Let's Hear It: What's Your Worst Race Ever?

West Wyoming Marathon.

Won the race, but lost the war.

California International Marathon 1984

I was in fantastic shape and was ready to go.

I was feeling so good that I covered the first half in 1:08, but at about mile fifteen I hit a wall and straggled to the finish with a time of 2:49 which was my worst time for a marathon.

I was devastated,

I started having hip problems in high school and after the third race my 2nd year of college I wasn't able to run more than a mile. I tried every couple years but never got better until I was 37. Got back in pretty good shape and the same injury occurred. Turned out to be the psoas going into spasms. Finally got that taken care of and got in great shape just as I was turning 40. I signed up for the Houston half marathon hoping to run in the 116s. Two days after I turned 40, I fell headfirst through an attic pull down ladder and tore my back up.

I had scheduled a 5k in Florida the week before the half and was going to stop a few days in New Orleans. When I was in New Orleans, I couldn't walk more than two blocks without having to sit on the curb a few minutes to let the pain subside. I took my muscle relaxants and did the 5k anyway. It took me over 57 minutes when my goal was under 17. After figuring the half would take over 4 hours at that pace, I decided not to run. Ended up not being able to run for 3.5 Years.

Ya know its sort of therapeutic to relate the following that I endured years ago:

Was fit and full of expectation for this winter half marathon (or thereabouts).

- V Cold rain windy.

- First mile uphill. Felt terrible from the start line

- At no point did I ever recover. No sign of sickness.

- Big crowds to witness my pain.

- First time beaten by a female (Noooooo!) who cruised past at about 5 miles.

- Swear I was getting exposure in last few miles.

- Expecting 68-70 mins. Ran 78m for no apparent reason.

- All other teammates had decent runs.

- Took 75mins for restaurant to serve food afterwards.

Hell. Next week I ran fine, though.

Worst race ever has got to be my Senior year of high school. It was a Tuesday afternoon and we had a home dual meet. I was definitely a distance oriented guy, but my coach wanted to work on my speed and the team we were competing against wasn't the greatest, so he had me double in the 400 and 800. I was still a decent 800 guy with a 2:00 PR at the time, but I had never run an open 400 in my life. Anyways, that day we had a senior field trip to the local minor league baseball stadium for some ceremony and also (lucky me) were provided with a free lunch. Now keeping in mind we had a meet later that day, I tried to choose the best option out of the three offered - chicken fingers, pizza, or nachos. I went for the chicken fingers, but quickly learned that there is no such thing as non-toxic baseball stadium food. After eating, my stomach immediately started doing flips and feeling all around nasty. Fast forward 4 hours to the start of the 400 and I'm standing there like an idiot with all of the sprinters crouching in their blocks. Gun goes off and I sprint my way to a 55 high for DFL. Now my stomach is really feeling it, like maybe those chicken fingers with laced with colon cleanser or something.

The 800 was immediately after the 400 and basically 10 minutes after finishing, I'm on the line again. The plan was to go out in a 'slow' 65 and really go after it on the last lap. After all, I wasn't supposed to be worrying about competition...wrong. We go through the first lap in a 64 and I try to ramp it up, but my stomach has other thoughts, like 'let's see what it would feel like if a stick of dynamite exploded in there!' So I'm fading horrendously and people are going by me like I'm standing still. Oh yeah, did I mention that my slow kid brother is in the race too? With 75 to go, I look over my shoulder and there he is, 20m back...and gaining. Not only that, but he's really going for it and eating up the track like I've never seen! I gave it everything I had at that point, I think maybe the deepest I've ever had to dig in a race, clenching my gut the entire way. I bore down until the line, finishing just ahead of him. My time? A stellar 2:18, splits of 64/74, the slowest I had run since Freshman year. Right after the race, I stumbled directly to the grass infield (which doubled as the football field) where I proceeded to puke my guts out for a solid 10 minutes and then lay there for another 15 after that. My digestive system wasn't the same for the rest of the night. My coach also had planned to put me in the 4x4, but luckily after seeing my sorry condition, found a fitting replacement.

Although I still get crap for that race today, I did end up unintentionally helping my brother to a new PR. I think the best part of the entire experience was that no one cleaned up my mess (I was way too sick to and I guess no one wanted to touch it) and someone ended up just putting a bright orange cone over it, which the gym classes the next day did not appreciate - I couldn't help but snicker when I heard a couple of girls talking about how they stepped in some guy's vomit playing Irish Football that day.