uphill through the snow both ways
Nov. 16th, 2009 09:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ilanaramaWell, okay, not really both ways. But on Saturday I ran the inaugural Rim Rock Marathon, and it was most definitely uphill and through the snow. I had wanted to run this race back when it was the 22.6 mile Rim Rock Run, gate to gate through the Colorado National Monument in Grand Junction, but never managed to get there. This year they extended it by a little bit at the beginning and end to make it into a full marathon. And not your run-of-the-mill marathon, either; the course switchbacks up a brutal climb, rolls a little along a ridge, and then plunges down the other side. (You can see the elevation chart and the course map if you are curious!)
My primary goal was to run a faster time than my PR from last year's Baltimore Marathon, 3:54:36. Despite the significantly harder course, I am in much better shape this fall and I thought it would be amusing to have a ridiculous mountain marathon be my PR course. I thought I could probably run about 3:50; my magic pixie-dust time was 3:45, and I would be content to get under 4 hours.
I left Durango at around 1pm Friday for what would normally be the 4 hour drive to Grand Junction. However, the storm had already hit the mountains, so I went over the three snow-packed passes in 4WD and 2nd gear at 15mph; fortunately the snow and mist was so thick I couldn't see the 1000-ft drop at the edge of the road that I knew was there.
I stayed with a friend who was also running, along with another friend of ours, and we rose early to face the first challenge of the race: deciding what to wear. I ended up with a short-sleeved tech shirt with "arm warmers" (thrift store knee socks with the feet cut out) over a sleeveless Icebreaker merino wool tank top, and a loose long-sleeve tech pullover on top of that, then compression shorts and "leg warmers" (as above). In retrospect, tights would have been better, but the only tights I have don't have a surface that sheds water, and I was worried about my legs getting wet and cold. I also copiously Bodyglided my feet, partly because that's the most frequent advice I hear about running a marathon in wet weather, and partly because I wore socks I had bought on the way at the outdoor sports store in Ouray, when I realized that despite having packed a wide selection of running clothes for a variety of conditions, I had somehow forgotten to pack a single pair of socks. (Spoiler alert: I got no blisters, yay!) I wore a fleece headband under my visor, which I normally wear to protect my eyes from the sun but now it was needed to keep the snow off my glasses. Cheapo gloves completed the ensemble. Finally, when we arrived at the start and the light snow abruptly took a turn for the blizzard, I decided to keep my light Gore-Tex rain jacket on rather than sending it to the finish in my drop bag.
The start was actually kind of hilarious. Huge snowflakes were swirling down. The race directors were telling us to watch for snowplows, and everyone was joking and laughing. I think that maybe the sort of people who would choose to run a marathon with over 2000+ elevation gain are exactly the sort of people who look at a snowstorm and yell, "Bring it on!"
For splits, I set my Garmin to manually lap when I hit the lap button, because I knew that my old 301 would not accurately record the switchbacks or the portions through the (three!) tunnels. Most miles were "long" but a few were "short", and the last mile was truly short, but the total, perhaps coincidentally, came out to 26.19. I am giving my split times from mark to mark rather than my calculated pace times. Elevation changes are from Greg Maclin's pacing sheet which I think is derived from mapmyrun.com.
The Warm-up
Mile 1: +100 ft, 8:34
Mile 2: +189 ft, 9:39
It's easy to not go out too fast when you go uphill from the get-go. Also, when you realize that maybe you should have stood in that porta-potty line after all. I had slight cramps in my gut and I felt a bit like I did at the beginning of the Kennebec Challenge, when I had to detour into the bushes around mile 3. I figured I'd wait until my body really needed it. After all, there were bushes everywhere.
The Nasty Bit
Mile 3: +346 ft, 10:54
Mile 4: +405 ft, 11:13
Mile 5: +301 ft, 10:26
This was the hardest climb on the course, but much to my surprise, it was not, actually, that bad. (In other words, I never felt like I needed to walk.) I suspect this was because it was so early in the race and I still had plenty of energy - and more importantly, I didn't waste it trying to push the pace, keeping my heart rate around 80-85% of my working HR, which is a little high for a marathon but I figured I could handle, knowing it would be low on the downhill. A number of people passed me here, but I passed most of them back as soon as the grade eased.
My cramps went away. We climbed into the cloud level, so the snow became more of a misty drizzle of little flakes, and stayed that way until it quit around mile 20. It was just gorgeous through here, with dramatic red rock walls and pillars playing peek-a-boo through the mist. I got warm enough to take off my rain jacket, and at the aid station around mile 4.5 I handed it off to a volunteer who tagged it with my number - it was waiting for me at the finish. I took my gloves off somewhere in here, too.
Easy By Comparison (Mostly)
Mile 6: +88 -1 ft, 8:22
Mile 7: +112 ft, 9:04
Mile 8: +107 ft, 9:04
Mile 9: +164 ft, 9:44
I felt really good through here, but I reminded myself that if you don't feel really good when you're not even to the tenth mile of a marathon, you are in trouble. The snow had mostly melted from the road surface, so it was wet but not slippery. I gave a shout of victory when I saw the high point sign, just after the 9 mile mark. And then, it was downhill. Right?
Not Really All That Downhill, Actually
Mile 10: +9 -97 ft, 8:16
Mile 11: +3 -89 ft, 8:15
Mile 12: +21 -50 ft, 8:39
Mile 13: +104 ft, 9:54
Mile 14: +39 -77 ft, 8:26
The road felt a lot more rolling than those elevation numbers suggest (and my elevation record gives much bigger ups and downs, but the GPS is notoriously inaccurate, so I will sigh and just say that it felt that way). The crowd of runners had really thinned out by now, and I was pretty much running by myself. Which was fine by me, as I am used to running by myself; I just enjoyed the scenery - what I could see of it. With the thick mist, I couldn't see very far ahead or behind. I kept hearing someone catching up to me, and then I would turn and see - nobody. I finally figured out that the rock cliff face next to the road was echoing my own footsteps back at me, and sometimes reflecting footsteps and voices from much farther away. Or maybe I was having auditory hallucinations, I don't know.
There were occasional cars going by in the other lane (they had the eastbound lane open to vehicles) who always waved and cheered, and some people watching from the rest areas. But mostly it was very solitary, and in retrospect maybe I could have given more and pushed harder through here, but without rabbits to chase I just ran my own pace.
I was starting to get a little cold. My improvised leg warmers had slid down to below my knees, and every once in a while I stopped and yanked them back up to mid-thigh...then they would slowly slide down again. I had been getting water at every aid station (every 2-3 miles), but at the one around mile 13 I got a cup of hot broth and it totally hit the spot. I had a bendy straw tucked into my headband and that's what I used to drink on the run. I also ended up eating only 2 gels and 3 sections of banana totaling probably 1/2 banana during the race; I have no idea why I didn't bonk from lack of fuel, but I felt fine the whole time.
Okay, Now It's Downhill (Mostly)
Mile 15: -198 ft, 8:20
Mile 16: -174 ft, 8:10
Mile 17: +1 -110 ft, 8:08
Mile 18: +24 -106 ft, 8:33
Mile 19: +4 -60, 8:25
Mile 20: -152, 8:08
This is where I started catching people. I made out a shadowy figure in the mist ahead, right about the time I started noticing all the water and broth I had drunk. Easy decision: I stopped at the side of the road, took a leak, then fired up the legs again. Didn't even have to move off the course - nobody around, nobody could see me. Then it was time to hunt down andkill pass the poor guys in front of me who had gone out too fast. I passed one guy, then, five minutes later, another. Then a couple running together. It was very energizing and kept me going hard, even up the hill that someone stupidly put in mile 18.
To keep my brain occupied, I calculated paces and times. If I had 10 miles to go, and I could average 8:30 pace, that would be 80 minutes plus 5 minutes plus 2-ish for the .2, and would I make my goal? I recalculated every 2 miles. I had originally estimated 7:50-8 minute miles for the second half, but I could see I was mostly between 8 and 8:30 and I was afraid to jinx myself by being optimistic. I hit mile 20 at exactly 3 hours (plus 23 seconds), did my calculations, and finally allowed myself to believe I would hit my goal.
The aid station volunteers were all awesome, stationing a front person who would ask, "What do you want? Water, Heed, gel, banana, cookie?" and then shout it back to the others who would have it ready when the runner came by. But the best volunteer was at the aid station at mile 19. I was passing another runner just as we came to the aid station, and it was a bit of a confused mess, such that I was in the wrong place and missed the the woman trying to hand me my water. I figured I wasn't desperate and called back, "it's okay, thanks anyway" because I didn't want to stop and go back. Then I heard a bunch of cheering, and I looked over my shoulder, and a heavyset guy with a huge grin was sprinting toward me with a cup of water while the other volunteers encouraged him! I slowed to take it, smiled and thanked him, drank it up, and accelerated again.
The Big Plunge
Mile 21: -241 ft, 7:36
Mile 22: -265 ft, 8:00
Mile 23: -297 ft, 7:48
Mile 24: -215 ft, 7:51
At this point, the road started a long, switchbacking descent. I finally dropped below the cloud level, where it had stopped snowing. At every switchback I would look down to see if there was anyone ahead I might be able to catch, and glance back to see if anyone was catching me. (I think I only passed one person here, and nobody passed me.) There were a couple of tunnels as well, which were really cool but kind of scary because I was afraid of tripping or slipping.
I never "hit the wall" (and never have, in four marathons), although I was definitely feeling that I would be happy to stop running any time now. The only part of me that hurt were my feet, which I suspect were not used to pounding on pavement with such force for so long, since I run a lot of trails and often run on the dirt shoulders of roads. I had chosen heavier and more cushioned shoes than the ones I'd used in my half marathon, and I was glad of it.
And then the road made one last curve and there was the west gate of the park - the old finish line. Many runners I talked to later who had run the old course said that it was quite dispiriting to pass the finish line and still have a couple more miles to go. Not only that, when I got my water at the last aid station (about 23.5) and turned the corner onto the highway that led to the new finish, I could see that there was one last long uphill. (Despite what the mapping data claim!) Ugh...
Suck It Up, Princess
Mile 25: -136 ft, 7:54
Mile 26: -64 ft, 6:04(!) (GPS read .75 miles, 8:09 pace)
Mile 26.2: -13 ft, 1:16 = 6:20(!) (I don't quite believe this either)
The road stretched out in front of me, and in some way it was harder because it was straight and I could see the course - I think I liked it better when I could only see as far as the next switchback! I still felt good but I was really, really, really ready to stop running. Time to focus. I saw two men ahead of me, some distance apart from each other, and I made it my mission to chase them down and pass them. So I did. Then I focused on the traffic cones I could see way down the road. No slacking allowed when you're almost there!
Thee course made a sharp left onto an unpaved path which felt so much softer than the stupid asphalt, and all of a sudden there was the mile mark quite a bit before I expected it. This meant instead of 3:5x I might get 3:4x, so I turned on what afterburners I could muster, followed the signs around a curve, then another one, and woohoo, there was the finish line!
I crossed the line with a chip time of 3:46:51, 30th overall out of 184 finishers, 6th out of 76 women, and second in the female masters (over 40) category (they didn't do age group awards). But as at the Other Half, the second overall woman was also over 40, which moved me up to get the first place award - a gift certificate for a pair of trail running shoes.
Analysis
I think mile 26 was definitely short, but I am not sure the whole course was short; most of the other miles measured slightly long by my GPS, which is exactly the opposite behavior I usually see on a course with a lot of curves and switchbacks. Overall my GPS measured almost exactly 26.2, whereas by comparison the Imogene Pass Run course (17.1 miles) measured under 16.5 miles both times I ran it. My guess is that the overall course was measured out precisely, but then when the markers were placed, error crept in until they got near the end and realized that they were off, but didn't want to go back and fix all the markers so they left the last mile short. This means that my true split times are probably all a little faster than I recorded, which would not surprise me - other than on the three steepest miles, which I thought for sure I would run slower than I did, I kept being dismayed by my split paces as I thought I was running faster.
A big question in my mind was how this course would compare to a "normal" marathon. My most recent half plugged into various online predictors suggests I'd run 3:32 to 3:36; a lot of people discount predictors for marathon times, but I actually tend to beat the predictors for long races based on short races as I have more endurance than speed. Greg Maclin, who created the map and elevation chart above, has a system of spreadsheet calculations for creating pacing charts for races, and did one for Rim Rock at my request. His first iteration suggested about a 5-minute penalty for the terrain, which I thought way too small; his second suggested about 20 minutes.
I think the truth lies somewhere between the two. Despite the steep climb, it's not really that hard a course, as all the significant climb is early and there is a whole lot of downhill. I looked up some other recent marathon results for finishers near my time and saw differentials of 8, 14, 17, 17, and 36 minutes. (The top runners, who are all sponsored athletes, mostly do gnarly trail running, but the one road marathon result I found was in practically the same time!) This course plays to my strengths - I'm good on moderate hills and I have a lot of endurance, and as I live at the same elevation as the summit the altitude doesn't affect me - and although I think I lost a little time messing around with my layers of clothing, I also am a much better runner in cold weather than I am in warm. So my guess is that I would be perhaps 8-14 minutes faster on a flatter course, which fits right in with the predictors.
In conclusion, this was an awesomely fun race, and I look forward to running it again. Maybe without the snow, though.
My primary goal was to run a faster time than my PR from last year's Baltimore Marathon, 3:54:36. Despite the significantly harder course, I am in much better shape this fall and I thought it would be amusing to have a ridiculous mountain marathon be my PR course. I thought I could probably run about 3:50; my magic pixie-dust time was 3:45, and I would be content to get under 4 hours.
I left Durango at around 1pm Friday for what would normally be the 4 hour drive to Grand Junction. However, the storm had already hit the mountains, so I went over the three snow-packed passes in 4WD and 2nd gear at 15mph; fortunately the snow and mist was so thick I couldn't see the 1000-ft drop at the edge of the road that I knew was there.
I stayed with a friend who was also running, along with another friend of ours, and we rose early to face the first challenge of the race: deciding what to wear. I ended up with a short-sleeved tech shirt with "arm warmers" (thrift store knee socks with the feet cut out) over a sleeveless Icebreaker merino wool tank top, and a loose long-sleeve tech pullover on top of that, then compression shorts and "leg warmers" (as above). In retrospect, tights would have been better, but the only tights I have don't have a surface that sheds water, and I was worried about my legs getting wet and cold. I also copiously Bodyglided my feet, partly because that's the most frequent advice I hear about running a marathon in wet weather, and partly because I wore socks I had bought on the way at the outdoor sports store in Ouray, when I realized that despite having packed a wide selection of running clothes for a variety of conditions, I had somehow forgotten to pack a single pair of socks. (Spoiler alert: I got no blisters, yay!) I wore a fleece headband under my visor, which I normally wear to protect my eyes from the sun but now it was needed to keep the snow off my glasses. Cheapo gloves completed the ensemble. Finally, when we arrived at the start and the light snow abruptly took a turn for the blizzard, I decided to keep my light Gore-Tex rain jacket on rather than sending it to the finish in my drop bag.
The start was actually kind of hilarious. Huge snowflakes were swirling down. The race directors were telling us to watch for snowplows, and everyone was joking and laughing. I think that maybe the sort of people who would choose to run a marathon with over 2000+ elevation gain are exactly the sort of people who look at a snowstorm and yell, "Bring it on!"
For splits, I set my Garmin to manually lap when I hit the lap button, because I knew that my old 301 would not accurately record the switchbacks or the portions through the (three!) tunnels. Most miles were "long" but a few were "short", and the last mile was truly short, but the total, perhaps coincidentally, came out to 26.19. I am giving my split times from mark to mark rather than my calculated pace times. Elevation changes are from Greg Maclin's pacing sheet which I think is derived from mapmyrun.com.
The Warm-up
Mile 1: +100 ft, 8:34
Mile 2: +189 ft, 9:39
It's easy to not go out too fast when you go uphill from the get-go. Also, when you realize that maybe you should have stood in that porta-potty line after all. I had slight cramps in my gut and I felt a bit like I did at the beginning of the Kennebec Challenge, when I had to detour into the bushes around mile 3. I figured I'd wait until my body really needed it. After all, there were bushes everywhere.
The Nasty Bit
Mile 3: +346 ft, 10:54
Mile 4: +405 ft, 11:13
Mile 5: +301 ft, 10:26
This was the hardest climb on the course, but much to my surprise, it was not, actually, that bad. (In other words, I never felt like I needed to walk.) I suspect this was because it was so early in the race and I still had plenty of energy - and more importantly, I didn't waste it trying to push the pace, keeping my heart rate around 80-85% of my working HR, which is a little high for a marathon but I figured I could handle, knowing it would be low on the downhill. A number of people passed me here, but I passed most of them back as soon as the grade eased.
My cramps went away. We climbed into the cloud level, so the snow became more of a misty drizzle of little flakes, and stayed that way until it quit around mile 20. It was just gorgeous through here, with dramatic red rock walls and pillars playing peek-a-boo through the mist. I got warm enough to take off my rain jacket, and at the aid station around mile 4.5 I handed it off to a volunteer who tagged it with my number - it was waiting for me at the finish. I took my gloves off somewhere in here, too.
Easy By Comparison (Mostly)
Mile 6: +88 -1 ft, 8:22
Mile 7: +112 ft, 9:04
Mile 8: +107 ft, 9:04
Mile 9: +164 ft, 9:44
I felt really good through here, but I reminded myself that if you don't feel really good when you're not even to the tenth mile of a marathon, you are in trouble. The snow had mostly melted from the road surface, so it was wet but not slippery. I gave a shout of victory when I saw the high point sign, just after the 9 mile mark. And then, it was downhill. Right?
Not Really All That Downhill, Actually
Mile 10: +9 -97 ft, 8:16
Mile 11: +3 -89 ft, 8:15
Mile 12: +21 -50 ft, 8:39
Mile 13: +104 ft, 9:54
Mile 14: +39 -77 ft, 8:26
The road felt a lot more rolling than those elevation numbers suggest (and my elevation record gives much bigger ups and downs, but the GPS is notoriously inaccurate, so I will sigh and just say that it felt that way). The crowd of runners had really thinned out by now, and I was pretty much running by myself. Which was fine by me, as I am used to running by myself; I just enjoyed the scenery - what I could see of it. With the thick mist, I couldn't see very far ahead or behind. I kept hearing someone catching up to me, and then I would turn and see - nobody. I finally figured out that the rock cliff face next to the road was echoing my own footsteps back at me, and sometimes reflecting footsteps and voices from much farther away. Or maybe I was having auditory hallucinations, I don't know.
There were occasional cars going by in the other lane (they had the eastbound lane open to vehicles) who always waved and cheered, and some people watching from the rest areas. But mostly it was very solitary, and in retrospect maybe I could have given more and pushed harder through here, but without rabbits to chase I just ran my own pace.
I was starting to get a little cold. My improvised leg warmers had slid down to below my knees, and every once in a while I stopped and yanked them back up to mid-thigh...then they would slowly slide down again. I had been getting water at every aid station (every 2-3 miles), but at the one around mile 13 I got a cup of hot broth and it totally hit the spot. I had a bendy straw tucked into my headband and that's what I used to drink on the run. I also ended up eating only 2 gels and 3 sections of banana totaling probably 1/2 banana during the race; I have no idea why I didn't bonk from lack of fuel, but I felt fine the whole time.
Okay, Now It's Downhill (Mostly)
Mile 15: -198 ft, 8:20
Mile 16: -174 ft, 8:10
Mile 17: +1 -110 ft, 8:08
Mile 18: +24 -106 ft, 8:33
Mile 19: +4 -60, 8:25
Mile 20: -152, 8:08
This is where I started catching people. I made out a shadowy figure in the mist ahead, right about the time I started noticing all the water and broth I had drunk. Easy decision: I stopped at the side of the road, took a leak, then fired up the legs again. Didn't even have to move off the course - nobody around, nobody could see me. Then it was time to hunt down and
To keep my brain occupied, I calculated paces and times. If I had 10 miles to go, and I could average 8:30 pace, that would be 80 minutes plus 5 minutes plus 2-ish for the .2, and would I make my goal? I recalculated every 2 miles. I had originally estimated 7:50-8 minute miles for the second half, but I could see I was mostly between 8 and 8:30 and I was afraid to jinx myself by being optimistic. I hit mile 20 at exactly 3 hours (plus 23 seconds), did my calculations, and finally allowed myself to believe I would hit my goal.
The aid station volunteers were all awesome, stationing a front person who would ask, "What do you want? Water, Heed, gel, banana, cookie?" and then shout it back to the others who would have it ready when the runner came by. But the best volunteer was at the aid station at mile 19. I was passing another runner just as we came to the aid station, and it was a bit of a confused mess, such that I was in the wrong place and missed the the woman trying to hand me my water. I figured I wasn't desperate and called back, "it's okay, thanks anyway" because I didn't want to stop and go back. Then I heard a bunch of cheering, and I looked over my shoulder, and a heavyset guy with a huge grin was sprinting toward me with a cup of water while the other volunteers encouraged him! I slowed to take it, smiled and thanked him, drank it up, and accelerated again.
The Big Plunge
Mile 21: -241 ft, 7:36
Mile 22: -265 ft, 8:00
Mile 23: -297 ft, 7:48
Mile 24: -215 ft, 7:51
At this point, the road started a long, switchbacking descent. I finally dropped below the cloud level, where it had stopped snowing. At every switchback I would look down to see if there was anyone ahead I might be able to catch, and glance back to see if anyone was catching me. (I think I only passed one person here, and nobody passed me.) There were a couple of tunnels as well, which were really cool but kind of scary because I was afraid of tripping or slipping.
I never "hit the wall" (and never have, in four marathons), although I was definitely feeling that I would be happy to stop running any time now. The only part of me that hurt were my feet, which I suspect were not used to pounding on pavement with such force for so long, since I run a lot of trails and often run on the dirt shoulders of roads. I had chosen heavier and more cushioned shoes than the ones I'd used in my half marathon, and I was glad of it.
And then the road made one last curve and there was the west gate of the park - the old finish line. Many runners I talked to later who had run the old course said that it was quite dispiriting to pass the finish line and still have a couple more miles to go. Not only that, when I got my water at the last aid station (about 23.5) and turned the corner onto the highway that led to the new finish, I could see that there was one last long uphill. (Despite what the mapping data claim!) Ugh...
Suck It Up, Princess
Mile 25: -136 ft, 7:54
Mile 26: -64 ft, 6:04(!) (GPS read .75 miles, 8:09 pace)
Mile 26.2: -13 ft, 1:16 = 6:20(!) (I don't quite believe this either)
The road stretched out in front of me, and in some way it was harder because it was straight and I could see the course - I think I liked it better when I could only see as far as the next switchback! I still felt good but I was really, really, really ready to stop running. Time to focus. I saw two men ahead of me, some distance apart from each other, and I made it my mission to chase them down and pass them. So I did. Then I focused on the traffic cones I could see way down the road. No slacking allowed when you're almost there!
Thee course made a sharp left onto an unpaved path which felt so much softer than the stupid asphalt, and all of a sudden there was the mile mark quite a bit before I expected it. This meant instead of 3:5x I might get 3:4x, so I turned on what afterburners I could muster, followed the signs around a curve, then another one, and woohoo, there was the finish line!
I crossed the line with a chip time of 3:46:51, 30th overall out of 184 finishers, 6th out of 76 women, and second in the female masters (over 40) category (they didn't do age group awards). But as at the Other Half, the second overall woman was also over 40, which moved me up to get the first place award - a gift certificate for a pair of trail running shoes.
Analysis
I think mile 26 was definitely short, but I am not sure the whole course was short; most of the other miles measured slightly long by my GPS, which is exactly the opposite behavior I usually see on a course with a lot of curves and switchbacks. Overall my GPS measured almost exactly 26.2, whereas by comparison the Imogene Pass Run course (17.1 miles) measured under 16.5 miles both times I ran it. My guess is that the overall course was measured out precisely, but then when the markers were placed, error crept in until they got near the end and realized that they were off, but didn't want to go back and fix all the markers so they left the last mile short. This means that my true split times are probably all a little faster than I recorded, which would not surprise me - other than on the three steepest miles, which I thought for sure I would run slower than I did, I kept being dismayed by my split paces as I thought I was running faster.
A big question in my mind was how this course would compare to a "normal" marathon. My most recent half plugged into various online predictors suggests I'd run 3:32 to 3:36; a lot of people discount predictors for marathon times, but I actually tend to beat the predictors for long races based on short races as I have more endurance than speed. Greg Maclin, who created the map and elevation chart above, has a system of spreadsheet calculations for creating pacing charts for races, and did one for Rim Rock at my request. His first iteration suggested about a 5-minute penalty for the terrain, which I thought way too small; his second suggested about 20 minutes.
I think the truth lies somewhere between the two. Despite the steep climb, it's not really that hard a course, as all the significant climb is early and there is a whole lot of downhill. I looked up some other recent marathon results for finishers near my time and saw differentials of 8, 14, 17, 17, and 36 minutes. (The top runners, who are all sponsored athletes, mostly do gnarly trail running, but the one road marathon result I found was in practically the same time!) This course plays to my strengths - I'm good on moderate hills and I have a lot of endurance, and as I live at the same elevation as the summit the altitude doesn't affect me - and although I think I lost a little time messing around with my layers of clothing, I also am a much better runner in cold weather than I am in warm. So my guess is that I would be perhaps 8-14 minutes faster on a flatter course, which fits right in with the predictors.
In conclusion, this was an awesomely fun race, and I look forward to running it again. Maybe without the snow, though.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-11-17 03:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-11-18 12:00 am (UTC)