2011 California International Marathon Race Report

05Dec11

“After this, you stop,” my mom told me as she wrapped a large leather jacket over my shoulders on race morning. “You’re too small.”

“OK,” I said. “No more marathons.”

I felt terrified, certain I had lost my strength and stamina during my three-week taper. I couldn’t believe I was going to run 26.2 miles. I couldn’t believe I was going to try to hold a nine-minute pace over those 26.2 miles.

She drove me to the runner drop-off point, which was half a mile from the start. I had downed a Larabar and a cup of coffee around 4 a.m., then a Clif Bar at 6, but when took a squat in the porta-potty, I couldn’t clean my bowels.

This worried me, because with my sub-4:00 goal, I really could not afford bathroom breaks during the actual race. I couldn’t even afford to walk through water stops, really — so I carried a small, handheld water bottle.

I walked up the road to the start banner, planting myself in front of the 4:00 pace group and sucking down a Roctane Gu (two shots of caffeine). I wasn’t sure if the 4:00 group was trying to go sub-4:00, or if they were planning on finishing in 4:xx. And I wasn’t wearing a pace band. So I decided I would just try to stay right ahead of the pack.

After I dumped my jacket on the side of the road, a woman next to me asked about my mittens. There I was, wearing the skimpiest race attire, save for a pair of chunky acrylic mittens. The morning felt mild, perfect for running, but my hands get cold easily, and I’d read that the body goes cold after Mile 20.

During the national anthem I recalled my running over the past year. I thought of climbing back on the treadmill after a 10-week break, how tough those first few weeks felt. I remembered making my sub-25:00 5K in Oakland. Collapsing in my car one night in a fit of heartbreak. Stopping at Mile 10 of the San Francisco half because of knee pain. Rolling along Ocean Beach, admiring surfers as they peeled off their wetsuits. Hearing my sister’s voice at the end of my first sub-2:00 half in San Leandro.

As the singer’s voice swelled, I found myself growing with bravado.

Then we were off.

• Mile 1 9:13
• Mile 2 9:06

During the first two miles I made an effort not to go too fast. Which wasn’t that hard, because after a week of short and easy mileage, my legs felt stiff. On the plus side, the calf pain that I’d experienced in the past few weeks had died down.

I stuck behind some chatty Cathys and told myself not to pass them, but after I clocked my second mile I knew I had to start churning sub-9:00s.

• Mile 3 8:46
• Mile 4 8:50 (gel)

Locals stood in their yards in heavy coats and ponchos, ringing cowbells. My muscles were loosening up. I tore into a Honey Stinger gel at Mile 4, which was probably too early in the race, but it put a bit of spring in my step.

• Mile 5 8:51
• Mile 6 8:52
• Mile 7 8:56
• Mile 8 8:54 (gel)
• Mile 9 8:57

Even though CIM is marketed as a fast course, it isn’t that easy. It’s a net downhill course, sure, but there were rolling hills that were wearing down my legs. I moved up these hills at a 9:00-9:15 pace, then tried to make up time during the declines.

I remember snapping to attention as we approached the Mile 10 marker. Mile 10 already? I felt really, really optimistic at that point. I had to focus for my sub-9:00s, sure, but I felt like I could maintain 8:5xs and bank a few seconds along the way.

• Mile 10 8:47
• Mile 11 8:47

Ha. The crowds were building up as we ran along strip malls. The course wasn’t scenic once we hit suburbia, but there were so many people out, ringing cowbells, handing out Red Vines and hollering. I kept to the side, sweeping past spectators and doling out high-fives. I was in total bliss.

• Mile 12 8:56 (gel)
• Mile 13 8:59

I crossed the halfway mat in 1:57.

I’d given my tracking number to family and friends, and I was certain that my running friends were probably clutching their pearls, telling me to slow down. But my legs still felt good. I told myself to throw down a 10:00 mile to give my limbs a bit of rest, but without a pace band I didn’t know how much time I’d banked. I didn’t know where the 4:00 pacer was.

I tossed my empty water bottle before Mile 14. Looking back, I probably should have kept it and refilled it at a water station. I ended up wasting precious seconds at water stations after I threw my handheld away.

• Mile 14 8:55
• Mile 15 9:05
• Mile 16 8:53 (gel)

The night before the race, Cindy had emailed me, wishing me luck. She also advised me not to cry on the course, as this was one way of wasting energy.

Well, I couldn’t help myself. I’d read on Facebook that the course is a breeze after Mile 14.  After the 14th mile, someone told me, I could tear the breaks off. I was golden from there on out.

The 3:55 pacer was so close, I could make out the little white numbers on the little red sign he carried. My goodness — could I finish this race in 3:55? Maybe! My legs felt great!

The crowds were tight, their cheers were sweeping me off my feet. I began to choke up. I had to stifle the sobs from my mouth. Jesus Christ. I was really doing this!

• Mile 17 9:01
• Mile 18 9:10
• Mile 19 9:08

I really wish I’d mastered the art of drinking water and running simultaneously, because I was spending far too much time standing in the water stations. I spent so much time drinking, volunteers asked if I was OK. But I was still running a bit faster than sub-4:00 pace, and I told myself I could clock some 9:30s after Mile 20. I just worked on keeping the 3:55 pacer in sight.

• Mile 20 9:29 (gel)
• Mile 21 9:31

I crossed the Mile 20 mat in 3:00. Although I was slowing down, I felt like I could average 9:30 miles over the last 10K.

I’d read on Aron‘s blog that she’d averaged 26.3 miles over her last three CIM races — an extra tenth of a mile. I really needed to clock 26.2 miles in 3:58-3:59, to make room for that extra one-tenth of a mile.

I didn’t know if I could get there with 9:30 miles, but at the time 9:30 seemed manageable. I could always haul ass during the last mile. I was mentally prepared to sprint on tired legs.

I wasn’t wiped out, but I was worn down and I needed to run conservatively if I was going to finish this race strong.

I had another double-shot Roctane Gu at Mile 20, but it didn’t seem to kick in.

• Mile 22 9:58
• Mile 23 10:23
• Mile 24 11:19 (gel)

As I left the 21.1-mile water station, I was suddenly hit with knee pain. This was the first time I felt knee pain in two months. I thought the midfoot strike I’d developed while running in my Ravennas had taken care of that problem. I’d only dealt with very mild shin and calf pain in the past few weeks … My knees had totally surprised me.

I bent over and made circles with my knees, trying to shake them out, but I found no relief.

The miles weren’t flying like before. I was in so much pain; I’d never felt physical pain like it. The thought of running five more miles brought tears to my eyes.

I had to talk myself into going into the water stations and taking water and electrolytes — a part of me worried my knees would stiffen to the point of immobility if I stopped.

I puttered into a slow jog, and I kept pulling over to attend to my knees.

• Mile 25 12:38

As I stopped to shake out my knees for what seemed like the tenth time, the 4:00 pacer passed me. Watching her sign bob by sent my heart sinking. The runners around her still looked mighty strong. I was kicking myself for not sticking with her in the beginning.

Then I remembered that there was another 4:00 pacer, because the 4:00 group was so large. Maybe …

Just then the second pacer passed me.

Goddamn it. I began to walk.

I felt so frustrated, because after all of those caffeinated gels, I had energy in spades. My mind, lungs, heart and muscles were all willing my body to go faster. I had the stamina. But my knees were holding me back.

One woman passed me, calling over her shoulder, “Come on, girl, we got this.” I straightened myself and began to trot along with her, only to stop to roll out my knees again. By the Mile 26th marker I was set on walking the rest of the way.

• Mile 26 12:53

A young man jogged to my side.

“You. You’re coming with me,” he said.

I was too tired to put up a fight, so I began to jog. I forgot his name, but it started with an S, and he was from West Sacramento.

“What’s your name? Are you a student? Where are you from, what do you do? Do you like your watch? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My knees hurt,” I answered, nearly bursting into tears.

“I know how you feel. I pulled my calf. This is my second CIM, but I didn’t train long enough.” He then checked his phone app. “We’re running at a 13-minute pace.”

I sighed. Could we even call a 13-min pace running?

“My watch, I think it might be on autostop,” I told him, meekly. “Do you know what finish time we’re going for?”

“Four-ten.”

I perked up for a moment. I thought I’d lost more than that. A 4:10, after walking/jogging through the past five miles, was still a solid finish time. Good enough for me.

We picked up another straggler who had bonked around Mile 18. The three of us dove into a water station, and my knees stiffened again. I tried to walk them off, but S would not leave me behind. “Eight more blocks,” he urged. “You can do this.”

I began counting down every tenth of a mile.

• Mile 26.35 3:42 (10:17 pace)

As we passed by the 26th mile marker, I heard my name. I turned and caught my parents and sister Marbs waving wildly and taking pictures.

I waved back, embarrassed to have them catch me like this.

Marbs noticed that my stride was stilted.

After I passed them, I kept trotting along, trying to keep my head high.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my pa, running along the side of the course. Stopping every now and then to take a photograph. Calling out my name, grinning madly.

His enthusiasm and pride touched me, and I thought back to how we used to run together when I was in high school. I remembered how he sprinted on the treadmill after his knees had worn down. How he used to run religiously, before he was treated for colon cancer.

And I knew, no matter how much pain I felt that day, it could not compare to what he felt when he was sick. I remembered when a nurse told me how he’d putter around hospital with his I.V. for his daily exercise. I thought of how strong he was.

If my pa could stay so tough for us all those years, surely I can hold myself together for two minutes.

I lost sight of him as I rounded the corner. I saw the finish. As I drew closer, the race clock hit 4:11. I had crossed the start a few minutes after the race began, so maybe I could dive under 4:10!

Then I heard someone call my name. I looked into the crowd and saw a woman meeting my eyes, yelling my name. Who was she, had we met?

Then I shot into the finish.

I was so out of it, I didn’t turn off my Garmin. A volunteer took my arm as others threw a medal over my head, cut my timer from my shoe, wrapped me in a space blanket and handed me a chocolate milk. “Are you OK?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered, crying again. A part of me was sad that I hadn’t gone under four hours.

But I also knew that 4:09 was a good finish, and I was proud of my training and performance.

I had run a solid 21 miles, and I had stuck through the last five. The weather was lovely, the crowds were wonderful, my family was there. Couldn’t ask for a better first marathon.

• Garmin stats: 26.35 miles in 4:09:54, avg. 9:29 min/mile
• Official stats: 26.2 miles in 4:09:50, avg. 9:31 min/mile

Special thanks to:

• My sister Marbs for taking the train from Berkeley, on her birthday weekend
• My mom for driving to my anxious ass to the race start. (Sorry I was such a brat!)
• My pa for running the last quarter-mile with me
• Jana, Karin and Beth for their hilarious signs and cheering for me and the other Bay Area running bloggers at CIM. Turns out Jana was the mystery woman I’d locked eyes with before I crossed the finish.
• Courtney, her parents and her grandmother for hosting a pre-CIM dinner at her parents’ place in Granite Bay
• My fellow running bloggers, who shared their CIM war stories. I’m compiling a list of their race recaps and will post links later. :)
• S from West Sacramento. Maybe I was rolling on a runner’s high, but … S, if you’re reading this: Email me! I will buy you a drink the next time I am in town.
• The City of Sacramento
• And last, but most certainly not least, the race organizers and volunteers

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