My HOUSTON Disaster - A comedy of tragic errors

This race report would actually be funny if it were fiction - but unfortunately, it's all true. Alas, bad things happen in bad moments, and sometimes multiple bad things converge on the best laid plans.

Training for this marathon went very well. Except for only 1 or 2 bad runs in there, I pretty much exceeded mileage and pace goals for the 3:10 goal by a large margin, on a consistent basis. I never found the 7:00/min mile pace "easy", but for sure, 7:17s (3:10 pace) really became a "cakewalk" that were too slow to even be considered "hard" training for me even for an MP pace run. I completed the final mesocycle with weekly mileage of 70,80,90,90, knowing the importance of not dropping off in the end, and capped off the entire cycle with a strong 22 mile run averaging well under 7:10 per mile, with 6:45s thrown in for the final 4 just for kicks, on a much more difficult course than Houston. I was ready.

Unfortunately, my final 3 taper weeks were an absolute disaster. I started the 3rd week off with a trip to upstate NY, where the cold weather and travel really wreaked havoc on my training. This was a really trivial difficulty, but as you know, I suffered a sprained ankle the following week, which knocked out my final long run and 3 days of taper. This also should not have been too bad a problem - perhaps I would run slower, but I figured I had a bit of a cushion to work with in terms of time for 3:10.

The real, absolute killer was a GI bug that absolutely flattened me less than 24 hours before the race. In my desire to carbo-load, I ordered an ill-fated linguini with clam sauce for dinner on Friday early evening. I am lactose intolerant, so I figured that this neutral sauce base would be the best bet. Unfortunately, at least one of those clams must have been bad, for by 2AM, I was feeling really, really terrible. I was vomiting by 3AM, but there was nothing to pass up, since it had all moved lower into my small bowel. By 4:30AM, I was losing litres of fluid from below. And I had to leave for my flight at 6AM!

Normally, I'd just say "forget it - this weekend is NOT happening", but after training for 24 weeks, paying hundreds of dollars in airfare for not just myself, but my girlfriend to go to Houston, the only way I wasn't getting on that plane was if I was physically unable to crawl through the gangway. I drove to the airport, used the bathroom in the parking lot, went thru security, used the bathroom there, and continued this until I landed in Houston. In this entire period of time, I was completely unable to drink any fluids - my gut simply could not tolerate any input whatsoever.

I'm tired, dehydrated, and feel pretty terrible. Note the FULL water bottle in my hand. I just couldn't drink it down!

Most of you are thinking, "What's up with the fluorescent green jacket in the AIRPORT?!" I thought it was a good idea for my friend to see me in the crush of cars at the pickup area - it worked - he saw me inside from the road before I even knew where the exit was!

Ok, I also do have extraordinarily bad fashion sense. My bad.

My ex-classmate from Rochester NY and his cousin picked me up at the airport, and for the first time, I was feeling optimistic. I was no longer vomiting, and the bathroom runs had slowed. I'd made it to Houston! If I could make it this far, I figured I could make it through race day. And things were really looking good. The weather forecast was absolutely perfect, and I was feeling better by the hour.

Only problem was - I couldn't eat. Or drink. At all. Everything I put down felt like coming up. I went the entire day with nothing to eat or drink, until I managed to force-feed myself about a small plate and a half of pasta at around 7PM, but my GI tract was still completely shot.

I was so tired by 8PM that I just conked out. I woke up at 4:30AM, and hey - I felt pretty good! Actually I felt pretty great! I got my gear on, took a couple strides outside, and had zero GI distress issues. The race was ON! I was SO excited - I couldn't wait to get the show on the road. After about an hour of waiting indoors until the start time neared, it was time to get out to the starting line, and I was totally pumped. I caught up at the start line with the 3:10 pacer, and en route, ran into jhubb, KevinR, and a few other folks whose faces I've forgotten in the excitement of being at my BQ race. That really was a great moment - lining up with the 3:10 guys in the corral, with excitement written on everyone's faces. Definitely the best moment of the weekend for me. The weather was absolutely perfect - I felt as if after a cruel 3 weeks of taper torture, that the running gods had finally granted me my wish, and given me a deserved break just in time for my BQ attempt.

With hopeful thoughts before the race...but alas, things weren't meant to be

With a bang, the race was off. There were about 30 people in the 3:10 pace group, and 2 very capable pace leaders. We were close enough to the starting line that we hit pace within 100 meters, and locked on at 7:10-7:15 per mile. It was early, but wow, it felt easy. Still, I knew that bad things could still happen, so I knew to not get over-excited, and tucked in about 50 feet behind the pacer. Miles 2 and 3 were uneventful - concentrating on pace, and feeling really, really good.

About mile 4, was when I started getting strange thoughts about my right leg. I was thinking, "odd, I feel like my right leg's not going to make it today!", but the rational part of my brain quickly responded "that's CRAZY! Don't think like that! It's mile 4 - it's not even POSSIBLE!" Since I like the voice of reason, I went with that, and kept on running. This strange feeling in my leg left briefly, but I still had a very bad feeling in my subconscious, as if I knew that very,very bad things were going to happen, and soon. It's sort of a "sixth" sense that I think runners develop when they start training at high volumes - you get attuned to such fine details and changes in your body that you can hone in on the most subtle of alarm signals.

Still, the 7:10 pace continued, and it still felt really, really easy. jhubb was looking great just ahead of me, and I managed to also meet a few other folks in the 3:10 crowd en route. Took my mind off things for awhile, but at mile 6, that nagging feeling of my right quad was back. This was NOT good. At this point, I knew that something serious was afoot, but I wasn't going to go down without a fight, especially feeling as good as I did and having trained as hard as I did. For certain though, as early as mile 6, I tossed all plans of running anything faster than 3:10:59 out the window - I was going to take as much time as possible, since I knew some ugliness was in store for me later. I couldn't tell what that ugliness would be, but I knew it was coming.

By mile 8-9, my right leg had developed a knot. I was still running 7:10s with ease, but yes, that was a real knot. This was definitely the most difficult part of the race for me. I had fallen about 200meters behind the pace group, and could easily catch them, but I didn't want to risk my leg getting worse. I tried to maintain a steady pace, but my leg was really acting strange. The weirdest part, was that I felt really good otherwise. I doubt that my heartbeat was even in the 150s, that was how easy those 7:20s felt.

By mile 12 (!), I knew that my race was probably over. I was struggling way too hard to preserve my right leg to realistically make continued 7:15s a possibility. Still, there was NO way that I'd let myself walk out of this race with any "what-if" scenarios. I'd stick with this 7:15 pace until I knew for SURE that it was over. I hung on for another 3 miles, but fell further and further back. I finally decided to take a quick walk break at mile 15, and see if I could hold on for another 5 miles. At that point, I developed full cramps in BOTH legs. Yup, those cramps were real, I wasn't just imaging things.

I couldn't believe it. I knew I'd been sick, and had some taper setbacks, but never, ever in my wildest dreams did I image that I would cramp by mile 12 after training as hard as I did. The worst part was that I felt that physically, I hadn't even started racing! I had yet to even hit my true MP (marathon pace), and I was barely even breaking a sweat - yet my race was over. I saw the 3:10 pace balloons fade into the distance, taking all my hopes and dreams with them. As far as I could tell, I was the ONLY person who had dropped from the pace group this early in the race.

The spectators started cheering me on, and I walked a good 400 meters, dejected, and in a foul mood. I couldn't even look them in the eye, although I did try and smile for them. They knew I was really having a hard time out there - those that were near me didn't even try and say "good luck", but just nodded silently. I was getting passed by hordes of people at this point. I started a slow jog, and found that the cramps were there, but tolerable. I managed to hold this for about another mile, but I just couldn't do it. The legs were gone.

I'll admit, that I kept on doing desperate time calculations to see how fast I would have to run to hit that 3:10. I would put up bursts of 7:10/mile in between walking, hoping I'd find a 2nd wind, but it never came. By mile 17, I was completely out of contention. There was no reason to even continue at this point - I knew that my time would be so slow that it wasn't even worth recording.

I asked the guy at mile 17 if he knew where I could catch a shuttle so I could do my first "DNF". I hated myself for even thinking like this, but at this point, I was praying that I'd still have some mental and physical reserves left after this race to shoot for a 2nd one soon - although now in retrospect, I think I would have been even more disappointed in myself for not finishing the race. He directed me to a medical tent further near mile 18, so I forged ahead painfully. By the time I got to the medical tent, the staff inside were working on somebody who had passed out and was lying on a stretcher, so I figured it wouldn't be a good time for me to stick my head in and say, "uhh...can I hitch a ride?"

By this point, I'd slowed sufficiently that lots of other struggling runners at around 3:50 pace were catching me. Lots of folks were hurting worse than I was, yet they were still marching along to the end. At this point, out of respect for these hardy souls, I could no longer DNF. I honestly felt that walking off the course with as much energy as I had (though I had no legs) would have been an insult to all those hardworking folks working for their finish this late in the game. I would have DNF'd gladly before mile 18, but once you hit that point where people are giving it their all just to finish, you are part of their heroic struggles of the 26.2, and I feel that you owe it to them to treat their efforts with respect and dignity, even if you yourself feel like you're in a horrible dark circus freakshow act with you as center stage.

Things got a bit comical for me after the 20 mile mark (fortunately). My performance was so bad, that it was actually funny to think about it in retrospect. I started chatting with a guy next to me who looked about similarly uncomfortable as me, and he told me that his longest long run for this race was 9 miles (!!). I told him I ran 80mpw for 24 weeks with max of 100, and he almost keeled over in shock. We had a good time just chatting and struggling through a bunch of miles, getting passed by lots of folks, including half marathon walkers.

Coming through the finishing chute was pretty uneventful. It felt strange with the throngs of spectators energetically cheering your name, yet you feel like you let them all down. I caught up with my girlfriend near the finish, and she took a pic of me, which I think pretty much sums up my reaction to the entire race.

Me: "Wow, that sucked!"

#1944 Willis Huang 32M
Los Angeles CA
3:45:30, 1003rd overall, 55.4% AG

What went wrong out there? It's complicated, but I think that the obvious main issue was the GI distress. I may have "felt" ok pre-race, but there's nothing like trying to run 26 miles to prove that you're really not ok. What I didn't expect were the leg cramps, which have never bothered me in training, even at substantially fasther paces and distances. My theory is that the volumes of electrolytes I lost through my watery stools were replaced by electrolytes (potassium) leached from my muscles, and that I was simply unable to replenish my muscular electrolyte stores in time for the race. Hence early cramping, due to severely disturbed electrolytes in my muscles. (I did hydrate and fuel aggressively early in the race, anticipating this, but it wasn't enough.)

So how do I feel now that it's all done and over? Deeply disappointed, of course. I'm trying not to blame myself, but at the end of the day, results mean a lot, and as of today, I'm just an overtrained middle-of-the-pack marathoner until I can prove otherwise. I let perhaps the best conditions and marathon course that I've run to date slip through my grasp, and right now, I have no idea when my next race is going to be. Furthermore, my disastrous finish really has left me questioning my ability and training, even though I know I did everything I could in preparation. There are some folks out there who'd tell me to just recover quickly, and go run another marathon to make myself feel better, but honestly, I'm so mentally drained from this 24 week buildup, that the thought of attempting another marathon in the next 4 months makes is completely distasteful. Not to mention that my legs really hurt right now. I ran pretty slow out there, but I still covered 10 miles on cramping legs, and you can imagine how that feels post-race.

So for now, it's been yet another humiliating defeat for me at the hands of the marathon. I've never been so unsuccessful at anything I've attempted in my life. My marathon history now is 3 disastrous marathons out of 4 total, and if you count the number of total miles that I've walked in each marathon, it equals 24 miles, or nearly an entire marathon of pure walking. At this rate, I might as well "Gallowalk" my marathons from the get-go - I'd go faster!

For sure, there will be no trip to Boston for me this year. I'm hoping to get back into form by April, and possibly run (not walk!) the Los Angeles marathon for fun, and then try and re-attempt the BQ next fall at CIM (California International Marathon). There are unfortunately, very few "BQ-friendly" local marathons to choose from that aren't already sold out in the next 4-6 months, so I'm going to have to be patient and wait on this one.

Thanks again to all the shouts of support from everybody. It means a lot to me that you all think so highly of me, especially since at this moment, my self-esteem is well, zero. I do promise that I'll bounce back from this, and will do you all proud in the near future. That BQ WILL be mine - even if I have to turn 35 to get it!!




FINISH LINE video. I'm coming in on the right. (Be patient - I DO eventually show up!) The guy to my right was the one who ran 9 miles for his longest training run. I simply had to shake his hand after he beat me to the finish with that kind of low-mileage training!

Clock Dist Pace
0:07:10 1.00 7:10
0:14:20 2.00 7:09
0:21:32 3.00 7:11
0:28:47 4.00 7:15
0:35:58 5.00 7:11
0:43:10 6.00 7:11 Cramps! No!
0:50:11 7.00 7:02
0:57:20 8.00 7:08
1:04:31 9.00 7:11
1:11:35 10.00 7:04
1:18:44 11.00 7:09
1:25:53 12.00 7:08 Full cramps in BOTH legs
1:33:10 13.00 7:17
1:40:24 14.01 7:13
1:47:50 15.01 7:26 Forced to walk.
1:55:23 16.01 7:32 Trying to catch a 2nd wind
2:02:44 17.01 7:20 But it's definitely NOT coming.
2:15:55 18.01 13:11 It's over.
2:25:09 19.01 9:13
2:33:03 20.02 7:54
2:47:14 21.02 14:11
2:58:06 22.02 10:51
3:10:02 23.02 11:56
3:20:55 24.03 10:52
3:31:22 25.03 10:26
3:41:20 26.08 9:58
3:56:43 26.64 15:22

The splits make it look like I "ran" 18 and only needed another 8 to get the BQ, but in reality, I really "ran" 12, and died from miles 12-18, which were really, really ugly miles despite the decent pace.

Kind words of support from friends folks at Runners World Forums (thanks - I REALLY needed it!)

And words of encouragement from the marathon experts over at Running Times

My last words before heading out to Houston - and the reaction to my crash of those following online