Lost Runner

San Francisco's Bay to Breakers is a race that should be run at least once, and walked at least once. After having done both, I think walking is better than running.

Unlike last year though, none of my friends were doing the event, but I signed up anyway. It's one of those races you feel obligated to do if you live nearby. So, instead of sleeping in, I dragged myself out of bed at 5:10 and drove to Daly City, where I rode the BART in the rest of the way.

I was at the start about 50 minutes before the gun went off, which was fine. When a race is 45,000 runners strong, it doesn't hurt to be there early. I placed myself within the first hundred or so of the unseeded runners and waited patiently for things to get started.

A couple of minutes before 8:00, I looked behind me. Howard Street was packed all the way to the Bay with people, and dancing above the crowd were beach balls as well as a continuous rain of soft-shell tortillas people were using as Frisbees. I wish I'd had a camera. It looked like so much fun!

The women started first, followed by the rest. I can only imagine what it looks like when thousands of runners stream through the streets of San Francisco. Despite the crowds, I found running room in a reasonable time and was moving at "race pace" within half a mile or so.

There were many spectators around, some of them getting ready to "sneak into" the race. Bandits are an accepted norm at this event. I didn't see many people in costumes (or naked), and I assume those crazy people were far behind me.

It was fun to run right down the middle of San Francisco, in an area that's usually packed with cars. The infamous Hayes Street Hill around mile 2 had my legs feeling a little rubbery, but after having tackled a 500ft climb 10 miles into a marathon three weeks before, the 200ft there seemed like a minor obstacle.

After descending the hill, we entered Golden Gate Park, which is the setting for the last 3.5 miles of the race. Things really loosened up there, and I had room to run (what I thought was) a strong pace. This was the first time I had worn a heart-rate monitor in a race, and I was hovering around 170bpm, which is a good 15-20 beats more than in normal training. Of course, a level of exertion that would be unthinkable on normal runs feels comfortably hard in a race.

After mile 7, the course winds north, then curves right back around onto southbound Highway One at the ocean (the "breakers"). I found I still had a little gas in the tank and managed to speed up enough to pick off one runner a mere yards from the finish line. The clock showed 49:37, but thanks to chip timing (first time for Bay to Breakers), my official time is 49:07.

Posted by Michael at 11:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Here I am, a scant two weeks after the Big Sur Marathon, gearing up for another training cycle. And it's strange: while I was resting and taking it easy, my legs felt all tired and beat up, but now that I've started running properly again, they feel great! I guess physical abuse is the new norm and my body doesn't feel right without it.

Well if that's the case, then my body is in for a treat. I am planning on following the "medium" training plan from Advanced Marathoning, which quite honestly doesn't look so "medium" to me. It peaks at 70 miles and generally looks very imtimidating. It even includes some two-a-days! Finding time for all this running is going to be a challenge in and of itself.

The reason for all this: I want to break three hours in the Berlin Marathon, 20 weeks from now. I think if I can follow the training plan, it should be easy to cut off three minutes from my current PR. I am a little worried about whether I can handle all the pounding (I mean really: 70 miles in a week?) I've been injury free for about half a year now, but the problems usually creep in when I increase my mileage. Well, we'll see how it goes.

To kick things off in style, I did my 11-miler today over hilly terrain, in the midday sun. It was hard, but felt good. Easy to say now! I hope I'm still as happy about this a couple of weeks from now.

Posted by Michael at 2:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I hurt myself today /
To see if I still feel /
I focus on the pain /
The only thing that's real
-- Nine Inch Nails

I had this going around my head as I was running the Big Sur International Marathon two Sundays ago, for the obvious reason. How to sum up this race? Brutal, brutal, brutal. And beautiful.

Big Sur is a perfect race for me, the "Lost Runner". Why? It's impossible to screw up: The course is a straight shot north on Highway One. You couldn't get off the course if you wanted to! If you've ever driven the stretch from Big Sur to Carmel, you know that the views are spectacular. Majestic hills to the east, pounding Pacific surf to the west. The drive is a tourist attraction in and of itself. Which is why I think it's so cool they shut down a 26.2 mile section of road once a year to let runners and walkers alike enjoy it.

2:00am: Alarm goes off. I get up, get ready and jump in the car for the 1-hour drive south to Monterey. I've adjusted my sleep schedule the last few days so the early time is not as bad as it sounds -- I probably ended up with 5 1/2 hours of sleep.

4:15am: I board the bus for the start. I sit at the very back of the bus, which isn't packed completely full, and I end up with the bench all for myself. I promptly use my sweats as a pillow and get some shut-eye. The bus ride takes about 1 1/4 hours. Apparently driving the stretch isn't much fast than running it.

5:30am: General milling about at the start area. The place is packed (not meant to handle thousands of people), so I try to find a place to stand where I won't be in the way, but it's not possible. It's like being at a rock-concert, seriously. Except with no music.

6:45am: People get lined up. The national anthem is sung, a flock of white doves is released into the crisp morning air (awww), the starting gun sounds. We're off! I have placed myself too far downfield in the pack of runners and feel like an NFL tail-back picking his way through the secondary. I almost get knocked down, too, by a girl with some erratic moves. All's well, though, and I find open space within a half-mile or so.

Mile 3: Despite the initial downhill and the shade of the redwoods, I have some trouble with the slanted road surface. I am well below 7-minute mile pace, but am breathing quite comfortably. At this point, I discover a woman running in a one-piece bathing suit. Bizarre. She might have been a relay runner. Her motion was causing the suit to... err, creep up on her. And unless you're 21 or younger, this is not flattering. She's not 21.

Mile 5: We break out of the forest and find ourselves right on the coast. Despite the conditions being "optimal" for the Big Sur Marathon, the wind is blowing quite strongly from the north. I try to stay with a pack of runners, but only do so for short periods of time.

At this point, I discover I've screwed up my carbo-loading. To get to bed early, I ate my pasta meal around 4pm the previous day -- 13 hours back. I usually really gorge myself, but didn't that day because I was afraid of upsetting my stomach. Big mistake! My legs feel much more tired than they should, and I scale back my pace a bit, thinking: "This is going to be a battle."

Mile 10: The past miles have been windy and hilly, but know comes the "highlight" of the course, the two-mile, 500ft climb to "Hurricane Point". I find myself getting passed, but feel being conservative is warranted. The view is nice for a while, but soon we're shrouded in fog. The climb continues for a long time, but isn't really too bad in the end. It does suck some strength out of me. The crest of the hill is followed by a one-mile descent to the Bixby Bridge.

Mile 13.1: The runners cross Bixby Bridge. On the north side sits a grand piano played by a guy in tails! Not a combination you see everyday: A grand piano, the Pacific ocean, marathon runners.

Mile 15: The descent gives way to more hilliness. Even though the wind has died down at this point, my legs feel tired. Too tired -- more like 20 miles than 15 miles. I try to run a comfortable pace and to keep myself hydrated. At this point, we're still running right on the ocean. Besides the relay runners, 21-mile walkers are on the road. It's a little cluttered, but there's more than enough room for everybody if you're not intent on cutting every little corner.

Mile 17: I hit The Wall: My hamstrings tighten up and start to ache, and my pace slows some more. I feel like I should after 22 miles, not 17. I flashback to the San Francisco Marathon last summer, where my legs were so beat up I had to walk down the steepest hills sideways. Well, if worse comes to worse... not like I was going to PR on this course anyway.

Mile 18.6: My Garmin GPS watch hits The Wall, too: it's unable to find a signal and remains on the fritz for the duration of the event. Maybe it doesn't react well to traveling far away from its starting point? With the pace I'm running, I don't really care.

Mile 20: I pick up a GU (Espresso) at the aid station, and find that the pain in my legs has subsided. Am I through the wall? I hang on to the next person who passes me and find I am moving much better. I'm not going to break the land-speed record, but I at least feel like I am back running, as opposed to shuffling my feet down the course.

Mile 22: The highway has moved away from the water and back into a little bit of shelter. I see the sign proclaiming "Carmel Highlands". Not words you want to see in a marathon. Luckily, the highland hills aren't too high, although they are fairly steep. Worse though is the slant of the road; it seems I can literally feel my tendons stretching due to the unnatural motion.

Around this time, I get some funky vision and the colors around me seem too bright and vivid, like on an acid trip. Not a good sign. I make sure to load up on both water and gatorade at the next aid station, as well as a wedge of orange. Things seem OK after that.

10 and 5 mile walkers have joined the group, and the road is pretty full at this point.

Mile 26: What cruel course has a 90ft hill on the last mile? Well, Big Sur does. Christened "D-Minor Hill at D-Major Time", it's not a hill I'd avoid during normal training. But the timing of this is miserable. I crawl up the hillside, barely passing walkers.

Cresting the hill, the finish comes into view. I keep moving and somehow find the strength to put in a finishing kick for the last 20 yards or so, and cross the line in 3:14:10.

Once over the finish line, I stocked up on some food and tried to find an out-of-the-way spot to collapse at. The area was already filling up due to all the walkers and relay-runners, so it wasn't easy. But I knew I had to hurry: I have this thing where if I've pushed my legs too far (uh...check!), they become screaming bundles of pain about five minutes after I stop running, unless I elevate them. It's so bad I literally cannot walk. Luckily it passes in about 30 minutes.

I eventually found a patch of ground and lay on my back with my feet resting on one of those movable metal barriers. It wasn't exactly peaceful, as I almost got stepped on a couple of times. Then, as I'm eating a muffin, this girl walks up to me and sternly proclaims: "You know, you can asphyxiate eating like that!" The nerve! It's like going over to a crashed downhill skier and advising him to put his gloves back on -- you'd hate to see him get frostbite. I ignored her as best I could, and once I was able to walk again, headed for the massage tent.

The massage didn't help much, but I found a free beer stand that did. Boy did that hit the spot! With the sun out now, I limped to the finish line to watch some other marathoners come in. They looked how I felt: Tired, but happy. I don't know if I'd ever run Big Sur again, but it definitely gets my vote for most beatiful course ever.

Posted by Michael at 3:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)