theSmudge.com

In which I stand on a podium for the first time ever, but have lingering doubts.

One-sentence recap: I set a new personal best time of 1:45:20, placed in my age group, and saw two friends finish their first half-marathons.

In October, I obliterated my half-marathon record that had stood for 18 months. I took four minutes off my best time, and I generally had a ball, finishing with a great feeling of euphoria: “Oh my gosh, I ran a 1:46 half-marathon!!” I still remember that feeling.

The funny thing is, I remember that feeling a lot more than this race that I ran a month later — where I actually ran a faster time. I reached that 1:45 mark I never, ever imagined back when I ran a 2:14 half-marathon. But even now, three weeks after the race, it’s still a blur.

What does stand out in my mind is one word: friends. The friend, Lia, who gave me coffee and stored my dry clothes for me during the race, and even cheered and took a picture when I finished. The friends I used to run with before I moved, who saw me at the start and greeted me with hugs. And my friends, Marc and Melinda, who ran their first half-marathons.

I’ve known Marc for a long time. We worked together, we’ve each helped the other one move, and we’ve stayed in touch through those moves. Marc always said I was crazy for running, and he would usually add, “and I am plenty crazy.” Marc didn’t like running or have any interest in it. But then one day, Marc messaged or emailed or texted or somehow communicated to me that he’d been walking. He was not just walking 10 minutes at lunch; no, he was walking five miles a day. And he wanted to turn that walking into running. I’m pretty sure I replied with a lot of exclamation points.

Marc and his wife, Melinda, had joined Weight Watchers and both lost a bunch of weight. Melinda had quit smoking. They asked if I would come speak to their group about running. I was very honored, and quite excited — I like public speaking, and I like talking about running. So I went and jabbered about running, about how you don’t have to be a natural and how you can defy the odds. I talked about how it’s perfectly fine to walk, and that you just have to start. I took a couple race medals with me, which turned out to be a good thing: I wouldn’t learn until the St. Joseph’s half-marathon that the medals were what got Melinda to start running more — she wanted a medal, too.

I had told Marc that if he ran a half-marathon, I would do my best to be there. My schedule was up in the air until a week before this race, but it ultimately worked out. November 3 found me driving a little over an hour at a dark hour in the morning to Stockton. Yep, I was going to voluntarily run through one of the country’s biggest crime capitals. (Spoiler: I survived.)

I got there with time to spare and discovered that @runcalifornia was there with free coffee. We chatted for a while, and then Marc and Melinda arrived. We hugged, and I think I was just as excited as they were nervous. Along the way, I found myself chatting with the sheriff, the race director, a couple wine makers, and some other people — yep, that’s the norm when a former journalist visits her old stomping grounds.

Anyway, we all lined up at the race start, wished each other luck, and then we took off. I had no idea what to expect, because my IT Band (which connects the hip and knee) had been cranky so my mileage had been a lot less than I’d planned. The crowd thinned out quickly, as there were only 335 half-marathon finishers, and I found myself running in wind on a course with no spectators. There were, however, a few out-and-backs so I saw fellow runners — I saw Marc twice but somehow missed Melinda. There were some unpaved sections, and at one point we had to run down a gravel embankment, which is really fun when you’re running sub-8:00 pace.

Miles 1-6: 7:56, 7:49, 7:55, 8:00, 8:10, 8:12

I reached mile 6.2 in 49 minutes — so that means I had a 10k PR (personal record). That’s not generally a good thing to do when you still have seven miles to run. Oops. That started taking its toll in mile 10, when my lungs were struggling and I was feeling some twinges in my IT band. Shiloh, who I had just finally met in person before the race, caught up to me around mile 10 and we ran together for a while. But she had clearly trained better and run smarter, and she soon took off. Mentally, I was done. I found myself walking. I tried to pull it together when a woman passed me, but I just didn’t have any fight left in me. It’s too bad, because that woman finished only four seconds ahead of me, and the next one was only 18 seconds ahead.

Miles 7-13: 8:16, 8:04, 8:14, 8:18, 8:23, 8:09, 7:47

We had a side wind most of the way, and we had very few spectators. The course was forgettable, and music only went so far in keeping my spirits up when I was not quite at 100 percent physically. However, there was one spectator who did help. I was wearing my crazy colorful shorts, and she started cheering wildly, “I love your shorts, girl!” I smiled and mouthed “thank you” (no breath to talk), and it gave me a little boost. If only that boost could have carried me on for a couple more miles.

I was just really done when I crossed the finish line. My watch said 13.0 miles instead of 13.1, so I didn’t know if I’d set a PR or not. The race officials say the course is 13.1 miles, someone said they also showed 13.0, another showed 13.1, and yet another friend showed 13.08 miles on his watch. Who knows, but since I’ve been robbed of PR’s due to long courses, I suppose I’ll take it.

Official stats:

• Time: 1:44:20 (8:02 pace)
• 3rd of 53 women in my age group (top 5.7%)
• 9th woman of 190 (top 4.7%)
• 45th out of 335 finishers (top 13.4%)

Marc crossed the finish line in an impressive 1:50, and I hugged him and then said, “You can never again give me a hard time for running — sorry, you’re one of us now.” He agreed (he may have been delirious, but that’s too bad). Then Melinda finished and I got to do the “you’re a half-marathoner!” cheer all over again. It was all very exciting, especially since those two are now on the marathon track. Honestly, it is just so rewarding to see people reach running milestones, and I got to see two of them that day.

After calming down and getting into some warm clothes, we got our free breakfast burritos from the race — which turned out to be pretty awful. So I had more coffee instead. Marc and Melinda headed home, I talked to Lia a bit more, and then I decided to wait for the awards in case they were deep enough to reach me. Places hadn’t been announced, but I knew there hadn’t been that many women ahead of me. But I was still really stunned when they reached my age group and called, “Third place, Layla Bohm.” I went and collected my medal from Tony the race director, and stepped onto the third block of the podium. I have never in my life stood on a podium, and I must admit that it was a pretty cool feeling.

And that’s a wrap. Well, not quite: While I was still hanging around the finish area, a woman congratulated me. I looked at her, thought she was familiar, and soon figured out that she was the spectator who had complimented me on my shorts. I thanked her profusely for cheering, and told her she really helped lift my spirits. We runners only see spectators for a millisecond, and we rarely get a chance to thank most of them. There, in a city known for its crime and for being the first large city to declare bankruptcy, I was able to thank one of the spectators who stood out on a Stockton street on a Sunday morning, cheering for people running through her city. Stockton, sometimes you’re OK.

Two-letter summary: PR

One-sentence summary: While I was optimistic about beating my personal record, I was NOT expecting to take four minutes off my time.

It’s been a month since this race, and I still haven’t even written about September’s amazing vacation (I’ve started writing, though…). Better late than never?

Background: I signed up for this race after September’s marathon PR (personal record) in Ireland. I hadn’t originally planned to race a half-marathon until November, but I was itching to see what I could do. I was running fast, so why not race in October instead? My half-marathon PR of 1:49:59 was more than two years old, so it was time to challenge myself. Plus, the Urban Cow Half gave out a cowbell medal, so why not have some fun?

I had a trail half-marathon fun-run on the calendar a week before this race. What I had not planned, however, was to go into race mode about two miles into that trail run. I took off, flew down the hills, nearly fell, survived the uphills, and missed third place in my age group by 26 seconds. However, I braked on the downhills because I had this weird mental worry about falling, so that really hurt my quads. They were abnormally sore for days afterward, and I barely worked out the whole week before Urban Cow. Oops.

The day before the race, I meant to go to the gym or run a few mellow “shakeout” miles. By dinner time, that hadn’t happened. Oops. I went to make boring pasta for dinner and realized I had no sauce. So I put on running shoes, ran 1.2 miles to the store, bought sauce, then ran home clutching that jar for dear life. Small hands plus sweat could have resulted in disaster, but instead I ran 8:24 average pace. Oops, that wasn’t “mellow” pace to run 12 hours before a race. Additionally, the greater NorCal/Nevada area had been subjected to huge forest fires so the air quality wasn’t the best. Another oops.

Race day: Early on a Sunday morning, I awoke with a killer of a sore throat. Uh oh: That slight tickle in my throat the previous night may not have just been a pre-race jitter? Too late now! Parking was easy, packet pickup was fast, port-a-potties were plentiful. The race has two waves that start five minutes apart, so it wasn’t crowded when I lined up in the corrals. A teen choir sang the National Anthem and then the race began. I started my music, a playlist I’d titled “1:48″ and which was exactly 1 hour, 48 minutes long. That was my goal, though anything faster than 1:49:59 would make me happy. This meant I needed to run an average pace of 8:15. Until very recently, such an idea boggled my mind.

Miles 1-6: 8:05, 8:05, 8:08, 8:10, 8:02, 7:47

The 10k (6.1 miles) point on my watch showed just over 50 minutes; I was at 50:32 when I passed the official course 10k marker. That’s only 40 seconds slower than my 10k PR, so that was kind of fun. However, I had the same thing happen a couple years ago in a half-marathon, and then I hit a wall in that race and started walking. So I was NOT assuming anything at this point.

Miles 7-9: 8:01, 7:53, 7:56

At mile 8, it got hard. I was feeling tired and my legs didn’t think they could keep running this pace. But that’s where experience paid off: I have known for a while that the eighth mile is always hard for me, whether it’s a marathon or a training run. I just have to suck it up and keep going, because that mile will eventually end. So that’s what I did, and it wound up being my third fastest mile of the race.

Miles 10-13.1: 8:02, 8:03, 7:59, 7:44, last 0.27 miles at 7:35 pace.

The race wound through downtown Sacramento, through old town, went along a levee for a little while, then took us back around to the starting point, which was in a big park. They had good mile markers and great aid stations, but then I saw a sign saying we had half a mile left. My watch said we had a lot more than that, but it was also measuring long so I thought maybe it was going to even out. So I started pushing. I knew I had the PR in the bag, but I never ease up at the end of a race: I want to know I raced as hard as I could.

Nearly half a mile later, we went under an arch that said we had half a mile left. WELL THEN. This was annoying, but I willed myself to keep going. I was looking at my watch and doing fuzzy math, and thought, “Oh wow, I might be able to reach 1:45:xx!” I ran with everything I had left.

I came up two seconds short of 1:45:xx, which made me groan out loud in frustration when I saw the official results. Plus, my watch showed an average of 7:59 per mile because I ran a longer distance (this happens due to weaving around people and not taking turns tight enough). The official pace is 8:06 per mile. But I really wasn’t too upset, because I had just taken a significant amount of time off my PR and had certainly beaten my 1:48 expectation.

I wandered around the finish area getting free food that included a whole loaf of bread (that was random) and getting my picture taken with someone in a cow costume (bad photo). I texted my old running mentor along with a couple other people: “I just PR’ed by four minutes! Oh my gosh!” Then I made what seemed like the world’s longest 80-minute drive home, going straight to Five Guys for a burger and fries and devouring them before taking a shower. Hey, don’t judge.

Stats:

• 22nd of 326 in my age/gender division (top 6.7%)
• 93rd of 2,051 females (top 4.5% — what?!)
• 393rd of all 3,258 finishers (top 12%)

Official splits:

• 5 miles: 40:54, 8:11 average pace
• Halfway: 53:11, 8:08 average pace
• 10 miles: 1:21:11, 8:08 average pace
• Finish: 1:46:01, 8:06 average pace

I ran the second half in 53:10, which is a few seconds faster than the first half. That’s exactly how I hope to run a race, rather than starting out too fast and fading to a walk in the second half.

Conclusion: Exactly one year before this race, I ran my slowest-ever road marathon in St. George. Yep, it was slower than the hilly Big Sur Marathon that had strong headwinds the year I ran it. Yep, it was slower than the humid, hot Kona Marathon that I unknowingly ran with a virus. Yep, St. George is often called one of the fastest races in the country. Apparently I beat all those odds. Eleven months after my St. George debacle, I ran a marathon in Ireland exactly 1 hour and 37 seconds faster. Twelve months later, I ran my best half-marathon. It can be hard to accept defeat, as it was on that miserable day in St. George, but I now know that the key is to only let it define that moment. One defeat does not have to define your life. St. George may have defeated me that day, but I am still running. And I still love it.

Yesterday I ran a marathon in Ireland. My official finish time was 3:47:22, more than nine minutes faster than my previous best time. That feat was completely unexpected.

I drove about five hours today, and my friends and I weren’t jabbering the whole way, so I spent a while trying to figure out what happened in yesterday’s magical marathon. I was not being pessimistic when I originally thought I would finish in 4:15. And then, when I found out that the women’s course record is a rather slow 3:22, I wasn’t being pessimistic when I lowered my expectations to 4:30. I did get into a very bad place mentally (apologies to my travel mates and the people I sent messages to) the day before the race. I hadn’t run in three days, I’d done a ton of walking, hiking and a bike ride. Even on race morning, I didn’t want to run. In my weird pre-race angst, someone had told me, “You’re running a f’ing marathon in f’ing Ireland!” and that popped into my head as I walked to the starting line. I also thought of my grandmother, whose lungs are giving out and will die in about two years. I can run and she cannot. So I ran because, hey, I was in f’ing Ireland.

I ran through wind and rain and sun. I kept passing people as I kept running up hills. I passed the 4:15 pacer and the 4:00 pacer. I reached the halfway point in 1:53 and knew I would likely crash and burn, but I kept running up another hill. When my watch beeped at mile 15 and I saw an 8:25 mile, I actually said out loud, “Holy shit!” I didn’t know what was happening, but I kept running and kept breathing calmly.

I reached a low point at mile 20, but I knew it would pass so I kept running and made myself smile at people and look at the spectacular greenery. I never walked until mile 22, when I was halfway up the two-mile hill that everyone dreads and talks about in this race. But then I found myself running again while still going up that f’ing hill in f’ing Ireland. I walked the last part of the hill, then took off down the backside of that hill. I had three miles left, down a long road that threatened to derail my exhausted quad muscles, but I pushed through the pain. I had spent the entire race passing people, and I kept doing so in the last three miles — all men, actually. One said “nice legs,” and I realized my bad legs, which had worn special shoes and gotten me excused from PE in childhood, were in fact doing nice things.

I ran the last two miles faster than my goal half-marathon pace. I ran the last 0.34 miles at 10k pace. And I had a huge grin on my face as I reached the finish line. I stood there for a minute with my hands up to my face, in true shock at what had just happened. In the finish area, I was stopped by several of those men I had passed in the later miles. They weren’t flirting, but simply wanted to congratulate me and said they had tried their best to keep up with me. I was merely a runner on equal ground — a runner whose legs and lungs and heart and mind did not give up.

As I walked slowly and gingerly to my car, I looked around at the brilliant greenery and the quaint town and the waterfront. I was in f’ing Ireland and I had just taken nine minutes off my best f’ing marathon time. There, as I walked, I started to cry. They were tears of happiness. Of surprise. Of joy. And they were tears of hope for future dreams not yet realized.

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: