Salzburg Marathon 2012

Four seasons in a day and my first experience melding two of my favorite things - running and poop.

Prelude.

Nearly twenty years after training for my first marathon, it was looking like my next attempt would end in similar failure. Shubert could relate, my training would end unfinished. My old calf cramps returned and a month before the marathon, I was back to running but only 3 miles. Only a moron would think that one could crescendo from 3 to 26 in 4 weeks, but you should know by now, don't overestimate my judgement. Loic, a greater idiot than myself, suggested a run down Lake Zurich. Instead of running the easy route on the streets on the lake shore like I thought we were going to do, I ended up running 13 miles up and down the ridge trails. In short order, that lapse of judgement would direct me to my first marathon.

Fugue.

I found myself on a train from Zurich to Salzburg. Not sure how I got here but I heard voices telling me I could do this. My wife, kids and I spent a day visiting Mozart's birthplace, eating, seeing friends and obviously conducting other touristy activities. I could write an opus on the sights in this picturesque town but let's skip to the coda.

Overture.

Setting the stage for drama, I hadn't really thought out meal plan. I left the hotel early skipping it's breakfast, reasoning that I could buy something in town. This being Sunday in Austria, nothing was open until 9 AM, when the race started. And the race itself didn't have anything unlike races in the U.S. I would have to start on an empty stomach.

Allegro. Summer.

Staring under blue skies, the run started out without issues through tree lined streets. I picked up some bananas and oranges at the aid stations, and they kept me going for now. We ran through town and then through an old castle over red carpet. The course went out of town through lush, verdant valleys surrounding Salzburg. As the first of two laps was drawing to a close, I was still feeling good and running well. Renee, from San Diego, was there to cheer me on, and Martha was able to get me some cookies to eat.

Andante. Fall.

Shortly after watching the half-marathoners “divisi” off the course, the sky turned grey. The heat of the morning sun turned into a cooling rain. I took my first, brief break at the mile 15 aid station, eating a handful of bananas.

Adagio. Winter.

By mile 18, the rain turned into a hail. The wind section was blowing in all directions. It felt like the 1812 overture, an assault on my body like the overture in an assault on the ears. My legs started cramping madly. I was passed by the 4 hour pacer, and then the 4:15 pacer. I was walking a lot, but I was determined to finish.

Finale. Spring.

The wind slowed and the hail turned into light rain. I was overcome with emotion as I came into the finishing chute. It was overwhelming to see my wife and kids cheering me on. Still is, just thinking about it.

Final Movement.

We didn't have much time before we had to catch our train home. I discovered this day that running long distances really loosens up the bowels and that my final aria would makes its grand entrance on the train. My composition was complete. There was no encore - it would have been shitty anyway.