2007 Big Sur Marathon

2. Big Sur Marathon – Carmel, Calif. – April 29, 2007

I signed up for this race after spending about five minutes on the website in late 2006. The photo tour gave a hint that this was something special. So what that I had not even run my first marathon yet. And surely I could run another marathon a little more than two months after the first.

It was worth it. I had to be on the bus in Monterey at about 4 a.m. Almost an hour later, we had driven the entire course and then some in reverse. I’m not a fan of seeing the course beforehand because I find it intimidating. Doing so in the dark and feeling all the ups and downs was about as bad as it gets.

We were dropped off at the Big Sur campground, where bonfires and port-a-potties awaited. Like most races, everyone was friendly and I started up conversations with a few people as we waited for the race in the dark. They called everyone to the line, and I realized when I got there that my bladder was full. I looked around and decided to duck into the woods to relieve myself, since the port-a-potties would take too long. As I stepped in, I realized I wasn’t the only one. Hundreds of people – both men and women – were surrounding the trees and taking care of business. I had to be careful not to pee on anyone.

The gun went off, and we headed west through the redwoods and past cow pastures for the first few miles. About five miles in, the course hit Pacific Coast Highway, and for the rest of the race we could hear waves crashing into the rocks to our left. My neck would end up sore because I spent so much time looking at the ocean. It was absolutely gorgeous. The course is challenging. As we rounded a bend at mile 10, I heard the thumping of Hawaiian drums, and I knew what was coming. Hurricane Point is a 600-foot climb over the next two miles. It’s daunting, especially because you know you still have more than half the race left. But the drumbeats get the heart pumping and everyone’s pace seems to move in step with those drums.

The weather that day was perfect. Temperatures were in the mid-50s, and it was cloudy with a slight tailwind. About 2/3 of the way up, I felt like I was running into the clouds. My sunglasses started to get drops of precipitation, but it wasn’t raining. It felt great and helped me dial in during my charge to the top. As soon as you get to the top, you start the descent, which is almost as tough as the climb, and I had to consciously pull off the throttle and coast down.

At the bottom of the Hurricane Point, the course traverses Bixby Bridge, one of the most beautiful bridges in the world. Words really can’t describe it, but it’s surreal. And that unreality is multiplied by the man playing a grand piano while wearing a tuxedo with tails. The classical music in that situation is strange, but it somehow felt just right.

The organization of Big Sur is among the best in any race. Every mile marker has two people yelling your pace and expected finish time. I was a little surprised at how much energy I had built up after I crossed Bixby Bridge. There was a French guy, and we passed each other at least 10 times. At one point I tried to start a conversation, but he either didn’t hear me or didn’t care to talk. I decided I was going to beat him, and I increased my speed slightly. There aren’t many fans, but the ones that were there were friendly, including quite a few that smelled like they had been smoking something medicinal. It is California, after all.

Around mile 22 after fairly continuous hills, the course turns mostly downhill, and off in the distance you can see a few holes of the famed Pebble Beach Golf Course. With just a few miles to go, a woman had set up a table with strawberries. Perhaps I was slightly mental due to the fatigue, but these things looked like they were the size of apples and smelled amazing. I knew one bite would make me hurl at that point, so looked at her and pleaded, “Please tell me there are more at the finish.” She smiled and assured me there were. As I finished in 3:39, I was overjoyed. Not only had I beaten my previous time by more than 20 minutes, but also there were indeed strawberries in the finish area. I grabbed some, threw down the blanked they had put around me and collapsed on it, happy to not move other than taking bites of strawberries.

I’m not sure I’ll ever run a race that I love more. At any distance. Big Sur is damn near perfect.

2007 Pacific Shoreline Marathon

I ran 21 marathons and wrote about them before I started this blog. I’m going to post my recap of each race (in order) every few days. Please keep in mind, this is what I experienced during on that given day. Sometimes, we run great and races seem that much better because of it. Other times, we bonk and a perfectly fine race is engraved in our mind as miserable torture.

Let me say up front that every race was probably great for some runners, and that same race on that same day absolutely sucked for others. My guess is that I’m way too harsh on a few, and in all likelihood it was because I wasn’t trained properly or I was coming off injury or I flat out just had a bad race. All of those things happen.

And, as I often tell newcomers to our sport, the bad races make the good ones that much sweeter.

1. Pacific Shoreline Marathon – Huntington Beach, Calif. – Feb. 4, 2007

Like a first kiss or a first day of school, your first marathon will always hold a special place in your memory. On Super Bowl Sunday in 2007, I left my room at the Huntington Beach Hilton and walked right outside to the starting line of the Pacific Shores Marathon. For the first 31 years of my life, I always said that it would take a special kind of idiot to run a marathon. To be honest, that opinion has never changed, but here I was raising my hand when the emcee asked who was running their first marathon.

I felt as bad as I looked

I had run a few half marathons, and I thought my training had gone great. At the starting line, with the breeze blowing in from the Pacific Ocean a few hundred feet to our left, I’m not sure I could have felt better. Screw it. I’m going for Boston, I thought. So I started the race fast, figuring I’d keep it consistent for the first half and hopefully speed up in the second half. We ran along Pacific Coast Highway, as well as the bike path on the beach for the first half of the race. I felt great for the first 10 miles and slowed down only slightly as I hit the halfway mark before heading inland.

Not long after, I met the wall for the first time. Running around some parks, I started to understand why everyone advised me not to go out too fast. I walked some, ran some and cursed every minor incline that appeared to be a mountain, when it was probably nothing more than a speed bump.

With just a couple miles to go, I had finally reached PCH again, where the slower half marathoners were making their way to the finish. There were mixed emotions at that point. I was happy to think that I was running a full faster than some people going half the distance. The other half of me was pissed to think that they only had to do half. Now, I’m not faulting or judging anyone who has the guts to get out and run any distance, but this is the type of motivation I need to finish a race when all I want to do is quit. I struggled through the final few miles. With more than a half mile to go, you can see the finish line, and I needed something to get me through it. That’s when the 4:00 pace leader strolled by. I told him, “No offense, but there’s not f-ing way you’re beating me.” He laughed and shouted encouragement, as I finished in 3:59:48. It was nearly 50 minutes shy of Boston, but I was overjoyed to be done. And I was more than happy to take a sub-four hour marathon for my first one.