记陆战队50公里超级马拉松 - 把大象装冰箱，拢共分几步？

上个周日跑了陆战队马拉松的50公里超马，写几句，记录一下。跑个马拉松或者超马，值得写几个字记录吗？我觉得不值得，但跑步以外的事，或许值得。所谓醉翁之意不在酒。



上回跑马是三年前了，芝加哥马拉松，这三年里的头两年，趁着疫情的尾巴，又读了个学位，又用一年结婚生子，期间工作又增加了不少新的责任，生命的密度在这三年里有点大， 但也熬了过来，除了至近的一两个人，身边的人一点不知道我在做的事。Be like a swan, paddling madly underneath the water but appearing graceful and elegant on the surface。不敢自比天鹅，说的是这个意思。倒不是刻意隐瞒，就是想专注于自己的生活和自己的事，跟别人没关系。

孩子今年七月出生，到了九月，才算把换尿布喂奶哄睡觉弄熟练，就觉得我得做点什么，让自己觉得accomplished，而不是被生活淹没了自我。我说不然忙里偷闲，跑个马拉松吧，有几年没跑了。妻子倒很支持，可我提醒她，就算最低标准的训练，也得从我这分走二三十个小时原本该分担的换尿不湿的职责，听我这么一说，她似有迟疑，可我立即勉为其难道，好吧，听你的，我勉强跑一个吧，多一块完赛奖牌给儿子当玩具。9月16号注册了家门口的MCM 50K （陆战队50公里超级马拉松），距离10月27号开赛当天，六个星期. --- “Let the mission begin, God will provide”.

六个星期，众多真正的跑者和马拉松好手可能觉得被冒犯了，认为我对马拉松这项运动缺乏应有的敬畏。其实不是，我当然希望能系统性训练，全力以赴跑个PB。但是我从来也没跑过有充分准备的马拉松，因为我从来也不是一个真正的runner跑者，因而跑步从来不会成为我的优先事项。于我，生活的真谛就是tradeoff取舍，你可以追求任何东西，但不能同时拥有一切。专注于你最想要的或最重要的。懂取舍，少纠结。但话又说回来，没有充分和系统性训练就不能跑了吗？赵本山说：没有困难，创造困难也要上；我说：Whatever it takes。

问：把大象装冰箱，拢共分几步？---  时间回到六个星期前，截至9月， 2024年总跑量180英里，在长跑训练的语境里，约等于零. 如果我在接下来的六个星期，每周周中能有时间跑一两次3到6英里，这点量不能拉体能，旨在让身体不锈住而已，然后把长跑安排在9/16-10/27 之间的5个周末，9/21直接从12英里跑起，9/28跑14英里，10/05拉上16英里，10/12再上18英里，10/19来到20英里，然后休息一周，周末就赶驴上架直接50公里（31英里）比赛。这样算下来，MCM 50公里超马之前，能凑足300英里的训练量，again，以真正跑者动辄1000甚至2000英里每年的跑量标准，不多不少，这个量约等于0. 可三年前跑芝马，我也是上了350英里的量，即使是我训练量最大的马拉松，也就是500英里，我长期做力量训练，我的时间和我对有氧训练的欲拒还迎又兼戒备之心，也只允许我为马拉松付出这么多了，真的，不能再多了。目标是不追求速度，完赛，不伤，五个周末从12拉到20英里的计划，我觉得是可行的。---  答：把大象装冰箱，拢共分三步。第一步 - 把冰箱门打开。

接下来的五个星期按照既定计划，五个长跑，和其间的短跑中跑，凑了120英里，加上九月之前的180英里，整够300. 一切按照计划进行，除了赛前两个星期感染了时下的流行病毒，咳嗽了10天，没看医生，应该是肺炎。直到赛事当天早上，没有任何好转，出门前还在吃止咳药加泰蓝诺，没带一条能量胶，但揣了一兜止咳糖。早上五点出门，开车直奔Pentagon的赛事指定停车场。咱也不用大包小包的装备，也没有前呼后拥的亲友团啦啦队，用不着，我喜欢举重若轻的感觉。十步杀一人，千里不留行。事了拂衣去，深藏身与名.......对，就是这个范。

从停车场出来，我坐的那辆去起跑点的赛事方的摆渡车走丢了，你没听错。小半个华盛顿特区因为陆战队马拉松从4:00am开始封路，摆渡车司机七拐八拐把55坐大巴开进了封路的死胡同，倒都倒不出来。当时6:20am, 车上跑马的能等，他们的第一波次7:55am开跑，可跑五十公里的7:15am 开跑，等不了。我跟另一个新泽西来跑50公里的老哥跳下车，二话不说就往最近的地铁站跑，蓝线坐了两站地，从地铁站出来离起跑点还有1.5英里，彼时成千上万的选手已经黑压压的从四面八方朝那个方向走去。我跟身旁萍水相逢的新泽西医生老哥说，咱们要跟着队伍有秩序的走，到了那就改跑马拉松吧，估计能赶上第四波起跑，但要还想跑超马，现在先得把跑马的都超了。老哥说，我跟着你。 随即我俩离开队伍，从旁边的草坪一路跑，一路喊着“借过，50公里马上起跑，晚了！“  还没日出，蒙蒙亮中就这样一直跑过五角大楼北停车场，跑过了安检区，前面就是起跑区了，回头查看新泽西的老哥跟丢没，却发现身后跟着十多个，都是跑50公里的，也晚了，看到我在大队伍旁边跑，不断加入，1.5英里后，楞跑出个小方阵来！

到了起跑区，还有十分钟起跑，刚刚狂奔了两英里，正好当热身了，肾上腺素也飙上来了，也不咳嗽了，也不流鼻涕了，右脚底由于近一个半月陡然加量引起的肌腱炎也不疼了……得了，今天就是今天了。巨鹿之战，项羽必须用五万楚军击破四十万秦军主力，阿金库尔战役，英王亨利五世必须亲帅几千英格兰长弓手团灭法兰西整个贵族和骑士阶层，今天陆战队50公里超级马拉松，我必须把大象装冰箱里。

一声汽笛，开跑。--- “Let the mission begin, God will provide”.  天已经亮了，沿途穿行的街道还很静，观看赛事加油助威的人群也还没有出来，路两 边只有每隔几十米一个的海军陆战队员，50公里的参赛选手也不多，后面跑马拉松的大部队还没起跑，难得的闹中静，我很享受这一刻。不断提醒自己放慢速度，今天顺利完赛的关键，在于够慢，在于抑制住自己的可能瞬间膨胀的自我和狂热进而不断加速然后在最后阶段无以为继，甚至受伤。训练严重不足，加上肺炎，肌腱炎，最现实的目标是完赛 。而且要尽量不伤，跑完还得赶紧回家给儿子换尿布呢。当然，最明智的做法是压根不跑，但我从来不是个明智的人。陆战队马拉松的赛道穿过华盛顿特区的部分及周边北维州的部分我再熟悉不过了，也是我经常周末去散步和休闲的去处。从阿灵顿出发，穿过阿灵顿，沿着GW PWY 一直到Key Bridge， 上了桥去Georgetown，再往北沿着Rock Creek Park 一直上坡到几乎国家动物园的南门，然后折返回Georgetown，沿波多马克河一直跑到Hains Point 海因兹岛的尽头，然后从岛的东岸向杰弗逊纪念堂跑，然后进入National Mall，经过国会山转弯向财政部造币局，然后上395公路桥，一路爬坡到桥中间，再朝Pentagon五角大楼的方向俯冲下去，很快就会进入Crystal City，终点就在陆战队战争纪念碑！这条线路，我根本不需要看赛事地图，几乎每一寸土地我都拿脚量过。

因为压着速度跑，头十个英里除了身体有点锈（之前八天因为肺炎咳嗽和肌腱炎，没有任何训练），没有任何问题。但是从Georgetown来回Rock Creek Park 的 10-14 英里，由于上下大坡加上道路超过30度的斜面，一直担心的右脚底板肌腱炎开始发作，导致左侧大腿内收肌因过度代偿而有轻度痉挛的迹象，将将一半的路程而已。如果脚底肌腱疼痛剧烈或者大腿肌肉痉挛，都将会直接威胁我完赛的目标，我是不是应该停下来让症状缓解一下？我经常想信仰在具体生活中的作用是什么，于我，就是在体力，智力，意志力发挥到极致的情况下，额外加持信仰生成的精神力。用体力，智力和意志力，我不能揪着自己的头发把自己提起来，但加上精神力，嗯……也许。我受教育有限，懂物理的和经典力学的别跟我较真，不值当的。想到这，也不用停下来缓解了，也不需要为可能的伤痛而焦虑，就像什么也没发生一样，继续跑，朝着目标跑，朝着终点跑。Take a leap of my faith, push myself to the limit, to make myself worthy of God's blessing.

街道两旁已经人声鼎沸，观赛的人群充塞了赛道沿途的街区，过了National Landing， 我跑进了Pentagon City，离终点只有4英里，身体和精神都没被推到极限，not even close. 这样也好，最后几英里提提速吧，来个轻松圆满的结局。在终点线前的几十米处，却又有小惊喜，妻子抱着儿子，还有几个好朋友，出现在围栏后的观赛人群当中，大喊我的名字，为我欢呼。Come on, 最不喜欢兴师动众的，多大点事儿，不值当的，我就不能静静的当一个跑步的美男子吗？不是说好了，我一早趁着家人都没起床，一个人溜出来跑个马拉松，跑完之后再跟没事人一样，溜回停车场，开车回家吃午饭，就像什么都没发生过。

对了，别忘了把冰箱门关上。

An Ultra Marathon that's mostly not about running --- How many steps to fit an elephant into a fridge?

Last Sunday, I ran the Marine Corps Marathon 50K ultra, and I thought I'd jot down a few notes—not for the race itself, since there's nothing extraordinary about running a marathon or ultra, really. But sometimes, it's what happens around the running that’s worth noting. After all, what does an old proverb say? The real meaning is rarely in the wine itself.

The last time I ran a marathon was three years ago, in Chicago. Since then, life has moved along at a sprint: I snagged another degree while pandemic winds still blew, got married, welcomed a child, and shouldered more work responsibilities. These past three years have been intense—dense, even—but we made it through. Beyond one or two close people, no one really knew what I was up to. Be like a swan, paddling madly underneath the water but appearing graceful and elegant on the surface. Not that I think of myself as a swan, but you get the idea. It wasn’t intentional concealment; I just wanted to live my life privately, in my own lane.

Our son was born this July, and by September I’d finally settled into the rhythm of diaper changes, midnight feeds, and the art of putting him down to sleep without breaking a sweat. That’s when the realization hit me—I needed to do something for myself, something to reclaim a piece of my identity outside of being a dad and a husband. I casually mentioned running a marathon again, seeing as it had been a few years. My wife was enthusiastic, but I gently reminded her of the “price tag”: even the bare minimum of training would mean I’d be peeling off a good twenty or thirty hours from our already hectic baby duty rotation. She hesitated, but before she could object, I feigned noble sacrifice, saying, "Alright, alright, if you insist, I'll ‘make do’ with one more finisher medal for the kid’s toy box."

On September 16, I signed up for the MCM 50K, right in my own backyard, with exactly six weeks until race day. “Let the mission begin; God will provide.” And yes, six weeks is far from ideal. Real marathoners are probably rolling their eyes, thinking I'm an affront to the sport for not respecting the distance. It’s not that—I’d love a structured training plan, a shot at a PR. But here’s the thing: I’ve never trained “properly” for a marathon. I’ve never been a true runner; running has never been my top priority. For me, life’s meaning lies in trade-offs. You can pursue anything, but you can’t have everything. Pick the one thing that matters most. Focus on it, and let the rest go.

But on the flip side—who says you need perfect training to finish a race? If there isn’t a challenge, create one. I say: Whatever it takes.

So back to that elephant. Six weeks, 180 miles total on my shoes for 2024, which is as good as zero in marathon training. I decided I’d run a couple of 3-to-6-mile weekday jogs to avoid rusting completely, then pile on distance with long weekend runs from September 16 onward. First up was 12 miles, then 14, then 16, then 18, then 20, and then I’d rest before throwing myself into the 50K on October 27. This would total 300 miles by race day, a “meh” tally if we’re comparing to real runners clocking thousands each year. But my biggest marathon season topped out at 500 miles, and even then, my cardio reluctance (and occasional horror) made it a one-off.

I’d come up with a modest plan: start slow, no speed goals, finish uninjured. Five weekend long runs from 12 to 20 miles. Doable. Step 1: Open the fridge door.

The weeks ticked by, and I made it to race week with my 300 miles logged. Only one hiccup: I came down with a trending virus two weeks before race day. Ten days of coughing, congestion, and wheezing without seeing a doctor (probably pneumonia, to be honest). Morning of the race, I was still coughing, downing Tylenol and cough syrup. I had no energy gels, just a pocketful of cough drops.

At 5 a.m., I left for the Pentagon parking lot, the designated start. No need for a gear bag or an entourage; I like to keep things light. One to slay, miles away. Finish, brush off, disappear. You get the vibe.

But as luck would have it, my shuttle bus got lost. Yes, in D.C., no less. Since 4 a.m., much of the city was closed to cars, and the shuttle driver had taken us on a wild goose chase through dead-end streets, completely stuck. At 6:20 a.m., those running the marathon could afford to wait; they wouldn’t start until 7:55 a.m. But the 50K started at 7:15.

A guy from New Jersey and I jumped off the bus, made for the nearest Metro station, and hopped the Blue Line, getting off two stops later and hustling 1.5 miles to the start. With thousands of runners streaming toward us, I told him, “If we’re going to run the 50K, we’ll need to sprint. Let’s get in the zone.” He gave me a nod, and we were off. By the time we got to the start area, there were about ten of us. Turns out our mini “lost souls” sprint became the warm-up we needed.

With ten minutes to go, heart racing, I couldn’t have asked for a better pump. Somehow, the adrenaline banished the cough, the foot pain from tendinitis disappeared, and suddenly, I was ready to tackle the day. Let’s get that elephant in the fridge.

Second step: Put the elephant in.

The course was surreal in the early morning, the streets still quiet. At this point, the cheer squads hadn’t fully emerged, and the only spectators were the Marines posted every few dozen yards. With no marathoners yet in sight, it was a rare moment of calm within the race. I kept telling myself to hold back, to stay slow—today, the key to finishing was restraint. Training had been thin, and with a cough and tendinitis, the real challenge was avoiding injury.

As I got into my stride, I knew the route like the back of my hand: out from Arlington, down GW Parkway, across Key Bridge into Georgetown, through Rock Creek Park, then south to Hains Point, Jefferson Memorial, National Mall, and back toward the Pentagon. Nearly every footstep was familiar, places I usually walk on weekends with friends or family.

The first 10 miles ticked by smoothly, but by Mile 14, my tendinitis began to flare up on the long, uneven slopes around Rock Creek Park, setting off sympathetic cramps in my thigh. A choice had to be made—stop and stretch or power through. I’ve often wondered what belief really does for us in life. I’d say it lets us generate the strength to lift ourselves past our limits, beyond what we think we’re capable of. Faith is that hidden arm, lifting you up even when your body is ready to falter. So, without even a pause, I kept moving, step by step, mile by mile.

Third step: Close the fridge door.

Around Mile 26, I finally broke a sweat. Realizing this, I picked up the pace to finish with something close to a sprint. As I neared the final mile, I saw a surprise waiting: my wife, holding our son, with a few close friends cheering me on at the barrier. They yelled my name, their voices a burst of energy. I wanted to roll my eyes at the fanfare—it was a nice touch, but really, I’d planned to run this race solo, slip out quietly, and be home by lunch, medals and all. Yet, there they were, pushing me into the home stretch.

And yes, don’t forget to close the door.