Chris Wristen

Humidity.  Finally!

Yes, that’s a celebration.  It’s not because having a shirt glued to your back and oxygen rendered nearly unbreathable is a good time.  For a flatlander training for an altitude race, however, humidity is a godsend.

That’s what I told myself last year while training for the Pikes Peak Ascent – a half marathon run up Pikes Peak that has 7,800 feet of vertical gain to a finish line at 14,115 feet above sea level.  I convinced myself that struggling to breathe during a disgustingly humid summer would prepare me to run in the thin air of Colorado altitude.

The result was a sub-4-hour finish — a full hour faster than I expected to run Pikes Peak.

Now I’m rooting for another humid summer.  On July 15 I will compete in another Colorado race: the Leadville Silver Rush 50-Mile Trail Run.  It will be my first 50-miler, and the entire race takes place above 10,000 feet with six climbs up to 12,000 feet.

Bring on the altitude! Bring on the humidity!

It’s 10 weeks until race day, and after three weeks of serious training we finally are starting to get thicker humidity in Kansas City.

Saturday presented the first thick humidity of the year.  Eight miles on the trails and Ogg Road in 86-degree temperatures reintroduced my lungs to the suffering they need to learn to embrace and enjoy.  Then, today’s 4-miler on the Dog Park Loop at Shawnee Mission Park was a steamy slog through sprinkles, puddles and mud.  This time, it felt good.

Also feeling good was my lower back, which locked up last Sunday before finding relief thanks to multiple adjustments by the chiropractor.  I’m guessing those visits will become a regular event during the next 2 1/2 months as my legs and joints absorb more and more pounding to prepare for Leadville.

With my back on the mend, and everything else feeling good, optimism is high.  The most rigorous weeks of training are ahead, but so is the humidity.  That’s a good thing.  I’m ready for it.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and good things will happen.

That was the mantra that my high school cross country coach, Greg Wilson, preached on a daily basis.  The result was multiple team and individual state championships, league domination and — more important — hundreds of less gifted athletes who developed a lifelong love of running far beyond their high school days.

Don’t cheat yourself.  Be the best that you can be.  Find out what you are made of.  Those were coach Wilson’s lessons.

Almost 14 years later, his message still rings true, and I’m putting it to the test again.

Three months from today — just 13 short weeks — I’ll step to the starting line of my first 50-mile race, the Leadville Silver Rush 50-Mile Trail Run.

For some perspective of what that means for my training, last weekend was just my second marathon, and in February I ran my first 50K (31 miles), so this will be 19 miles farther.

For a bit more perspective, my home in Overland Park, Kan., is 1,086 feet above sea level.  Leadville, Colo., is located at 10,200 feet and the race will climb to about 12,000 feet on four occasions.

Running 50 miles is supposed to be difficult, but even experience ultra-runner friends of mine have said it’s crazy to choose a race at significant altitude for my first 50-miler.  I have no doubt that they are correct with that assessment.

Still, that’s also where coach Wilson’s lessons come into play.  Don’t cheat yourself.  Find out what you’re made of.  Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.

It’s quite possible I won’t finish.  I could turn an ankle or get altitude sickness and have to stop.  I might get sick the day before the race (It happened when I ran my first marathon).

It’s also quite possible that if I put in the necessary preparation, I’ll finish this race.  Time isn’t important as long as I beat the 14-hour time limit, and I’d like to think that would happen with sufficient training.

Where to begin?  Here’s what I know: There’s about 8,000 feet of climbing during the race.  Last summer when I ran the Pikes Peak Ascent half marathon in Colorado — a race that began at 6,800 feet and climbed to 14,115 — I handled the more than 7,800 feet of vertical gain just fine.  Replicating the hill training from last summer makes sense.  The big adjustment will be adding more endurance training (both mileage and overall time on my feet).  My plan calls for seven straight 10-mile days early in training to bolster my mileage base, as well as two 50K training runs and a few more long runs in the 20-24-mile range.

The one component beyond my control is preparing for altitude.  I will head to Colorado a week before the race to acclimate, but what would be most beneficial would be to have a spring and early summer as brutally humid as Kansas endured in 2011.  I found out during Pikes Peak training that humidity was my best friend when it came to simulating running while struggling to breathe.

Three months.  Thirteen weeks.  It’s time to get to work.

I made a test run with my new GoPro video camera at Rockin’ K. Other than briefly skimming the instruction manual beforehand, this was the first go-round with it. I still have a lot to learn with it, and I’m excited to see what else can be done with it, but overall I’m pleased with what it recorded at Rockin’ K.

In addition to watching the video, feel free to read my race report here.

Sometimes after hearing rumors for long enough, you have to go investigate and find out for yourself.

I suppose that’s what brought me to the starting line of the Rockin’ K Trail Marathon on Saturday at Kanopolis State Park in Marquette, Kansas.

For more than a year, friends and Rockin’ K veterans have raved about this race. They boasted of the course’s difficulty and beauty, but mostly they proclaimed the genuine care of the race organizers, Stacy and Phil Sheridan, and the wonderful volunteers.

The award for finishing is a horseshoe with an engraving affixed to it, but the greatest prize was the highly touted finish-line hugs from Stacy. There’s nothing better, other runners told me.

Only one way to find out …

I was anxious for most of the drive from the hotel in Salina to the park on Saturday morning.  For one thing, it rained heavily for part of the drive.  Would it be raining for the first part of the race?  What effect would that have on the course?

The greater concern, however, was my energy.  I felt good, and that was the case for the week leading up to the race, but in the nearly two months since running the 50K at WyCo I’d constantly battled low energy.  Sometimes I could run 12 miles and feel fine.  Other times, I’d feel my body power down after only two.  I needed this to be a good day.

The rain cleared about an hour before race time, and the course conditions were perfect.  My energy levels didn’t cooperate, however.

To be fair, at least some — of not all — of the reason why was my own doing.

I started too fast, and ultimately paid the price for it.

I planned to start with some of the 50-mile runners with the assumption that they’d run a more moderate pace since they had 24 extra miles to run.  I was excited, and my legs felt good.  As a result, some of the 50-mile folks I started with happened to be among the fastest in the race.  I figured that out four or five miles in when I realized that Stu Johnson — an eventual top-five finisher — was next to me.

Uh-oh.

I tried to adjust my pace accordingly and slow down to a more reasonable pace, but it was too late. About five miles in, I felt my energy reserves drop.  Despite taking two salt caplets per hour, eating fairly well, and hydrating at a rate that I thought was sufficient, the body never recovered.

I plodded through the next eight miles, up and down bluffs, through open fields and across creeks, and trotted into the manned aid station at Gate 6 (13.24 miles) in about 2:27.  On a normal course, that pace might be fine.  At Rockin’ K, it was irresponsible.

Shortly after departing Gate 6, my stomach began acting up.  In addition, a bathroom break had to be delayed for at least a mile before the trail turned from open field into a somewhat wooded area.

The steepest bluff climbs followed soon after.  That marked the last well-shaded spot for the final 10 miles.  As fatigued and sore as my legs were from the fast start and wet shoes caused by the early water crossings, my love of photography only made matters worse.  Aid station workers know to not let runners linger long or else their muscles will tighten up.  The same is true when you stop to take too many photos on a scenic course.  The legs are slow to respond when you head on down the trail.

About 50 percent of the second half of the race was a hike.  My body simply wasn’t feeling it.  I thought I’d hydrated well during the first half of the race, but the reality was that it wasn’t enough.  My hunch is that the strong winds that kept my body feeling cool made my lowered hydration levels deceiving.  I downed a full two liters of water from my hydrapack during the final 13 miles, but that wasn’t enough on a day where I’m running through the Kansas prairie and there’s not enough cloud protection in the sky.

The only bits of relief during the final eight miles are that there are a number of downhill and flat sections, as well as two river crossings to cool the legs before making the final push to the finish line.

Oh yes, the finish line.  What a wonderful sight after 26-plus grueling miles.  Not many runners who are signed up for the 50-mile race actually venture back out for their second loop.  The belief is that the smorgasbord of food and cold beverages tempts runners to drop to the marathon distance and stick around instead of heading back out for more.  I’m guessing the difficulty of the first loop also has something to do with it.

One thing I know for certain is that my legs didn’t want any more.  My left calf repeatedly tried to cramp during the final mile.  Finally, it reached the road and made the final quarter-mile slog first downhill and then back up to the finish line, which I crossed in 5:43.

My finisher’s horseshoe was waiting for me, and so was that famous Stacy Sheridan hug.  It was worth every painful step, and honestly, if my body were sufficiently hydrated I probably would’ve cried.  Everything hurt so bad, but it felt so good to be done.

I didn’t run a very smart race, and this was the first course ever — including high school cross country races — that beat me mentally.  Still, I made it to the finish line and am mighty proud of that.

Also, I can’t wait to go back next year and do it all over again.

All has been quiet on the blog since finishing my first 50K, and there’s been good reason for that.

Work has been crazy-busy for the past few weeks, and a couple of nagging injuries from the race brought training mostly to a halt.

It’s been a good past week, however.  On Thursday, the Kansas Press Association released its Awards of Excellence winners for 2011, and in my final appearance with the newspapers my entries brought home eight awards — including five first-places.

If you are inclined to check out what placed, here are some links.

The Bonner Springs Chieftain (Non-Daily, Division I):

Best online video — First place for “Braves capture district championship”

Sports feature story — First place for “Runners rally to support BSHS senior battling cancer”

Sports story — First place for “Worth the pain: Seaton delays surgery for state”

Sports column writing — Third place for the following entries:

• “Aslin brings swagger back to Bonner Springs football”
• “New Major League Soccer stadium is backyard treasure”
• “After three years of frustration, Braves’ Smith goes out a winner”

Best online video — Third place for “Aslin era begins with a victory”

The Shawnee Dispatch (Non-Daily, Division III):

Best online video — First place for “St. James Academy topples Louisburg”

Sports photo — First place for St. James Academy soccer’s game-winning goal

Sports column writing — Third place for the following entries:

• “Applebee builds family atmosphere at Mill Valley”
• “Local stars give reason for KC kids to dream big”
• “Shawnee is a community of athletes”

More good news followed suit on Saturday, this time in the form of my training.  The right IT band that flared up for the final nine miles of the 50K is back to normal, and my left hamstring is finally working properly again.  Even better, the spring is finally returning to my steps and the heavy legs seem to be disappearing.

Claire and I took advantage of the 60-degree temperatures Saturday to run 12 miles at Shawnee Mission Park, and my legs actually felt good for almost the entire time.  It was my first double-digit mileage day in four weeks.

My hope is that the legs will continue to regain their form because another race looms in four weeks.  The Rockin’ K Trail Marathon — a race I’ve been looking forward to for more than a year — takes place April 7.

The hefty chips on my shoulder didn’t weight me down at Saturday’s Psycho Wyco Run Toto Run race series at Wyandotte County Lake Park.

Instead, they functioned like extra large, double-caffeine Roctaine gel packs to fuel my performance during my first 50K trail race.

The first chip took its place Jan. 22 when my friend Gary — well intentioned as he may have been — asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for a 50K? Those WyCo trails are tough.”

Am I ready? Heck if I know! But there’s only one way to find out!

Yeah, I’d show Gary. I’d finish. No doubt about it.

The second chip was from the man in the mirror. I ran my first marathon in November. I signed up the Monday of the race, puked my guts up with the stomach flu the day before, and then walked a good portion of the final eight miles due to severe dehydration from said stomach flu. I finished, but it wasn’t pretty. Wael Sammur paced me for the final 14 miles of the marathon, constantly urging me to run a bit while I grumbled about being sick and needing to walk.

I was a pathetic sight that day, and I expected better. This was my opportunity for redemption. Wael volunteered to pace me for the final loop of the WyCo 50K, and I wanted to make it worth his time. More than that, I wanted to finish the race the right way.

So yeah, I’d show Gary, and I’d show me. I’d finish — and finish strong.

This guy wasn't at the race, but the picture was on the dashboard of my car.

RACE DAY

After weeks of being teased by toasty temps, Saturday brought the coldest weather of the winter. Single digits and a wind chill of minus-1 for the 8 a.m. start of the 50K and 20-mile races were fitting for what’s supposed to be a frozen 50K.

Upon arrival, I snagged one of the final parking spots in the lot closest to the start/finish area. Claire — bracing for her first trail race, and the 20-miler at that! — jogged over from a farther lot to join me. Just like about 90 percent of the other runners, we waited in the car with the heater cranking until about five minutes before race time to save every last bit of warmth.

Then, just in time for the start, we hopped out, ditched our drop bags at the main aid station and headed to the starting line. Moments later, Bad Ben sent us on our way. Through an open field, over a bridge, across a grassy patch, up a hill and then a left turn onto the bridle trail.

A week earlier, Claire and I did a full loop of the course as a final training run and it was a soupy slip-n-slide of standing water, shoe-sucking mud pools and treacherous footing. Now, all of that was frozen solid, making for a mixture of ankle-breaking holes and fast stretches.

We stuck together for a majority of the first two loops and maintained a steady, comfortable pace.

The first loop was largely uneventful with the exception of my hydration pack freezing up for the first 1:25. Claire’s stayed frozen into the start of loop two before thawing.

We set out at a relaxed pace, keeping in mind that it would be a long day on the course. After a mile and a half we flew down a steep downhill and out of the wind. It was noticeably warmer, and outer layers were ditched a few minutes later. The WyCo Triangle was a breeze with good footing on the switchbacks and short hills.

Beginning with the Triangle, and on through mile seven the footing was mostly good and allowed for a brisk pace. The speedy descent of Falldown Hill and the first half-mile of single track after the dam aid station flew by and allowed us to make good time before power-hiking the steep, rocky hills during the final miles of the loop.

We finished loop one in a brisk 1:55. For some perspective, my finishing time in last year’s 10-mile race was 1:53, so I was a little concerned about going too fast despite feeling good.

After a five-minute stop aid the aid station to down some snacks and fluid, it was back to the trail for loop two.

The second loop was nearly identical to the first, only a tiny bit slower. Me made good time to the Triangle, flew through it and then quickly proceeded to Falldown Hill and on to the dam aid station. For Claire, she was 75 percent of the way done. For me, it was halfway home.

Despite the frigid temperatures, the sun began to thaw out the dirt during the final five miles of loop two. Footing grew slick. A few wipeouts were avoided thanks to strategically placed trees.

Claire battled blisters on her toes during the final miles and ordered me to go ahead. It didn’t make much difference time-wise. I cruised back into the main aid station and she arrived three minutes later — smile on her face and first trail race done — in 4:09.

I was pumped. Two loops down, one to go, and I felt great.

I grabbed a peanut butter sandwich from my drop bag, downed some Pedialyte and headed out for the final loop. Wael caught up a few minutes later, and once I finished my sandwich we picked up the pace — for a little bit. Around mile 22, a tingling sensation began vibrating on the outside of my right knee. First it was annoying, but it quickly started to hurt.

Damn it. My IT band was pissed, and there were nine more miles to go.

I went into power-hike mode for a few minutes, and the pain subsided. We reached a downhill stretch, and Wael urged me back to a run. After about a minute of cruising, the dull pain returned.

Even with this angry knee, my goal of breaking seven hours was still in reach thanks to a strong first two loops, but Wael upped the ante. “I think you can break 6:30,” he said. I was thinking more like 6:45, but I trusted his calculations.

“We’ve got 6:30, no doubt,” I replied.

So we went for it.

Thanks in large part to five months of training for a Kilimanjaro climb in 2010, I’ve learned to power hike almost as fast as I can run. As a result, Wael and I decided on a plan. Run until the knee hurts, then shift into hike mode for a few minutes. We stuck with it, going back and forth — run, hike, run, hike, run, hike — and made great time. We cruised down Falldown Hill, then hiked up to the dam aid station. Back on the single track, we flew on the downhill sections and then charged back up with brisk hiking.

There was no stopping at the final aid station. Wael ran ahead and grabbed me a drink so I wouldn’t have to pause. We needed a 12-minute pace on the final two miles to break 6:30, and the hardest climbs were ahead of us. It was time to finish this thing right. We dug in and marched up the hills, taking full advantage of my hiking strength, and then tore down the other side with reckless abandon, slipping on thawed mud and stumbling over rocks. Finally, we crossed the road, and then raced the final 200 yards to the finish line at a near sprint.

6:22:43!

Claire greeted me with a hug, and “Bad Ben” Holmes offered a warm smile and congratulations before handing me my finisher’s medal and a 50K sticker.

I was finished, and I was satisfied.

Gary was wrong. I was ready for the 50K. And thanks to Wael pushing me on the final loop, I finished the way I wanted to.

The chips are now off of my shoulder, and the 50K sticker is on my car.

TIME BREAKDOWN:

First loop: 1:55

Aid station: 5 minutes

Second loop: 2:06

Aid station: 3 minutes

Third loop: 2:13

Changing jobs didn’t concern me. It was the lifestyle adjustment that worried me most when I decided to transition from sports writer to a 9-5 worker.

For 11 years, I found comfort in the chaos of the late hours, long mileage on the road and constant deadlines while reporting for newspapers. The only consistency to it was that the schedule was inconsistent. When friends were getting off of work, I was heading to work. Waking up at 10 a.m. and going to bed at 3 a.m. were typical occurrences.

There was a lot that I gave up by working that schedule — time with friends, time with family, time to date, time to run and time to travel at whatever time of year I wanted to rather than when schools went on break for the summer.

Still, the constant craziness brought a certain level of comfort that I’d adapted to. Leaving that behind for normalcy made me nervous as I prepared for my first day of work Monday.

Now that one week is under my belt, I couldn’t be happier.

Numerous changes at my former employer in the short time since I left validated my decision to depart. More than that, so much good happened in my first week at the new job that I couldn’t be more excited for what the future holds.

Sure, I got up before 6:30 a.m. every morning and got to work between 7:30 and 7:45, but that wasn’t a big deal since I went to bed earlier. My new co-workers all are hard workers who have high expectations and expect success, but they also are an incredibly friendly bunch who are patient and eager to help show the new guy the ropes. I got to contribute right away, even if only in a small way. Then, on Friday our department staff went out to dinner, and during those couple hours my belief that I’ll enjoy working with them was reinforced.

Beyond work, I had more time to exercise, went on a date, got to spend time with my family, hung out with friends and ran a 5K with my sister.

Oh yeah, and I also signed up for my first ultramarathon — a 50K trail race coming up in three weeks.

VH-1 might want to consider my story for its “Best Week Ever” program, but I’ll just chalk it up as a great beginning to a bright future.

Week two starts tomorrow.

Today was my final day working in newspapers, and the following is my final column that will appear in Wednesday’s issue of The Shawnee Dispatch and Thursday’s Bonner Springs Chieftain and Basehor Sentinel newspapers. It’s my final installment from a job that I’ve spent the past four years doing, and a career field that I’ve been working in professionally since early 2000 when Kurt Caywood hired me at the Topeka Capital-Journal as a sophomore in college.

I’m thankful that Kurt took a chance on me back then, and quickly promoted me from desk clerk to sports reporter within a few short months. From there, I went on to help the Capital-Journal cover Kansas University athletics alongside another great mentor of mine, Ric Anderson, before eventually moving to the Lawrence Journal-World and then to the World Company’s community publications. I’ve been fortunate to spend the final 8 1/2 years working for a very good and trusted friend — as well as my editor — John Taylor. We helped launch the Lansing Current together in November 2004, and later transitioned to the Shawnee, Bonner Springs and Basehor newspapers.

Anyway, enough rambling. Here’s the column.

Wristen: Kindness will never be forgotten

Chances are as you’re reading this I’m running down a trail in the Rocky Mountains, kicking up dirt behind me while sucking down the thin air.

Or maybe I’m tramping through some fresh powder while trying out my new set of snowshoes.

The truth is as I write this I don’t know exactly where this little trip will take me.

Sunday was my final day as Sports Editor at the Shawnee Dispatch, Bonner Springs Chieftain and Basehor Sentinel newspapers. When I finished my work, I left my equipment on the desk, locked the door behind me and headed for the mountains.

Colorado is not a permanent destination, just a quick adventure before returning to Kansas City and moving on to a career outside of newspapers after spending more than a decade as a sports writer.

While I’m leaving the press box behind, there are numerous lessons I’ll take with me that I’ve learned from the kids and coaches whose teams I’ve had an opportunity to cover.

The greatest of those lessons is this: Be kind to others.

Of all the state championships I’ve covered, heartbreaking losses and underdog victories, three stories will stick with me forever. Two have been told in the pages of our newspapers before, and one will be shared here for the first time.

The first took place at the 2009 track and field state championships and eventually received national attention. Reporter’s intuition allowed me to see it unfold, but the credit goes to the four girls involved who quietly followed their hearts and did what they believed was right.

The girls — Maranatha Academy’s Ali Bailey, Bethany Zarda, Mallory Keith and Christa Courtney — won the Class 2A state championship in the 3,200-meter relay. They crossed the finish line second and broke their school record — their goals for the day — but first-place Pittsburg-St. Mary’s Colgan was disqualified after the race.

A Colgan runner collapsed in the scorching mid-day heat, causing her team to fall from first to third, and the anchor runner’s toe crossed the exchange zone barrier while reaching back to grab the baton before ultimately reclaiming the lead. The Maranatha girls learned of the disqualification moments before being ushered to the podium where they were presented with state championship medals. After snapping a few photos, they huddled together, discussed the situation and then disappeared into the crowd in search of the Colgan runners.

The history books will list Maranatha as the 2009 state champion in the event, but the Colgan runners have the medals. Bailey, Zarda, Keith and Courtney chose to give the gold medals to an opponent they deemed to be more deserving. No adult proposed the idea to them, and there’s no “code” in the sport that calls for athletes to give up their medals. It was simply what the girls’ hearts told them to do.

“It’s not really about the medals,” Zarda told me that day. “It’s about how you compete and your mindset and how much you give. If you give it your all, that’s all you can ask for.”

The second story took place in September of 2011. It was early in the cross country season, but the Bonner Springs program was trying to overcome a major loss. Scintila Capalla, the girls program’s top returning runner, had been diagnosed with osteosarcoma — a form of bone cancer — during the summer. Her senior season was over before it started.

A quiet but friendly competitor, Capalla had earned the respect of her opponents during her first three years of high school. Now, a rival program at Basehor-Linwood hoped to return the favor.

BLHS coach Jeff Venema and his team organized a T-shirt tribute for Capalla to take place at Bonner Springs’ home meet. The BSHS coaches invited Capalla to shoot the starting gun for the varsity girls’ race, and when she arrived at the meet she was greeted by 480 people — teammates, opponents, parents and faculty members — sporting white T-shirts that bore an orange heart with the words “We love you Scintila.”

“Distance runners protect their own,” Venema explained on a day where it was clear to everyone that the most important race to be won wasn’t taking place on the cross country course.

The final story hits much closer to home for me, and I still tear up every time I think about it.

My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer during the spring of 2010. Complications delayed her treatment until late in the summer, and the fight was heating up by the time fall sports practices began. At some point, it came up in conversation while chatting with St. James Academy volleyball coach Nancy Dorsey.

I forgot all about that conversation until about a month later when I received an email from former St. James standout Kelly Kolich, now playing at the College of Charleston.

“I heard about your mother and I just wanted to send a quick email letting you know I will be praying for her everyday,” she wrote.

I was stunned. How did she know?

A few weeks later, an email arrived from current St. James player Sheridan Zarda expressing similar sentiments.

In late November, the day after chemotherapy took mom’s hair, St. James won its third straight state championship. During post-match interviews, seniors Hanna Forst and Molly O’Brien both brought up my mom’s cancer battle and said they would continue to pray for her. The whole team would, O’Brien said.

It turns out, the St. James volleyball program has a prayer list. Dorsey had placed my mom on the list, and her team of fighters — the Thunder have a 174-7 record, four state championships and a national title in the past four years — put their winning know-how to work in support of her.

The St. James players have never met my mom, but I passed their well-wishes along to her throughout her battle. Just like the Thunder do almost every time they step on the court, mom won her fight in early 2011, and she’s doing great today. Her cancer is gone, but the kindness of the people in that volleyball program is something that will stay with my family forever.

The common theme among those three stories is the kindness in the hearts of our local high school athletes. These are the type of people I’ve spent more than a decade talking to and reporting about. These are some of the people that made my job as a sports reporter so enjoyable.

I won’t miss the long hours, late nights and constant stress of the job, but I will miss the people. To all of the athletes and coaches who have tolerated my interviews and trusted me to tell your stories honestly and accurately through the years, thank you for making this job so fun.

It’s been a great ride, but now it’s time for a new adventure.

Happy trails.

When I signed up on Monday to run the Pilgrim Pacer Marathon, my only goal was to finish. Thank goodness I didn’t set the bar any higher than that, because I would have been supremely disappointed.

I hadn’t done any marathon-specific training, only doing my regular weekly runs on the Shawnee Mission Park trails with the group, no more than eight or nine miles at a time at most during the past two months. Still, I wanted to run my first marathon before the end of the year, and this was my last good option. Plus, considering I ran the Pikes Peak Ascent in August and then paced Nick Lang for a quarter of the Bear 100 early this fall, my mileage base was sufficient to get me through. I figured a 4:20 or 4:30 finishing time was realistic.

What I didn’t count on was a bout with the stomach flu the day before the race. I woke up for work Friday morning not feeling good. Then I spent a total of 10 minutes at work, half of it throwing up, before heading back home. Most of the remainder of the day was spent napping on the couch and trying to down Rice Krispies and Sprite — the only food and drink that didn’t aggravate my stomach.

I woke up from a nap at 10:30 p.m., and my stomach finally felt calm enough to eat a full bowl of cereal and down some water with Nuun electrolyte solution mixed in. I downed a liter, but it didn’t seem to make much difference for my fatigued and dehydrated body.

Wael pacing me about 18 miles into the Pilgrim Pacer Marathon.

As I headed back to bed, I was concerned about my poor hydration. I’ve had problems with hydration before, and I was worried this could become serious if I wasn’t attentive to it. Still, I planned to run and planned to finish.

I awoke at 6:15 a.m. feeling much healthier. I body felt sluggish and I could tell I was still dehydrated, but other than that my condition was improved. I’d had more than enough sleep, and my stomach was calm. I showed, got dressed, downed another bowl of Rice Krispies and drank a liter of water with Nuun. Then it was time to head to Shawnee Mission Park.

Upon arrival, I ran into Pat O’Bryan. He ran the ING New York City Marathon the week before, and he was running the half marathon today. After hearing a bit about his race, it was almost time to start. I met up with Danny Miller, Brian Brooks and Travis Kierre. The four of us started together, but their warm-up pace was my race pace so they pulled away after seven minutes.

I felt surprisingly good early, though. I never felt like I was pushing the pace and going too fast, but I coasted into the turnaround point of the first loop in 1:03.38.  I was constantly sipping on my hydrapack, and I walked through every aid station while taking water or Gatorade. I maintained a steady, relaxed pace while heading back toward the starting line to finish the first loop. My energy levels sagged after 10 miles, but I kept going. After 12 miles, I crossed paths with Danny and Brian. Wael Sammur was with them. He was going to pace Danny for the second loop, but hopped in with me instead and took me to the start/turnaround point.

I rolled through the turnaround point in 2:07. It was an even pace for the first half of the race, and I felt pretty good.

Grimacing as I near the finish line. I run trails instead of pavement for a reason!

That was about to change.

Wael and I coasted for the first few miles of the second loop, but once I reached 16 miles the last of my energy reserves crashed out. My knees didn’t hurt — the pounding on the pavement made my knees go numb after nine miles — but everything else did. In particular, my hips and my back. So did the bottom of my right foot, which was bearing the brunt from my toe spacer (I had a bone spur taken out of my big toe joint in 2002 and have had to wear a spacer since to make the joint work fluidly without doing more damage. In fact, when I had the surgery I was told I’d probably never be able to do a marathon).

After 18 miles, I pulled the spacer out of my shoe to alleviate the pain on the bottom of my foot, knowing I’d feel it in the inflamed joint later. After 20 miles, my stomach began churning thanks in part to a banana I ate at an aid station.

The final 6.2 miles were a mixture of jogging and power-hiking as leg cramps tried to set in. Dehydration caught up with me. I barely sweat the entire race, and I was feeling it now. Wael tried to push me to run more, but my body wasn’t having it. We’d jog in spurts for a quarter of a mile to a half-mile, and then I’d have to power-hike again. I was actually faster power-hiking than running thanks to my experience on Pikes Peak and at Bear 100.

With 3 1/2 miles to go, Wael and I ran into Shelley Flones. She, her 8-year-old daughter Annika — who ran her first 5K in 29:08 earlier in the day! — and Erin Martinez had been there cheering on the way out. Erin and Annika had headed to the finish, but Shelley was waiting to run with us the rest of the way. It was a nice pick-me-up to have another friendly face to run with and help drag me along. Shelley’s been battling breast cancer, and during her chemo treatments she has crewed for two 100-mile trail races and paced at a few of them. What better inspiration to keep going when your body’s aching than to have her wanting to run alongside you?

Danny Miller, Wael Sammur and Shelley Flones all ran with me and helped me finish my first marathon.

Finally, with two miles to go, Danny joined us. He’d finished a while earlier and jogged back to meet me and help me finish. He joked that he was running the Inaugural Chris Wristen 50K since the extra distance put him up to 30 miles for the day. I spent a bulk of the final two miles power-hiking uphill toward the finish. It hurt less to power-hike than to run, and I was moving faster.

Finally, we reached the road to the finish line. It was a long, gradual uphill climb. Wael and Danny encouraged me to pick up the pace and finish strong. My body simply didn’t have it until the final 200 meters or so when I sped up to a steady trot all the way through the finish line.

With that, it was done. I finished 25^th overall in 4:55.07.

I keeled over with my hands on my knees as Bad Ben Holmes draped a massive marathon finisher medal around my neck. The thing is about five inches tall and almost the width of a dollar bill. That’s some serious bling!

The moral of the story: Marathons are hard, or at least this one was. Nothing went as I expected, except for the fact that I finished. That was my goal, and I’m happy with it.

It was bound to happen sometime.

It should have happened five years ago, but a series of injuries derailed my plans.

It should have happened during the past two months, but too many work conflicts got in the way.

So what the heck, why not this Saturday?

Done.

On Saturday morning I will run my first marathon. I signed up this afternoon for the Pilgrim Pacer Marathon at Shawnee Mission Park. I’m not sufficiently trained for it. I haven’t been following some sort of marathon prep plan. Five days ago I hadn’t even thought about signing up. Once the last high school football team in my coverage area lost Saturday night, however, my schedule opened up enough to finally fit in a race. Pilgrim Pacer is one of the last marathons of the year in the Kansas City area — or anywhere within driving distance, for that matter — and it’s organized by Bad Ben Holmes and the Kansas City Trail Nerds, so I know everything beyond my personal performance will be executed flawlessly.

I also have numerous friends from the trail running community who will be running or volunteering at the race, and I know they will help me along if necessary, or at least tell me I look great when I actually look and feel like crap.

Although undertrained, my mileage base should be fine. I’ve been running a few days a week throughout the fall, and I busted my butt all summer to run the Pikes Peak Ascent and then logged my unofficial first marathon while pacing Nick Lang at the Bear 100 in September.

I’m in good enough shape to get through this thing, but it’s going to hurt — A LOT.

That’s OK, though. I have bigger goals coming in 2012. I need to get this first marathon done so I’ll have a better idea of the direction my training needs to take in the new year.

Plus, I’m simply tired of waiting. I wanted to run my first marathon when I was 26 for the symbolic 26.2 miles in my 26th year. Injuries kept that from happening. Five years is enough time to wait. This marathon is going to happen on Saturday. It’s about friggin’ time.