San Diego Marathon

This past weekend, I completed my 18th marathon, this time venturing down to San Diego for the Rock 'N Roll Marathon that they hold down there, joning around 15 thousand other runners.

The weekend began with a flight out of San Jose, a place that I rarely fly out of and was reminded of why. It's a horrible airport. :-) With about a million people in San Jose, you'd think they could put together an industrial strength airport by now, especially with the construction that's been going on for ages. After I got my ticket, I tried entering what I thought was the security line, but a uniformed man told me, "ahh, line is back there". Oh. Sorry. So I took a marathon-sized walk back to the stairs that lead down to baggage claim at the end of a line that barely seemed to be moving. It wasn't too long before the line extended behind me to another county. Oh well.

As I waited in the "C" line for the Southwest flight (they have a brilliant free-for-all seating plan, where you feel like you're trying to find a seat on an overloaded school bus when they get to the "C" group), I noticed a ton of Team in Training folks and secretly wondered whether any of them would be running the marathon (please excuse my humor...of course they were all running the marathon, but whenever I've seen them "train", it's a nice leisurely walk, like they've been cautioned not to break a sweat). Actually I shouldn't joke because they are a very strong organization, raising money for a great cause and getting people who would not normally engage in marathon-type activities in, well, marthon-type activities. Good for them.

Walking to my Hertz rental car, I noticed these electronic boards that flashed renter's names with an arrow pointing to their car (pretty cool). As I tried to find my spot, I saw the name "Dan Fouts" of all people. For those of you who don't know, there is a Dan Fouts who used to be a star quarterback for the San Diego Chargers and is now a fairly successful color commenator for ABC. The chances of coincidence are pretty slim, I think. I was almost tempted to hang out for a little while and see if he came by, but I had an expo to go to.

Speaking of the expo, I punched in the address to the "Never Lost" system and let the Never Lost lady lead the way to the convention center. Traffic became bad as I rolled closer, eventually coming upon this convention center, which was enormous, seeming to span the length several football fields. Speaking of fields, Petco Field was right across the street from it, home of the Padres. Petco field just doesn't seem to have the majesty of the name "Jack Murphy Stadium", which I think was what it was once called, unless this field is relatively brand new (not sure). But what team would be shaking in their spikes going to Petco Field?

After sitting in traffic for what seemed like forever (I kept looking at my watch and saying, "There's still plenty of time to get my packet"), I finally parked and took a b-line for the expo. This thing is big enough that they actually had 3-4 different things going on, independent of the marathon proceedings. It was interesting to see the different groups, especially the contrast between the laid-back runners with their plastic goodie bags and people in business casual carrying around brief and laptop cases.

Having done 17 marathons previously, I know the drill by now.

1. Find the line where my number falls into the range serviced (1000-2000 this time) and get my bib
2. Get my chip and test it out ("Are you Mark Taylor?"..."Yep")
3. Get a goodie bag
4. Get my t-shirt ("Extra Large?"..."Yep")
5. Get some GU and Body Glide (Somewhere in my apartment are 10 sticks of Body Glide, probably right next to 100 pens)
6. Graze (i.e. Eat and drink some of the sample stuff they have out)
7. Get the hell out of there

Seriously, there's not much more to it than that. I do the same thing practically every time.

Back at the rental I punched in the hotel address, which was the Sheraton in Mission Valley. Of course the Never Lost lady had no idea that Old Town San Diego (the area near the convention center) was under construction, so she kept re-calibrating my route as I tried to figure out where to go. Eventually I did get there, arriving to the hotel in a fairly urban sprawled part of town. I wasn't planning to see a lot of San Diego, even though I had never been there, but wanted to leave my exploration for the race and post-race.

Heeding to that thought, I drove across the overpass from the hotel to the urban sprawl strip mall and had my choice between a Fuduckers and Gordon Biersch. I almost convinced myself that a cheeseburger the night before a race has actually worked in getting me P.R. before, but better judgement came to my rescue and I opted for Gordon Biersch (Fudrucker's would be my reward). Taking my better judgement one step forward and resisting an order for beer or anything exciting on the menu, I opted for a simple pasta dish. Damn I was being good.

I then b-lined back to the hotel and pretty much spent the rest of the evening and night in bed, watching Dirk Nowitski take the Mavs to the NBA finals, which I think will lead to an interesting series with Heat. I then watched Star Wars episode III, which I hadn't seen since the big screen and enjoyed watching again, if at least for the great fight sequences. Kinda fun.

I had a hard time sleeping due to the warmth in the room. It turns out San Diego doesn't cool down at night like the SF Bay Area does, so I ended up cranking down the tempurature a bit. I awoke at what seemed to be every hour, which is indication that I was a little hyped up for the race. I finally caught some z's that were rudely shut down by my mom's call at 4:15 AM. "Hi Honey...are you awake...ok...Don't go back to sleep now." Of course I did go back to sleep only because I had a second wake up call coming from the hotel at 4:30. Some times you need two, and those 15 extra minutes were wonderful.

I jumped out a bed finally and hit the shower. I put on all of my running gear and started taking the elevator down, so that I could make the 5 AM shuttle. I was starting from the 12th floor and the elevator stopped at every floor down to the lobby to pick up another runner or two. By the time we hit "L", we could hear some unsettling creaking.

Soon enough we were on the shuttle and I was staring like a zombie at the seat in front of me. Why are races always so early? My trance was broken by a girl sitting beside me, who asked, "Have you done a marathon before?". After letting her question break through the fog I was in, which was similar to all of the fog hovering around outside, I sheepishly replied, "I've done a few, actually. How about you?" "Yes it is", she replied, "Do you have any tips?" I said, "Don't let the adrenaline of being in a race make you go out too fast, or you'll pay for it. Walk through the aid stations. Make sure you're drinking. Pour water over your head." I just blurted everything out that came to mind. It turned out that 18 miles was her longest run to date, not having ever ventured further. I told her to be careful out there, because the mileage can catch with you in a hurry. We both memorized each other's bib numbers so that we could check up on each other.

After a trip to the port-a-potty, I entered Corale #1,which was just behind Corale E (elite), which was filled with lean, fast-looking runners. I wondered how I had found my way into this bunch, but them remembered that I had said would be going for a 3:15 time. Oh yeah.
A pace runner carried around a 3:10 sign and I warned myself to stay away from that group. There would be another race to catch that breed of runner.

The national anthem was sung by an African-American woman with a beautiful voice. About mid-way through the song I remembered to remove my hat, which is probably due less to lack of memory and more to lack of patriotism. I'm always torn between standing there with some semblance of respect and just standing there as the person I am. I'm not exactly proud to be an American, but perhaps that's a little too black and white.

An army sargeant said a few words to us, wishing us luck and so forth. A gun went off and soon afterwards, I was running. Here we go again.

The first mile came by at 7:37, which is a little slow, though the 3:10 group was only few steps away and there was no way in hell I was going pass them. The second came in at around 7:19, evening out to the pace I wanted to be at. I was starting out at just the right stride and felt like I was comfortabley holding back.


Probably turning point for me was after completing the 10th mile. I had forced myself to use the bathroom just before the mile 9 marker, just to give my legs a little rest and lighten my overhydrated load a bit. I came into mile 9 at 7:48, which wasn't a bad recovery, considering the break. But then I was surprised to see my mile 10 turn out a time of 7:32 after I thought I had pushed myself a little bit more. I was wondering if I was just having a bad day and was feeling discouraged, but then thought to myself that if I wanted to P.R., I had to take some risks. I had put in the training and had lost weight, so I was ready. I had to stop pampering my legs and give them some hell.

Mile 11 was the perfect mile to start, with a pretty good down hill. Crossing the marker, breathing a little heavier, I read 6:34 on my watch. Too fast, but it brought a smile to my face. Mile 12 was up hill and I rattled off a 7:40, which was good for the incline. I followed with a 7:13 into mile 13 and was sitting at 1:37:30 at the half way mark, an almost perfect half for what I was trying to do. I was making a race out of it.

Mile 14 was a solid 7:32, but the important thing was that I was feeling pretty good, which hadn't been the case in my few previous marathons. What would end up being a pleasant surprise was that I would I be under 7:30 for every remaining mile, except for mile 20, which was also at a respectable 7:32 (something special about that number?), afterwhich I got a little faster. All the hard work I had put in was paying off.

I cruised through the remaining miles, barely noticing them, just pushing as hard as I could. As I reached a sign that said "1/2 mile to go", I felt something that I hadn't felt in a race for a good while: Rage. I ran the remaining half with a furrowed brow and furious anger. I wanted blood. I knew that I would P.R., but I wanted to squeeze out every second I that I could. No one passed me in this last stretch as I went by runners that seemed to be almost standing still. I felt awesome.

I crossed the finish line at 3:14:24 and heard the P.A. blare out my name "Mark Taylor from Mountain View". P.R., everyone. Finally, after a few years, I had P.R'd again. What a wonderful feeling. I pumped my fist and walked over to receive my medal. I felt high.

Here's the breakdown of my splits (yes, I'm anal when it comes to tracking pace) :

Mile 1 7:37
Mile 2 7:19
Mile 3 7:23
Mile 4 7:01
Mile 5 7:18
Mile 6 7:35
Mile 7 7:27
Mile 8 7:32
Mile 9 7:48
Mile 10 7:33
Mile 11 6:34
Mile 12 7:40
Mile 13 7:13
Mile 14 7:32
Mile 15 7:21
Mile 16 7:19
Mile 17 7:28
Mile 18 7:29
Mile 19 7:26
Mile 20 7:32
Mile 21 7:23
Mile 22 7:23
Mile 23 7:24
Mile 24 7:25
Mile 25 7:29
Mile 26 7:26

I found what really helped me were the 5K markers that they put on the course. I put myself in the mindset that I was going to run 4 strong 10K's, which is what I did with these splits:

1st 10K: 45:45
2nd 10K: 46:15
3rd 10K: 46:06
4th 10K : 46:13

Like all P.R.'s that I've had in past marathons, I ran a very even race, which is going to be my prescription for future ones.

The rest of my time spent in San Diego included a well-deserved trip to Fudruckers, followed by a traffic jammed trip to the northwest part of San Diego, where I found a nice overlook of the beach. "Nice" might be over stating it a bit. I have to admit that the beach itself looked really ugly to me, being a bit overcrowded and with some sort of dried up seeweed-looking stuff splattered all over the place. They also had horse shoe stakes all along the shore with plenty of people using them. It just didn't have this peaceful, wide-open feel that I like on a beach.

The residential area above the beach was more to my liking. It reminded me of Santa Cruz, seeing a lot of simple homes and condos and people carrying a care-free attitude around with them, along with their beach towels and surf and boogie boards. It felt so much more relaxing than the sandy shore that was a few blocks below.

It wasn't too long before I was sitting on the plane back to San Jose, trying not to keep my aching leg muscles in one position for too long, otherwise they would have had to pry me out of my seat. It seemed like such a long time ago that I had pulled myself out of bed to put the wheels in motion for a marathon. Even with the proof of painful legs and my finisher medal in hand, there's something surreal about running one. Was I really out there?

So that was the San Diego Marathon. I'm extremely encouraged by my time and now I have my sites on Boston. After recovering for a month or so, I'll be ready to train hard again and have high hopes to trim off those few remaining (and challenging) minutes from my time and perhaps some more pounds from my physique (I still have a Krispy Kreme layer that could go :-)) There's some work to do, but I have a rendezvous with Boston.

Oh yeah, about the girl on the bus. She ended up ignoring my advice completely and just tore up most of the course, running at close to an 8 minute pace before crashing in the last 5 miles, which she did at 10 minute pace. Despite going out too fast, she qualified for Boston, coming in at 3:40 and change. Incredible. :-)