Rock 'n' Roll Marathon: I Did It..and You Did It, Too
If you’ve come looking for a breakdown of my strategies and mile splits, they aren’t here. I’m lucky I even looked at my watch. And even if I was keeping tabs, they’d be worthless. Not after seven (or was it eight?) Port-a-potty breaks and a bladder that refused to give up even one ounce of urine until, of course, I needed to hold it in.
But if you’re looking for how I ran my slowest and most miserable marathon in 12 years, and couldn’t be more delighted in some respects, then pull up a mouse.
Preamble: An RBF Meet-Up and Marilyn Monroe
The pre-race Running Blog Family lunch in downtown San Diego went well, if I do say so. Susan and her sister Amy showed up first, followed by April Anne and her two friends, then Amy and her boyfriend Troy, A. Maria and friend, Nicole, Laura and her family, Karen and her mom and Jeff and his wife Lori. Dianna also put in an appearance, and our hearts went out to her upon learning she was ill, so sick with a stomach ailment that she ended up not participating in the marathon that she traveled all the way from Connecticut to run.
The conversations flowed as freely as the water pitchers, with everyone discussing the upcoming weather, course, pace predictions and much more. What a great group! Lots of pictures were taken, and once I figure out how to upload them from my daughter’s camera, you’ll see some of them.
Towards the end of the afternoon, Lori suggested that my groin injury and general leg aches might improve if I tried to avoid shallow breathing caused by anxiety. Little did I know I’d get a practice run minutes later when I went to get my car from a parking garage a few blocks away. It’s normally used for dental patients, but it was open when I arrived. Well, it was closed when I got back, and I just stared dumbfounded at the steel gate, taking a deep inhale and exhale. Two guys nursing tall-boy beers in paper bags walked by and pointed to a sign with a phone number. As I was dialing from my cell phone, a car inside came down the ramp and the gate opened. I was in! And then I was out and frantically driving home to pick up my friend for the San Diego Track Club’s pasta dinner in Balboa Park. It was another great soiree, with the entertainment including a Marilyn Monroe impersonator that flirted with our two blindfolded coaches while sexily singing “Runners are a Girl’s Best Friend.” It was hilarious.
The day ended with me finally gathering my considerable race gear and clothing for the next morning and then laying awake for hours. All total, I got about two hours of sleep, and not all in one spell. I kept questioning the wisdom of running on an injury and using Jelly Belly sports beans for the first time. I decided that if I was hurting too much, I’d bail at the halfway point and walk, either the rest of the way or to the nearest ride to the MCRD, where the race finishes. If my only complaint was that it was too hot, I’d suck it up.
Race Day: Hot Times in the City
The start was foggy but humid, far more moist than I ever remember for a local race. Now, I know this just shows I’ve gone soft since moving to San Diego, but it didn’t change the fact I was starting to sweat even before we got off the shuttle bus to the start. I sprayed some herbal muscle relaxant all over my upper leg, groin and butt during our last potty stop, leaving the stall reeking of camphor. Then my track club friends and I headed into our corral. The 4:15 pace team was nearby, and I planned to stick with them as long as possible. But almost out of the gate, I got boxed in by slower runners and the team pulled ahead. At first I raced to catch up, then wondered if that was smart. So I found a few other 4:15 stragglers to use as rabbits as we ran the perimeter of Balboa Park.
That got me to Mile 5 at The Padres’ Petco Park, after a nice steady downhill along Park Blvd., where I ran into a few track club friends. I already was struggling with my breathing. Concentrating on it just made me feel worse. So I focused on the bands and the buildings till we hit Broadway. Then I became fixated on the sun, which chose then to come out. My sunglasses kept steaming up and my visor wouldn’t stay tight. But I continued along and even managed to come up behind the pace group again. The pace, though, was feeling too fast. I do remember checking my watch at Mile 6 and realizing I was doing 9:15- and not 9:45-minute miles. So I backed off a little as we cruised toward the 163 freeway. It was getting hotter and muggier, but I could still maintain. I’d taken a bag of Jelly Belly sports beans at 1 hour, with my plan being to do one serving/bag every hour. In between, I’d take four long pulls on my bottle of Gookinaid whenever we hit a Powerade station. And two cups of water at every aid station, as our coach instructed.
The freeway is a bit of a bear. The road slants, steeply in one part, and is a series of rolling hills. My breathing was really labored now, and I felt the urge to pee and decided I’d stop somewhere on this stretch. A line of portable toilets came into view around Mile 9 and I got in line to use one. But once inside, nothing came out. As I emerged, the 4:20 pacer went by. I decided to wait until the next opportunity on Friar’s Road, in Fashion Valley, where the bands and spectators were again out in force. There, listening to a band’s cover of the ‘80s song “Goodbye to You,” I spent three endless minutes in the next portable toilet and produced nothing except the spins when I shut my eyes. I rejoined the fray and felt something foreign: a breeze. The marine layer had returned – hooray! I also took my second and final batch of jelly beans, so we must have been going on two hours when I hit 12 miles. By then the 4:30 crowd was among me.
Very soon, I forgot the groin pain, which actually wasn’t that bad after the muscle warmed. Instead, my rebellious bladder was starting to scream. Every time I saw a line of toilets, I stopped for a few minutes. And yet, nothing came out. I was getting quite frustrated at this point. I decided to keep going to the next medical tent at Mile 15 and ask for advice. A nurse suggested my body was retaining the sodium from those beans, my Gookinaid and a salt packet I threw in for good measure. My renal system was “being impacted.” Yeah, I said, so what do I do about it? Secretly, I wanted her to tell me to stop immediately. Instead, she told me to go into the next stall I came to and just sit until something happened. Sit? On one of those things? Oh, dear God.
If my body still failed to function, the nurse added, head to the next Medical Tent for further evaluation. I ran into more track club friends (Alexis and Marissa, who I’ve mentioned before) in between an additional stop and ended up missing the next tent. Then, just before we hit Crown Point Shores on Mission Bay, I saw Lori and Karen’s mom and stopped to ask them for advice. By then I’d started wondering if this would indeed be my second DNF. How, I wondered, do I explain another one to everyone that had shown such wonderful support? My friends. My family. My fellow bloggers. I didn’t want to let anyone down. And yet I was so far off pace that I was never going to finish even close to my worst-case time.
Another 'RBF Meet-Up' On the Course
Lori offered me a ride back, and I was about to take it when Runner Susan came into view. The field had slowed considerably and I realized this was the 5-hour group. Instinctively, I told them I’d run with Susan and thus began our 8-mile journey to the finish. We talked, sometimes we walked, but above all we kept moving forward. Susan was struggling with a variety of issues, but I have to say the slower pace helped alleviate some of my bladder jostling. I decided to forgo any more pit stops. By my rudimentary calculations, those breaks had already cost me at least 20 minutes and all of my mojo.
So Susan and I stuck it out together, with my friend Erica joining us for a portion of the journey. Erica, who’s done all but one Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon, noted that she’d never seen so many people walking. We decided it was the heat. We ran into Troy and Amy two miles from the finish, saying hello as they past. Towards the end, when the mustard yellow buildings of the MCRD came into view, Susan took the lead, which made me think she had enough gas to get to the finish. But she grew nauseous if we picked up the pace too much, and so we’d back off. And, mysteriously, I began to “leak” all over my shorts when I saw the Mile 25 marker. Just before the last .2 miles, I saw my husband and gave him a kiss. Standing next to him, unbeknownst to the two of them, was Susan’s sister!
In the end, we crossed together in 5:06. I should note that by then we’d gone a half mile more than a standard marathon, by two different GPS readings. We reunited with the other RBF members under a shady tree and I tried to finish the job in a row of portable toilets nearby. No luck. I decided I should leave sooner than later, said good-bye and kinda collapsed 20 yards away. I suddenly had to lie down and wait for the dizziness to pass, which it did.
By the time I got home, my body was full of aches and my bladder was misbehaving again. I’m fine now, producing clear urine again and on a regular basis. However, as you can see, this blog entry is a bit bloated. Well, it certainly fits the feel of the day.
But if you’re looking for how I ran my slowest and most miserable marathon in 12 years, and couldn’t be more delighted in some respects, then pull up a mouse.
Preamble: An RBF Meet-Up and Marilyn Monroe
The pre-race Running Blog Family lunch in downtown San Diego went well, if I do say so. Susan and her sister Amy showed up first, followed by April Anne and her two friends, then Amy and her boyfriend Troy, A. Maria and friend, Nicole, Laura and her family, Karen and her mom and Jeff and his wife Lori. Dianna also put in an appearance, and our hearts went out to her upon learning she was ill, so sick with a stomach ailment that she ended up not participating in the marathon that she traveled all the way from Connecticut to run.
The conversations flowed as freely as the water pitchers, with everyone discussing the upcoming weather, course, pace predictions and much more. What a great group! Lots of pictures were taken, and once I figure out how to upload them from my daughter’s camera, you’ll see some of them.
Towards the end of the afternoon, Lori suggested that my groin injury and general leg aches might improve if I tried to avoid shallow breathing caused by anxiety. Little did I know I’d get a practice run minutes later when I went to get my car from a parking garage a few blocks away. It’s normally used for dental patients, but it was open when I arrived. Well, it was closed when I got back, and I just stared dumbfounded at the steel gate, taking a deep inhale and exhale. Two guys nursing tall-boy beers in paper bags walked by and pointed to a sign with a phone number. As I was dialing from my cell phone, a car inside came down the ramp and the gate opened. I was in! And then I was out and frantically driving home to pick up my friend for the San Diego Track Club’s pasta dinner in Balboa Park. It was another great soiree, with the entertainment including a Marilyn Monroe impersonator that flirted with our two blindfolded coaches while sexily singing “Runners are a Girl’s Best Friend.” It was hilarious.
The day ended with me finally gathering my considerable race gear and clothing for the next morning and then laying awake for hours. All total, I got about two hours of sleep, and not all in one spell. I kept questioning the wisdom of running on an injury and using Jelly Belly sports beans for the first time. I decided that if I was hurting too much, I’d bail at the halfway point and walk, either the rest of the way or to the nearest ride to the MCRD, where the race finishes. If my only complaint was that it was too hot, I’d suck it up.
Race Day: Hot Times in the City
The start was foggy but humid, far more moist than I ever remember for a local race. Now, I know this just shows I’ve gone soft since moving to San Diego, but it didn’t change the fact I was starting to sweat even before we got off the shuttle bus to the start. I sprayed some herbal muscle relaxant all over my upper leg, groin and butt during our last potty stop, leaving the stall reeking of camphor. Then my track club friends and I headed into our corral. The 4:15 pace team was nearby, and I planned to stick with them as long as possible. But almost out of the gate, I got boxed in by slower runners and the team pulled ahead. At first I raced to catch up, then wondered if that was smart. So I found a few other 4:15 stragglers to use as rabbits as we ran the perimeter of Balboa Park.
That got me to Mile 5 at The Padres’ Petco Park, after a nice steady downhill along Park Blvd., where I ran into a few track club friends. I already was struggling with my breathing. Concentrating on it just made me feel worse. So I focused on the bands and the buildings till we hit Broadway. Then I became fixated on the sun, which chose then to come out. My sunglasses kept steaming up and my visor wouldn’t stay tight. But I continued along and even managed to come up behind the pace group again. The pace, though, was feeling too fast. I do remember checking my watch at Mile 6 and realizing I was doing 9:15- and not 9:45-minute miles. So I backed off a little as we cruised toward the 163 freeway. It was getting hotter and muggier, but I could still maintain. I’d taken a bag of Jelly Belly sports beans at 1 hour, with my plan being to do one serving/bag every hour. In between, I’d take four long pulls on my bottle of Gookinaid whenever we hit a Powerade station. And two cups of water at every aid station, as our coach instructed.
The freeway is a bit of a bear. The road slants, steeply in one part, and is a series of rolling hills. My breathing was really labored now, and I felt the urge to pee and decided I’d stop somewhere on this stretch. A line of portable toilets came into view around Mile 9 and I got in line to use one. But once inside, nothing came out. As I emerged, the 4:20 pacer went by. I decided to wait until the next opportunity on Friar’s Road, in Fashion Valley, where the bands and spectators were again out in force. There, listening to a band’s cover of the ‘80s song “Goodbye to You,” I spent three endless minutes in the next portable toilet and produced nothing except the spins when I shut my eyes. I rejoined the fray and felt something foreign: a breeze. The marine layer had returned – hooray! I also took my second and final batch of jelly beans, so we must have been going on two hours when I hit 12 miles. By then the 4:30 crowd was among me.
Very soon, I forgot the groin pain, which actually wasn’t that bad after the muscle warmed. Instead, my rebellious bladder was starting to scream. Every time I saw a line of toilets, I stopped for a few minutes. And yet, nothing came out. I was getting quite frustrated at this point. I decided to keep going to the next medical tent at Mile 15 and ask for advice. A nurse suggested my body was retaining the sodium from those beans, my Gookinaid and a salt packet I threw in for good measure. My renal system was “being impacted.” Yeah, I said, so what do I do about it? Secretly, I wanted her to tell me to stop immediately. Instead, she told me to go into the next stall I came to and just sit until something happened. Sit? On one of those things? Oh, dear God.
If my body still failed to function, the nurse added, head to the next Medical Tent for further evaluation. I ran into more track club friends (Alexis and Marissa, who I’ve mentioned before) in between an additional stop and ended up missing the next tent. Then, just before we hit Crown Point Shores on Mission Bay, I saw Lori and Karen’s mom and stopped to ask them for advice. By then I’d started wondering if this would indeed be my second DNF. How, I wondered, do I explain another one to everyone that had shown such wonderful support? My friends. My family. My fellow bloggers. I didn’t want to let anyone down. And yet I was so far off pace that I was never going to finish even close to my worst-case time.
Another 'RBF Meet-Up' On the Course
Lori offered me a ride back, and I was about to take it when Runner Susan came into view. The field had slowed considerably and I realized this was the 5-hour group. Instinctively, I told them I’d run with Susan and thus began our 8-mile journey to the finish. We talked, sometimes we walked, but above all we kept moving forward. Susan was struggling with a variety of issues, but I have to say the slower pace helped alleviate some of my bladder jostling. I decided to forgo any more pit stops. By my rudimentary calculations, those breaks had already cost me at least 20 minutes and all of my mojo.
So Susan and I stuck it out together, with my friend Erica joining us for a portion of the journey. Erica, who’s done all but one Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon, noted that she’d never seen so many people walking. We decided it was the heat. We ran into Troy and Amy two miles from the finish, saying hello as they past. Towards the end, when the mustard yellow buildings of the MCRD came into view, Susan took the lead, which made me think she had enough gas to get to the finish. But she grew nauseous if we picked up the pace too much, and so we’d back off. And, mysteriously, I began to “leak” all over my shorts when I saw the Mile 25 marker. Just before the last .2 miles, I saw my husband and gave him a kiss. Standing next to him, unbeknownst to the two of them, was Susan’s sister!
In the end, we crossed together in 5:06. I should note that by then we’d gone a half mile more than a standard marathon, by two different GPS readings. We reunited with the other RBF members under a shady tree and I tried to finish the job in a row of portable toilets nearby. No luck. I decided I should leave sooner than later, said good-bye and kinda collapsed 20 yards away. I suddenly had to lie down and wait for the dizziness to pass, which it did.
By the time I got home, my body was full of aches and my bladder was misbehaving again. I’m fine now, producing clear urine again and on a regular basis. However, as you can see, this blog entry is a bit bloated. Well, it certainly fits the feel of the day.
