Race Review: Balboa 8-Miler

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I’m not sure what race preparations yield good results in general, but I am pretty sure they don’t include 10-hour car drives in 108-degree heat, with stops for various fast food and soda. Not to mention numerous applications of BioFreeze to the butt and Motrin. Lots of Motrin.

That’s how I spent my waking hours leading up to this morning’s Balboa 8 Mile race. And I would say my finish reflected that, but in reality results likely would not have been that different on what is a difficult, mostly cross-country course.

The race starts and ends near the Pan-American Plaza inside Balboa Park. It was warm and muggy at the start and…and – oh, hell, I’ll just say it – I peed on my shorts trying to go au natural behind a hill instead of staying in a long portable potty line. Not a great way to start, let me tell you.

The course for the 8-miler is all over the place: around museums, up sidewalks, along asphalt roads, inside parking lots and on grass, mulch and dirt trails. The hills were steep in some places and rolling in others. The midpoint included passing the San Diego Zoo, where you could hear the animals on the other side of the tall fencing. We circled more museums then headed back to the hilly trails before surfacing along Balboa Drive for the final uphill push.

I actually was feeling better than expected until I turned to go over the Cabrillo Bridge and my fuel gauge hovered over empty. The legs, hip, feet, etc., were all functioning properly, so I just went on autopilot for the remaining mile and sped up oh-so-slightly coming into the nice downhill finish. Irene’s husband, Michael, took the photo of me just before I hit the line in 1:22:something. I was 9th out of 12 in my age group, which likely hurts my standings in the track club’s Grand Prix series. Irene maintained a steady, impressive pace to finish just about a minute or so behind me after running ahead of me for much of the race.

Michael opted for the 3 mile race and ran impressive splits – especially since the course turned out to be closer to 4 thanks to some course misdirections. His performance was all the more impressive when you consider he had injured a leg muscle earlier and didn’t even think he could run it at all.

Somehow it seemed fitting that my post-race meal should be as “nutritious” as my diet leading up to it. For lunch, a friend and I hit a Del Taco. My mind told me to order the fish taco; fortunately, my gut said stick with the salad.

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