Big Sur Marathon
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Note: We have Hari Young to "thank" for encouraging us to run the marathon. Hari, Kim, and I ran together in the months leading up to the race. Like us, Hari finished the race, and has put together a nice webpage with her story.
Kim and I both finished, slipping past the finish line -- together -- just a few seconds before the 4 hour, 15 minute mark. The similarties between us ended there, unfortunately. Whereas Kim "felt better at 22 miles than at 18," my mental and physical state steadily deteriorated after mile 16.
About four weeks before the race, we both caught a nasty cold. Since neither one of us wanted to train without the other, we lost a total of nine days, with absolutely no running. We feared that this could ruin our program and put the marathon in jeopardy. However, we were nicely surpised by a comfortable and speedy 15-miler we put in the following week. Unfortunately, from there things went downhill. March and April are always difficult months for any student at SEP, with the double whammy of spring report deadline and SEP meeting. As luck would have it, the SEP meeting fell on April 22-25; the marathon on April 28. Kim was also unusually busy. In the two weeks leading up to the marathon, we probably did no more than 25% of the "recommended" running.
Over the four days of April 22-25, I drove 20 hours, averaged 5-6 hours of sleep per night, ate a highly irregular diet, and suffered through the "usual" stress of an SEP meeting. We took a 10-miler on April 21, which by both accounts was ugly. I managed to slip in an uncomfortable 3-miler at Death Valley, and a 3-miler the night before the marathon.
The first big decision: what to wear? I had a pair of shorts and a pair of tights. The wind on this course is legendary, and the forecasts called for 18-25 mph winds, with cool 55-60 degree temperatures. For these reasons, we elected to ditch the shorts and run in tights and long-sleeved polypropylene shirts.
Allergies had seriously perturbed my most recent runs, so I decided to wear a Breathe-Right strip on my nose. Ahhh...being able to breathe freely through my nose is such a rare and beautiful thing. I loved the Breathe-Right strip.
What about the water? I knew that the race organizers would provide water, gatorade, fruit, and "Gu" at frequent intervals along the course. Still, I rationalized that by carrying my CamelBak "FlashFlo" hydration system, we could be totally self-sufficient. We could take water whenever we wanted, not just at the stations. We could have MORE Gu. We could carry a spare car key. We could carry blister treatment. We wouldn't be forced to...gasp...STOP at the water stations. So I strapped the surprisingly compact unit to my waist and prepared to run.
Finally...the pace. We hadn't discussed any rigid desired pace. I confess that I wanted to break four hours. Although this is a tough first marathon, I thought we could pull it off because of our hill training. That and my default optimism, belief in beginners' luck, and sheer ignorance. We had done long runs around a 9:30 pace, so I figured (naively) that it wouldn't be too much trouble to push the pace to the 9:07 or so pace required to do a 4-hour marathon.
By race time, the temperature had warmed to the high 40's, and we were pumped to run. "I can't believe we're about to run a marathon," I kept saying to Kim. Compared to our only previous race, the Bay to Breakers, the start proceeded quickly. We came up to a good pace within about three miles. The first five miles or so are a gentle downhill through thick fir forests. Unlike most of the other runners, I was secretly praying for a stiff wind, which would validate my decision to wear relatively warm clothes.
Upon breaking out of the trees, I was somewhat dismayed to find light, high clouds and almost no wind, with temperatures rapidly climbing toward 60 degrees. As we passed each mile marker, we were happy to hear that we were whittling away the time, steadily approaching a projected 4-hour marathon. Around mile 7, we were treated to wide open vistas, and even to two breeching whales close to the shoreline. Sadly, my Breathe-Right strip fell off, and soon, I found my nostrils almost completely shut by mile 10.
The infamous "Hurricane Point" climb starts just before mile 10, at 40 feet elevation. Between miles 10 and 11, the road climbs about 350 feet. The next mile climbs another 150 feet or so to the summit at 560 feet elevation. I was secretly looking forward to the hill, hoping that our hill training would propel us up this mere ant mound, past throngs of panting flatlanders. In the end, I felt we did pretty well up this long climb, only losing a couple minutes. I missed my Breathe-Right strip, though.
For the first 12 miles of the race, I didn't take any water at the water stations, and didn't even stop, as I chased the glory of breaking four hours. Every second counted, and I wasn't about to waste any time on a silly break. Those are for wussies! At the top of Hurricane Point, however, I relented, and recommended that we stop at the water station at mile 13. I actually felt more spent than I had hoped, and quite hot, as the wind still remained calm. After a short break, we whizzed downhill, my mind again fixated on the four hour prize.
Shortly after crossing the Bixby Bridge, at mile 13, the course trended gently uphill. I remember seeing a couple women in front of me. They were not the ideal model of a marathon runner: slightly hunched, kind of chubby, and moving with a shuffling gait. "If I can't beat these two, then I don't belong on the course," I said to myself. I increased my pace, and it was here where Kim wisely let me go my own way. Predictably, I made up time quickly, as my pace probably dropped into the 8:30 range. Unfortunately, my bliss proved short-lived. A relatively tough climb up Rocky Point sapped my strength. After another short climb above Garrapata Bridge, before mile 17, I walked for the first time. In effect, that was where I gave up. Suddenly my single driving force, the quest for the four hour marathon was replaced by a far less glorious, and I dare say, humiliating goal: the simple desire to finish. The desire to strip off these stupid, ridiculously hot, black tights. The desire to eat a gluttonous dinner. The desire to be reunited with Kim again.
At first, my humiliating-but-necessary walk breaks had no schedule. I kept my eyes on a woman in a black jog bra. She ran at a fast pace, but took many breaks. In the aggregate, we ran at about the same speed. So I took stops as necessary to maintain pace with her. It worked for a while, perhaps to mile 19. Then I started to get really thirsty. I can't say whether it was my overwhelming desire to rest that drew me to the water tables, or real thirst. All I know is that dreams of the water table supplanted every thought in my head.
Somewhere around mile 19 or 20, Kim caught up with me. In my delusional state, I thought that Kim had pulled a couple packets of desire out of her heart and caught up to me, caught up to the big man. In reality, my pace had slackened considerably, and Kim, by maintaining her previous steady pace, had easily caught me. Luckily I didn't realize this for a while longer. Around mile 21 or so, it was all I could do not to beg her to walk for a bit. Kim didn't push ahead without me, though I know she must have been tempted to. Still, I couldn't help but remembering old Pa Joad from The Grapes of Wrath. After Pa loses control of the situation and no longer has all the answers, he shrivels into a shell of his old self, whereupon Tom Joad is elevated to patriarch. I had been "The General", the guy who knew his body, knew how to keep a pace, and, if "The Soldier" (Kim) followed me, I would guarantee victory. Ahh, what a sad sight, The General, begging silently for The Soldier to wait for him, praying that the next water station would have strawberries, like the one at mile 23. I knew I had been thoroughly trounced when we faced the bottom of a bastard of a hill at mile 25. I knew we were 15 minutes from the finish, yet I simply couldn't bear to run up that hill. Near the bottom, Kim asked, probably rhetorically, "Ready to push through?" "No," was all I could muster.
Nonetheless, the flags near the finish line were a welcome sight. A surprisingly large crowd cheered us on, and it felt good. Whipped or not, I had finished the thing. I clutched Kim's hand and we finished together. 4:14:55 for Kim, 4:14:57 for me. They had strawberries at the finish.
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Department of Geophysics Stanford University |
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