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2019 Mountains to Beach Marathon Race Report (May 2019) – Ojai to Ventura, CA

2019 Mountains to Beach Marathon Race Report (May 2019) – Ojai to Ventura, CA

Since moving to California at the end of 2013, I’ve heard positive raves repeatedly about a few races: CIM in December, the Santa Cruz edition of she.is.beautiful 5k/10k, the Wharf to Wharf six-miler in Santa Cruz, and finally, Mountains to Beach marathon. I’ve run almost all of those races at least once by now, so I decided to dust off my spring marathon racing shoes and go for broke at MTB over Memorial Day weekend. 

Training for a late spring marathon in northern California isn’t as trying as it is in other places of the country (read: it’s just rain…), and logistically, training for a late spring marathon made a lot of sense since Janet was training for her first Boston that’d fall just about a month before MTB. Plus, she had run MTB last year (Erica, too, and I was there to see it!), so I could glean a lot from her and many of my other teammates about how to train well to race well on the course. I continued to work with Coach Lisa, picking up where we left off from CIM, and I was enthusiastic to see how everything would go down on this course that I had heard so much about. 

running with Janet at last year’s MTB

Tl; dr: Not a PR but a solid day (3:25) for my 34th marathon, despite stopping twice to poop and despite (because of?) a training cycle that necessitated my best Life Tetris-ing yet

Writing a marathon race recap months ex-post-facto isn’t the wisest when it comes to capturing the real-deal, raw, and vulnerable feelings, but I think the distance (appropriately) is actually pretty helpful when it comes to evaluating things with a deeper, wider lens. The long and short of it is that I drove five hours south sola — I tried to convince the family to come, but the kids weren’t interested — to run well, fast, strong, and ultimately (hopefully) to PR. My 2018 marathons (SF, CIM) left me convinced that my best marathon is still ahead of me, and dammit if I haven’t been determined to reach it. 

Aside from the beautiful drive south, the race’s relative accessibility from San Jose, the flurry of local friends I knew who’d be racing (including Erica and her Chicago gaggle!), the low entry fee for registering last fall, and the aforementioned I-had-a-training-partner-all-winter aspect, I was intrigued to run MTB because of the actual course. As its name suggests, runners start higher up, in super cute Ojai, and slowly work their way down the mountains via roads and paved trails before ending next to the ocean in Ventura. In other words, it’s supposed to be fast *and* pretty.

Like CIM, MTB is known for producing lots of BQs, PRs, and fast times, yet unlike CIM, MTB has far more net downhill than up (by my Garmin, something along the lines of a 1200’ loss and only a 475’ gain). Aside from CIM, I haven’t run a seriously downhill course in a long time, so I was intrigued by the challenge. I hadn’t trained for a spring marathon since Modesto ‘16, when I was about 7 months postpartum, so I was really looking forward to it. 

Going into MTB, I felt as strong as ever and was satisfied, if not proud, of how I managed my training alongside the 9783496 other balls I had up in the air all winter and spring. On race morning, it’s always so inspiring to me to look around at the sea of humanity and acknowledge that in order for all of us to get there, we had to make.shit.happen for weeks and months preceding The Big Day. Everyone has different or more/fewer numerous balls in the air, but rarely can any of us amateurs go all-in on our little marathon hobby at the expense of everything else. We do the best we can, and hopefully along the way, we learn how to become good Managers of Stuff because chances are high that on race day, we’ll be put in a situation — possibly situations, plural — that we didn’t see coming and whose reaction can make or break our race. 

Anyway, fortunately on race morning, I toed the line in Ojai without any niggles or injuries to speak of; the most significant bodily qualm that had plagued me for most of my training was (surprise, surprise) my stomach. Another change in GIs brought about a different plan of care and (surprise, surprise) a different diagnosis, so the best I could do was hope for the best and if things went south — read: if my bowels showed up to party, despite my pharmacological interventions to prevent that from happening — well, hope for a porta-potty or at the very least, tree cover.

Meredith (who was running the half) and her boyfriend graciously hosted me in their hotel when my own canceled my reservation when I was ten minutes away from arriving (!!), and those fine human beings also graciously got up with me at an ungodly 3am hour and dropped me off in downtown Ventura to catch a yellow school bus northeast. Nearly as soon as I arrived at the starting line, I met up with Erica and her many friends from all over the country (seriously, Erica is like the mayor of the midwest/east coast running community) to hang a bit before the show got on the road. Very soon after I returned to the starting line with Erica and company, I ran into my Wolfpack teammates Oscar and Mark who were out to have a good time (Oscar) and to run their first marathon (Mark). It was hard not to be in a good mood wearing lycra and spandex and galavanting around Ojai before 6 a.m.

forever grateful and indebted to these fine humans who let me crash their getaway when my hotel decided that canceling my reservation (that I had made six+ months prior) was perfectly acceptable
this was at approximately 3:30a.m. on race morning. My very colorful get-up pre-race had me lookin like a court jester or something. PC: JT

The race? As promised, it was a lot of downhill — more uncomfortable than I would have anticipated, to be honest — making the occasional uphills particularly welcomed. I saw my teammates and friends within the first 5k, during a quick out-and-back, and I was heeding Lisa’s race plan as much as I could: stay in control, don’t demolish on the downhills, trust the training, it’s a good day to have a good day

circa mile 6, heading out of Ojai (thanks for the free pics!)
running is great; running is fun

I was absolutely that runner in a sea other sub/mid-3:20 racers who was thanking the volunteers, the cops, the EMTs, whomever because I was so dang calm and so in it that I had no mental real estate for doubt, or worry, or the inevitable race-day existential crises about why do I do these things again?

There was no where else I should have been on that morning except right there, on those roads, heading south to the beach, getting there literally by putting one foot in front of the other, hundreds of thousands of times.

I still get nervous before marathons — usually of the “excited nervous” variety — but for whatever reason, at MTB, I was as chill as I would be before a (very) long weekend LR. 

circa mile 9; I had just exited the porta-potty a couple strides prior for my false alarm, haha

That’s not to say that it wasn’t hard because it most definitely was. Aerobically, I knew I was prepared to handle the distance, but just like in other recent races, bodily I felt strong, but I didn’t feel fast. Paces that I knew I hit routinely in hard training runs seemed to necessitate a farther reach than I thought prudent to give, and a GI psych around mile 8 gave me reason to hop into a porta-potty to make sure I wasn’t on the verge of shitting myself and wearing it for 18 miles (yikes). By mile 12 I knew that a PR was off the table — again, I felt strong, but the speed was nowhere to be seen — so the game changed from sub-3:20 like a boss to comfortably sub-3:30 and finish the race with unfinished business. My stomach showed up to party for real at mile 16 (fun fact: I only lost 100 seconds to two bathroom stops!), but honestly, aside from the GI nuisances and the relative lack of speed that I thought I was ready to post, I felt like I ran a strong race, and I’m proud of myself for staying in it and not mentally checking-out. I smiled widely and yelled obnoxiously when I saw friends mid-race or on the sidelines, and I legit let out an audible HOLY SHIT, THIS PLACE IS SO PRETTY at various times mid-race as we were all grinding along. 

around mile 17. mentally still hanging and just taking in the surroundings.
probably the best bib number I’ve ever had for a marathon
circa mile 18.5; we really lucked out with the weather (super overcast, periodically raining, not that warm).

Finishing a marathon with a smile on your face and proud of the effort you posted — regardless if it’s the PR/BQ/time you wanted to see — is an amazing feeling and makes the hours and hundreds/thousands of miles’ worth of training absolutely worth it. We can control our attitude and our effort; knowing this makes racing and running hard liberating. 

seeing Meredith and J right before the finish line and laughing at their antics (PC: M)
finish line feels. I don’t remember this picture being taken.

There is something incredible about covering 26.2 miles by your own volition and managing what oftentimes is a shitshow of feelings, if not also bodily challenges, for a few hours on some given weekend morning. In most of the 34 marathons I’ve run, at any given point throughout the 26.2 journey, I have retired from running, added to my list of “marathons to do in my lifetime,” wondered why I do this to myself, wondered why I didn’t start doing this to myself earlier, never felt more alive, envisioned fetal positioning on the road, and so on. 

wearing Birks at the post-race party and being too lazy to replace my shorts with my pants, so the pants legs became arm warmers instead (PC: M)

This distance is revelatory in its ability to showcase us at both our best and our worst,  as well as our concomitant capacity to just feeeeeeeeel. It’s also good for pulling back the curtain on the potential that resides deep inside — not only for ourselves as runners but more importantly, for ourselves as human beings. What do we do when shit gets hard? How do we manage ourselves when we’re feeling like we’re spiraling? How do we serve others in their moment of need, regardless of how we feel at the time?    

This distance also has a great propensity to lend itself to over-analysis, waxing philosophic, and the crunchiest of crunchy hippie-dippie runner shit; I’m as guilty of it as anyone. It’s far easier to write about marathoning than it is to actually do the thing. 

In a way, it’s funny because I finished SF ‘18 in 3:26, feeling like I had been hit by a truck (and underperformed); then I posted 3:24 at CIM ‘18, feeling completely gutted by yet another disappointing underperformance; yet MTB’s 3:25 left me with a smile on my face and nothing but pride in myself and in my ability to just.handle.it when my race unfolded far more sideways than I anticipated. 

On the clock’s face, very little distinguishes these three marathons from each other, but in the greater picture of my lifetime marathon trajectory, these three races couldn’t be more different. Ultimately, I think it goes back to a lot of what Dr. and David Roche talked about in The Happy Runner: namely, at the end of the day, none of us are getting out of here alive. Zoom out, my friends, and choose your stressors and suffering wisely. Don’t squander the opportunity or the gift. 

Post-race, Meredith, her boyfriend, and I hung for a while at the finish line and cheered in more runners before meeting-up with Erica and her gaggle at her friend’s beautiful home. We shared war stories from the morning, commiserated at the debacle that is having to poop mid-race, and began scheming for the 2020 iteration. (I already registered). 🙂 Before long, I was on the road again and made it home for bedtime (after making a side trip to Cayucos for cookies for the family, of course). 

she’s my inspiration! MTB was my 34th full and 22nd BQ and probably her bazillionith and bazillionith. love love love Erica! & what a gorgeous place we got to hang at post-race.

The MTB marathon is an excellent option for runners who are looking to notch a fast time or who are interested in simply running through some pretty, albeit rural-ish, locales. Late May in the central coast can be iffy in terms of weather (we actually got rained on a little, whereas in previous years, including in ‘18, it got pretty warm), but then again, the weather is iffy for any race, anywhere, at any time. Race logistics like porta-potties, shuttles, and the like seemed to go over swimmingly (though they’d probably stand to benefit from more potties at the start line), but if you’re looking for a big, busy marathon, this one is probably too low-key for you. Crowds are sparse but enthusiastic, particularly once you get into Ventura over the last ~10k of the race, and at least if you’re local to the Bay Area, you’ll probably be able to easily find training partners during the winter (ahem, Wolfpack!) because it seems like just about every local runner trains for MTB’s full or half at least once. This race does a bang-up job, and I’m already looking forward to running those roads again on both strong and fast legs in May ‘20. 

team love with Oscar, Mark, and Alex down in Ventura! (PC: @runwolfpack)
2017 Santa Rosa Marathon Race Report – Pacing 3:33 (Santa Rosa, CA)

2017 Santa Rosa Marathon Race Report – Pacing 3:33 (Santa Rosa, CA)

This picture — the disbelief, the digging, the holding back puke or tears (or both), the enormity of the weight being lifted off your chest as you realize that HOLY SHIT I JUST DID IT — this is what it’s all about. You can’t not smile. You can’t not love it.

Denver. (real name Megan)

In late August, I took advantage of an opportunity to return to the Santa Rosa Marathon in (surprise) Santa Rosa, CA, for a second year, to pace. The last time I did it, in 2014, I co-paced the 3:35 group; this time around, I would be pacing the 3:33 group solo. I didn’t pace in ‘15 because I was a couple weeks postpartum, and last year, I had to bail because of that whole colitis nonsense. Just like in 2014, this year, many runners from all over, and in particular, CA, flocked to the SRM because its flat course is quite conducive to nice and shiny PRs and BQs, and logistically, it’s one of the last marathons in the US before Boston registration opens in mid-September. In other words, if you’re itching for a fast time, SRM is a (relatively) safe gamble. The race has had a trying history the past few years (course issues last year, timing issues another, and an earthquake the year I last ran it), but it seems to be a race that, I guess like a good wine, improves with time. Naturally, oenophiles also like the wine-heavy presence in the race, too, what with it being in the thick of northern CA’s wine country and all; the marathon is known, among other things, for taking runners literally through and alongside wineries, and at one point in the race, you actually run through a barrel house at mile 10 at DeLoach (and have an opportunity to hit a Chardonnay aid station). It’s a really enjoyable course and race experience.

c/o: SRM

Among many other friends, my pals Meg and Connie had targeted this race for some great goals, and while being totally fired up about your own race is awesome, I’d argue that being excited for someone else’s race and training is about as good as it gets. I knew the work that they both had put into their training — while juggling career, family, and life obligations — and I was so excited to see how they’d tear it up on course. I also felt weirdly nostalgic and fairly introspective going into the race as well — the introspection apparently balancing the rahrahrah for my friends — because I had realized a few weeks earlier that SRM was going to be my 30th marathon in the decade that I’ve been doing this stuff. What’s more is that the universe conspired (and logistics worked out) so that my 30th marathon would become essentially a way for me to give back to the running community — at a highly anticipated race and at a pace that is a highly sought-after goal for many people (since 3:35 is the BQ for women ages 18-34). The 3:33/8:07 minute per mile pace that I’d be leading was a pace that for years, I never would have thought I could have (comfortably) handled; hell, my PR was minutes slower than that for years. Suffice it to say that pacing at SRM was a bit of a mental something or other. I can’t quite put my finger on it without sounding completely granola and wanting to hold your hand while singing kumbahyah or something, but it was cool as hell. I was so glad to be there, so excited for my friends racing, and just so ecstatic to help people run strong races.

Saturday: expo, hot as balls, Japanese

Connie, Meg, and I ventured up to SR for the expo in the mid-afternoon, when the temperatures capped out around 105 or so. But it’s a dry heat! Right, sure, but when you open your oven after you’ve been baking cookies, it still feels really effing hot and you feel like you’re looking death in the eyes, right? Same thing. It was toasty, what I call “mouth of Satan hot” (hat tip to fellow Dante lovers out there). DeLoach is one of the major sponsors of the marathon, so as in 2014, the expo was on the winery grounds. Meg, Connie, and I were in and out relatively quickly and still managed to see some of our other friends (Anil, Gene, Vicky) who’d be racing or pacing Sunday morning. We chatted with Beth, the pace group coordinator, and learned about contingency plans for race day, since it was slated to be another triple-digit day. Rumors were circulating that the marathon start time would get moved from 6:30 to 6 or even 5:30, but they were unfounded. We’d later learn that the course would provide additional aid stations and would throw in misting stations and kiddie pools filled with water, ice, and sponges on the course. If nothing else, Connie, Meg, and I kept reminding ourselves that with our 6:30 start and our respective time goals, we should more-than-comfortably finish the race before things got blazing, 100+ degree hot. It might be in the 70s or so — and my experience has shown me that 70s and 80s in California feel significantly hotter than the same temperatures in the Midwest — but it wouldn’t feel that horrible, and realistically, we three shouldn’t be in it for that long.

hello from mile 10 of the marathon at DeLoach

 

3 East Bayers and one Southern; I’m the weirdo who insists on wearing pants when it’s hot as hell

The women (and Gene) and I opted for a most excellent dinner at Haku Sushi in downtown Santa Rosa, and even with the hot as balls temps outside, piping hot tofu and veg udon, washed down with some Easy Lover sushi, was great for a marathon eve meal. The ladies and I soon retired to our hotel in Rohnert Park; Connie braided Meg’s hair and my hair (why not); and I think I was asleep — though not sleeping well — by about 9:30. (Pro tip: if you’re going to race SRM, book your accommodations really early because things tend to fill up. Expect to pay a lot of money for pretty standard rooms; that’s typical Sonoma County/wine country).

Sunday: race! Pace!

An early race start meant an earlier wakeup (about 3:30), but sharing that nonsense with friends always makes it seem less strange than it really is. I mean, honestly, when else in your life are you going to set an alarm for (essentially) the middle of the night so you can wake up, eat oatmeal, drink black tea, and hopefully will yourself to have a bowel movement and if you’re lucky, go back to bed? If you’re shaking your head, you know; it’s totally bizarre. We left the hotel shortly after 5 and comfortably arrived to downtown SR around 5:30, before much of the pre- and post-race stuff was set-up in the new start/finish location (Old Courthouse Square, instead of Julliard Park; the Square is a better and more spacious staging option, IMHO). Meg, Connie, and I each did that pre-marathon dance all morning long where you basically oscillate between needing to pee (nerves), thinking you have to poop more (nerves), forgetting stuff in the car that you were going to use pre-race (a Gatorade bottle full of water), and trying to find that weird, elusive balance between not thinking about this Great Big Thing that you’re going to do with your body for the next 3 hours and change, plus or minus, and not not thinking about this Great Big Thing that you’re going to do with your body for the next 3 hours and change, plus or minus. Care, but not a lot; don’t care, but give yourself permission to give a damn. Lean in; dissociate. Over. And over. And over.

palpable nerves

 

pretend you’re not nervous!

Right around 5:50, as we were getting ready to go run a 5 minute easy warm-up, I learned from Beth that I had a co-pacer for the day, Simon. Surely, somewhere in the cosmos the angels were trumpeting on high! I was simply elated. Though I knew I was physically capable of running an evenly-paced 3:33 marathon, a marathon is a long way to go by yourself — and especially when people are relying on you in some capacity. Sometimes people forget that pacers are humans, too, and that we — like anyone else — can have a bad day or a rough race. Though by race morning I wasn’t hugely nervous about pacing, I was still slightly anxious that something would pop up and make my race go awry — stomach issues, long portapotty lines, fueling mishaps, the world ending, anything. Learning literally moments before I was about to go warm-up that I had a partner in crime was such an enormous relief. Moments after Simon and I met, he joined in our warm-up, and immediately, our bantering put my nerves at ease. Our kids were about the same age; we had stuff in common; he had also done this before (and had more experience than me, both in racing and in pacing); so I quickly gleaned in our approximate 6 minute warm-up that we’d have a good time for 3 hours and 33 minutes.

Without much fanfare, aside from some mild confusion about the starting corrals, we began the race. Since 2016’s snafu with runners going off-course early on, SR rightfully made some great changes to the earliest parts of the race. In addition to moving the start time from dark 6 o’clock to lighter 6:30, the first 5k of the course was completely different from how I remembered it in ‘14. Back then, it seemed like we spent a ton of time in SR’s quaint little downtown area, making a thousand turns; in 2017, we spent hardly any time at all downtown, and every intersection was marked to hell with cones, barricades, and a vocal volunteer (or three) who let us all know that we were heading in the correct direction.

somewhere in the first 5k, likely very early on. Simon wanted to hold the sign the entire race; bless his soul.

We picked up the Santa Rosa River Trail (SRRT) by about mile 3 and just like in 2014, stayed on it for a long time before getting over to DeLoach and the Sonoma County back roads. The SRRT is pretty similar to SJ’s GRT, though smaller and narrower, and it’s the same path that IM SR used for its marathon just a month earlier. The first 10 miles of SRM were pretty flat, if not a little net downhill, and our group comfortably cruised right along, with me silently reveling in gratitude for all the shade that we had for the first part of the race.

pretty early on, between miles 3-8 on the SRRT

 

airborne together

Before we hit DeLoach and the county roads, we had to do a quick out and back on a crushed limestone-esque trail that went perpendicular to the SR trail — presumably to make up for the mileage that was cut off from the new downtown portion of the course earlier — and it allowed me to quickly see my buddy Sarbajeet on the other side of the trail, ahead of me and pretty close to the 3:08 pacer. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see where Anil, Connie, or Meg were.

thinning out a bit somewhere between miles 3-8; you can see Simon about 10 steps behind me. this pic corroborates my husband’s claim that I have a tendency to wave to people by placing my waving hand strangely low. in addition, my smile makes me look like I’m in pain. also: vineyards!

We exited the SRRT around mile 8 before picking up back county roads from 8-20. Simon and I were hitting the paces pretty well, and we noticed that we had about a .04-.1 discrepancy between our GPS watches and the mile markers pretty early on. Between the two of us, we were wearing four watches (2 GPS, 2 stopwatches) and a pace bracelet, so our contingency plans had contingency plans. Because the SRRT was pretty narrow, we rarely ran right next to each other — usually, I was a couple paces ahead of him — but between our matching shirts, him holding the 3:33 sign, and our group of runners behind me, but in front of him, we seemed to have a pretty good-sized group parading between us for a long time. I’d periodically look back to ensure that I wasn’t getting too far ahead of him (and our sign), but I was never more than about 30-50 seconds under our pacing goals at each mile marker (and usually, about .5-.1 longer in distance). When I thought our gap between us was too wide, I ran the roads as they appeared, taking things easy on any inclines and then allowing my stride to open on any declines. I could always hear him, and anytime I turned my head, I could always see him, so I wasn’t sweating it too much that we weren’t in lock-step together for the entire 26.2. Understandably, some people prefer to pace by themselves, and while I initially felt a bit guilty or like a shitty pacer for not being exactly next to him for a lot of the race, we were doing what we were supposed to be doing. (In retrospect, in 2014, I ended up being “the caboose” of our 2 person pacing team, and it’s mentally really taxing to be there. This time around, I guess I just didn’t want to put myself — or my runners — in that position). 

Even if you’re not a oenophile, it is still pretty neat to run through DeLoach and through the barrel room. The signs are always fun, and hell, you can hit a Chardonnay station right after you get out of the barrel room if you want! I must have eluded photographers this time around because I don’t have any pictures from that part, unfortunately.

While the course is very flat overall, there were some pretty good rolling hills on the county roads between miles 11-18, some which I didn’t remember from ‘14. We fortunately still had a bunch of shade over us at that point, and we came through the half in about a 1:46:x, right where we wanted and needed to be.

right around halfway, coming up one of the rollers. notice the Peanuts gang on our pacer shirts? Charles Schulz lived in SR (and there’s a museum in his name there, too).

By halfway, or halfway and change, our group was still running really strong, people were in good moods, and honestly, it was just nice to be out for a long (long) Sunday run. I often thought of my friends racing and hoped that they were having good and enjoyable runs, too. I felt gutted when I saw Anil at the mile 14 or 15 AS, but he was all smiles, so I figured things were okay, relatively speaking. He had had fantastic training and racing in the lead-up to SR and had come prepared to fight for a new PR and a solid BQ, but it wasn’t his day. I’ve been there before and can relate, and man, it sucks. The marathon can be such a heartbreaker.

Somewhere in the 18 or so mark, we exited the rolling county roads and made our way back to the SRRT by way of some flat and seemingly arterial roads. Along the way, I caught up with a woman who had been hanging in our group since the very beginning, “Denver,” who had run with Simon in ‘15, PRed, and was really hoping to PR again this year. I really enjoyed chatting with her and laughed when she apologized profusely for hanging on my hip, since we had so much open road that she could have been running on instead. Girl, that’s why pacers are there! Simon was still about 20 or so seconds back from me, and I told Denver to just keep cruising along, and that by mile 20, we’d pick up the river trail and be on that all the way in to the finish line. Despite her smiley demeanor, I knew she was all business and was determined to finish the final 8 as strong and as well as she had run her first 18, and she went on ahead of me by 19 or so. Soon after, I ran into my Wolfpack teammate Barrie, and we hypothesized about how our other teammate, Sarah, was doing in the full (spoiler: she won!). We all just kept cruising, and fortunately the temperatures remained pretty comfortable for those no-man’s-land miles between 18-20.  

At the 20 mile/10k to go mark, we hopped back onto the SRRT, and we also began to run into the crowds of half marathoners who had started their race at 7:30, an hour after we did. I remember this being problematic in ‘14, but this time around, it didn’t seem to be that big a deal. Runners and walkers were all being courteous to each other, and a simple “good morning” or “on your left” or “runners coming through” from me, on behalf of everyone around me, seemed to pretty easily warn slower-moving runners and walkers to yield for the upcoming foot traffic. As you return to downtown on the SRRT, the very slight downhills you ran on going out can feel completely monstrous coming back, and I warned my racers of that early in our run together. Realistically, when you’re racing a marathon, anything inconsequential can feel earth-shattering in that final 10k, so I tried to do what I could for my racers around me by opening up the trail a bit to accommodate for passing traffic. I figured that while I couldn’t run the race for them, the least I could do was run my mouth. (Fun story: one guy was incredulous that I could have so much energy to so frequently and so vociferously shout at all the other participants to get them to yield. Again: that’s what pacers are for!).  

about 10k to go and back on the SRRT. the guy turning around was one of the guys who was seemingly astounded that I could run my mouth so much so late in the race, ha!

I didn’t start to really feel the heat of the sun until about mile 24 or 25, but I imagine if I were racing, I’d feel the effects much earlier on, like Anil or so many others did. Throughout the entire course, the aid stations really orchestrated their efforts well, with tons of adults and children giving out water, Gatorade, gels, bananas, and oranges. I didn’t recall seeing any kiddie pools or misting stations anywhere, but I could have missed them. By the very end of the race, my GPS was off by about .11, but even with the discrepancy, I knew that I/others around me would definitely finish in 3:33, if not a low 3:32. I began to hold up a bit, waiting for Simon to close the gap between us, and somewhere around mile 25 or so, I came up on Meg, who was in a great mood despite not hitting her A goal for the day.

right before exiting the SRRT, around mile almost-26

Meg, Simon, and I exited the SRRT together right at mile 26, and with a couple left turns back into downtown and Old Courthouse Square, and after some holding up on our part so Simon and I wouldn’t finish too egregiously under 3:33, Simon and I both noticed Denver still ahead of us, obviously busting her ass to get in under 3:33 and to beat what she had posted in ‘15. With about .05 to go, Simon and I both yelled at her with our everything — go! Go! You’re so close! Finish the thing! You can do it! — any embarrassing or empowering bit of encouragement you have ever heard parents scream at their young children — replete with fist pumping, flailing arms, the whole bit. It was awesome. You’d think we were yelling for our own progeny.

worth repeating because it’s just that awesome. girl, you killed it. she destroyed her ’15 time. (see us?)

Moments later, Simon and I finished the race together in 3:32:26 — a little fast for our prescribed 3:33, sure, but just like The Price is Right, under is better than over.  Seconds after us, Meg finished as well, netting herself a solid race, her B goal, her first marathon postpartum, and a pretty and shiny BQ.   

 

Right around 26.1 (PC: Connie)

 

Meg right after us (PC: Connie)

 

everybody hands go up …. and they stay there

 

team 3:33 (his 54th marathon, NBD)

As I got through the finisher’s chute area, Denver — Megan — found me and in near tears, thanked me endlessly. I was so happy for her and so proud of her! She said something along the lines of her performance being wholly attributable to me, and I quickly threw social norms to the wayside to furiously interrupt her and remind her that nope, actually, her legs did the work; she was the one who did the heavy lifting; she was the badass. I was and am so thrilled for her though and for the many other people who notched great performances in conditions that became pretty challenging. A PR and a BQ — hell, even trying — on a warm August day is something to be really, really proud of. #kudos

After chatting with Megan, I inhaled a couple freezing cold pieces of watermelon, chugged water like it was my last opportunity on earth to do so, and eventually reconnected with Meg and Connie. On course, I was taken aback around mile 26.1 because I saw Connie and her husband and son all on the sidelines cheering, and while I wasn’t totally surprised to see Connie there — figuring she would have been finished for a while by the time we brought in our pace group — seeing her family was a big surprise. It wasn’t until Connie and her family, Meg, and Gene and I connected that I learned the amazing news that not only did Connie net a gigantic PR (14 minutes), she finished second woman overall to my teammate, Sarah, and SHE BROKE 3 HOURS (and her family was there to see her do it). Talk about inspiration.

the shit-eating grin in front of the shit-collecting receptacles. SO PROUD of this group! so happy! D is having a blast, too! (PC: Connie’s husband)

2017’s iteration of SRM was excellent. The new/modified course went off without a hitch, and while the weather was certainly not picture perfect, it’s also literally the only thing you can’t control on race day. (See also: an August marathon in inland California. It’s a gamble). The aid stations were plentiful, about every two miles, and the congestion that I remember from running into the slower half marathon runners and walkers at mile 20 wasn’t as intense this time around like it was in 2014. The race kept many of its premiums: gigantic medals, a nice zip-up (this year, made out of wicking material with Peanuts characters adorning the backside), and a bottle of Runner’s Red wine for every marathoner. Even the pace groups were modified in the past few years to better align with Boston standards and the likelihood of securing a Boston spot; in ‘14, this spot was 3:35, and the race had since dropped it down to 3:33. Starting and finishing in the square instead of at the park seemed to make things flow really easily, too, and at least for my group of friends, we didn’t have any problems getting to the downtown area an hour ahead of the start time and securing really convenient (and free) parking. This was the 9th year of the SRM, and I honestly think that it’ll just keep improving.

I couldn’t be happier for my friends, for strangers I helped pace to personal victories, and to the countless other participants who decided to give themselves a chance to chase down big goals. I would have never imagined that I’d run 30 marathons in ten years of doing this stuff, and being able to pace for this milestone, and at a pace that a) I never thought I’d be able to do comfortably ten years ago and b) one that means so much to so many people (particularly women my age), was like the best icing ever on the best cake ever. If I wanted marathon #30 to be memorable, I nailed it. 

Sincerest and heartfelt congrats to all of Sunday’s racers. You all are rockstars in my book.