In Greek Mythology, Icarus was the son of a master craftsman, Daedelus. Imprisoned in the labyrinth by King Minos, Daedelus fashioned two sets of wings made from feathers, threads from blankets, clothes, and beeswax to escape the island.
The plans for the day ahead of me began four years ago. Riding a high from my first breakthrough at the marathon distance at the Columbus Marathon, I thought to myself, Maybe it’s possible to get down to 2:18:xx by 2023. At that point I had been fairly active on Letsrun, mostly in the Sub 2:30: Chase for Amateur Glory thread. One day I found a thread that lit the spark and started the chapter that I will close this weekend.
D3 Runners who OTQ.
At that point in time the list had to have been less than about 100 if I remember correctly. Once I saw it, I couldn’t shake it. After failing to qualify for the National Championships, I told myself this would be my redemption. This would be the next chapter of the 4:52/10:26 HS kid finding his way in this crazy sport.
The Master Craftsman? An old internet pal from my Dyestat message board days.
I can’t say that I ever shared my intentions this far out to many in those early days. Even being a rookie at the distance, I knew from my share of heartbreaks over the previous thirteen years that absolutely nothing was guaranteed. I’ve had a HS school record slip through my fingertips as I let off the gas with less than 800 meters to go after running what I thought was the race of my life for those first 2.5 miles. I’ve missed out on almost every major goal I’ve had for myself in this sport either by sheer bad luck or injury.
My teammate at the time, Sam, was probably the only person that I had let know what my long term goal was here.
I’m not sure if Zach had much thought of me growing into this position that I am now. When he took me on as an athlete I had just run my second marathon, a 2:34 at Boston where I came to a crashing halt 22 miles in. Maybe after Columbus those thoughts may have started for him too. Negative splitting a 2:30:25 in October after missing almost all of August due to injury? Maybe this kid can fly like I can.
He would let his belief known the morning of the 2020 Olympic Trials.
I had just finished a 16 mile run with 8 miles average about 5:30’s along a bike path in Atlanta. An early workout before I would get ready to cheer Zach on as he competed at his first Olympic Trials Marathon. I sent my splits to him as I always did, figuring he’d get to it in a couple days after combing through what was probably hundreds of messages from friends and family.
But my phone would buzz short thereafter.
I’ll see you here with me in four years.
And now four years later I sit here preparing for my chance to try and make my end of the bargain.
Nothing has been particularly flashy over the last couple of years. These wings haven’t been fashioned by altitude or training groups filled with people that have been there before. I train in Columbus, Ohio with a training group made up of great friends. Talented friends, yes, but not training partners because of their ability levels. I have a career that I work my mileage around; making sure that I don’t get myself too carried away in this running thing that I begin to have a negative effect in the things that actually matter. I’m not a professional runner, nor will I ever reference myself as such. And thankfully, I have a circle of pals there to remind me should I ever need it. A large amount of this endeavor has been funded on my own. Trainers? Find discounted pairs of old models and stock up. I haven’t had a marathon paid for by another entity. All out of pocket.
Of the 83 men and 81 women toeing the line this weekend in Sacramento, many of us will share a very similar story. ~150 of us with personal bests within 8 minutes of 2:18:00 and 2:37:00 have spent the last few years carving our own journey to this very starting line. Each having that moment that led us to believe: I can fly too.
Before escaping the Island Daedelus warned his son not to fly too close to the sun or too close to the sea.
To truly fly tomorrow involves taking a massive risk. Many of us will line up with personal bests that on paper do not inspire confidence for the task ahead. 2:23:28 seems like lightyears away from 2:18:00. But as Zach once said: We’re not going to CIM to run 2:21. You can run 2:21 anywhere.
The window for the 2024 Olympic Trials Marathon closes on Dec 5th. Why not give it a shot. Why not fly. Dozens of us will affix our wings and take flight tomorrow. Runners from all walks of life, the distance doesn’t discriminate. We’ll pack up stride for stride as we roll up and down the roller coaster ride from Folsom to Sacramento, all in good spirits, with bright eyes and hopeful hearts. We’ll attempt to settle into cruising altitude; riding the boundary between comfort and redlining.
As our journey continues to the promised land the upbeat and lively group will begin to disassemble; runner by runner falling off the pack. Packs will splinter and choices will be made that will decide the fates of each runner.
Overcome with giddiness while flying, Icarus soars higher and higher into the sky. As he soars, the heat from the sun begins to melt the beeswax. The wings begin to fall apart as Icarus valiantly attempts to stay in flight. But alas, his attempts prove futile as he slams into the sea and ultimately drowns.
Most of us in these packs will drown tomorrow. Some will hold on and be rewarded with consolation prizes of personal bests while others will drag themselves across the line, pulling themselves out the deepest pool of fatigue they’ve ever experienced. But so comes the risk with the challenge. No risk, no reward.
There will be carnage tomorrow, but there will also be celebrations to be had. Many will achieve dreams they never thought was possible. Regardless of the result, all of us can hold our heads up high. We all will fly, just some of us will fly the full 26.2.
Beers and Miles 