Avenue of the Giants Marathon

I've written about the rest of my weekend in Humboldt County, now it's time for the race report.

Although I did this race with the Leukemia and Lymphoma's Team in Training, I was dedicating it to Noah Cuttler's Man of the Year Campaign. As a Team Cuttler Athlete I had pledged to raise another $500 for the L&L Society. I figured that even though the money wouldn't go to TnT's bottom line it would serve the same ultimate purpose.

I was signed up for the early bird start at the race. The regular race was scheduled for a 9:00 am start; the early bird (and early turtle for half marathon runners) was scheduled for 8:00 am. Not so early, hmm? Maui, at 5:00 am, is early. Eight o'clock is practically the middle of the day for runners!

Saturday night I set the alarms on the bedside clock and on my phone. Often I'll set three alarms, just to be sure, but I thought two would be enough. Since I was meeting Bree at the staging area by 6:45 am, and I wasn't sure how long the drive would take in the morning, I figured I should leave the motel by 6:15 am at the latest. That meant a wake-up of 5:15 since I like enough time to shower, dress, eat and, oh yeah, fret a little.

Turned out I didn't need either of the alarms. After tossing and turning (and sniffling and sneezing from the room) all night I finally got up about 5 o'clock and decided to get going. I took my wake-up shower and stood under the pouring water for a while, trying to focus. I could hear from the plumbing noises that my neighbors on both sides were also showering. Guess they were marathoners too!

I had dithered about which top to wear, and finally decided on the short sleeved top instead of the singlet. Saturday afternoon at packet picket had been warm, but the wind was cold. I know my arms and shoulders chill easily so I decided to cover them. Plus, it would mean less area to glop on sunscreen. TnT normally gives the runners purple singlets and the walkers the purple shirt, but I don't like the cut of the singlet and had asked for the shirt; I'm glad I did. My number was already pinned in place. I have issues with crooked or improperly pinned bibs, especially for a marathon where it could flap or rustle or just annoy the heck out of me after several hours, so I always do this the night before. I had also attached my timing chip to my shoe with the garbage twist-tie they had. I was a little worried that it might fall apart during the race, but all went well.

I ate my oatmeal, forcing down every single bite. It's my perfect fuel but that doesn't mean I like it, especially when I make it with hot tap water instead of freshly boiled water. Yum? I read for a while, rested, drank water and finally decided to just hit the road.

The drive down was uneventful. It was interesting to see the lumber mill steaming away on a Sunday morning. [Monday night on the news I saw an interesting story about it - I'll report on that later - if I remember ....] It was a beautiful morning, cold (low-40s), sunny and bright. I remembered the exit from the day before but it looked like the other cars on the road were having a hard time figuring out where to go. At the right place, on the gore point after the exit, was a sign saying "marathon next exit." I actually think it was just misplaced by about 20 feet, but a lot of cars screeched out of the exit lane and back onto the freeway. I took the exit, followed the next (correctly placed) sign and drove up toward the staging area. We had been told the day before that parking would be on the sand spit behind packet pickup, about a mile's total walk to the start (and yes, the thought of an extra couple of miles made me grumpy), but when I arrived close parking was still available on the side of the road. I met up with Bree and we sat in my car staying warm between frequent trips to the (abundant and clean) porta potties. Finally we decided we had better head over to the start line.

I decided to keep on my disposable poncho until at least the start, and to wear my gloves. It was still pretty darn chilly out. The early birds and turtles all lined up at the start. Bree and I moved toward exactly the opposite direction we normally take at the beginning of a race: the front. Most of these starters would be walkers so we wanted to be in front of them. How odd to be among the fastest in the crowd. I ditched my poncho just before the horn sounded. It seemed to take forever, but finally we were off! We had to weave around a few walkers but then it was mostly clear in front of us, only about a dozen people ahead.

The full marathon course is an out-and-back along two different roads. The half marathon followed the first half of the full. Right at the start was a very pretty waterfall -- what a sight for the start and a harbinger of what was ahead! Within yards of the start we were in a heavily forested area, among the big trees. The road, to put it simply, sucked. It was sharply canted, cracked, rutted, pitted, broken, holed; just a totally crappy surface. It was also twisty, narrow and hilly. At this point of the race, and for at least until after we turned around for the return trip, it wasn't too much of a problem because we had essentially the entire road to ourselves. We could find the best surface and cut all the tangents for the shortest route. We could go back and forth on both sides of the road to find good footing or just stay smack in the middle. That was nice, being out front without a crowd.

Our plan was to run:walk at 4:1 and finish about 5:45. That meant running consistent 13:07 or faster splits. It was really hard to pace on that road; not only going back and forth but also the hills. Our first mile was on target at 12:25. On target knowing that we'd start out a little fast before we warmed up. It wasn't too fast for either of us. The next mile was 13:10 and we just didn't understand why, we felt like we had given it the same effort. Then mile 3 was 12:34 and 4 was 14:08 Huh? It was the hills, or it was the surface, or maybe the mile markers were off, or whatever. We felt we were running hard and consistently and didn't understand why our splits were so uneven. At about that time I decided not to worry about my watch and just try to run well.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention, at length, the beauty of the area. It was really one Anita moment from start to finish, stunningly gorgeous along the road. When you could look up from your footing long enough! The peace and serenity of the giant trees seeped into my thoughts, my brain, my soul. Shut up, it did. The undergrowth was new and fresh, bright wildflowers were everywhere. Pale green leaves on shrubs and hardwoods, deeper green in the grasses and ferns, dark shady greens back in the forest. The trees weren't big, they were enormous. Unbelievably wide, incredibly tall. It was like a natural chapel. I would have loved to have plopped myself down for several hours to just commune with nature. It's very easy to see why I'm a treehugger at heart, why my (unused) degree is in forestry, why conservation of our environment is so important to me. It touched me and I'll carry the memory of the majestic glory for my life.

But meanwhile, I kept running. Heh, no stopping for beauty on this trip! We continued on, chatting or not as the mood hit us, commenting on other people or the scenery. We made bets on when the leaders would show up and she won. Math while running isn't my strong suit. It was nice passing the turnaround (where they had a chip mat for a split and to deter cheaters) and going back the way we had come. It wasn't too long before we saw the front runners pounding up the middle of the road. That was the last of our having our choice of where to run. As it started getting more crowded we were relegated to the far right hand side of the road. The slower people coming toward us hugged the left part of the road, faster runners sped down the middle. There were also a few cars coming by, pretty scary with all the runners going both directions.

Faster runners always complain about having to weave past early-start walkers in a race. This would be one of those times. We could see some of the walkers (not TnT thankfully) stretched out across the entire road. They were blocking not only those trying to pass them from behind but those trying to pass in the other direction. As we squeezed past them both Bree and I felt like we wanted to give them a hip check or a shoulder nudge to get out of the way. We didn't but only because we thought it might hurt us worse than them.

Early on, by mile 3, Bree started having significant pain. She had a nagging hip injury that had bothered her while we were running our 20 miler and it had returned, just in time for the marathon. She popped a couple of painkillers and thought that would hold her. It didn't. By mile 9 she was running hunched over, crooked, bent and in great pain. She didn't want to stop and didn't want to give up and wanted to keep going. After talking it over, and talking with a friend of hers (a TnT coach we saw along the way) she decided to do the right thing and give up not only her quest for a sub-6 marathon, but any thoughts of a full marathon at all. She urged me to go ahead without her and being the selfish pig that I am, I went off on my own. I was torn, I wanted to stay with her and make sure she'd be ok, but I also knew she really wanted me to get lost. It was a tough decision, but nowhere near as tough as hers.

For most of this leg there was no crowd support; it was pretty impossible to get out there to cheer unless you had started early and planned to stay until the race was over. As I got closer to the end of the first leg a few people, then a lot of people, were on the side of the road cheering. I'm sure most of them were wondering what I was doing out there with the leaders but I wasn't in the mood to explain it. Everybody kept telling me I was almost there, almost finished. Even the people passing me said that. Oh stuff it! Didn't anyone remember there was a full marathon going on too? Or maybe I just don't look like I can run a full marathon. Whatever, I smiled at most of them and kept running.

I finished the half and hung a right to cross the bridge and start the second half. All of a sudden it got verrry quiet out there. There were about 900 people running the half and only 325 running the full, most of them behind me since I had started early. It was kind of cool, having mostly everyone pass me at some point of the race. And they did: anyone who began at the regular start and finished faster than 4:45 passed me.

The second leg's pavement was a vast improvement over the first. It was still hilly and winding and canted but the surface was much smoother. It was also, for the most part, a wider road. By this time, it was warming up and getting windy. At the intermittent clearings the wind really picked up and the sun was burning strong. Luckily it was, remember, the Avenue of the Giants so it was mostly shady. There was one spot where the whole side of the hill had washed out and the road was technically closed. Of course they let us through. It was just a tad creepy thinking of one of those hillsides coming down. Good thing it hadn't rained in a few days.

There were more people along this stretch too, mostly campers wondering just what in the hell these strange numbered people were doing, and when they'd be able to move their big ol' RV's back along the road. Some were cheering us on, most were just staring.

Water stops were adequate to good. They had water and this nasty (so I'm told) electrolyte drink, urg or ugg or something like that. Some stops had oranges and bananas. There were no gels or bars or beans or sharkies or anything like that available. Luckily I carry my own gu and my own packets of ultima. Yes, I'm one of the seventeen people in the world who like the taste of ultima and I've used it for all my training and races. I was also glad I had my own salt tablets and packets since it was so warm. On the first half there were people handing out cups but by the time I started the last six miles most of the volunteers were sitting and watching the race. Or, watching the few of us still out there. Yeah, that made me cranky but hey, I'm always cranky at that point of the run. I can't really blame the people, they'd been out there for so long, but it meant more work for me to stop and figure out which cup to take and to grab it. So I tossed those on the ground when I finished, instead of trying for a garbage can like I'd been doing. Take that!

I was getting really tired those last few miles. I thought of just walking it in, since I wasn't trying to pace Bree anymore, but I just couldn't do it. Why? Because I opened my big fat mouth and predicted 5:45 is why! On my blog! In public! What a git. Although I knew that was best case scenario, I put it out there anyway. I knew, as early as mile 8 or so, that 5:45 was out the window. But I also knew I could come in some time around 5:55 if I didn't just shrug my shoulders and walk it on in. I knew there were 3 hills at the end; a long gradual one, a shorter steeper one (an overpass) and a short bridge right at the end. I told myself I could walk up all 3 of those, even if they weren't within my 4:1 which I had continued for the rest of the race. My run had become more of a shuffle, but that was eating up the miles.

Bree had walked out for about the last mile (?) to run me in. I didn't want to talk, and didn't particularly want anyone else to either, although it was nice to have company. I was about as focused as I ever get, just concentrating on moving forward. Bree just quietly matched my pace and followed my lead. My breathing was pretty ragged, a combination of exhaustion and asthma. I quickly walked up the long hill, resumed running, trudged up the big hill, then continued running. I quit the 4:1 at that point, turned the beeper off on my watch.

Then I saw, waiting for me along the road, my coach Mama Lisa. Ruh roh. I knew, without a doubt, that she wasn't going to let me slack on that last hill. Lisa and Susan, another runner who had been waiting with her, fell in with me and Bree. Bree told them I'd like quiet and they ignored her. Which was fine, since I was so focused on finishing the damn thing that I was trying to ignore them! Lisa exclaimed about how well I was doing, how good I looked, y'know, all those lies they tell runners. My shuffle sped up and we left Bree struggling behind us. Lisa had no trouble matching my slow pace since she runs in our slower runners all the time; Susan had a harder time slowing her Boston pace to my trudge. As we neared the bridge Lisa told me to slow down a bit in preparation for the bridge. I muttered "walkin'" which was all I had breath to say. She thought I meant right then, and was about to stop, when she realized I meant to walk the bridge. I was right, she was having nothing to do with that! No way was she gonna let me wuss out there, with the finish line almost in sight. I was too tired to argue. In a quiet, calm, encouraging voice she coached me, step by step, up and over that bridge. "Shorten your stride," "don't look at the top, look over there" (I was actually looking at my feet, I was afraid I'd trip), "deep breaths" (deep gasping breaths were all I could get) "up on your toes" and so on. As we crested the top she told me to look and see the finish line, right ahead of me. I wearily raised my hand for a high five and pounded my way across the line, totally spent. Finish time: 5:52:09.

I had my usual emotions at crossing the line; thrills at finishing the race, pride at giving it my best, regrets for not being faster, overwhelming sadness at not being able to tell my Dad that I'd finished another marathon, anticipation of telling my sis and mom and friends about my day, vast happiness that I didn't have to run anymore. Also as usual after a finish line dash I was entirely out of breath, starting to feel the pain in my legs and feet that I had been ignoring for the past couple of hours, wanting to cry, wanting to laugh. At that time everything seems magnified, bigger than life.

I got my chip removed and was handed my medal, then walked over to give Mama Lisa a great big hug. We waited for Bree, walking around a bit to slow my breathing and cool down. We walked up to the TnT checkout tent but they had closed it down already. I kinda knew they would since the full marathon wasn't their race, but I had really hoped I could get a TnT 26.2 pin. I know it's practically impossible to get one after a race is done. We walked over to see what kind of food was available. I noticed them packing up the tee shirt table (and what's up with that? There was still another hour for people to finish the race and I knew there were people behind me) and walked over to see if I could exchange my ugly girly shirt for one of the burgundy shirts. The woman told me I had to hurry up and get my shirt to trade in. I just looked at her and told her I had just run 26 miles, I wouldn't be hurrying anywhere for about 36 hours! Bree very generously offered to get the shirt from my car, so I was able to make the trade.

There was a table with some cookies and pretzels and one quarter of a dried out peanut butter sandwich, and cups of water. I don't know if there had been more than that for earlier finishers. Nothing looked in the least bit enticing but I took a couple of fig newtons for later.

So that was it. My 25th full marathon. Silver anniversary marathon! I'm very glad I did it, glad I got to experience running through that gorgeous scenery. I'm happy with my time but even happier that I didn't decide to just phone it in and that I worked hard for that time. I'm sad that Bree didn't get to finish it with me but we'll have another chance at another race once she's healed.

I made one mistake. I told Mama Lisa that at the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll Marathon in 3 weeks I was just gonna have fun, just stroll along and walk the whole damn thing if I felt like it. "Oh no you're not!!" was her reply. Hmm. Maybe I'll have to run incognito ....