Race Report: The San Diego Marathon already

You asked for it.  The no-holds barred account of the 3-hour marathon that wasn't.  There goes the punchline.

Actually it's not as bad as all that.

To get you in the right mindset.  Imagine me, with my admittedly newbie approach to racing a marathon, standing on the starting line at 6:15 AM on a muggy, sickly warm morning in San Diego.  I look behind me and I see THOUSANDS of people pressing the start line.  I am lined up about four-rows back, behind the elite men and women, but first among the amateurs.  My heart is pounding in my chest.  I nervously dance around to the jam music blaring across the speakers.  I hug my sis good-bye and turn towards the stretch of empty road (save for the follow car) in front of me.  I manage to stand still for the National Anthem.  And then a barely audible horn blows, and every runner takes off.

It's kind of weird to stand motionless on the start of a 26.2 mile run and "start".  My first inclination after years of 800m training and track starts, is to take off at a long-legged sprint.  That lasts for about twelve steps.  I plant a smile on my face, and settle in for the long haul.   I am already sweating profusely, and my pale Oregonian palor shines like a beacon in the crowd, aided by the day-glo yellow of my Brooks jersey.  Sis Shorty will have no trouble seeing me coming!

I can tell almost instantly that I have settled into a 6:45ish pace.  A couple of runners chat me up and try to get me to run faster with them, but I slowly back off from their fast pace.  Pretty soon, I am running in a loose pack of three or four runners as the half-marathoners (more on this later) turn onto their own course.

The first 5-6 miles are a lot of fun, weaving through downtown San Diego, a few hills to break it up, lots of spectators, and a run by the empty Padres stadium.  I catch some "Go Sunny" cheers in the crowd.  When I look over, it is a family of Indians with signs!  The guy next to me waves to them and gives them a high five.  100 yds down the road, my sis is cheering and Indian Sunny gives her a chagrined wave... I chuckle to myself that in a race with 10,000+ runners, I happen to be running next to a guy named "Sunny".  Dude.

The rock 'n roll bands are welcome company on the road and I am taking in a few ounces of liquid at each of the aid stations.  Around mile 10, we hit the highway.  I'm feeling great, but then again, it is only 10 miles in. It is at this point that the half-marathon joins our course again for a few miles, albeit with a coned dividing line running down the middle of the road.  And then the "fun starts".  First, the half-marathoners are at their 6-mile mark, and we are at out 10-mile mark, which means these runners are roughly half our speed, a lot of them are wearing headphones, and looking for space to run in, crossing the cones, and sometimes stopping right there.  I'm calling encouragement to most as I pass them and just staying as far to the right and out of their way as I can, but I can't avoid a collision with one staggering runner.  Whoops.

The miles click past, and I am still holding around 6:45 to 6:50 (there's a big hill in there).  But, I can tell my stomach is starting to churn and my head feels hot.  The sun comes out at mile 19.  The temperature rises.  And it is game over.  I'm getting the same feeling I got when I had trouble in Eugene... the combo of humidity and heat, not to mention the lonely stretch of the last 6 miles on the barren mud flats.  I slow to some unknown pace that I still haven't calculated. I reevaluate race time goal and try to keep my breakfast down.  Unsuccessful on both counts.  I treated the volunteers at the mile 25 aid station to a show, and did my best impression of the ancient Greek guy who ran the first marathon, staggering the last mile with an amazing amount of grit and determination... "Just keep running, just keep running" (think Dorie in Finding Nemo).  Not as bad as all that, I guess.  But I was really looking for the finish line.  I managed a convincing sprint and when I looked down at my watch, I was amazed to see 3:14:09... an almost 2-minute PR, a Boston-qualifier, a New York-Qualifier, and I was still walking, still upright, and still smiling (sort-of).

I'll take that.