The Hill at the End

On Sunday, I ran a marathon in the rolling hills of West Virginia at the home of West Virginia University in Morgantown. I see why the WVU mascot is called the Mountaineers. The further east you go on the main thoroughfare through the town the more it drops off a cliff. That same street happens to be the last mile of the Morgantown Marathon. I’m sure the guy who set up this race had the best intentions (the net proceeds from the race go to benefit U.S. veterans) but he also has a sadistic streak because who puts a steep hill at the end of a marathon?

To be fair, it would be impossible to run a race through Morgantown and not have a hill on the course. The town is wedged into an outcrop of the Appalachian mountains, which are not as beautiful and dramatically rugged as the Rockies but they certainly aren’t lacking in steepness. This particular course featured 2,000 feet of elevation gain over the 26 miles. It was enough to make even the most experienced runner quiver in his sweaty running shoes.

Going into this race, I knew it’d be a challenge. In addition to the hills, the weather didn’t look too favorable. The “low” temperature was predicted to be 69 degrees Fahrenheit, while the high was forecast near 80 degrees with mostly sunny skies. Such temperatures may be ideal for a run-of-the-mill day out on a Sunday, but for running a race, these temps were closer to dangerous than favorable. I had never been more thankful for cloud cover than I was when I walked out of my hotel on Sunday morning. It was slightly cooler than expected, and those clouds stayed around for most of the race. It was still hot for running, but not as bad as I had expected.

Before the race I had reviewed the elevation map of the course in disbelief. I didn’t see how I was going to run the whole race and still finish. Hills chew through a lot of energy, something that must be managed carefully over a race the length of a marathon if you hope to finish. If you’re not careful, you’ll hit the proverbial wall sooner than later on such a course. I was prepared to walk, if necessary, when I encountered the biggest hills. It’d be better to recover than run out of gas before I finished the race.

Early in the race, I felt particularly strong. I settled into third place behind two stronger runners and held that pace until I hit the biggest hill on the course. At that point, when I looked at the long climb ahead, I pulled up and began to walk. I used the time to consume some food and pounded my way up the hill at a good walking pace. Only a couple of runners passed me. Before I crested the hill, I began to run again feeling refreshed and reinvigorated after my brief respite.

After that big hill, all of the others seemed illegitimate as if their status as hills had been revoked. I cruised through the next few miles and even managed to catch one of the runners who had passed me. The race was going extremely well. The stretch of miles 23 and 24 were along a river trail and were as flat as could be. I felt great despite having crossed the 20-mile point. At mile 25 I grabbed some water as I ran by the mile marker and turned the corner in the last stretch of the race. That’s when I saw the obstacle that stood between me and the finish – the hill from hell.

Almost the entire final mile of the race was up hill. Not only was it a steep climb, but it was completely exposed to the sun as there were no trees on either side of the road. By this time in the race, most of the clouds had burned off and the temperature hovered in the 70s. Seeing and feeling this felt like being squashed under a giant boot. I pulled up and began walking again. The finish line would have to wait.

Before I crested the hill at mile 26, I began running again. The finish was slightly downhill, so I let gravity give me a hand. My time was still a respectable 3:17 despite the walking. Having conquered the course, I felt good. This wasn’t a course for personal bests.

That hill at the end was a real bummer even though I knew it was there before the race started. I couldn’t help but draw a parallel between the race and writing. There seems to always be a big hill at the end when it comes to finishing a novel, and I don’t mean completing the novel itself. The hill is perfecting it or getting it to the point where it’s ready to go beyond the draft phase. It seems insurmountable, but it requires focus even if that means slowing down and taking much longer than I’d prefer. That walk to the finish can be maddening, but it’s worth it when you cross the finish line.

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