Asheville Marathon – You Were My First

4:02am – Awake, again. My alarm is set for 3 minutes from now but I might as well get up, it’s not like I have slept much anyway. I tap the Weather Channel app on my phone and while it loads say a quick prayer that the forecast has changed for the better. 

No such luck. 

“Current temperature: 21°F, snow flurries until 10am. Wind: 15-25mph. Feels like: 8°F”

The thought of this race being a casual springtime run through the immaculately maintained grounds of Biltmore Estate filled with newly green trees, flowers and grapevines starting to bud in gardens and working vineyards over a hundred years old fades away and the reality of what I have gotten myself into starts to set in. I think of one of my high school coaches who used to say: “When it’s game time, it’s game time. The conditions will never be perfect but when it’s time to go, you give it everything you have.” Logically, this resonates – however, it does little to change the sense of impending doom emanating from my gut. I take a breath and climb into the clothes I had carefully laid out the night before; I double and triple check my post-race bag and head out. My wife, Meredith, sleepily wishes me good luck and I am out the door.

On the way down to the hotel breakfast area, two weathered and experienced-looking runners are chatting in the elevator. The conversation consists of a lot of head shaking and lip pursing, they are clearly worried. I am not sure whether to feel better about my own nerves or think about calling this off and go back to bed. Ultimately, I know I have worked too hard to let a little cold weather keep me from racing, but its presence is helping to intensify my doubts.

Breakfast consists of a bagel & peanut butter, hot tea, a banana and some water. It is tasteless, I am eating by rote. My attention is on the local news they have blaring in the dining area, “…unseasonably cold… snow accumulation…wind chill...”

The automatic doors open and wind blasts into the lobby. I start walking the few hundred yards from my hotel to the race shuttle pickup at the DoubleTree down the hill and I find myself alone, for the last time this day. The parking lot is full of cars but devoid of life – the snow (not flakes, more like icy ball bearings) is being whipped into miniature cyclones here and there.

The DoubleTree lobby is full of nervous energy. Runners are everywhere, checking their bags, sipping from water bottles, stretching. I head out the back door, onto the shuttle and we wind our way through the estate for the next 25 minutes. This being an inaugural race, it seems even the shuttle driver is not exactly sure where to go. We do a U-turn in a parking lot, he asks a volunteer for directions, and finally drops us off a solid half mile from the starting area. This does help our group bond at the bus driver’s expense, but we are left to pick our way down a hillside and over a frozen field to reach the start.

The 7am start time is fast approaching. The volunteers are working hard but there is no starting line yet, tents are still being erected and it feels like everything is behind schedule. Luckily, they do have 2 large tents set up and 1 has a propane heater in it. I get a great spot in front of the heating vent and have a warm place to stand until the race begins. A few of us from the bus are standing in a circle chatting to pass the time. We get a laugh when a guy comes in with a big sign that says, “Free Bacon,” and he really does have a huge bag of free bacon.

Now the start is being delayed 15 minutes because they are not quite ready and one shuttle bus is still missing. No one is surprised; or worried for that matter, the race will start soon enough and any delay means a few extra minutes for it to warm up (it never does, unfortunately).

Finally, it is time to leave the tent and line up. I get near the 4 hour pace group, Daphne the race organizer says a few words and off we go. 

The first section of the course is on paved roads as we work our way from Antler Hill Village towards the Biltmore House. This part is heavily wooded and the wind, for the first (and last) time all day, is completely calm. For now, conditions are perfect – the air is crisp, the snow crystals are reflecting the morning sunlight giving everything a sparking halo and the only sound is the drumming of feet. 

I feel strong; the past two weeks of tapering have done wonders for my joints and this is actually fun! The route is beautiful and I am easily staying with the 4 hour pace group. The hills are what I expected, numerous and long. For now, the elevation changes are no issue and my training is paying off.

The Biltmore House comes into view. It is amazing. I smile as I remember a few scenes from Richie Rich (it was filmed on the lawn) and try to take some mental pictures; this is, after all, the highlight of this race. The course then heads down through the main garden and back towards the French Broad River. 

The paved road gives way to gravel and we run parallel to the river for a few miles. As we near the river the wind kicks in with a vengeance and I am thankful to have opted for the warmest clothes I own. The road is less maintained than I was hoping for – the gravel is actually 4-inch diameter granite chunks and requires some serious concentration to keep from rolling an ankle. All in all though, I am still with the pace group and feeling good.

At mile 10, the route crosses over the river to begin the West Side portion of the course. There is a small cheering section and a ‘bridge troll’ offering words of encouragement, a nice touch by the organizers. The path changes to a dirt road which is more of an access road for farm equipment; it is essentially two single tracks side by side. We work our way uphill through a wooded area and eventually end up looking down on the aforementioned working vineyard and Long Valley Lake. The scenery is exactly as advertised – I can imagine in warmer years this would be even more stunning.

The 4 hour pace team has all but checked out on me by this point. The uphill section after the bridge took its toll and I hit the halfway turnaround at 2:03, behind my goal but still feeling pretty good. The cold weather is really affecting the water stations – the drink cups are frozen and you have to pull out a small hockey puck of ice before you can get a swallow. The GU packets are beginning to freeze and the fruit they have set out is frozen solid. The volunteers, however, are still all kinds of upbeat and supportive. I give them lots of credit; hours of wet hands in this wind can't be pleasant.

Miles 15-17; I am starting to hurt but hanging in there. Just after mile 18, I pass the bridge again and begin the short inner loop on this side of the river. The cumulative elevation change is manifesting itself in my quads and I find myself slowing to a shuffle on the steep sections. I am reminded of the running literature saying your ‘economy of motion’ is reduced in the latter stages of a marathon so this is expected, what does surprise me is just how damn painful it is! I have given up on a time goal and am now focused simply on finishing.

I complete the inner circle and head back over the bridge. It is a relief to know the rest of the course is essentially flat but with 5 miles left I still have a long friggin’ way to go. I put my head down, focus on keeping my feet moving and grind it out for the next few miles. By the time I hit the last turnaround and start the final 3 miles back to Antler Hill Village, I am out of gas. The wind has also begun to take its toll, I am seriously cold and my hands have lost all feeling. My quads start cramping and force me to stop and stretch a few times. Otherwise, they lock up and I end up trying to run with completely stiff legs. I bet it looks hilarious.

The finish line finally comes into view and I manage to bang out the last hundred yards at a solid pace to finish strong. A volunteer hands me a wooden medal and a blanket at the finish line. 

At this point it is important to keep moving, so they say. I grit my teeth and hobble around for a few minutes and do what little stretching my body is capable of. I collect my post-race bag and head towards the massage tent. Pushing aside the flap reveals a scene straight out of a war movie. People are wrapped in blankets shivering uncontrollably, they are all moaning and I can literally hear a guy’s teeth chattering. Medical personnel are doing their thing and it is clear to me that this area is for people who need it more than I do. Gone are any feelings of regret for not meeting my goal time. As bad as I feel, at least I am still standing. I leave hoping these people come around and that there are no lasting injuries.

A few minutes later I call Meredith, using my nose to work my phone because my hands are so cold the touchscreen does not recognize them. She had been waiting at the finish line, but because I wore a sweatshirt instead of my regular long sleeve running shirt she actually missed me finish. She is understandably upset, but there is nothing to be done about it now. We collect a few bags of pretzels, a bottle Powerade and head for the car. 

After crushing a fantastic lunch at Moe’s Original BBQ in Biltmore Village, it’s time to head home and recover. Looking back, I should have put in more miles with more hill work. I honestly did not expect the hills to be that severe or the trails to be that rugged. The upside is that I finished and I can say I have run a marathon, which is all I was after in the first place.

Overall, the Asheville Marathon is a fantastic event and I highly recommend it. The scenery is unbeatable, the atmosphere is awesome, the volunteers are on point and I know it will continue to get better and better.

-Garen Stephens

                                                                                                                                        

Tags: marathon, marathoning, running, “first marathon”, Asheville, Biltmore, “Biltmore marathon”, “Asheville Marathon”