The end of every marathon holds an interesting dilemma: to smoothly steer your way to the finish line, enjoying the party atmosphere and reveling in the accomplishment of running a continuous 26.2 miles; or to try and squeeze out the last few miles as quickly as possible, shaving seconds off of your finish time, aiming for a personal record.
I was sort of sitting on the fence about this issue. I hadn’t imagined that I would actually be in this position, lined up to finish in under four hours. And, as any marathon runner will tell you, the phrases "mile-23" and "coherent thought" don’t belong in the same sentence. So for these last few miles, I decided just to keep going; and to not really think about pace that much. I just wanted to finish, and if I found myself near the finish line with a couple minutes to spare, I might make a break for it to clip under the 4 hour mark. Sounds simple enough…
Not really. In the last few miles, all I found were hills and a headwind. The hills came as we crossed the bridge to Odaiba, Tokyo’s manmade island, the garbage dump – turned – high-end entertainment district. And, with the bridge, came the breeze from the Sumida River and Tokyo Bay, both somehow blowing right into my face.
There is something about hills and wind, though, which makes me push myself harder. For the hills, I shortened my stride slightly, slowly making gains and focusing on the peak. "What goes up must come down," I thought to myself, "I’ll be blazing down the other side of this thing." I thought of how far I had come, how long I had trained, how it all came down to these last few miles. The wind was another issue, and I tried to simply welcome the cooling effect that it had on me. I focused on my stride and tried to not let the wind make me waste my energy by over-compensating.
The spectators on Odaiba were cheering more loudly now, and I could hear Taiko drummers playing in the distance. "Gambatte, ato mo sukoshi!" they shouted, "ato ni kilo!" I passed them at the 40km marker and made my way up the final hill to the finish. The runners here looked like they were on a death march.
I spotted another foreigner in front of me, his name printed on the back of his shirt: David. "Come on, David! Almost there!" I patted his back as I passed, "Let’s go!" This cheer was almost more for me than David himself. As I shouted these words, I felt as if the wind had left me, the incline had flattened, and my final kick had begun.
3:55:45, according to my watch at the last kilometer. With no more hills in my way, I was kicking it to the finish. I was going fast-fast-fast, faster than any other kilometer split on the course. I was passing runner after runner, I felt like they were just standing still. I was going all out, and I heard it from the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw spectators stand up and yell just for me, "Go, go, go! Fight-o!" I heard exclamations of "Ohhhhh, hayai!" and "Sugoi!" All of these shouts of encouragement pushed me even faster. I was running so quickly, I hardly noticed the 100-member Taiko group drumming away as I passed them, nearing the finish line. In the last 50 meters, I hurriedly found a niche in the sparse crowd. I then raised my fists in victory, and crossed the finish line of my first ever marathon, in 3:59:31.
I was sort of sitting on the fence about this issue. I hadn’t imagined that I would actually be in this position, lined up to finish in under four hours. And, as any marathon runner will tell you, the phrases "mile-23" and "coherent thought" don’t belong in the same sentence. So for these last few miles, I decided just to keep going; and to not really think about pace that much. I just wanted to finish, and if I found myself near the finish line with a couple minutes to spare, I might make a break for it to clip under the 4 hour mark. Sounds simple enough…
Not really. In the last few miles, all I found were hills and a headwind. The hills came as we crossed the bridge to Odaiba, Tokyo’s manmade island, the garbage dump – turned – high-end entertainment district. And, with the bridge, came the breeze from the Sumida River and Tokyo Bay, both somehow blowing right into my face.
There is something about hills and wind, though, which makes me push myself harder. For the hills, I shortened my stride slightly, slowly making gains and focusing on the peak. "What goes up must come down," I thought to myself, "I’ll be blazing down the other side of this thing." I thought of how far I had come, how long I had trained, how it all came down to these last few miles. The wind was another issue, and I tried to simply welcome the cooling effect that it had on me. I focused on my stride and tried to not let the wind make me waste my energy by over-compensating.
The spectators on Odaiba were cheering more loudly now, and I could hear Taiko drummers playing in the distance. "Gambatte, ato mo sukoshi!" they shouted, "ato ni kilo!" I passed them at the 40km marker and made my way up the final hill to the finish. The runners here looked like they were on a death march.
I spotted another foreigner in front of me, his name printed on the back of his shirt: David. "Come on, David! Almost there!" I patted his back as I passed, "Let’s go!" This cheer was almost more for me than David himself. As I shouted these words, I felt as if the wind had left me, the incline had flattened, and my final kick had begun.
3:55:45, according to my watch at the last kilometer. With no more hills in my way, I was kicking it to the finish. I was going fast-fast-fast, faster than any other kilometer split on the course. I was passing runner after runner, I felt like they were just standing still. I was going all out, and I heard it from the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw spectators stand up and yell just for me, "Go, go, go! Fight-o!" I heard exclamations of "Ohhhhh, hayai!" and "Sugoi!" All of these shouts of encouragement pushed me even faster. I was running so quickly, I hardly noticed the 100-member Taiko group drumming away as I passed them, nearing the finish line. In the last 50 meters, I hurriedly found a niche in the sparse crowd. I then raised my fists in victory, and crossed the finish line of my first ever marathon, in 3:59:31.
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