On September 21, I did the We Walk Marathon in Mayer,
MN. This race is organized primarily for
walkers. I didn’t know anything about it
until a few months ago, when I learned about it from a race-walker at the FANS
24-hour race. It has divisions for race-walking,
walking, Nordic walking, and run/walk.
Participants in the race-walk division must comply with the
rules of competitive race-walking.
Specifically, they must always have at least one foot in contact with
the ground, and they must keep their knee straight from moment their leading
foot touches the ground and until the leg passes under the center of their body.
Participants in the walking division only need to maintain
contact with the ground. The straight
knee rule isn’t enforced.
The Nordic walking division is for walkers who use trekking
poles. They’re required to have poles in
both hands and use them on every stride.
The run/walk division is for runners who use some type of
run/walk pacing regimen, such as those popularized by Jeff Galloway. I don’t think there’s any enforcement. You could probably just run the whole way,
but you would risk reaching aid stations before they’re set up. The aid station schedule assumed nobody would
be finishing the marathon in less than 4:30.
The race is organized primarily for walkers.
There were also divisions for wheelchairs and pushing people
in strollers. I don’t think anybody
signed up for either of those.
All of my recent training has been running. A year or two ago, I could walk pretty fast,
but now I’m out of practice. Still,
having walked about a dozen marathons in the last two years, I felt I should
walk this one.
I’ve only done one race that enforced both of the rules of
competitive race-walking. That was a 5K
race that I did when I was 30 years old.
I think I keep my knees straight, but I’m not completely sure. The rules for the walking division were the
same as the rules for a Centurion walking event, which I’ve done more recently,
so that the division I signed up for.
I didn’t decide to do this race until about two months
ago. I originally planned a race
schedule for September and October that had me traveling to races every other
weekend. This was going to be one of my
“rest” weekends. Since this race didn’t
involve any travel, and walking is pretty easy on the body, I didn’t see any
reason why I couldn’t squeeze this one in.
It’s one of the few Minnesota marathons I had never done, so I was going
to do it sooner or later. Why not
sooner?
I could have picked up my race packet Friday night, but I
would have needed to drive to Waconia.
That’s about 45 minutes each way.
They also offered race day packet pickup, so I just planned to arrive a
little bit earlier on the morning of the race.
The drive time to Mayer is about 50 minutes. I allowed an hour. That meant leaving home at 5:30, so I could
be there for the start of packet pickup at 6:30.
A thunderstorm moved through the area in the early morning,
and the forecast called for intermittent showers and thunderstorms throughout
the day. As I was driving to Mayer, it
was drizzling. By the time I arrived,
the rain had stopped. It might come back
later, but it stayed dry for the start of the race. It was 70 degrees, so I opted for shorts and
a singlet. I had a light jacket with me,
but I left it in the car. Even if it
started raining again, I didn’t expect to get cold.
The marathon started at 7:00 at Lutheran High School in
Mayer. We went almost a mile on city
streets before turning onto the Dakota Rail Trail. This is a paved trail that follows a former
railroad line. The section we were on is
fairly flat.
As we left the high school, a race-walker took the
lead. He knew the route, so I just
followed him. With effort, I could walk
at his pace, so I stayed with him. His
name is Will. As we talked, I learned
that Will is a world class walker for his age group. I also learned that his goal was to walk at
an average pace of 7:30 per kilometer.
That’s about 12 minutes per mile, which seemed reasonable.
In the other marathons I’ve walked, my times have ranged
from 4:39 to 5:46. I knew I couldn’t
walk as fast as I did at my peak, but I have good aerobic fitness, so I thought
I would still be able to do something in the 5:15 to 5:30 range, despite being
out of practice. Will’s pace would have
brought us in with a time of 5:15. That
seemed ambitious, but reasonable.
Once we were on the Dakota Rail Trail, we headed east. About two miles into the race, we reached an
aid station, so I stopped to drink some Gatorade. That caused me to fall behind Will. I tried to catch up, but his pace was as fast
as I could walk. For a time, I was going
the same pace as Will, but I was always the same distance behind him. I couldn’t close the gap.
Eventually, the effort started to wear me down. I realized I was slowing down when I noticed
I was falling farther behind.
There were about five runners in the race, all alternating
between running and walking. One of them
was keeping up with Will. Two others had
moved ahead of me and were only a short distance behind Will.
At 5K, we made a U-turn and started heading west. As I got closer to where we entered the
trail, I saw two walkers coming toward me at a fast pace. They were doing the 10K, which started 30
minutes after the marathon. The pace of
the two leaders was incredibly fast for walkers. Everyone else doing the 10K looked slow by
comparison.
We retraced our route back to where we first entered the
trail. Then we crossed a highway and
continued west on the trail for about eight more miles.
By the time I crossed the highway, I was already noticeably
fatigued, and I was already feeling soreness in my quads and hips. Not only was Will’s pace too fast for me, but
even after slowing down, the pace was still wearing me down. Before the race, I assumed I would be held
back by my inefficient mechanics. That
was correct. I also assumed that I had good
enough endurance that whatever pace I could walk in the early miles would be sustainable
for the whole race. That was naïve. My top end pace was about 12 minutes per
mile, but I eventually discovered that even 13 minutes per mile was unsustainable
for a marathon. I used to walk three
times a day, and I always pushed a fast pace.
There’s no substitute for that kind of training. I haven’t done that in more than a year, and
it was showing.
By now, another runner had caught up to me. She passed me whenever she was running. I passed her whenever she was walking. This continued for a few miles, but
eventually, she pulled ahead of me for good.
There was a half marathon that started an hour after the
marathon. They started at the
westernmost part of the course and basically did the second half of the marathon. Somewhere between eight and nine miles, I saw
the leader of that race coming toward me.
It was a walker. I didn’t see
anyone else for a long time. Eventually,
I saw a runner. He was at least half a
mile behind the lead walker. A few
minutes after him, I started seeing the rest of the field. One of them was a Nordic walker.
A few miles west of Mayer, I started to feel some light
drizzle. The storm that moved through
earlier in the day moved across the state from west to east. Assuming another storm was now moving across
the state in the same direction, I was walking right into it.
I felt drizzle for a while.
Then it seemed to stop. Then I
felt more drizzle. Looking to my left, I
saw dark clouds. Looking to my right, it
was overcast, but the clouds weren’t dark.
It seemed like I might be on the northern edge of the storm. If I was lucky, I’d just get some light drizzle.
By the time I had gone 10 miles, the drizzle seemed to have
stopped. A few minutes later, I felt
bigger drops. When were accompanied by
strong wind gusts. At first, I didn’t
know if it was raining, or if it was just strong winds blowing water off of the
trees. Then I heard thunder. It was really raining.
The thunder sounding like it was coming from the west. I was right the first time. I was walking right into the storm. Before long, it was raining hard enough to
soak my clothes and shoes.
I had a plastic rain poncho folded up inside my fanny pack,
but I wasn’t in any danger of getting cold.
The worst thing about the rain is that my shoes were getting sopping
wet. A rain poncho wouldn’t help with
that.
The rain only lasted for about a mile, but the damage was
done. For the rest of the race, I had
wet shoes.
By now, the runner who had passed me earlier was so far
ahead of me that I could barely see her.
The trail was straight, and it was flat.
You could see for a long way. I
estimated that she was now about half a mile ahead of me. I didn’t know my pace, but I was clearly
slowing down.
There was a lead pack of one walker and four runners. They weren’t all together, but they could
probably see each other. I was far
enough back that I had completely lost contact with them. Meanwhile, everyone else was way behind
me. I couldn’t keep up with Will, but I
was much faster than all the other walkers.
After another mile, I started catching up to one of the
runners. Then she stopped at one of the
aid stations, and I moved past her. I
was in fifth place overall, but it was short-lived. Another runner caught up to me and quickly
left me behind. She seemed to come out
of nowhere. My first thought was that
she must be speeding up, but more likely, she was going the same pace, and I
was slowing down.
As I got closer to the halfway mark, I started to see Will
and the others coming back. When he saw
me, Will said, “Good form. I like it.” I
really needed to hear that, because I felt like I was coming apart at the
seams.
At the halfway mark, we made another U-turn. For the first time, I checked my watch. It was 2:47 and change. I was on pace for roughly 5:35. That’s assuming I didn’t slow down. I knew I had already slowed substantially
since the first few miles. Even if I
didn’t slow down any more, I probably wouldn’t be any faster than 5:40. So much for being between 5:15 and 5:30.
The first time I walked a marathon, it took me 5:47:24. At the time, I couldn’t remember that. I was thinking it was 5:46 and change, but I
wasn’t really sure. That was after only
four week of training. It was also only
four weeks after back surgery. I’d be
pretty disappointed if I couldn’t beat that time, so I worked hard to keep from
slowing down any more.
The trail has permanent mileposts. The western turnaround was right at milepost
28. At each milepost, there were also
signs indicating how far we had gone since the beginning of the race. When I got back to milepost 27, I was 14.1
miles into the race. I checked my watch. I couldn’t remember my exact time at the
halfway mark, but I knew this last mile took me more than 13 minutes. At 15.1 miles, I checked again. That mile took 13:40. That was discouraging. If I couldn’t speed up, this would be my
slowest walking marathon ever.
In the first few miles after the turn, I was seeing people
going the other direction. This was a
small race, so they were spaced a minute or two apart. Other than the one runner I passed, I didn’t
see any more runners coming. I saw a few
walkers going at a brisk pace. Then I
saw walkers going at a more moderate pace.
Finally, I saw walkers going at a slow pace.
Eventually, I didn’t see anyone coming toward me. The leaders had been out of sight for a long
time. I knew there were others behind
me, but I never saw them. I felt like I
was completely alone on the trail. That
makes it tough to keep up your effort.
The next few miles were lonely. The only people I saw were the aid station
volunteers. The trail ran parallel to a
highway, but most of the time we were surrounded by trees, so I didn’t see the
cars. It was a beautiful course, but I
felt isolated.
Where there was a clearing, I could see the highway. I saw a sign indicating I was getting back to
the Mayer city limits. Just beyond it,
next to the trail, I saw a milepost. I
was at 19.1 miles, which meant I had 7.1 miles to go. I made a rough calculation of the pace I
needed to break 5:46. Then I made a
rough calculation of my pace since the halfway mark. It was going to be close. I worked harder.
By now, both the trail and my clothes were drying out. So were my shoes. Instead of being soaking wet, they were merely
damp. In a way, that was worse. Now, I was developing blisters on the heels
of both feet.
With each passing mile, I did another calculation. Each one made me nervous. I wasn’t going fast enough to be confident of
breaking 5:46. Still, I was within
striking distance. That kept me
motivated.
I eventually got back to the one spot where we crossed a
busy road. There wasn’t any traffic control. The first time there wasn’t any traffic. This time, I saw a car coming. I held out my hand and started crossing. I didn’t have time to wait for traffic, so I was
assertive.
Now, I was back on the section of trail that’s east of where
we started. Suddenly, I saw lots of
walkers coming from the other direction.
These were walkers doing the half marathon. They were entering the last mile of the race. For the rest of the race, I always saw other
walkers or runners. They weren’t really
with me. They were going the opposite
direction, and most of them were in a different race. Still, it was enough to make me feel like I
was no longer isolated. That helped me
to lift my effort.
As I picked up my pace, my blisters got more painful. It seemed like the pain increased
exponentially as I sped up. That limited
how fast I could go. I could speed up a
little, but not much.
Eventually, I saw someone with a red race bib. That meant it was someone doing either the
marathon or 50K. I was watching for
Will, but this was one of the runners. I
didn’t know it yet, but he was doing the 50K, so he still had to do another
out-and-back that was almost five miles.
In fact, three of the four runners who were currently ahead of me were
doing the 50K. Only one was doing the
marathon.
I eventually saw another runner. A few minutes later, I saw another one. I still didn’t see Will.
I was watching for milepost 19. That’s 4.1 miles to go. It seemed like a long time since the previous
milepost. Finally, I looked at my watch,
and it was obvious I had missed it. I
was only about a half mile from the eastern turnaround. I expect to see Will before now. At the halfway mark, he was already about a
mile ahead of me. By now, he should be
two miles ahead of me. On one hand, I
was pleased that I wasn’t as far back as I thought. On the other hand, that probably meant Will
was having a tough finish, and I didn’t want that.
I saw the last of the runners who were ahead of me. This one had been right with Will for the
first half of the race. I asked him
where Will was. He didn’t know. He hadn’t seen him a while and wondered if he
dropped out. I quickly came within sight
of the turnaround. When I got there, it
was painfully obvious that Will was no longer on the course.
I checked my watch. With
5K to go, I had almost 43 minutes left to break 5:46. At first that sounded easy. Then I figured out what pace that was. I also figured out what pace I had walked
since I last saw a milepost. It wasn’t
going to be so easy after all. If I
couldn’t speed up, it would come down to seconds.
After the turn, I saw the one runner who I had passed. After several minutes, I started to see the
next few walkers. With Will out of the
race, I was the first place walker, and I had a lead of at least a mile. I was no longer racing anybody else. Now I was just racing myself to avoid having
my personal worst time. I lit a fire
under myself to go faster.
In addition to seeing more walkers still on their way out, I
saw a runner. That surprised me, until I
recognized him as one of the runners who was ahead of me. That’s when I realized he was doing the
50K. He was now doing this out-and-back
for the second time. I eventually saw
other runners who were doing the 50K.
Only one of the runners ahead of me was doing the marathon.
With about a mile and a half to go, I once again felt my
blisters getting more painful. Instead
of backing off, I started making contact with the balls of my feet. That lessened the pain, but it also shortened
my stride. I didn’t know if I was going
fast enough, but I pushed.
I eventually left the trail and retraced the route back to
the high school. I didn’t have anyone to
follow, but it was well-marked. The
trail is flat, but this section had some small hills. I didn’t mind going uphill. Going downhill aggravated my blisters. Turns were also painful.
I made the last turn, and entered the school parking
lot. I crossed the finish line in
5:43:53. I sped up more than I thought. In the last three miles, I brought my average
pace down to about 12:20.
They gave me my finisher medal. After confirming I was the first place
walker, they also gave me a medal for that.
Will was sitting down next to the finish line. He wasn’t injured, but he didn’t finish the
race. He’s done this race before. He said he could have finished, but he knew
how much that last out-and-back would hurt, and he decided it wasn’t worth it.
Since registering for this race, I’ve been telling myself I
needed to do some race-walk training. I
knew I wouldn’t be in shape for a walking PR, but I didn’t want to be completely
unprepared. Despite having good
intentions, I kept putting it off. I was
also increasing my running mileage to train for the Tunnel Light Marathon. There were days that I hoped to do both
running and walking workouts, but I ended up only doing the running. If I had to choose one or the other, the
running was more important. I don’t
regret that choice. Tunnel Light was
more important. I had a great race
there, and it’s because I stayed focused.
If I have any regrets about this race, it was my decision to
walk it. I underestimated how unprepared
I was. It had a division for runners, so
I should have registered as a runner.
Eventually, I’ll probably be glad I walked it, but not until my blisters
heal.
After the race, I had to walk gingerly. When I got home and took off my shoes, one of
my socks was soaked in blood. The blister
on that heel was a blood blister, and it burst.
That one doesn’t hurt as much as the other foot. The one that didn’t burst is still under
pressure, which makes it hurt more when I walk.
I made an effort to drain it, but heel blisters are notoriously
difficult to drain. They’re deep, and
the skin is thick and calloused. They'll
heal eventually, but running is going to be painful in the meantime.
Race Statistics
Distance: 26.2 miles
Time: 5:43:53
Average Pace: 13:07
Lifetime Marathons/Ultras:
385
Minnesota Marathons:
55
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