May 6, 2012 22 Comments
I originally crossed Indiana off my 50-states list two years ago with this very race. It was cold and windy that morning and the clothes I had brought would have had me shivering the entire way. Fortunately, I was there with Steph’s parents and uncles, who in the last few years have made running the OneAmerica 500 Festival Mini-Marathon a tradition. The Snyders (my future family-in-law) have also developed a habit of bringing a new person every year, and in 2010 my name was drawn. I ran the perfectly flat course to a successful PR of 1:40, a time that would last the entire summer.
Last Thanksgiving, Steve (my future father-in-law) asked if I wanted to run the Mini again. Though lately I’ve been eschewing states that I have already completed in favor of new ones, I felt determined to train fast to achieve a new PR. The Mini-Marathon offers the rare chance to run on the track of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, which is designed to be as flat as possible. It had been a long time since I had run a fast, flat half marathon, so I signed up a few days later with thoughts of running a 1:35.
That was then. Since signing up, I ran 1:34 in Alabama, 1:33 in Tennessee and 1:30 in Kentucky. So my big PR race was now facing intense competition. Last weekend’s race at the other Mini took place in picture perfect conditions, allowing everyone to abandon all restraint and earn crazy fast times. This weekend Indianapolis was beset by heat and humidity, which prompted the organizers to send one of those intimidating capital letter emails about the weather. It was no surprise to me as I had been checking the weather since the previous weekend a bit crestfallen.
But I shook off the pessimism and decided to enjoy the race. I drove out Friday afternoon with Steph’s uncle Jim and made it just in time for the pre-race pasta gorge at Buca di Beppo. After dinner I went out in search of my pre-race foods. Before almost every single race that I run, I have a bottle of Naked Juice Blue Machine and a banana. However, at 8 PM I was finding that all grocery and convenience stores in downtown Indianapolis were closed. So while the Snyders were keeping their traditions going, it was looking like I’d have to break at least one of mine. I had also abstained from having a beer at dinner, which lately has become my new PR guarantee. Superstition is amusing, isn’t it? On a real, tangible note, my digestion had not been agreeing with me at all since Thursday and that had been slowly chipping away at my confidence.
As a side note, I have always been impressed and entertained by the candor with which athlete bloggers nonchalantly detail their bowel movements (especially girls). It’s as if they forget that the internet is open to everyone and anyone, so they splatter their writing indiscriminately and with a strange satisfaction. I will break the trend and spare you the details. The important part to know is that I was worried I hadn’t retained any carbohydrates over the last two days.
At 7:30 the next morning I was at the starting line. It was 64 degrees, which is nice, though not ideal. The real culprit was the humidity, which was perched comfortably at 97%. Much like last weekend though, potential storms decided to avoid the city, much to everyone’s delight. The race began on time, sending a flood of 35,000 people on their way to finishing the country’s largest half marathon. It begins going west on West Washington Street, rounding the White River Gardens, where the night before Rise Against had played a raucous show, their booming punk anthems reverberating off our windows well into the night.
I felt slow those first two miles. My legs didn’t feel fresh or relaxed. It’s never too early to be unsure of how the race will end up, but I wasn’t even at the 5K mark and I was feeling a little dispirited. It wasn’t all bad though. It definitely wasn’t that hot and a gentle breeze was keeping the humidity from being too oppressive. It was the first race ever that I decided to go shirtless, and that was definitely helping.
By mile 3, I started to speed up slightly, aided by the endless parade of bands lining the course. Most races will feature entertainment every mile or so, but the Mini puts them all to shame. Not even the Rock ‘n Roll race series can hold a candle to the sheer amount of musical acts that set up their gear on the sidelines of this race. Right as the echoes of one band would fade, you’d start hearing the next one’s distorted speakers. I want to say that a third of the bands were comprised of kids who were born after 1996. We passed a band called Infamous, which was a quartet of black-clad kids playing death metal (it’s awesome to finally hear someone shout a raspy, deathlike “Let’s go runners!”); another grade-school band playing Green Day’s “Brain Stew” (a song that definitely came out before the band was born); a solo musician with an acoustic guitar; neighbors with speakers on their front lawn; a girl band blaring “Hit Me With Your Best Shot,” and more kids playing “Seven Nation Army.” But the real boost of speed came from one band around mile 5 that was playing “Don’t Stop Believing.” I happened to pass them right at “and it goes on and on and on.” Those kids weren’t even an idea in the back of their parents’ minds when that song came out. Probably because their parents were still in high school.
It takes about six miles to reach the Speedway. I spent those miles in the low 7’s, keeping a consistent pace and feeling surprisingly comfortable. I was sweating a lot, make no mistake, but my form wasn’t suffering and I was keeping my head up. Once inside, runners are treated to two and a half miles of soft asphalt, recordings of classic races, several groups of cheerleaders and a chance to run a huge loop in an impressively huge venue. It was around mile 7 that I had my “don’t care” moment. Will I be able to keep this pace? Don’t care. Will I find myself dehydrated and cramped? Don’t care. Will I regret going too fast, knowing the likelihood of a poor performance?
So I started running in the high 6s. My legs were a bit heavy, but I was turning them over, hoping I could keep it going for another six miles. Once out of the glorious Speedway, it was time to focus. The last three miles go by so quickly because you feel distracted by the enormity of the structure. But now we were back on major roads, running straight into the sun. It was getting harder to keep the pace but it was helpful to pass people. By this point, I knew it wasn’t going to be a PR race. I’d have to run murderous splits to catch up to my Louisville time from the previous weekend … but maybe I’d be able to finish in the top 500. The race offers a bonus medal to the first 500 finishers and in past years, that meant running at least a 1:29. With the humidity and cautionary emails, it was possible that the field had slowed down enough for me to sneak in.
I kept my pace up, passing runners in large groups. In a race this big, the field doesn’t thin out, so every mile meant passing a lot of people. I remember thinking that I wanted this to be like a video game. I wanted to know who racer #500 was, designated by having a pixelated red triangle bouncing over his or her head. I kept imagining that the next person ahead of me was #500, so I would reel them in and pass them. Rinse, sweat, heave, repeat.
At mile 12, runners cross the river on West New York Street, the last straight shot to the finish line. I ran on the right side of the road and took advantage of the shade. I remembered how easy it felt in Louisville to run that last mile at breakneck pace. Not so much today. I was hurting. There was no physical pain, but my efficient and collected stride had deteriorated to the gait of Woody the Cowboy from Toy Story. I could hear the echoes of the big yellow finish line up ahead but couldn’t muster an additional sprint surge. Didn’t matter. I covered the last 0.1 miles in forty seconds and finished in 1:32:19, my second fastest non-downhill time.
I let out an ogre-like sigh of relief and stopped my clock, walking right into a wall of volunteers holding medals. I took mine and looked at it thinking, not bad. It was monochromatic, but had nice details and was certainly better than 2010’s medal. Then I noticed, written on the top right corner, “500 Club.” In unison with the woman next to me, we both exclaimed “No way!” High five, complete stranger.
I would later check to see I finished 470th. That means that I secured my admittance into the exclusive 500 Club around the beginning of mile 12. It was there that I must have passed the runner with the blinking red triangle, thereby becoming (briefly) the 500th runner, everyone behind me now the Man with the Golden Gun. Given that medals are a big reason for doing these races, earning a bonus souvenir made my ears perk. I did not set a PR, but by no means was I complaining. Despite not doing all the nitpicky routine things that I do before every race, I had dominated the course and secured a fast time in tough conditions. Superstition be damned!
I negotiated my way through the finishing chute towards the hotel. After a quick shower, I returned to the post-race party to meet up with Francesca, a college friend who has run the Mini for the last five years with remarkably consistent times. You would guess that I was extremely nervous talking to her because I was sweating like an idiot. As charming as she is, it was the intense humidity. Despite my heart rate being back at normal levels, there was no comfort standing in the sun. And there were still thousands of runners left to finish.
And yet, despite the rising temperatures, the trip was a complete success for all. Steve marked the beginning of a comeback to endurance sports, finishing just behind his brother Greg, who earned his fourth Mini medal along with his wife Mindy. Lastly, Steve’s wife Jan paced his brother Jim to finish his first half marathon ever. He was this year’s Mini inductee, which begged the question of who would play that role next year. Everyone’s looking at you, Steph. It will be you sooner or later, you might as well get it over with.