theSmudge.com

One-word recap: Comeback.

One-sentence recap: After a month of almost no running, I didn’t back out of this race but instead set out to have fun, which I did and also ran faster than expected.

My non-training: When we last left off in the story of my running life, I had paced a half-marathon and then a week later ran a hot, humid marathon while unknowingly sick. That was my sixth marathon-or-longer in a bit more than six months, and I think I was tired. We will get to the race recap, but first I’m going to bore you with my health woes leading up to it. Maybe someone will read this and think, “Oh, rest is ok, and going 90 miles an hour for two weeks without enough sleep is probably a recipe for mild disaster.” If so, my job here is done. Also, I am a hypocrite.

Five days after the Kona Marathon, I ran with Kristen to catch up and get back into our routine of running before work together. By then, I had spent more than a week waking up every single night drenched in sweat, and that morning I also woke up with a 101-degree fever. Yes, I still ran. And oh, wow, was that tough. Kristen had to stop for me several times while I caught my breath and tried not to pass out — and that was a slow 9:55 pace. So I gave in and went to the doctor, because Dr. Google was giving me a couple scary possibilities and I was going mad due to lack of sleep. They took blood, got the results late that afternoon, but wouldn’t give them to me over the phone, and I couldn’t get there before they closed. They said I’d have to make an appointment for the next week since this was on Friday. Do not anger a sick, sleep-deprived redhead.

Their clinic was open half a day the next day, a Saturday, so I took my feverish self over there, having just read up on patients’ rights to medical records. I marched in the door as Little Miss Toughy McTougherson, demanded my lab results — and promptly started crying. Yeah, that was not in the plan (and shows that I was clearly feverish). I got referred around the clinic a few times, and then a very nice nurse took me into the back, to her cubicle, and said I could have my lab results. She gave them to me and explained them to me: I had elevated levels of this and lowered levels of that, and I clearly had inflammation and infection in my body. They didn’t know where yet, but she had talked to my doctor, who said to give it another week before they started more tests. The nurse did wonders to calm me down, treat me as a non-crazy human being, and then mentioned my running. It turns out that she recently transferred and used to work with a woman who has won local marathons. Small world.

During the next 10 days, I ran less than seven miles total. I was too fatigued. My fever did finally subside, taking the night sweats with it, so I didn’t go back to the doctor (which is good, because that bill could buy me two pairs of running shoes). But I had lost nine pounds — not in a healthy way — and wasn’t exercising, and now I had less than four weeks until the Giant Race, a half-marathon where I had dreams of setting a new personal record. I finally ran another four-miler with Kristen, then two days later I ran six miles because someone I knew many years ago had died of cancer and I knew she hadn’t had the luxury of deciding whether to run. Then I ran almost 14 miles of trails with Kristen, because we got lost. The next day, after three hours of sleep, I volunteered from 5 a.m. to 1 p.m. at a half-Ironman.

In retrospect, I think I came close to getting myself sick again, which is probably why I was unable to drag myself out to exercise for an entire week. I simply had no energy. In the next two weeks, I ran a total of nine miles. Not 60, but nine! Then I went out and ran nine miles on trails with Greg and an internet friend I finally met in person that day, Philip. Hey, I had doubled my two-week mileage in one day! Oh, and I was supposed to be racing a half marathon one week later! Kids, this is not the way to actually train for a half-marathon.

During race week, I ran Tuesday and my legs felt awful. Then I ran Wednesday, and Friday, and Saturday — because, you know, I might as well ramp up the running mere days before a race, right? (Again, don’t do this at home.) Saturday was great because Michaela was in San Francisco, so she, Tony and I went on a mellow run along The Embarcadero.

Race morning: Michaela let me crash in her hotel room that night, so I rolled out of bed, ate a Lara bar and left at the nice hour of 6:30 a.m. to jog to the 7 a.m. starting line. Well, “jog” did not happen, because my legs suddenly woke up and insisted on running the 1.4 miles at an 8:39 average pace. Considering that I was going to aim for 8:59-minute miles during the race, that “warmup” had just set me up for an even bigger train wreck of a race. Oh well, I would just have fun in my Giants color-coordinated race outfit.

I got to the start line around 6:45, got into my orange corral (color coincidence), and marveled at how painless it was to just get up and go to the start line. This also has me re-thinking options for later this year, which is another story. Anyway, a kids choir sang the National Anthem and then we were off and running.

Miles 1-3: 8:47, 8:36, 8:31

Hm, these were not 8:59-minute miles. Oh well, I was just going to have fun, and if I wound up walking, so be it. I had carried a disposable bottle of Nuun on my warmup and finished it around the second mile, then tossed it. I’m so used to carrying a bottle, but it sure was nice to run without one, so I might try this at an upcoming marathon — I haven’t gone bottle-free since Chicago in October 2009, which was 12 marathons ago.

Miles 4-7: 8:49, 8:29, 8:43, 8:50

A San Francisco race is guaranteed to have hills, but I knew this and just slowed a little, chugged upward, then relaxed and used gravity back downhill. I was pretty sure my watch said 57 minutes even at the halfway point, which put me on pace for a 1:54. Huh, that was not a 2-hour pace. Odd, but I just rolled with it.

Miles 8-10: 8:37, 8:41, 8:51

I walked through a water stop to gulp more water, since I only get one cup in if I’m running. We went up another hill, and I didn’t even think of walking. I was still running well, enjoying all the interesting Giants-themed outfits, and remembering that I was ABLE to run. So I figured I could probably run 1:55, and that became my goal. Somewhere in here, a teenage volunteer saw my bib number and shouted, “Oh my gosh, your number is 1234! You’re awesome!” I usually just grin and give volunteers a thumbs up because I don’t have any extra air, but I turned and shouted, “Thank you! Yes, best number ever!” She was a girl after my own heart.

Miles 11-13.19: 8:39, 8:38, 8:32, 7:55 pace for last 0.19 miles

We entered the back of the ballpark, and it kind of surprised me; I thought we kept going around to the south entrance, but suddenly we were inside the park, on the dirt and at the finish line. Had I actually looked at the route, I would have known and could have likely shaved 8 seconds off to squeak in under 1:54. But I didn’t care, because I had just run six minutes faster than I expected and I was on now ON THE FIELD at AT&T Park.

Finish time: 1:54:07.
Average pace by my watch: 8:39.
Official average pace: 8:42
Division rang: 87 of 706 (top 12.3 percent)
Gender rank: 292 of 3,174 (top 9.2 percent)
First half: 57:15. Second half: 56:52. (negative splits!)

The results don’t seem to show overall ranking among both genders. Regardless, I’m quite pleased with these results: I don’t actually remember the time I last cracked the top 10 percent.

Most importantly, I felt good. Sure, I was tired at the finish and, as always, only kind of remember getting a big, beautiful, glittery medal along with a lovely bottle of water. I looked down at the grass beneath by feet. I looked across the field toward home plate. I looked at the jumbotron showing runners finishing the race. I was so glad I hadn’t backed out. Plus, I got to walk across the field, look at home plate, gaze across to the pitcher’s mount, and THEN I got to go in the dugout.

I grabbed a bunch of food (they had bags for us!), then waited and shivered slightly in a 30-minute line to get my cool Giants race tech shirt and my Sergio Romo bobble head. And then I began the “cool down” run back to Michaela’s hotel room before she had to leave. I walked a little while sending a few more texts, but then started running. I tell you, it’s not as easy to run while carrying a bag full of snacks and bobble head, after already running 14.5 miles and standing around for a while. But 1.22 miles at an average 9:37 pace were not bad at all. The race had a 5k that started at 11 a.m., so I was actually running past people arriving in the city for that event, and some of them were clearly confused when they saw me. Oops.

And so another race came to an end, not with the personal best time I had once dreamed. But something happened that day. When I crossed that finish line and realized I had just run an 8:39 pace with a smile and without proper training, something changed. Right there on that field is where magic had happened for the San Francisco Giants. And right there on that field, I realized that magic can still happen for me.

Warning: This post is long and includes lots of non-marathon things, because the trip to Hawaii really wasn’t about the marathon. And I’m not apologizing at all, because I had a fantastic time.

Three-word summary: Hot and humid.

One-sentence summary: I ran a marathon in my 10th state while visiting my grandparents and hanging out with friends, and also got the prettiest race medal I’ve ever received.

Disclaimer after the fact: Apparently I ran this race, as well as pacing a half-marathon the previous weekend, with an unknown virus, which I learned a week later due to a doctor visit and blood tests. Fevers, night sweats, headaches, nine pounds of weight loss – not quite the recipe for a hot and humid marathon!

Why I picked the Kona Marathon: I registered for this race solely due to coincidence: June and July were logistically the best months this year to visit my grandparents in Kona. Then two of my very good friends, Josh and Erin, were going to be in Kona in June – and I don’t get to see them often because they now live in New York. Then I learned of a slight registration discount because of my Marathon Maniacs membership. Then I was selected as a half-marathon pacer in San Francisco the weekend before the Kona Marathon, so that fit with my normal “run 10-13 miles the week before a marathon” routine. So, despite my strong dislike of running in Hawaii’s climate, I decided to make it my 10th state for marathon finishes.

“Training”: Seven weeks earlier, I raced the Pittsburg Marathon to a PR, taking two minutes off my previous best marathon time. Pittsburgh was my sixth marathon/ultra in seven months so, even though my legs felt good within a couple days, I took five full days off running and instead cross-trained and rested. Two weeks later, despite only four runs after Pittsburgh, I won a 2.67-mile race (a 5K that was a very short course). Yes, I won. That was a new feeling, and it only happened because it was an extremely small race.

In building back up for Kona, I planned to run 18 miles four weeks before the marathon. Due to a Memorial Day weekend trip to see my dad, I ran the 18 miles at 4:10 a.m. on a Thursday before work. Kristen lent a big hand by running six of the 18 miles with me, and I ended up with an average pace of 9:00 per mile – that’s my marathon PR pace! Three weeks before Kona, I ran 15 miles (though I had planned 13-14; bad map navigating in San Francisco, apparently).

Two weeks before Kona, I had planned to run 20 miles but instead ran the Lake Tahoe Relay. I was only able to run a little over 12 miles, but it was at 6,000-7,000 feet altitude, very hilly and reached 83 degrees when I was running. One week before Kona, I paced the Second Half-Marathon at the San Francisco Marathon. I was the 2:10 pacer, meaning that on an exactly 13.1-mile course, I’d run a 9:55 pace. Since the race is notoriously long, I was told to run 9:51 pace. I actually wound up running 9:48 pace, which sounds too fast, but I finished in 2:10:09 – I am still beating myself up for those nine seconds. But I had SO MUCH FUN.

Kona race week: I had about two weeks of going full-speed non-stop, including multiple sets of company, and couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten more than seven hours of sleep. A couple times I woke up in a full sweat in the middle of the night; I had no idea why, but then it happened in Hawaii, too. It’s a rather disgusting, unsettling feeling. In Hawaii, I never once slept completely through the night until my last night (after the marathon), which was disappointing. I only set an alarm clock three of the seven days, but I woke up by 6 a.m. every day – one day it was as early as 4. As I mentioned earlier, I had no idea at the time that I was sick. I had no throat or sinus troubles, and I figured it was the humidity, forgetting that I also had such symptoms in California, too. I wasn’t feverish at first, so night sweats were the only clue that something wasn’t right, so I completely missed that clue and kept going 90 miles an hour.

Sleep issues aside, I had so much fun in Hawaii. My grandparents are still just as sweet, hilarious and sharp as ever. I always love to hear old (new to me) family stories, and Grandpa insisted on cooking delicious meals when I was home for dinner. They didn’t mind my on-the-go schedule, either.

On Monday, a few hours after I landed in Hawaii, I was at the beach with Josh and Erin – THAT is my kind of start to a vacation!

A few hours after that, I was drinking wine with them and Erin’s parents on the lanai (deck) of their condo.

And then I was out to dinner (with a tropical drink, of course) with Josh, Erin, her sister Lauren, and Lauren’s husband Oscar. I know the whole family, and always like hanging out with them.

The next morning I awoke at the crack of dawn because I was still on California time, so I drove home and ran a 4-miler on hills (one mile was 10:49 and another was 7:57; yeah, very hilly). Then I ran errands with the grandparents, and then I went to White Sands Beach.

Wednesday morning I was out the door at 6:30 (again, no alarm clock) and running on Ali’i Drive at 7. It was as hot and humid as I had remembered, so I stopped several times with the excuses of “I’m taking pictures” and “I’m tapering, so no need to push.”

I called it quits at 4.5 miles and went to Lava Java, a mandatory stop for the athletes in my family. Iced 100 percent Kona coffee with a macadamia nut cranberry scone? Yes, please! The guy at the table next to me, Jamie, asked if I was running the marathon (my running clothes and profuse sweat were probably a give-away), and we chatted for a while. He’s a triathlete trying to qualify for the Kona Ironman Championship, and his wife is a sub-3-hour marathoner (and founder of a very successful running apparel company). We ran into each other a couple more times during the week, and his wife took third place in the marathon despite having someone slam a door into her face and mess up her whole neck. Anyway, then I went to the beach again, but not the one I’d planned because it was closed after a 14-foot tiger shark bit a guy the previous day. Um, yikes?!

On Thursday, Josh, Erin and I headed out early for Volcano National Park. We couldn’t get near the flowing lava like I was able to about eight years ago with one of my sisters, but that was OK.

We went on a four-mile hike that started in a tropical rainforest and then took us across a volcanic crater. It’s basically indescribable, though at one point we said it was “like the moon, only with more gravity.” Not that we know what the moon is like – oh, and the moon might not have flowering plants that burst through the rock.

We also walked through a huge lava tube and looked down into big steam vents.

I wish I could have enjoyed the ride out of the park and along the ocean, but a headache had been gradually growing all day. I used to get lots of headaches, but they nearly all vanished once I took up distance running about seven years ago, so now I don’t even have pain reliever in my house. I ignored the headache all day, but then it suddenly began to make migraine threats (I’ve had two in my life). I managed to say that I didn’t think I’d be able to eat dinner, and Erin the future doctor realized I was serious. She spotted a tiny pharmacy, I dragged myself inside, and spent the best $3 on some pain reliever. Half an hour later, I could focus, and I was able to eat.

Friday morning, I met up with Josh, Erin, her sister Kary and husband Saul, and Oscar to go snorkeling. Oscar’s wife Lauren (Erin’s other sister) had to cancel, so I got to go on the trip, and I’ve never been so happy to take someone’s place!

During the four-hour trip, we explored sea caves, learned bits of history from our hilarious captain, saw dolphins and snorkeled in two different sites for about 50 minutes each. The fish were incredible, the coral was fascinating, and it was amazing to see the coral shelf just drop off into the depths of the ocean.

And then a whole school of dolphins appeared and put on a show for us.

And then we went to Huggo’s on the Rocks, which I love because they have tasty drinks, fish tacos and you can put your feet in the sand looking at the ocean.

As if that’s not enough for one day, that evening I went up to Josh and Erin’s place and we drove north with the whole family for Josh’s birthday dinner. Along the way, we saw what might be the brightest rainbow I’ve ever seen in my life. It was raining and cold when we got to the restaurant, and I could only wish that would be the marathon weather.

On Saturday, I went for a shakeout run, since I usually run a few mellow miles the day before a race. My head was still hurting. I was trying so hard to hydrate, and I was monitoring the ounces of water, coffee (not a lot) and alcohol (not much, actually, though photos in this post make it look like I’m a lush). The altitude was 1,400 feet elevation, which was not enough to affect me, so I suspected that vog (volcanic gas in the air) and possibly hormones were making me feel so awful. Again, in hindsight, I now know that I was sick. At the time, I had no idea, because I ALWAYS have sinus troubles when I get sick and that was not the case this time.

Well, I felt miserable from the first steps of that run. It was so hilly and I was so tired, so I cut it short to 1.4 miles – a tenth of a mile for each marathon I’ve run, including Sunday’s. Grandpa cooked breakfast, I went to the very small race expo, and then I met Josh and Erin in town for one final farewell. We got shaved ice (they call it “shave ice” in Hawaii, but that bad grammar drives me nuts), that for some reason I’d never had in all my trips to Hawaii. It’s far superior to a snow cone, and you can add ice cream to the center and basically wind up in heaven. Then we happened to see a sea turtle, I stumbled across a pretzel place that we decreed to have the best pretzels ever, and then I said farewell to Josh and Erin. They had made this an amazing trip, and I didn’t know when I’d get to see them again.

Late Saturday afternoon, I went to a birthday party/house warming gathering for a neighbor of my grandparents. I ate a few appetizers and refrained from the full open bar, instead drinking 16 ounces of water. Oh, and the hostess thoroughly confused me by greeting us, pointing my grandparents to the wine/alcohol, and then telling me, “They also have soft drinks, too.” I drew a blank: Did she think I was under the age of 21?! Or pregnant?! I don’t get carded anymore, and my generally flat stomach is one of the few parts of my body that doesn’t drive me nuts. Odd.

That evening, I suddenly felt incredibly sick. My stomach was fine, but my body started aching and I had chills. I felt feverish, so then I silently freaked out that I was contagious and would give a bug to my grandparents. I left the family room at one point intending to be gone for a few minutes, wound up on my bed, and spent the next hour being vaguely aware that time was passing and I might be dozing. I sat up an hour later feeling like I’d been run over by a truck, but forced myself to eat a few raviolis. Grandma told me that I didn’t have to run the marathon. I never had any notion of skipping the marathon, but I did seriously wonder if I would be able to run the next morning.

Race morning: I woke up to the alarm at 3:15 and was still alive, so that meant I would run. Waking up at that hour meant that I got to see the Supermoon, so that was a bonus for this nut who has had a lifelong love affair with the moon.

I managed to eat most of my breakfast, slathered sunscreen all over my body, applied a thick coat of body glide to any place that might chafe due to the copious amounts of humidity and sweat, and headed to the start line. Bag check was easy, toilet lines moved quickly, and I met a few fellow Marathon Maniacs. And then the director announced that the shuttle company hadn’t shown up, so everyone staying at the host hotel was frantically carpooling or walking the 1.5 miles to the start line. So we would be starting late. I certainly understand, but this meant that we had 15 fewer minutes of pre-dawn weather, and thus 15 more minutes of sun/heat on the other end.

Miles 1-5: 9:21, 9:00, 8:53, 9:20, 9:38.

The first five miles went along Ali’i Drive and had a downhill start. It was quite warm by my strict standards, but tolerable. I was carrying my water bottle with Nuun in it, and I grabbed a cup of ice water somewhere in the first five miles. I also walked in mile 4. Yes, only four miles into the race and I was already walking. And then I walked up the Palani Drive hill, though that was a calculated energy-saving move.

Miles 6-8: 10:42, 9:46, 10:53

We wound through a (boring) industrial/vacant area, then went through the back of a (boring) shopping center, thoroughly confusing me in the process. I think I’d already topped off my water bottle twice by this point: I knew the only way I would survive was to keep drinking water. Also, I hate the “sports” drink they were serving, Ultima, so I was only drinking water after my Nuun was gone. To make up for it, I swallowed a salt capsule roughly every hour (taking three total). I also took 100-calorie Gu gels at miles 5, 10, 14.5, 19 and 23. I never felt a hint of muscle cramps, so that was either the right mix or I was just moving very slowly. (The latter option is probably the correct answer.)

Miles 9-13: 10:16, 11:06, 10:35, 10:19, 10:29

We ran along the ocean side of the highway, and I was just not happy. My body was tired, I was so hot, the humidity was insane. The race is an out-and-back course, which is sometimes a real bummer, but in a small race (460 registered for the full marathon), it was nice to see people on the reverse. Two guys were far ahead of the next runner, who was a woman. She was flying, and the next woman never had her in her sights.

Miles 14-18: 11:10, 11:15, 9:47, 11:25, 10:27

I had reached the halfway point in 2:11, so for a while I thought I could try to finish in 4:20-4:25. But my body wouldn’t go faster, and I walked through the aid stations and beyond. I chatted with a guy from Illinois who was running his 48th state and only had Alaska and California left. Another guy was on state 49 and will reach the 50th next month in Connecticut. I counted a total of seven people wearing Marathon Maniacs gear, several others wearing 50 States shirts, and knew of several more who are Maniacs. Wearing my Maniacs tank top was a good decision, because it was nice to mutually cheer for other Maniacs, and hear a few spectators holler, “Maniac!”

Miles 19-22: 10:40, 12:51, 11:18, 11:03

Soon we were back on Ali’i Drive, and the temperature was warmer. The black asphalt was also a lot warmer. I refilled my bottle with lots of ice, which rattled and annoyed me, but the cold water was worth the annoyance. Around mile 20 I met a guy named Steve, who clearly had a Boston accent but has been stationed in Hawaii with the U.S. Navy for about a decade. I somehow wound up with an invitation to see behind-the-scenes at Pearl Harbor if I ever get back over there. He took off, though I soon caught up and passed him. Then he passed me. That continued for the rest of the race, as I continued to die a slow death along Ali’i Drive.

Miles 23-26.2: 12:08, 12:32, 13:52, 9:35, 2:03 (10:30 pace)

By this point, I knew that I could at least beat my worst road marathon time of 4:47. I also decided that I should at least finish under 4:45. But let me tell you, there was a lot of walking. I just had nothing left, and I really hadn’t had anything left since mile 4, the first time I found myself walking. Mile 25 had a massive uphill that I walked, and finally talked to a couple I’d seen the whole way. She had silver wings on the back of her tank top, and I learned that they were in honor of her grandmother who had died a week earlier. Her husband ran with her and encouraged her every step of the way. As I always say, every single person in a race has a story worth telling.

Mile 26 suddenly because a trail run that was almost technical. It had big rocks, some roots, and uneven ground. I was somehow in a group of people for the first time, and suddenly I found that extra finishing gear. My legs were so incredibly happy to get off the pavement after four-and-a-half hours, and my mind loved having something to focus on (the best place to plant my feet). I actually said, “Hooray, trails!” but then realized people around me were grumbling, so my happiness would probably make them mad at me. I flew past five people, including Steve the sailor, running the slight uphill until the trail finally ended, much to my sadness.

The race finished on the grounds of a hotel, and it seemed to never end. We went through a parking lot, across some grass where I was asking volunteers where to go, through a hotel breezeway, and there I found a volunteer standing beside several stairs. “What?!” I exclaimed. He cheerfully told me, “Just go up these stairs, down the other stairs, and you’ll be there.” They expected me to GO UP STAIRS. Oh, and then GO DOWN STAIRS. Well, this was a cruel joke. A true one. Oh, and then we made a bunch of turns along a path, where a sign told us to smile for a photographer ahead. I almost flipped the camera off, but I was too exhausted to lift my finger.

Finally, I reached the finish line. Oh, it was so nice to stop running. They gave me the most gorgeous medal I’d ever received — I think I’ve said that before, but this one outdid others with its stained glass and glitter. It was the 20th anniversary of the marathon, so they departed from the previous small, silver medals.

I found water and watermelon, oh lovely watermelon! Then a fellow Maniac named Louie saw me and introduced himself, and it turned out that he’d taken photos of me finishing. See why Marathon Maniacs are the best?

I eventually found the place to get my shirt and was thrilled to see that they were a brand I recognize and like – but, alas, they were already out of my size so I wound up with a big one. It works as a post-run shirt, but I’m sad to report that I won’t be able to run in it.

Then I learned that Kona Brewing Company was there, and that race finishers got free beer. Nobody had to twist my arm to accept a beer, on tap, from Kona Brewing Co! I once again ran into Jamie, the guy I’d met at Lava Java and the expo – yep, Kona is a small place. Funny enough, a few weeks later I saw his wife on the trails near San Francisco, shouted “Hi Cindy!” and later explained on Facebook who I was (she’s kind of a big deal in the running community, so I was tickled). Anyway, I finally plunked down next to a tree with my beer, where I changed to flip-flops, turned on my phone, called Grandma to say that I had survived, and then updated social media. Awhile later, I managed to get up (this is why I sat close to the tree – physical support), get to a bus that took me 1.5 miles to the car, drive home, and get directly into the cold pool.

And so I finished a marathon in my 10th state, thus qualifying me for entry into the 50 States Club, if I so desire.

Official time: 4:40:34
Overall Place: 125, of 337 (top 37 percent – which shows how slowly I really went)
Gender Place: 44, of 122 (top 36 percent – yep, slower than normal)
Age Division Place: 6, of 16 (top 37.5 percent – no comment needed)

The next afternoon, I boarded a plane and headed home. It had been great to see my grandparents. I had conquered a marathon in weather conditions that are much too hot for my liking. I had spent wonderful time with very good friends. Life is pretty good.

(This report has been 90% finished since hours after the race. Seven weeks later, I’m finally adding photos and finishing it off. Also, it’s long-winded. A double-whammy of absurdity?)

[Click on the photos to see larger versions. All photos are my own; if you use them, please credit “Layla Bohm” or “theSmudge.com.”]

One-sentence recap: Good weather, good course, great people, and my strongest finishing kick ever.

One-paragraph recap: I almost backed out of this race a month earlier because my neck went out and I could still recoup race and travel fees. Then my neck got better and the Boston Marathon bombing happened, and I knew I had no excuse not to run and give it my best. I ran as hard as I could and beat my previous best time by a little more than two minutes.

Full recap

Training, briefly: After running three marathons in 77 days, two of them in December, I turned my attention to trails. I offered to pace my friend Chris for the last 18 miles of a 50-mile race in April, so I also threw my name in the lottery for the Way Too Cool 50k. I got into the lottery and crossed the finish line of my first ultra (31.2 miles) in March. Along the way, I ran a couple hundred miles of trails, some of them with my friend Kristen. After running mostly solo for a year-and-a-half, her company was a very welcome change.

The pacing gig at the 50-miler was timed perfectly: It was four weeks after my 50k and four weeks before the Pittsburgh Marathon, so it served as one of two long training runs before the marathon. That plan was perfect, except that my neck suddenly got painful for no reason on the Monday before pacing. It improved in time to pace Chris that Saturday, which was a very fun day.

And then my neck pain returned with a vengeance the following Monday. I tried valiantly to exercise, but by that night it hurt every time I accelerated in my car. I made a rare-for-me trip to the doctor, got a prescription muscle relaxer, and lost two days of work. The drugs worked in time to run a trail half-marathon the following Saturday – I felt miserable the whole time and gave myself one more day to decide on Pittsburgh. That night involved a bunch of alcohol and chatting with girlfriends, leading to three hours of sleep. But then I went out and ran 10 miles at goal marathon pace, with no music on a boring route.

The next day, two idiots bombed the Boston Marathon. My decision was made: I was going to run Pittsburgh, and I was going to run as hard as I could. Life is short, and there is no time to wait for the most ideal conditions. My neck was better and I wasn’t one of the victims with horrible amputations – there was no reason to back out of the race. I would run it for Boston and to prove that terrorists will never win.

That weekend was my last 20-miler. Due to a comedy of errors, I wound up running 11 miles, going to a baseball game and eating ballpark food, then running another nine miles.  The next weekend I ran a trail half-marathon with the only goal being: “Do no harm.” I started too fast, made myself walk for a while, almost fell, got hot, then found a second wind at mile 10 and passed half a dozen people. I told myself to remember that feeling for Pittsburgh.

Race weekend: I flew into Pittsburgh on Thursday afternoon, and my friend Corey spoiled me by picking me up at the airport and taking me to her lovely house for the night. The next morning I ran 4.25 miles of endless hills.

Corey dropped me off downtown Friday afternoon, where I met up with my sister, Chloe. The number of bridges amazed me; they were the reason Chloe had convinced me to come to Pittsburgh (which resulted in me registering both of us for the race). An “Earn the Title: Runner of Steel” banner hung from one of the bridges.

Race Eve: Chloe, her friend Elizabeth, and I went to the expo on Saturday, where I got to see Michael Wardian break a world record by running a half-marathon in 1:08:50 on a treadmill.

We went to Chloe’s boyfriend’s restaurant for a very late lunch, where he didn’t give us menus but instead just asked about meat/veggies and any food allergies.  The plan was to get a little food there, then go out for pasta or pizza for dinner. He brought us amazing dishes that were a variation on the restaurant’s popular warm beans and greens, along with freshly baked bread. I was in heaven. Then he brought out pasta, and our mouths dropped open in surprise. And then he brought out a large warm veggie sandwich that we were going to have to take home at that rate. And then there was dessert. It was all delicious, and then he refused to bring us a check. If he was trying to impress Chloe’s big sister, he did a very good job.

Chloe, her boyfriend and I went on a walk along a riverfront trail to a dog park, and I rested my tired feet. They were starting to worry me, but the views were great.

We got home, got everything ready for the morning, saw a lovely sunset and then I went to sleep. I’d woken up at 5:30 that morning (for no good reason), so when I did finally fall asleep, I slept soundly and didn’t wake up once with pre-race nerves. I also slept through my alarm…

Race Morning: Chloe, Elizabeth and I got off to a bit of a late start, and as a result I didn’t put on sunscreen. I paid for that later. However, we caught our bus and were at the start line with plenty of time to spare.

Chloe, Elizabeth and I went our separate ways, since we were all in different start corrals and they were running the half-marathon. I dropped off my bag of dry clothes, then went to the port-a-potty lines. I turned a corner and discovered no toilet lines, despite the fact that there were 30,000 runners between the full, half and relay. I went inside one and saw that it had hand sanitizer inside, but even more remarkable was the presence of A FLUSHER. In 13 marathons/ultras and a bunch of half-marathons, I’ve never seen that before. I could keep raving, but you probably don’t want to hear about toilets anymore.

I got to my corral, someone sang the National Anthem, someone else sang God Bless America, and then we were on our way.

The Race: I had expected congestion and had created a pace band that had a slower first mile. But I was in a perfect spot and was on pace immediately.

Miles 1-6: 8:48, 8:48, 8:45, 8:48, 8:28, 8:41.

OK, so I was going faster than planned. My main goal was to get a PR (personal record), faster than my best time of 3:58:55. I hadn’t gotten a PR in a road race for 16 months, and I’d only ever broken that 4-hour barrier once. So a sub-4 would be the secondary goal, in order to prove that the previous one wasn’t a fluke. But I really wanted 3:57:59 or faster. I made a pace band for 3:55, knowing the course would probably measure a little longer on my watch because it had a number of turns and I wouldn’t run the inside corners perfectly.

I hit the 10k (6.1 miles) point in around 54 minutes. We had already crossed three bridges, the weather was lovely and spectators were cheering. I powered up the little hills with no problem and used the descents to stretch out my leg muscles while calming my breathing.

Miles 7-10: 8:47, 8:32, 8:44, 8:59

Somewhere in here, a Marathon Maniacs member came up beside me and said hi. Scott had been at our photo meet-up that morning, and he was hoping for a 4:05 to PR. He’s a Pittsburgh native and pointed at an older man just ahead of us. “When I was a kid, I would always see him running around my neighborhood. Back then, he ran marathons in 2:30. He’s still running.” That was great inspiration.

Also in there, a woman came up beside me and said, “OK, fellow Maniac chick, where are you from?” She was from Georgia and is working her way through marathons in all 50 states. We chatted for a little while and caught back up to each other a couple times as she sped up on the uphills and I caught her on the downhills. It reminded me of running with Kristen, so that was cool.

Miles 11-13: 8:44, 9:19, 10:07

We reached a Big Hill at mile 12.5. I knew it was coming, so when I felt my heart working hard, I started walking. A young guy near me said something like, “Don’t stop now; keep going.” But I knew we weren’t yet halfway done with the race, and I’d be better off conserving energy now so I could zoom down the other end of this hill later.

I reached the halfway point at 1:58 and change by my watch, though the official results say 1:57. This is because I had already run longer, due to the multiple turns. Regardless, I knew that I’d be cutting my PR goal close so I had to keep my head in the game. I stopped at an aid station long enough to fill up my water bottle with Gatorade and to turn on my music. I had a two-hour playlist, and it was time to attack the second half.

Miles 14-17: 9:55, 8:50, 9:31

I think this is where I lost a guy who had been running with a full-sized American flag. We had been near each other for most of the race until then, so it was neat to hear spectators chant “USA!” for him. My leg muscles were grumbling a little and I was fighting mentally, so I stopped to briefly stretch my legs. I walked, then forced myself to jog. I had the “I can PR another time” thought, but I forced it out of my mind. I had a Boston ribbon pinned on my shirt, and I was running in their honor. The three who died will never have a chance to run, and a number of the injured will have a lifetime of dealing with artificial limbs. The time to chase my PR was now, not later.

It helped that I had strategically ordered my playlist with Metallica songs interspersed throughout. I have this mental thing where I cannot walk when Metallica is playing; I must run. So, when one of their long songs came on, it kept me running and made me forget that I wanted to walk.

Miles 18-20: 9:19, 8:52, 9:50

I stopped to refill my bottle with more Gatorade. By that point, I really just wanted water because I’d had four gels (every five miles) and was tired of sweet stuff. But I knew I needed the sodium to avoid muscle cramps, so I kept forcing Gatorade.

Later, I found out that I officially reached mile 20 in 3:01:43, and at that point my predicted finish was 4:02. My memories are fuzzy, but I remember doing the math, knowing the course was running long, and calculating that I needed to run 9-minute miles to PR. And this, fellow distance runners, is where my marathon pace training played a huge factor. I had recently done a number of five-mile runs that averaged 8:45-8:55 pace. I had run 10 miles at 8:56 pace. There, at mile 20 in the marathon, I knew I would PR if I could just keep running. It was mine to lose.

Miles 21-23: 8:58, 8:59, 9:09

We turned onto my sister’s street. I remembered noticing that it had a gradual uphill, but that the road then shifted to a gradual downhill. I held out for that downhill.

They say not to try anything new during a race, and I firmly believe it. But at mile 23, I took a Gu Roctane gel. I hadn’t tried Roctane before, but I since regular Gu is in my rotation and I’d read Roctane’s ingredients, it wasn’t much of a risk. So I downed the Roctane and then I set out on a mission: I was going to run these last three miles as hard as I could. My lungs would complain, my leg muscles would threaten to seize up, my brain would tell me to slow down – but I had already planned to ignore those weaknesses. These last three miles would be for the Boston victims, and they would make or break my race.

Miles 24-26: 8:37, 8:57, 8:34. Mile 26.43: pace of 7:25 (3:10 total time)

I pushed and pushed and pushed. Mile 26 apparently had a slight uphill, but I ran it in 8:34. And that last almost-half-a-mile at a 7:25 pace?! I still have no idea how that happened. I have never run sub-8 pace in a marathon, especially for nearly half a mile at the very end.

In mile 25, a slow relay runner suddenly swerved in front of me to high-five kids on the sidelines. I came to a screeching stop and I’m sure my face was in full panic mode, knowing this could cause me to cramp up. High-fiving kids is awesome, and I had high-fived a whole row of Junior ROTC kids earlier in the race, but swerving to do so requires a look over the shoulder. That was the only time the half-marathoners and relay runners caused me any problems; unlike some races I’ve run, it never felt too crowded.

At any rate, I kept moving and picked up the pace. They had a flag marker for mile 25 but if there was one for mile 26, I never saw it (which is likely). I ran in a straight line, focusing on the path straight ahead of me, vaguely aware that I was passing people. My vision was blurring and I was light-headed. I came upon two men and slipped between them, because there was no way I could function enough to swerve around them. WHERE was the finish line?! Finally, it appeared out of nowhere, less than a block away.

I usually lift my arms in celebration, or punch the air in victory. This time, I had wanted to put my hand over my heart, as many have done at marathons since the Boston bombing. But the only thing I could manage was to keep moving forward across the finish line. I had just left everything on the road and there was absolutely nothing left in me.

I got across the finish line, took a few more steps, and stopped to get my head down. A volunteer asked if I was OK, and I tried to tell them that, yes, I just needed blood in my head. I’m sure I made no sense, but I must not have looked bad enough for them to call for medical, as they did at New York (though I didn’t need it there, either).

I lifted my head and moved forward, where someone put a very large, very heavy medal around my neck. I saw water to my left and moved toward it. That tasted ever so much better than the Gatorade I’d been forcing myself to drink for the last two hours.

My delirious stumbling continued as I got my photo taken, took a heat sheet and more water, then moved through the food line. For some reason, they were already out of bagels and smiley-face cookies. That’s the only race flaw in an otherwise impressively well-done race: I finished faster than thousands of other runners, so why were they already out of the main carbohydrate replenishments?

I found Chloe and eased myself down onto the very welcome grass, overjoyed with my finishing time.

A girl near us had just run-walked her first half-marathon, and she and her mom smiled at my silly excited babbling. And then my calf seized up. I shrieked, then gritted my teeth so I wouldn’t scream again. The pain was incredible, and the whole muscle locked up. Now the concerned mom and daughter looked at me with the “why do people run 26.2 miles??” gaze. I finally managed to pull my foot back and ease the cramp enough to unclench my teeth and say something about needing salt. Chloe opened a bag of chips (thank you, finish line food, for not running out of chips), I opened my mouth, and she hand fed me. Having friends or loved ones at the finish line is an Amazing Thing.

We eventually dragged ourselves to a bus and got back to Chloe’s house for a most welcome shower and compression socks. That evening, Chloe and I finally went to the tram (called the Incline) that goes straight up a mountain. This was the one thing I HAD to see in Pittsburgh, since I always like heights. The views more than lived up to my expectations.

And that’s how I went from nearly canceling my trip to beating my marathon time. It took a little bit of luck with my neck recovery, and a lot of determination. Perspective also helped: I was physically able to run 26.2+ miles, while many Boston victims were not.

Stats:

• Finish time: 3:56:45
• 67th of 354 in my division (females, ages 30-34). Top 19 percent.
• 342 of 1,921 female finishers. Top 18 percent.
• 1,428 of all 4,834 finishers. Top 30 percent.

Somehow, a month of 2013 is already finished. I’ve had a number of firsts (NHL game, San Francisco karaoke bar, and more). And in the running part of my life, I’ve also had some firsts:

1. Finally explored Pleasanton Ridge, which is near my house and has miles of trails including the one above.
2. Bought new trail shoes (technically, I did that on Dec. 30, but close enough) that do not cause any blisters, upset toenails or painful feet. This is a significant miracle. 
3. Went on a 20-mile trail run, my longest one on trails yet. I did that with some of my awesome buddies from my old running club.

   

4. Ran trails in Point Reyes in 28-degree temperatures with friend Scott, who did not push me off a cliff into the Pacific Ocean.





5. Ran three miles to the gym, worked out, then ran three miles home. The day before a trail run. Twice this month.
6. Ran 30 or more miles a week every week of the month for the first time ever.
7. Saw a mountain biking unicyclist. Twice.



8. Ran 12 miles on a Thursday night without water, which was the longest I’d ever run on a work night and the longest I’d ever run without water.
9. Ran 65 miles on trails, which I believe is the most trail miles I’ve ever done in one month.
10. Ran 11.11 miles this morning (Thursday), which was my longest-ever pre-work run.
11. ANNNND, I ran 141.7 miles in January, which beat my previous highest month by 7.4 miles.

If this is any indication of what the next month will bring, I’m in for a lot of adventures. I’m crossing my fingers, because I always seem to hurt myself whenever things are going well, but I’m doing more maintenance now than I used to — gym, core, foam rolling, etc. So, what will February bring? Perhaps more of this kind of view:

One-word summary: Monsoon.

One-sentence summary: This 4:22:46 finish was far from being a personal best but it was surprisingly more pleasant than expected — and the first 16 miles marked my longest run in a trash bag.

Apology to fellow runners: I may be responsible for the 35mph headwinds and pouring rain that we endured. You see, when the weather forecasts started calling for rain, I began to say, “Bring it on!” I was no longer attempting to beat my own time, so I figured crazy weather would make for a better story. Well, the weather gods certainly obliged, if the horizontal rain and ankle-deep puddles were any indication.

Deeper lesson learned: Marathon finish lines become moments of triumph when I remember that life is glorious and remember that some people cannot run.

Background: I signed up for this marathon after spending the last three years on the sidelines — one year crewing and two years as an official volunteer. I’d never wanted to run the marathon in Sacramento until last year, when I realized that the gently rolling hills would make my legs grumble less. I wanted this to be a PR (personal record). Well, then many things happened, and I had a perfectly dreadful marathon in St. George. I recovered and had a few good runs, but most of them were a struggle, and one day I found myself five miles from home, coughing uncontrollably on a park bench. Runs kept getting harder, so I finally went to a doctor, who had me do breath blow tests. He informed me that my breathing levels were much lower than they should be, so then he gave me an inhaler that did nothing. I have yet to figure out what’s causing the problems.

Training: The increasingly obvious lung troubles meant that I did not have a good two months between marathons — the method I used last year to hit my personal best. I fell again (I seem to do that every six months), which made me take almost a week off. I managed a rough 18-miler four weeks before the marathon, then an even rougher 18-miler with Karin two weeks before the marathon. I never reached 20 miles. Granted, I don’t think a specific number is a requirement, but it’s a sign that my training was definitely sub-par.

Race eve: I drove an hour-and-a-half to Sacramento on Saturday, saw two rainbows along the way, went to the race expo, and proceeded to meet up with and hang out with a bunch of friends. I met two Twitter friends in person for the first time (Sue and Gordon), which was pretty cool.

Then about 20 of us went to a nearby pizza place for dinner, which Kristin had found and which wound up being a great place. I met a few new people and had lots of laughter. Desiree and I shared a pizza, and then a dessert pizza. Yes, two pizzas. The entire crowd was amazed and envious.

Then it was time to get over to the hotel and wind down. Karin and I were sharing a room and were not tired, despite my friend Michaela’s hilarious (drunken) texts, phone call, tweets and Facebook posts ordering me to “GO TO SLEEP.”

Pre-race: I woke up at 4:15 and looked at the weather forecast: yes, still 100 percent chance of rain, and now the wind was 36 miles per hour, instead of the previous night’s forecast of 22.

Isn’t wind usually calmer in the morning, though? I looked out the window into the darkness and saw palm fronds — they were whipping back and forth as though a rambunctious elephant was shaking them. OK then, I had apparently gotten my crazy weather. Oops. Karin, Desiree, her sister and I headed over to the finish line, where we walked a couple blocks and boarded shuttle buses that drove us a very long way to the start line. The bus stopped and we got off to use the port-a-potties. OH THE WIND. Floodlights lit the area, including the rain that was moving sideways. Waiting in potty lines, I kept my back to the wind because the raindrops stung my face if I looked into it. Yes, we would soon be running INTO THE WIND.

Start: I heard the National Anthem, I think. Karin and I had no idea where pacers were, but we were trying to let people go by since it looked like we were too close to the front. We were still walking, though, and suddenly we were at the timing mats and starting the race. Karin gave me a pep talk and reminded me that, no matter what, a finish would once again prove my old doctors wrong. In St. George, when I was in the depths of despair and close to giving up, a few key people lifted me up, including Karin. She’d texted me several paragraphs of encouragement, and told me to prove the doctors wrong (I think of them at the end of every single race), and that hung with me through those long, unending miles at St. George. Now, she was reminding me again. Sometimes friends are amazing.

Mile 1 – 10:21. Mile 2 – 9:58.

The start was chaotic. Lots of people, myself included, were wearing trash bags to shield us from some of the wind and rain. Many of those people removed their trash bags at the start and in the first mile. So, we were running into wind and rain, in a crowd of people, while trying to dodge slippery plastic bags. People were also trying to dodge puddles, which is pretty comical in hindsight, because those puddles were cute compared to what we would soon encounter. Somewhere in here, I lost Karin. I knew that would happen, so I wasn’t stressed out.

Mile 3 – 9:24. Mile 4 – 9:25. Mile 5 – 9:29.

Corgi sighting at mile 5! Despite the crazy weather, spectators still came out to support us. I was amazed at the number of dogs, and I was tickled to see two Corgis. The volunteers were also still out there. They didn’t have as many water cups filled as you’d normally see, because they had to fill each cup before setting it on a table, or else the wind would blow it away. Let me tell you, those volunteers were heroes.  Spectators and volunteers made me smile, which helped the fact that my knee had complained at mile four. Yes, mile four with 22 more miles to go. I ordered it to behave.

Mile 6 – 9:43. Mile 7 – 9:44. Mile 8 – 9:50.

Around the sixth mile, we turned south, directly into the wind. I think that’s also where we encountered the first big river — as in, suck it up and just splash through, because there’s no way around that body of water in the road. Around the eighth mile, the wind calmed down. It was still raining, but the trees were no longer whipping violently. In fact, my surroundings were downright beautiful: Everything was green, the fall leaves were still full of color, and the rain had made the tree branches dark in contrast. I found myself realizing that this was beauty, and that I had the privilege of seeing it.

Miles seven and eight were mentally crucial for me, because that’s where I had fallen apart in St. George. Mile seven in that race was all uphill, and I never recovered from it. At CIM, I noticed an uphill in mile seven and found myself feeling anxious. But that was a short hill followed by a downhill, and soon I was at mile eight. I was officially past the point where I’d faltered in St. George, and I was feeling fine. I breathed a sigh of relief — and discovered that I was actually able to catch my breath.

Mile 9 – 10:02. Mile 10 – 9:46. Mile 11 – 10:07.

Somewhere in here, I briefly stopped to top off my water bottle. I was glad to be using it, rather than dealing with the aid stations. I was also using a new fueling strategy I’d tried once in training: I took one Cliff shot blok (33 calories) every two miles, a 150-calorie E-Gel at miles 9 and 17, and a 100-calorie Gu gel at mile 23. This worked perfectly and kept my energy levels much more stable than when I just eat gels every four or five miles.

Mile 12 – 9:48. Mile 13 – 9:47. Mile 14 – 9:42.

I reached the halfway point in 2:09. Considering that I figured I’d probably run around 4:30, this meant that I was either going to blow up or just keep going. Just past the halfway point, I saw Katie on the sidelines with our friend Matt. Katie had run in a banana costume and it hadn’t blown off. Funny enough, I saw another person in a banana costume about two minutes later. Then, shortly into mile 14, two familiar figures appeared in front of me — Alyssa and Courtney! I ran up next to them and said hi. Alyssa was dealing with an injury that had derailed all training, and had just lost her beloved 14-year-old cat. She told me this was his mile, and asked me to think of him. I ran beside her for a bit, not saying anything, but thinking of him (he was definitely a cool cat, and I’ve seen/raised plenty of cats across the spectrum of cat personalities) and of her.

Mile 15 – 9:45. Mile 16 – 9:36. Mile 17 – 9:36.

I realized that I had run 16 miles without any walking. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that. I even entertained the notion of running an entire marathon with no walk breaks. Of course, that was too optimistic of a thought. I topped off my water bottle again, started running, and suddenly my chest got tight and I HAD to stop. I felt like I was suffocating, so I tore off my trash bag (and, hey, I actually got it into a trash bag at the end of the aid station, rather than littering). I walked a bit and focused on calming my heart rate. I stretched my hips, since my legs were starting to feel awfully heavy. At some point, my screwed-up brain briefly thought that mile 17 meant I only had a 10k (6.2 miles) left. Um, no, I had 9.2 miles left. Big difference.

Mile 18 – 12:09. Mile 19 – 10:29. Mile 20 – 10:14.

I hadn’t thought I’d enjoy running a marathon in Sacramento, since I really don’t like the city very much. But it was actually really cool to run past the neighborhood where I’d lived for six months in 1997-98. We were running down the middle of Fair Oaks Boulevard, and when we reached the intersection of Watt Avenue, that was fun for me. “I’m running through the middle of the busiest intersection in Sacramento!” I thought. Then we reached the intersection at Howe Avenue, which was the neighborhood where I’d lived for two years in 2000-2002. “There’s the Shell gas station where my purse was stolen in 2001.”

Mile 21 – 10:21. Mile 22 – 10:15. Mile 23 – 10:24.

We went over the American River bridge, and this is where the rolling hills truly stopped. The rest of the course was flat. We passed my alma mater, California State University, Sacramento. And then the rain stopped. I was doing my best to just keep running, but my hips/upper legs were definitely tired, and I stopped a few times to gently stretch them out.

Two nights before the marathon, I was lying in bed thinking about how I simply COULD NOT have another melt-down like St. George. I picked up my phone and looked at Facebook, and saw my old friend Dawn’s page. A few days earlier, she had posted an update about her months of weakness, sickness and various medical woes: After many rounds of tests, she had just been diagnosed with a liver disease for which there is no cure. She will ultimately need a liver transplant. Dawn is a wife, a mother of two children and a hospice worker. It’s completely unfair that she should get this disease. That night in bed, I remembered that my woes and worries were so small and inconsequential in the grand scheme of life. The worst-case scenario would be that I wouldn’t finish the marathon and wouldn’t get a medal. Dawn, meanwhile, wants to see her kids grow up. So I decided that this marathon would be for Dawn.

Mile 24 – 9:35. Mile 25 – 9:58.

I’d been watching the downtown streets count down from 57th, and the blocks went surprisingly fast. Throughout the marathon, I’d been looking at the spectators, trying to catch their eyes and smile my appreciation, and hoping to maybe see my Bay Area and Lodi running buddies (nope, never saw them). Each time I looked at the intersection I was crossing, another 10 blocks had suddenly passed. Then, in the last mile, my chest got tight again and I couldn’t see. That’s familiar and I knew I had to stop and put my head down to get the blood back into it. A girl slowed and asked, “Are you OK?” The last thing I wanted was to derail someone’s race, and I got my head up enough to look at her and say, “Yes, go, keep running!” She did, but turned back to look at me again and said, “I’ll be praying for you.”

Mile 26 – 10:20. Mile 26.33 – 3:02 (9:23 pace).

I rounded the turn to the finish line and realized the sun had come out (a mile or two earlier, actually). I realized the finish line had suddenly appeared. I realized that I was actually going to finish this marathon in a time better than expected. I had beaten those mental demons that had hung with me after St. George. My lungs and barely trained legs had managed to keep going. I thought of Dawn and, even though my running a marathon won’t do anything to help her liver, I thought that I could tell her I’d done it.

I found myself lifting my arms in triumph. I crossed the finish line, accepted my medal, managed to get the heat sheet around me, and then I saw the girl who had asked if I was OK. I thanked her, and she repeated the fact that she had prayed for me. I found myself telling her about Dawn, I think because I knew this girl would pray for Dawn (rather than some chick who finished a marathon). I was right; the girl immediately said she’d be praying, and she asked for Dawn’s first name. I knew Dawn would truly appreciate it — some random stranger is now praying for her because I ran a marathon.

Aftermath: And so my ninth marathon came to an end. I later learned that 30 percent of those registered for the marathon did not start it. That number is high, and not a surprise given the weather. However, only 4 percent of the starters did not finish, so I guess that means we’re pretty hard-headed. This marked the 30th anniversary of the marathon, and 12 people have run it every single year. One of them said this year and 1987 were the worst weather, and that 1987 was a bit worse. In other words, we ran the second-hardest CIM that has ever been held.

My inner ankles/upper feet were incredibly sore for about 48 hours. I think that’s because my shoes were so waterlogged and so much heavier. But otherwise, my recovery has been swift. I’ve learned many things over the last nine marathons, and recovery is definitely something I have improved. In fact, I never had to walk sideways or backwards down my stairs. My toes also survived four-and-a-half hours of water, which was a huge relief. I have another race coming up, and my toes were my biggest concern.

Life reminder: I’m still learning, and I will always be learning. But at CIM I got a strong reminder that perspective is key: Life is short, and it should be enjoyed. I’ve said this many times, including last January when I ran my personal best in honor of my friend Jim, who was about to die of cancer. I run marathons because I want to and because I find joy in the process, and I need to remember that. I enjoy running because I get to see the world around me. I must always notice the pretty fall leaves, the happy Corgis, and the fellow runners who all have stories worth telling.

Life is amazing; let’s live it.

One-word St. George Marathon summary: Ouch.

Two-word summary: I finished.

One-sentence summary: I clocked a new personal worst time (on a downhill course with perfect weather and light tailwinds), and for the first time I used my phone during a race because I was about to quit.

Training: In mid-May, I didn’t run for five days while on a road trip. I came home and found myself running at a faster pace, cruising uphills with no problem. On a 16-mile run, I kept trying to slow down so I wouldn’t burn out at the end, but the last mile was still the fastest. I finally put clip pedals back on my bike and conquered them, and added in some more cross-training. Overall, I was running faster than ever before, and my body was feeling fantastic.

Then, on June 24, I fell over on my bike because I couldn’t unclip from my pedals. I was unscathed except for my left knee, upon which my whole body landed. That’s also the leg I use to operate the clutch in my car, and the drive home was painful. It swelled and hurt, and I struggled to keep from limping. Running was out of the question. Days passed, and I even dragged myself to an orthopedic doctor, who said it was likely a bone bruise but they would do an MRI in a couple weeks if it wasn’t better. It kept hurting, and I scheduled the MRI. Despite my insurance, it was going to cost me over $1,000, so I forced a couple half-mile runs. They weren’t too bad, so I postponed the MRI and went on a three-mile run. It didn’t hurt! Two days later, I went on another three-mile run at midnight under a full moon.

So, after five weeks of almost no activity (biking had also hurt, so I basically sat around being lazy for 1.25 months), I looked at the calendar and decided that I’d try to run this marathon, after all. That meant I had six weeks to ramp up the mileage and two weeks to taper.

I am injury-prone, and there are only so many miles I can safely run in six weeks. I know now that I didn’t cross-train enough, so my cardiovascular fitness never fully returned. I battled high heart rates (only while running, which is a constant source of confusion for me), I tried to find air in my lungs, I tried to avoid passing out due to lack of blood and oxygen in the brain. I ran 12 slow miles with a new friend, followed by six faster, miserable miles in heat. One Friday, I ran 10.2 miles for my official “longest pre-run work ever” run. The next day, I ran 20 miles with a friend, which was one of the stupider things I’ve done — running 10 and 20 miles consecutively was not smart, but my body held up. Two weeks before the marathon, I ran another 20-miler that included being ignored by a new running group, getting lost, AND return of the knee pain at mile 17. It didn’t go away.

A few days later, a run ended after 0.4 miles due to too much pain. But the marathon registration fee had long since been paid (it’s a lottery, and it happened to be my third successful race lottery entry, out of three I’ve entered). My airline tickets were booked. The deadline had passed to get a refund on my hotel deposit at the Grand Canyon. Speaking of that, I had planned a five-day trip to new places, including Las Vegas, the beautiful area of St. George, the Grand Canyon and the Hoover Dam.  So, I stayed with the plan. I rested the knee. I tried the stationary bike at my tiny gym. Rather than just tapering for two weeks, I had to do an extreme cut-back.

I wound up running just once during those two weeks — five miles with Katie at the end of the Lake Tahoe Marathon. My knee didn’t feel too far from normal.

Pre-Race: I flew into Las Vegas early Thursday afternoon and proceeded to walk 4.5 miles (the non-running part of the trip will be a separate post). My knee had complained after sitting bent on the plane, so I decided there would be no running until the race. On Friday afternoon, I drove two hours to St. George.

Race Expo: This race has 7,000 runners, and the expo was actually pretty well done. The marathon was selling pleasantly low-priced logo gear, which included the currently trendy “YOLO” (“you only live once”) phrase that is used on Twitter by teenagers and wannabe gang members who misspell every single word they type. It needs to die. Yolo is a county in California — that’s it.

The race schwag was pretty good. Well, except for the fact that, for the first time ever, a shirt’s sleeves were TOO SHORT for me. I can only wear the shirt if I push the sleeves up to the elbows, or else I look like I don’t know how to dress myself. That’s a bummer.

I briefly got confused while on my way from the expo to a pizza place, but it’s Utah, so all roads are centered around the nearest Mormon temple. Find that, and work your way out from there.

I got to my price-gouged motel (normal price: $69. race weekend price: $135) and was relieved to discover that I had a refrigerator. I had imported normal beer from Nevada, since Utah only allows 3% alcohol-content beer. Don’t judge: YOU run 26.2 miles and then be told you can’t have one normal beer afterward.

Race morning: I’d gotten an amazing nine hours of sleep the previous night, which hadn’t happened since I can remember. On race eve night, I was ready for bed early and relaxing while putting together a playlist for the next morning. I turned out the light at 10 and lay there willing sleep to come. I looked at the clock at 10:15. Then I drifted off to sleep — only to wake up at 10:30. Oh, that was not fun! I tossed and turned for a while but must have fallen asleep again, because I woke up at 11:27. And 1:30. And 3:30. And 3:45. I was so happy when the alarm went off, because this nonsense could end.

My rental car keys barely fit in my shorts pocket. Note to rental car companies: Why do we need two huge keys and a sharp-edged plastic key chain firmly attached together? We can only use one key at a time. Also, as I type this a week later, I still have chafing marks from those keys. Hertz, you chafed my ass — literally.

I got outside and met a woman who was looking around for other runners in our motel, hoping to catch a ride to the starting line rather than waking up her husband and four kids. That worked well, because she knew the area and directed me around detours. We wound up sitting together on the bus and chatting while trying to ignore the fact that the 26-mile drive to the start line was Really Really Long.

It was cold, but bonfires were placed all over, which is the best idea I’ve seen at a starting line. They also had enough lights at the port-a-potties, so they didn’t have to be navigated in the dark. (Trust me: That’s a big deal.)

Start: I went into this race with no expectations, though I figured a 4:10-4:15 was doable. My dreams of a PR (personal record) had died during the five weeks of injured knee, and had been confirmed in the two weeks of grumbling knee leading up to the marathon. I had no race day plan, other than to run by feel, and to take it easy on the one uphill.

Miles 1-7: 9:26, 9:29, 8:52, 8:44, 8:55, 8:32, 8:27.

The first 10k clocked in at 55:38. Yes, those 8:32 and 8:27 miles were entirely too fast — by about a minute each. I knew it, but it didn’t feel that fast at all. We were going downhill, and I was trying to just be relaxed and run by feel. I kept checking in on my breathing, which felt fine, and I didn’t feel my heart racing at all.

Miles 8-13: 11:10, 10:33, 11:32, 11:27, 10:39, 10:06.

No, those miles splits are not lies; I reached the halfway point in 2:10:19. At mile 7.25, we started going uphill. I knew this hill was coming, and I knew I was going to take it as slowly as my body wanted. My heart started pounding, my lungs began laboring. I started walking. The hill continued until mile 8.5, where I started running again. Marathoners talk about “hitting a wall” around mile 18 or 20, which I’ve only slightly done. I’ve instead described it as the point the race got harder. Well, in St. George I hit a wall. At mile 8.5. With 16 miles to go. I kept trying to run, and I kept having to stop and walk.

Miles 14-16: 10:33, 9:20, 13:37.

I have never felt so defeated in a race. I blew up in May 2010 at a marathon, and I remember feeling so hot and awful. I also had a torturous four-hour trail race last summer, and I remember feeling so alone and tortured. This was worse. I didn’t want to go on. I’d already had to stop to put my head down and get the blood back to it (I hate that, and I should probably try to find a way to prevent it). A shuttle van slowed down next to me, the driver obviously thinking I was another runner who needed to drop out. It’s pretty demoralizing to realize you look THAT bad. Now I just wanted to sit down and cry. I rarely ever cry, but at mile 16, I felt tears coming. Then the 4:30 pace group leader passed me, and I realized I was probably going to clock my slowest marathon ever — and I had been with the 4:00 pace group earlier.

For the first time ever in a race, I pulled out my phone and took it off airplane mode (normal setting in a race so I’m not distracted by any texts). I sent desperate posts to Facebook and Twitter, and I texted a couple friends. I was so close to quitting.

Miles 17-19: 12:01, 13:06, 14:09

I looked at Facebook to see if my post had gone through, and there were already replies. “Be kind to yourself. At least you are there! 99.99% of the world will never attempt what you are doing!!” was the first thing I saw. “Go Layla!!! Most people only dream about what you are doing. Take a deep breath and think of the cold beer at the finish!!!” And: “It’s tough. It hurts. But you can push through. You are tougher and stronger than this race.”

Alyssa texted me. Katie texted me. Karin texted me. Everything was fuzzy, but one line in Karin’s texts stood out: “Show those doctors once again that they’re wrong.” I’ve now spent four years proving wrong the childhood doctors who said I’d never do much running. Deep down, I knew that another finish line would be another win, no matter how long it took. So, I moved forward. Walking more than jogging, but I tried.

Then Katie called me. She asked how I was doing. She asked if it was my knee. The thing is, yes, my knee had started to hurt, but it really wasn’t that bad. I think it hurt just enough for me to start compensating and altering my gait, which in turn made the rest of me start hurting. But I actually think I was mostly feeling the effects of not running for the previous two weeks. Katie encouraged me and cheered me and then gave me some tough love and orders: Get through mile 19, relax, calm down, then turn off the phone. Then I would have a 10k left. “Get your green ass moving. I love you,” she said. It took me two days to figure out that the green was a reference to my shirt and hat color, but that was also something to puzzle over during the next few miles.

Miles 20-24: 15:04, 11:31, 12:20, 11:15, 11:00

I obeyed Katie’s instructions and put my phone back on airplane mode. Everything hurt, but I kept moving forward. The race had extremely well-coordinated aid stations every two miles, and volunteers were offering to apply Icy Hot. This was a masterful marketing ploy by the Icy Hot manufacturers, and I’m now sold. The first time I asked for some on my knee, I was skeptical. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t feel better when I started jogging (yes, jogging; not running) again. It wore off, but when I had more applied at a couple more aid stations, things felt better.

Miles 25-26.27: 12:49, 10:49, 2:36 (9:43 pace)

Most of the race was run on a road through pretty canyons that offered little crowd support because the road was closed. When we got into town, spectators were lining the course and cheering. At mile 24.5, residents were handing out popsicles. I hadn’t tried that before, but I took a lime flavored one, and it was an ice cold bit of heaven. Those spectators were awesome.

Then I saw a sign: “Mortuary ahead. Dig deep.” Now, THAT was brilliant and funny, especially to this former 10-year crime reporter. A little further down the road, they had another sign: “Mortuary in three blocks. Keep running!” I did, because I wanted to see these guys with their great humor. I got to the mortuary, and they had a huge congratulations sign.

I took out my earbuds and looked at the crowds along the finish. I heard them announcing finishers, so I figured that for once I’d actually hear my name, since usually I’m sprinting and delirious. Nope, they missed my name. Oh well.

Official finish time: 4:47:59.

I crossed the finish line and began crying.

In eight marathons, I’ve felt tears at the finish line twice: my first one when I saw my friends cheering and thought of those childhood doctors; and in January when I broke four hours in honor of my friend who was dying of cancer. But I’ve only felt the tears and have managed to keep them at bay, since I really do not like crying. In St. George, I held things together long enough to thank the volunteer who placed a medal around my neck. Then I started sobbing.

I drank two cups of ice cold water. I took a chocolate milk. I stumbled around until I found a shady spot on some grass. I managed to sit down. I forced myself to drink all of the chocolate milk. Everything came back into focus. I looked around me. I was surrounded my runners, each of whom had their own story. I knew that, if asked, they would help me and cheer me, because they understood. I also knew that many people from afar were still sending me cheer and good thoughts (the number of Facebook comments and twitter replies is far higher than I deserve). I was not alone, after all.