I have to disagree with my new Runner's World, which I'm reading at 4 AM on the morning of the San Francisco Marathon. I feel no guilt running the half marathon, which starts along with the marathon at the crazy time of 5:30 AM. My body has one marathon in it per year, and since I ran mine in March, I'm done until 2009. Besides, as my friend Diane Dove once told me before we ran a 5K, sometimes it's harder to run 3 miles fast than 20 miles slow.
The benefit of the East Coast start time for a West Coast race is that parking is a cinch. I get the perfect spot at Steuart and Mission, one block from the start and 40 feet from where the shuttle bus will drop me off after the race. Even with that great luck, I can't avoid the long waits at the porta pottys. The lines are moving extremely slow 25 minutes before the race, and the crowd is stretched across the southbound side of Embarcadero Avenue, making a U-turn across the street to the pottys. As the lines gets longer, the group at the back is now as close to the pottys as those in front. About 10 minutes before the race the people at the end of the line perform a nifty maneuver and simply turn around, becoming the first in line.
Such is the excitement of road racing. A few years ago I waited for the facilities at the San Francisco Half Marathon, which was overwhelmed with anxious runners. Minutes before the race 99% of us had no chance of using the restrooms, so hundreds of men and women headed for the woods to take care of business.
This year's Davis Stampede half marathon, 10K and 5K had a problem when race routes nearly caused a mass collision. The 5K started five minutes before the other races, but organizers had to change the route because of a lack of permits. The porta pottys were lined up in their usual spot along a street, with the 10K and half marathon runners stretched completely across the road. However, the new 5K route passed directly through the porta potty lines. Those of us in line looked to our right and saw hundreds of 5K runners ready to charge into us. Once the organizers realized a real stampede would take place, they halted the 5K start until we bunched on the sidewalks. We got a little closer to each other than we had planned, but no one was stampeded.
Two minutes before this race, I exit the bathroom and hurry to the start. I'm in the first wave of runners, toward the back of the pack. No time to stretch or warm up. The race begins and we run on the Embarcadero in the moonlight. As I pass runners I hear "Hey, Larry, how's it going?" It's Kenny Bright (see Buddy System, June 2008). We tell each other that we're both running the half marathon. I continue on and won't see Kenny the rest of the day, but he will play an important role at the end of this story.
The lighting on the Embarcadero is quite good, and I don't have any problem negotiating the terrain. It's flat and well-paved. The only problem I have with visibility is at Forst Mason. With few lights on the path, it's pretty dark. At least the path is uphill, so we're running pretty slow and in no danger of falling.
I'm wearing my blue Lake Merritt Joggers and Striders (LMJS) singlet, which features three ducks on the front. As part of a team of about 32 LMJS members, I'm looking for anyone else in similar clothing, but I can't find anyone. I don't understand how the team scoring is done, but it takes the top three finishers in all the races (marathon, first and second half marathons, and 5K) from each team and compiles a score. There are about 19,000 people running the numerous events, it's dark, and I'm focused on the race, so it's not surprising that I don't see any other LMJS runners.
The race continues toward the Golden Gate bridge. I feel a headwind as we head west along Crissy Field. This is a positive development, because the wind often blows north, making the southbound run over the bridge difficult. Daylight has arrived, and we hit the bridge.
The view from the bridge is not so spectacular. The day is overcast and visibility is poor. In addition the race goes along the roadbed of the bridge to accomodate the thousands of runners, which causes the early start to minimize traffic disruptions. Most races over the Golden Gate use the pedestrian walkways on the side. The side paths have several advantages. For one thing, you have an unobstructed view, assuming there's anything to see. The pedestrian paths also provide clear separation from vehicle traffic, making the run more relaxing.
As I get near the north end of the bridge the wind picks up from the left. It blows my bib so forcefully that I'm afraid my number will get torn off my singlet. I make the turnaround on the Marin side of the bridge and see a time clock the size of a shoebox that shows a time of around 49 minutes. I still don't have any accurate estimate of how far I've run so the clock may as well have read Xr:3!. The mile markers aren't the best, and I've probably noticed fewer than half of them.
I wanted to run a 6:11 pace to finish at 1:21, but I think I'm slower than that. I'm wearing my Adidas Rotterdams since I couldn't find a replacement for my usual race shoes. The Rotterdams were great in the Run to the Lake 10K three weeks earlier, but I seem to be tiring in the middle of this race. At this point I have a number of thoughts in my head. I've given up hope of finishing under my goal time, and I'm not pushing myself, but I'm content in running a decent pace over a hilly course that I don't know very well. Maybe I don't need to give an all-out effort to place for a medal, and I'm not sure I want to.
Coming back over the bridge I see Suzette Smith (see States of Mind, July 2008) going the opposite direction. We say hi to each other as we pass. We were hoping to carpool together, but had to go separately when her party got too big.
Not long after crossing the bridge we reach the 11th mile. I soon find out that the next mile features a steep decline, 11% for the first half and 4% for the second half. I run as fast as possible, letting my shoes absorb the biggest shocks I can deliver. This is the fastest 11th mile I have ever run, perhaps less than six minutes.
As we approach a hill a runner ahead of me seems disoriented. He asks the race volunteers a question and they point and say "After the hill to the right". I keep gaining on him, and see his name in small letters near his collar in back, Gill Lotem (M45). For the next two miles we'll be trading positions, with me gaining on the downhills and he passing me on the uphills. As we approach Golden Gate Park he asks me about which turns to take. The course is well-marked with volunteers and police providing directions. I tell him I don't know. He asks again, and I hold my hands up and say with some bewilderment, "Just run."
As we run through San Francisco I notice the streets are desolate and quiet. It's not the most scenic race in a lot of ways. The darkness and overcast sky turn everything gray. Of course there are no spectators on the street because they're all asleep. Gill overtakes me as we climb a hill in Golden Gate Park. I turn behind me and see that no one is gaining, so I sprint as much as I feel like and finish in 1:24:53. The time is 6:55 AM.
The post race is subdued as well. The first half marathon ends at the midpoint of the marathon, so our finish has all the essentials, but on a smaller scale. A lot of people are wrapping themselves in mylar sheets, which I ignore, changing into a t-shirt and workout pants. I take out my camera, but there's really nothing worth photographing. I enjoyed the run, and will do it again, but from a visual standpoint, it pales to the runs on the East Bay.
I am amazed that with nearly 7,000 runners in this race, I don't see anyone I recognize. As I walk toward the shuttle buses Tim Smith (see States of Mind, July 2008) yells my name. I talk to him, and soon his mother Suzette joins us. She ran the marathon last year, but we both agree that the half marathon was far enough. We chat for a while, and then I have to get home.
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That afternoon I check the results on-line and see that I finished third among males 40-44, just behind Gill Lotem, who ran the exact same time. He took second place because he passed the finish line before me, but he finished ahead of me because he had a better position at the start. If I had just run one second faster! Actually, I'm quite happy with my finish. They had an award ceremony at 10 AM that I couldn't attend, but the web site says my award will be mailed to me in two or three months.Getting back to my finish, I wonder if I had lighter shoes than my Rotterdams, or if I had pushed myself a little harder, maybe I would have taken second. I'm amusing myself with these thoughts.
I notice that there are team results as well. I check the coed results, and LMJS took second place to a much younger group of Stanford triathletes. I was the top finisher for us and our number two runner was none other than Kenny Bright, whom I briefly saw at the beginning of the race. Kenny's contribution, along with that of Lance Fong, helped us finish ahead of a much younger group of Cal triathletes. The three top finishers for LMJS had a combined age of 140, compared to 85 for Stanford and 80 for Cal.
Other outstanding results for LMJS runners include Suzanne Franco and Barbara McQuinn, who finished second and third in their respective age groups.
I've avoided this race because of the early start, but waking up at 3 AM isn't that big of an incovenience, at least not compared to traveling and staying overnight somewhere else. I look forward to doing this one again.
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