DNF at Cape Cod, an anticlimax if ever there was one. Slept poorly in advance of the predawn wake up call, which is to be expected by now I suppose. On top of not sleeping enough all week I was dead meat before the gun went off. Tried to stay relaxed anyway, ran at goal pace on the mostly flat first 10 miles of the course, avoiding the wind by staying tucked in behind people around me. While it was in the back of my mind from mile 3 onward that the pace felt too hard to be sustainable, what really brought me down was the realization at 10 that I was going to have to use the bathroom. Tried to fake it for the next 2 miles, made all the more fun by heading steadily uphill. Ran by portajohns at 20k, did a momentary hesitation and then used the facilities. This took a little over a minute. Felt much better afterward but the tiredness was taking its toll by then. Also completely, utterly alone except for a relay runner who happened to be nearby. As it was already quite clear I wasn't going to be running any kind of decent time I started running, not racing. Focus was lost, not sure of why I was even continuing but plodded on not caring what the pace was anymore. By halfway (1:19 or so) I noticed a guy who had bolted out ahead of me and dropped out, a mile later I ran by one of the two Kenyans who also had dropped. I got it into my head that with attrition, I could slog through and maybe crack the top 10 to get a money slot. What followed was 3 miles of me jogging and asking every fan and race official I passed (there weren't many on this stretch of the course) what place I was in. None of them knew, of course. All the while, my middle toe on the right foot was becoming increasingly sore, to my surprise the sock/shoe combo didn't work for this long an effort and I ended up with a black toenail. Then I found myself having to use the bathroom, again. The jog turned into a crawl and finally, finally, got passed by other people. Incredible how spread out the field had become. This was just before 30k and I finally did the smart thing and gave up. Should have stopped at 20k, but there were no meat wagons to be seen anywhere at that point and I still had vague foolish hopes I suppose. The stomach issues didn't end with me dropping out either, had to go again on the drive home. Also took two naps, one while stopped on the way home and the other one eating up 3 hours of the late afternoon. I didn't sleep much more than that overnight. Left leg wasn't that bothersome during the race, achilles felt fine and some mild twinging in the iliopsoas, taking an advil the night before had something to do with it of course. The hip did get worse the further I went and who knows how it would have felt had I been able to maintain the pace longer. Afterward of course the achilles and hip stiffened up and felt fairly sore. Not that upset or distraught afterward, felt more like I had dodged a bullet by not gutting out the entire thing. More upset that I was too stubborn to drop out sooner.
Six weeks ago I was capable of running this course in 2:36 or so on a day like the one we got (mild, breezy). The 20 miler I did by myself on 9/12 is ample proof of that. Between then and now the left leg went to shit obviously. Not that it was perfect before that, but the issue was aggravated, the achilles got sore out of nowhere, and it's been one holding action after another since. I do feel like the worst of the leg issues may be behind me and that I'm now taking steps to ensure that's the case, but this race certainly got in the way of me trying to reestablish (establish?) something resembling a solid training routine going into the winter season. In that sense the marathon went from the centerpiece of the last few months of training to an irrelevant chore. I would like to do one of these feeling fully awake, healthy, and not having to take a shit every few miles though.
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