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the 2017 San Francisco Marathon (#TSFM2017) race report

the 2017 San Francisco Marathon (#TSFM2017) race report

Sunday marked the 40th anniversary of the San Francisco Marathon, my third go at the SF full’s course, my fourth year as a social media ambassador for the event, my fifth year of being “with” the race in some capacity, and my 29th 26.2 rodeo; I’ll save the other stats for much later (scroll, scroll, scroll) in this absolute novella of a RR. The tl; dr version: I love TSFM. If you are enamored with the 26.2 distance, even if you’re intimidated by the hills that you fear adorn the entirety of TSFM course, you should absolutely run this full. You can run fast and run well here, and while it’s not easy — and let’s be honest, gang, what exactly constitutes an “easy” 26.2? — it is possible. It is such a good ride.

one of this year’s promo postcards

Pre-race: training, goals, the backstory

The last time I ran the full was in ‘14, shortly after my family and I moved from Chicago down to SJ. I had run it once before, back in ‘10, while we were still in Chicago, and after doing the 5k in ‘15 super pregnant, I was going to return to the full last year in ‘16 but got beset with colitis nonsense last minute and instead spent the weekend in bed/in the bathroom. Let me tell you: not being able to run it in ’16 blew. My ‘17 TSFM wasn’t about “revenge” on not being able to do the race last year — that’s dumb and doesn’t make any sense; on whom or what am I seeking revenge? my obviously messed up gastrointestinal system? — but instead, I wanted to run TSFM ‘17 as well as I could, knowing what I know about the course.

now that’s my type of away message

I came into TSFM ‘17 training fresh off a solid fall racing that led me to a PR in both the full and the half, a spring racing season that saw PRs in many distances, some a couple times over, and I knew that going into TSFM race weekend, based on training, the aforementioned racing from late fall until recently, and what I can only describe as intuition or feel (or maybe delusion), I’m in 26.2 PR shape. How things would shake out on TSFM’s course, though, remained to be seen. Having the luxury of racing here before, as well as being friends with many of the folks who pace this year after year, I knew that the race typically boasts anywhere from 1200-1500’ elevation, depending on your source (Strava v Garmin), and that for whatever reason, the course often measures fairly long on most people’s GPS, amounting to closer to 26.5 or even 26.6. In no way are these excuses or justifications for adjusting my race or PR goals; I think it’s more a matter of knowing the realities and challenges that the course presents.  

A quick aside: that’s a healthy amount of elevation for a road race, even for the 26.2 distance IMHO. TSFM is all pavement, so the hills are completely runnable (read: non-technical). Simply stated, it’s just that there are many of them. Some are very steep; some are long; and while there are a handful of significant climbs on the course (that I’ll talk about later), sandwiched among The Big Ones are plenty of little hiccup hills, little ascents and descents that just keep you moving right along. There are precious few flat places on TSFM where you’re not working with or against gravity. Pacing, then, becomes preternaturally important on this course. In my decade and now 29 marathons’ worth of racing experience, I think I can wholeheartedly, if not enthusiastically, say that TSFM is a supremely strategic course — akin to Boston or NYC, though I’d say SF’s decidedly more challenging — and that it’s not impossible to race well or PR here; it’s just that it requires a healthier-than-normal amount of patience and course familiarity. Knowing when to push, when to ride the course, or when to keep it at “effort” is so key. You are always strategizing and gaming this course. It’s part of the fun.

Another aside about the apparent GPS disparity: take it for what it’s worth. TSFM, like all other major road races in the US, is USATF certified. If you run and race a lot, you know that our GPS devices aren’t the gold standard and that any individual course’s certification trumps the reading that we get from our watches. It can be frustrating when the distances don’t align perfectly, but honestly, what are you going to do? Stop when your watch says you’ve hit 26.2, even if you still have 400m+ remaining? Friends seem to think that the course’s misalignment begins in Golden Gate Park, when there’s a lot of back-and-forth, but I don’t know for sure. It doesn’t really matter. Most runners (myself included) often run longer than we need to at races simply because we don’t cut tangents as tightly as they are measured when RDs get their courses certified, so when any of us are striving to hit a specific time goal, it’s typically a good idea to factor in a bit of a buffer (ie. calculating what a 3:20 for 26.3 or 26.4 would look like instead of 26.2). Going into Sunday’s race, then, I knew that it’d really behoove me to cut tangents as tight as I possibly and legally could because I’d likely see that there was a significant discrepancy in distance between my watch and the course markers.  

Race weekend: Saturday – expo and Erin’s

After an easy 2 mile shakeout of running in circles around home, kissing the family goodbye, and then stocking up on the pre-marathon staples in San Jose (and buying veg pho at 9am), I set off to SF to park over near Erin’s and then get over to Fort Mason to volunteer with my ambassador buddies at the expo for a few hours. If I’m not volunteering at an expo, I’m typically in and out as quickly as possible, but I find volunteering at TSFM’s energizing and a lot of fun. It’s one of the only times during race weekend and to be honest, the entire year, when I get to see a lot of friends — folks from the ambassador crew, race staff, as well as folks from the Bay Area (or elsewhere) I know who are pacing, racing, fun-running, whatever — and it quickly becomes a big social outing. It honestly leaves my heart filled, my face sore from smiling and laughing, and my spirit so elevated. Talking to race participants, too — perfect strangers who have a thousand questions about the race, some of whom are so obviously nervous as hell that they all but verbal vomit on you and end up telling you about basically the entirety of their training cycle (or lack thereof) — I love it all so much. I also really enjoyed seeing some of my #BOBTeamSF teammates, Christina and Paula and their respective families, as well as our contact from BOB/Britax, Melissa. Though I wouldn’t be toeing the line with them at the 5k in the morning, it was still nice to bullshit with them for a bit. Meeting Brian, bantering with Gregg, seeing Paulette and her husband Kevin, chatting with Kowsik and his friend, Yadhu — Kowsik, who’d be running the 52.4 mile ultramarathon (starting at midnight by running the marathon in reverse, and then running the regular marathon route with the other participants and pacing his friend to his first ever marathon) — it collectively made the expo hours fly by and was just so uplifting and encouraging to talk with everyone about their goals, training, and what they’ve been up to since we last saw each other. Hugs, fistbumps, high fives: it’s all so energizing.

a little bit of TSFM ambassador love with “DynamoScott, Stephanie, Jeanne, Stephanie, Charles, and Jody; pretty sneaky that the sign behind us shows the marathon’s elevation, eh? (look at the yellow) [PC: a kind stranger]
Stephanie captured the awkwardness that was me picking up my subseeded bib for TSFM, and shortly after that adventure, I saw that a less-than-flattering picture of me was the cover shot on the Berkeley Half Marathon postcard that was circulating at the expo. Cool. I’m pretty sure I looked better in the throes of unmedicated childbirth, both times, but so be it; if nothing else, it’s excellent promotion for Wolfpack (taking one for the team, I guess).

nope, not awkward at all (PC: Stephanie)

 

look Ma, a really low bib and a postcard with a horrible pic of me! (PC: Dynamo)

After a few hours of gabbing with runners and old friends, I returned to Erin’s to begin my 4pm dinner (to accommodate a 5:30 race start, a 2:xx wakeup, and an as-early-as-possible bedtime). I rarely come into SF except to race, but usually when I come in, I can rope Erin into a visit or letting me stay at her place. A quick aside: I’ve talked before about how I have no interest in running Boston again for a long time because of how my last Boston training, race, and experience went, and Erin is a big part of that equation. We met in Chicago through the Fleet Feet Boston Bound group, trained together every Wednesday night and Saturday morning in a challenging Chicago winter in the lead-up to Boston, and shared the whole Boston experience together. I so cherish my friendship with her and our other friends with whom we trained for Boston that year, and when my family and I moved out here, she was one of the only people I knew in the SF Bay Area. I’ll save my treacly bantering for another day, but suffice it to say that I treasure any time that I can get with her. Hanging out in her kitchen, eating veg pho I had schlepped from 60+ miles away and Safeway’s finest veg sushi I had bought over by the expo, yakking about nothing and everything for a while over my senior dinnertime, was about as perfect a pre-marathon-meal as I could have gotten. After a bit of socializing with her, her husband, and their friends who were over, true to senior form, I retired at 8 and probably closed my eyes around 9. Ronda Rousey’s bio — at times very weird but also very motivating — and later, Matt Mira’s voice, put me over the edge, and I was out until 2:xx.

#tbt to Boston ’10 with this gaggle (Erin in orange); not pictured: John and Amy. Just seeing this makes my heart smile!

Race morning

Pre-race: Marketbar, Jorge Maravilla, the elite/subseed Wave 1

Fortunately, marathon morning was uneventful. By virtue of helping with TSFM’s social media efforts, I had access to the VIP pre- and post-race party at Marketbar, a restaurant in the Ferry Building, very near the race start, so I had unfettered access to real bathrooms, more food and beverages pre- and post-race than I’d ever consume, and an easy and small gear check. I saw more of ambassador buddies there that morning (Bonnie, Stephanie D., Stephanie L. and her husband), and around 4:40, ran out-and-backs along the Embarcadero to warm-up for about 5 minutes. In the process, I saw Jorge Maravilla conducting an interview in Spanish and doing some photo shoot stuff before the race. He’s local and is just awesome — and was vying to win SF this year and qualify to represent El Salvador in the Olympic marathon — and after he finished his interview/I finished my warm-up, like a complete dork I went up to him, introduced myself, chatted with him for a minute and wished him well. I hoped the fist-bumps and high-fives he shared would somehow, osmosis-style, transfer over some of his speedy badassedness my way. He was cool as hell. Bless his soul for letting me fangirl for a second. (Spoiler: he won!)

the Bay Bridge all lit up around 4:30 on race morning. You can see the blue arch (right side) that is the marathon start.

Shortly thereafter, I ran over to the pacer/ambassador tent area, chatted up many more folks I hadn’t seen at the expo the day before (including Sunny, Linh, Amy, Sarbajeet, Alfred, and Adam) for a few quick minutes before getting myself into the elite/subseed wave 1 corral with about 50 other runners — including Jorge, the ever-lovely-and-awesome-and-speedy Verity, and a SRA Elite runner who had only run TSFM in its inaugural year 39 years prior (wild, right?). I laugh about the elite/subseed thing  because the women’s open standards were pretty soft, IMHO: a sub-3:20 full (ok) or a sub-1:40 half (hmmm…). In contrast, men’s open standards for subseed were a 1:28/2:55 (a HUGE difference!). The other obviously-not-professional runners and I looked at each other and almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation, shooting each other looks like we clearly shouldn’t be up here, but here we are, so let’s enjoy it, eh? Don’t get me wrong, it was cool as hell to be up front and to start the race literally seconds after the gun went off, and I’m thankful that I got to experience it, but man, the imposter syndrome was fierce. Hilariously, as we were standing around, another woman and I started chatting, and she mentioned that she reads my blog! This little thing! How funny. (and what’s up! Hope you had a great race!). Anyway, after not much fanfare, we began the race in relative darkness — 5:30 start time, remember — and the proverbial journey began.

I’m tucked away on the right side, about 2-3 seconds behind these folks

The front half: Embarcadero, Crissy Field, GGB (up and over and back), Presidio – and the weather!

(Eds. note: TSFM’s website features an excellent series of posts that outline the course mile-by-mile. I’d encourage you to check it out if you want to know more in-depth detail than what I’ll be able to provide here. My SF knowledge is limited, so I’m surely omitting some pertinent details about the course and some of these neighborhoods).

I don’t know this for sure, but I doubt there are many road marathons in the US that you can run in late July and be all but assured that you’ll a) start your race in the dark and b) have starting temps in the 50s:  except if you run SF. With the lit-up Bay Bridge behind us, the race began in what initially felt like perfect running weather. I stayed very far behind the elites — as cool as it was to start so close to the people actually vying for contention, I’d be damned if I did something idiotic that’d interfere with their race! — and I spent the first mile chatting with the woman I mentioned above (Erica? I think? I’m sorry, I can’t remember!) and another woman, Stassja, whom I quickly recognized as someone I follow on Instagram (what a weird world we live in, right?). The first two miles of TSFM are pancake flat along the Embarcadero, and I was careful to ease into the race and not get swept up in the excitement of running near some reeeeeeeeally fucking fast people. The quiet and dark was very calming, and it wasn’t until a handful of minutes into my race that the folks who had started behind me in Wave 2 were starting to catch up and pass me. As is my norm, I rarely looked at my watch except to periodically check myself, and I just tried to cruise. Let them go, let them go, let them go.

The first “hill” on the course is a little hiccup hill around mile 3, over by Fort Mason, where the expo is, but it’s quick. Following that were more flats in Crissy Field as we approached the GGB. I’d say it was from around mile 3 onward that the weather got a little “California dicey” for a while, as it seemed to suddenly change from near-perfect running weather to super dense fog — enough to obscure any sighting of the GGB — that seemed to alternate between mist and rain, in addition to wind that seemed to start in Crissy Field. The wind took me back to Chicago: I’m talking cut-your-body-sideways, tuck your head down and grit your teeth wind, something that is a bit of a rarity here. It’s not uncommon to have a lot of fog in the morning over by the GGB, especially so early in the morning, but the fierce-for-CA wind was a bit of a shocker. I remember thinking well, this is a surprise, but I intentionally quickly dismissed it and tried not to think about it too much. There is a lot that we can control when we run, race, and train for marathons, but one thing that is always beyond our scope is the weather. That said, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to focus on it. Do what you can, and move on. Don’t waste your energy or your precious mental real estate.

Seeing Brian and Francis around mile 5, before we started to ascend to get onto the GGB, was a treat — side-5s and hollering for everyone — and mile 6, the steepest and longest climb on the course (I think), to get onto the GGB was fine. My goal was to come through the half around a 1:40-1, +/-, and I knew that I was running just a bit hot, so I could afford to/should back off a little bit. I think I took that mile in about an 8:30, what I had decided would be my slowest for the day (a bold claim to make so early in a 26.2, I know). I meandered on up the thing, taking in the sights (or what I could see anyway), and in not much time, we were over it and were fast approaching the completely ensconced bridge.  

Karl the Fog was raging hard on TSFM race morning because he basically enveloped the entirety of the bridge and obscured any view of the city behind us, the headlands before us, or practically speaking, part of the road in front of us. TSFM actually closes down a few lanes of the GGB to accommodate runners — allowing us to run on the actual bridge and not on the sidewalks — and with the dense fog, the seeming rain, and that godforsaken cut-you-sideways wind, I felt like I was bordering on being overly cautious with my foot strike for the 4 miles up and over and back on the bridge. Wet metal and tons of runners seemed poised for a disaster, though fortunately, I’m happy to report that I didn’t eat shit. I’ll take my victories wherever I can get them. At one point, I thought that the severity of the wind was in my head — everything seems more pronounced and dire when you’re trying to race a marathon, right? — until I saw a random pedestrian walking on the bridge roadway (what was she doing?!), well before any of the leaders came through. Her poncho was so violently and fiercely whipping around that it made me think ah, yes, this wind is definitely for real. There’s nothing made up about it.

Seriously, the wind on the bridge was incredible though, and it damn near literally — and I do mean literally — sucked my visor right off my head; I remember actually holding it and pulling it as far down as possible with both hands because I didn’t want it to get sucked into the bay or the ocean. While on the bridge, I saw my 3:15 pacing buddy Don cruise by me before mile 7, urging me to draft behind the other runners, and made a new friend, Salman, with whom I discussed my conviction that SF can be a fast and possible PR course (much like Boston and NYC), and right after he carried on, my ambassador buddy Jason, who was running the first half, appeared out of basically nowhere. It was awesome to be treated to a practically revolving door of friends mid-run. Jason and I chatted for a while, he left, and as I was making my way back over the bridge, I saw a ton more friends making their “out” still, including Sunny, Sarbajeet, Adam, Paulette, and Becky. This race is like a fucking social hour! You can see everyone you know!

crazy to think that the huge GGB is right behind me here, and you can’t see a damn bit of it! Note the very low hat.

 

this gives you a decent idea of what running on the GGB was like this year. (PC: NBC Bay Area IG)

The GGB is a false flat in both directions, but as you come off it, you’re treated to a nice downhill, another uphill, and then a screamer of a downhill on Lincoln (the road we ascended at Nike Women’s Half in ‘14, if I remember correctly). The fog was still fairly thick, and the roads were all drenched, and it still seemed to be raining in some spots; again, the care I took in each footstrike was far greater than anything I usually do. I knew from Robin that her team, the Impalas (another PA USATF club), would be handling the aid station around miles 10/11, and the ladies in blue were great. It makes no sense to me, but for some reason, they almost got me in tears mid-marathon; yes, embarrassingly, I was almost *that* girl. For probably the first time ever in a marathon, I forgot to write my name on my bib or anywhere on my body, so as I approached the women and grabbed fluids, I honestly think that every single woman in the entire line of tables yelled something along the lines of “go, Wolfpack,” “looking great,  Wolfpack,” “way to go, Wolfpack,” or some derivation therein. I’m talking sincere yelling, direct eye contact from each one of them, the whole nine yards; there was nothing generic about it. The support and encouragement was palpable. It sounds stupid as I think about it now, but I think their utterances just hit some emotional nerve that apparently jibed with some mid-marathon existential we’re all in this together kum-bah-yah mental melody I must have been musing. I don’t know; chalk it up to the power of a team, of a community, of a family, but for some reason, them being there, doing what they were doing, and calling me not by my name but by my team I was representing just about moved me to tears. Weirdest thing ever. Running has a profound way of messing with my head sometimes. Surely I’m not the only one.     

sea of blue around mile 11; ya’ll nailed it! (PC: @Impalaracing IG)

 

this also gives you a good idea of the weather around this part of the race. (PC: @Impalaracing IG)

The second half, part one: Golden Gate Park (~12-19)

What goes down must go up in SF, so after the screaming downhill came a nice and long uphill, around miles 11-12, that we grinded up up up to get over into Golden Gate Park. I had looked at my watch recently and calculated that I’d likely be coming through 13.1 right at where I wanted to be, so I took care to take another of The Big Hills at effort. Right as we were approaching the 12 mile marker, my friend Travis literally run-intersected the course — I had been looking for him all morning, knowing that he was going to be routing his Berlin training long run around the SF course — and despite me actually screaming his name — and him turning around to figure out the origin of the yell — we missed each other. Bummer.

I recalled from ‘14 that by the time I got into GGP and approached 13.1, I felt more tired than I had anticipated I would. When you run TSFM, most of your hills are in the front half, but GGP, itself, still has plenty of nice little hiccup ascents and descents that keep things interesting. GGP is a bit of a Twilight Zone mindfuck for me because I don’t know it very well, so I typically get completely disoriented in it. We split from the first half marathoners around my mile 12 and change, and by the time I hit 13.1 by the course’s measurement, I was around 13.2x on my watch and around a 1:42 — on the conservative side of where I wanted to be but pretty happy about it. I felt great though, far less tired than when I had gotten to that point in ‘14, and the field had thinned out considerably ahead of me. I could only see one woman ahead, and with a couple miles of seeming descents, I let gravity work for me and cruised right along.

In the back half of TSFM, in GGP, full marathoners take a loop around Stow Lake — the same Stow Lake where I notched a big 5k PR in the spring — and it adds a bit to the disorientation of running in GGP because you basically run and out-and-back in the park, run around the lake, and eventually get spit out onto Haight St (after some more back-and-forth action). Somewhere in that mix, the second half marathoners start their race as well, and we full marathoners run past the first half marathoners’ finish line area. It can be confusing as hell, and my explanation doesn’t do it justice. (I even saw a second half marathoner, presumably one of the leaders, somehow go through the finish chute of the first half marathon before realizing what he did and then backtrack to get out of the chute and onto the correct side of the road so he could properly run his course. Yikes). In GGP, fortunately, the wind backed off entirely, leaving the park still fairly cloaked in a light layer of fog; I knew I was passing some landmarks in the park, but hell if I knew where anything was because I couldn’t see anything off in the distance, not even the buffaloes! 

haha, so maybe I didn’t smile the entire marathon. No idea where this is in GGP; maybe it’s near Stow? It all blends together.

I was still feeling pretty good, all things considered, and focused on each mile I was in, working with the downhills when I had them and focusing on strength and turnover on the hiccup hills when they appeared. If I had come through the half in about a 1:40-1 or so, I’d need flat 7:29s for the back half to hit an arbitrary 3:18 time goal, but I wasn’t at all fixated on that pace for each mile of the back half. Like I said, I feel like TSFM is such a strategic course that it’s not one that lends itself to relying on running a flat X pace for the entirety of the 26.2 mile jaunt; instead, I feel like if you want to run well at SF, you have to take the course as it comes, constantly calibrating and recalibrating your pace for each mile and accommodate  (and reaccommodate) for any hills, screaming descents, or hiccups. By the time I was leaving GGP, I knew that I had hit 13.1 in about a 1:42 and that I wasn’t hitting 7:29s after 13.1, at least that I could recall, but I also knew that there was a lot of course left to run, including 2 flat finish line miles, a huge downhill on Haight, and some more hiccups and Big Ones left in the mix. Anything can happen in the marathon; that’s what makes it exhilarating, exhausting, terrifying, heartbreaking, and a total blast to run. It’s a series of decisions over and over again, and you have to hope — and trust yourself and your training — that you’ll make the right ones.

With many other marathons I’ve run, when I feebly start to do the math late in the race and begin to feel like the odds are profoundly stacked against me to hit whatever arbitrary or audacious time goal I’ve set out to accomplish, I think I subconsciously (or consciously, not sure) begin to ease up a bit. What’s the point in crucifying yourself out there when it’s more likely than not that you’re going to come up short? I didn’t have that monologue this time around though. Regardless of how the final 7 miles were going to fly, I was going to fight for it and put my best everything forward, not because some bullshit fitspo thing out there encouraged me race morning to believe the impossible dream! but because I know that I have so much more to give in the marathon — and conveniently, it’s an event that requires everything you’ve got. All it takes is all you’ve got, and I know I have a lot to give; file that under “cheesy things I tell myself that make me sound outrageously self-aggrandizing but that surprisingly embolden me more than I’d expect.” In addition, since SIB in the spring, I’ve kept a temporary tattoo from the race, something else that I tell myself before and during just about any hard effort: she fiercely believed in herself, and that made all the difference. File that one under the same category. Plus, I knew I’d be seeing Erin again soon. Those were all enough.   

The second half, part two: Haight, ‘hoods I don’t know, Strava!, AT&T Park,  Embarcadero      

SF is known for its microclimates — its vastly different weather in different parts of the city — and it couldn’t have been more true on race day. We went from the perfect running weather, to rain/fog/mist/wind nonsense, and back to rain/fog/mist in the front half, and by the time we exited GGP and were at the top of Haight around mile 19, it was as though the weather gods flipped a switch and turned the sun on for the first time all morning. Anticipating the sun’s arrival, minutes before we exited GGP, I quickly threw on my shades that had been sitting on my head all morning, and I started to count blocks, eagerly and excitedly waiting to approach Erin near Haight/Ashbury. Even with sunglasses on, I couldn’t see a damn thing coming down Haight — the sun was directly in my face, so the best I could do was focus on the road and few runners ahead of me — but I fortunately heard her for about a block before I saw her. (Thank you!) She buoyed my confidence a bit, told me I was exactly on pace and that I looked good, and I happily parted ways from her and continued to try to barrel down Haight, one of my favorite parts of the course. I had momentarily thought of my husband, who had encouraged me to “remember to have fun because you can run a marathon any day of the week” before I had left; I had explained that yes, but you can’t run down the middle of major city streets in the middle of the morning any time you want! As I was descending Haight, reveling in the very cool sight of seeing handfuls of runners ahead of me, farther along in their descent, and the bay looming ahead further still, I couldn’t help but think how novel and fun it is to run a major city marathon. I mean, think about it: when else can you ever literally run down the middle of a street like Haight (or Roosevelt, or Hereford, or wherever) but on Race Day? It’s just a cool experience. We are so lucky to be able to do this stuff.  

Erin spotting Erin, so meta! Barreling down Haight at 19 (PC: Erin)

 

seeing friends mid-marathon is the best, isn’t it? (PC: Erin)

Following Haight’s big downhill, I knew we still had a couple more Big Ones to ascend around miles 22 and 23 — ones that caught me off-guard in ‘14 — and I came into them ready and willing to continue to grind. I hadn’t done any more mental math since my attempt before exiting GGP, but I think I knew I wasn’t going to hit the 3:18 by then or that it’d be a long, long shot, anyway. I refocused my efforts on finishing the thing as strongly as possible and on seeing just how close I could get to my goal. I was still having a blast, running what felt like as well as I could, still passing people, and as far as I could tell, no women had passed me for several miles, save for some 2nd half runners. I wasn’t feeling tired like I was in ‘14 — though of course, I still felt tired — but more than anything, I had a resolve to keep going and fighting like hell. One of the biggest takeaways I remember from How Bad Do You Want It? is that when you ask yourself if you have another gear, the answer is unequivocally yes. We shortchange ourselves when we ought not to because we get into our heads and write (and rewrite) our narratives that help compensate for our shortcoming. We rationalize our faltering to death, and in the process, we do ourselves a bit of a disservice. Our minds often quit before our bodies do, and figuring out what we need to do to get our minds on board is incredibly important for developing grit, for heightening our tenacity — basically, for just becoming better at whatever it is we’re pursuing, be it a marathon or something else. Don’t get me wrong, complacency sure is comfortable, but a challenge — even one wherein you’re sure you’re going to fail — can be a damn good time. I mean, what do you have to lose? Publicly failing might sting, but knowing that you put out the effort — that you gave yourself the permission to at least give a damn and try — is really satisfying, too.

By about mile 24, when we had finally gotten away from any more Big Ones or hiccup ascents or descents and were back on the flatland of the Embarcadero, it didn’t matter to me that I knew I’d come up short on 3:18 (and much longer than 26.2, as my measurements were getting further and further away from the course markers and were now up to .2 off, despite my best efforts at tangent cutting). I wasn’t doing any more math, I don’t remember looking at my watch periodically, and hell, I don’t even think I looked at my watch when it beeped at each mile marker. The game had transitioned into find that last gear that’s still there, and finish this as strongly as you began it.

As we made our way along the Embarcadero, with AT&T Park coming into view (around mile 25 on the course) and the Bay Bridge becoming ever more apparent (the marathon finishes almost under it), it took me back to seeing the Citgo sign in Boston: you see it, you know you’re so close to home, but there’s more work to do. Just keep hammering. I knew Strava, and potentially Gregg, would be at 24-25, and while I didn’t see Gregg, the energy of the Strava cheer station was just indescribably awesome; major kudos to Gumby.

I recalled in ‘14 that by the time I hit 24 and change, just as I had entered the perimeter of AT&T Park, I began to mentally check out. I had gotten tired, started to rationalize that maybe it was worth it just to back off a bit on the final couple miles because I was pacing in six weeks’ time at Santa Rosa, and I honestly just felt … sleepy. This time around, there was none of that. After we passed the Strava station, as various half marathoners passed me, a handful of them — all guys, weirdly — ran right alongside me for a few paces and basically commended me for running hard (I guess?), telling me how awesome it was that I was racing a full and how much ass I was kicking. I have no idea. You’d think I was doing something noble like curing cancer or something. In retrospect, I must have looked like hell for strange men to offer me some mid-race coaching and encouragement, but then again, I seem to have that happen to me a lot in races. (Bizarre, right?).  

I don’t know where this is on the course, but my guess is the final 1-1.5. I don’t remember seeing a photographer there. Also, I think I can see the fog-induced dreadlocks in my hair.

And before long, that magical part in the marathon happens, when you begin to realize that as quickly as the thing began, it’s coming to an end. We came out of the area around AT&T Park; I gave a course marshall a hearty side-five that’d make any Chicago runner proud; and I finished what I started. Fitbit had an excellent, clever, enthusiastic, and colorful cheer station around 25.5, and even when my watch beeped 26 well before the mile marker, as the Bay Bridge got bigger and bigger, and the baby blue finish line overhang came into view, I tried to outrun a guy in front of me and finished what became my 29th marathon, my 17th Boston qualifier, and my 3rd San Francisco Marathon, in 3:24:38 — enough for 5/407 AG, 25/2347 F, and 306/6535 OA — for what my watch posted as about 26.49 miles.

teeth-gritting or smiling, not sure

 

two watches and nutrition notes written on my arm in Sharpie is how I roll on marathon day

 

every finish line is special, ya’ll. it doesn’t get old. thanks for the free finisher pic this year, TSFM.

My ‘17 race was just a touch slower than my ‘14 race (3:22:42, but with very similar finishing statistics), and interestingly, while my ‘14 time had about a 20 second positive split, my ‘17 time had what I think was mirror-perfect even pacing from the front half to the back half, possibly down to the second, if my math is right, according to the race’s splits (right? Has my math gone to shit that much?). Assuming that’s correct, I can safely say that I have never before perfectly-split a marathon. I guess there really is a first time for everything. Also weirdly, my watch recorded my cadence at about 188, slightly higher than normal for me and probably the highest I’ve ever had it recorded for a marathon. Iiiiiiinteresting.

After the race, in the finish chute, I reconnected with Don, who brought the 3:15 group home on time, Salman, Stassja, who PRed and scored a solid BQ, and shared all the congratulations and kudos with another woman who BQed for the first time who was clearly beside herself; bless the photographer who insisted that she and I jump in a pic together (which was reminiscent of NYC, when that last happened to me — talking to a stranger about how she BQed and we ended up getting a pic together). Is it obvious yet how much I love this distance?  

everybody’s a friend in these parts

Sure, I fell short of my arbitrary time goal, but I finished the race knowing that I had run it intelligently and strongly. Though my time was slower than ‘14, despite my better training this go around, I was over the moon with happiness. I’m not so delusional to think that the marathon ever owes me anything, regardless of how tenaciously I prepare for it. The marathon distance owes you, me, anyone who runs it, absolutely nothing. It’s so easy to romanticize 26.2, but the reality is that it’s tough as hell. It’s physically demanding, of course, but it’s also mentally taxing in a way that’s fairly indescribable. Even when you have the race of your life, you work — hard — for every single mile of it. I am so very grateful to be able to do this stuff for fun, and I think my joy in the process, and in the pursuit, underlies my approach to it.  My gratitude permeates everything — cheesy to say but couldn’t be truer or more real.

I train for and race marathons because the challenge is thrilling. “Marathoner” is one hat among many that I wear, and I wear it with pride. I have big running goals that I’m enthusiastically working toward over my lifetime, and at the risk of sounding self-aggrandizing, I will say that I finished SF feeling strong as hell and totally buoyed by how my race fared, given some challenging weather conditions — nothing I can control but my attitude on that one — and a course that’s among the most challenging of any marathon I’ve ever raced — something that I can control, something that I obviously must tend to seek out, seeing as how I’ve raced this 26.2 thrice now. I want to continue to chip down my marathon time, and maybe at the risk of sounding like a cocky SOB, I know my fresh-from-November 3:19 PR isn’t going to stand long. Gauntlet thrown, baby!

After chasing my marathon with a piping cup of green tea at Marketbar, copious amounts of water, some slightly-palatable Nuun (better than what was on course – gag me), a free massage, some more quality time with Sunny and her family, plus Linh and Amy, and briefly chatting with and finally meeting Scott Dunlap (who, like Kowsik, had also run the ultra), before too long, I was off to Erin’s to get cleaned up and head home. The weekend was awesome, and days later, I’m still riding a very hearty high from it. At one point during the race, I imagined skipping next year’s iteration or maybe just casually fun-running it; 72 hours removed, I can’t imagine *not* racing it with my everything again next year. This is how it starts, gang.     

Like her name suggests, she really is a ray of sunshine. Kudos to her for bringing home the 3:55 pace group on time, even after she took a fall in mi 25! (PC: Sunny)

If you’ve made it this far, kudos, thank you, and I love you (hi, sister!). Here’s your takeaway: if you want to run SF but are in any way intimidated by it, don’t be. Just sign up. If the hills scare you, don’t let them; train accordingly, and adjust your goals. I think it is absolutely possible to run fast and run well at TSFM, but it definitely necessitates a calculated effort, one that you don’t have to heed as much for a uniformly flat marathon like Chicago, Eugene, Two Cities, Modesto, or many others. If you don’t want to go all-in for 26.2 here, that’s no problem: take in the sights and more plentiful hills of the first half; go for broke and a PR on the speedier (though arguably less scenic) second half; or make your morning run in SF super short and sweet and go clinch a 5k PR on the speedy course along the Embarcadero (with only one hiccup hill; c’mon, it’s SF). And hell, if the marathon isn’t enough of a challenge, get on with your bad self at its 52.4 ultra. You’ve got choices.

I’ll conclude my already 7k+ word novella with one final rumination, probably one of the most important ones I can encourage you, or challenge you, to consider, and one that, if you’ve been around these parts for a while, you’ll already know I’m going to say: racing and running marathons needn’t exclusively be about PR-shattering. Don’t get me wrong, training for a race with the hope of a PR, and working myself into tip-top shape to show up ready to rumble, is a ton of fun; I love the work and am enamored with the process. However, if I singularly base my relative “success” with each marathon or marathon training cycle I complete on whether I showed up and PRed on race day, I will be disappointed — and will have failed — about 99% of the time. Such is the reality of the marathon. PRs are thrilling, but they are elusive; they are not the end-all, be-all. Experience has taught me that “training my ass off to race hard” and “have a fucking blast with training and race day” aren’t mutually exclusive entities like I once thought they were. At TSFM, even when I knew that the PR attempt — already a bold goal to attempt chasing on a course like SF — was likely shot, and even when I knew that I’d end up posting a time that was frustratingly a touch slower than what I had last posted here, despite having much better training this go around, I can honestly tell you that there wasn’t a single bone in my body that regretted or bemoaned anything that happened on race day: not.a.thing.

If my 7k words haven’t impressed upon this already, know that I had so much fun out there running such a calculated race, while seeing so many friends in the process and working my ass off, and to me, that’s enough. Whether justified or not, I finished TSFM feeling completely confident in my belief that I have still so much to give at this distance, and I am thrilled to train hard all fall to go destroy at CIM come December — after some recovery, pacing 3:33 at Santa Rosa in about a month’s time, and maybe some autumn XC action for the first time in my life. We’ll see. I can already taste the humble pie that I’ll likely be ingesting rather copious amounts of, rather regularly, this fall. Bring it on, baby.    

My 2017 TSFM weekend was copacetic, man. Thank you for the flurry of support and encouragement. It both humbles me and fans the flame.

Who loves SF? This girl!  My six year-old was thrilled with all the challenge medals, too (Berkeley-SF Challenge, 40 by 40, and the 26.2 medal)  (PC: a nice stranger)
2016 Two Cities Marathon race report (!!!!!!)

2016 Two Cities Marathon race report (!!!!!!)

When I registered for the Two Cities Marathon, I was sitting in a hotel room in Sacramento in May, the night before I ran the inaugural Pony Express Marathon just for kicks and somewhat begrudgingly, teetering on mental burnout, and I remember thinking that if I weren’t super excited to run a marathon in 24 hours’ time, I probably had no business registering for an autumn marathon. Well, I weighed my options and figured that when push came to shove, I’d regret not running a late autumn marathon (and doing all the training that it’d entail), so I took a chance and just went with it, assuming that I’d figure things out along the way. How you feel at any given moment doesn’t determine how you’ll ultimately feel after the whole thing is said and done, and goodness, this is especially true in the marathon.

static1-squarespace-com

My training looked like this: during the work week, I ran pushing one of my kids in the single stroller or both of the kids in the double stroller, just about every day, without caring much about pace, about an hour a day, give or take. I typically took one day completely off from running, though it’s hard to ever really be “off” with kids. My weekly long runs were either on trails, with about 2k-3k’ of climbing, again without concern for pace, or if I had a GMP-type of workout, I’d go on flats and obviously at least try to heed my splits. More often than not, most of my weekly speed stuff were tempo runs around my assumed HM/15k/10k paces, assumed because it has been a while – several years – since I truly raced any of those distances. I peaked around 55 miles per week, and I got strength work and flexibility stuff in when I could but mostly relied on the day-to-day rigor and physicality of mothering to be my “strength” and “flexibility” components to my training. (If you’re not a parent, let me assure you that parenting can be very physically demanding). I used Pfitzinger’s 55/12 as my skeleton plan, but honestly, I rearranged and adjusted so much during the final 4-5 weeks to accommodate for life/travel/sick children/whatever that I hesitate to even say that I followed Pfitz because I think doing so would undermine what is really (I think) a solid program as it’s written.

one last 12 miler up Monument Peak 8 days out from the race. see me? (PC: Saurabh)
one last 12 miler up Monument Peak 8 days out from the race. see me? (PC: Saurabh)
lots and lots and lots of stroller running this cycle. From my pre-race shakeout 24 hours out
lots and lots and lots of stroller running this cycle. From my pre-race shakeout

All things considered, then, my training wasn’t perfect, but it never is. I did what I reasonably could without allowing my training to egregiously interfere with my family life, and I let go of my expectation that in order to be in the best racing shape, I’d have to get back into my 70+ mpw volume: a drop in the bucket for some marathoners, sure, but for me, fairly substantial. This time around, for this training cycle, peaking in the 55 mpw range – what was formerly my base weekly mileage volume – would suffice. I felt confident that I could make the quality count where it mattered while still ratcheting up my endurance and honing some speed. Marathon training is such an experiment of one, and I told myself from the get-go that I’d make this work. Call this “intuitive training” or “listening to your body” or “not wanting to be beholden to anyone or anything because you’re stubborn as hell”; I guess I call it “taking calculated chances each week and hoping for the best.”

Backtracking just a little bit more, because we’re already over 500 words in and haven’t spoken hardly at all about the actual race I ran, you might recall that after PEM in May, I was slated to race the SF Marathon in July and then pace 3:35 at Santa Rosa in August, but neither materialized. The short (eh) version, maybe a subject for a separate post, is that I’ve had GI issues since before I had my firstborn, going on for nearly six years now (if not longer: I have vague recollections of doctors’ appointments in high school about this stuff). Shit got bad recently – far more frequently, far greater intensity, with some added pain and discomfort for the first time for good measure – and it took my stomach basically going into a veritable shitstorm two nights before TSFM and leaving me basically moaning and writhing in pain to get me into a GI’s office, the first time in many years and the first since we moved out here. Racing SF was quickly off the table, and a week or two later I deemed pacing at SRM unwise because of how was I feeling and how wildly unpredictable everything was. A couple months of damn-near weekly visits to my GI and his staff – all of whom should be getting the very nicest Christmas cards ever from my family and me, if for no other reason than their unending patience with my kids tearing up their office every time we go – and a battery of tests, bloodwork, and procedures diagnosed me two days out from TCM with a type of colitis, and for funsies, apparently my colon looks like it has rashes on it. You’re welcome.

As though marathon training were ever completely easy and manageable, figuring out WTF was going on with my stomach added yet another layer, and while I felt fairly confident about my training leading up to TCM, having the “definite uncertainty” that comes with not knowing how my stomach is going to handle a run – no matter how long or how intense – blew. There’s really not an elegant way to describe it. I have had so many runs lately (since the summer, in particular) plagued by GI issues that I honestly stopped tracking their frequency because it became nearly a given that it’d happen pre-run, mid-run, and/or post-run, basically every single day. Not fun. If things went south during the marathon, I was mentally prepared to DNF, if need be. I obviously hoped it wouldn’t come to that, and fortunately – spoiler – it didn’t. Post-race, well, that’s another story, but hey, I’m not complaining. Even with the diagnosis, I’m still counting myself to be pretty lucky because things could be far worse. (Eds. note: I started medicine the day after the race. Here’s hoping).

Alright, back to the race … Accounting for all of this background information, going into the race – the weekend experience I got to share with Meredith, who was coming down to run the Clovis half as part of her day’s 22 miles – I felt cautiously optimistic. I knew that my training prepared me to run the distance; I had basically no control over the future of my stomach and its activities for the weekend, so I tried to not dwell on it; and that which I could control, I did. In the interest of trying to stoke a flame of positive energy, I kept repeating to myself that “it was a great weekend to race a marathon,” as totally generic and after-school special as that sounds. I had the beloved company of a dear friend, and we did all the usual pre-race song-and-dance routine together, and while it was my 28th time at this marathon rodeo, the total lack of nerves on race eve and even race morn was both a little disconcerting – shouldn’t I be caring more?! – and also really fucking liberating – project that quiet confidence gurrrrrrrrrrl. I evidently talk to myself a fair bit because hey, if you’re not your biggest cheerleader, who’s going to be, ya know? Anyway, calm confidence: a little weird but also a lot awesome.

buying a toaster at a Target in Freso #YOLO
buying a toaster at a Target in Fresno #YOLO

I thought that I maaaaaaaaaaybe kinda sorta (hedging) got myself into PR-fighting-shape, but if you’ve ever run a marathon, you know that basically everything in the entire universe has to align for a PR to manifest. Even if on paper you seem ready and able, the marathon is a beast of a distance, and absolutely nothing is guaranteed. It can show how and where you’re strong, but it can also expose and exploit any and seemingly every vulnerability you have: mentally, physically, whatever. It is really, really fucking tough, and the sheer distance and the time you’re on your feet is brutally unforgiving. I’m really selling this distance to you, aren’t I?! And yet – and yet – if everything does come together at the right time, if the universe is aligned and your training is right and you run a marathon how you envision you can, it’s a feeling that’s indescribable and keeps you coming back for more because it’s a feeling of power, of strength, and of grit that fuck yeah I can do hard things WATCH ME NOW. I think there’s a lot of beauty to the marathon, and for as much physical fitness that this distance necessitates, I’d argue that the mental fitness – the mental conditioning you do to get yourself to the line, ready to rumble – is even greater. Anyway. At any rate, I have been trying since Chicago ’13 to go sub-3:20 and have come up short for all number of reasons, as any marathon RR on my blog from 2013-on details, but if the TCM morning unfolded favorably, I’d at least make an honest attempt at getting that 3:20 monkey off my back. I did the training; all that remained was showing up and giving it a go. Control that which you can; let go of that which you can’t.

meanwhile, back at the ranch...
meanwhile, back at the ranch…

After an early morning of pumping, watching bad TV, and doing all the usual stuff, Meredith and I drove the six miles from our hotel over to the starting area. It was foggy as hell outside, making it especially hard to find where we were supposed to go (and all the street closures didn’t help), but the temps were pretty perfect – low 50s, negligible wind – and the race starting area a breeze, with plentiful clean, if not unused, porta-potties and plenty of space to warm-up, drop off gear, and the like. I ran into many of my pacer buddies from the south bay who had come down to pace, which was also great. Many of them had raved about TCM, which piqued my interest, so it was really cool to see them and hear lots of encouragement from them right before we began. I did a 5 minute warm-up and felt pretty good, did several more nervous-and-excited pees, and lined up. Big races are fun, but man: the ease and convenience of the small races really can’t be beat.

looks like snow but it's actually fairly thick fog. with pacing buddies Don (L of me) and Linh (R) and another friend whose name I didn't catch (sorry!) PC: Linh
looks like snow but it’s actually fairly thick fog. with pacing buddies Don (L of me) and Linh (R) and another friend whose name I didn’t catch (sorry!) PC: Linh

TCM is unique in that there are three, or four, technically, races going on nearly simultaneously: the full marathon, that goes into both Clovis and Fresno; the Clovis half marathon (that’s more runner-than-walker friendly, thanks to the somewhat narrow bikepath that most of the race is run on); the Fresno half marathon (that’s very walker-friendly, since it’s on a big, wide street); and a half marathon relay. All the races start and end at Woodward Park, albeit at different times, and depending on your event and your speed, you might find the race environment to be manageable/NBD or kinda crowded. We marathoners began first, so from the gun, the roads were very open and accommodating. My race began at 6:30, and I was across the line before 6:31. Plus, I think there were fewer than 400 marathoners, so it was easy to find some space from the start, with no ankle-clipping necessary.

We first ran through some residential (if not arterial) streets in Clovis before picking up a bike path, doing a loop through an old-timey downtown district, and heading back toward the park where we began. By virtue of the out-and-backs on some portions of the course, we could see how many runners were ahead of us and where we were in relation to the pacers. There was a 3:03 pacer, a 3:13 pacer (my pacing buddy Don, who paced at Modesto), but then no other pacer until Linh at 3:43. Basically from the get-go, a gaggle of guys and I became an unofficial 3:20 pacing group and aimed to get through the half in about 1:40, give or take. We each had our own individual goals and plans for the day, with one doing his first marathon (!), but it was nice to run in a pack and just bullshit with strangers for a while. It’s something that I really like about running and our community; this sport forges such an instant connection that somehow, it’s so effortless to run in-step with perfect strangers for hours at a time, talking about anything and everything, that you don’t even realize (or you realize less) that you’re covering a huge fucking swath of distance. I mean, imagine how weird it would be for you to just sit down at someone’s table at a restaurant and talk for three+ hours with a perfect stranger. And yet … and yet … in running, it’s NBD. That blows my mind.

the unofficial 3:20 group. Andy (behind me, in the colorful shorts) and I were together for a long time, and Erik (next to me, all black) was running his first marathon. Plus, he is a cop and knew all the cops in Fresno working the race, so we got lots of banter from the peanut gallery. Pretty entertaining
the unofficial 3:20 group. Andy (behind me, in the colorful shorts), Andrew (next to me, blue shirt) and I were together for a long time, and Erik (next to me, all black) was running his first marathon. Plus, Erik is a cop and knew all the cops in Fresno working the race, so we got lots of banter from the peanut gallery. I was running alongside those three guys for about 18 miles before Erik and Andrew dropped back and Andy sped up. PC: Linh

Though I was basically running with a pack of guys from the get-go, I recognized a couple familiar women in the starting area – two women I had raced at Modesto and run with there for the first 5ish miles – and they also were in/near our little 3:20 (ish) group for part of TCM. Lots of spectators commented about our little pack looking so strong, how good it was that we were working together, and that sort of thing. I apparently always put myself out in front – the only reason I can think of is that I’m fairly claustrophobic, and this really comes out in racing environments – and I ran with the same group of guys for nearly 18 miles, with one (Andy) closer to 20. The fellas and I bullshitted for a long time and were completely quiet save for our footsteps at others: basically just like any other training run I’ve done with friends. I wasn’t clock-watching at all, but I felt like I was staying within the realm of running a responsible first half and that I was running fairly evenly and consistently. Better still, my stomach was holding it together, though there were some moments of oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck … oh. phew. I felt like I was playing with fire in regards to my stomach, but I was willing to risk it, especially since the day seemed to be unfolding how I had hoped it would.

another good group pic. PC: Linh
another good group pic, this time with Erin (I think) in the mix. PC: Linh
through the half in 1:41
through the half in 1:41. shitty screenshot, but you get the idea

As we finished the Clovis part of the race, the race took us back in the direction of Woodward Park, and then right when we were about mile, maybe a half mile from the finish line, we took a right on Friant Road, right around mile 16ish, for a ten mile OAB. With being so close to the finish line, only to go SO FAR AWAY FROM IT, I was banking on my soul wanting to go die, but incredibly, it didn’t. I attribute this to still running with a pack, since by 16, I was still in-step with 3 other guys, 2 of whom I had been with since nearly the beginning of the race. We began to talk about what the final ten miles of the race would look like, noting that Friant Rd. is where the Fresno HM occurs, evidenced by HM walkers everywhere, and that we’d encounter the only real “hill” (airquotes because it’s about a 70ft decline/incline) on the course right around mile 20/21. Fortunately, thanks to the wide roads, I didn’t have any problems dodging the HM walkers, most of whom were on the far right side of the road, anyway. Just like at Modesto, the HM participants were super encouraging, which I reciprocated (per yoosh), and even going through water stations with the mix of HM walkers and marathon runners wasn’t problematic. The Clovis HM wouldn’t have been able to handle the crush of HM walkers and marathon runners because the bike paths aren’t very wide, but on a several-lane-wide road like Friant, it was a non-issue.

As the guys (Erik, Andrew, and Andy) and I cruised along, I was beginning to pay attention to the opposite side of the course to begin to look for the lead marathoners coming through. At one point, I thought that I was about the fifth woman OA, but I didn’t know for sure. Between miles 16-20, the group of guys and I caught up to and passed two women, making me think that I might be able to squeak a podium finish ($ prize!). I felt fine – good, actually – even as we were beginning to ever-so-slightly speed-up after passing through the first half. I had convinced myself that my stomach was going to play nicely after all, that all I needed to do was to keep moving forward, and to mentally keep my shit together. All the silly, New Age-y mantra stuff you see people posting on social media – the “you can do it,” whatever – all that stuff I was repeating to myself embarrassingly ad nauseam: again the importance of being your own biggest cheerleader. There were so many things that were markedly different about how I felt this late in the marathon at TCM compared to how I felt at Modesto – especially since it felt at least ten degrees cooler at TCM – that I was beginning to think the PR miiiiight be within reach. I didn’t want to bank on it, but the cautious optimism was definitely growing.

By the time I approached 20, our little group was just Andy and me, and he was planning to go for his GMP (6:30s/6:40) for the final 10k, so I bid him adieu and godspeed. I descended the little-but-long hill, did the little OAB that followed, and ascended the long-but-not-steep hill back as I began to return toward Woodward Park. By now, on the ‘back’ portion of Friant Road, I was in a sea of HM walkers and 2:20+ HM runners, and I was pretty sure that I had moved up into fourth or third woman OA place. Being on the back portion allowed me to cheer for everyone on the out portion – again, I love OAB races for this reason – and the mental math games began: as long as I run a 10 minute pace, I can finish in X. 5 miles – that’s like 45 minutes, not even. I can do that. As long as I run an 8 minute pace, I can finish in Y. 4 miles – that’s like running around (random route at home). A 5k! I can do a 5k. If I can push a stroller at (whatever pace), I can definitely do it solo for a couple more miles. You can do this. I can do this. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. For the love of god, don’t trip. Don’t step in that pothole. The road is curving. Move over. Hug the tangent. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

Climbing the only "hill" at TCM at mile 21 and on my own at that point. PC: Linh
Climbing the only “hill” at TCM at mile 21 and on my own at that point, since the other guys had dropped back and Andy was off ahead. PC: Linh

 

...and apparently putting a ring on it, afterward. PC: Linh
…and apparently I put a ring on it afterward. PC: Linh

I rarely look at my watch when I’m racing, so instead, I focused on keeping Andy and his colorful shorts within sight for as long as I could. Eventually, he disappeared, so I focused on counting all the HM runners and walkers around me when I wasn’t having the monologue above, counting, or silently singing assorted children’s songs to myself. I hesitated to push the pace much before mile 23 because I was obviously tiring, but I also didn’t want to inadvertently shoot out like a bat out of hell – as much as one can do that in the final 5k of a marathon, anyway – only to blow up, lose the PR potential, and death-march in it. My hardest bonk was at my first Boston, wherein I literally (and I do mean literally) felt like I was going to fall asleep standing up at mile 23, like if I blinked for a millisecond too long, that it’d be the end of me, and it was the shittiest feeling I’ve experienced in racing 26.2: ever. That said, at TCM, I wanted to be a little conservative on whatever final “kick” I had and not get too far ahead of myself. Eventually, by the time I hit 25 (or the HM 12 sign), I finally had that fuck it let’s do this let’s finish this thing moment with myself and “bolted” – again, as much as you can do that after you’ve been racing for over three hours. I couldn’t help but be nostalgic as we turned back into the park, making me think of making that turn into Central Park during the NYC Marathon (which was on the same day as TCM this year), and I smiled as I dodged all the other participants and hauled relative ass up the little undulations leading into Woodward Park and to the finish line. I wasn’t clock-watching, but I was pretty sure that it’d be something in the high 3:18 or low 3:19 range – provided I didn’t faceplant or something.

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hi, Mom!!!
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how awesome is that little girl mean-mugging behind me and the other kid in the background wearing that fantastic t-rex Halloween costume

My sunglasses hid a lot of the emotion in my face, but FUCKING HELL I BROKE 3:20 AFTER THREE YEARS OF TRYING – 3:19:13 – and netted a third place OA podium spot behind two sub-3 women, including a local OTQ who ran LA earlier this year.

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JK sunglasses don’t hide emotion I AM SO HAPPY I AM DRIPPING IN CHEESE!!!!!

So much happened over the course of running for 3 hours and 19 minutes – I saw so much, I thought so much, I raged about stuff that’s angering me and grieved about other stuff – but at the same time, nothing happened. Does that make sense? I woke up, and I ran. I finally posted a time on the clock that I feel like I’ve been capable of posting for a long time, and in the throes of it all, when I began to get tired, I just felt good. There was no existential crisis as I’ve had in earlier marathons, no mental garbage or demoralizing self-talk that plagued me in other races; I was just running and I kept telling myself that I could really finally truly actually do this at long fucking last. This all makes no sense to me – does this mean I sandbagged a little? It wasn’t effortless, but it wasn’t grisly – and a few days out from the race now, I’m fairly confident I should have pushed harder, or pushed earlier, or something. IDK. There’s more there. Regardless, I’m thrilled and obviously so thankful that the race and all the training, different as it may have been, coalesced favorably. I took a lot of chances with how I approached TCM, liberated myself from any of my own self-imposed expectations in the process, and in the thick of it, convinced myself that I could confidently tell whatever self-doubt I had to go to hell.

because god forbid my "official" watch time have it wrong by a second or two
because god forbid my “official” watch time have it wrong by a second or two

Post-marathon, I chatted with Andy (who did in fact execute on his GMP back 10k plan, finishing in a 3:14, with final 10k splits that are a thing of beauty) and later, the women I had met and raced at Modesto, Michelle and Erin, as well as Linh and the other pacers. I loaded up on the many post-race food offerings (fruit, a vegetarian burrito, ice cream, water), eventually met-up with Meredith, who had had her own share of adventures in her 22 miles, and we headed back north.

Linh and his wife, Amy, are awesome. He paced the 3:43 marathoners and she the 2:20 Clovis HMers. PC: Linh
Linh and his wife, Amy, are awesome, and I’ve met some great folks through pacing with their group. He paced the 3:43 marathoners and she the 2:20 Clovis HMers. PC: Linh

 

with Meredith, and I wasted no time in putting on comfy pants (my throwback ING NYCM pants!) and Birkenstocks (the jacket I'm wearing is the finisher's jacket for the marathoners)
with Meredith, post-22 miles for her and post-26.2 for me. I apparently wasted no time in putting on comfy pants (my throwback ING NYCM pants!) and Birkenstocks. The jacket  I’m wearing is the finisher’s jacket for the marathoners.

Experience is beginning to show me that I gravitate toward smaller races. I like the big city fun that you can get from running Chicago, NYC, or Boston, but I’m not all that interested anymore in the annoying and complicating factors that come with the mega-huge races. TCM, while a small race, had the best of both worlds for me. The marathon finishers got not only a nice tee, but we also got a finisher jacket that has the same coloring as my Boston ’09 jacket, plus with reflective elements, which makes it conducive to early a.m. runs. I’m not really into hardware, but having a medal made out of wood was kinda cool, too. The volunteers were top-notch and enthusiastic, showing that they knew what they were doing, and I appreciated the opportunity to finally try Tailwind as an electrolyte replacement instead of the standard Gatorade or nuun offerings on-course. Plus, even with all the hullabaloo of having four events running simultaneously, I never once felt crowded, inconvenienced, or put-off by being surrounded by a ton of other runners, nor did I ever feel like I was a salmon swimming upstream. (To be honest, I thought it was kinda neat to see so many other runners and walkers throughout the course of the marathon. If that means more people will get out and start running, hell, have ten events running simultaneously). Getting into and out of the start and finish line area was a breeze, and really, the entire experience was just hassle-free. To me, TCM felt like a big-city race with all the nice premiums and well-thought-out organization but thankfully, without the hassles and pain-in-the-ass factors. It’s a good little race and one that I expect to grow pretty substantially over the years; I think this year was only its fourth iteration.

Suffice it to say, then, that I’m stoked. A PR is a PR, and to be able to go sub-3:20 after trying to do it for three years (and having my second kid in that mix) makes it deeply gratifying. So much can go wrong during a marathon that I often feel like I’m better off anticipating more bad things to happen than good, but it didn’t this time around. From start to finish, I felt like I ran confidently, in control, and deeply self-aware, while still having a total blast and enjoying the company of the other runners and participants. Racing and having fun isn’t mutually exclusive, guys: you heard it here first! Snagging a podium finish and negative splitting the race (1:41/1:38) were also awesome touches, and as always, I’m just so grateful to be able to do this stuff. The time and the PR matter, but they don’t. I know you understand. The experience of it all is greater than the sum of its parts. It always is.

another shitty screen shot.

Thank you for the encouragement and, for many of you, the many years’ worth of feedback and support. I’m really, really lucky. xo