Cowboy Hazel

Fairly recently, I decided to add running a marathon in each of the fifty states to my list of goals. I don't want to become compulsive about it, flying to places I don't want to be, running races that I don't want to run, and missing out on those that I do because they're in the wrong state. Instead, I want to use this goal as an opportunity to visit new places that I wouldn't otherwise ever have occasion to see. I really don't mind if this takes me ten, twenty, even thirty years. I'm in no rush. I only have nine states now (ten if you count ultras), so there's plenty of territory to cover still.

With that goal in mind, I started looking online for a marathon that I could use as a long training run before Philadelphia. Atlanta happened to be hosting one three weeks before Philly – the perfect amount of time for the last long run before the gradual taper starts – and I had never run a marathon in Georgia before. I checked flights and found nonstops from Allentown, my new local airport. Helen was easily convinced to tag along on the adventure, and flew down from New York.

She was able to meet in the terminal as I walked out of the gate, just like in the old pre-insane-security days, since she had just flown in too. That was a very cool moment; it's a shame that future generations will never have that. It was late, I was fighting off a cold, and so we went straight to the hotel and to sleep (after a detour to a to the end of the metro line caused by not reading directions properly).

Saturday was awesome. We slept in, then headed over to the expo to pick up our bibs, went for a short run through Piedmont Park, got some lunch, and then napped and read all afternoon. Helen found us a fancy restaurant for dinner and I had a great pre-race meal. But then… we got back to the hotel early and the bar looked fun so we sat down for a drink. They had a fancy list of cocktails, so I decided to order a gin martini even though I hardly ever drink hard alcohol. Bad decision, but not as bad as the decision to order a couple more after that first one.

I woke up on Sunday morning with a pounding headache and accompanying nausea. We went and got bagels and coffee, but I was still feeling pretty awful by the time we got to the start. Two miles into the race, I pulled off to the side of the road and puked onto the grass. Helen overheard someone chuckling, "A little early in the race for that…" A couple miles later, there was a porta-potty stop that was not pretty. Three or four miles more, and another. I tried to drink Powerade at the aid stations, but it just wouldn't sit on my stomach. So, I gave up and just decided to hope I somehow had enough calories to not bonk.

The course was great, but definitely not one that you'd want to be running fast on. I can't recall a single stretch that was flat for more than a couple hundred yards. It was just an endless cycle of uphill, followed by downhill, and we ended up with something like 1,700 feet of gross elevation gain throughout the race – more than double that of the San Francisco Marathon. We ran through a bunch of really pretty neighborhoods, underneath the Olympic arch from 1996, and did a big loop around the city back to the start.

Helen and I were running side-by-side the whole time. She later complimented me on not whining too much even though I was feeling miserable. But truth is, after about ten miles or so, I actually started to feel pretty good. The bad stuff was out of my system and I was just running easy with my girlfriend through a town I'd never been to before, enjoying the sights, and having a good time. They gave out Gu around mile twenty and I was able to stomach one of those, although I still couldn't do any Powerade.

I was getting pretty tired as we moved up our last big hill, just before the mile 25 marker. Helen was concerned about getting in under 3:30, and I was trying to remind her that the time wasn't important, that we weren't racing. It was the first disagreement on pace that we'd had all day. But, at the top of the hill, I caught a second wind, and we ran that last mile and change into the finish at sub-7 pace, finishing with strides even. It felt good. Our final time was 3:28:41 and we finished 80th and 81st out of 1,126.

The finisher's medals they gave us were obscenely large. If this trend continues, I'm convinced they'll start giving out manhole covers on a ribbon within a few years… But, we also got a bunch of really cool post-race loot. A pint glass, tons of snacks, and a slice of delicious local pizza.

They were also giving out beers, but I passed on that. I decided somewhere during the early miles that I'd be completely alcohol free until after Philadelphia. It was easy to make a commitment like that when feeling so miserable, but my hope is that publishing it here will keep me honest. I think it will be a really good way to maybe shed a couple pounds and be in the best shape possible for my real marathon in three weeks.