When my cellphone alarm sang out this morning, I had to think hard. Get the boys to school? Run? Then I looked at the time and saw 4AM and immediately knew, A RACE. It took me one or two seconds to recall which race, and I thought to myself, “Oh crap.”
Crazy Elevation profile of this marathon:
Normally I love trails, as you are aware if you’ve read this blog. But this race took place in the San Gabriel Mountains. I’ve NEVER run those mountains. I like racing on trails that I know “like the back of my hand.”
It was cold at the base of the mountains in Rancho Cucamonga. My good friend, Kurt F. came out to meet me near the start line, as lucky for me, he only lives a couple blocks away from the race. (Kurt is one of my oldest continuous friends. We met when I was TWELVE YEARS old).
Among the runners I saw some people I recognized from volunteering Twin Peaks 2 years ago. I also saw Mark Ryne who I first met at Barstow’s “Get Your Kicks on Route 66 half marathon” a few years back. I saw Steve Harvey, the race director of so many hardcore races in my local mountains.
Raring (Ha!) to go, at Start Line (Mark Ryne’s photo):
Fellow trail runner, Mark:
The morning was lovely, clear and cold with no wind. We began on a slight decline, then climbed for about a mile and a half. Then we ran downhill for about two miles. “Remember this,” I told myself “You’re going to have to climb out in the end.”
The 29 racers spread out quickly, and for a long while, I had two runners behind me, and one a ways up front that I could see. I tried to catch him for a long time. I closed the gap on every uphill, but then on the descents he blew me away.
Gorgeous Views:
The Santa hat and long sleeves come off!:
I ran fire roads, lovely forest paths where I could hear the stream flowing strong. I ran up a single track, and along rock mountainsides. I crossed creeks and ran along cliffs and then a long descent into the halfway mark. Thorns from a wild rose (I think) tore at the back of my calves and drew blood. But other than that, my first half of the race was fun and carefree. I didn’t make the time I planned but how could I have possibly known, being I didn’t know what lay ahead. The cut off for 13.1 miles was 3 and a half hours. After my first hour running, I calculated making the half in three hours. I made it in at 3 hours 22 minutes, and there was the guy I had been trying to catch for so long. We spoke briefly then he raced off while I chugged down some Coca-Cola.
13.1 miles!!! Awesome aid station workers to greet us:
After leaving the station, I had about 2 miles of uphill running which I used to my advantage to catch the guy ahead of me. I passed Mark on the way as he came in to the half way mark. We both took a few pics and I continued to work on lengthening my lead on the guy I had passed. I knew I needed to get the lead as big as possible or else he’d pass me on the next downhill.
Heading back and working on “the pass”:
Mark crossing stream, very close to halfway point (probably half a mile):
Quick pose as I continue to make my way back up the mountain (Mark’s photo):
At about mile 16, I made the big descent and I ran “like a bat out of hell,” because I didn’t know how close that quick downhill runner was to me. I never looked back once I passed. I tripped several times, but never fell. Then as I began to bottom out before the next climb, I had to duck beneath some branches. I glanced down at my garmin to calculate whether I’d make 6 hours. There was a slight, very slight chance. That’s when I looked back up and slammed, I mean slammed my head into a large branch. It seemed like I could hear my skull crush and my brain rattle (of course they didn’t), but the impact really dinged me. At first, I started to cry but quickly stopped the sobbing and headed off a bit slower. I began to see purple spots and worried the head impact caused some damage. But immediately after downing a gel, the purple spots in my vision disappeared.
Still, I wasn’t the same. Eventually, I was able to pick up my speed again, but the climb was uphill again. I was completely alone, realizing now that I was never going to make 6 hours. My spirits began to drop until I heard someone hooting and hollering. I knew I was close to the next aid station. When I reached the single-manned station at the top of the climb, I inquired whether he could see any other runners behind me through his binoculars. He said that he could see me running for a long time and pointed out the vast mileage as I looked down upon it in kind of a disbelief. And he had seen no other runners behind me. At that point I felt safe, thanked him for his hospitality and headed off downhill toward the next climb back to the finish line.
Well, LET ME TELL YOU miles 22 through 24+ were pretty much HELL. Time travelled so very slowly. My left ankle was sore, my right knee ached. Every time I turned a corner I thought for sure the last mile and a half descent would begin. I turned corner after corner, my spirits dropping, dropping, dropping. That’s when I wanted to take the “Race director’s name in vain,” (something another race director, Jessica Deline wrote that I now understand). I thought to myself, “Does he think this is funny???” When I turned one of the last corners and saw that the climb continued, I actually exclaimed, “F***!!” And I stopped running for about twenty steps. Then I picked up my feet, kicked out the back and continued the ascent.
I was so dang happy to see that final downhill. But I have to write even that last mile and a half or so, really crept by. The race director, James Schoelles, ran me up to the finish line. I wasn’t mad at him anymore (Seriously, he put on a top-notch race). You can’t believe how very happy I was to have finished. No, I didn’t get the honored DFL (there were still 3 more runners to cross the finish line – and they all did : ) My time: 6:34.
Running UP HILL into the finishing line, filming race director, James Schoelles as he photos me (James’s photo): (Oh and NOTE TO SELF: GET YOUR HEAD UP LAUREN!)
Up at 4:30, I was on the road (5:30), driving up Highway 74 to Blue Jay Campground in the dark. Missing the turnoff once, I parked along the road and ran on over to a camper to meet a exciting and wonderful Australian named Baz who puts on The Saddleback Marathon (among other races).
All my “stuff” laid out the night before – yikes! Quite a bit there – my packing list has grown : )
Thankfully, Baz granted me and a few other runners an earlier start with the trail marker who was also running the race. I was afraid that I would come in after the cut off if I didn’t get at least a little earlier start. Turns out, Baz is a super nice guy and pretty lenient on the time limit.
Anyway, the weather was perfectly cool this morning, the scenery lush and green, for the most part. I think that first trail was San Juan Trail, which was mostly up and I ran it with little problem. Then we were off for a magical downhill trip on Trabuco Trail, where the ferns were bright green and yellow leaves littered the floor. The run took some concentration, especially when we hit the rockier areas. I tripped several times, but never “ate dirt” or “ate rocks” rather. I have run Trabuco Trail before, but nothing looked familiar to me. But when we hit that rocky area – it all came back. (Aug or July 09, I believe “In Over My Head” blog)
One super fun thing about getting an earlier start, I got to witness the front runners fly by me – I mean FLY by. The first two passed on the flat desert-like part of Trabuco, about 9:00 AM.
Eager for my 3rd marathon this year, my 2nd trail marathon
Going up San Juan Trail (Irvine Lake in distance?)
Trabuco Trail
Wonderful Aid Station Workers – they all look familiar to me, but I couldn’t place them
So, how do I make this race report sweet & simple. I can’t. But I will try. The first ten or so miles went surprisingly well. Aid Stations supplied, among other things, ice-cold Coca Cola, which I took like shots. They felt like zingers and gave me the rush I needed. Then we hit Holy Jim. I thought to myself, this isn’t so bad (difficulty-wise), and even though I promised myself to hike all of Holy Jim, I ran a good deal of the beginning. (I kept thinking “Eh, Bulldog is much harder!) Besides that, Holy Jim was gorgeous with boulders, stream crossings, colorful leaf liter, small waterfalls along the way. And then we hit the switch-back, one after the other after the other
Mile 11.5 or so, I felt I could not take another step. Cramps were setting in. First my toes began cramping, then my calves. Though I had been taking S-Caps (salt) all along, I began eating them like candy.
Still going up Holy Jim . . .
About the time we were supposed to reach the Main Divide, according to my garmin, I couldn’t see it. I feared I had got off track. I could hear falls somewhere nearby, but I didn’t turn my head to investigate. I was too concerned about reaching the divide. Then I saw Sheila up above climbing an extremely steep incline. And then another runner came up behind. That last tiny stretch of Holy Jim was quite difficult. It was layered with several inches of slippery acorns. Using my hands to climb up, I could see a truck through the trees. Then a table came into focus. I had made it – the 13.5 mile aid station at elevation 4,056 on the Main Divide!
The station workers were awesome – supportive and at my service to the extreme. They wouldn’t let me do a single thing for myself. I took my Coca Cola shots, refilled my water, popped in more than necessary Nuun tablets and was off for a gorgeous, windy up and down trip along the Main Divide. On one side I could see The O,C., the otherside, Lake Elsinore.
Lake Elsinore down there
While I had been sucking down gels all along, I knew that I had to get in more calories. But I really didn’t think I could hold down any solid food. At station #4 one of the aid workers pulled a Luna Bar out of my pack. I held that thing in my hand for a while as I ran along the divide. I could feel the cramping just at bay. My body crusted in salt, I continued to down those S-caps.
A little delirious at this point : ) Feeling goofy.
All the runners I met along the way were friendly and supportive as I ran this last portion, waiting, waiting, waiting for that last aid station – after that it would be all down hill. I felt like a zombie. I was just running with no thoughts, nothing – simply putting one foot in front of the other when I yelled inside my head, “Eat!” And so I began taking little bites of that Luna Bar. I kept it all down.
Another runner, Jeff, and I came up on the last aid station at the same time. This station was run by Steve and Annie Harvey (I recognized them from my first Calico Ghost Town trail race). They are a friendly couple who are race directors for the Old Goat Trail Races.
So dang happy to find out we had only three miles left, I really started acting quite silly, yakking away with the Annie and Harvey, saying it was a true miracle that I had made it that far, etc., etc. I was the happiest girl you’d ever see after climbing more than 5,500 feet! I finally took off running, actually running, when my legs could move no more. Some time later, Jeff caught up with me. And we ran those last three miles together, the longest three miles EVER. We crossed the finish line before every one had packed up and left. Several other runners came in one after the other after that. And I found it odd that I hadn’t even noticed them out there behind us. I used the garmin to give the recorders my official time, since I got an early start. I was running up in those mountains for a little over 7 hours!!
I felt perfectly fine after crossing the finish line. I chatted some with fellow runner Dave (but forgot to snap a photo of him!) and also with Mark. I laughed at Baz, his energetic and boisterous personality. But I forgot to say good-bye to Jeff. If you read this Jeff – it was great running in with you. You helped take my mind off the total hell that my body was going through : )
One of those things again this morning -- cell phone alarm rang out its annoying tune, and I lay there at 5:30 AM, wondering "What the heck?" I said outloud, "I have no idea what day it is, or what it is I'm supposed to do."
"A race," my husband said, half asleep. "Get up and run."
A race? A race????? I'm thinking, "no big deal," then rolled over and groaned. It's a MARATHON, and a trail marathon at that, with only 25 runners at that! (Don't worry, it gets worse : ).
The original plan was to run the SD Rock n' Roll marathon in June (I was looking for a marathon where I could get lost in a sea of 22,000 people, besides that, the SD R n' R was my first marathon.). But with my injury, I waited to register. By the time I knew that I could run, the race sold out! Thing was, the only month I could run this year's marathon #2 was June (believe me, it just worked out that way.) I hunted on-line and found a lovely little race put on by Charlie Alewine and his wife, on a local trail in fact, the Arroyo Trabuco Trail. I was leary because the race is held to 25 participants. But I registered nonetheless. (I always thought it would be an honor to come in DFL "Dead F****** Last." That F can stand for "Friggin" or "Final" if you want, or any word that will work, a co-runner Ed, that I met today told my sons it meant "Dang Fine Lady"). Still, DFL has always worried me on these small races. I look at other people in awe who come in last, because I thought it took a hell of a lot of courage to keep on going (I guess I didn't necessarily think so for myself).
Race Directions from Charlie
It was a cool, cloudy morning, and I arrived with plenty of time to spare. We took off without the fanfare, up onto the sidewalk and down, down, down a steep single track on our way for an out-and-back. Not just an out-and-back, but for the full marathon, an out-and-back four times.
Wait. I'm getting a little ahead of myself. A word or two about this trail. I've run this trail at least twice before, and always found it pleasant, and relatively easy (it's never actually easy). There were only two steep portions for this marathon -- one at each turnaround point. There were 4 creek crossings on a one-way trip, obviously 8 on the round trip, and 32 for the entire marathon. Crossing through the creek (because I plow right through them) was like adding 3 pound weights to my feet (my shoes also pick up mud and dirt on the exit). There are lots of beautiful shady parts, and the portion dubbed "the jungle" was included in this out-and-back. A good portion was single track, though some fire road portions existed. And then there were portions of beach-fine sand, usually coming out of the creeks or near them, that was quite difficult to traverse. Other parts of the trail were flat and easy, while even others were more rocky. I tripped more than once on these rocky single-tracks.
Now, back to the story. I felt okay about the run, even having been sick all week and not able to run. A small group of runners (3 or 4) were within catch-up distance ahead of me. And a good number, 7 or maybe even 8 were behind me. I got to know their faces well.
But then, it began to dawn on me that these runners all within my ability or less, were running the half-marathon! Slowly but surely, the number of racers were dropping until I realized, most everyone was running the half marathon. Only the die-hard freaks (no offense, because I guess I'm one of them) were running the marathon. Don't get me wrong -- they were all friendly, and smiling and encouraging, these marathoners. But I was way out of my league. (Charlie said that only 25% of the 25 runners ran the full marathon).
Scenes from the trail
I'm not really sure when the cramping began. It was rather early on, before mile 15 I believe. And they were only mild, just slight cramps in the calves. Thing is, I'm so paranoid of those severe cramps that have attacked before, I started downing salt, I mean pure salt, straight out of the packets (I was also drinking pedialyte and took some endurolytes). I didn't mind eating the pure salt. In fact, I think it gave me peace of mind. After about an hour of eating of fast-food restaurant salt packets, the cramps, even the threat of cramps subsided. But then something else happened. My right knee. I'm suspect it was those sand pits, because that's the only thing really different about this race than my usual running. Somewhere along the line, my knee began to ache, and I needed ice desperately. So into the creeks I sank, because that water was cold and did seem to help the knee pain (not to mention the 2 ibuprofens that I took at the beginning of leg 4).
The Turn Around Arrow in the Dirt
I phoned home to tell the family "Don't plan on meeting me at the finish at noon." I was going to be lucky to come in by 1:15. This race was beating me up. And I don't know why. It shouldn't have. I've been doing strength training, speed training, cross training, you name it -- I'm training! (But then again, I have been sick -- I wasn't sick today though. On the other hand, Hubby says that 6 hours sleep isn't enough to run a marathon. I don't think it was that either -- I'm guessing that I didn't realize what a trail marathon was going to do to me, even one with low elevation gain).
After the turnaround on leg 3, I tripped over rocks, roots, whatever, it seemed every few steps (perhaps that's what got my knee). I never actually ate dirt though, and I do feel that a stronger core helped me fight the falls. But a stronger core does not make a stronger psyche. I wept a couple times while running, especially the third leg, out in the wilderness all by myself (for this is when my knee really took its toll and also when I knew that I was DFL -- in a few days I will bask in the glory of DFL, but not now as I write this blog, though really, I'm not terribly upset. I knew that it would happen eventually.)
On my way up the hill to finish up out-and-back #3, the marathon front runner passed me to finish up the race. Up top at the aid station, the half-marathoners were happily lounging about, taking pictures with their medals, etc. I found it extremely difficult to leave the aid station and head back out for the final out-and-back. On my way back down, a few more marathoners passed me on their way to finish. I even passed by the last half-marathoner making her way back. Then finally while still on my way out, the 3rd to last guy passed me on his way into the finish. And as I made my way into "the jungle," Ed, the guy behind me was making his way back to finish.
That jungle was terribly long, I mean agonizingly long! I wasn't even near the turnaround until I exited the jungle. These were my rules: run only the flats and downhills, uphills were okay if I felt like it, but absolutely no running through the sand.
I felt great relief at the turnaround and took that nice long downhill not exactly happily, but at least with content. Now I wanted "the jungle," for the shade! And I couldn't believe how long it took me to get there, eventhough I ran the whole way!
Then as I crossed the first of the last four creeks on my way back for the finish, I phoned my husband, because I knew that he and the boys were waiting at the finish line. I told him that he might as well go buy a soda or something, because I had at least another twenty minutes to go. I could hear Ed, the runner who came in before me, describe to Dave how much longer I had to go. Amidst all this, a giant doe pranced before me. She was a beauty. Chestnut brown with a wide, wide behind. She was gigantic compared to the does I see on my home trails. She made my day.
And I was off, three more creek crossings and, stumbling through the sand, and I was homeward bound! Ed met me coming up the fire trail, and we made our way up the climb together. Turns out we have run many of the same races! Hard Corps Marathon (see my blog entry, he's the one in the cast!), Big Cat Challenge, to name a few.
My husband and boys were atop the hill to greet me coming in. It was a great treat to see their faces. After hugs, and presentation of medal and the much coveted DFL trophy, I felt like I hadn't even run a marathon. (Not the same the next day!)
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)
(Seriously, he put on a top-notch race). You can’t believe how very happy I was to have finished. No, I didn’t get the honored DFL (there were still 3 more runners to cross the finish line – and they all did : ) My time: 6:34.
