss from Glo, my mind reboots. It's over. No more diets. All the work is done. Ten months. All those early mornings. All that training. All those miles. Done! Finally, it's time for reflection. I learned something about myself this summer.

I am not a runner.

And I have the marathon medal to prove it.

Clydesdale & Bonnydale

Reaping the spoils of my labor