I am one of those people who believe most things happen for a reason, and I also believe that if things go wrong we typically have the opportunity to learn from those mistakes. In my years of logging 20,000+ miles in training runs and races of distances from 1 mile to the marathon, having done so in all sorts of extreme weather conditions, and with more aches and pains than I can count, I can tell you for certain that smart runners pay attention when something unusual happens, whether it be good or bad, and do their best to learn from it. I personally believe that once you have gained experience at a particular distance, it is as important to know how to run that far as it is to be able to run that far. In other words, you know how to read your body and adapt to the situation. Case in point for me...

In February of 2001, I had successfully qualified for my second Boston Marathon with a PR (Personal Record) of 3:19:18 (7:36 pace per mile) at the Austin Marathon in the 40-44 age group. I was running more miles per week on average than I had ever run in my life (consistently 50-60) and at 41 years old, I was in the best physical condition of my life. I was doing 2-3 runs of 20 miles or more each month and maintaining a good pace (for me, that is) each time. In my first Boston Marathon the previous year, I had run 3:29:33 (roughly a 7:59 pace per mile), and I knew for certain that I was capable in 2001 of beating that.

The weather on the day of the 2001 Boston Marathon was glorious. The sun was out and the skies were crystal clear with little or no humidity and the temperature was around 45-50 degrees, pretty much perfect conditions. I felt strong and fresh as I awaited the start at the Athlete's Village in Hopkinton, Massachusetts. The race began at noon, and when I made it to the starting line I could tell I was going to have a great day. After a bit of a slow start due to navigating the large crowd of runners at the beginning of the race, I began to whittle down my time until I was around a 7:45 pace per mile, which would have given me about a 3:23 marathon, about 6 minutes or so better than the year before. I was on cruise control, feeling very strong and confident, and even ran up the infamous Heartbreak Hill at mile 20.5 feeling no unusual pain or fatigue other than what one typically experiences at that point in the race.

Around mile 22 or so, I noticed that I had a bit of an unusual feeling in my quadriceps, very hard to explain, but I could tell that they felt like they were starting to tighten up. I shortened my stride up a little and the pain subsided, and I pressed on at my pace. When I felt as though I had run through this period of discomfort, I stretched my stride out again and was well on my way to what appeared to be an easy 3:23 finish. Stretching out my stride again proved to be a serious mistake. As you enter downtown Boston, there is literally a yellow line in the road with words just above it that say "1 Mile To Go". I remember looking up and seeing those words when I was about 50 yards from them, looking at my watch and seeing my time at around 3:14 or so, and knowing that all I had to do was run a 9:00 mile in the last mile and I would run a 3:23, and even a 15 minute mile (which was totally unthinkable at the time) would give me a 3:28 and break my time from the previous year. All of these scenarios played through my head and it was an incredible feeling of accomplishment for someone like me considering the difficulty of the Boston Marathon course.

Unfortunately, all of this came crashing down the very second I stepped foot on the "1 Mile To Go" marker. Out of nowhere, both of my quadriceps completely locked up and I had severe muscles spasms throughout my legs. The pain I felt was the most excruciating I had ever experienced in my life, and I let out a scream that probably sounded as if death was about to overtake me. I stood there in the middle of the street, completely incapable of moving, feeling as if knives were being stuck and twisted in my thighs. After a couple of minutes, I was finally able to bend over and massage my legs enough to where I could gradually walk, and then return to a slow jog. I looked at my watch and realized that 3:23 was now impossible, but 3:28 was still within reach. I shuffled along cautiously, and just before turning onto Boylston Street which is the final 600 yard stretch to the finish line, I could tell my legs were about to cramp again, and they did. I stood there bent over, thankful for the fact that I was not yet on Boylston where the crowd was at least 50,000 or more cheering wildly for the finishers. I did not want to cramp on that stretch, so I massaged my legs thoroughly for a few minutes until I was sure they were good to go, and I made the turn onto Boylston and the crowd carried me through to the finish line with no more stops. I looked down at my watch to see my finishing time... 3:33:34... it had taken me nearly 20 minutes to complete the last mile, and I ended up nearly 4 minutes slower than the previous year... all within the stretch of one final mile. Yes, I was disappointed at what happened, but I still had the sense of pride and accomplishment for having run the Boston Marathon again and receiving my finisher's medal.

For a long time I thought about what happened to me and what I could have done differently. As I said before, the tactical error I made was stretching out my stride after I had shortened it instead of simply maintaining my shorter shuffling stride. A part of me hoped nothing like that ever happened again, yet another part of me wanted so badly to be faced with that situation again so I could prove to myself that I knew what to do. It would be 2 1/2 years later, but I got my chance.

I ran the Columbus Marathon in Ohio on October 19, 2003 under a rather unique scenario. Due to the date of my birthday and the Boston qualifying standards by age group, if I were to run a sub-3:20, I would qualify for Boston in 2004 in the 40-44 age group and in 2005 for the 45-49 year old age group. If I did not run a sub-3:20, but were to run a sub-3:30 instead, I still would qualify for Boston in 2005 in the 45-49 age group. Therefore, I set 2 goals for myself - First, if things were going great, go for the sub-3:20. Second, if I could tell I did not have it that day, be smart and slow down and make the sub-3:30 time. In other words, let go of my ego. At mile 17 that day, I was on pace to run under 3:20, but I could tell that if I pushed it the rest of the way, I was going to crater, so I made the smart judgment call to slow down and not completely blow the opportunity to run under 3:30. Around mile 22 is when I felt the first same feelings in my quadriceps that I had experienced more than 2 years prior in Boston. This time I knew what to do, I shortened my stride, and I said out loud to my cramping legs, "Not today! Not today!" As mile 23, 24, and 25 approached, the cramping feeling got worse, and each time it did, I shortened my stride a few inches more and kept repeating aloud, "Not today! Not today!" I could tell that if I tried to stretch my stride out at all that I would end up with the same experience I had in Boston, and I was not about to let that happen. During the last 200 yards or so to the finish line, each step seemed like I was walking through a mine field as the pain exploded in my quadriceps each time I moved my legs forward, not knowing if my legs would lock up again, and I knew if it happened that I would be frozen in one spot and unable to make my qualifying time even though the finish line was so incredibly close. In those last 200 yards, there was a slight climb, then a very steep downhill to the finish. I could feel my quadriceps screaming at me wanting to cramp, but my mantra of "Not today! Not today!" just got louder and louder, and I forced myself to make my stride shorter and shorter. I crossed the finish line in 3:28:52, a little more than a minute under the qualifying time I needed for Boston for 2005, and very proud of myself for learning from my Boston experience and using that to succeed in Columbus.

Remember in running and in life, never be discouraged from a setback or failure. If you use those experiences to build on, you will be successful in your endeavors. The next time you are in a race and you encounter someone saying "Not today! Not today!", be sure to say hello to me.