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Three-word Big Sur Marathon summary, times two: Hardest race ever. Best people ever.

One-sentence summary: I rebounded from an injury in nine weeks, dealt with an ungodly amount of drama Saturday, then battled 40mph winds and fog up mountainous Highway 1 just to hear a grand piano play as I ran across the Bixby Canyon Bridge.

Training: Um, yeah, it was not so stellar. I had to take two weeks off from everything, then fight to get back in shape (which was not helped by the fact that I gained weight while moping during those two weeks). I ran a half-marathon five weeks before Big Sur. Until the day after that half, I didn’t know if I’d run Big Sur, because IT band issues had wreaked havoc on my knees and a little bit on my hips. But I was pain-free, so I stepped up the training. I did an 18-miler that included 13 miles in pouring rain. I ran a 20-miler with Karin, who motivated me to get to 20 rather than stopping at 18. Then I had two weeks to taper and soothe a couple spots that had gotten mad on that 20-miler.

Race week: I woke up Monday after almost eight hours of sleep, which was fantastic. Sleep went downhill from there. Thursday night I had dinner with a friend who was in town for the race (hi Lauren!), then went to another friend’s house to plot a road trip and drink a really expensive bottle of wine — late night. Friday night was also late because of a Giants game.

Race Eve Day: Saturday morning I woke up well before the alarm — ugh, six hours of sleep is not what I wanted. The day went downhill from there. Actually, the day basically jumped off a cliff without a parachute. Canceled hotel, idiot drivers, mean lady in the grocery store, gas station attendant treating me like dirt when my credit card was declined, finding out some online gamer had gotten my credit card number and racked up a bunch of fraudulent charges until my card was canceled. Then I got lost, which made me miss something important, and I wound up crying in a parking lot — and then a Dodge truck almost ran me over while I was ON a sidewalk. Fortunately I have friends who insisted on being there and helping even when I was delirious with anger and sadness (Katie, Ryan, Deanne, Paulo, Courtney, Michelle — thank you).

Race Expo: I finally arrived at the expo to get my packet and shirt. I looked like hell, but the first people I saw were Cate, Mike and their baby girl Ellie. Cate hugged me, and Ellie broke into a huge grin, which went a long way toward putting life back in perspective. I got my race packet and then had to figure out which bus to take in the morning. I was overwhelmed and couldn’t figure it out, but a very kind gentleman tried to help me, though I couldn’t remember the name of the new hotel we’d had to book that very morning. When I got the name and came back, the man spotted me again and told me exactly what I needed — it turned out that he had lived right near there his whole life. I found a few more friends at the expo, said hi to Lauren again, and finally went to the ocean to seek some more calm.

Race Night: Dinner was one thing Saturday that did not have any big problems. I’d found a place that had pasta and pizza, and would be fine for kids (we had two in our group of 10). I had a tasty pizza and a much-needed glass of wine. Then Michelle and I went to our hotel, which was 15 miles away. I would soon discover that they specialize in very hard beds — the floor may have been softer. Also, they had a spotlight that shone on the bed. (One friend who had been texting me funny pictures to cheer me up said, “Just like your bed at home!” Har har.) Anyway, I kept looking at the clock until 11:18 p.m. Then I woke up before the alarm at 2:23 a.m. Hooray for 3:05 hours of sleep.

Race Morning: Some people caught buses at 4:30. I, of course, was oh-so-lucky to be given a 3:30 bus time. Yes, 3:30 a.m. I’m still in denial about that one. Michelle and I made our way to the bus and met up with Karin, and we all sat together on the hour-long ride. Friends saved me from thinking, “This is really long and hilly.” We got to the start and did the normal porta-potty/race prep/porta-potty routine. The race crew had put funny signs on most of the porta-potties, which was something I’d never seen and one of the many extra touches that restored my faith in humanity after Saturday’s debacles. I was wearing warm clothes over my shorts and tank top, but when I took them off shortly before the race started at 6:45, it really wasn’t that cold. This made me worry, because I knew I’d be running for at least four-and-a-half hours, and it could get really warm. We met up with Sandra, who’s run the race several times, and she said it felt pretty warm.

The Race: The race starts out flat for a couple miles, then goes downhill, and I knew I’d too fast. But since this was a heck of a hilly race and I knew it would be my slowest marathon yet, my only plan was to run by feel. No stress about time, no stress about stopping to walk if I needed to walk. And that’s a good thing, because three steps into the race, one of my gel packets went flying out of my pocket — that had never happened before, and now I knew I’d have to find another one along the way.

Miles 1-5: 9:38, 9:30, 8:58, 8:59, 9:10. Average pace: 9:12.

We reached the ocean, where we would run the entire rest of the way with spectacular views.

Well, the main view was fog. I think my credit card fraudster also messed with the weather.

Miles 6-10: 9:08, 9:37, 9:48, 10:15, 10:08.

I stopped to take a couple pictures, since, hey, I wasn’t going for any kind of land speed record. Plus, it was getting windy, so picture taking was a good reason to stop. That’s where the Hurricane Point hill started, so I knew I’d have about two miles straight up a mountain.

Miles 11-13: 12:12, 11:33, 11:31. Halfway point in 2:14.

Trying to run up a steep hill for two miles is always fun. Add in headwinds that, according to the local paper, reached 40 mph. I was wearing my sunglasses to shield my eyes from the insane wind, but the fog was making it hard to see. Yes, I’d paid money to do this.

At mile 12.25, I heard the first strains of piano music (yes, I noted the point on my watch). This was one of the main reasons I’d signed up for the marathon. This was one of the reasons I didn’t back out when everything was going so wrong the previous day. This was the point I’d been waiting for, and hoping to reach. I’ve loved the piano for my entire life, and I love bridges — and this was a piano on a bridge.

I was going to relish every moment of this brief experience, and when I heard that first strain of piano music, I knew it had been worth all the trouble. I even felt rare moisture in my eyes. The pianist was playing a version of the Rocky theme song.

Miles 14-17: 12:06, 9:50, 10:06, 9:33.

The piano had been the climax, which meant that I had another half-marathon to run. A hilly, windy one. But fate intervened, and I happened to meet up with Roadbunner at the piano. She’s now much faster than me, but we ran the next several miles together, and suddenly I realized we were passing the mile 16 marker. I’ve never had miles pass so quickly in a marathon. She stopped to walk and eat, while I kept going, but then she caught up again. Eventually she kept powering up a hill when I stopped to walk, and for a long time I saw her in the distance. That was fine; I like to run my own race, and she had given me the boost I’d needed.

Miles 18-22: 10:04, 11:19, 11:47, 10:07, 12:18. Reached mile 22 in 3:49.

The second half of this race is actually more hilly than the first half. Nothing is as big as a two-mill climb uphill, but the rolling hills do not stop. I knew there was a good-sized hill in mile 22, and another one in 23 that wasn’t big but would seem big. But I also knew I wasn’t going for time, so I took a couple more pictures. I stopped at the station serving fresh strawberries, which was most amazing. At one point, 4:30 had been in sight. Then I thought, “Hey, 4:32:10 would be an awesome, nerdy number.” But I wasn’t going to kill myself just to reach an arbitrary number, so I kept running at a manageable pace, and sometimes walking a little.

Miles 23-26.2: 12:20, 11:39, 10:04, 10:56, 3:18 (9:09 pace).

Usually I run for all I’m worth at the end of a race. Usually I’m chasing a number. Usually I’m so tired and delirious that I don’t remember the end (I have NO memory of the entire last three miles of the New York City Marathon, including the uphill and the grandstands that were apparently full of people). At Big Sur, I just wanted to run to the finish and maybe see a bit of the crowd. I was rewarded: There, yards from the finish line, were Karin’s boyfriend and son. I shouted at them, then ran through the finish. It was nice to see two familiar faces in the sea of people. It was also nice to just be done.

Stats:
Finish time: 4:35:59.
1,744th out of 3,387
685th out of 1,591 women
134th in my age group, of 284
1st of two Laylas in the race.

My finish time amuses me to no end: The previous month, I was quite frustrated by the fact that I’d run a half-marathon in 2:00:00, rather than 1:59:59. So, there was my lost second.

I wandered through the finish area, looking for water. The race was incredibly well-organized and the volunteers were superb, but I will never understand why water isn’t closer to the finish line. I had to walk through a big tent to get a bag of food — which is good, but would be better after the precious water. Also, they had cookies but repeatedly told people they could only have half of one cookie. I added to the chaos by asking them which cookies did not contain walnuts. I’m allergic to walnuts, but I’ve long since learned that a cookie is one of the best ways for me to get some blood and sense flowing back to my scrambled brains.

I forced down the half of the walnut-free cookie, which was dry and added to my need for water. And then I stumbled across Courtney and her mom. Courtney had barely been able to train due to injury, but I’d seen her several times on the course. She was cheerful and upbeat, and she lifted my spirits more than once. Now here she was, once more providing a friendly face.

And then Cate the speedster was there, with Mike the husband and Ellie the cutest baby. And then Michelle the hotel finder was there. This, folks, is why friends are so amazing.

Post Race: Michelle and I hobbled to the bus, got back to our cars, drove back to our motel, and I ate a handful of potato chips to get some salt back in my body.

The post-race shower was lovely, the stretching and foam rolling and leg elevating were magical, and then the compression socks were put on. I was ready for the two-hour drive home. I was not ready for lots of traffic, but my leg managed the clutch without cramping up.

Recovery: And then I proceeded to lose all appetite for a solid week. Usually I eat about half a meal after a marathon, but I tried a frappuccino (which was disgusting and has cured any future desire for one EVER again) and that was it. Post-race hunger usually sets in the day after a marathon, but that didn’t happen this time. I went to another baseball game, where a friend tried valiantly to feed me. I ate one chicken tender and much less than half an order of garlic fries. On the plus side, I lost a few pounds, rather than gaining a couple.

Muscle soreness appeared on Tuesday after the marathon. I had expected it to be worse, due to the amount of hills. I intentionally walked, but I didn’t let myself run until that Friday. Nothing felt out of synch, and I actually had to rein myself in. I only let myself run every other day for the next week, which I think was a very good idea, and one that I will employ next time. It let my body continue healing, and it also made me do a little cross training on a couple of the alternate days.

Conclusion: All in all, the Big Sur International Marathon was extremely well-organized, very beautiful, and I’m glad I ran it. I can’t say enough about the amazing volunteers, and the fact that the organizers had every little detail planned out. Would I recommend it? Yes, definitely. Would I run it again? Probably not. The headwind and fog made this a “one and done” race for me. But that’s basically how I see marathons, anyway: There are so many races in so many fascinating places, and of the seven marathons I’ve run, I’ve only wanted to go back and run New York again. For me, I can’t wait for the next unknown adventure.