The first raindrops begin to fall at around 6:00 AM. I am walk-jogging to the start, and I'd been hoping that the rain would hold off for at least two more hours. But, how bad could a little rain be?
Debbie and I drove down to Columbus the day before, and we'd visited the Race Expo and joined the No-Kings protest at Capitol Square. That had all worked out well, and our dinner at Spaghetti Warehouse had been nice.
When I arrive at the starting area, there aren't a whole lot of runners around just yet. The rain is coming down harder, and I spot a nice, warm, dry tent. It looks a bit small for the thousands of runners expected, so perhaps some special access is required. A lovely lady checks my bib and looks me over as I rustle through my messy mylar blanket. She lets me in, and I'm surprised to see bagels and other food, along with coffee, water, and other drinks. I talk with some folks over coffee. When it's time to go to the corrals an hour later, I notice that a) there's no wait at all for the local portable toilets, b) there is someone checking credentials as we leave the area, and c) looking back, the tent area says, VIP area. It appears that it was intended for runners who sponsored one of the children receiving care at Nationwide Hospital.
Now in Corral B, I'm miserable. I'm surrounded by a multitude of runners here in the driving rain, and the start is delayed by 15 minutes, so I'm enduring this for 45 minutes instead of 30. My first couple of miles are slow, but eventually, I settle into a decent pace.
Although my goal had been to break four hours (as usual), I try hard not to worry about that. Yes, I'm behind the required pace, but I've got a long way to go. A lot can happen.
A lot does happen. The rain never quits, although it's heavier at times. The wind is challenging as well. I finally catch up with where I should be by about halfway. My time is two hours on the nose. The third quarter of the race gets tougher, though. At mile 17, we're going by Ohio Stadium, and the rain gets harder and the wind becomes stronger. I'm running through water on the road that is sometimes ankle deep.
This, and a pit stop a mile and a half later, slow me down. My mile 20 time is 3:05:28. That's a couple of minutes to the slow side. But here's the thing. By my watch, the official mile markers are a quarter-mile off now. Knowing that that can equate to a couple of minutes, I'm becoming hot and bothered. I am aware that when race courses, especially large ones, are measured, they are invariably long, since they take the shortest possible distance for the course, and even add a fudge factor. But hear me when I say that no one runs tangents better than I do. Yet here I am, behind the eight-ball in terms of time and distance. And I'm not happy about it.
Thus, I need to pick up my pace. And I do—a little. But not enough. By my watch, I hit mile 26.2 in four hours, zero minutes, and ten seconds. But at that point, I have an additional third of a mile to run. My official finish time is 4:02:47 for the 26.51 miles. I later learn that I've won my ancient age group. So that's something.
By some divine miracle, Debbie is able to find me after the finish. We walk the long, wet mile back to the hotel together. Although I didn't get the time I wanted, I'm satisfied that I did the best I could. CBUS did an excellent job, as usual. The volunteers and organization were terrific, especially considering the conditions.
Now, if we could only do something about that course measurement. And the rain.
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