Heartbreak Ridge Half Marathon

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. : )

Laguna Hills Memorial Day Half Marathon

On a whim (sort of – I had actually toyed with the idea), Saturday I registered for a half marathon today, Memorial Day.  It’s a road half marathon, but one that goes through my favorite wilderness park (Aliso/Wood Canyons).  Actually, it goes through the paved portion, Aliso Creek Trail, and that’s good enough for me. 

It’s been a while since I’ve run a half marathon on the road.  My last half was in the mountains with lots of elevation gain and it took me over three hours (3:17)!  I was a little nervous and reluctant about running this race.  I feared the road runners would “blow me out of the water.”   

Overall, I am glad I ran.  I saw other runners I know (Tom B. and Jeremy H., see recent Holy Jim runs,  – and I got to meet Jeremy’s wife, Jodeen, as well at today’s race).  Besides the fun of large crowds and cheering bystanders, I noticed lots of differences between road races and trail races. 

I’ll start at the beginning.  Porta Potties.  The lines at road races are immense.  I mean, hundreds of upon hundreds of runners line up to use them – and there is no forest or desert boulder to duck behind.  Secondly, the women either wear capri running pants or itsy-bitsy shorts (of course there are exceptions).  Most people don’t carry water; they rely on aid stations.  And those who do carry water do so in their hands or around their waists.  I only saw two others wearing water on their backs.  (I elected to do so in this race, because I didn’t want to stop for water and I wanted a place to keep my phone, camera and keys.)

Also, People don’t generally run and chat with strangers in road races (though of course, I’m sure there’s exceptions again).  In road races, it seems runners don’t look over their shoulders when switching sides (like I have to, else get hit by a bike on the trail).  Also, the road  race starts off much, much quicker than on the trail.  I mean, amazingly quicker. 

I started off much quicker than usual as well.  We also started off with about 4,000 5k racers, which made that starting pace even faster.  I reached the halfway mark at 1:02.  (My best 10k, the Dana Point Turkey Trot, I believe was 1:03, maybe 1:02, so I was running faster than my best 10k road race pace).  Up until the midway point, I hoped to finish under 2:15.  But upon reaching the halfway point quicker than I thought, I realized breaking 2:15 would be really tough.  I was tiring, and knew I couldn’t keep up that pace.

As it was, about mile 10, I started to really slow my pace.  And at mile 11, the 2:20 pacers passed me.  I said, “Sh*t!” without realizing out loud.  The pacers who carried tall signs that read 2:20 turned around and said, “It’s okay, you’re doing great.”  I felt badly for my comment, because I didn’t want to insult any of the runners that I found myself surrounded by.  Clusters of people swarm around the pacers.  (Another difference between road and trail races.  On the trail races that I’ve run, there are no designated runners holding up signs with ending times posted on them).

I veered off to the side and was able to race by the pacers and the pacer crowd, only to be passed by them again by mile 12.  By then, I said to myself, “Okay, if I come in before 2:30, I’ll be happy.”  And that I did:  2:23:32.  And I was happy.  Happy that I got to play part of this big running event to commemorate Memorial Day.

Other differences between road and trail races, I didn’t realize until it was over are:  1)  my feet ached after racing the road, never on a trail race, and 2) the after-party is much more festive and crowded with vendors on road races, and that’s pretty cool.

Around the half-way point, coming into Aliso Canyon (Aliso/Wood Canyons Wilderness Park)

Heading back toward finish line (notice waterfall about mid photo)

The after party

Elevation profile (also mine and Jeremy’s garmin read 13.25, not 13.1!)

My Stats:

Overall:
994 out of 1412

Women:
418 out of 706

Females 45-49:
49 out of 88

Fun, fun, fun in the California sun.  I forgot to mention, it was hot this May day morning.  I mean HOT. 

Big Cat Challenge 2009 / Central Park, Huntington Beach

Just when I thought that I wasn't going to get in twenty races this year (because Crystal Cove was rain-postponed), I received an e-mail with a list of local races -- one of them the Big Cat Challenge in Huntington Beach. It offered a half marathon, a full marathon or as many miles as you could put in during a 12 hour period. The course: a 2 mile loop around Huntington Beach's Central Park. I wasn't sure about the repeat loop thing -- 7.5 times I would need to run it for 13.1 miles. And I always hated running a track. Still, it sounded interesting enough to give it a try.

When my phone alarm went off at 5 AM this morning, I thought to myself, "Whatever I've got planned I'M NOT DOING IT." I had to think hard before remembering -- I've got a race! And so I was up and out the door under darkness by 5:45. (I felt good driving in the dark for a run -- brought back good memories of amazing races and club runs.)

Breakfast in Central Park -- a quaint little joint with a lake view


The friendliest birds on Earth??? Coots. These birds just walked right up to me.


Bundled up good, layered with long sleeves (but wearing shorts), gloves, beanie and even scarf, my teeth still chattered from the cold as I picked up my bib. The t-shirt was top-notch, black with the gold Big Cat logo. I chuckled to myself over the fact that I'm embarrassed requesting a Small. I have this idea that the person giving me the shirt is thinking "You're NO small." : ) (Really, though, Medium race t's are too big.)

The crowd was indeed small. Less than 100 runners it seemed, all of us cold, but chipper on this beautiful December morning. I recognized some faces, runners I've seen at races, at least one that I've read her blog. I also recognized and talked to Mark, the guy I came in neck-in-neck across the finish line at the Route 66 half marathon in '08.

This was a "small town" race in the big OC, put on by Bob and Jenn English (I hope I got their names right) -- and they really couldn't have done a better job. We got off to a late start (thirty minutes), as Bob still had some course marking to do. Then Bob stood on his chair with the race directions, and after they played a recording of the National Anthem, Bob and Jenn set the clock, and we were off.

Listening to Race directions

At the Start Line


The loop was two miles. And it was surprisingly pleasant knowing just what to expect, having run it again and again. Mostly paved, we got in some trail portions also, with beautiful lakeside views. We all seemed to take that first loop pretty slowly at first. So cold it was, the woman in front of me ran with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Before finishing the first loop I ran into the parking lot (a quick detour) to put my gloves and beanie cap away.) Coming up on the aid station for the first time, I stopped quickly to tie my long sleeve around my waist. Before finishing lap 2, I took a second detour to my car to put away my shirt -- Now, that's something I've never done in a race. That's just how easy going I felt. This race for me was more about the experience than it was about my time.

Mid third loop, mile 5, I was lapped by two runners, a male, and the female who won Surf City's half marathon last year. I laughed and said, "Oh No, you lapped me!" The guy said, "Don't worry, you'll catch up."

That was nice. : ) I finished the third loop at 1:03:00. Not great, but not bad at all. I felt fine about the time -- this was a no pressure race for me -- my last of the year, my twentieth race : )

I took time on my fourth loop (miles 8 and 9) to document the course with photos. After each click, I tried to speed up my pace to make up for the photo stops. I'm not sure I did that. What can I say? Have camera, will click. That's just me.

The beginning of the loop, leads to a turn around toward the left corner of photo

After turn around, gonna veer off to left, making our way toward lake

Entering the dirt portion of the course (the one slight incline in the course)

We got a nice down hill just before entering this lovely grassy field

Running around the lake to finish up the 2 mile loop

Swans


There's those Coots again

Mile 8, a different guy lapped me. Mile 10, the first two who lapped me and that Mile 8 guy lapped me all at once. I was amazed at their pace. Then, at mile 12, the woman who one the Surf City Marathon, lapped me again -- she was minus those two other guys. She really was amazing.

I finished up lap 5 at 1:46:00 (again, not terrible, but could have done better). I felt pretty good, and tried to increase my pace on lap 6 to make up for those trips to the car and photo stops. Lap 7, I pushed. I knew I wasn't going to beat my best half marathon time (2 hrs, 15 minutes), I figured if I came in under 2 and a half hours, I'd be happy. And that I did. I finished at 2:21:??. And I was happy.

Me at finish (notice cool finisher's medal)

Heartbreak at Heartbreak Ridge Half Marathon

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.

Final Standings:

I placed 32 out of 47 women ages 40 to 44.

Overall I placed 781 out of 1,079 civilians.