California International Marathon 2014

Nothing takes the sting out of being a double lottery loser like having a race to focus on the next day. It was all part of the plan! Seven of us sat together at the Placer High School auditorium for the Western States lottery on Saturday, and seven of us walked out into the rainy morning disappointed but alarmingly philosophical.

“Next year!” declared Chaz, who did not get picked for the fifth year in a row.

I laughed and shook my head. I mean, what else can you say, really. Four of our seven had also been entered in, and shut out of, the Hardrock lottery that same morning.

“On to CIM!” implored Molly.

And that was that.

I had been enticed to enter into the CaliforniaInternational Marathon by friends while running 173 miles on the Tahoe Rim Trail this summer. A flat road marathon is essentially the opposite of four days romping 173 miles on mountain trails, and I was excited that people other than me found both to be appealing.

The training had also provided some structure to what you might call a fairly fluid time in my life. My goal was to better my PR (3:11:44at Eugene in 2013) and hopefully sneak under 3:10. I don’t run a lot of road marathons, but I do love doing them occasionally to see where I am with my fitness. I couldn’t really see spending the money on CIM, as well as taking the time to train, if I wasn’t going for a PR.

By the time race day rolled around, I knew I had some holes in my training which made me uncertain about my prospects, but I had felt similarly before Eugene. I didn’t feel overwhelmingly confident, but I’d had a few really strong workouts, and I thought running 3:10 was at least a possibility.

Ready to head to the start with Jamie

Thus I found myself on a perfect Sunday morning in Folsom, lining up with the 3:10 pace group, along with friends Chaz and Chris who had similar goals. All three of us expressed doubts, but smiled in excitement at the possibility of the day. I had already seen Helen at the gear truck, and Jamie and Molly who were leading the 3:35 and 3:45 pace groups respectively. Curt gave us a quick hello before moving up to start with the fast guys. Regardless of speed or goals, it was already worlds more fun than my previous CIM experiences because of all the friends. Also, the lack of rain and wind helped.

Sunrise over the start

At the start with Helen

Chris and Chaz ready to go!

Running a 3:10 marathon meant holding a 7:15 average pace per mile. I told myself that if it felt too hard, I would slow down by mile three. At mile two, I already knew it was too fast.

I ran with Chris and Chaz, and soon we came up behind Jenelle.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” I demanded. “I thought you were only planning on running 3:30!”

“Well,” she breathed, “I plan on running fast now and then blowing up.”

“Oh good!” I cheered. “Then you can pace me through the first 20 miles.”

Mile three came and went and I was still admonishing myself to slow down.

“By my own rules of pacing,” I told Chris, “I am definitely working too hard right now.”

Part of the problem was that I was running with friends. It’s so hard to slow down when it means letting your running partners go. Finally I bid them farewell as I ran off toward a bank of port-a-potties. I used my need to pee as a way to force myself to let them go. Upon reemerging 15 seconds later, I toned it down to about a 7:20 pace.

And then, running by myself, the day went by in a blur of images: watch still says 7:18 average; funny sign says “Smile if you’re not wearing underwear!” and I had to smile; there’s Carrie!; watch says 7:20 now, good; there’s Jen!; there’s J.P. and Avian!; funny sign says “Great Job, Random Person!”

This might be my favorite running photo ever. Clearly taken in the early miles before the pain set in. Perhaps I thought I was the princess in a parade?? Proof that I was having fun! (Photo by Avian Borden)

Around mile 16 I knew it was time to pick up the pace if I wanted to hit 3:10. I will admit, I did not feel great, but I didn’t yet know what would happen. I didn’t feel horrible, and ten miles isn’t all that far to an ultra runner. I choked down my second GU of the race and started working on inching that average pace back down toward 7:15.

I kept scanning the horizon for any sign of Chris or Chaz, and after a few miles I thought I spotted them – Chaz in the highly recognizable gold of the DPMR shirt, and Chris wearing a red shirt and UD running vest. For the next mile or so, I focused on closing the gap.

By the time I came up behind Chris at about mile 18, Chaz had put some space between them.

Chris and I exchanged words of encouragement, and when he asked me how I felt, I shrugged and said, “Like this is going to get real ugly in about two more miles.”

Either I am about to throw up, or I am trying to yell something really witty to Carrie. (Photo by Carrie Hyatt)

I couldn’t deny it at that point, but I could still try to hang on for as long as possible. Chris seemed to be feeling similarly, and he didn’t make an attempt to go with me as I turned my focus toward catching Chaz.

Even though he appeared to be right in front of me, it took me forever to catch him. Miles. Days. I don’t even know. Finally, I was close enough to say hello.

Unfortunately, I think the push to catch Chaz was my last hurrah. He asked how Chris was, and I said I’d just passed him. Then I remembered that it had been days since I had seen Chris. I was completely delirious, all sense of time and judgment gone.

It appeared that I had passed Chaz, but in reality I knew he was right behind me. I kept waiting for him to pull ahead because, seriously, if he was going slower than I was, then he was in a world of hurt. C’mon, Chaz! He finally went by me somewhere around mile 22. Sweet, maybe one of us could still pull off a 3:10!

I would say mile 22 is probably where it all fell apart, although I had seen the writing on the walls back when I told Chris it would get ugly. I’ve been too chicken to look at the splits from my Garmin, but I can tell you that my average pace started to plummet with about four miles to go. God I felt awful. So awful.

And the hard part about trying to run a PR and falling short is that “second fastest marathon ever” doesn’t really feel like enough incentive to keep going. Like, once I saw that I would miss my PR, I pretty much just wanted to walk it in. Because, dear lord, did I mention it hurt? Ugh.

When I heard a fan cheer for the 3:15 pace group, I wanted to cry. Instead, I swore aloud. I was going backwards. They passed me like a thunderous train, on their way to marathon glory. The only reason I could come up with not to walk now was that it would just make the pain last longer. Even my pathetic jog would at least get me to the finish line sooner than walking would.

My friend Tim told me later that he had passed me somewhere around here but refrained from saying hi since we were both clearly dying - confirmation that my inner pain and horror were evident to all. Eric Toschi cheered for me from the sidelines around mile 24, and although I tried to smile my thanks, I feel certain it was more of a grimace that said Oh God, two more miles, no, I can’t do it, kill me now, please!!

You know it’s bad when you look down at your watch to see how far you have to go and realize you haven’t even gone a tenth of a mile since the last time you looked.

Finally, the finish line was there. I was done. Curt and Chaz were waiting with congratulations, and I was never so happy. Woo Hoo! Finished!

I hurt. Like, a lot. But it was so fun to have friends at the finish. (And the leg spasms only lasted about 10 minutes – nothing compared to after Way Too Cool last year!)

After a couple minutes, Chris crossed the line and we all celebrated together. Somehow, the pain of the final 30 minutes of racing, seemed a fleeting memory. I was so happy to be at the finish line, I really didn’t mind being five minutes shy of my PR and seven minutes short of my 3:10 goal. Rena Lantz, whom I ran into later, told me that she basically ran the time she deserved, which I thought was a great way of putting it. I would have loved to run 3:10, but in truth, I deserved 3:17.

Somehow I missed all of my other friends finishes, even though I am sure I was standing right there when Helen crossed in sub-4. Perhaps I was still delirious.

After the race, Tyler had a bunch of us back to her place for beer and pizza. Except for our two pace group leaders, we had all come up short of our goals, but you would never have known it to hear the chatter at Tyler’s house. Everyone was in good spirits (I suppose the Lagunitas didn’t hurt.), and we talked excitedly of adventure running destinations for next year.

One thing that marathons have in common with ultras – it’s pretty easy to forget all the pain once you’re done running! I can’t say I plan on signing up for CIM next year, but I might just follow the crowd again and see what my friends are doing. It’s a plan that certainly worked for me this year.

Congrats to all the finishers, and a huge shout out out to everyone who shared training miles with me - both on the road and online. The support of friends was definitely the highlight of the weekend.

Western States, Hardrock, CIM, Oh My!

It’s Saturday morning, 8:30 AM, and the Placer High School auditorium is packed with skinny people chatting excitedly to each other. On stage, a handful of people sporting silver belt buckles double check their laptops, paperwork, and the functionality of the PA system. It’s probably the best non-running running event of the year: Western States lottery day!

I’m crammed in the seats with friends, iPhone in hand, keeping a close eye on the Twitter feed of @Hardrock100, where they’re updating the results of their own lottery. Occasionally I flip over to check on iRunFar's coverage of the TNF 50 where Rob Krar and Magda Boulet are already churning up the mud out front. Jamie is sitting next to me, constantly clutching my arm, the suspense of the whole day causing her to bounce constantly in her seat.

Both Jamie and I are in both lotteries. Certainly, the chances of either of us getting chosen for either race are slim. But who cares? The electric air of possibility fills the room. We’re not out of the running yet!

I know this scene will be pretty accurate for the first part of our morning (well, except for who's in the lead at TNF, but that's my prediction), but how the lottery results will play out is obviously unknown. (According to this guy, I have a 29% chance of getting into Hardrock! Information on the Hardrock site says 25.6%. Regardless, either is better than the 9% chance I have of getting into States.) I know that some of my friends will get chosen in each lottery (maybe some in both!), and that I will be pretty darn excited for them. I also know that I will not be disappointed to walk away empty handed myself. I certainly go into the endeavor hopeful because that’s part of the fun, but with the odds so slim, I like to keep my actual expectations realistic. I’ve already made my plans for what I’d like to run should I get into neither Western States nor Hardrock, and I’m aware that’s the most likely scenario.

The only thing I really want to avoid is any of the whiners. I don't mean the people who feel disappointed - that's fair enough. I mean the people who are always bitter and pissy because they didn’t get chosen. I think (hope!) most people are over this by now and have accepted the reality of the situation. But there’s always someone! Someone who thinks the rules are unfair and aren’t afraid to let you know. I want to slap these people and tell them to get a grip, but what I really want to do is simply not talk to them at all. Take it somewhere else if you’re going to bitch and moan. Lottery day is for fun!

~

I also have a great distraction from the probability that I won't win a lottery on Saturday – Sunday I will be joining many friends at the California International Marathon!

I’ve run CIM twice before, and neither was an amazing experience. The first time, in 2001, I drove from Truckee through a horrendous blizzard, ran injured through hurricane-force wind and rain to my slowest road marathon time ever, and spent five hours driving home through an even worse blizzard. Thank God I had Charlie to run the race with and Andrew to drive the car. At least we have good stories to share with each other!

The second time was in 2009. I remember I was freezing during the race, and I had to drive home through another blizzard, this time by myself. The most memorable part of the weekend was that I had my first experience peeing in a water bottle in my own car. Fun! Right? At a dead stop on I-80 for over an hour with the snow gathering fast and thick around us, and of course I had to pee desperately. Thank god I had a wide-mouth Nalgene rolling around in my backseat, and the snow covered windows provided plenty of privacy. Still, the awkwardness of trying to squat with my marathon-tired legs and the steering wheel in the way made me certain I would pee all over my car seat. I didn’t! Thus, I considered the weekend a reasonable success.

Home safe after CIM 2009. Praying for a non-snowy drive this year!

I truly hope that the third time’s the charm for this race. So far, Sunday looks like the only non-rainy day in the forecast, so I am keeping my fingers crossed. As usual, I’ve had some really strong individual workouts, but not a lot of consistency in my training. I know I’m in pretty good shape, but it’s hard to tell if my goal of running a PR is realistic. I ran 3:11:42 at Eugene in 2013, with a pretty significant negative split, and I recall it feeling almost easy. (Memory is funny that way, isn’t it? Kind of like how after I finished Hardrock in 2012, I said I would never run it again!) I don’t know if I’m in quite the same shape I was in at Eugene, but I’m setting my sights on 3:10 anyway. I guess we’ll see what happens!

The fun part about CIM this year is that I know so many people running the race. This is a big change from my last two experiences there. I feel happy and reassured that regardless of how fast or slow I run, I know I will have fun with my friends.

In fact, that thought sums up the entire weekend nicely. Things may or may not go as each of us hope, but whatever happens, we will all be there to support each other and share time together (and maybe even a few beers, too).

Looking forward to the weekend and to seeing you all out there! Good luck, everyone, and have fun!

The Eugene Marathon

If I could tell you only one thing about the Eugene Marathon, it would be this: Go run it!

Of course, if you know me, you know that I have far more than just one thing to say on the subject.

Tracktown, USA!

Eugene first caught my eye last year when Charlie and I were scoping races for a spring marathon to run together. We figured Eugene would be a great place to run fast, and Big Sur would be perfect if we just wanted to relax and stick together for the whole race. Obviously, Big Sur was the right call, but after looking so closely at Eugene, I knew it was one that I wanted to run one day. Turns out, I only had the patience to wait one year.

My training has been what you might call bipolar. With an overloaded work schedule and a frequent lack of motivation, my main goal has been to enjoy my running. I didn’t do any of the long, goal-pace road runs necessary to run a truly fast marathon. It just didn’t sound like fun. Instead, I spent weekends in the canyons with Jamie. What my long runs lacked in speed, they more than made up for in enjoyment.

My weekly mileage for March and April averaged somewhere around 40. Not bad for marathon training, if not exactly spectacular. The only thing I did do to help myself was put in some solid track workouts.

I’m not afraid of a vicious set of intervals, although it’s true that my favorite part of any speed session is that slow, satisfying, barefoot jog around the soccer fields after it’s all over. I spent Tuesday evenings at the Reno High track and ran, among other workouts, a bunch of those damn Yasso 800s. Such a love-hate thing, interval workouts.

Marathon day approached, and I’d managed to average 3:01 for 8X800 during track workouts, but only 7:50 pace for a “long” road run of 16 miles. What did this mean for a potential finish time? No clue.

I was more than a little shaken by what happened at Boston, and I just couldn’t get myself out the door for any final training days. Sickened and confused by the bombing of an event I love, motivation abandoned me. It resulted in a significantly longer taper than I would normally give to a marathon leading into a season of ultras, but whatever. I truly didn’t care.

I knew the one thing that might lift my spirits though. Running a marathon.

I was also extremely lucky that Charlie had agreed to join me for the weekend, even though she wouldn’t be running. It’s so rare that I have my own, personal cheering section! I also have little interest in travelling any real distance for a race if I'm doing it all alone.

We spent Saturday hanging out at the farmer’s market in Eugene, getting a slice of the local culture. It was a perfect pre-marathon day. We sat on the grass in the warm sunshine eating tamales and watching the bluegrass kids vie for territorial rights to various street corners. I’m fairly certain U of O has some sort of entrance requirement about being able to play either the banjo or guitar, with extra credit given for fiddle or washtub base.

Sunshine, organic local produce, and banjos. Yes!

That night we ate Gyros and found an awesome movie theater where they serve you beer and burgers while you kick back on the couch and watch Ben Affleck get Americans out of Iran. We really need one of these theaters in Truckee!

Race morning arrived with perfect temperatures. The cloud cover meant it was warm enough to start in my tank but would never get uncomfortably hot. I made my way to corral B (for 3:05 to 3:25 finishers) and bid Charlie farewell.

Pre-race, with Chuck.

Before the gun, we had a moment of silence for all those affected by the bombings at Boston. It may seem cliché, but this was one of the most powerful moments of the race for me. You know how things are at the beginning of a marathon: The announcer’s getting everyone excited, telling us how many minutes to the start while enormous speakers pump out Eye of the Tiger; runners are bouncing up and down in the crowd or feigning last minute stretches; a mass of well-tuned and rested bodies is ready to bolt down the open road; energy fills the air. So to have that energy so quickly silenced, sucked away as if by a vacuum, was impressive. We all stood with bowed heads, no background chatter, not even a baby crying in the distance. Silence.

And somehow feeling slightly more connected to the runners around us, we headed off for our marathon adventure.

I had tucked myself between the 3:05 and 3:25 pace groups in an attempt to stay out of the crowds. Still, the first few miles felt uncomfortably tight, and I mostly focused on navigating among the other runners and not tripping.  We ran through quiet neighborhoods with adorable houses – thousands of feet stampeding through the middle of the street, while inside, people slept that beautiful sleep of Sunday mornings. Or maybe the thundering feet woke them up; I don’t know.

Excited at Mile 1

I made a lightning-fast outhouse stop at mile four, and when I emerged, I could still see the 3:15 pace group off in the distance.

I knew I really wanted to run faster than last year’s 3:19 PR at Napa, but I honestly didn’t know if I’d trained well enough for that. I felt wonderful, but of course it was still quite early. My strategy became “Don’t get ahead of the 3:15 pace group.” Sometimes I get a little annoyed at the pace groups because it’s always so crowded around them, but at Eugene, I was truly grateful for that 3:15 group.

Time and again I’d be running along, just going the pace that felt good, and all of a sudden, there he’d be – that guy with the sign that said “3:15.” I’d feel the claustrophobia of the crowd and slow down to let them go ahead. My body wanted to go faster, but my brain said, “Relax. Don’t be stupid!” Generally in these situations, it’s better to listen to your brain.

the night before, Charlie had studied the map for the best places to cheer, so I knew where to look for her: miles 1, 8, 16, and the finish. This was fortunate, since for most of the day I spotted her before she saw me, and looking forward to those brief encounters was a great way to break up the race.

Mile 8

I entertained myself by trying to memorize all the hilarious signs people had made so that I could share them with you guys. Of course, I can only remember a few, but there were so many good ones!

At mile 1: “The End is Far!”

More than once, I saw: “Pain is temporary, posting on Facebook is forever.” Oh how true.

Held by a dejected looking little girl: “This is the WORST parade ever!”

Held by some hipster kid: “Motivational Sign”

Eventually I promised myself that if I still felt good at mile ten, I would allow myself to pass the 3:15 group. Mile ten came and went, but I was just too uncertain to pick up the pace. Same story at the half marathon. Finally, at mile 15, a parting of the crowd coincided with a short downhill. I took that as a sign and went for it. I averaged seven-flat for the next five miles, and suddenly I only had six miles to go.

Mile 18. I felt completely amazing here!

I found myself at the most wondrous of places: at the end of a race, on PR pace, passing other runners like mad, and feeling great. Of course, most people will tell you that mile 20 is nowhere near the end of a marathon, and they’re right. But my ultrarunner’s brain knew it was nothing, and my body told me clearly that it was not going to blow up during the course of the next six miles.

My pace slipped to 7:10, and I focused on maintaining it. But here’s the thing: when you know you have a big PR in the bag, and you’re really not worried about anything, it’s kind of hard to push yourself. I kept thinking about how I felt during the final miles of Napa last year, and there was a stark contrast. I’d been hurting at Napa, and trying desperately to hang onto a sub-3:20 finish. I’d pushed hard with everything I had.

But in the final miles of Eugene, I had already exceeded all of my own expectations. I knew there was more in the tank down there somewhere, and I tried hard to go for it – to make this PR as big as possible. But I knew I felt nothing like the pain of mile 25 at Napa. I felt a little guilty for not being able to dive headfirst into the pain cave. A few twinges of guilt, however, could do nothing to derail this train of near marathon perfection.

The finishline is at Hayward Field, which is so totally, completely awesome, except that you only get to be on the track for, like, ten seconds. The stadium was packed with cheering fans, and people pressed up against the fences. I’m pretty sure they were all screaming my name. Next time, I will run slower for that part.

I looked at the clock, and it was rapidly approaching 3:12. I thought, “Ooh, I could go under 3:12!” and sprinted for the line only to miss it by one second. Then I sheepishly realized that was the gun time. My chip time was 3:11:42. Wahoo! An eight minute PR!

The finish line! You can see why I sprinted to make it under 3:12. Heh heh, silly me.

Charlie and I kicked back on the soccer fields with a beer while the worst 80’s cover band ever blared in the background. Just then, the clouds lifted, and the sun shone down on my blissful face.

Signing the poster for Boston.

Eugene sent the poster, signed by all the participants, to Boston.

I declared myself in need of a hamburger, so after showers at the hotel, Charlie Googled “best burger in Eugene.” We took a leisurely stroll along the Willamette, through green grass and sunshine and several parks, to get to a place called Cornucopia and the best burgers not only in Eugene, but probably the entire universe.

A few stats on the day:

Finish: 3:11:42

First half: 1:37:10

Second half: 1:34:32

Average pace: 7:19

I know what you’re thinking: “You started too slow!” But I really have to disagree. I always do better when I have a negative split. Maybe I could have picked up another minute with a faster first half, but I have absolutely no regrets about how this played out.

And seriously, you should go run the Eugene Marathon.

Big Sur Marathon

 

When one of your dearest friends, whom you haven’t seen in years, has what we like to call “a significant birthday,” and her plan to celebrate involves you, the California coast, and a long run … well, it’s a sure sign you’ve made (and kept) the right friends in your life.

Charlie and I go way back to my freshman year of college and the rather naïve age of 17. She was that elusive training partner that we all seek – the one who can match you stride for stride, who pushes you, who competes next to you, who understands you because in many ways she is you. College track and cross country was a springboard for our friendship, but it was also at the heart of it. We are runners, both, whether we have been running many miles or very few.

When discussing possible race choices for this birthday event, we settled on Big Sur largely because it’s considered to be a slow course. We figured if we could let go of the desire to run a PR, we’d have no issue running together even if our training put us at different ability levels.

Back in the old days, Charlie and I trained for, and ran, our first marathon together. We did the same at our second marathon. There was no question then that we would run together and that our best efforts would match, no question of someone needing to run ahead, and no question of wanting to push ourselves. Of course we ran our hardest! That’s simply the way it was.

Sixteen years later, and our only goal is to run together again. Sixteen years of changing jobs, different houses, marriages, kids, periods of intense running, and periods of time away from running. It wasn’t about speed this time. It was just about us. Big Sur offered the perfect opportunity: a beautiful setting with no need to worry about running fast.

By the time race day rolled around, Chuck had spent most of our training months emailing me with updates about her calf injury. Mileage for her had been minimal as a result, but I really never questioned whether she should be trying to run a marathon on so little training. She was the girl, a year ahead of me in school, who had always set the example for me of exactly how to be a badass. There was simply no way she wasn’t going to run this race with me – she was my own personal map to badassery.

The 3:00 A.M. wake-up would have been normal for an ultra, but it seemed unusually cruel for a marathon. Also cruel was trying to cram the entire marathon field into a rather small parking lot for an hour where the only entertainment was waiting in line for the port-a-potties. I did manage some good people-watching, noting attire choices like Sponge-Bob pajamas, numerous colorful tutus, your standard garbage bags, and one man keeping warm in what was clearly his hotel bathrobe. And people think ultrarunners are weird.

Yes, this was really the line for the port-a-potties.

Ready to rock! (I swear we did not plan the matching outfits.)

Given Charlie’s concern about even being able to run 26 miles, I took the ultrarunner’s approach and planned on a strict 10min/2min run/walk schedule.  We lined up in a conservative position between the 5-hour pace group and 5:30 pace group. As far as I was concerned, we may as well take our time, enjoy the scenery (and excellent company), and (hopefully) not further any injuries.

So far back, you can not even see the starting line. That's because we are smart!

Soon we were off on the best possible mode of transportation for exploring and adventuring.

I vowed from the beginning to take pictures of everything I saw, but one thing I had a hard time keeping up with were the musical acts; there were so many! However, if there's one thing I love, it's kids playing music, so I did not miss this first act - a high school band showing their stuff!

Here's the super awesome River Inn that let us all in to use their bathrooms. I think perhaps that's the privilege of being at the back of the pack. The fast people were too impatient to ask.

The mile markers were all decorated with plywood scenes, some of which were pretty funny.

Whoa, slow down there, Charlie!

With our run/walk schedule, we played leapfrog in the first several miles with the 5-hour pace group, which was being led by ultrarunner Whit Rambach. I wand to sidle up to him and grill him with questions about Hardrock since I knew he'd finished it, but as seems to be typical in these road marathons, things were particularly crowded around the runner with the pace sign. He was also busy playing tour guide, pointing out various sights and landmarks - a definite advantage to having a local as a pace leader.

Whit guides his group to a 5-hour finish.

We ran along feeling good, enjoying the scenery and the rising sun.

This highway sign wasn't really a good gauge of distance since we were already 5 or6 miles into the race at this point, but it seemed appropriate that it would be a marathon to get back to our hotel in Monterey. I was thinking perhaps a run to Santa Cruz might be nice?

 I kind of wondered about the choice of cows on this mile sign...

And then, a quarter mile later, it all made sense.

This was another group of high schoolers playing music, so I was sure to get a picture ...

I'm giving them jazz band status vs. marching band, based on their numbers and instruments. They're the rock stars of their school. They were pretty much rockin' out when we ran by.

As we neared the coast, we began to encounter fog, hills, and headwinds in earnest.

These things were never really that bothersome though. Perhaps because the scenery began to look like this ...

Mile 9, after a solid hill climb, was the sight of my favorite mile marker sign ... 

The only problem was, I thought it was so funny that it raised my expectations for the rest of the signs, and none of them could live up to this one. That just shows you what my sense of humor is like, I guess.


The next hill looked pretty intimidating from a distance, but we tackled it without too much trouble. It was long, but not terribly steep.

The rhythmic sound from these drummers kept us energized all the way up the hill.

I wondered if their arms were getting tired. I figured if they kept up that much drumming during the entire race, they were getting as good a workout as we were. Maybe better.

More high school band kids ...

I love these guys. When I was in high school, I thought the band kids were all geeks. Now I think they are completely awesome. I think maybe I'm the geek.

We finally came upon that famous bridge. You know, the one all those pictures? We got a race program at check in, and I counted no less that 15 pictures of this bridge in it. These guys like their bridge.

But I thought it was going to be one of those things that makes a great picture from a distance, but when you're actually running across it in the race you can't even see it. Turns out, not so.

My favorite part was the realization that all of us weren't just runners - we were tourists. Looking around, I saw that nearly everyone stopped for a picture at this spot. I loved it! I wasn't the only idiot with a camera; we were all idiots with cameras! I wondered if people at the front of the race were stopping to take so many pictures. I knew right then, that this was the best way to do this race: slow, and smiling, and soaking it all in.

"Ooh, will you take our picture?" "Sure, will you take mine?"

We could hear the piano music floating across the water long before actually crossing the bridge. And what was he playing? The Peanuts theme! I love the Peanuts! I danced my way right onto the bridge.

Exactly halfway across the bridge was the best moment of the entire day. There was a small crowed of runners stopped in the middle, cameras out. I followed their collective gaze to see a man down on one knee in front of his girlfriend. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. She must have said "yes!"

By the time I got my camera out, he was slipping the ring on her finger, and we were all still cheering. I get pretty sentimental over things these days, and this scene had me smiling and crying and loving this race. I love love!

The happy couple immediately post-engagement. She looked so happy and completely in shock. It was awesome!

The Peanuts were still rockin' us down the road, and it was at this point that I let loose with the following speech.

"You know, I really wanted to run this race when I was in high school.  But then, after I became a trail runner, I couldn't figure out what all the hype was about. I was totally stuck up about it and thought this race was completely overpriced. Like, why would anyone pay that much money for just a marathon? But you know what? Now? I take it all back. I TAKE IT ALL BACK! I LOVE THIS RACE!! Wooo hoooooo!"

I waved my arms in the air as I yelled, and Charlie joined me, smiling and waving and yelling in joy.

Way better than an ipod

Awesome volunteers

Eventually, we started pushing the limits of Charlie's training, and she decided it was time to stop and stretch out the hips. Not a problem.

This picture kind of reminds me of that time I laid down in the trail to take a nap at TRT.

I don't remember what song this band was singing, but they were rocking out, and he was totally singing right to me. I became and instant groupie!

 
Beyond mile 17 was what Charlie kept referring to as no man's land.

Seventeen miles was the longest training run she had completed in the last five years, according to her detailed record keeping. I think she managed one other long run in her training which was 10 miles. Not exactly high volume. She figured anything could happen after this point in the race.

What happened? We kept running.

You know the only thing better than a bunch of high school band kids? A bunch of middle school band kids!

Yeah, Carmel Middle School!


Here I am at one of the final aid stations enjoying some ripe strawberries ...

They were awesome!

After this point, it became about just crossing that line. It was clear we were going to make it, and I was impressed that Charlie hadn't needed any more than our regularly planned walking breaks. You did catch what her training had been like, right? Yup, that's my road map to badassery right there.

Although at one time this race sat atop my dream list, I'm glad I never ran it until now. This was exactly the way to do Big Sur - with a camera, a relaxed pace, and a good friend.