Kiawah Marathon

I signed up for the Kiawah Island Marathon a few months ago. The event was yesterday. I've not trained as much as I should have, and might not have gone, except: I said I would, and; Star would've given me a bunch of grief if I didn't, and; it cost a hundred clams. Anyway, I went, and, as the photo of the finisher's medallion at left depicts, I completed it. How long did it take? I'm not really sure. It was less than six hours. I thought it was about 5:40, but the times messed up. I know I finished just behind Elizabeth Ireland from NJ. She finished at 5:37:38, but there are no times listed for almost an hour from her official time to the next, as you can see from the results our 20 mile times were not official. Obviously, either 100 or so of us can't read signs, or the timer at the turn screwed up. Anyway, I finished. It wasn't easy. A local bank sign had the temperature at 39 degrees as running partner Kevin and I drove to the race, and the forecast was for an 80% chance of rain. I was one of about a thousand souls that finished the full marathon, and just short of 3,700 finished the half (though one dude died in the process).

At the start of the race, it was COLD. I'd bought a two-dollar pair of gloves prior to the race, solely for the purpose of not feeling bad when I would ditch them a couple of miles into the race. It never got much warmer than the mid-forties during the race, but I generated plenty heat and did, indeed, toss them (which reminds me of one of my favorite race-snob comment during the event. One gal, desperate for anyone within earshot to know her marathon pedigree commented, loudly, "Yeah, I tossed one of my favorite pairs of gloves at BOSTON a couple of years ago". Being allowed to run in the Boston Marathon is, for those not familiar with the marathon life, generally regarded as entrance into an elite fraternity of running. My brother, the Amazing AndyMan, has run Boston two or three times, I think. I will never qualify to run Boston. I didn't recognize her as one of the people on the winner's podium... but then, I was late). God apparently had mercy upon us, as the rain didn't start coming down until after most folks had finished.

Ultra-everything, Star, and the missing-in-action ultra-runners Chase and AndyMan, scoff at mere marathons, but let me tell you: 26.2 miles is a really long way to run. My longest run since I completed the Jacksonville, FL, Marathon seven years ago has been 20 miles, which I have done just twice in the last six months. My normal pace is a pedestrian mile every twelve minutes. I learned at the race that 12 minutes is regarded as a walker pace. There were signs for runner placement at the start of the race of, from the front of the starting line to the rear: six, seven, eight, and nine minutes, and "walkers". I grumbled loudly, "Geez, we ten-minute milers have got to be here with the walkers?". Even after six months or so of training, I still weigh about 215 pounds, which made me considerably larger than most of the people out there. I wasn't fooling anybody. One diminutive runner eyed me suspiciously after my comment. "Okay, I'm busted. But ten minute miles is a walker?"

From the official start of the race, it took about five minutes for the "walkers" to reach the actual starting line. I ambled along. My left hip, which had been bothering me for weeks, didn't hurt at all, but my feet hurt and my legs cramped quite a bit. At the half-marathon finish/full marathon loop, I truly wanted to turn left to finish, rather than right to do it all over again, but I persevered. I ran with whoever was close, which was fewer and fewer people as the race worn on. My partner and I traded leads for awhile, but he dropped me like I was hot at mile seventeen or so. I ran with one dude from Vero Beach, FL, for most of the last few miles. I heard a funny "buzz" as I crossed the 20 mile mat. I'm not sure if I missed a turn, or if the sensor at the turn was messed up, but I was always running with somebody or another, and there is a gap of about an hour in the final race tally. Kevin had an official finish, so, if I could've stuck with him, I would have too. Ah, well, my sense of direction has never been my strong suit.

Running partner Kevin and I arrived at the Kiawah Resort on Friday afternoon to register, check the place out, and pick up our shirts and numbers. Although Kiawah is very close to the Boro, I'd never been. It's nice. Kind of like Hilton Head, but more a rich suburb to Charleston than Hilton Head (which is like a rich suburb of Savannah, GA). The pass-gate insured that the only riff-raff in the place would be at least wearing an identifying number.


The World Cup of Golf was played on Kiawah in 2003.


Kevin managed to find registration.


With proper planning, I might be able to stay out of here...


...and here.


I was really tempted to rent on of these.

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UPDATE: The folks at Kiawah evidently corrected the times, and I'm now official (slow, at 5:37:36 or so, but official).