Runner’s High in the Last Four Miles of Shamrock Marathon

It’s been several weeks since I ran the Shamrock Marathon along the beaches of Virginia Beach, and I’ve replayed every mile in my head countless times. I’ve wanted to clearly identify what worked so well to achieve such a great result. I hope that for future marathons, I can replicate what I did in this one, because something went very right—I managed to break my marathon PR after 13 years by 1 minute and 46 seconds.

It was a race executed with a solid strategy. Not because I had planned it that way, but because of how I responded to critical decisions in unexpected situations during the marathon. The plan I had in mind was something I called “10, 10, and 10.” The first 10 referred to running the first 10 miles a little slower than my marathon pace (8:40 min/mile). The second 10 miles would be a bit faster (8:30 min/mile), and the final 10K would be run with whatever reserves I had left.

Since that 8:40 pace for my first 10 miles matched perfectly with the 3-hour-and-50-minute pacer group, I decided to start with them. I found it really convenient to run with a group. If you run 26.2 miles at the same pace as the two young pacers, you’re guaranteed to finish in that time. Besides setting the pace, they’re also motivators and cheerleaders along the course. Running with the group allowed me to disconnect from my watch—I wasn’t checking my pace or distance, just running confidently, knowing the group was moving at the speed I needed for those first 10 miles.

When we reached mile 10, the plan was to accelerate and face the strong winds on my own. In the group, it was easier to shield myself from the wind by moving right or left. Before following through with the plan, I decided the shelter and support of the group were more valuable than the solo battle I had envisioned. So I stayed with the group until mile 22, thinking several times that the possibility of breaking my PR was slipping away with every mile. But I found comfort in knowing that if I stayed with them, I’d finish in 3:50—ten minutes faster than my Plan B (just finishing under 4 hours).

At mile 22, the group leaders decided to slow down, as they were running a bit faster than intended. The pacer encouraged anyone who still had strength to push ahead without waiting for the group. So I did—and began the happiest four miles I’ve ever run.

As soon as I left the group, I put on my headphones and started the playlist I’d prepared. I intentionally began to smile—just like African runner Eliud Kipchoge often does. He believes that even a forced smile can trigger feelings of joy that help relieve pain. I discovered he was right. The joy of those four miles is the most vivid and treasured memory of this race. The fake smile lasted less than a minute before turning into a genuine grin that overpowered the fatigue and pain.

In the photos taken of me during those four miles, you can clearly see the joy with which I ran. Yes, there was fatigue and exhaustion—but those were fleeting sensations compared to the happiness of running the final miles of a marathon with energy. I’ve never tried any psychedelic substances or stimulants, but what I felt in those last four miles of the Virginia marathon is probably the closest thing to that experience. I felt the music in every part of my body, and my eyes locked onto the next runner ahead. I passed many—only one runner passed me. At moments, I felt no pain or tiredness, just the overwhelming joy of knowing my body was responding well to the effort. Each of those four miles was run 15 seconds faster than the previous one.

This trance lasted until mile 25.5, when a sign announced there was only half a mile left to the finish. I checked my watch for the first time since mile 20 and was pleasantly surprised to see the time: 3 hours and 43 minutes. The dream I thought I’d abandoned—breaking my personal record—was rising from the ashes. I drew even more energy and ran the final half-mile of the marathon at a 7:50 pace—much faster than the previous 25 miles and faster than any final mile I’ve ever run.

I crossed the finish line in an impressive 3:46:40—the fastest time of all 13 marathons I’ve run. Not only had I finally run a marathon under 4 hours—a goal I’d been chasing for 11 years—but I had also broken my personal best after 13 years.

The goal I had considered impossible for over a decade became a reality on the beaches of Virginia. Before anything else, I called my family to share the emotion. It felt amazing to hear that they had been following the race and confirmed that the official time was, indeed, a new Personal Record. Days later, in a calmer conversation with my daughter Paula, she told me she had run the first three miles of the marathon with me—running her 5K at the same time I was covering that same distance on the shores of Virginia.

Back in Orlando, I had the wonderful surprise of receiving a recognition from my training group, BMT. Every week, BMT coaches select a person who had a positive influence on the group and showed strong commitment to their training. Since it was the last session of the season, I didn’t expect them to present the “Dig Deep” award—and definitely not to me. It was incredibly rewarding to know that people had noticed and appreciated the effort I made to train for and run the Shamrock Marathon.

The soundtrack for the video I made of the race featured two songs by ZZ Top, from their 1973 album Tres Hombres. The album title was a funny coincidence—we were four men planning to run this race, but one had to sit out due to injury. The song I chose for key moments on race day was “La Grange,” a catchy, boogie-blues tune that became the band’s biggest hit. In the part of the video where I explain why I had such high hopes for this race, the soundtrack was Bruce Springsteen’s “High Hopes,” from his 2014 album of the same name.

The Virginia Beach Marathon will stay in my memory as my best race to date. Everything went perfectly: I trained the right way, the weather cooperated, and the winds—though strong—helped me make better decisions. My legs never faltered, and those final four miles will always be the closest I’ve come to the enigmatic  “runner’s high.”