Pre-Race Planning

Earlier in the year, as most runners do, I began planning my upcoming races. During our group runs, we talk about who is signing up for which events — what is good, what is not, and what to expect. A group of us were sold on the Eau Claire Marathon. It is a small town with a small race, a friendly crowd, good organization, and affordable hotels and food. Best of all, it is less than 300 miles from our base.

I signed up for the full marathon and began preparing. My training went well. Even through winter, I was able to get my long runs in on days when the weather cooperated. My goal at this point in my life is simply to enjoy the race, rather than chase a pace or finish time.

The Ankle Scare

One week before race day, during a routine short run, trouble arrived. Just 1.5 miles into a planned 4-mile outing, my ankle suddenly began to hurt — badly enough that both running and walking were painful. It had acted up before, and I had always been able to shake it off after a few steps. Not this time. I had to walk home in mild but persistent pain. Over the next couple of days, the discomfort remained even while walking normally, making running out of the question.

This put me in a difficult spot. The hotel was already booked and paid for. After some thought, I decided to make the trip, start the race, and let my body dictate how far I could go.

Arrival & Race Expo

I had booked the Holiday Inn South in Altoona, a quiet suburb about 10 minutes from downtown Eau Claire. On Saturday morning, I headed to the hotel gym and tested my ankle with a slow, easy 5K. There was some discomfort at first, but it gradually faded as I warmed up. I felt cautiously encouraged.

At 11 AM, Doug — an Alpiner and RRCA representative — texted the group chat that the expo was open. I left around 11:15 and arrived quickly. The lot was full, and there was a long line at the entrance, but it moved fast. In about 20 minutes, I had my bib. The volunteer was friendly, we exchanged a few words, and she wished me luck. I was momentarily puzzled about where the rest of the package was.

I made my way inside to find Doug at the RRCA booth, but he was not there, so I chatted with his wife, Karoline, instead. Wandering further into the expo, I came upon stations marked 26.2 and 13.1, where volunteers were handing out race bags containing T-shirts and other items. Had I not been meeting Doug or browsing the floor, I could easily have left with just the bib and nothing else.

One exhibitor tried to recruit me for the 50 States Running Series. I have no interest in that at this stage, though I know it is a meaningful pursuit for several fellow Alpiners. Michael is 5 states short, Nicole is 10 short, and Mary Ann, Mary Papreck, and Kristen have already completed all 50. David Wcislo has taken it even further, finishing a marathon on every continent.

After the expo, I drove into downtown Eau Claire to scout Sunday’s parking situation, enjoyed a relaxed drive through the town, and even found a Costco nearby to top off my gas tank.

Pre-Race Dinner

That evening, I met up with the rest of the Alpiners at Marcion’s for a group dinner. Tim, Aislinn, Erick, Jessica, Tony, Ron, and I gathered around the table. Gunjan and Narayan skipped dinner, as they had brought their families along for the weekend. We had a wonderful hour and a half together. I returned to the hotel, laid out my gear for the morning, and turned in early.

Race Day Morning

I had set my alarm for 4 AM, but woke up before it went off. With everything already laid out the night before, I was out the door by 6 AM for the 7 AM start. Having scouted the parking the day before, I reached the lot without any trouble and found ample free space.

I sat in the car for 15 minutes doing a final mental check before beginning my pre-race routine. The morning was nippy, but it was going to warm up to a sunny day. I wore shorts and a sleeveless shirt, with a full-sleeve layer on top that I planned to discard at the start. On the 15-minute walk to the corral, I stopped at a porta-potty, knowing the lines near the start can get long.

The start line was set in a beautiful spot — a park on the banks of the Chippewa River, with a handsome pavilion nearby. I arrived about 15 minutes early, did my stretches, and then spotted Erica and Jessica heading toward the corral. With about 10 minutes to go, I discarded my extra layer, joined them, and we shared warm hugs and photos before the gun.

The Race

The race started on time, following the national anthem. The first three miles were downhill, and everyone was running fast and feeling strong. I had studied the course beforehand — elevation profile, water stop locations, and tricky stretches — and carried a quick reference note in my pocket. I knew when uphills were coming and when to take my gels. On sharp climbs, I planned to walk and conserve energy. My first walk break came at mile 5; my first gel at mile 4, timed early enough to absorb before I actually needed the boost.

Because of the ankle uncertainty, I had packed extra gels and hydration powder, unsure how long I might be out there. I took another gel at mile 10 and my final Huma+ gel at mile 14. I still had three Ultra Huma gels in reserve, one of which I used at mile 18.

Mile 18 delivered a long, exposed stretch along a bike trail beside railroad tracks — not scenic, not energizing. It was about three hours into the race, approaching 11 AM, and the sun had turned harsh. The wind helped, but it was drying rather than cooling. I stopped at nearly every water station and avoided Gatorade, which tends to dry out my mouth and cause gastric issues. The Huma+ gels provided both calories and hydration; the Ultra Huma gels were calories only, which is why I carried my own water bottle and hydration powder packets.

The Calf Crisis

I had been aware of a left calf issue coming in and had fitted a compression sleeve on it. Even so, the tightness began on the right side first, then the left followed. I could feel each soleus muscle contracting with every step, and eventually the tightness reached a point where I could not run — even walking was painful. I stopped, stretched as best I could, and tried again. Still too painful. I stepped off the course, sat down on the ground, and worked both calves over with a deep massage. Once they softened slightly, I was able to stand and begin moving again.

That long stretch I covered mostly walking — or more honestly, limping. The crowd was thin out there, but those watching were genuinely supportive. A handful of older spectators on the sidelines offered quiet, steady encouragement that meant more than they probably knew. Slowly, I transitioned from walking to short running intervals. My stride was not pretty, but I kept moving. As the course entered a shaded section, my legs responded, and I was gradually able to pick up the pace.

The Final Miles

At mile 21, a familiar voice came through a microphone — Tim, true to his word, was there cheering. We shared a quick hug, and I pushed on, running and walking in turns. By mile 24, more uphills appeared. They were gentler than the earlier ones, but at that stage, even a modest incline felt like a wall. I walked and slow-jogged through them.

The course did not make the finish easy. With the music from the finish line growing louder and the mileage on my watch creeping up, I sensed I was close — but there was still a bridge to cross at the moment of maximum exhaustion, then a downhill, then uphills again, and in the final half mile, yet another bridge. I walked that last bridge and began running as I came down the far side. At the corner, about 20 high school students erupted in a roaring cheer. With the finish line visible just 0.2 miles away, fueled by that noise and whatever my legs had left, I ran it in.

The Finish

I crossed the line, grabbed a banana and a water bottle, and made my way through the finishers’ area to collect my medal. As I sat recovering, Gunjan called — he had finished his half-marathon about an hour earlier and had been waiting. We met up and took photos. Shortly after, Aislinn and Tim came walking over. The hugs were long. They knew about the ankle going in, and simply finishing was what mattered. Another marathon in the books.

Post-Race Recovery

I walked back to my car, drank more water, and worked through my post-run stretching routine — which was anything but easy. My calves were still extremely tight, and something as simple as bending down to untie my shoes was a genuine challenge. After several minutes of careful stretching and experimenting with different positions, I managed.

For lunch, I had scouted a nearby restaurant the night before — a place called Good Wife, just a five-minute drive away. I was seated promptly, but the service was painfully slow. It took nearly half an hour for the food to arrive. The meal itself was clean and good, but I was exhausted, and the wait felt brutal.

Back at the hotel, I went straight to the pool area and spent 25 minutes in the spa. The jets were strong, and I used them to target the soleus directly. It helped considerably. The rest of the afternoon I spent on the phone with friends and family.

I was not particularly hungry that evening, but I knew I should eat before the restaurants closed, it being Sunday. I found Hawaii Poke Bowl nearby and ordered their signature dish: three types of raw fish and spicy shrimp over hot organic brown rice. It was a clean, nourishing meal, exactly what the body needed.

The Morning After

I turned in early and woke around 5 AM. The soleus tightness had eased considerably overnight, but now the right knee had joined the conversation. I went down to the gym, worked through my morning stretching routine to calm things down, then returned to the spa for another session, using the jets to work through the lower body once more.

I checked out around 9:30 AM and pointed the car south toward home. I stopped in Rockford, Illinois, to get the car washed — after more than 600 miles of highway driving, the windshield alone had claimed hundreds of casualties. On the way out of the wash, I spotted a Mission BBQ. My mouth watered immediately, the memory of a meal I had there with Amrit and Simer in Texas still vivid. I went in for five ribs. No regrets.

Then I drove home, bringing the Eau Claire Marathon weekend to a satisfying close.

About the Course

Looking at the elevation map, you might question your life choices. The profile resembles choppy waves — sharp climbs of 100 feet followed by equally sharp descents, sometimes packed into just 20 feet of road. Running uphill drains your energy reserves; running downhill punishes your quadriceps. My 66-year-old body appreciates neither.

Several stretches of town road had significant potholes and uneven patchwork. Even the sidewalks, which looked well-maintained, had irregular surfaces. I nearly went down twice. In the post-race conversation, I learned there had been several actual falls along the course.

The most unusual section was a three-mile loop through what appeared to be a forest preserve — a dirt path strewn with small rocks. It had rained the night before, and with thousands of feet churning through, light dust filled the air. Most road-running shoes are not designed for terrain like this, making it a distinctly different experience from any other race I have run.

Weather-wise, the morning started in the high 40s to low 50s, with the sun just cresting the horizon, was genuinely beautiful. But by mile 16, the course turned onto a straight two-mile stretch with no shade, and the sun was merciless. Despite drinking water at nearly every stop, my body overheated and began cramping from dehydration. I was far from alone — many runners, mostly older but a surprising number of younger ones too, were struggling on that same stretch.

Despite the ankle anxiety, the calf cramps, the heat, and a demanding course, I finished. And that is what matters most. Now, I can eat whatever and as much.