One-sentence summary: I met my goal of running pain-free, though I missed my time goal by one measly second; who runs an official 2:00:00?!

Half-marathon #9 done.

Background: I ran this race last year, two weeks after my personal best time of 1:49:49. I ran it only as training, to hit marathon pace miles, which I did perfectly. It was a good course and extremely well organized, so when I came across a half-price deal in July, I signed up again. A whole bunch of friends signed up, too, and by the fall I was planning to try beating my time at this race.

Setback: Then my IT bands went nuts and I had a horrible race failure in February. I wound up taking two full weeks off from all running, and I really didn’t do much other working out, either. But I did get on the rehab wagon, using a foam roller every single night on my IT bands (the things that connect the hips to the knees). I began running again. I felt occasional tightness or weakness, but I made sure I never ran to the point of feeling any pain. One day, I ran over seven miles with my friend Aron — I was huffing and puffing because I was out of shape, but I had no pain. I spent last weekend in Portland (yes, that deserves a blog post; famous last words), but I got home in time to run 11 miles on Sunday. Despite a lot of imbibing the previous night, that was the best double-digit run since Jan. 1 — which was only better because I broke four hours in a marathon. Sunday’s run probably felt better, though it was also 15 miles shorter… Anyway, that was the deciding point: I would run the Oakland half-marathon.

Race eve: I ventured up to Oakland yesterday in pouring rain to the race expo, to get my bib, timing chip and shirt. Also, since I’ve been meeting up with random Internet people for over a dozen years, I went to a tweet-up.

Twitter people! Of the eight other people in this photo, it was my first time meeting four of them.

My friends Cate and Jana. Cate's incredibly cute daughter greeted me with a smile and a kick of her feet, then suddenly and completely passed out.

We wandered around the disappointing race expo, ran into more friends, and I got my race shirt. I like the material, but the sleeves are a tiny bit too short. Also, I think I need to be a Raiders fan to wear it.

Would this be considered gang attire in certain schools?

So then I went home, ate macaroni and cheese because I was suddenly craving it, and may have ended the night with decaf coffee and Bailey’s.

Race morning: My friend Jess had offered to carpool and drive (see? I have the coolest friends ever), and we got Page in on the carpool fun, too. They picked me up around 7:30, which meant that I got to sleep in more than normal on race day. We got to Oakland in plenty of time to find cheap parking. We took the elevator out of the garage, and when the elevator opened, we found ourselves in a church where mass was under way. Yep, that’s the first time I meant to go to a race but wound up in church.

We walked quickly and quietly through the back of the church, outside, and to the race start to meet a bunch of friends, drop off our bags and use the port-o-potties. I must say, the race organizers were on the ball — I had less than 15 minutes before the race start and knew I was cutting it close, but the potty lines were about 30 seconds. Well done, Oakland. So then I got in the corrals at the 9-minute pace area, heard the national anthem, I think the mayor said something, and soon we were off under a storm of confetti.

They all look so very serious. I'm pretty sure I did not.

Oh, did I mention that I was wearing a new model of shoes that only had a six-mile and a three-mile run on them? Yep, they went well with the Bailey’s the night before. Honestly, though, I don’t do stupid things for race prep; I know my limits well, and both were fine.

The race: Weather forecasts had all (yes, all; I have four weather apps on my phone…) called for rain the entire race. By the time my race started at 9:15, there was no rain. I don’t think the walkers even had rain. Weather forecasting fail!

Mile 1: 9:11
Mile 2: 8:46

OK, I was going a bit faster than 9-minute miles, but the average was fine, and I really just planned to run by feel.

Mile 3: 8:34
Mile 4: 8:09

What was I thinking?! 8:34 is too fast! And 8:09?! That’s my 10K pace, not my out-of-shape half-marathon pace! I don’t remember seeing either of these splits on my watch. In hindsight, that 8:34 should have been a red flag for me to slow down. Yes, I am foreshadowing.

Mile 5: 8:50 (took a 150-calorie gel)
Mile 6: 8:59
Mile 7: 9:00
Mile 8: 9:01

Somewhere in here, I saw my friend Karin. She was on pace for a PR, and I told her to stay ahead of me. I didn’t stay with her, in part because I didn’t want to make her subconsciously slow down, though I know she’s a smart enough runner to run her own race. I did follow her for a while, though.

Those last four miles had all been very consistent. I think the 8:34 and especially the 8:09 miles were my big mistakes, because they likely made my heart rate rise earlier in the race than was necessary. I don’t run with my heart rate monitor too often because it drives me nuts and I hate seeing the super-high numbers, but I’ve used it just enough to be a bit more aware of when I’m really entering that “I’m going to die” zone.

Mile 9: 9:46

Yep, that was the “I’m going to die” zone. I walked. Because I took time off with the IT band troubles, my endurance levels are shot and my weight is up. Bad combination. However, I knew that I’d be seeing Beth at a big cheer station around mile nine, so I tried to get going again.

Mile 10: 9:03

I rallied. I saw Beth, and it was a nice boost to see a friendly face.

Mile 11: 10:28

I derailed. I knew I would finish in 1:58 or 1:59 if I just kept going. But then I got to a couple little hills going around Lake Merritt, and I walked. My lungs were just so tired! My legs were actually fine, which is once again a sign of my loss of endurance. I hated myself for walking, but I was exhausted. Then a random thought entered my head: “I’m a sub-4-hour marathoner, dammit! Why am I walking at mile 11?” I had two more miles of a 13.1-mile race. So I began to run.

Mile 12: 9:09
Mile 13: 9:10

My legs were more than willing to keep moving, but my lungs just didn’t want to do it. But I knew I was oh-so-close to the 2-hour mark. “Dammit, I can run a full marathon at a faster pace than this! MOVE!”

The course ran long, which wasn’t a surprise. I let my legs lead and ignored my lungs. I was powering toward the end. And there, right in front of me, was a hill. No matter: I was going to race up that thing, because I am a runner!

Then I saw Karin ahead of me. I had a very brief debate over whether to encourage her to race it in, wondering if that wasn’t what she needed. But then I was beside her saying something like, “Come on, let’s do this!” as I raced to the finish. And race she did! We powered up that hill.

Mile 13.25: 7:37 pace.

I crossed the finish line and was done. Very done. Volunteers gave me a heat sheet and a rather nice medal. I drank some Gatorade, then spied oranges and made a bee-line for them. For once, I skipped the bagel pieces and did not make myself eat some carbs, though I ALWAYS tell people to eat the carbs provided at the end of the race. Do as I say, not as I do. The oranges revived me enough this time, though. Oh, and I hadn’t taken a second gel at mile 10 like I usually do. Oops.

Bling.

Post race: Karin and I met up with most of our friends. Many of them had fantastic PRs (personal records), and a couple of them (ahem, Page) finished so quickly that they had time to get a massage and drink a free mimosa while I was still running. Sadly, by the time I got to the mimosas, the line was long and we had to leave. Oakland, you owe me a mimosa!

But before we all parted ways, we had to get a group Sock Photo. I didn’t actually wear these compression socks during the race because my legs still aren’t sure what to think of them. But they did feel nice afterward.

L-R: Sesa, Karin, Jessica (who paced Kristin, not pictured, to a big PR), Naomi, Dennis (who ran a crazy fast marathon one week earlier), Jana (who was paced by Dennis to a 3:58 full marathon on a huge hill), Alyssa, Cate, Angela, me, Page. Yep, Dennis is the only guy. Page says he's the smartest guy ever, because he's surrounded by chicks who drag him along.

I got home, took a nice long, warm shower, put my legs way up above my heart for 15 minutes, then went to In-N-Out for a cheeseburger. Then I used my foam roller and stretched. Hours later, my IT band does not hurt!

My official finish time was 2:00:00. I was, and still am, SO frustrated over that. ONE SECOND meant that my time started with a 2! I wasn’t expecting to come anywhere close to my best time, but I knew sub-2 was certainly doable. That second is going to haunt me forever.

However, I’m reminding myself that my main goal was to run without pain. There were two brief steep downhill sections today, and at both of them I got a bit anxious and thought, “OK, here’s another test of the IT band.” Normally I love flying down hills, but that completely killed me last month when I had to pull out of a race: I went down an incline and felt it, and then got to a steep downhill and said “OW.” Today, I never felt that pain. I had promised myself that if I felt any pain, I would drop out of a marathon I’m supposed to run in five weeks. It’s considered one of the most beautiful marathons, and that’s so much bigger than one second in a half-marathon. Priorities.

Race thoughts: The Oakland Marathon organizers do a fantastic job with this race. I’ve now run six marathons, a 20-mile race, nine half-marathons, a handful of trail races, and some 10Ks and 5Ks. Oakland is still one of the most well-organized races I’ve experienced.

At one point, we ran under a flaming arch. Then we ran past flaming torches and a fire-breathing creature. Police officers were stationed all over the places, and some of them even CHEERED for the runners when they weren’t busy directing motorists. The cops did this last year, too, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen in any other race. The spectators this year were less than half of last year’s, but I think that’s because of the expected torrential rain. I was sad that crack-head ladies weren’t yelling “Eastside Oakland!” like last year — yes, that happened, and it was awesome.

Best spectator sign: “Where is everyone going?”

Best random spectator: Upon seeing my Punk Rock Racing shirt, a rather punk-rock-looking guy cheered wildly and yelled, “Punk rock for life!”

Alyssa, who rocks more than the Punk Rock on both of our shirts combined.

Dancing In Public from Nuthouse Media on Vimeo.

How’s that for an opening sentence? In the journalism world, that’s called a “lead.” Now you know.

Anyway, I’m hopefully rebounding from knee issues (that originated in the hip, apparently), which means I can run again. I’m not quite gasping for air as much, which means I’m getting back in shape. And THAT means I’m not thinking as much about running while I am running. This is especially possible in the morning, when it’s dark and quiet outside.

Today I was thinking about years, and how the last few have each been strongly defined for me.

• 2008 was the year of running. I joined a running club, made a whole bunch of new friends, then ran my first half-marathon and first full marathon that year.
• 2009 was the year of witnessing. I witnessed a judge nearly get murdered and her attacker get killed. Three months later, I witnessed a horrific car wreck that killed a couple.
• 2010 was the year of changing. I made some personal changes, quit my job, went on a road trip and set out to find a new life.
• 2011 was the year of beginning. I started full-time at a new job, I moved, I traveled, I was in my best friend’s wedding and watched her start a new life, I became closer friends with people who were previously acquaintances, and I met a lot of new people along the way.

Then I thought about how 2007 had a fairly significant (in retrospect) relationship start, and 2006 involved some huge national attention. The previous couple years also have some defining moments and themes. While I sit here now, even without consulting various blogs and journals, I can think of big themes in almost every year.

So, how will I define 2012? Somewhere in the crisp morning air, I realized that two months of 2012 have already passed. The third month is moving rapidly along. Before we know it, a quarter of the year will be gone.

When it comes down to it, I want 2012 to be the year of writing. I have publicly stated that a very clear goal of mine is to write a book. In making so many changes over the last couple years, I’ve gotten closer to the point where I really, truly want to write. Yesterday evening, I was writing something for some friends, and I found myself back in that “zone” of writing. It was one page and the zone part itself only lasted for a couple paragraphs, but I felt it.

This morning, while out on the roads with a headlamp that needed new batteries, I pondered the last few years. And I knew what theme 2012 needs. To make that possible, I need to clear out some time. Running won’t suffer because it’s my outlet (and a way to stay in shape), but I need to make some changes and set my priorities straight.

And right around the time I was starting to think of how to make this happen, I nearly stepped on a rather large, very dead rat that was lying horizontally across the sidewalk.

I stopped thinking about lofty 2012 dreams and instead began wondering how the rat got there, why it was dead and whether it had rabies. It was right near a Starbucks, at the edge between a commercial area and some nice homes, not far from one of the Shamrock-decorated trash cans the city installed all over town. This was a couple miles after I found myself running across chain-link fence that was lying across a sidewalk.

A mile later, at the end of my run, a Canada Goose decided that hissing wasn’t enough, and it briefly chased me through my neighborhood.

Maybe 2012 will be the year of wild animals.

So I forced myself to take two weeks off from running. I slacked off completely, except for some rehab-related exercises. Today is the two-week point, so tomorrow I’ll let myself run a few miles. I have a feeling it won’t be pretty and the pace will be slow, because two weeks of being sedentary and eating crappy food has certainly not helped me.

But, unlike most times I’ve had to take time off from running, I didn’t really feel the endorphin withdrawal this time. I’d pushed myself too hard, and I needed a break. In reality, I really should not be posting as fast of race times as I have in the past year, for two reasons: I do not run enough, and I am too heavy. Regarding the first one, I don’t know how I’ve managed to beat four hours in the marathon on less than 40 miles a week. As for the second one, no, don’t tell me that I’m a fine weight; the scale and mirror do not lie, and I KNOW my legs/joints would be happier if they didn’t have as much weight bearing down on them. So, yeah, I need to work on the second one, and hopefully that will help me increase the mileage a little bit without injury.

So, that’s the update. I still haven’t downloaded that last 16.5-mile race failure from my GPS watch. I haven’t even charged my watch, so maybe I should do that before tomorrow’s no-expectations run. I’m still reading about running-related things, and I had a great time volunteering for hours at a recent trail race. So, mentally, I haven’t gone off the deep end the way I usually do when I can’t run.

Maybe this has been a good gauge of whether I’m relying on running to retain my sanity. In that case, I’ve succeeded. I didn’t do anything rash, I didn’t go on a rampage, and I didn’t feel a strong desire to veer into runners when I saw them out running while I was stuck in my car. (It’s true: runners do get these feelings when we’re injured, because we’re so sad and jealous of those who can run. But I have yet to ever hear of someone actually carrying out such a thing, because runners really are softies when it comes down to it.)

By the way, I had a couple photos to include with this, but they’re on my phone and I’ve spent entirely too much time trying to get them to my computer. I am officially too old to learn how to use a new computer.

Now, before we go any further, let me be clear: I am not “racing” this thing. I am setting out to finish it and have a recorded time, in order to complete my third marathon (or ultra, since I’m apparently an over-achiever) within 90 days. That will qualify me for Marathon Maniacs membership, something I’ve been wanting quite badly for a couple years now.

However, I don’t really like the idea of coming in last. I know I won’t be last overall, but I can’t exactly compare myself with the elderly runners. Yes, there are three people in their 70s who are registered for the 50k. If  you complain that you can’t run because of this ailment or that ache, think about it for a minute — a 77-year-old is registered for a 31-mile run.

Anyway, this is a small race, which is not uncommon for ultras. There are eight women, myself included, in my age group. Let’s see who they are:

1. Ran Western States 100 last year (you have to qualify to even enter that race). She also ran Western States the year before. And she’s run Saturday’s race four previous times.
2. Very experienced trail runner. It looks like I’m faster on roads, and this course is flat and half paved. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though.
3. Triathlete whose half-marathon record is the same as mine. I might be faster on the road, but she’s got the many-hours-of-doing-a-triathlon endurance.
4. Possibly another first-ultra-runner. My marathon and half-marathon times are faster, but again, that doesn’t mean much.
5. Um, hello, speedy ultra runner who finished second at a 100-miler last year! We won’t go into her other fast times.
6. Oh look, another two-time Western States finisher!
7. Speedy 10-miler (7-minute pace) who ran a 50k last summer and is clearly faster than me at all distances.
8. Me. First 50k. Raced a marathon one month ago. Battling (and apparently conquering, but not sure yet) IT band issues that make a random knee hurt sometimes, usually once a run gets into double digits. In other words, the pain hits well before mile 31 arrives.

Saturday should be interesting! If I live to tell about it, I’ll be back with a race report. Also, there’s a chance I’ll up the ante a little bit, but I’m going to be mean by not disclosing that part right now. I don’t believe in jinxes, but my main focus on Saturday is to finish this run. The other part is only a possibility.

But, for some reason, I still haven’t seen the penguins at the nearby California Academy of Sciences.  I don’t know why. (Note to self: Do that in 2012.)

Then I read an article about a biologist who works with the African penguins at the academy. And that’s how I learned that there is — wait for it — a live penguin camera! They add audio twice a day at feeding time!

Penguins! (Courtesy of Cal Academy of Sciences)

And, as if that’s not enough, they have a mobile app! Next time I’m sitting on the train for 45 minutes, you can guess what I’ll be doing.

I’ve been to Yosemite three times, the last time in August 2010 when I hiked 19 miles round-trip and climbed Half Dome. That last 400-foot climb up up the sheer granite face of Half Dome was crazy, and the trip back down is still probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, including marathons. It was SO completely worth it. That’s the photo in my “About Me” section, though the cooler photos are of my feet hanging off the ledge at the top.

The house was built by one of the famous Vanderbilt heirs. Clark Gable, Audrey Hepburn, President Harry Truman and John Wayne were among the famous guests, and it was apparently quite the place in its day. When it went up for sale in 2000, the estate got a mention in the Wall Street Journal. The next year, it went back on the market and got some more publicity, including from the San Francisco Chronicle.

And that’s where the story takes another turn. The home was bought by this guy:

Yep, YouTube sensation “Double Dream Hands” guy bought a big house in my hometown. I’m not a big YouTube watcher, but I’d actually heard of and seen this unique piece of musical dance amusement. I’d even visited the guy’s website a while back, just to see if he was serious.

John Jacobson, the Double Dream Hands guy, was actually serious. He’s a musician who has been involved in a number of projects, including Disney productions. He apparently makes enough money to plunk down several million dollars on another home in the middle of nowhere.

People often don’t realize that there are a number of well-to-do quasi-celebrities who have a “main” residence (in this case, Los Angeles), but actually live elsewhere most of the time. Believe it or not, Northern California is a popular spot for such people. Among the hicks and the hippies, wealthy people live on forested mountains, finding a “normal” life away from the chaotic world. They don’t really stand out, because the area is so spread out. They don’t attract media attention, and the national paparazzi can’t be bothered to fly and then drive several hours to a remote location — especially since much of the area still doesn’t have high-speed Internet. It’s a nice place to get away and just live a normal life.

Well, until your house burns to the ground and a blogger decides to link to both the fire and your YouTube video. And to the one where you appeared on The Ellen Degeneres Show:

The fundraiser was the day after Christmas. It’s named for Jack, a rather cute little 8-year-old boy. And the person who became the Grinch was none other than a lawyer. How’s that for a trifecta? (For the record, over the years I’ve actually entertained the idea of law school and I know a number of lawyers. Some of them are really great people, and some of them are the opposite.)

Here’s a blog post that sums up the whole matter. It was written almost two weeks ago, and I waited to see the comments. I’ve read them all, including the rebuttals from the Grinch. He didn’t help himself at all, so for his professional sake I hope he does better live in the courtroom.

Here’s the brief version: Sam is a husband and father who created Operation Jack, a non-profit whose proceeds go to autism awareness and research. We’ve chatted online, via text and email, and have met in person several times. A while back, Sam lost a whole bunch of weight and took up running, then discovered that he could run pretty quickly. Last year, he ran 61 marathons with the sole goal of raising money for Operation Jack. The last marathon was near his home and named the Operation Jack Marathon, and there were simultaneous satellite runs around the country.

This year the Operation Jack Marathon was held again, and there were satellite runs again. Basically, that means that groups of people got together across the country to run some miles. They ran in Jack’s honor and they donated some money. Some people ran solo. Some got a few friends together. In Houston, a few friends planned to run in a public park. Then word began spreading online, and suddenly 29 people were going to gather at that park in Houston on the morning after Christmas. (This is nothing compared to the 40+ people I used to run with in a town with a population of 60,000.)

Enter the Grinch. It turns out that some people in Houston have been trying to get city permission to hold a race in that park, but they’ve been turned down. When they heard that some other local residents were organizing a run in the park, they got mad. Days before the race, they complained to city officials. Those city officials then told the Operation Jack runners that, because city officials now knew about the event, they couldn’t run. Fortunately the Operation Jack runners found another location in another part of the city. But some runners couldn’t make it to the new location, and Sam refunded their donations — to the tune of $500.

The thing is, the Grinch missed a golden opportunity. Next time he tried to get a permit to hold an official race, he could have pointed to this little Operation Jack run as a success. Instead, he became the tattle-tale that no authority figure likes but must listen to. In other words, the next time this Grinch applies for a permit, city officials will think, “Yeah, this is the guy who shut down that little charity run at Christmas.”

I have run in, volunteered at, and helped organize a number of races of all distances and sizes. I know what goes on behind the scenes. Due to my former job, I also know what goes on behind the scenes in city offices. Let’s just say that I am a bit amused by the fact that this Grinch and his cohorts have been denied permits. There are always reasons.

I actually feel a little sorry for this Grinch. For one thing, he lost a golden opportunity. For another thing, he can’t research very well. And, to top it off, he spends his days defending drunken drivers. I’m a firm believer in “innocent until proven guilty,” but I also know that the only way to get out of a drunken driving conviction is on a technicality or if police messed up. In other words, almost every single one of the Grinch’s clients really was out driving drunkenly on the roads, and any one of them could have run over his loved ones — and he’s tasked with the job of defending them. No wonder he decided to direct his lawyer ways at a little group of 29 people who wanted to run on the day after Christmas. It’s how grinches operate.

The one-sentence summary: At times it was a tough fight, but I pushed through and finished with a huge smile on my face and the realization that a years-old dream had come true.

The sad part: I ran in honor of my friend Jim, who had terminal cancer and entered hospice care in November. As I sat down to write this Wednesday evening, I realized I hadn’t looked looked at his facebook page since Monday, due to traveling. (He had stopped doing much typing/correspondence because he was weak and was instead spending time with family.) That’s when I learned that he died Tuesday morning. I started crying, went and got Kleenex, scrolled slowly past all the tributes already accumulating on his facebook page, then got more Kleenex. Now, as I type, I need more Kleenex. However, I’m going to write this race report. Jim found and befriended me because of my writing, which was truly one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. I wrote about him in November, and now I’m going to include him in this blog post, too. (If his friends and family are reading this and don’t want to sift through all the running stuff, you can skip down to mile 22, as well as the last two paragraphs.)

Background

The Texas Marathon is held every year on January 1, north of Houston. They limit it to 650 people for the half and full marathons, so it’s basically the opposite of the New York City Marathon. Like NYCM and the Santa Rosa half, this was another of my “redemption” races from the previous year, when I had to cancel a number of races due to a stress fracture. The race got rave reviews from several runners whose expertise I respect. And participants get a massive 3.5-pound medal.

My hand is stretched wide open, and I can barely hold this thing.

The catch with a New Year’s Day race is that you need to get to sleep at a decent hour and hydrate (with water, not alcohol) the previous day, also known as New Year’s Eve. But I’ve had a lot of holiday/birthday let-downs over the years, so I figured I had better odds of beating my marathon time on a flat, fast course. Plus, I could still celebrate the new year ON New Year’s Day.

I’d run New York eight weeks earlier, and it took me a little while to recover. My feet hurt pretty badly for a week after, and that led me to switch shoes. The new shoes caused blisters, so then I took a gamble by dropping to a slightly less supportive shoe. That worked. Three weeks before Texas, I suddenly got a crazy pain in the side of my knee. Thankfully that day I was hanging out with Kerry, a physcial therapy student, who diagnosed it as IT Band troubles and told me to roll my hip (yes, hip — not just the knee) on a foam roller. It hurt, but rolled religiously several times a day and got through a 21-miler two weeks before Texas.

A few weeks before the marathon, I unintentionally lost seven pounds in nine days. While I do want to lose weight and do think that would ultimately make me faster, I did NOT plan on doing so mere weeks before a marathon. But I had absolutely no appetite and could not eat. I did gain back three pounds when my life calmed down, before the race. (I have probably since gained back more weight due to delicious food I ate while in Texas.)

Pre-race

I ran four miles on Thursday, three miles of it on a packed dirt path around the Rice University campus in Texas. In California, I’d been running in the dark in temperatures ranging from 27 to 37, so shorts and a t-shirt in daylight were a nice change. On Friday, I stole an idea from Alyssa by running 2.62 miles. I always run the day before a race — usually about 3 miles, but I liked the idea of 2.62 before 26.2. That day, I stepped outside into what my weather app said was 100% humidity. It sucked. It did, however, slow me down so I wouldn’t run too fast the day before the marathon.

Dinner was pizza and a viewing of “Cowboys and Aliens” with the awesome HellaSound (yes, he makes music specifically for running) and his lovely wife. I got in bed around 10:30 p.m. and was wide awake. I lay there for a while and began to stress myself out. I’d gotten eight hours of sleep the previous night, which is very good, but that meant that now I wasn’t tired. My mind was on overdrive.

A year after my first marathon, I ran the 2009 Chicago Marathon in 4:08. That day, a dream began: I wanted a marathon time that began with 3. I’d be perfectly happy with 3:59:59, just so long as it was under 4 hours. Then I bombed in my third marathon in May 2010, posting my slowest time ever.

It took 13 months to run another marathon, due to a stress fracture, but in June 2011, I ran the Mayor’s Marathon in Alaska in 4:00:21. I’m still amazed, because my training shouldn’t have allowed that time. In November, I ran NYC in 4:02:24. I was happy with my time, since I’d taken a nasty fall two weeks earlier and it was a hilly course.

So, here I was on the eve of another marathon. I’d made my goal public, and everyone knew I wanted to break four hours. To add to matters, I’d decided to run this marathon for Jim. He’d fought the terminal cancer, trying to find treatments while also trying to go on some adventures before his life ended. I couldn’t cure his cancer, but I could run a good race in his honor. I’ve been proving my childhood doctors wrong by running, so this would be one more way of making running meaningful. As I lay there in bed, I knew that it would be OK if I didn’t reach my goal this time. But I also knew that Jim was dying, and this would be my only chance to break four hours while he was still alive. I picked up my phone and turned to Twitter, where I got supportive responses from amazing people.

Morning

Finally, just before midnight, I put the phone done and went to sleep. I awoke at 5:21, before the alarm. I made my standard pre-race peanut butter and banana sandwich. We stopped at Starbucks, where I got a small decaf coffee. Yes, decaf. Except for one half-caffeine latte on Wednesday morning, I’d cut out all caffeine for a week. This has been an ongoing experiment since August, and it seems to have helped with some heart rate/semi-blacking-out issues. However, Sunday would be the first race without a little regular coffee on race morning. I also wasn’t going to take any caffeinated gels during the race, though I’ve always relied on one final burst of caffeine in the last few miles.

We got to the race in Kingwood and parked in a residential neighborhood. Yep, it was a small race. We got our packets, which came with a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt and a cute little duffel bag, which will actually be the perfect size to hold running stuff when I drive somewhere to run with friends. There were no lines for the port-a-potties, and I was extremely relieved to note that the humidity was nowhere near the previous day’s 100%. It was a little windy, but I’d take that over humidity any time.

I found Kathy, who I’d  happened to run into at the NYC expo.

Kathy, who recently reached her goal of running a marathon in all 50 states.

Kathy started introducing me to her Marathon Maniacs friends (qualifying for that club has been my other big running goal). I know some Maniacs members, and they’re always fun, nice people. Soon I was holding two cameras at once, helping take photos as 75 of them gathered for a group shot. And then there were race announcements, a girl was attempting to sing the National Anthem, and we were gathering at the start. A funny horn sounded, and we were off.

The race

Mile 1: 9:11
Mile 2: 8:48
Mile 3: 8:55

The first couple miles, I had trouble finding my pace. I knew I wanted to aim for around 9:00 to 9:05 miles. A 4-hour marathon is a 9:08 pace, so that would be right on target. The start was a bit congested, of course, but with only a few hundred marathoners, it wasn’t bad.

Mile 4: 9:04
Mile 5: 9:12 (gel)

The course is run entirely on a paved path that goes through tall trees, under a couple small overpasses, over a couple bridges, and past a lake. In other words, it’s pretty. The lake was lovely, but that area was more open and the wind was pretty strong.

Mile 6: 9:03
First 1/4 of the race: 58:28 (8:55 pace)

The race is a loop; half-marathoners run it twice and full-marathoners run it four times. This meant I would pass the start/finish area four times. That sounds awful, but friends had assured me that it was not. One advantage was that I would see the official clock time and would know that I was still on pace if I could finish each loop in 59:59. This is a good thing, because there was a little GPS interference, so my watch was slightly off. Thanks again to friends, I’d known this ahead of time.

Mile 7: 8:55
Mile 8: 8:51
Mile 9: 8:56

The half-marathoners started 15 minutes after the full-marathoners, so I’d wondered if it would be a traffic jam at times. Plus, the course isn’t just a loop — it actually has a turn-around with an out-and-back portion, so you’re passing runners and also seeing oncoming runners. Believe it or not, this actually wasn’t that big of a problem. A vast majority of the people were following proper etiquette of staying to the right except to pass. Plus, I loved seeing all the people. I saw HellaSound and his wife about six times each, so that was fun.

Mile 10: 8:56 (gel)
Mile 11: 9:17

I stopped to fill my bottle and went with the sports drink, because I know I need as many electrolytes as I can get in order to fight off calf cramps. They were serving PowerAde, which I find to be sickeningly sweet, but I went with it.

Mile 12: 9:10
Mile 13: 9:18
Second 1/4 of the race: 58:39 (8:57 pace), almost exactly the same time as the first loop.

The PowerAde was a bad choice. I have a very solid stomach, but as soon as I started sipping it, my stomach began to feel upset. This never happens to me. I thought it might be a coincidence, but it also tasted awful. So, at the aid station at the start/finish, I took the time to pour out the PowerAde and refill with water. No more electrolytes from sports drink for me, but the water tasted so much better. I also turned on my music at this point.

Mile 14: 8:46 (gel)
Mile 15: 9:05
Mile 16: 9:12
Mile 17: 9:00

Things started to feel harder. My legs started to feel tired. I knew I’d hit the halfway point around 1:57:24, and I knew that was a bit too fast. I should have been about two minutes slower. I don’t believe that “banking time” is good, because if you run too hard and burn out too early, no amount of time will be enough.

Mile 18: 9:28 (gel)
Mile 19: 10:16
Third 1/4 of the race: 1:00:56 (9:18 pace)

I was crashing and burning. Everything was hurting. I stopped more than once, stretching out my legs and bending over because my lungs and chest felt tight. I grabbed a piece of banana at the start/finish aid station, knowing the potassium would help my muscles.

Mile 20: 10:32
Mile 21: 9:28

I didn’t want to head out for yet another loop on that never-ending course. I just wanted to stop. I could try to break four hours some other time. I had tried, but it just wasn’t my day. Then I realized that I was stopped on the side of the path while Metallica was playing in my ears. I’ve done some of my fastest runs to Metallica. Why wasn’t I running? I had no excuse. So mile 21 was at least back to a 9:XX pace. At the start of the last loop, I knew I was in a place where I would break four hours if I could just hold on and run 10-minute miles. That was a good position to be in, because normally 10-minute miles are too slow for me.

Mile 22: 10:22 (gel)

The determination had barely lasted through one mile. I was done. I couldn’t do this. Everything hurt. I thought of Jim and felt tears in my eyes because I was going to fail and I wouldn’t have another chance to break four hours before he died. I remembered NYC, where I’d focused on channeling Chrissie Wellington, who hadn’t given up despite very bad injuries two weeks before she conquered the Kona Ironman. I remembered Alaska, where I was 21 seconds over the four-hour mark.

Then I thought of Jim again. He’d fought to live as much as he could in the last few months until he’d had to enter hospice care. If he could fight, so could I. Then a phrase came into my mind: “Fight for it.” RoadBunner had given that mantra to Alyssa before Alyssa went out and conquered the California International Marathon. Fight for it.

Mile 23: 9:19

I was fighting for all I was worth. I told myself I would not stop again, no matter what. I was NOT going to miss the four-hour mark by seconds again. I was going to do this for Jim. I would fight for it.

Mile 24: 9:16

I passed Kathy one more time. “Go girl, go get that PR!” she shouted after me. Yes, that PR (personal record) was actually still in sight. I could do this. The last loop seemed to take forever, but I knew I just had to keep running. I felt slight threats of calf cramps, and I told myself they would NOT take me down. I would fight them off, too.

Mile 25: 8:55

“Whoa, she’s speeding up,” I heard a volunteer say. (The volunteers were fantastic, by the way.) Yes, I was speeding up. I was fighting for it. Dammit, I was going to break four hours. After all, I’d told Jim I was doing it for him.

Mile 25.9: 8:21 pace (the GPS on my watch was off; the course is certified to 26.2 miles)
Last 1/4 of the race: 1:00:53 (9:18 pace), also almost exactly the same time as the previous lap.

I crossed the finish line in sheer joy. I’d been watching the time on my watch and had seen it reach 3:58 near the finish line. I saw a 3 on the clock at the finish. I’d done it. I had broken through the 4-hour barrier.

I fought, and I won.

Official time: 3:58:55.

Aftermath

HellaSound was right there at the finish, congratulating me. One of the best things in the world is to have a friendly face at the end of a hard race. I was only catching half of what he was saying, but he was cheering for the fact that I’d broken four hours.

A volunteer gave me a little pink pig with the number 33 on it. I knew the pig was coming — it’s a unique Texas Marathon thing, where every year they have a signature animal and give out miniature versions. But the number was the icing on the cake. I am attempting to run three marathons in three months to qualify for Marathon Maniacs; my third race will be the weekend I turn 33; and 33 is a multiple of 11, the number that has always followed me. If I’d finished 19 seconds slower, that number 33 pig would have gone to the person who finished after me. This was the reward for that last gasp of an 8:20 pace.

The pig named 33.

Then they gave me a monster of a medal that came in its own box because it was too heavy to actual place around the neck of someone who just ran 26.2 miles. Then I wandered toward the food, knowing I needed something solid to clear my head. This was a bit of an adventure, because they had lots of boxes of cookies, but I had no idea which ones might contain walnuts. They won’t kill me or send me to an emergency room, but walnuts make my mouth BURN. So there I was, half-delirious, trying to read ingredients on boxes of cookies. I couldn’t do it. Someone said, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they all have nuts in them.” Really? That’s ridiculous! I finally focused on a box of chocolate-chocolate chip cookies, didn’t see any mention of nuts, and took a bite. It was fine, though extremely dry. I managed three bites of dry cookie.

HellaSound had said something about where he and his wife were sitting, but for the life of me, I had no idea what he’d said. Finally things came back into normal mode and I saw them on a nearby bench. I walked over to them and learned that the pizza promised at the finish line was gone. So we took a couple pictures with the inflatable pigs and made the slow walk to the car. On the way, we passed more pizza being delivered, but by then none of us wanted to walk back and deal with a mob of hungry runners.

Winged pigs wearing Santa hats. Marathoner wearing a 3.5-pound medal and holding a small pig. Yes, that is a photo opportunity.

Final stats

Age group (women, 30-39): 4th out of 23 — top 17.4 percent

Gender: 9th out of 90 — top 10 percent

Overall: 34th out of 221 — top 15.4 percent

These stats say several things. First, this race was a fast course, but it attracts people who run a LOT and focus on distance more than time. In New York, I was only three minutes slower and had pretty good stats, but I was nowhere near cracking the top 10 percent in any category. Second, the stats are still proof that I’m in a tough age group. The women’s winner was in my age group, and she was second overall. Second place woman was also in my age group.

First half: 1:57:07

Second half: 2:01:49

As I said earlier, this isn’t the ideal way to run a race. It’s just too risky to go too fast and expect to bank enough time. But it worked on Sunday, and I had just over a minute to spare.

Thank you

It’s taken me two years and four attempts to break four hours in the marathon. (I’ve now run six marathons, but I hadn’t dreamed of sub-4 at first.) Thank you to my friends and family who have put up with my jabbering about running, who have consoled me when I’ve been injured, and who have encouraged me to keep going.

Thank you to Janine, who got me started down this crazy marathon road. Thank you to the Lodi Running Club members, who provided many hours of companionship on the roads, carpools to races, and coffee shop chatter. Thank you to the Bay Area runners who have welcomed me, accepted me, and given me some true friendships. Thank you to the Internet friends who send encouragement from afar and who often care more than my “real life” friends. Thank you to Katie, who called and texted me every single day last month when I felt like I was alone and drowning. Thank you to Deanne, who still stands by me after a decade of friendship. Thank you to Paulo, for the typos and book material. Thank you to Ron, for the support. Thank you to Alyssa.

And thank you to Jim. Thank you for taking a chance and contacting an Internet stranger. Thank you for reading my writing for years, which is one of the most sincere compliments anyone can give. Thank you for offering tips when I was job hunting. Thank you for cheery comments, even when cancer hurt you, and then when cancer hit you. Thank you for reminding me that life needs to be lived, and that it’s worth fighting for as long as possible. Thank you for being an inspiration. And — this may sound weird but I know you’d have understood — thank you for hanging on until after the marathon.

I wanted to break four hours for so long. I’ve finally done it, and I did so in honor of a friend, which means I’ll never forget him. I can only hope that someday I am worthy of being someone else’s unforgettable inspiration.