No doubt most of you who´ve ever run a marathon have seen
the medical tents in the finish area, but I can now boast of
having seen one from the inside.
I knew well before the start of the race that I seemed to
have a bit of bother with my stomach and it would be "fifty-
sixty" between whether it would be my day or not, so I´d
have to play it by ear at first.
I took it easy, 4:20-4:25, for the first 10K, I felt a bit
bloated and the sports drink didn´t seem to go down as
smoothly as it could, but I felt I could begin to give a
decent stab at the elusive sub-3 and upped the pace to 4:10-
4-15. It was quite nicely within my marathon zone, at least
according to my HRM,
However, it didn´t take long for the dreaded problems to
develop: the sports drink was sloshing around in my belly
and, at the same time, my bowels were trying to make un-
wanted movements. "Boy, you´re no Grete Waitz!" I said to
myself and vowed to continue the race as best I could, and
my sub-3 schedule wouldn´t allow it, anyway. (I didn´t fancy
sticking my fingers down my throat, either.)
The best I could do with a ballooning stomach and a tightly
held sphincter turned out to be around 4:30-4:40, depending.
At some point after 29K I rather abruptly found myself doing
a sort of ultra running shuffle with powerless legs and my
pace was now a pathetic 5:00-5:10; I didn´t feel like I´d
hit any kind of wall or that I had a bear to carry on my
back, but I didn´t even want to try to do better, I just
exchanged remarks with the other runners (who now included
slow half- marathoners whom I was now passing), spectators
and volunteers in an effort to make the time (to the
lavatory visit rather than to the finish as such) go faster.
The last 300 meters were on a track, but I had no interest
in making a good appearance on it, or fighting for position
againt a guy who dashed past me. Once I got a medal in my
hand I began to move towards the nearest loo, and once thus
relieved - it was very much like what I imagine "Montezuma´s
revenge" to be - I headed towards the hall one experience
richer - as I thought then. On the way there I had to stop
on the lawn, though, in a vain attempt to throw up - but I
didn´t think much of that, either.
Once inside I suddenly began to feel cold and started
shaking. "Odd," I thought, "maybe I really should ask the
medical folks whether they could spare an Imodium or two?"
But before I had completed my question, the medic had taken
a look at my shaking body (and my probably haggard face) and
told me to lie down on the mats: "No, buts. Just do it!" was
the curt response when I tried to object by pointing out
that I don´t feel the least bit dizzy or anything.
To cut the story short - after a very long intro:-) - I had
my pulse, bloodpressure and blood sugar taken (probably just
in case) and a bag of Ringer´s solution dripped into my arm,
and a bag of glucose thrown into the bargain. I cannot say I
began to feel better, as I hadn´t felt bad in the first
place, but I definitely stopped freezing.
The service was good, the atmosphere convivial and I could
recommend an hour there to anyone:-)
Anders
P.S. Oh, I finished in 3:16...
P.P. I spent the entire Saturday night and the best part
of Sunday having the most violent and belly-cramping
trots and throwing up whatever I´d tried to drink. I
don´t like to think of how weak I´d have felt
without the IV...
P.P.P. I´ll now take a few weeks of well-deserved R&R from
result-oriented running, but I have every intention
of being back...