State Number 27 - Maine Marathon

State Number 27 – Maine Marathon, Portland, ME

 

2 October 2016

 

Ok…I know that report cards are done a little differently today; but, do you remember bringing home your report card in hand to mom and dad?  Do you recall the feeling of anxiety if your grades and performance were less than what your parents knew you were capable of?  Do you remember the pride you felt when you received As and Bs? 

Like those school years, every now and then I look at my marathon performances and provide self-evaluations of what I could have or shouldn’t have done and how I could perform better for next time.  Sometimes it is the lack of training, too many marathons, weather conditions, course profile, injuries or just not feeling it – but as long as I gave it my best, I consider myself a winner, and for that, I’m happy.

In the words of legendary football coach, Vince Lombardi, “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”  Sometimes I have a good run, sometimes not.  Occasionally, I finish a marathon super-pleased even when I fail to achieve a PR (which is not so common now that I’ve aged so gracefully).  But win?  I’ve never won a race and most certainly, I never will.

I have a great appreciation for those serious runners aiming to win the race, but there can only be two.  Of the 728 Maine Marathon finishers, technically, 726 of them were losers.  But let’s not get this wrong.  I don’t race expecting to win.  I consider myself a middle-of-the-pack runner – I train hard, run hard and do my best given the circumstances surrounding a marathon, but I don’t think of myself as a loser.

I’ve often heard that 99.9 percent of the world’s population will never complete the challenge of running the marathon distance.  We have to spend countless hours running in the hot, cold, sun or rain.  For some first timers, standing in the starting line can be intimidating seeing hardened and tested runners sporting their shirts of previous marathons they’ve run, especially the crème de la crème, Boston.

A true runner bares the heart and soul for the sport.  It does not have to be proven to anyone else but oneself.  Whether you are an elite world-class runner or a first-timer plodding along just to finish, we all cross the same finish line, receive the same finisher’s medal and eat the same post-race food – sometimes of what’s left of it.  For that, I consider us all winners.

Some runners like to boast about winning something (overall, age group, new PR), but almost no one likes a boaster.  Sure, almost everyone likes to boast, at least a little.  Some boasting happens by accident and some in deliberate cases to manipulate others.  In either case, it’s wrong.

In Galatians 6:14 (ESV), “But far be it from me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world.”

When I watch television, if at all possible, I skip through commercials so I can continue with the program I was watching.  At times when I cannot skip commercial breaks, it is common to see pharmaceutical advertisements boasting about some new drug that can remedy the effects of some disease.  Half way into the commercial, the narrator begins to list all the problems and negative consequences of using the medication.

The drug boasts about all its great stuff, but I wonder who in their right mind would risk the awful side effects by taking this new drug – tuberculosis, lymphoma, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, anxiety, etc.

All too often, athletes seem to believe they are #1 by raising their index finger into the air.  But the athlete who used the #1 adage to his advantage was Muhammad Ali.  He boasted he was the greatest of all time and could “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.”  He was good and he offered no apologies when he would tell the world he was #1.  Was he wrong?  I wouldn’t have told him that.

Each October, the Maine Marathon has a lot to boast about, but some may refer to it as marketing; the signature course layout and profile, the peak fall foliage, the beautiful New England setting, the lobster rolls, the many activities in the area, and like Muhammad Ali, they offer no apologies. 

The state of Maine is most commonly known as “Vacationland.”  With an abundance of its state tree, white pine (Pinus strobus), vacationers flock to the state for its unique natural settings during the summer months.

The Maine Marathon has a lot going for it.  In reality, the marathon’s axiom is “Maine – The way a marathon should be.”  I suppose it is a derivative of the state’s slogan, “The way life should be.”  Limited to a field of 3500 runners, the average race day temperatures are typically in the low to mid 50s making for ideal running weather.

Besides the beautiful scenery, the course can be a challenge for some.  The hills may not be too difficult, but they are relentless for the first half and for those who started out too fast with the false sense of the course being flat for the first few miles or have just run the New Hampshire Marathon the previous day, the course was quite taxing on the body.

The Maine Marathon was the second of two during the first weekend of October.  The drive from Bristol, NH was nearly three hours and seemed to go by quite quickly through the New England countryside.

We arrived in Portland in plenty of time before the expo closed at 1900 hours.  Sullivan Gymnasium on the University of Southern Maine (USM) campus was the location of the expo and packet pick-up.

The goodie bags were chock full of great items such as cold and allergy medication, cetirizine (actually generic Zyrtec), granola bars, magazines and a can of locally produced B&M baked beans.  The Maine themed long-sleeve tech shirt with the marathon slogan printed down the left sleeve was an awesome addition afforded the marathon participants.  I have to admit that the color is much more appealing than the fluorescent pink from New Hampshire.

Yummy cheesesteak sandwich for dinner

After we acquired all our marathon treats, it was time to check in to our hotel located in the City of Westbrook and to relax in the hot tub in hopes of relieving our tired achy muscles. 

The time spent in the indoor hot tub and pool was relaxing respite from the day’s activities.  It began to rain as the afternoon progressed into the evening hours, but the forecast predicted the rain to end before sunrise. 

The weather forecasters were correct, the rain had mostly stopped as we left for the marathon start just before sunrise, but a light drizzle was still present – probably from the low cloud deck. 

My wife offered to commit her exceptional pacing skills for this marathon and had the responsibility of pacing a five-hour group.  My plan was simple, maintain the pace needed to stay with the group and not go out too fast.

Upon our arrival at the USM campus, plenty of volunteers directed us to the parking structure, a miniscule quarter-mile walk to the start line.  With no sign of precipitation and with the perfect weather conditions conducive to comfortable running (cool temps, low clouds and fog), I was eager to get started.

The race start area was well set up and coordinated with motivating music being broadcast throughout the starting area and enough “facilities” available to accommodate the race participants.  A mobile shower vehicle was also set up for anyone wishing to clean up before departing to their respective places of abode.

Since I wasn’t pacing, I grew kind of envious of leading a pace group.  On the other hand, I did enjoy having a stress-free run without the responsibility of sustaining a consistent pace and managing my time.  My untrustworthy Garmin somehow booted up in the proper manner and I was pleased Maine wasn’t going to be a replication of New Hampshire.

As the ever-growing field of runners descended into the start line area, I could feel the fervor and enthusiasm in the atmosphere from all the runners ready to complete 13.1 or 26.2 or more miles (if the course isn’t long).   Personally, I thought the 0730 start time could have been moved to 0700 to take full advantage of the cooler morning temperatures.

Following the singing of our national anthem, a contingent of bagpipe players outfitted in traditional Scottish kilts marched down through the crowd of runners.  It was rather inspirational.  In Gov. Mike Pence’s words, “That’s what freedom sounds like.”

It all began promptly at 0730, with a horde or runners cruising along on Baxter Blvd. adjacent to the tranquil glass-like surface of the picturesque Back Cove with the downtown Portland “high rises” sticking out like sore thumbs in the background. 

The first two miles along Back Cove were flat until Bates Street where the first hill began.  It wasn’t much, but once conquered, the course was flat again until Marathon Mile 5 as runners deviated from Route 1 onto Route 88 towards Yarmouth when the hills began.

Slowing down enough to sustain the 11:27 mile pace was a tough task which forced me to run slightly ahead of the 5-hour pace group.  Before I knew it, a runner from the pace group broke away and decided to run with me in an effort to break five hours.  I was happy to have someone in our small break-away to converse with to make the time and miles go by faster.

I was running with a relaxed 11:18 mile pace with an expectation of finishing in the neighborhood of 4:55.  My running partner was content with the pace and was self-confident of a new PR.

A majority of the runners stayed together until the half marathon turnaround at approximately the Marathon Mile 6.5 turnaround cone.  Past that point, the number of runners drastically thinned making for some lonely running.

Route 88 was closed to traffic so fans and spectators were generally friends, family members or nearby area residents out to cheer on the runners.  The people lining the course were so friendly and shouting out words of encouragement, especially to those struggling up a hill or for first-timers who wore special bibs indicating such.  I always appreciate the spectators and the support they provide.

The course up Route 88 provided to be a steady gradient (with a few exceptions) for seven miles to Gilman Road just after Marathon Mile 12 where the landscape changed from a somewhat residential area to open fields and forested areas with a smattering of farm homes, with intermittent views of the Atlantic Ocean.  My running partner was still with me and we crossed the half-way split time, on pace, at 2:27.

The course wrapped around the rural setting for a couple of miles before merging back onto Route 88 for the return trip back to Portland.  Knowing that the second half of the course was mostly downhill, a sub-five hour time was in the realm of possibilities.

We walked most uphill portions of Route 88 and increased our pace on the downhill to make up for some lost time, but were still ahead of my wife’s group by a minute or so.  I would look back from time to time to make sure we were still ahead of pace.  I would hazard a guess I was the laughing stock in the pace group being that I was constantly looking over my shoulder fearing the group would catch up to me.  To let the record show, I was evaluating my lead so I would finish at my goal time – not because I was panicking or the fear of being overtaken.  That fear doesn’t cross my mind anymore by the way.

At approximately Marathon Mile 20, my partner was unfortunately unable to maintain our pace and fell back to my wife’s group.  I could tell fatigue was setting in, and I guess my constant encouragement wasn’t enough.  I was hopeful and so looking forward to unofficially pace someone in for a PR, but this wasn’t the time.

I was running as a lone wolf for the next 10 km focusing on my goal time of 4:55.  The course leveled out as I merged back onto Route 1, over the 2000 ft long bridge spanning the Presumpscot River, giving a high five to the inspiring person greeting runners while donning a panda bear costume, and into Portland proper at Marathon Mile 23.

With 5 km to go, my pace picked up as a second wind somehow came upon me.  However, the wind at my sails was short-lived as the rolling hills in the city were substantial enough where I had to walk, but I was still on pace. 

The water I consumed over the last couple of miles caught up with me and communicated in an implicit manner that I needed a pit stop in one of those tall blue fiberglass portable units before proceeding to the finish.  So, at Marathon Mile 25, I had to utilize the course’s final facility, only consuming precious time.

As with any marathon, the final homestretch can be a little tough.  The final mile seemed like an eternity around the wide sweeping curve around Back Cove, but the views took the edge off the agony.  My pace was slowing drastically and I wanted to be done.  From my Garmin, the course ran quite long and the Marathon Mile 26 banner was nowhere to be seen.  Judging just how far I had left and if I needed to adjust my pace proved to be a chore.  But when I saw the half marathon marker at Mile 13, I knew what I had to do.  Emotionally, that was a long 0.1 mile, even though it’s only 528 feet or a mere 8 chains.

With the challenge of the final half-mile, wasting time in the portable facility and the course running long, I finished in a time of 4:56:52 with an 11:20 per mile pace (over 26.2 miles).  My Garmin enumerated a distance of 26.55 miles, and when calculated with that distance, I ran an 11:10 pace.

Age graded score:  47.56%

Age graded time:   4:26:41

A couple of minutes later, my wife’s group crossed the finish line just shy of her goal pace time.  She too had the same issues with judging her time over the last half-mile.

My running partner finished just seconds over five hours, unfortunately not fulfilling the goal of a sub-five hour marathon.  I guess there’s always another marathon to give it the old college try.  I was delighted and happy of the strong finish and fortitude displayed while crossing the finish line, nonetheless.

The finisher’s medal was a sturdy solid piece of bling attached to a colorful area appropriate ribbon with a bright distinctive flashing LED bulb signifying the beacon of light that emanates from Cape Elizabeth’s Head Light lantern room.

Plenty of food and drink were provided to runners within the finishing area such as pizza (which didn’t last long), fruit, granola bars and the ever delicious chocolate milk.  Following some nutrition and a brief respite, it was time to head back to the hotel to clean up and see some sights in the Portland vicinity before our trip back home.

Prior to the race start, we asked some local girls what they recommend to see while in Portland.  They suggested driving to Fort Williams Park and visiting the Portland Head Light and to make it a point to have a lobster roll from the food truck found in the park grounds.




“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” – John 8:12 (ESV)

Throughout my life, I have always revered lighthouses.  Built as testaments to engineering and design, the lighthouse symbolizes guidance and stands for strength and safety made possible by the difficult and lonely job of the lighthouse keeper. 

From the Battery Point and St. George Lighthouses near Crescent City, CA to the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse (NC) to the Absecon Lighthouse in Atlantic City, NJ, lighthouses can be found in some of the most beautiful settings, often on rugged coastlines or on small rock outcroppings in the sea.  Sometimes the keeper can enjoy a beautiful day in complete solitude while viewing a spectacular sunset from atop the walkway encircling the lantern room or enduring the ravages of a severe storm with high winds causing waves to crash into the exposed structure and coastline.

Lighthouses also appeal to my nostalgic sense as they are some of the most historic structures found in the United States, and the architectural detail found in them is amazing.  Witnessing a first-order Fresnel lens with its multitudes of prisms that takes the light of a small bulb shaping it into powerful beams of light extending for miles from the lantern room rotating like the spokes of a giant wheel, is an awe-inspiring experience.

It was a rather long drive from Westbrook to Cape Elizabeth.  In the meantime, we enjoyed the sights of downtown Portland and the large estates in the rural countryside of East Portland.

It was an overcast, chilly and windy day on the cape with many folks enjoying Fort Williams Park and visiting the lighthouse.  Prior to embarking on the walk to the Head Light, we accepted the recommendation the two girls at the marathon gave us and had a lobster roll from the food truck, aptly named, Bite into Maine.

My meal order consisted of a chipotle seasoned lobster roll that delivered a nice flavor kick.  The only complaint I had about the six-inch long roll was the $17 price tag.  The menu board said that prices are subject to market values of lobster meat.  Oh well, why not splurge?

The soreness and tight muscles of completing 52 miles in two days was setting in as I got up from the picnic table.  The trek to the lighthouse was somewhat of a long walk – or it just seemed like one.  We slogged along and when we arrived, it was all worth the toil.  Unfortunately, we arrived a few minutes after the museum closed, so a visit inside was out of the question.  However, seeing and touching the conical structure constructed in 1790, also an ASCE Civil Engineering Landmark, under orders of George Washington was truly a remarkable experience.

On our way back to Portland, we stumbled upon our next stop by happenstance, the Cape Elizabeth Light or Two Lights Lighthouse as it is usually called.  Although we did not actually visit the facility up close and personal, we were able to view it from the parking lot of The Lobster Shack at Two Lights restaurant where we partook in a quick late afternoon snack.  I couldn’t resist a slice of homespun rhubarb pie topped with whipped cream (oh yeah) and my wife ordered a cup of clam chowder and some fried clam strips with a delicious tartar sauce on the side.

The inadequate and inefficient dining room space gave the illusion of the restaurant being overcrowded with diners.  Walking around was very difficult due in part by the separation distances of tables and chairs.  Even though a number of picnic tables were neatly placed in the outdoor dining area, not a soul aspired to feasting al fresco. 

A large group of patrons, donned in their plastic bibs, sat around the largest table cracking, picking apart and slurping lobster meat.  It appeared they had a good time enjoying their messy hard-earned lobster meals.  It was illustrative of King Arthur’s roundtable where the fattest knight, Sir Cumference, acquired his hefty size by eating too much pi.  Some food for thought.

Once outside, I enjoyed viewing the ocean waves crashing over the unusual rugged rock formations in and around the promontory.  At first glance, the formations appeared to be petrified wood.  Immediately, I wondered how that area could be laden with petrified wood, but when I looked at the formation more closely, the geologic creation was actually composed of multiple layers of a dark gray phyllite and quartzite.  Very interesting – at least I thought.

Monday greeted us with clearing skies and welcomed sunshine.  Before departing on our two-hour drive back to BOS, we couldn’t resist another visit to the Back Cove area for some snapshots of the cove and cityscape while enjoying the beautiful weather Mother Nature had bestowed upon us.  It was so nice to have pleasant weather for some excursions to various places of interest on our way back to Boston.

Thirty miles south of Portland, Kennebunkport is the locale of the New England home of former presidents George H.W. and George W. Bush (Nos. 41 and 43, respectively) and their families.  The compound on Walker’s Point was made famous during the Bush 41 administration and I just couldn’t drive by Kennebunkport passing up an opportunity to see the sprawling compound in person.

The compound lies a mere fifteen miles from the turnpike through a scenic rural fragment of southern Maine containing forests and thickets of pines, maples and redbuds. 

The presence of the secret service were still evident in and around the compound.  Based on the appearance of limited security in the area, it didn’t appear that either president was at the compound during our visit.

From Walker’s Point, the short drive into the city of Kennebunkport was very slow, but gave us the occasion to view Maine’s rugged and rocky coastline.  The hordes of vehicles and RVs seemed to exceed the capacity of the main highway into town.  The quaint community reminiscent of European and Old English architecture and charm, gave me the impression it is a haven for the wealthy upper class, especially during the summer months.

For such a small town, the congregation of tourists, pedestrians, vehicles and lack of parking was reason enough for me to get out of Dodge and away from the big-city-like traffic.  Anyway, it was time for lunch so up the highway to Kennebunk we went.  What to eat was a quandary.  Oh, yes, the Kennebunk House of Pizza, a small hole-in-the wall pizzeria that proved pretty tasty, at least for my palate in any case.

Getting back onto the turnpike proved to be an unfortunate challenge.  I misconstrued the guide signs and instead of taking the southbound lane, I inadvertently took the northbound lane.  Since it was too late to turnaround, it was north back to Portland until the next exit a few miles away.  So, we had to pay another toll for the privilege of using the turnpike.  I wasn’t too happy needless to say.

After paying the final toll on the Maine Turnpike about seven miles north of New Hampshire state line, we exited to US Highway 1 towards York (passing by Dunne’s Ice Cream on the way) to visit the Nubble Lighthouse located on Cape Neddick.  The lighthouse sits atop a small treeless grass covered rocky outcropping accessible by boat or if the tide is low enough, by foot.

The cape area is a very picturesque place where kids and adults played on the rocks.  I thought it was a little dangerous myself and one could lose their footing very easily, especially when it’s wet and slippery.  Because I was still a little stiff and sore, bouncing from one rock to another showing off my agility skills was out of the question.

We had to cut short our lighthouse visit and skedaddle down to Boston, in the meantime, stopping at Dunne’s for an ice cream cone.  I faced a major impasse – what to order from the seemingly endless list of delicious flavors.  I finally settled on a large scoop of homemade chocolate brownie ice cream on a sugar cone and my wife ordered a large raspberry.  The flavor list was much shorter for her.

Unbeknownst to us, their large scoops turned out to be much larger than we had imagined and were almost meals in themselves.  Other customers were astounded at the sizes and the less daring likely ordered small scoops.  In the for-what-it’s-worth department, the scoop sizes reminded me of my days eating ice cream at the Bon Boniere Ice Cream parlor in Eureka.

With the available time on hand, we didn’t have much of it to sit outside and enjoy our frozen confections.  I unfortunately had to drive while holding the huge scoop of ice cream simultaneously dealing with the ice cream melting down the sides of the cone and all over my hand and dripping onto my lap and, oh, cannot leave out the brownie crumbs scattering all over.  Messy, but delicious.

Getting to Logan Airport proved to be easier than I had anticipated.  My Google Maps app directed us south on US Highway 1 through Revere to Highway A1A, and traveling through a number of confusing and irregular rotaries, as the preferred route to Logan.  I was expecting traveling through the busy downtown Boston area to the Callahan Tunnel directly to Logan instead.  We arrived in plenty of time to catch our Virgin America Airlines flight back to LAX.

Instead of breezing through airport security screening, we first had to satisfy the TSA agents the 4-ounce cans of baked beans we had in our carry-ons were not dangerous.  They seemed amused and didn’t know what quite to do, but they were nice enough and let us take home our beans without incident.  They had to check them for explosive residue before relinquishing them, however.  Good grief.  Better safe than sorry, I guess.

To a certain degree, the Maine Marathon can be a difficult and challenging course, but the scenic features of the course along with the course support can outweigh the drudgery a runner can experience when faced with a challenge.  I gave this marathon my best shot and the relentless hills definitely challenged my fitness and endurance.  I’m pleased to have run this marathon and can understand why the organizers and past runners boast about this annual October event.  With pride, I would grade this marathon an A minus.