The days leading up to the Surf City Marathon last Saturday were very strange, and not very “race like” at all. I did not want to taper, but rather just plough through the week per usual in order to stay on track for Ironman California training, but that ideology nearly backfired. On Friday afternoon/evening, I felt numb, apathetic, and completely confused about how to run the race the following morning. Part of me maintained low expectations because I was not in marathon racing shape, and vowed to just stay the course and treat the race like a Spirited Long Run, but then part of me wanted to give the marathon the effort and respect it deserved, i.e., everything I had. Miraculously, my sister/athlete, Sarah, called and shook me out of my funk. She reminded me that I love running marathons, that I was in shape (maybe not PR marathon shape), but in decent enough form to still go out and try! Therefore, I accepted that it would be a humbling race any way I ran it, but it would be worthy of a solid effort, and worth it for the story.
Feeling calm and collected post-sister pep talk, and Ted Lasso viewing last Friday night.
Since my mind was at ease by bedtime, I actually slept soundly before the alarm went off at 3:50A, a genuine miracle, and first win of the day. I arrived at the starting line in plenty of time, walked and stretched among my fellow anxious runners, and turned toward the still black ocean to inhale a gulp of humid air. My mind was quiet, but my heart felt heavy as I remembered the tragedy that took place twenty years earlier on 9/11/2001. I was grateful to still be alive when so many people lost their lives that day, and I promised I would carry their memories and heartbeats with me along the grueling miles ahead.
I lined up right behind the 3:15 pacing group, and felt comfortable running among them for the first mile, but fell behind just after passing mile two. I did fancy the idea my friend Dave gave me last week, to leave my watch at home, instead I decided my only goal was to let my body lead the way; push when I felt good, and pull back when I didn’t. Hence my watch was not the driver, but just an informative navigator along for the ride.
I have run the Surf City Half Marathon on four other occasions, so I was familiar with the first four miles of the course (they were not as flat I as I remembered), but miles five through nine were serene and lovely as I weaved through a dew-laced park at a comfortable 7:35ish min. mi. pace. Suddenly, I smacked into an acceptable hill right at the start of mile ten.
“You are so buff!” A mighty fit, early-thirties (I’m guessing?) female runner yelled out as she passed me whilst I was trudging up the hill.
“Thank you! You, too! Great job!” I managed to sputter out as I crept up the hill behind her.
That compliment shot straight to my heart, not only because I devote A LOT of time and energy to strength work, and I appreciate that it is visually paying off, but because my goal for the race suddenly became crystal clear, it is what I had been working towards for over a year, to stay strong, and not break like I did at the LA Marathon in March, 2020.
I knew, and honestly accepted that my speed was not where it once was for previous marathons, but that I was stronger than ever. I wanted this race to prove that my hamstring injury was truly behind me, and that my hammer toe situation was under control. Naturally, I’d like to be speedy again, but I value being sturdy.
Over the next few miles, eleven through fourteen, reality started to settle in. I was slowing down, but still seemingly gliding through the thick and warm early morning air. I was aware that I would not catch up to that kind runner who passed me on the hill, and that the 3:15 pace group was far out of reach, yet still content to follow my body’s lead step by step.
By mile seventeen, things got clunky.
I didn’t want to look at my watch (there was no point), I was beyond my long training run maximum after passing mile fifteen, the romance of racing the marathon was over, and now I was forced to treat it like an Ironman marathon; steady and controlled survival.
Between miles eighteen and twenty-one, running on a hot, dry, and exposed bike path parallel to the beach, where the aid stations were sparse, and/or non-existent, a surge of self-pity stormed the scene. I wasn’t sad, just confused as to why I kept doing this to myself? This was the 57th occasion, strewn over the last twenty years, that I had chosen to hurt. It just seemed silly. Here I was suffering again. Although annoying, I knew the answer; keep moving forward.
Just before mile nineteen I veered off course to douse my face and slurp some water from one of the beach bathroom sinks, then settled back into a careful, but constant pace toward the turn-a-round at mile twenty one. By mile twenty-two, I was back in good spirits, and able to soak up the amazement of it all.
As I was clipping along those last few miles, my mind went back to the victims of 9/11. I felt a wave of guilt and then appreciation for all of the life I have lived, the races and adventures I have been blessed to take on and complete throughout the last twenty years, and I promised not to take this race for granted one second longer. True, it wasn’t perfect, but I was still on my way to finish a marathon, an astounding feat for many, and still after all these years, an astounding feat for me.
I finished much later than I assumed I would, 3:43 hours, but I was relieved that the race played the role of Spirited Long Run just like I asked it to. My hamstrings were fine, my hammer toe was fine (I didn’t even have any blisters), my heart wasn’t broken, my pride was rattled, but still intact, and my legs felt fresher than ever mere minutes after crossing the finish line. All in all, I had faith that after a couple days of quality rest and refueling, I could hop right back on the Ironman California train-ing track, and push full steam ahead toward Sacramento in October.
That's me, screen left.
Thankfully, this event also held the Half-Marathon, and I was lucky to catch up with my friends and teammates right after the race. In fact, my friend Lynne was my hero by giving me some of her water and a couple slugs of salt that I desperately needed after the hot and long stretch of minimal hydration near the end of the course.
Post race, from left: Jenn Aronson, Yours Truly, Lynne Fiedler, and Sanger Lee.
Moreover, the icing on the cake for Surf City, was that my athlete, Laurel, and her husband, Caleb, ran the half-Marathon, too, so after a quick change of clothes in the back of my Jeep, I was able to meet up with them and get debriefed on how Laurel’s race unfolded in person, and true to her talent and training, she ran really well!
Post race meet up with my awesome athlete and friend, Laurel Brantley.
Due to COVID, the Surf City event was moved to September from it’s usual date on Superbowl Sunday, in February, but it plans to be back on schedule in 2022. Therefore, since this past weekend was the start of the NFL season, my absolute favorite time of year, I think it would be fun to have this race bookend the season, and run the marathon again on Superbowl Sunday. Actually, no, I don’t want to run it in February, I want to race it!
Who else wants to join in on some Winter marathon training?
The song and video choice this week is one of the most beautiful songs ever written and performed, and sums up exactly how I feel about the marathon, and I believe how it feels about me, Sade's, By Your Side.