So you got talked into writing a race report for that big marathon you did, huh? And now you're sweating how to write it with just the right amount of "I did great," "the course was beautiful," and "how my heart is filled with wonder of it all", plus that generous dose of humility that has to surround it all. Not to worry; Spareribs is here to rescue you with this formulaic primer on how to write the ideal race report. Just remember these basic rules and go straight to the keyboard now.
Rule Number One: You didn't adequately prepare for this race. You can't come right out and say this, because then people will think you're a newbie. You have to give the impression that you are generally in great shape, just didn't have time, or that there were other more important goals on your running calendar. A good, safe way to phrase this is, "While I wasn't exactly pointing to this race for a PR, I wanted to do the best I could..." Another idea is, "I decided to do this at the last minute with a friend, so I wasn't in the best shape to run my fastest." Or, "with Boston coming up, I thought I would just use this to train..." A corollary to this is to make sure you can't get caught in a trap. Rule Two helps with this tricky issue.
Rule Number Two: You had absolutely no goals for this race. You and I know you had goals. You dreamt every night of them, and all through your long runs. You fantasized about crossing the finish line first, breaking the tape, entering the stadium to roaring crowds. But you would be a fool to write this in a race report. You have to be cagey here. The trick is, after the race when you know how you did, retrofit your goals to suit the outcome. Here's a good example. Suppose you run the race very slowly, because you're fat. Clearly you can't write, "I ran the race slowly, because I'm built like a Weber grill." Instead, try something like, "After my knee injury last year, I was determined to run this race slowly, just to finish and feel good at the end." There! Sounds better already. Here's another. Suppose you go out like Secretariat, and die at 20 miles. (Maybe Ruffian would have been a better example.) For heaven's sake, do you want us all to snicker at you when you go by? "Hey, there's that idiot who went roaring by everyone and crapped out at 20 miles. Did you see him at the finish?" Here's a much more sensible treatment of this delicate situation, which puts a better spin on it: "Because I wasn't really pointing to this race, and had no fixed time goal, I decided to use it as a benchmark run, getting some good speed in, then backing off slightly so that I could finish comfortably. My plan was to run the first 20 hard, then jog in." Get it? You're on a roll now. Here's how you deal with obstacles during the run.
Rule Number Three: Your race was the only race in America in all of history to have a hill in it, and you are outraged. You have to be proactive here and not sound defensive. If you are to get away with this one, you have to position the problem of the hill or hills as if no other runner ever had to run up a hill like you did. You must aim for an overall effect that suggests that on race day, God put the Matterhorn in the middle of the course just as you got there, and that no one has ever run up a hill like this, or ever will in the future. Let's rehearse. The following is from my race report after the 2003 San Antonio Marathon, where I put myself in an inferior light. Here is what not to say: "I had a very difficult time running up a steep incline to a bridge at 19 miles, then we had to turn around and run up another incline to cross the bridge going the other way. I really slowed down here." Be honest. Aren't you thinking, "He can't even run up the incline of a bridge? How old is this guy?" How about, "No printed description or advice from previous runners of this race could possibly have prepared anyone for the nearly vertical climb that went from the 18 mile mark to about the 23.5 mile mark. I saw nobody near me who was not walking." Reality: It was a quarter mile highway ramp, you were last, and the walkers were race volunteers picking up the mile markers and heading into the finish.
Rule Number Four: You didn't expect to win anything and were pleasantly surprised when you did. Between us, we know you're a liar. You secretly hoped you would bag a trophy. But you can't say that in a race report, for fear of someone thinking, "he expected to get a trophy with that time?" You'd be saying you thought you ran a good time. Rubbish! You must act as if any time you ran was way slower than you could have run, provided you were in shape, and pointing to this race, remember? Here is how to phrase it: "Oddly enough, despite the fact that I barely jogged through this race, had my dog on a leash and stopped at the sixteen mile mark to nurse the baby while my husband held the dog, I couldn't believe that I actually got third in my age group!" You have to kind of do an "aw shucks" sort of treatment here, but you should be a pro by now.