La Jolla Half 2006

In The Beginning....

So, I have been talked into keeping a blog. Something that is foreign and kind of ridiculous to me, but seeming to make a little more sense when I consider the training log I keep. Here I begin the journey into the blog world and hoping to gain insight and understanding of those I have mocked in the past for doing the same.

Race Day

Today was one of my favorite races, La Jolla Half Marathon. Most all runners are familiar with the course, begining at the Race Track in Del Mar and finishing at beautiful La Jolla Cove, with 13.1 miles of scenic beauty in between. On a day like today, it is no wonder we pay the sunshine tax here in San Diego when the ocean was placid and the sky fair blue. I tried to be thankful with every step I took and, despite feeling a bit dizzy at the top of Torrey Pines Hill, I threw up a little prayer to acknowledge the One who gives it all to us.

Race day began with the usual jitters and unsettled stomach I always experience. My close friends all know and have witnessed my intimate relationship with vomit when I cross the finish line at most marathons. I have been derailed by stomach ailments more times than I care to recount and often suffer the pangs of stomach problems even in a half marathon. I am wondering how bad it could get in the Half Iroman that looms in my future, but I will have to cross that bridge when I come to it.

I ate 3 Cliff Shot Blocks at the start, determined to stay away from the Gu that seems to ruin my belly. It felt great being with friends who were all in the same race boat, John, Mike, Tom, Henry, and Tracy. We all train long on the weekends together and it was comforting to have some support, though we all silently knew it is every man for himself come raceday. John has always been my pacedog for past half marathons. He is as steady as the day is long, and though he usually drops me like a bad habit around mile 8, I am grateful for company at the start. Today, I had little Tracy as a shoulder to run on. Mother of 2 and weighing less than a buck, she is the tiniest package of determination I have ever met. An accomplished runner with a huge heart, she is an easy prescence to be with...and a running force to be reckoned with.

"Down By the Race Track Early in the Morning, See the Little Racers, all in a Row. See the Race Director, Pull the Horn's handle, 'Uh, Oh!' 'Beep, Beep!' Off We Go!"

The horn went off and we were off. Mile one came and went with little incident. I was thinking we would run about 7:50 pace, but there we were at 7:25. "Surely we will settle in," I told myself. Mile 2 just before Jake's in Del Mar, where I worked in college, brought a mile not much slower, about 7:30 pace. I was a little worried, but went with it because there Tracy was plugging away with John steps in front, and Tom and Henry in front of him. Mike was off the radar completely. I felt sick with worry, but kept my concrete and reluctant feet moving at that pace. I tried to remind myself we all have to run our own race and not to get sucked into anything else.

The miles seemed to fly by, 3 and then 4 with Torrey Pines Hill looming in sight now. Tracy took a Gu and now I was a little fearful of that fateful decision I made to pitch my one packet at the starting line. We passed Tom and John and Henry along the coast stretch. The ocean was a blue I had never noticed before and to me it resounded the fact that only the Creator's hand could accomplish such a work. To the Hill we went.

"Here we go girl!!!" she yelled to me on the ascent. Suddenly, the racers and all the world disappeared. I was in a zone all my own, which is so unusual for me. I am always so dependent on friends to carry me along, and here I was, suddendly strung out all alone. Trace was somewhere behind me on the climb, after all, at 85 pounds, there is nothing on that tush of hers to puch her up that hill. John was coming, too. Tom was somewhere not far behind with Henry chasing him. Mike has left us at mile 1, with no looking back.

I didn't care, really. I was on my own, almost skipping up that hill. I didn't feel great until I reminded myself how intimately I know that climb. How I have practiced it and attacked it and dissected it numerous times. It was not going to claim me today. I found some guy wearing a bright blue singlet and chose to tag him as my rabbit. I hung on to that shirt the whole way up. The best part of racing in my mind are the friends one meets along the way. Today was no different. There was no shortage of people to talk to or comiserate with. Especially with Torrey out of the way, we all breathed a sign of relief. It was the unspoken understanding of nervous jokes and thankful rejoicing that we all began a little chatter among each other. It felt great to be alive with that under our belts, myself and 2000 of my closest friends out for our Sunday run. Mile 6 at the top brought water and 3 more Cliff Blocks. Soon came mile 7 and onward. I began to notice the heat.

The deceiving part of LJ Half is Torrey is not even the kicker. The Hill is over, but the climb does not stop there. It continues up past the hospital and to UCSD. As you round the corner to North Torrey Pines Road, only then does it flatten out and then decend enough to bring some relief to the weary traveler. I had to take advantage of the downhill. I had stopped looking at my watch or even thinking about the miles. I wanted only to think about the course in front of me and concentrate on the road. Where was Tracy??? I wondered if she had already passed me and I missed her? Miles 8 and 9 were kind of vague, but still no Tracy. I was decidedly on my own for the conclusion. I took 2 more Blocks to console myself and ditched the bag with the remaining nutrition.
Then, dropping down La Jolla Shores just past mile 10, I saw her nymph-like frame flutter past me, hollering, "It took me 4 miles to catch you!"

"Go, girlee," I yelled back, thrilled to know she was still in the game and wanting desperately to keep her in view as she flew by effortlessly. Down the hill we rambled, all the way to the boardwalk, I could see her floating along. And then, on the beach just past the main Guard tower, I caught a glimpse of what looked like my little girl. HOw could that be, since I knew Marc and the kids were to be at the finish? But, there she was, running to the wall, yelling, "Go, mama!" That was the most joyful thing I had seen all day, my fan club of Marc and the little people with Susan and Steve and their beautiful boys all cheering. It was a delicious and much needed distraction from the aches in my legs. It gave me the little lift I needed, knowing I was coming into the dreaded territory that gets me every year, the hills past 12. I waved as I went by and rounded the corner, then another and one more to the Marine Room.

Death Could Have Become Me

Mile 12. It kills me every year. Every year, I end up walking through the water station with the same familiar mantra of 2 words per step I will not print here in black and white for you to read. Not this year. This year was going to be different. I kept shuffling. I did not stop or even entertain those curse words of defeat. I skipped the water to shuffle those concrete feet further up the hill of Spindrift toward Torrey Pines Road again. "I'm on my way home," I said over and over. I began to pick people off. There was the blue singlet guy again. I was right on his heels! I was in disbelief! I thought he had left me on the Shores hill with Tracy, who was now around the corner ahead of me and out of sight. I pumped my arms and picked it up to pass him. I made the right turn onto TP Road and up the last hill to Prosepct. There were people cheering along the way. I couldn't hear them, I was dreaming of the finish. I knew I had run a smart race.

The Finish

Hard Right onto Prospect Place and screaming down the hill. There was Tracy, her little legs hammering. Those bricks hurt every year and every year I am certain I am going to trip over my own feet and kiss the pavement. I could hear the announcer. I could hear the crowd yelling. I tried to peek at the clock, fearful that the time would read something slower than last year's time for me. All I needed was 1:43 and I would be golden. I strained to see the numbers but there were too many people in the way. I rounded the bend and just before I hear that delightful beep of chips crossing the line, I read the time, 1:39:29. Could it be? A PR for me on this course. Not my fastest half, but for this beast of a race, it was notable for my portfolio. Tracy came right over and hugged me. She was in a minute before and we were thrilled. It felt like a fabulous day. Then came John, 30 seconds behind. "I tried to catch you, but I just couldn't," said he. "Marc and Steve said you were 20 seconds in front at Shores and I just couldn't get you." Perhaps the 80 miles he rode the day before were still in his legs. My legs were shaking as I sat down to take the chip off for the volunteers.

The really lovely thing about the day was we all had a great one. Tracy's virgin race back after 2 boys brought her a stellar time. Mike came in 1:34 and felt leisurely. Henry bettered his race by 7 minutes the previous year at 1:43. Tom's first half marathon brought him a very respectable 1:45. And though it was a PR for me on this course, that was not where the elation was found. The fact that I did not march directly to a garbage can at the finish to empty the contents of my stomach was reason enough to celebrate. I was ebullient. I felt high. Only bummer is now I have to try for the same time next year. Hmmm. I will have to sleep on that one.