According to internet sources, Heartbreak Ridge is a narrow, rocky mountainous area in Korea. The Battle for “Heartbreak Ridge” began on September 13, 1951 and lasted for about a month.
This battle is known as
“one of heartaches as well as of Heartbreaks [of the Korean War], but even more for the communists than us. The V North Korean Corps had been destroyed and replaced by the 24th CCF Army. The II North Korean Corps had also been decimated. On "Heartbreak Ridge" the 23rd Infantry had captured prisoners from six communist regiments. And all of this was taking place during the period when the truce talks had been suspended. Soon after these successes . . ., the communists agreed to resume the truce talks.” http://www.2id.org/heartbreakridge.htm
The only numbers I could find on casualties during The Battle of Heartbreak Ridge are: 3,700 American and French, and approximately 25,000 North Korean and Chinese.
I ran Camp Pendleton’s Heartbreak Ridge half marathon a couple years ago and had a terrible time of it. Though I finished the race, I lost the mental battle. I was miserable and said that I would NEVER return to this up and down, up and down off-road race.
I should have known better. One of the few things I’ve learned in life is to never say never. I am serious. You can pretty much guarantee that you’ll do whatever it was you said you’d never do. And you’ll do it relatively quickly too. For God sake, never say anything like: “I’ll never do heroin,” or “I’d never bleach my hair platinum blonde,” or “I’d never have ten kids.” Just. don’t. do. it. Fortunately, I haven’t said these things, else I’d be a platinum blonde heroin addict with ten children. But I did say that I’d NEVER run the Heartbreak Ridge half marathon again.
So there I was this morning beneath cloudy, thundering skies, mingling with runners in the third wave. First wave participants were all military men and challenged runners. Wave 2 runners were civilian men and wave 3 runners were civilian and military women. I asked a runner next to me about the waves, she looked familiar, but I figured I’d seen her at races before. She looked at me also with recognition and said, “Are you Lauren?”
LOL. The young woman was Rachel, one of my blog readers (& commenters!) who is a blogger herself, not to mention fellow trail runner.
Posing with Rachel
Wave One ready to go:
Hanging back with Wave 3:
I decided to run this race, not to beat my time, or even make a particular time. I thought 2:15 would have been nice, but with the pretty much constant climbs, I thought that might not happen. What I really, really wanted, and why I even registered for this race, was to beat the mental battle! I wanted to run this race hard, never stopping. I wanted to run it happily, joyfully. I wanted to enjoy the beauty of Southern California coastal hills. I wanted to feel the breeze; I wanted to giggle inside when the young marines said “Excellent job ‘Mam,” as I passed.
I took off on pavement with a “C” written on one calve (“C” for Civilian) and 46 (for my age) on the other. A “3” was written also in black on my hand to indicate my wave. After about a mile, we hit dirt and I was on familiar ground. I didn’t contemplate the long hill approaching. I just ran.
A little dip in the first 2.5 mile mainly uphill run
Heading into mile 3:
Down, down, down to the turnaround
Lucinda going strong (I’ve seen her at every Camp Pendleton race I’ve run, carrying this flag, wearing black and running in boots! One awesome lady)
I have to say that I ran this race happily, joyfully and that I won the mental battle. That’s not to say that it didn’t get tough, and that I didn’t slow my pace. I focused on keeping my cadence high on the up hills. And in the last few miles, a good ninety percent around me began hiking. I never hiked. I ran the entire time. I’m not sure where I lost my time this year, because I believe it took me seven minutes longer to finish this time. Perhaps it was during the few flats, as that’s where I noticeably slowed. I know I ran the up hills and down hills quicker. I also wore a camelback last time. This year, I drank mainly from aid stations. One tiny thing that could have added to the extra time is that I did not take one photograph the last time I ran this race. My time this year: 2:32. But really, I don’t mind one bit because I did what I came out to accomplish. Mental battle won: CHECK
3-way-tie crossing finish line
Miles run this morning: 13.1
After thought: I have nothing against the hair color platinum blonde. It’s a gorgeous color, just not for everyone, especially not for me. AND nothing against people with ten children. I just COULD NOT do it. Birthing babies took A LOT out of me. : )
After an emotional week, and sleepless nights, I went to bed Friday night earlyish, but with a heating pad on my back to soothe lower back pain. I thought to myself, "Boy what a way to spend the night before a marathon." I resolved to run anyway, first because I paid money to do so, secondly, I needed the exhaustion to set my mind straight, and three, I really like the Marine Hard Corps Race Series -- the Marines really know how to put on a race.
I woke refreshed, drank a cup of coffee, coated all seam areas with Glide so that my clothing would not tear at my skin and draw blood. I drank a vanilla SlimFast shake, purely for the calories (180 cal. 23 grams carbs, 10 grams protein), and I filled my handheld with grape poweraid. Then it was belt packing time: 6 Gu's, cell phone, camera, motrin, gum, chapstick, extra moleskin and not nearly enough Endurolytes. My goal for the race: Finish in time (this race had a 6 hr time limit, most have a 7 or more hour limit -- so I was a little concerned after 6 weeks of physical therapy). My other goals were to keep focused on my form and my mantra which is "don't resist," keep a positive attitude, and if I do cross the finish line, do it SMILING.
Leaving the house by 5:45, arriving at the gates by 6:00, I was surprised to find no line of cars. I was really surprised to find such a low attendance for this race -- I'd guess 2 to 3 hundred (they allow 4,000, and I fully expected that many). But then again -- it's race season; March was the LA Marathon, May is the OC Marathon and June is the San Diego Marathon, not to mention a multitude of races in between.
"We're gonna need a bigger boat." : )
Crossing the Start Line with so few runners
During the National Anthem, I noticed a female runner, pounding on the chest of a another male runner. I thought she was only joking, but soon realized not so, as she commenced to scream at him. I could never begin a race that way -- I must be up, and thinking about as close to nothing at all, that I can. This meant that I could not think about the past week's events (not blogged about).
I began this race at the back of the pack. First off, I wanted to conserve energy and not stress over bursting out the gates. Also, I figured, I could pass a person here and there if I started at the back. I felt strong and warmed up by walking around for a good half hour beforehand. Passing several in those first few miles, I stopped for my one and only pit stop. I don't mean to be crude, but as I want to relay as much of the experience as possible, I have to say the porta potty was a mess. I mean, urine covered the toilet seat (and floors too, but who cares about the floors). Not that I actually SIT on porta potty seats. But still, when I walked out of that box, I didn't want the next person thinking that I sprayed all over the place. And so this strange occurance took place: I unrolled wads of toilet paper and cleaned up the seat, taking several minutes in the middle of this marathon. I laughed outloud at myself exiting the porta potty. No one waited in line, and several of the people I had passed were now running ahead of me.
And so, I used the drinking water at the aid station to wash my hands, and took off running, focusing on form and saying to myself, "don't resist . . . don't resist." I felt good. No hip pain, my pace was not too bad for a marathon.
After exiting the porta potty -- notice 1) GUY IN CAST! 2) Lucinda on far right, wearing black, carrying flag -- she's somewhat of a hero to me, a civilian, the military says to her "welcome back," as she enters the premises. I've seen her at every Camp Pendleton race I've run -- always running in boots, wearing black and carrying the U.S. flag. I figured, keep her in back of me, because the Marines are going to let her finish even if she doesn't make the time limit.
I did not think 26 miles for this race. I thought five miles five times, plus a little more. The first five miles, on mildly rolling hills took me about 55 minutes. (This entire race, by the way was on these mildly rolling hills). The second five miles took me a couple more minutes than the first. My focuses were going great. I was taking in the calories (about 100 every 45 minutes). We ran Las Pulgas road down to Old Camino Real which runs parallel to Interstate 5 and the Pacific Ocean. We took that road all the way into into San Onofre. Wild flowers were out in abundance, and we would have had a superb ocean view if the waters hadn't been the exact same color as the sky -- that is gray.
Enjoying the beauty (I guess there was a little blue sky)
Clicking photo of self while running
Spring flowers
Thank goodness I was civilian and not military like this guy who had to run in combat boots (can you believe he's military -- no offense guy, but you look 13 -- lucky you : ) -- cute kid, nice enough to pose for me.
After completing my second five miles, I gave myself about a quarter mile walk, which I gladly took on an uphill. I still felt really good -- hip good, energy and focus strong. Others had already hit the turn around, and the first one to pass me on his way back (the front runner) was about 8 or 9 miles ahead of me according to my crude calculations. The runners after that were few and far between. I said good morning to each and everyone on both sides of the road, those heading back and those very few that I passed on my side of the road. After the turn around, I even greeted the woman that was screaming and hitting her guy at the Start Line. (He by the way was several hundred feet ahead of her making their way toward the turn around as I worked on the last few miles of the 3rd five mile segment).
Aid station workers
The front runner
More pretty spring flowers on the base
San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant
Before the end of my third five mile segment, my right calve began cramping. Very soon after that, my hamstrings followed suit. I have read up and studied and prepared in every way to avoid this, and yet . . . dang! It was about then that I lost focus. I stretched, practically in a panic to get rid of these things. I gained focus back a little here and there for the next few miles. Guzzling the sports drinks even faster, I took enduralytes as well. About mile 16, I phoned home to check on the family. Mile 17, I stopped by First Aid to change out my moleskins. The lady marine said, "Are you the blister lady," to which I responded, "No, I'm the callus lady." (Apparently, they had reports of a woman with severe blisters laying in the grass a ways back). She laughed at my response and watched with great interest as the medic helped me pull off my shoes, change my moleskins, wrap one of them with tape, etc. They both held my used moleskins, commenting on how they had lost their plumpness. I laughed to myself. You won't catch me touching and inspecting someone else's moleskins. These Marines, they are fantastic aid station and first aid workers -- nothing phases them. Surprisingly, I completed the third five mile segment in less than an hour as well.
About that time, I began stuffing my pockets with pretzels. I sucked the salt off, and even with the pain increasing, and losing my focus, I somehow managed to move onward, running much of the way, but having to break for walks. By mile 18 or so, I was in extreme pain with my calves, hamstrings and quadriceps cramping to where I couldn't even run. At each aid station, I literally threw my leg up on the table for a hamstring stretch. Other runners around me suffered from cramps as well. One guy I spoke with briefly was suffering immensely. Another was just plain ole pissed off about his leg cramps. I tried to keep the positive attitude but chucked the sub five hour idea, and just hoped I could make it before the cut off. The sweepers were driving by very slowly, reminding me of vultures, waiting for us to drop. I worked so hard to pass this guy ahead of me, when he finally threw in the towel. With shoulders shrugged and eyes to the ground, he walked to the sweeper's van and got on in for a ride back.
It must have been mile twenty when a medic noticed that I was in trouble with cramping. Well, it would have been hard for him not to notice. I wasn't very quiet about the pain. It HURT. I have NEVER cramped so badly in a race before. Usually it's just the calves, or just the hamstrings -- but to have the calves, hamstrings and quads cramp on me all at once. Well, let's just say, I wasn't silent about it. In fact, I was a little panicky. Pain was immense. It didn't dawn on me to take motrin, though I'm not sure it would have helped. Instead, I sucked on pretzels, tossing them to the road after depleting them of all their salt.
At mile twenty, I pleaded for more salt, and someone yelled for the medic to help with cramps. He tried to get me to drink more water. Which I did, until I finally said, "I am not dehydrated -- I've drank so much, I'm water-logged, I'm full." (I was by the way drinking only electrolytes so far). I started talking rapidly, because I really was aghast over this cramping. I mean COME ON! This is something I've been working on avoiding for quite some time. Then he handed me a glass of cold water, and said, "Put this on it." So, I splashed my calve with it and said, "That's going to help cramps?" And I have to say, this was one of the most entertaining parts of the day. The medic said, "No. But it will help calm you down."
The medic then asked if I was light-headed. I lied and said, "No," because I feared he might pull me out of the race. I took off running with a smile on my face, declining the medic's suggestion that I drop out of the marathon. Believe me, I was sure to regularly drink and take in calories. Light headedness gone, my cramps eased up a bit to carry me on. I ran the downhills and flats when I could. Sucking on pretzels seemed to work a bit. I was out of Endurolytes. I ate a banana (not really feeling like food here!).
I walked a good portion of the next two miles, actually passing a few guys cramping up rather badly. I chatted with one guy offering suggestions how he might ease the pain (salt, salt, salt, and stretch in the opposite direction of the cramp.) He was way worse off than I, and I was in pretty bad shape. Pretty bad shape CRAMP WISE, otherwise, I was strong. Dang it! I could have it the ball out of the park today if it hadn't been for the cramping.
Just prior to mile 21, I stopped at another aid station, threw my leg up on the table, grimacing in pain. I even yelped once or twice because as I stretched the hamstring, my quads cramped! The hamstrings were hitting worse than any muscle group at this point. Again, a Marine counseled me about dropping out of the marathon. Out of the question, I said. I would walk this damn thing in if I had to . . . if I had enough time. So the guy said, "I'm gonna radio a truck to follow you, just to make sure you're okay."
"No!" I said. "I'll feel like a vulture's following me!"
He laughed. "We're here to help you, we want to take care of you," he said. "You're human," he further exclaimed. "This is bound to happen when you run 26.2 miles!"
And I was off and running . . . with a limp, sucking the salt from pretzels (but, by the way, no hip pain!)
I noticed the sweeper following me right away, even though there were several runners ahead and behind me. When I bent down to loosen my shoe ties, the sweeper stopped in the road, waiting, waiting, is she gonna drop? Somewhere up Las Pulgas, the driver turned around and drove back to pass me again and again. I stopped to walk several times, cramps so severe, it was difficult not to yell out in pain. I smiled and zoned into my ipod music, and when I walked, I power walked.
With about a dozen runners in and around me, I ran/walked miles 21, 22 and 23. I passed a few of them, but at mile 24 I had to stretch out those cramps again. And while stretching my hamstring, the quads when into spasms, causing a great deal of pain (a hamstring stretch feeds right into a quadricep cramp!). The Marines there asked if I wanted to finish the race. I asked how much time I had left, and I believe they said about thirty five minutes. "The only way I'm not finishing this race," I said, "is if you don't let me. I will lay down and roll myself the rest of the way if I have to." And I was off, cramps subsided some, I finally made mile 25!
I was smiling, saying, "ouch, ouch, ouch," and other not as nice words as the pain doubled down on my last 1.2 miles. I passed the last aid station, asked how much longer. The marines joked with me saying, "Oh, about two and a half miles." I laughed back. Up a little further, I asked the marine standing in the road. He said that I had at least a mile and half to go. Funny!
A new sweeper came in and drove right next to me, the woman in the truck saying encouraging things, yet asking if I could make it. I had twenty minutes to make a mile -- I was gonna make it!!! And then I had to stop. And then I had to stop again. It was quite the scene of agony. With the finish line in sight, the legs stiffened in cramps and I could not move them. I stopped to stretch just once more, mustering all the strength I had, and RAN it on in across the finish line with about 8 minutes to spare!
For the next few minutes no other runners came in. And then in the final moments, I heard cheers as the last runners to make the time limit approached the finish line. I saw one girl walking as fast as she could with just one minute to spare. I wanted to cry. And then several minutes after the six hour time limit -- I'm not sure, possibly five, maybe ten, Lucinda ran across the finish line (there may have been others with her). And that was it. The race was over, and the marines began dismantling the scene. Within minutes it began to look as if there wasn't even a race. (But my memory serves me incorrectly -- time became wierd after that. Ends up, Lucinda crossed at 6:01, and then there was a cluster at 6:07 and another small cluster finally crossing at 6:11. My official clock time was: 5:51:35. It's difficult to determine my standings, because results are separated by civilian and military and age groups. But I really don't care about my standings. I care mostly that I crossed the finish line before 6 hours, smiling).
What a run! And here's the funny thing. I never really did lose my spirits, except at the very end when I could barely make it to the finish line. And I would do it again tomorrow. I can not wait until the next Marathon!
26.2 miles logged today : )
My amateur video, just a sample of the many minutes of video I took on the run. I caught crossing the finish line on video. And notice if you watch, that white truck at the very end, ready to drive me in in case I dropped. (Yup, I noticed that I mispelled "Corps" in the video)
With the pain in my wrist acting up again, and these dang toe problems I decided to take it somewhat easy this week as far as running goes. Eleven miles on Tuesday, then it was just fun non-running workouts for the other days. Thursday, I swam. After 3,000 yards, I felt I could do more, but dried myself off nonetheless, because I've got this Writer's Conference looming ahead and lots of chores at home.
And then the wrist pain attacked without mercy. I'm referring to the injury from Santiago Truck Trail (Slam Dancin' with the Trail) and then the re-injury at Bulldog 25k. After crawling in the mudrun last week, the swimming really did my wrist in. Thursday I slept restlessly all night, waking in pain constantly.
Friday, I took the day off and immobilized my wrist. To bed by ten I had another weird, restless night of sleep, I figured that Saturday's half marathon, though a "trail" run would be relatively easy. Besides that -- I took it easy this week.
I had a long drawn-out drama dream the night before this race, about me trying to convince some adult children to attend the 4th or 5th wedding of their drunkard father. He was really in love this time and was gonna change his life. One daughter was in tears as I tried to convince her to sing at the wedding. Before I knew it, I too was bawling over the phone re: her pain. After finally convincing all the children to attend, I guzzled champagne like water, and searched a department store for an open bathroom (I couldn't find any!). Then I woke. The clock read: 7:05 AM. My half marathon started in 55 minutes, and if I didn't jump up now, drive 80 miles an hour on an empty tank, I wasn't gonna make the start line in time!!! What a morning : ( I barely had time to brush my teeth, but I made the start line with minutes to spare. Amazingly, I got a parking space right up front.
They were out of t-shirts (no big deal, I have too many anyway), and the bathroom lines were empty by now too -- as everyone was already lined up to run. I took off comfortably under cloudy skies, the first mile over asphalt complete in 0:9:40. I planned to keep that pace, maybe pick it up some. I really hoped that we'd hit the trail soon, which we did, and I was at ease. : ) I made mile 2 by 0:20:00. My pace was falling, though we were running on a slight incline.
When the tougher climb began, I ran it, not feeling too uncomfortable. In fact, I felt good. Mile three was a ten minute pace. I wanted to pick it up, hoping for more of an average of a nine something pace for the race. At about mile 4 or so, I began a fun descent on that wide dirt fire road. Thing was, the sun came out, and it came out in vengeance. Still, I felt pretty good on this out-and-back half marathon (I really don't enjoy out-and-backs, that is: run to the halfway point, then turn around and run back the same way).
At about mile 5.5 the front runners were passing us on their way back, and I realized that I had been running down hill for quite some time -- too long, in fact. I began to fret about the turnaround, knowing that I'd have to run back up this thing in the searing heat that was now weighing me down.
Just make it to the turnaround, I told myself. JUST MAKE THE TURNAROUND. Worry about the rest later. I was not in a good state of mind though this morning. Having rushed out, and having to deal with these injuries, not to mention the negative self-talk over my persistent procrastination (in general for everything, but in particular, over the writer's conference).
Well, the turnaround came much, much later than I felt it should. Already drenched in sweat, I began to resent the cute little sayings on those Mile Markers. Things like: "The Goal is Pain" -- It is so NOT the goal. It was so not the goal, that at the turnaround I downed three ibuprofens to subside my toe pain.
I don't think I have the energy to relay just how defeated I felt coming into mile eight. One guy ran by and said, "After mile 9, it's uphill for a mile, then all down hill from there." I smiled (because that's how I am, try to make nice) and made some small talk. But I thought, "what the hell is he talking about, we're running uphill right now!" At a bend, I chuckled at the Marine who said, "Just a little hill up ahead, you can do it!"
Little hill my ***.
They were really little hills compared to what I've conquered in the past. But for some reason this morning, I got beat -- completely mentally defeated. I felt like I couldn't take another step. And so I began walking the hills, as did most around me. I ran as fast as I could on the flat portions, which wasn't very fast at all. And I began to think to myself, "just walk the next 4 miles. Or maybe, just quit."
Upon reaching the high point (around mile 10) I felt relief running down hill. It was crucial though I did not fall, so I kept a keen eye on the ground. One more hit to this wrist, I'm gonna end up in the E.R.!
I don't think I could have smiled at this point if I tried. Even on the downhill, I felt I couldn't run another step. And then when we finally leveled off, I did something I thought I'd never do on the flat portion of a race -- I walked. I wanted to quit. I wanted to just walk away from the group and pretend I never started this race. I was SPENT, and doubted that I'd ever run again. I wondered, "What the hell am I doing? Could I be any bigger of a loser." (I'm sorry, but that's really how I felt, utterly and completely defeated.)
And I continued walking as fast as I could, one ambulance passing, then another up a ways loading up another runner. Marines stood out on their balconies watching us come in, and I still walked, feeling ashamed, my eyes to the ground. I mean come on -- 13.1 miles on a trail race with not even 2,000 feet of elevation gain. I can do that -- can't I?
Not today.
Then I remembered a marine yelling out, "just one more bridge to go!" I didn't recall any bridges on this race, but up ahead, I saw a bridge, and so told myself, "when you hit that bridge RUN."
I ran over that bridge, and after a turn in the now paved road, I could see the finish line balloons not too far off. I saw one female racer cut through the parking lot, shortening her run to those balloons. She must have felt like I felt -- SPENT, out of gas.
I finally crossed that finish line at 2:25:55 with the sad, sad feeling that I was finished running for good. I was reminded of Forrest in Forrest Gump when he just stopped running because he simply didn't feel like running anymore.
After crossing the finish line, I grabbed 2 waters, walked straight to the car for a quick stretch. Before leaving the marine base, I filled up the car with much less expensive gasoline than we civilians usually pay, and I drove home.
I wept at home relaying the race story to my husband. I told him that I thought I was done running. That I had been mentally beaten, to which he responded "you're no quitter . . . you just need a break."
That I do.
I guess I have made my decision. No marathon for October, and as I cut back my miles I will finally make it to the doctor for x-rays on my foot and wrist.
And that is the story of my heartbreak at Heartbreak Ridge. Who knew that the title of this race would be so apropos.
is to never say never. I am serious. You can pretty much guarantee that you’ll do whatever it was you said you’d never do. And you’ll do it relatively quickly too. For God sake, never say anything like: “I’ll never do heroin,” or “I’d never bleach my hair platinum blonde,” or “I’d never have ten kids.” Just. don’t. do. it. Fortunately, I haven’t said these things, else I’d be a platinum blonde heroin addict with ten children. But I did say that I’d NEVER run the Heartbreak Ridge half marathon again. 
