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.

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.

What happens when friends from different parts of my life are at Lake Tahoe for the weekend? Fun happens. So does a lack of sleep, but that can be caught up later, right? (For some reason, that was a lot easier 10 years ago, but I digress.) Anyway, I saw friends accomplish some amazing athletic feats, and I also took lots of photos of the lovely lake. [As always, click the photos to see the full size. All photos property of Layla Bohm except for one noted.]

I left work early Friday afternoon to make the 3.5-hour drive north-east. An hour into the trip, I found myself stopped on the freeway due to a car fire more than two miles away — we were so completely stopped that drivers were getting out of their cars to stretch. I opted not to try turning my non-four-wheel-drive sedan in the median, and we finally moved onward. After going through boring, hot Sacramento, the view finally improved.

I arrived at … The Porn House.

No, stop, calm down. There was no filming of adult-only movies. (But hello to those who googled “porn house” and found this page. Sorry to disappoint.) Tahoe has lots of big homes that the owners rent out to groups and families, and this was one of them. I’ve stayed in a couple other houses with my old Lodi Running Club, and each house has its own quirks. This one had a bathroom. Actually, it had a strange part about a bedroom, too:

Those are open shutters. They open from the kitchen into a bedroom. There is no glass, and there is no way of securing the shutters. So, there is no hint of soundproofing, and anyone can suddenly open the shutters while you’re in the bedroom. Now I’ll move along to the bathroom.

It’s all rock, and the shower, sink and toilet are all in one space. When you shower, water comes out of various directions and faucets. That third picture is a woman’s figure in stained glass. It’s next to the other door of the bathroom, which leads out to the ping-pong table — so if you’re playing ping-pong, you can get a show. Aside from a staircase that led to nowhere and the oddly placed light switches, the rest of the house was OK. So were the views.

I shared lodging with a bunch of my old running buddies, which was great. That group is the one thing I miss about Lodi, and after nearly two years I still haven’t found a group like them. So, it was great to see them for the weekend.

Despite five hours of sleep the previous night and falling asleep at 11:30 in Tahoe, I awoke at 3 a.m. with a pounding headache. Altitude was affecting me. I so rarely get headaches these days that I don’t carry pain reliever, so I lay there in agony. I was also too warm, so I finally got up and went outside, where it was 40 degrees at most. This was my reward:

I finally looked at the clock for the last time at 4:30. Then the alarm went off around 6:30. It was time to drive an hour to drop off a couple bicyclists who were taking part in one of the weekend’s many activities. It was Tahoe Marathon weekend, but there are tons of running, kayaking and cycling events for three days. Here’s the view from near the start:

I drove along the bike course while they rode. My view from inside the car was equally horrible:

Then I rushed back to the house, changed and met up with Katie, her husband and dog. We headed off to Squaw Valley for Octoberfest, which was an excellent combo of beer and home of the 1960 Olympics.

That’s where the Western States 100-mile run starts. I would crew for it, but there’s no way I would run up and down insane mountains for 100 miles. See my “yay for beer” and “people run up that?!” expressions?

Octoberfest had lots of beer, lederhosen and dancing. And wild beards:

We didn’t stay too long, since Katie had a marathon to run in the morning.

I got back to The Porn House in time to turn around and leave again. Yep, theme of the weekend. Carl and Debbie (great Lodi people) had gotten tickets to see blues musician Tommy Castro, and had gotten a couple extra. Janine and I were going, and we got another for Doug. These were all Lodi buddies, but then it was time to throw another friend into the mix, since that was also a weekend theme. Remember my friend Rick, with whom I went on that awesome road trip in May? Well, his friend Wojtek was in Tahoe, so we finally met in person. He’d had dinner with a bunch of the Lodi people last year, and this year he met up with us at Harrah’s Casino for the concert. (Bonus of having red hair — I can be instantly spotted in a dark, busy casino.)

I didn’t know what to expect from the concert, and I hadn’t heard of Tommy Castro. But often the best rule is to “just say yes.” It was great! We all rocked out for a solid two hours.

The next morning involved a 4:30 a.m. wakeup. I went to Katie’s hotel, and then we dropped my car off at Pope Beach, where the marathon would finish hours later. Then we drove 26.2 miles to the start line.

At the start line, we found Dennis, who was doing the Tahoe Triple — three marathons in three days. He’d never run at altitude in his life, and this was day three. He basically looked like death.

For the next several hours, Katie’s husband Ari and I drove along the marathon course, stopping every few miles to give her gel and a drink. At one point, she yelled at Ari for giving her the same color of Powerade twice in a row — we learned our lesson and had a good laugh. I won’t write her whole race report, but she ran a fantastic race. Despite a bathroom stop, she was soon in sixth place, and we knew she’d power up the brutal Tahoe hills.

The first place woman finally left us behind (and her bike pacer, too, at one point), and wound up running a personal best on the course. Katie, meanwhile was going strong.

The drawback of being near the front of a small race was that she was alone. She’d previously asked if I would run the last 10k with her, and I said YES, but that I might not keep up. I told her more than once that I would push her to leave me, and that it would be fine because I’ve run in the area before. At mile 20, she was so tired of being alone, was losing steam and asked me to run the last four miles. I quickly guzzled some water, put on my hat and watch, and jumped out of the car a few minutes later.

“Keep me at 9-minute miles,” Katie said. OK, I could probably do that. My knee had suddenly acted up the previous weekend on a 20-miler and I was babying it in preparation for a marathon, though I’d planned to run 8-10 miles in Tahoe. That run hadn’t happened Saturday, which was probably good, since I could actually be useful by helping Katie instead. I started running and felt the knee twinge, but then I didn’t feel it again until an hour after the race. I don’t know if I was distracted or if it was OK.

I jabbered at Katie about lord knows what, telling her she didn’t have to talk at all and that she could tell me to shut up. I didn’t say “you’re almost there,” because no runner ever wants to hear that unless they are truly three yards from the finish line. We got to a pedestrian path for the last few miles of the marathon, and Katie had said it gets crowded because the race isn’t allowed close it to other pedestrians. I told her I’d clear everyone out of her way, and I proceeded to do just that. “Runner coming!” I’d holler, running just ahead of Katie so the pedestrians would move over. “Look at her. Isn’t she awesome?!” I yelled, thus forcing people to cheer whether they wanted to or not. We ran through an aid station where kids were dressed in Disney costumes and I told them Katie needed some cheer — and boy did those kids cheer! They were fantastic.

Katie had been dragging more and more, walking a couple times until I’d point out a slight uphill and remind her that she runs better up hills than down them. Then suddenly we heard footsteps and I realized another woman had caught up with 1.25 miles left in the race. Katie was fading and looking for a bathroom, but I knew she could hold on. “You’ve got a good finishing kick. You can do this. You’ve done it many times. Go for it!” And did she ever go for it! We increased the pace and I saw 8:30 on my watch. The woman behind us held on, but I noticed and told Katie that the woman wasn’t gaining on us. With one mile to go, we were running an 8:10 pace and I knew Katie was going to leave me behind, too. I was thrilled, and kept saying “You’ve got this” and “You look awesome” until I couldn’t keep up.

Katie wound up running that last mile in 7:42. I slowed to a walk because I just don’t have speed these days, the altitude was killer, and I should have had more food and water that morning. It took a little while for the other woman to catch up, so I knew Katie had held on to fourth place. I got to the finish, found her with family (and our friend Alisyn, who had come to spectate!), and gave her a huge hug.

The finish area became one more mass juggling challenge, as I found various friends.

Then it was time for one last hurrah with some of my old crew before I hit the road.

The drive home seemed to take forever, but an iced coffee helped the sleep deprivation factor. I would only have a few days before the next adventure (which is currently underway and will appear in this blog later). Tahoe, you were beautiful. I need to visit you more frequently.

Two-word Oakland Half-Marathon summary: No pain!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mile 9: 9:46

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

Mile 10: 9:03

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

Mile 11: 10:28

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

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

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

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

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

Mile 13.25: 7:37 pace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best spectator sign: “Where is everyone going?”

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

I suppose I should follow up on my last post, in which I said I was embarking on my first ultra-marathon and third marathon-or-longer within 90 days in order to qualify for the Marathon Maniacs club. Long story short: I had to stop after 16.5 miles due to injury. I don’t think it will require months of rehab because I caught it in time (IT band issues, which I held at bay and thought I’d conquered in December). But pulling out of the race was heartbreaking, because I’d never done that before, and I’d wanted into the Maniacs club for so long — years, in fact. If my friend Katie hadn’t been there to cry with me and then cheer me up/distract me, things would have been so much worse. Did I mention that the next day was my birthday? Yeah, bummer of a weekend. Last year I moved on my birthday and enraged an old arm tendon problem a couple days earlier, so maybe I need to avoid all physical activity at this time of year?

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

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

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

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

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

So I have this ultra-marathon on Saturday. Yes, folks, I am apparently going to try running a 50k, also known as 31 freaking miles. And I may have done some stalking to size up my competition in this weekend’s race.

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

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

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

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

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