After a chilly and very restless night's sleep, I awoke slightly before my alarm and started my pre-race routine. Added to it, this time, was making sure that I activated the Hot Hands hand warmers nearly immediately, so that they would have plenty of time while still exposed to the air before putting them in my gloves. After all, it was 35F outside. BRRR!!!
Looking at the forecast, I was torn as to how I wanted to dress. Should I wear multiple layers that will be on for the full race (even when the temps get to be about 50F by the time I finish), or do I just deal with the pacer t-shirt (thanks, Brooks, for providing them for the team!), sleeves (which can be rolled down), and simply wear the tear-away jacket during the early miles, and mylar sheet on top of that inside the corral for the 45 minutes pre-race? I made sure to have all of that available to me but dressed in the three layers -- pacer shirt (from a different sponsor), MCM mock turtleneck (which is the main heat trapping layer -- they're really good), and the pacer shirt for this specific race. I also made sure to wear the warm fuzzy "throw-away" pants I had gotten years ago that I can't part with, they're so good pre- and post-race. And, of course, my wonderful NYC Marathon poncho was great to wear for my walk to the start and then pack away in my checked bag for post-race.
As part of the pacer team instructions, we had been told to meet at the VIP entrance at 10th St. & Penn Ave. The way it was phrased seemed to imply that that was an entrance to the August Wilson Convention Center, which it isn't, given it's two blocks away. I was confused about that the evening before, which may have added to my restlessness, but glad that I had left the hotel earlier than originally planned. It gave me more time to figure out what was happening upon arrival. As I walked down 10th St. towards the AWCC, I saw that forward movement around the side and towards the designated corner was completely blocked by a high chain-link fence. Despite there being one small opening between two segments, I didn't want to slip through that unless someone with the race ok'd it. Fortunately, as I turned around, there were two men presumably with the race walking my way. When I explained the situation, they advised that the start line was just around the other side, and that the elite runners (which I had mentioned during my explanation) were meeting inside the AWCC just behind the stage -- that I should go in there.
Well, it was totally dark inside and no one else (pacer nor elite) had yet arrived, so I didn't know if this really was the place the pacers needed to be. A couple of other pacers made their way inside, and I texted our team leader. While the intersection they indicated we should meet was where most of the pacers were gathering, the actual meeting spot was, indeed, where I was located - so all worked out just fine.
Soon enough, there was an overwhelming number of pacers inside (we did have 78 people on the pace team, after all), chatting, some eating, several of us debating with ourselves about what we should be wearing given the frigid pre-race wait, but knowing temps would rise sufficiently and we would naturally generate our own heat, too. One of the other pacers had a nice fleece she was wearing and was none too keen about shedding it as a throwaway, but was prepared to. A little while later, I finally made my decision to keep my three layers, at which point I offered up my tear-away jacket to her so she could gear check her fleece rather than discard it.
After a brief jaunt outside to the start line to get the team photo and have a quick meeting (that finishes with the
Serenity Prayer), we went back inside for a little while to stay warm, finish up whatever we each needed to do (including use the portapotty -- we had two dedicated just for us) before then heading out. Pittsburgh has VERY large corrals they use for the full and (front) half marathon, and my co-pacer (Logan Mudlo, not to be confused with my godson also named Logan) and I were to be near the back of Corral C. It felt like it had to have been about a quarter mile walk to get into position. Logan had a huge "feather banner" that he was carrying (which had our finish time on it, for easier visibility than just the small pacer signs we each had) which he would eventually hand off to a race volunteer on the side as we neared the start line. A few people came up to me while we were waiting to get started to ask the standard questions about strategy (even effort, not even pace; slow down a little during fluid stations, etc.) or to validate their choice of finish time based on what they've done in training (some were making the right call, others were being overly ambitious).
Surprisingly quickly, the
race started. Pittsburgh has distinct starts for each corral (one every 10 minutes). So, our corral kicked off at 7:20, and it was several minutes after that point when we finally reached the start line. That's us in the highlighter yellow shirts at the bottom of this photo, and lots of the people around us would be with us for most of the half (before they split off), or their particular leg of the relay marathon, or for most/all of the marathon.
The first mile was a little cramped, which is good as that helped to control our pace so that we didn't go out too fast -- a problem most marathoners have, and a common complaint about many pacers (especially those who like to "bank time" -- an ill-advised practice).
The first fluid station was at around Mile 2. At first, given what was initially visible, I was extremely worried for what was to come at the rest of the fluid stations. While the tables on both sides of the road were well marked with the name of the electrolyte (in line with what we were told in advance would be the consistent order: electrolyte then water), both tables were completely emptied. It wasn't immediately obvious that there were many other tables that we were yet to pass. They have it set up so that there is a large amount of space between consecutive tables -- so their fluid stations wind up being quite long in aggregate. While that's great in terms of trying to prevent bottlenecks, it was also a sign that they couldn't keep up with demand. (And with it being as cold a day as it was, demand was much lower than it would have been had it started 20-30 degrees warmer.) They basically only had one volunteer per table -- definitely not enough to keep up with refilling the table with cups of electrolyte or water AND be able to hand out cups to the runners. (For the runners, it's usually much easier to grab a cup from someone's hand while in motion rather than have to stop to pick it up and start moving again.) But at least there were enough fluids throughout -- that's always the biggest concern.
Around there was also my first twinge of worry about whether I chose well with my outfit. I took my first step in moderating my temperature by adjusting my hat so that my ears were poking out. But it was maybe another mile by the time I took off the hat completely and carried it the rest of the way.
I was duly impressed with the energy that our group brought this time around. Any time I checked in ("how's everyone doing?" or "make some noise"), and even one time totally self-initiated by one of the group members (shouting while in an echo-y "mini-tunnel"), lots of them were decently loud, even well past the half-way point. While my co-pacer had never paced a full marathon before (though he has paced many local training sessions), he brought deep knowledge of the course and would often point out what neighborhood we were in, or what direction to expect to turn next (well in advance of being able to see it), or answer a random question about what we were seeing along the way. While the pair of us were trending a little too fast, he was completely responsive each time I took note of that on my watch and prompted that we needed to rein it in a little bit. There were a couple of times that he initiated that slowing down, too -- the few times that I inadvertently picked up too much speed as I was conducting to the upbeat music that was playing while using my pacer stick. I use that for myself to bolster my energy, but need to hold that in control better when pacing.
Somewhere around Mile 5-6 was my next concern about my outfit. Given the mock turtleneck that I was wearing as a middle layer, I was keeping in a lot of heat. There was no getting around it, as I wasn't going to take the time to step to the side (while the group moved on) to take off my top two layers to enable me to wrap the MCM shirt around my waist and put my pacer top (with bib number) back on, to then catch back up. I metaphorically crossed my fingers that I wouldn't actually overheat and start requiring throwing water over my head to regulate temperature.
The worst of the hills is at the bridge after Mile 11. (By this point, the half marathoners would have already split off from us and were ascending the bridge a drop earlier from us and on the other side of a low wall.) It's a decent, though brief climb reaching the crest of the bridge, before descending on the other side after which we get to the real hill. This segment is steep enough and long enough that the marathon organizes "hill climber" volunteers to help cheer people along from the bottom to the top of the hill (before they turn back around to deal with the next set of people that are arriving by the time they get to the bottom of the hill -- what a workout for them). Thankfully they didn't try to push us to do a faster pace. We were purposely going much slower than our average pace (to keep that even effort going), and the last thing we pacers wanted was for other people to push our runners faster than they should actually be going at that point. We reached the top of the hill none the worse for wear and kept on.
I had a bit of a scare, though, at the Mile 12 marker. As I checked my elapsed time against my pace band, I had gone from approximately 1 minute faster than expected time (pushing the limit of where we should be too early) to more than 3 minutes faster. What? There's no way! Not after the hill we just took at a good, measured pace. Then before I "lapped" my watch, I noticed that my Garmin was indicating that this segment was only 0.8 miles. Well, that shortage would account for more than 2 minutes. Phew! Now to hope that it was simply this one marker that was misplaced, and that it would be made up for on the next mile. (Thankfully, that is exactly what happened.)
By the time we hit somewhere around Mile 16 or so, the wind picked up intermittently. This time I was quite relieved with my choice of outfit, as I was sufficiently warm, but no longer worried about the possibility of overheating. And happy that I didn't douse myself, as I would have been rather frigid with the cool breeze over multiple layers soaked through.
We had a reasonably large group all the way through about Mile 23, when I belatedly asked the question I usually ask at Mile 20 -- "what's your go-to mantra when things get tough?" Mine is rather trite but works well for both myself and encouraging the group: "you got this!" Some people reference religion, others say they think about their family. One person gave "don't be a bitch!" response as what he tells himself. OK, whatever works for you, my man!
This was also the point where I announced to everyone that if they hadn't broken in front of us by Mile 25 - 26, that I would yell at them to get in front of us. Our goal is to make sure everyone in our group finishes before we cross the line.
About three people slowly drifted in front of us shortly thereafter -- not to be seen again. Most dropped the pace to some extent during the next couple of miles, so finished behind pace. One young lady stuck right by my side the entire rest of the way, intermittently voicing her doubts about being able to keep it up. She only moved off when I saw the Mile 26 marker ahead of us and I told her that she had to get in front of us now and stay there. As she did so, Logan and I were amused to see her pump the air victoriously with both fists as she was approaching that marker before the final turn. (What we found out after the finish when we saw her again was that her brother was at that spot cheering her on - giving her one final boost of energy to the finish.) In the end, she finished a little under 4 hours 29 minutes.
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Our last group member now in front of us, we needed to resist the natural temptation to charge through the finish line at top speed (contrary to the advice we give all runners -- finish as fast as your legs can take you). We came in almost exactly where I was planning, finishing in 4:29:16.
The race did a very good job in the finishing chute area in term of spacing out things enough re: getting your medal, heat sheet, and post-race food and drink; there was never a bottleneck. And when we finally reached the exit where there was the inevitable crowd of family and friends trying to find their runner emerging, the crowd control personnel did a really good job of maintaining a few open "channels" where the runners could actually exit unhindered. (Would that races like MCM or Flying Pig did that sort of thing.)
I made my way to the pacer tent where I grabbed my gear check bag and, after eating a couple of the items I had just collected, started to change. I got my sneakers and socks off pretty quickly, donned my warm, fuzzy "What the Elf?" pants, and put on my flip-flops. While I had considered taking off my first two shirts (which were wet) and just keep my top pacer shirt on, I decided against that, and simply donned my poncho. Mmm... warm.
In the process of doing all of that, when I thought I would take off my shirts, I took of my medal, wrapped the lanyard around it and set it down on the table right next to me. (You already know where this is going.) Somewhere along the line during my changing, chatting with other pacers who had finished, and going between the table and the garbage pail to chuck my garbage, the medal "walked away." I checked repeatedly my gear check bag to see if I had actually placed it inside (no), and checked underneath the few items on the table (not there either). What the hell?!
When I explained the situation to the ladies at the Information booth a little ways away and asked if there's any way I can get another today, they advised that I contact the race via the app and that they would ship me a medal -- it's actually a fairly common request. (Seems ridiculous to have them incur the cost of shipping if that can be avoided.) In talking with some other runners, they suggested that I just go back into the finisher area and get another. Having already taken off my bib from my shirt, I made sure to have that in my hand (along with all of my other stuff, since I didn't know how much longer the pacers would be at the ten) and made my way back to the exit of the finisher's chute. I fibbed to the couple of the crowd control personnel, telling them that I had inadvertently not gotten my medal before exiting, showing them my bib -- they graciously allowed me to enter, despite the huge DO NOT ENTER banner. When I finally reached the area where the medal racks were, I approached one of the people handing out medals and repeated the fib to her. While she remarked that she didn't know how anyone could have gotten past them without getting their medal, she wasn't challenging me, and graciously handed me a medal.
Finally back at the pacer tent, one of the people I pace for with a different company who was running the marathon (not as a pacer) sat down with us and was chatting. He had taken one of the empty boxes in the finisher chute and wound up putting all of the post-race food and drink in that -- much easier to carry that way. He set it down on the table and had his back to it. I was positioned in such a way so that I could see it to my side. All of a sudden, while we were all talking, some random non-runner (and likely not even a spectator/supporter) walked through the tent area and snagged a small pint-sized box of chocolate milk that was in the box o' stuff. Thankfully, I saw it, and I called him out before he was even a few steps away, pointing out whose milk that was that he just took, that it was NOT free for his taking. Duly chastised, he set it on the table and walked off. No apology. Made me wonder if something similar happened to my original medal; I'll never know.
Eventually, several of the others headed out to a pub on the north shore -- which, logistically, was a nuisance for me, so I begged off of joining, and headed to another place which was directly en route to where my car was parked at the hotel.
I chose pretty well. The place was definitely popular, but not so busy that it took over-long to get served. Friendly service, good music (mostly 80s, at least during my meal) and a tasty burger. I can't ask for much more for my post-race lunch.
By the time I finished my lunch and headed out, it was pretty late. As it was definitely after 2:30pm, I was expecting that the race was nearly wrapped up (as I thought there was a 7-hour time limit, and the last corral kicked off at 7:30am, so 2:45 seemed a likely time for the official end). As I walked back, I crossed the road that is the stretch leading to the Mile 26 marker and the final turn. As I got to the far side of that, I paused to see if there were any runners still out (since the barriers hadn't been removed yet). Lo and behold, there was one who had just turn the corner a few blocks away from me. There were multiple times that she stopped. As she got closer, it was clear that she was physically struggling somehow. Rather than merely clap and cheer her on, I approached while she was pausing and working out her back (which has been spasming since Mile 18) and asked her if she wanted company during the last quarter mile to the finish. She accepted. She talked about her back giving her a problem, asked me how I did (at which point I mentioned leading a pace group), and was a bit self-deprecating about how slow she was. I complimented her on the fact that she was getting it done -- not only is she not simply sitting on the couch like so many out there, but being on her feet moving for well over 7 hours is a very difficult task, even if the pace itself is slow. She asked if she was the last one -- I didn't know, but knew it was close to the end of the race, given the timing. She thanked me for pacing her the last bit - my second team of the day, as she would put it. Shortly after we passed the half marathon's Mile 13 marker (meaning there was less than 0.1 miles left to the finish line), I said my goodbyes -- so that she could have her finish line photo unmarred by having me in them, and wished her good luck. The finish line announcer was still doing his thing (though I didn't hear him say her name), and I even saw at least two more people approaching the Mile 26 marker as I was returning to my previous route towards my car. While she finished the race, and I'm confident she was handed a medal, it appears that she is not in the final results as a finisher. While I didn't see her bib number nor did I hear her name, she was certainly older than me, by all appearances, and there was no such result at the tail end of the results.
I didn't know precisely what to expect from the Pittsburgh Marathon, but was duly impressed for the most part. Certainly willing to return again.
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