Big Sur-prize

I decided to stay on Columbus time. It seemed to me that if I did, I would be able to go to bed early and then waking up for a 3:45 bus wouldn’t be so bad. So, at the late hour of 8:00 PM, I bedded down for the night. 1:53: I wake up. My heart starts racing. Uh-oh.

A few attempts to distract myself later, I gave up. One more half hour of sleep isn’t going to make much of a difference. I split my time between getting ready and watching an interesting documentary on Italian Americans in film. Anyway, it’s time to go.

Valerie is waiting in the car and we drive to the bus stop. A handful of bleary-eyed runners are already waiting. Eventually, the buses pull up and we snag some prime seats on the right side. (I’m told that’s the better side because you can see the ocean and everything as you drive down). The bus winds interminably down the road. It’s still dark, so sitting on this side has no benefits. Actually, I can just make out the edge of the mountains in the moonlight. It’s enough to scare the living heck out of me, but still dark enough that I can’t appreciate the beauty.

Fortunately, the bus turns around and heads back slightly. Now I can discount the whole ride and don’t have to think about how long it took us to get down there. The bus lets us off at the start and we descend into the starting area.

The announcements are less frequent and far less annoying than in NY. Jeff Galloway, who will be running the race, chimes in with some advice. I’m kind of peeved. You want my advice? Don’t alter your race strategy on the morning of the race, especially at 5 AM. His advice isn’t that bad, he suggest going out a bit easy, because of hills and heat, then have something left for the second half. Sure, it’s just that easy. He suggests banking energy. It doesn’t work. If you go out too easy, you can’t pick it up enough in the second half to make it. At best, you run your target second half pace and get a lousy time because you slacked off the first 13 miles.

Soon they are calling us to the start and I find some people who look like they’re about my speed. They deny it. Some birds are circling overhead. The announcer claims they’re hawks. Hawks don’t travel in packs. I suggest they are buzzards. They’ll duke it out with the doves they release just before the start. Runners are not good eating there buddies.

We’re off!

The first mile starts on a downhill, so my time, despite walking most of the mile, is dead on. Okay. I’m actually a little fast, so I ease up slightly and when I hit the second mile mark, I’m slow. Oh well, long way to go. The course is taking us through the park. Beautiful trees line either side. There is a sign for the Big Sur River, I can just see it to my left, nobody else seems interested. The hills keep rolling, so I do my 3^rd mile in 7:30. I ask if the course seems short and someone reminds me I just ran downhill the whole mile. Thanks for insulting my ability to run an even pace.

There are some small businesses and a few spectators who turn out to cheer us on, but mostly it’s us and nature.

About 5 miles in, we start climbing up and out of the woods. To the left, we see grasslands and to the right, the hills towering over us. There’s a sign for the official Race Cow, Tchaikowsky. I don’t see him. Nobody around me does either. At least I’m not imagining things yet. I do learn 2 things: there are going to be lots of puns and the race organizers/sign makers are filthy liars.

6 miles, the wind picks up, but the sun is starting to beat down, so I like it. That gets old real fast. I can see something in the distance, a large rock with something clearly atop. Once I get closer, it is the historic Point Sur Lighthouse. (I read about it in the inflight magazine on my way to Monterey) Finally, we swing around the bend and it reveals the ocean. There are beautiful wildflowers and large rocks at the bottom of the slope. It is already the most scenic marathon I have ever run and the best is yet to come. I’m feeling great, almost not running hard enough. We start going downward on a long hill, nice. Some race officials in cars pass by and offer some encouragement. They tell us to enjoy the hill as we prepare for the climb to Hurricane Point.

It looks like I’m on pace for a 3:30-3:45 marathon, not too bad. We start getting views of the whole coast and it is incredible. I can see waves breaking on the rocks and steep cliffs. Looking up the road there are green mountains and blue skies. There is no doubt we are on the edge of the world. If you look left, there’s nothing but the sea and ahead, the road shrinks to nothing as the coastline snakes around and out of view. I know the hill starts at about 10 and I’ve passed 9 with no trouble, except for the blister that is forming on my arch.

I can see the hill now, but not where it starts. The road winds around so far, that I can’t see the runners turning around. We keep descending and turn almost all the way back before reaching the bottom of the hill. As I get closer, I can hear the Taiko drummers, pounding out a rhythm as we begin out march up the hill. It doesn’t seem too steep, but heeding good advice and good sense for a change, I ease up a bit and give a bit of a snarl to get some more adrenaline going.

It isn’t too bad going up the hill. It’s not as steep as I feared, just a long, grinding, winding grade. Along the way, there are signs marking our progress. They read things like: Sur-vivor Point, Pain in the Ascent, etc. I take a few opportunities to take some photos.

Hurricane point comes without too much trouble. I look back at where we began our climb and it is quite a view. Unfortunately, my time suffered. I had taken 10 minutes to get up one mile, so despite the warnings everyone gave me about going too hard down the hill, I put the hammer down and try to make up some time. As we began the descent, we could finally make out the Bixby Bridge.

Once we started to get close to the bridge, the sounds of the piano filled the air, floating across the span. On the far side there he was, Michael Martinez, tuxedo clad and playing the Theme from Charlie Brown. A nice familiar tune to keep me going. It also marked the halfway point. I finish the first half in 1:54:30, my slowest first half ever. My GU addled brain told me I could keep pushing the pace. So, I kept it up, trying not to go too hard on the downhill, but certainly moving with some real speed. The coastline was still spectacular and the ocean blue.

The terrain kept rolling too and we eventually moved slightly inland.

There were other musicians along the way. Two women with guitars, drummers, some Irish guy, and more. Some are playing old favorites, some their own compositions. All are a welcome distraction. I get to 20 miles without any problems. No real signs of fatigue, just a bit of weariness at the thought of 6.2 more miles.

We passed through some cliffs, reminding me a bit of Bryce Canyon in their shape. Soon, I started to hurt. I was counting miles more than before and starting to shuffle. My times were back in the sub 3:50 range, I just needed to hold the pace. The beautiful views of the coast were gone and we were in a more residential area. There were more people out though, so we had some cheering and occasional treats. Up ahead, I see a guy with a bowl of strawberries. I usually don’t take anything other than water, GU and Gatorade, but they looked good. I swipe at the bowl with my hand and come up empty. All I did was mash my sweaty paw though the bowl. There’s another one, this time I get a few and eat them quickly, delicious. Of course, my hands were then covered in strawberry goo. I wiped them off somewhere. No matter. I chugged on.

Just a few miles to go. Someone said there were just 4 little hills left. Ok, whatever. Usually when people tell you how far you have to go, it’s not right. They build up your hopes with, “It’s just over the next hill” or “Only a quarter mile to go!” In reality, you have two miles and 3 hills. If they ever say you have more than you really do, it still beats you up mentally and you limp in anyway. But here was someone saying I had 4 hills, very specific and not particularly easy anyway. Maybe he was right.

I’d been liking the downhills for most of the race. Even when I started getting tired, I could let gravity pull me and it helped. Now, I was starting to hate everything, even downhills. At long last, I saw the signs that brought me back to life: Mile 25 and 1 mile to go!

I got a little pep back and picked up the pace. I heard someone say that they could see the finish line. I didn’t see anything (even the people running in the race are not immune from saying misleading things). All I could see was an unending snake of runners. I tried to distract myself, waiting to get to the finish.

Finally, I spied the arch for the finish in the distance. One last tiny incline and then the chutes. I could hear the announcer calling names and telling people not to let their kids run on the course with them. I put on a sprint and he barely said my name before I crossed the line. 3:51 and some change. It was my slowest time in years, and well below what I would usually hope for, but considering the course, the heat, and that I stopped to take pictures a few times, I'll take it.

A few dizzy minutes later my chip was removed and I had my medallion. I was pretty well knackered and more than one volunteer stopped me to see if I was okay. I managed to joke with them all. I stepped into the finishers’ area and alternated between water and Gatorade, pouring and drinking. I congratulated a few runners I recognized from the course. I wanted to sit, but knew I’d regret it. Plus, there wasn’t a lot of grass, so I kept walking. Once I recovered, I headed over to the food tent. They handed us paper trays to fill with treats. I grabbed bagels, fruit, drinks, and a picture. I found a nice spot on the “grass” and after a few attempts, managed to sit without cramping. I ate my snacks and watched the people for a while. After most of my food was gone, I noticed people with soup. I ventured out and got one of the last cups of minestrone. It was some of the best soup I’ve ever had. Not sure why they gave me a spoon, considering I lacked the dexterity to use one and drank it anyway.

I went in search of my gear, hoping to put on some dry clothes. I was getting some good sun, but was still a bit sweaty. Past the arch was a glorious sight: row upon row of bags! I lined up by mine and they handed me my stuff. So simple, so effective! Hear that NY? Now I had a new bag for carrying food too!

All I needed to do now was wait for Valerie to finish. Soon enough, they announced her name and I went over to congratulate her. I assured her that it was the hardest marathon I’d ever run (maybe the hardest race) and she more than earned her status as a marathon finisher. She grabbed some food and we sat and reflected on our adventures.