Race Review: 2006 El Cajon 20k
Within our running circle, this race gets so much word-of-mouth that its course is almost mythic. It’s different for us city-dwellers. It’s also difficult.
For those unfamiliar with San Diego, El Cajon is a sprawling and weathered city bordered by beautiful mountains. It’s one of the few places I know of in the county where the McMansions and country clubs of the nuevo riche and old-moneyed coexist with the rundown service stations and manufactured homes of those less fortunate. El Cajon is also a more compassionate municipality than most. It tends to take in the downtrodden that other communities expel through community policing and higher housing costs. As a result, it’s not that unusual to drive downtown and have to dodge some slightly deranged, cigarette-dangling guy looking for a light.
If there’s a Starbucks in El Cajon, it’s well hidden. And if I sound like I'm dissing the place, I'm not. There's something to be said for a community that's colorful, tolerant, proud and diverse, and this community says it boldly.
The El Cajon 20k begins and ends at Granite Hills High School. Last year I went out too fast and finished the fatiguing 12.4-mile trip in 2:12. (Or close to it. I can’t find my old results online.) This year’s race, falling on April Fool’s Day, would be different. At least that’s what I told myself as I lined up at the start. I probably should have peed one more time. No matter, this year there would be a port-a-potty at the 10k mark. I could make it until then.
The weather was perfect, with some sun and some clouds and mercifully mild temps. After the first couple of flat miles, we started up a slight incline before turning the corner around the 5k mark, site of the first aid station and first big hill. I kept the pace conservative and just under 10-minute miles. I noticed a lot of others doing the same. We slowly climbed Vista Grande Road, which lived up to its name. The scenery is gorgeous, as are the huge homes that have been recently built back here. After a long ascent, we headed back down on a grade just as steep. By then my bladder was starting to protest, but I kept all bathroom thoughts at bay until after the second aid station at the 10k. I saw the lone portable toilet along the country road we were running on. Odd that no one was using it, I thought. As I grew closer, I saw why: It was padlocked.
So now I had even more reason to pick up the pace, which I did ever so slightly. I found a companion that I’d met during last summer’s Red Dress Run to help me keep some distance between my brain and my bladder as we moved along the rural Singing Hills section of the course. By then, you saw what was ahead: a mile-long, steep-as-steep-can-be hill along Dehesa Road at Mile 8 of the course. You can’t keel over or you’ll be crushed by motorists making their way to the Sycuan Resort & Casino. One more cup of ERG at the aid station before the base and I was ready to dig deep. I saw the smiley faces that a certain volunteer and Run DMZ reader always leaves. And then I saw this:
That Cindy! I smiled broadly as I inched upward, taking in a scenic overlook. I was still thinking of that chalked shout-out a quarter-mile back when I passed Coach Joe, who told me to keep my head up. Next came Coach Sally, who told me to pump my arms. Then a photographer, who I thought was lying when he said the hill’s two-thirds done. But he was right. Just past the ambulance, was Coach Paul, near the top. He leaned in, looked me square in the eyes and said, “Anne, you’re a champion of the world.” With all this encouragement, is it no wonder that hill already seemed a distant memory (but one I know I will recall for years to come)?
Before I knew it we were heading back down and my legs and lungs still felt fresh. Amazing contrast to last year, when I was already struggling not to walk. This is when I could have scooted into some bushes to take care of business, but my soggy shorts told me that was no longer necessary. I cursed my incontinence and now offer an apology to anyone I encountered in that urine-soaked state. Fortunately, my Nike shorts dried quickly so that by the time we rounded the high school and I saw the finish a few miles later, I was in good shape. I remember thinking that this year the course seemed shorter for some reason.
That’s because time-wise, it was.
2:01:35.
Last year’s time, if I remember right, was 2:12:42. (And even if I'm off, it's only by a minute or so.)
Let me do the math for you. Today I finished about 11 minutes faster than last year! E-lev-en minutes!!
No joke.
Photos by friend extraordinaire Cindy Evans.
For those unfamiliar with San Diego, El Cajon is a sprawling and weathered city bordered by beautiful mountains. It’s one of the few places I know of in the county where the McMansions and country clubs of the nuevo riche and old-moneyed coexist with the rundown service stations and manufactured homes of those less fortunate. El Cajon is also a more compassionate municipality than most. It tends to take in the downtrodden that other communities expel through community policing and higher housing costs. As a result, it’s not that unusual to drive downtown and have to dodge some slightly deranged, cigarette-dangling guy looking for a light.
If there’s a Starbucks in El Cajon, it’s well hidden. And if I sound like I'm dissing the place, I'm not. There's something to be said for a community that's colorful, tolerant, proud and diverse, and this community says it boldly.
The El Cajon 20k begins and ends at Granite Hills High School. Last year I went out too fast and finished the fatiguing 12.4-mile trip in 2:12. (Or close to it. I can’t find my old results online.) This year’s race, falling on April Fool’s Day, would be different. At least that’s what I told myself as I lined up at the start. I probably should have peed one more time. No matter, this year there would be a port-a-potty at the 10k mark. I could make it until then.
The weather was perfect, with some sun and some clouds and mercifully mild temps. After the first couple of flat miles, we started up a slight incline before turning the corner around the 5k mark, site of the first aid station and first big hill. I kept the pace conservative and just under 10-minute miles. I noticed a lot of others doing the same. We slowly climbed Vista Grande Road, which lived up to its name. The scenery is gorgeous, as are the huge homes that have been recently built back here. After a long ascent, we headed back down on a grade just as steep. By then my bladder was starting to protest, but I kept all bathroom thoughts at bay until after the second aid station at the 10k. I saw the lone portable toilet along the country road we were running on. Odd that no one was using it, I thought. As I grew closer, I saw why: It was padlocked.
So now I had even more reason to pick up the pace, which I did ever so slightly. I found a companion that I’d met during last summer’s Red Dress Run to help me keep some distance between my brain and my bladder as we moved along the rural Singing Hills section of the course. By then, you saw what was ahead: a mile-long, steep-as-steep-can-be hill along Dehesa Road at Mile 8 of the course. You can’t keel over or you’ll be crushed by motorists making their way to the Sycuan Resort & Casino. One more cup of ERG at the aid station before the base and I was ready to dig deep. I saw the smiley faces that a certain volunteer and Run DMZ reader always leaves. And then I saw this:
That Cindy! I smiled broadly as I inched upward, taking in a scenic overlook. I was still thinking of that chalked shout-out a quarter-mile back when I passed Coach Joe, who told me to keep my head up. Next came Coach Sally, who told me to pump my arms. Then a photographer, who I thought was lying when he said the hill’s two-thirds done. But he was right. Just past the ambulance, was Coach Paul, near the top. He leaned in, looked me square in the eyes and said, “Anne, you’re a champion of the world.” With all this encouragement, is it no wonder that hill already seemed a distant memory (but one I know I will recall for years to come)?
Before I knew it we were heading back down and my legs and lungs still felt fresh. Amazing contrast to last year, when I was already struggling not to walk. This is when I could have scooted into some bushes to take care of business, but my soggy shorts told me that was no longer necessary. I cursed my incontinence and now offer an apology to anyone I encountered in that urine-soaked state. Fortunately, my Nike shorts dried quickly so that by the time we rounded the high school and I saw the finish a few miles later, I was in good shape. I remember thinking that this year the course seemed shorter for some reason.
That’s because time-wise, it was.
2:01:35.
Last year’s time, if I remember right, was 2:12:42. (And even if I'm off, it's only by a minute or so.)
Let me do the math for you. Today I finished about 11 minutes faster than last year! E-lev-en minutes!!
No joke.
Photos by friend extraordinaire Cindy Evans.
