Jackson's Athletic Turning Points - Tales from the Crypt

When I think of personal athletic turning points, one jumps to the top of the list.   I am one of the few people you might know who has run themselves to death... and lived to tell the tale.

Friends and fellow runners, I don't recommend you follow my example of being a dumb-ass about how you approach your races.  This is a true story, however, and I share it to the best of my recollection.

Background

I discovered the joys of running thanks to a beer bet in university.  I caught the bug rather seriously.  ('May share the story another day.)  Two years into my addiction, I ran my second marathon in 2:51.  Hoping to keep the drive alive, I gave myself 5 months to break 2:30.

It's a lofty goal to break 2:30 in the marathon.  If you are not a runner, that goal may not mean much, but for a runner, it's very aggressive.  Shasha Pachev shares a bit of what it takes in this brief article.  While many complete the 42.2K marathon distance, only the elite will ever break 2:30.  Those who are successful can credit exceptional genes and exceptional effort.  Objectively, my genes are not exceptional.  I was, however, exceptionally determined to have a sub-2:30 on my athletic resume.

In retrospect, my racing experience was a bit thin.  I had run three (3) 20Ks, a 21.1K half-marathon and two (2) marathons.  I ran twice a week with an informal running group (Montreal Dynamos) that included several men who had run the marathon distance in 2:45 - 3:00.  I also ran a few days per week on my own.  I was self-trained and had never benefited from any formal coaching or training.

I lived in Montreal at the time, so it seemed a no-brainer that I pick the Montreal International Marathon for my personal record-breaking attempt.  The organizers of the race and the city of Montreal had painted a blue line on the street along the marathon route, so I ran the course frequently in training to psych myself-up.

I loved to run.  My social life revolved around my running friends and running club.  The company I worked with at the time supported me and so did my family. I shared my goal of breaking 2:30 with my support group.  

Race Day

My focus marathon was held on 13 September 1981... a couple of months before I would turn 24.  

As I ate a hearty breakfast of porridge and honey, I wrote 5K split times in ink on my arm.  If I could meet the splits, I'd finish in 2:28.

I left my apartment early and took the subway to the start/finish on Isle St. Helene.  'Made the start near the famous dome of the US pavilion at Expo '67 with plenty of time to spare.  Registration went smoothly.  I dropped off a gym bag containing a change of clothes for afterwards, $5 in cash and a transit token.  I then joined the crowd of nervous, stretching competitors.

It was a fairly hot, humid day.  There were some announcements in French and English, but I didn't pay them any heed as I was deep into my zone.  I recall the gun firing and the surge of bodies as we set off onto the race course.

The next couple of hours were a blur.  I do recall consulting the splits on my arm several times and being on track to reach my goal.  There's no recollection of what I ate or drank, but I now know I should have done more of both.

I distinctly remember crossing back to Isle St. Helene and seeing the dome of the finish line a few kilometers in the distance.  My gut feel is that I was close to being in the top 10 at the time.  There were 2 guys not far in front of me on a long, flat section of road.  I was hurting, but I figured if I could pick them off, I'd surely be in the top 10, so I dug deep.  I passed them.

I assume I died sometime soon thereafter.

The Other Side

This part gets fuzzy...

The next thing I remember, one or both of the guys I'd just passed grabbed me as I augured into the pavement.  There's another flash of being in an ambulance with siren wailing and an ambulance attendant looking down at me. 

I'm not sure how much time actually passed from the time they scraped me off the pavement until I arrived at the medical tent.  There's another flash of several people looking down at me and a lot of commotion.  I would later learn that I was on a plastic mesh stretcher in the medical emergency tent.  The medical staff had covered me with ice to bring my core body temperature down and were poking me to get intravenous into me.

I recall was having a choice between excruciating pain and a comfortable warmth.   If door #1 was the pain, and door #2, the happy place, something deep-down said that I should not take door #2.  I did it anyway.

My life literally flashed in front of my eyes.  I recall that my life appeared like an arc or, better, a slide carousel that had been cut in half.  There was a clear beginning where I was born.  The end, however, was not clear.  I could pull any slide out and see my life at that time... even as a baby.  I could see the moment I was living in.  Instinct and the thought that there may-or-may not be slides in the slide deck beyond the moment suggested there was more to my life.

There was a place at the end of the arc.  It was sunny and warm and yellow there.  Definitely a different kind of place to what I knew.  I was on my way there, too!

Not quite sure what the doctors did, but they interrupted my trip to the happy place.  They might have zapped me with an electric shock, hit me on the head or given me a drug... in any case, the next I recall, people were looking down at me and I was hurtin' again.

At this point, I was so out of it, I had no idea what a person was.  There was, however, a woman at my feet who looked very concerned.  Her eyes spoke to me as if I was doing something that was hurting her. 

Those eyes made my mind up.  I didn't want to hurt that person.  I fought against the urge to go back to the warm place.  Upon making the decision to fight, I recall jamming my foot down so hard it went through the plastic mesh of the stretcher.

Sounds odd, but I recall I had no memory at that time.  I think it had been erased.  Like a computer when you turn it back on, the memory is there, but it takes some time to reboot.

I didn't know what a human being was. I certainly couldn't speak, but I do recall a doctor trying to get me to speak.   This "reboot" may have lasted an hour or it may have been minutes.  Eventually, I was able to tell the doctor my name.  I distinctly recall the next words I uttered being, "Did I finish?"

The Road to Recovery

As soon as the doctor figured I was no longer a medical emergency, they wheeled my stretcher into an adjacent tent.  It was one of those big, green military-style tents and it was deserted.  'Not sure what happened to the IV, but it was no longer attached to me. 

I was very mixed up.  As soon as my senses cleared enough for me to realize where I was, I felt the compulsion to learn if I had finished the race and, if I did, I needed to know if I had broken 2:30.  So I got up off the stretcher and walked away!

I wandered around in the finish-line crowd for a while.  I eventually learned that I did not finish the race, so I picked up my gym bag, put some dry clothes on and took the subway home.

Given that I lived alone, nobody was around to check-up on me.  I cooked a pot of Kraft dinner and tried to make sense of what had happened to me over the course of the day. 

I was trashed... after all, I had run about 40K at 2:30 pace... so it was early to bed.  My last recollection of the day was pondering some statistics I'd heard somewhere about pilots who survive an airplane crash.  Apparently, a good number never fly again, but most of those who get back to flying right away get over it. 

The Turning Point?

Since this is a story about turning points, mine would have been the morning after my Montreal Marathon DNF (Did Not Finish.) 

I started that day with a run.