(Yeah, I’m a bit behind in posting some of these entries. Not sure why; the next marathon I’m training for, the California International Marathon in Sacramento, takes place in less than two weeks, and I have a slew of entries written but not yet posted about my preparation and where I stand vis a vis PR-ing. I could blame myself and whatever personal issue I’m having with this whole BQ fascinationfor the delay, or I could shift the burden to something outside myself, say, Hillary’s emails. Sure, that.)

I sat in the shade of an administration building near Tempe Town Lake with my high school friend Neal, watching the relentless sun, unfiltered by so much as a thin haze, let alone a cloud, climb higher in the sky. Neal was the one who convinced Richard, another friend from those sepia toned high school days, and me, to share in the Iron Man experience, something he had taken up years before. My facebook posts were largely running related, and Richard shared his experiences battling wildlife, inattentive drivers, and fellow cyclists on the roads and bike paths of Phoenix’s East Valley. Clubbing our various middle aged physical talents into a single grand event was the natural thing to do.

Sunday morning was cool and pleasant as Richard and I walked back to the Transition Zone to wait for Neal to complete the swim leg. Richard would be next on the bike, and he instructed me in the basics of his camera so I could take photos of him during his leg. Used to a simple point and shoot, I struggled with Richard’s larger and more complex camera, completely missing him on the first two of the three laps of the bike course, and catching perhaps a blurry shot or two of him finally on the third and final lap (Richard is a professional photographer). In the meantime, the sun transformed itself from an ochre toned source of gorgeous morning light to an unfiltered beacon of radioactive death. The temperature had climbed from a pleasant sixty degrees to a PR killing eighty, and inwardly I worried if I would be able to run my half marathon leg in under two hours, which had been my fallback goal if I couldn’t make 1:50 or better.

Richard biked into the transition zone, unstrapped the timing chip from his calf and handed it off to me. I strapped it around my own leg and ran through the zone and onto the run course. The course was a series of out-and-backs along Tempe Town Lake, starting with a two mile run to the first turnaround, a two mile run back, then a slightly shorter run the opposite direction and across a pedestrian bridge, then back to the start. Returning to the start marked one loop. After the second loop, runners were directed through a long finishing chute that circled around to the finish line.

The first half mile was easy. Shaded by tall buildings, I ran along a series of concrete paths that were just hilly enough to keep me from getting cocky and burning energy too quickly. Then the path dumped me onto a packed dirt trail, directly into the view of the burning sun. Oh, boy.

Non runners might not fully understand, but heat, even as benign as a pleasant 80 degree day, is very difficult to run in, especially under full sun. One might perspire a bit while undertaking a pleasant stroll in such conditions, and even an easy jog is doable, as long as you know your limits and know when to turn around for some shade and a cold refreshment or two. But actual racing is a different beast. However, the bigwigs at IronMan Corp arranged for aid stations at every mile along the course, and I took full advantage of each one:

One swig of water (each odd numbered mile)

One swig of Gatorade (each even numbered mile)

One additional cup of water to dump over my head and down the back of my shirt (every mile), and

One cup of ice in the cap of my running hat, replenished continuously as the previous ice melted away.

An additional adjustment: negative splitting the race. The first lap was all about maintaining a respectable race pace while letting the idea of setting a PR go. For me, that meant maintaining a relatively slow 9:15 per mile pace, just 15 seconds per mile faster than my normal easy pace. In the heat, however, it felt more like 8:00 per mile on a bad day, but I could sustain it and see how I felt at the end of that first lap. I ran past Neal and Richard as they relaxed under the shade of Mill Avenue Bridge. I managed to mug a bit for Richard’s camera, but even his considerable photographic expertise could not hide how I truly felt.

I ran to the pedestrian bridge, hit the turnaround, and doubled back toward the starting line, where a sign directed finishers to the chute on the right, and those of us who had another hour or so of misery to continue on the left. It was at this point where I’d planned to hit the gas and negative split the run. Mile 6.55, the halfway point of the half marathon, showed I had two minutes to make up to finish in under an hour. Unfortunately, it was past noon by this point and the day had just gotten hotter.

“Just gut it out!” I told myself. “You’ve got to finish at some point, whether you ‘run, walk or crawl,’(*)” I took a deep breath and just did my best to enjoy the moment. I was running an IronMan relay with friends, enjoying the day, testing my limits, taking a measure of how my training for the California International Marathon was coming along. Carpe Diem! You only live once!

I did my best to “embrace the suck,” as they say. I was also trying as hard as I could to ignore the Morton’s Neuroma, a pinched nerve that throbbed between the third and fourth toes of my left foot like a misfiring spark plug. Embrace the suck, indeed.

With three miles to go, I decided to hit the gas for real. After all, other athletes who were either finishing or waiting for others to finish were milling about, and now was not the time to look like I was suffering. To finish under two hours meant that I had to increase my overall pace from 9:17 per mile to under 9:07, and I had very little time, which meant that I had to run the last three miles at 8:30 or better. Fortunately, my fuel, hydration and cooling strategy gave me the oomph I needed to make it work, and after I hit the last turnaround, I went for broke. Damn the torpedoes! Full steam ahead!

I ran the final mile in 8:15, and with an immeasurable amount of relief, I turned right at the sign towards the finishing chute and ran the final tenth of a mile in a heat induced haze of dizziness and euphoria. “And we have a relay finisher crossing the finish line, Duane… Waiyott– Wait-e? Waite?” No one gets my last name right the first time they read it, damn them.

Didn’t matter. It was a wonderful experience, and I crossed the finish line under two hours, with just seconds to spare. 1:59 and change. I’ll have to look it up and get the exact time. But I did it.

Here’s to Carpe Diem, seizing that day, embracing the suck, and living life to the fullest, and sharing the experience with good friends.