Rock and Roll Vegas

The night before the race with my girls!

I set out with high hopes for the Full Marathon, shooting for as close to a 3:45 as possible.  We arrived in Vegas a couple of days early and I may have had a little bit too much to drink the first night, but this should have had no bearing on a race a couple of days later.

The damage from the heels the night before my race
I had to run with these cuts :-(

The race started at 4:30PM right as the sun was setting.  I spent the entire pre-race day laying around resting, mentally preparing for the evening race.  I was in corral 10 which supposedly housed the 3:50 full/1:55 half groups.  You can imagine my surprise when 12 minutes after the start, my corral was released and people started walking at the start.  I was in the 8:45 per mile pace group and having to weave in and out of walkers.  It seriously irritated me that I was forced to become "that douchebag" that sprinted by people, cutting people off and elbowing as I ran thanks to the lack of room on the streets.  Eventually, the crowd dispersed and I had some breathing room.

My first four miles felt fabulous:  I clocked an 8:51, 8:19, 8:19 and an 8:47.  Mile five was a 13:10.  Why you may ask....?  Well, about mile 4.75, I almost pooped my pants.  Yes, I just said that.  It was horrible and disgusting and I spent four minutes in the portapotty.  I know this is probably the point where you will stop reading my race report and I don't blame you if you do  ;-)  An important decision was made during these four minutes on the toilet mid-race.  I decided there was no way I could finish a full with my gut acting up as bad as it was.  Thankfully, the race offered the ability to drop down to the half mid-race with no penalty besides a wounded pride.

Pre-race-the strip was shut down!

More pre-race pics

I returned to my sub nine pace for miles six and seven, hitting 8:56 and 8:57.  I wasn't moving as quick as before, but if I could maintain a sub-nine for the remainder of the miles, I had enough buffer for a slight half PR.  That would redeem what was turning into a nightmare of a race.  No such luck.  Mile eight and the rumbles began again.  I slowed down, trying squeeze my gut into submission.  By mile ten, it was time for another portapotty trip.  At this point, Chris saw me and walked with me for about thirty seconds, concerned about my health.  I told him to keep going and I darted off to use the bathroom.  Mile eleven was a 14:22.  Shoot.  Me.  Now.  I was running at what would officially my Personal Worst (PW) over the last two years.  I kept plugging along, thinking to myself things couldn't get any worse.  Mile 11.5 and I accidentally inhaled some Gatorade.  This set off my asthma and I walked through a five minute coughing fit.  As people passed by me, they looked over their shoulder seriously concerned because I truly sounded like I was dying.  Thanks lungs.  Thanks for making the situation worse than it already was.  I hobbled into the finish line, attempting to redeem the run by shooting for a sub 2:15.  I at least did this with my 2:14 and change.  If you subtract the eight minutes spent using the restroom and leave in the hobbling while I was trying to not have an asthma attack or poop my pants, a 2:06 isn't a horrible time.

At least I saw a minion!