I just ran the Stockholm freaking Marathon, complete with a field of over 20,000 runners stacked with pros, live television coverage, helicopters, streets lined with spectators, and this guy. I did. Loren B. Lewis of San Jose, California ran the 2013 Stockholm Marathon. And finished. Under four-hours (a common threshold for "legit").
Blah blah blah something about my Achilles. You may have heard about it. Read the last report, if you are interested. It is not worthy of further mention, unless it is Tobias's band of the same name. That Achilles rocks!
When I got up and headed out for pre-race quiche, I could already see runners with their expo bags heading for the venue. Café Fix opens at 9AM on Saturday. Race was at noon. Was I missing something? Oh well. I knew I could make it to the Olympic Stadium in well under thirty minutes. So even allowing for subway traffic, which was considerable, and my routine of being at the Start area an hour early, I had plenty of time for breakfast. I wished all carrying expo bags or wearing bibs good luck and a great race. If you have not been here, you probably do not know that Swedes do not talk to strangers or even make eye contact with them. If you are reading this, you know I seldom miss an opportunity to do both. My "Good luck today. Have a great race." usually got blank nods, but there were some smiles. I like the smiles, but I do not require them. Good luck today and have a great race. Sorry, that is just me. And I like it that way. There will be no effort made to change it. I had run the café out of salmon quiche and got the broccoli. Only two cups of coffee, so I could minimize waiting in line for the porta potties. Back to the room to gear up, let you all know on Facebook that I was going for a personal best at the marathon distance (rather than "touristing" the course and snapping photos), and off to the subway for even more good luck today have a great race.
I got to the venue about an hour ten minutes before start. Perfect. I chatted with other runners in line for the potties. They had portable urinals, like two troughs three-dudes wide in a porta potty. Awesome! But Swedes are so modest and shy, usually only one dude would go in there at a time. Hilarious! Also ironic since they had no issue peeing on a wall or tree out in the open to avoid lines, as long as there was no other dudes standing next to them. So, there were dudes peeing everywhere, just not in confined spaces. Amusing. My bladder management was perfect, so there was not much pee-anoia (my made-up term for paranoid pee anxiety). I had an almost an hour to work on my tan and handstands on the soccer field waiting for my start time. Tanning weather in Stockholm, in spite of rain with possible thunder showers a near certainty in the forecast later.
There were two start groups, noon and 12:10PM. Groups A through D went off at noon, with E and F (I later learned F was first-time marathoners) went off at the later start. I was in Group E. I should have been in A or at least B. When I registered, no more than hours after registration opened a full year ago, I had not yet run a race (let alone marathon). My projected finish time was pretty realistic but not at all accurate. It is out of respect to other runners (and not at all bragging, not intended anyway) that I say there is no way I could have predicted what my actual projected finish time would be on race day. I considered informing them at expo that I planned on running a 3:30 and asking to be re-slotted. But since I spent so much time considering touristing the course and was not in peak shape for that distance, I figured perhaps I was properly seeded afterall. I certainly did not want to ask to be moved up only to then drift back to limp around and take pictures. So I lined up in the middle of E.
I soon noticed that the first pacer for the second start was 4:15. Uh oh. Standing in that mob, I realized that I was going to have to make my way through all of Group E as well as the back of the first start group, once I finally caught up to them. And with this being my first big city marathon, I was not quite prepared for how difficult that would actually be. But I was fretting about it. And it was tough. Shuffling to the start line was no big deal, since the clock started for me only once my chip and I crossed the Start. But after that, it was like trying to PR at the mall on the day after Thanksgiving. I spent a lot of time and effort squeezing between, side-stepping, and dodging slower runners. I checked my watch when I felt like I hit my stride, almost twenty-five minutes in. I checked it again when I felt like I ran my pace for consecutive miles the first time, almost fifty-five minutes in. At that point, I not-quite-intentionally picked up my pace, probably thrilled to be actually running to my ability for the first time in a month and knowing I had to make up for time lost in the mob. It was tough holding myself to 8s, when 7s felt so amazing. I did not realize yet how much effort was spent running for space, and ultimately I think that ended up being my race right there. Oh well.
I learned big city marathons are difficult places to PR, even if properly slotted. The crowds are tough, unless you are at the very front. Good incentive to stay there. But there is a lot to love about them, especially in this beautiful big city. The crowds of spectators were terrific. Popping up in recognizable parts of the city, like holy cow I know where I am and ran here, was terrific. I saw my own fans on the second loop. Chatted with some Marathon Maniacs from North Carolina on the first loop. I started suffering about mile eighteen and blew up about mile twenty -- only a slight improvement over Surf City in spite of the more conservative pace. I dropped a Roctane early on and regretted not going back for it. I got really thirsty once. IDIOT! I need to learn to run without a handheld. It seems dumb to run a "short" road race with one (as opposed to a trail ultra, where they are the norm even for studs like Jean), but then I need to figure out how to get my twenty ounces per hour from tiny paper cups.
Finishing in the Olympic Stadium (built for the 1912 Olympics) with the stands about half full of cheering spectators...MAJOR GOOSEBUMPS (and choked-back happy tears). I ran around the track arms up in victory. I spun around at the Finish, hands clapping above my head like the soccer players do applauding the fans and co-competitors, and shouted "Great job everybody. Thank the volunteers for standing in the rain." Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that it did indeed begin to rain for the last couple hours of my race, and I was soaked. Totally saturated. But yeah, made my way out of the stadium congratulating other runners and thanking volunteers for standing in the rain. I am proud to be the notorious, smiling, chatty American. By now, most seemed to appreciate it.
I am going to publish this now, but there is a lot more I could say. But it is 11:45AM Stockholm time, and there is a BBQ at a park on a hill with my Stockholm pals at noon. 20C and tanning weather again. I love it here, and that was a great experience. THE END.
