Big Sur Marathon 2012, Doing it right.

Saturday afternoon, @HalfMarathons tweeted this photo with the caption: Wind's gonna be strong tomorrow at the Big Sur Marathon. It blew down this port-a-potty already out on the course. 

I don't know what's worse, the thought of wind that strong during the marathon, or the thought of being in that port-a-potty. 

The weather in Monterey was beautiful Saturday. After the Expo, where Bart Yasso was hanging out at the Runner's World booth, and Dean Karnazes was giving a talk, we had lunch and walked the wharf. There were lots of commercial fishing boats docked along the pier to ogle and fish markets down at the end. Walking back toward the beach I heard from below a frantic "Stop paddling! Stop paddling!"

I would say, just don't make eye contact and throw it in reverse. 

The rest of the afternoon/evening was spent relaxing, eating, and preparing for the 3am wake up call to catch the bus. I did Big Sur last year, but if you remember, part of Highway 1 washed out causing the course to be modified into an out and back from Monterey. I can say I've run Big Sur, but I ran Big Sur without the hour long bus ride to the start and Hurricane Point and having never even run anywhere near Big Sur. Basically, this would be my first Big Sur.

Courtesy of MarathonGuide.com

I was awake before my alarm. A little coffee, a little to eat, a little to drink, ready to go. Downtown Monterey was dark at 3:45am but alive and buzzing with cars and runners being dropped off and walking to their bus pickup locations. I got a window seat and a guy from Chicago sat with me. We talked as the bus drove the marathon course in reverse; the Big Dipper hung in the sky with a million other stars, and the ocean was out there somewhere invisible in the dark.

Arriving about 5:15am, we had to leave the comfort of the warm bus and join the others staked out at the starting area. I grabbed a half cup of coffee and a banana and found a spot to sit and stay warm and chat knowing there was still about an hour and a half until the race began.

Finally, we were called to the start.  

The National Anthem was sung (for the 26th time) by Myles Williams. He finished to a roar of applause and the white doves were released. The first wave took off. Not long after, the second wave was sent. I crossed the line under the arch thinking, ok, I've gotta get myself to Monterey. Under 5 hours. Ideally 4:45. Secretly hoping for 4:40.

Last year I went out too fast and tanked just after the halfway point without much prior training, so this year I was determined to run conservatively having done a little more decent training. Although, with the first 5 miles being downhill I decided to bank a little time.

Mile 5 is about the time the headwind started. Newspapers are saying 20-30 mph topping out at 40 mph.

I tucked in behind a couple of guys, but it didn't really make a difference. All I could do was keep my head down and keep moving forward. Around mile 7 we started climbing through a dark swirl of fog. I could hear the ocean, but I couldn't see more than 30 yards ahead. Suddenly, near mile 9 the sky lightened as I crested a hill and the rhythmic pounding of the Taiko Drummers at the base of the ascent to Hurricane Point was audible in the wind.

It was a two mile climb that started out under the sun, but before long the wind was back again. Full force. Arriving at the top, I could barely make out the notes of the grand piano carried on the breeze.

As I descended, the piano soundtrack got louder. It was beautiful, and I was feeling really good despite the wind. I crossed the Bixby Bridge, in a haze of fog, moving toward the halfway point.

Where else can you have the experience of hearing someone play a grand piano on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean?

The next 5 miles kind of flew by despite more wind and hills, and I was happy to have periods of sun where the ocean waves crashing below were visible. By mile 19 I was waiting for the bonk, expecting it really, but it never came. I was pretty surprised by how good I was feeling, so I stepped on the gas. I looked at my watch at mile 20 where a middle school band was playing the Notre Dame fight song (shout out to my sister) and knew I was on track if not a little ahead, but still, I waited for what I knew would come: the wall.

Mile 21 came and went. When I saw the mile 22 marker and felt good I smiled because I could feel the finish. My feet and legs hurt, the camber of the road was adding to the fatigue of my ankles and knees, but the lows were only lasting a few minutes before I started feeling good again. Mile 23, with 3 miles to go, I thought, "HOLY CRAP I COULD RUN SUB 4:40!" I decided to skip the strawberries because I just wanted to be done; I was all about business at this point, and then I saw the strawberry table. How can anyone resist a giant juicy strawberry at mile 23 of a marathon? I veered over and grabbed one. Mile 24, just keep going. No really, KEEP GOING. Mile 25, one final hill. All I was thinking was ONE MORE MILE, ONE MORE MILE. A man I ran past surprised me by saying out loud the exact same thing, "ONE MILE, ONE MORE MILE."

Finally. Finally, I could see the flags. The streets were lined with people. I stepped on the gas one last time, GeNene yelled my name from the crowd, and I looked over and smiled. My legs carried me to the finish feeling strong.

I did it. And I ran negative splits.

4:38:19 

Immediate ice bath and celebratory beer.

My legs aren't huge fans of running on pavement let alone cambered roads or uphill with 40mph headwinds, but I had a hell of a time.

I might even do it again.