As I run marathon after marathon this year, I experience some races I’d recommend, some I’d never run again even if I got paid to, and some that are nice, but not worth traveling to. I’m putting the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon in the must-do category. For everything about it, and everything it stands for, I think this is a race that every marathoner should complete once.

I’m probably going to talk more about the race than my race. The marathon is a tribute to the Oklahoma City bombing victims from 1995, both those who perished and those who whose lives have been forever changed. I knew that going in, but the magnitude of it didn’t hit home until I actually got down there.

The race starts right around the corner from the memorial that’s in place now, which is where the federal building stood. Aside from Ground Zero in New York City, I don’t think there’s a spot in this country that saw a more devastating act. I’ve seen Ford Theater in Washington, where Lincoln was assassinated, and I’ve been to the Texas School Book Depository/grassy knoll in Dallas where Kennedy was assassinated. But the magnitude of the bombing and the number of deaths make it pretty surreal to be right there in Oklahoma City, participating in a race that’s solely dedicated as a tribute to the victims.

Prior to the race, they held a 168-second moment of silence, one second for each person who was killed. It seemed like it went on and on forever. That’s a lot of people if each one only got one second. Two people next to me were chatting about their sub-2 half-marathon goal during that moment of silence, as if that couldn’t wait for, say, two hours during the race. I totally wanted to smack them for being so disrespectful.

After that, they played the song (or maybe somebody sang it — I couldn’t tell) “One Moment In Time”. I’ll admit it, that song isn’t on my pre-race playlist. But on Sunday, it just seemed right. And then of course, the national anthem. I was right there overlooking the memorial at that point. It was chilling and I was completely inspired to run.

Normally, I think a lot about my family and my kids during a race, but today, I spent a lot of time thinking about the bombing victims. I saw a lot (hundreds) of people running with signs on their back stating who they were running in memory of. They told us at the beginning of the race that we’d see 168 names on the course and I did the math. If they spread them out over the course of a marathon, they’d be about 800 feet apart. One victim, every 800 feet, for an entire marathon.

To be honest, I don’t remember a ton about what I saw on the course because I felt pretty bad physically and I didn’t pay a ton of a attention. But from what I remember, it was a lot of running through a midwest city, which I always enjoy. Nice people, spirited aid stations, plus big homes and yards. We had one spot where we ran alongside a lake that had a pretty strong wind whipping us. The wind was a bummer, but the view was nice.

Normally in a marathon, there’s plenty of noise, whether it’s from spectators, surroundings, etc. At about mile 19 or 20, we hit a spot that I’ll never forget. I’m not sure if it was a cemetery (I don’t think it was, because I didn’t notice headstones), a park, a golf course (didn’t see bunkers or greens) or what, but it was big and spacious with huge lawn areas. It must have been a good mile or two through there. Anyways, on the light poles, they had banners and each one displayed the name of a victim.

Out of nowhere, it was dead silent. There wasn’t a peep from anybody. Silence that a baby could sleep through. For that stretch of a mile or two, the only noise I heard was the horn from a train that sounded like it was about two miles away. It was extremely serene, and I thought it was perfectly fitting while I was reading the names one after another. It was pretty sad knowing each person had a story and a life and surviving friends and family. I passed a few people wearing names on their back during this stretch and I wanted to pat them on the back.

We came out of that and people were pretty upbeat the rest of the way. The last few miles had quite a few spectators, playing music, having a good time and thanking us for running. I enjoyed being a part of Oklahoma City for three hours and change.

After the race, I took my finish-line picture at the memorial instead of at the finish line. I just thought it was appropriate. I almost got teary-eyed going in there. The Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon was a great race, a great tribute. The course seemed nice, the aid stations were constant and well-staffed with friendly volunteers and the post-race spread was great. They did a great job handling 22,000 participants. All-in-all, a great race, one every marathon runner should run at least once.

Anyways, I’ll talk briefly about my running. I felt terrible physically Saturday night after a miserable race in Nashville earlier in the day. I felt a little better Sunday morning, but doubles are tough, no question. I felt OK for the first 7 miles and was actually running pretty well, but then I started to feel nauseous for about 5 miles. That passed, but then I just started to feel pretty rough physically.

I burned worse than normal in my quads and when that wind was getting us, I lost a lot of fight. I know I didn’t push hard enough today, because my average heart rate was only 160, but I’m just exhausted right now. I’ve been away from home for 10 of the past 17 nights, and I’ve averaged maybe 6 hours of sleep a night max in the past three weeks, and I just completed 6 marathons in 16 days (and I won’t even get into the travel). I think I just ran out of gas today.

Final time, 3:17:42. I don’t really care about the time much one way or the other. It’s not great, but it’s not something I’ll lose sleep over. It’s a 3:17, and I’m now 22 down, 38 to go.

If Monday’s Boston Marathon was the best race I’ve ever run (and it was), today’s Country Music Marathon in Nashville balanced things out because it might be the worst marathon I’ve ever run. I tried my best, but nothing went right — from before the start until the finish — and I struggled through a 3:34 today.

This race report will probably come off as a rant, but I’m not a big fan of Competitor (Rock ‘N Roll) events, and this one was another example why. In a nutshell, I don’t think Competitor cares about much other than over-hyping their events and squeezing every last dollar from everybody, and as a runner who is more interested in a race than an event, these aren’t my cup of tea.

As is always the case, the expo/bib pickup was a nightmare. Traffic all over the place, $10 to park, and I couldn’t let any of my friends pick it up for me. They have this policy because they want as much foot traffic through their expo, so they can charge a ton for the booths, and that’s understandable. But I just get annoyed when it costs me $10 to pick up my bib.

I’ll also admit that I’m pretty bitter with how they “help” charities. I put all the Competitor events on my list because they’re so big, so I thought that would be a great idea. But the break they offered me to build a team was something like a 50 percent surcharge on race entries and in exchange they’d give me 10 percent off a $2,000 expo booth and they’d help me with PR (not that I can’t contact media on my own). Such a deal, and it kind of left me with a bad taste in my mouth last year. But whatever.

I figure that for all the money they bring in, they’d be able to put on a perfect event. I got within 1.5 miles of where I parked 90 minutes before the start. The parking and finish are at the Tennessee Titans’ football stadium, so it’s built to handle an influx of 80,000 or so people. 30,000 should be easy. But I moved only a mile over the next hour. It got me into a cranky mood. The last 1/2 mile only took out 10 minutes, and I parked at 6:40 for a 7 a.m. start. About five minutes later, I got a phone call informing me that they bumped the start up 15 minutes so they could beat the thunderstorms that were rolling in.

I still had to take the shuttle over to the start and drop off my gear bag, so I knew it would be fighting through crowds for a while. When I got over there and dropped off my bag, I could see that people were waiting in the corrals and not running, so I thought maybe the race hadn’t started. I ran up to the front and felt queasy for some reason. I had a little trouble catching my breath, but I was able to get within four or five rows from the start, and about 30 seconds after I got there, right at 7 a.m., we went.

I was happy because I actually started on time and wasn’t going to have to fight through the traffic. But I heard the announcer say something about corral 15, and I realized I was in the second wave. I saw a sea of people about 1/4 mile ahead and knew I was in for a long day dodging. I was in a grumpy mood about it because of the traffic situation. I don’t know whose fault it was (by default, I blame Competitor — it’s their event), but I shouldn’t have had any issues making it to the start even by 6:45 when I was 1.5 miles from where I parked at 5:30.

I led the wave 2 pack right into the back of wave 1 and had to start weaving by about half a mile into the race. I couldn’t do anything to get in a groove and wasted a ton of energy slow down, speeding up and moving side-to-side. I enjoyed the first couple of miles of the course, because we hit the area of town where all the country bars are, but after that, I don’t remember much of the course.

To compound things, the weather was terrible for a marathon. That’s obviously not Competitor’s fault, but it added to the difficulty of the run. It was 68 degrees at the start and climbed into the low 70s. It was extremely humid — I’d say at least 90 percent.

I was dodging people for the first 11 miles. I could tell that as I wasn’t able to get it going, I was falling apart at the same time. By about mile 10, I knew there was no way it was going to be a good day. I was thinking about how glad I am I’m running a ton of marathons this year. If this had been a goal race I’d been training for and focusing on, I would have been incredibly bummed. The word that kept coming to my head was “throwaway” … that’s what this race was for me. I knew I was going to continue to break down and fade, and I had to finish it just to finish it.

I kept pounding along because DNFing is not an option. If I was rich and just running for myself, I probably would have cut down to the half. But that’s not the case. Oh well.

At mile 18, I heard a police officer say there was a serious storm that was going to hit within 40 minutes. At 22, it started to rain. There was quite a bit of thunder and lightning and 24. We were on an out-and-back portion late and I could tell that they had re-routed people. A police officer drove by and warned us about the storm. I couldn’t tell what he said, but I knew I had to keep shuffling as fast as I could, because I didn’t want to get pulled from the course.

I wouldn’t have resisted the DNF, because my safety is way more important than the medal, but it would have been a major bummer to have a 25-mile DNF! The thunder and lightning kept coming rapidly up until the finish and I was thinking about a woman named Nancy Bennett, the wife of a football coach at my alma mater who was struck and killed by lightning while jogging in 1999. I just wanted to get in and done.

The rain turned into a downpour and I crossed the finish line 3:34 after I went through the start. It was an absolutely miserable and painful run, from 90 minutes before the start until the finish — an extremely difficult day that makes me wonder how lousy tomorrow is going to feel when I go 26.2 in Oklahoma City.

Oh well, another day, another marathon for Operation Jack. This isn’t supposed to be easy, otherwise nobody would be jumping on the bandwagon.

21 down, 39 to go!

I don’t even know where to start with my race report for Monday’s Boston Marathon. I guess all I can say is that it was, without question, the best run of my life. I’ve run three marathons faster, but none better, and I say that with absolute certainty.

I entered the race with no confidence, other than the fact that I normally run well in Boston. Before Monday, two of my fastest three marathons had been in Boston and I really like running on that course. But my previous six marathons have been 3:20, 3:20, 3:23, 3:19, 3:24 and 3:21. That 3:21 was on Saturday, too. So I’ve been on a slowdown, and I’m far from fresh. But it’s Boston, and I knew I had a LOT of people following me and I was determined to do well.

People asked me before the race how I thought I’d do. I said that if I had to bet on a time, I’d go with 3:18. But I also said that I would do whatever I could to make sure that I got absolutely everything out of my body that I could. Forget those past six marathons. I was still going to go for the sub-3 if my body would have allowed it.

I was talking to a friend of mine named Louis before the race and he was saying that the 20-mile mark is what separates the men from the boys. It’s at that point that you back down and fall off, or you step it up, fight through the pain, and get the most out of yourself.

I thought about that a lot today. I was determined to run without fear or limits, to fight through pain and make people proud. I got up to corral 3, took my place, crouched down to stretch my quads because they were killing me, and then we were off.

I got my heart rate up to 170 pretty quickly, making sure I could take advantage of the downhills the course offered early. Gunning for a 6:52 pace as a dream, a 6:00 pace might seem too fast. But that’s where the no fear and no limits came into place. I didn’t care, and it was all heart rate. I was willing to let it occasionally creep up to 173 or so. I knew every time I crossed those mats every 5K, a lot of people knew how I was doing, and I didn’t want to let them down.

I was about on the same kind of pace I was on last year, when I went 3:01:31. It seemed a little bit unreal, because I just ran a 3:21 on Saturday. But all of that didn’t matter, because my legs were turning and I didn’t focus on the “why nots”. I knew I was in a race, the clock was ticking, and I was free to pull as much out of myself as I could.

I started to feel the fatigue at about mile 5, but I focused on pushing hard and fighting through the pain. I kept thinking about how it was going to be a tough, painful run, but I really had an opportunity to have a good day.

Miles 1-5: 6:46, 6:41, 6:38, 6:38, 6:58

I kept running hard and did my best with my fueling and hydration. I felt fairly strong and locked into a good groove. I really felt like I was redlining, but I’m supposed to. There are a lot of rolling hills in Boston, and I think the speed from the downhills, combined with a bunch of gradual uphills, helped me to move through pretty quick. I felt like I was a tiny bit behind where I was last year, but I think I’m a lot stronger.

Miles 6-10: 6:50, 6:46, 6:56, 6:53, 7:00

As I started getting closer to the 1/2, I was hoping I’d be somewhere in that 1:28 range. I think that’s where I was last year, and I thought that would give me a fighting shot at sub-3. I was in pain, but didn’t really feel like I was fading. I hit the 1/2 in 1:30:01 on my Garmin (1:30:03 officially) and realistically, I knew sub-3 was out. You can’t negative split Boston with those four hills in Newton. You just can’t. But I told myself it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t sub-3 or bust. It was do my best or bust. And if my best was 3:08, then so be it.

Miles 11-15: 7:00, 6:46, 6:56, 6:58, 7:07

I wasn’t slowing down, but I had some slower mile times going through the hills in Newton. That’s what those hills will do to you. They’re about 1/2 mile or so each, and they’re fairly decent climbs. Not impossible, but they’re just tough at that stage of the race, especially when you’re well aware of their notoriety. I think I struggled up those hills last year, but I was pretty happy with my effort this time. I wasn’t necessarily fast, but I don’t think I went soft.

Miles 16-20: 6:48, 7:30, 7:29, 7:13, 7:26

After mile 20, we finally hit Heartbreak Hill. The last of the hills, and then it’s all downhill from there. When we got to the top, I thought of what Louis told me and I knew it was time to make my race. I had worked so hard and fought through so much pain and I didn’t want to let it go to waste. 6 miles, that’s all that was left. Time to just suck it up and not let the day go to waste. I start flying from the top of the hill and felt really strong.

I was powering by people, sucking a lot of air and really pushing it. I felt strong, and I felt fast, and I couldn’t wait to get to the finish. I was running at quicker than 6:00/mile at some points. My legs felt like they were turning themselves, but it was all adrenaline because I knew I was cooked.

I hit mile 23 and I started thinking about how it was looking like it was going to be the best run I’ve ever had. And I knew I just had three more miles to fight through to get there. I was super excited, because I knew I’d nailed my run.

With one mile to go, I knew I needed about a 7:15 mile to finish sub-3:04. I fought hard, powered up Hereford and then down Boylston. I felt fast, I felt good, and I felt on top of the world. I powered down to the finish of the best run I’ve ever had.

Miles 21-26.2: 7:40, 6:44, 6:47, 6:54, 6:50, 7:00, 6:35 pace for .43 (Garmin).

All in all, the best run of my life. I was so happy with this one from an individual standpoint. And I could tell by the feedback I got that it was a great run for Operation Jack. So many people were so excited by it all. Truly a great day.

My month-long slowdown continued Saturday in the Charlottesville Marathon in Charlottesville, Virginia, although fortunately, so did my ability to shake it off and not really worry about it. I know that all I can really do is go out and give it my all. Today, my all was worth a 3:21 marathon.

The course was probably the most scenic I’ve ever run, and that includes the incredible Catalina Marathon I ran last month. We ran through the University of Virginia, which has a beautiful campus. We went out into the plush countryside and passed ranch and after ranch bordered by white wooden fences. We ran several miles on roads tunneled by bright green trees. We spent four of the miles running along a path that was also tunneled by trees and bordered a pretty wide river. Even when we spent a little bit of time running through some unsavory parts of town, it was pretty scenic.

I know it sounds like I’m gushing, and that’s because I am. I HIGHLY recommend this course, even if you don’t live nearby. There’s one downside (well, more like 8-10 downsides). There are quite a few challenging hills to climb. Nothing like Catalina, but still, I wouldn’t call this course easy at all. It’s worth it, though.

I decided to push by heart rate today instead of trying to hold a pace. Monday in Boston will be completely by heart rate, so no sense not doing that today. I caught little glimpses of how I’m doing, and I feel pretty comfortable with my ability right now. I just don’t feel comfortable with my ability to maximize my ability, or something like that.

I felt pretty good early on, staying on track early and maintaining an average pace in the low 7s. I wasn’t scared to push the pace quicker than 6:30 when the declines allowed, and I took what the course gave me. Of course, just as quick as the course gave me, it took away.

I train on hills every day, but for some reason, I just can’t race on them. We went through a pretty nice gradual downhill about 5 or 6 miles in, but we went up a pretty tough uphill right after that, and that was the beginning of the end for me. I struggled and never got it back. We did a turnaround, and I didn’t move as fast as I’d have liked to coming back down. And when we went back up that gradual downhill, I was pretty much done.

I hit the half right around 1:35:30, which I was OK with, but I knew I was moving in the wrong direction. There were plenty of hills in the second half that continued to wreck me, but that’s what marathons will do to you, I guess. The weather was fine — mid 60s and not sunny. But I just couldn’t hang on over the final six miles. My back started to hurt a little bit and my legs were pretty stiff. I was certainly enjoying the run, though.

I barely had any kick at the end, but I guess I can’t really do much more than I’m capable of, which is what I feel like I did today. I think my time was 3:21:24 or something like that. It’s not really about me, though. It’s about reaching people for Operation Jack and Train 4 Autism. Today, I had a guy come up to me during the race and tell me he’s been following along and he really digs what I do, which was cool. Also, after the race, a local TV crew interviewed me for a little bit for their show today, so hopefully that reaches people, too.

So, I guess, 19 down, 41 to go. Time to go to Boston.

In Sunday’s Big D Texas Marathon in Dallas, I think I finally realized that yes, this attempt at 60 marathons this year is going to be difficult and painful. On paper, the schedule is daunting, and I’ve never run a marathon that wasn’t tough. But I think I’ve reached the point that I’m going to have to accept and expect physical and mental struggles. I went 3:24:05 in the race, a time I’d consider to be my slowest of the year when considering the course and elements.

This race, my 18th marathon of the year, was pure pain from start to finish. Granted, I ran the Olathe Marathon in Kansas the day before, so there was no reason to expect this to be easy. But the one recurring thing that kept running through my mind was how much I was hurting.

The course itself was fairly nice, but unspectacular. We didn’t run by anything that you’d think of when you think of Dallas — no downtown or anything like that. It was primarily a pass through a bunch of older sections of town — mostly modest neighborhoods, but there were a few nicer neighborhoods and some pretty bad parts of town. We spent some time running around White Rock Lake, which was nice, and almost the entire race went down tree-lined streets. Probably not a destination race, but it was a nice run. There was a competition amongst the aid stations, so all the volunteers were enthusiastic and had a good time.

The weather started in the low 60s and worked its way up to the high 60s by the end of the race. It was fairly humid, but overcast. Not perfect running conditions, but I’ve run in worse.

As for my running, I got going and felt kind of OK. I had told myself before Saturday’s race that I would attempt to go no faster on Sunday than I did the day before. I’m not good at exercising restraint, though. I still went out gunning for 7:15 miles to try to get back into the sub-3:10 range that’s been eluding me since February.

I was inconsistent early on and my legs were fairly sore. I tried to not think about the fact that I had run a marathon the day before, because 26.2 miles is a long ways and there’s no sense psyching yourself out. My heart rate was a little low, maybe around 160 (my target marathon HR is 170), so I stepped it up and was able to run right around a 7:00 pace for the most part for a little while. I turned in some good miles, but I didn’t have enough in me to hang on to that effort. I hit the half in 1:38:05, six seconds slower than being on pace for another BQ (3:15:59 for me). I had zero confidence I could negative-split the course, though.

I kept plugging along, trying to find some fight to run hard. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a whole lot in me. The entire race hurt pretty bad physically and I spent a lot of time praying about things. I thought back to yesterday, how I started a new Train 4 Autism chapter in Kansas City. Tony Rezek is going to be that chapter’s president, and I caught his attention with my attempt at 60 marathons, not my 3:07 in Carlsbad. It’s the effort I’m putting in, not the times I’m pulling out.

I realized that pain is just part of the deal. It’s my job to do this, my job to run myself into the ground, but people will respond and join me and Train 4 Autism to fight the fight. So I kept on running. Physically, I was miserable. I never felt comfortable. Mentally, I was more-or-less fine, just trying to ignore how thrashed I felt.

At about 17.5 miles in, I got a pretty bad side stitch that reduced me to a shuffle. For those of you non-runners, a side stitch is a bad abdominal pain that feels like someone is stabbing you. It makes it hurt pretty bad to run and to breathe. Normally when I get these, they last a half-mile or a mile. Today, though, it didn’t go away until about mile 22. By then, I had really slowed and at that point, it’s tough to pick up momentum.

I think other people were struggling because I was actually passing folks over the final few miles. With about 1/2 mile to go, there was a man and a woman who I’d passed a few minutes earlier and I could see they were making a charge to pick me off by the finish. I stepped it up and got my pace into the mid-6s to hold them off. Not exactly the way I wanted to finish off 52.4 miles of racing this weekend, but I guess it was appropriate to burn until the end.

I went 3:24:05 according to my Garmin. Somehow, that was good for 20th overall out of 598 finishers. I saw Ally Phillips and her husband at the finish — she’s a Dallas resident and a great friend of Operation Jack. She ran the half marathon and was only a minute off her PR!

All-in-all, it was a tough run for me individually and I’m not thrilled with my time, but I think something inside me clicked. I’m learning to be content with my effort and the progress of Operation Jack regardless of how long it takes me to reach the finish line.

18 down, 42 to go. Time to try to get another chapter started!