theSmudge.com

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.