Reflections on the OBX Marathon 2009, Part 2

(EDITOR'S NOTE: This is the final part of my account of the Outer Banks Marathon 2009. The first part is below. Thanks for reading.)

The Outer Banks Marathon wound its way through the neighborhoods of Kill Devil Hills west of our U.S. 158 By-Pass. Bobby Mack led the full marathon field with two African runners I spotted some 800 to 1000 yards behind. In a marathon barely one third completed, this is a small distance. Bobby's position was not secure by any measure.

We reached the softer sandy loam road of Nags Head Woods Ecological Preserve where the runners would go on and we would turn back, ride east over to the Beach Road and follow it south to Barnes Street in Nags Head. Here we turned west and rode back to the spot the runners would emerge from Nags Head Woods. Would Bobby still have his lead? This is where I defected my assigned neutrality and quietly hoped to see him still out front. He appeared from the woods alone and I was now fully in his camp as if I was his very own personal coach, soigneur, or cheerleader. His countenance read of intense, concentrated focus. This reminded me of the huge distance between us and why we both filled the two roles we filled, why each of us was here this day.

I returned to my supposed neutrality. Broken lines of watchers clapped and cheered along the streets. Families sat in beach chairs at the ends of their driveways, parents pointing to the lone runner for their children to see. "This is Bobby from Raleigh, our marathon leader," I repeated at each turn.

I let Bobby know what was up ahead and how far he had come. He responded that his mile splits were still good. "You're gonna do it today," I insured him, once again letting slip my neutrality.

We turned right onto the By-Pass at Blue Jay Street and after about another 1/2 mile I looked back, way back behind us and there I spotted the two African runners churning out a steady pace. "Bobby, they're still back there around 800+ yards. You're doing great!" We were now moving through the half marathon runners many of whom were walking. I could see Rick about 100 yards ahead clearing these folks to the right. Many were walking two and three abreast and as he passed, some would return to this. I carried a whistle which I laid on pretty hard from time to time as a more insistent way of clearing our path. We plied on passing Orange DOT cones one after the other on our left. "This is Bobby from Raleigh..."

Water aid stations, some with blaring music and bulging masses of runners and volunteers on both sides of the water-cup tables were to our right. Cars slowed outside the cones, windows down, passengers cheering and encouraging Bobby. My whistle bleated out above the fray. Our small lane was crowded now as we turned west to the causeway, mile 21 or so. The southwester had blown up this morning and was ripping across this stretch of asphalt beside the Roanoke Sound with the huge open expanse of Pamlico Sound beyond. There was enough fetch for a hurricane to wind up over this inland sea and here came a wind racing over it fully able to suppress even the strongest of marathoners.

I looked at Bobby for what I thought would be the inevitable: "They say if you can make it through this point in a marathon, you can make it the whole way," Bobby called to me. Profound pain was creeping over his face now. We were at the foot of the arched Daniels Bridge. Runners and walkers were jamming the lane. I quickly looked back for the African challengers but couldn't pick them out. Creeping cars to our left, people yelling out words of encouragement to the runners and walkers had fused into our landscape now. Commotion, and chaos as we climbed, me plowing through other marathoners on my bike, he rapping out a heavier pace up and over the top of the bridge where the wind had us fully.

I could see Rick way up there moving people aside and them filling back in behind him many mindlessly struggling with their own personal race demons. At two miles out (from the finish) we were to call the race official at the finish line to report who had the lead. Rick was to make this call. I signaled up to him that now was the time. My computer showed just over 24 miles run. I could see Rick, a big guy, standing over his bike making that call. I looked back at Bobby just at the moment he abruptly stopped running, holding his right leg rapt in pain. I knew this look well. He was cramped. It looked like a hamstring. He stood, hunched over, knees locked trying to stretch it out, make it relax.

Just then a runner rushed by me yelling at Bobby who looked up. The other runner pointed to Bobby calling out, "Come on Bobby, get back on it. Come with me. You can do it man." As if on a vehicle which would not stop, he ran right by us and kept on. Bobby told me that runner was a friend of his, Ryan Woods, whom he had run with at N.C. Sate University. He was a little older, but he was a good guy and a fine athlete. Bobby kicked with his right leg and then began to jog up to his race gait once again. He was in tremendous pain. This was awe inspiring to watch.

I realized I had let the new leader of the marathon go by without picking him up to lead him, but this was not to be. I would not leave Bobby out of respect for the effort I was so fortunate to have witnessed this day. Maybe Rick would lead Ryan to the line.

One mile later another full marathon runner passed us. This was Nicolas Robin, I believe one of the African runners whom had been dogging Bobby's lead the whole way. I had heard Philip Cheruiyot, a prior winner of this race and a sure threat to win it again, had abandoned the race somewhere on the causeway.

The last mile had finally come. With his goal of setting a new course record and the lead left so far behind on the causeway, Bobby wound down toward the waterfront in the original part of the old town of Manteo. He finished in third place behind Robin and his old buddy Ryan who won the marathon at 2 hours, 32 minutes and 38 seconds. He will never know what his marathon effort left with me that day. In a way he is still running along with me as I ride my own race.