Race Review: America's Finest City Half Marathon
It might have been America’s Finest, but this race was definitely not my finest. Overall, I’ll take the 2:10 finish, but only because I was cruisin’ along for three-fourths of the course and because my head wasn’t on straight -- and that’s gotta count for something.
Beer is no way to hydrate or carbo-load, and yet that’s what I opted to drink Saturday afternoon. Dinner plans fell through, and our Mother Hubbard cupboards left me eating a fried egg sandwich for dinner instead of having the wherewithal to walk across the street to the Italian restaurant. Don’t ask. Just don’t ask.
Very early Sunday morning (4:30-5:30 a.m., to be precise) everyone takes a bus from Balboa Park to the start at the Cabrillo National Monument high atop Point Loma. There, we were treated to a sunrise over the San Diego Bay, the colors muted by a thick cloud cover. I met my running buddy Mark, who kindly shared a small amount of his sugar-free Red Bull when I was falling asleep standing up. Nothing in the belly. But plenty still in the bladder. Go figure.
The start was a tad chaotic, and I lost Mark immediately, then caught and passed him at Mile 5. The first third of the AFC is comprised of rolling hills as everyone essentially descended from the Cabrillo grounds, past the Rosecrans National War Cemetery and into Point Loma neighborhoods. It was by far my favorite part because I had a decent pace going, despite all the weaving, and I prefer short hills to a flat course. And, I passed a lot of people. By the way, what is up with all the fully loaded fuel belts for a half marathon?!
The second third is along the embarcadero and Harbor Island, where at Mile 10 we hung a left into downtown. There we found the famed Margaritaville stop with tequila-laced drinks and cheeseburgers. Prior, there was a champagne stop and the Tropical Rainforest stop, where you run under canopies while being misted and listening to tropical bird sounds. I realized at Mile 10 that I was chilled despite the heat and humidity and opted to take the Clift Shot I’d just gotten on the course. I also chugged down two cups of water, for what it’s worth. Still, everything got a little fuzzy shortly after that stop and by the Sixth Avenue hill at the 11.5 mile, I was walking. Ugh. I hate to walk, but I knew I wasn’t cogent and feared I’d fall or bonk bigtime.
At the top, as we turned into the park, I felt better, though still chilled, and picked up the pace again. Soon as I shot through the finish, I was off to my car, rushing home to shower and then head with the family for Sonoma State University. It was time to say good-bye to my older daughter and hope everything I taught her the last 18 years now pays off in sound decisions, wonderful memories and a promising career as a teacher.
In hindsight, I wasn’t as physically ready for this race as I thought. But, I was even less emotionally equipped for the trip that followed. With no cooldown or stretching, and then 11 hours in a car, I was guaranteed to be sore Monday and today. And indeed I was. But the tight limbs just mimic the sadness constricting my heart at the moment. I trust both will heal very soon.
Beer is no way to hydrate or carbo-load, and yet that’s what I opted to drink Saturday afternoon. Dinner plans fell through, and our Mother Hubbard cupboards left me eating a fried egg sandwich for dinner instead of having the wherewithal to walk across the street to the Italian restaurant. Don’t ask. Just don’t ask.
Very early Sunday morning (4:30-5:30 a.m., to be precise) everyone takes a bus from Balboa Park to the start at the Cabrillo National Monument high atop Point Loma. There, we were treated to a sunrise over the San Diego Bay, the colors muted by a thick cloud cover. I met my running buddy Mark, who kindly shared a small amount of his sugar-free Red Bull when I was falling asleep standing up. Nothing in the belly. But plenty still in the bladder. Go figure.
The start was a tad chaotic, and I lost Mark immediately, then caught and passed him at Mile 5. The first third of the AFC is comprised of rolling hills as everyone essentially descended from the Cabrillo grounds, past the Rosecrans National War Cemetery and into Point Loma neighborhoods. It was by far my favorite part because I had a decent pace going, despite all the weaving, and I prefer short hills to a flat course. And, I passed a lot of people. By the way, what is up with all the fully loaded fuel belts for a half marathon?!
The second third is along the embarcadero and Harbor Island, where at Mile 10 we hung a left into downtown. There we found the famed Margaritaville stop with tequila-laced drinks and cheeseburgers. Prior, there was a champagne stop and the Tropical Rainforest stop, where you run under canopies while being misted and listening to tropical bird sounds. I realized at Mile 10 that I was chilled despite the heat and humidity and opted to take the Clift Shot I’d just gotten on the course. I also chugged down two cups of water, for what it’s worth. Still, everything got a little fuzzy shortly after that stop and by the Sixth Avenue hill at the 11.5 mile, I was walking. Ugh. I hate to walk, but I knew I wasn’t cogent and feared I’d fall or bonk bigtime.
At the top, as we turned into the park, I felt better, though still chilled, and picked up the pace again. Soon as I shot through the finish, I was off to my car, rushing home to shower and then head with the family for Sonoma State University. It was time to say good-bye to my older daughter and hope everything I taught her the last 18 years now pays off in sound decisions, wonderful memories and a promising career as a teacher.
In hindsight, I wasn’t as physically ready for this race as I thought. But, I was even less emotionally equipped for the trip that followed. With no cooldown or stretching, and then 11 hours in a car, I was guaranteed to be sore Monday and today. And indeed I was. But the tight limbs just mimic the sadness constricting my heart at the moment. I trust both will heal very soon.
