California International Marathon 2013

As I ate my race day breakfast of champions, a chocolate frosted donut and bowl of Lucky Charms, I felt oddly calm. In the last few weeks, everything seemed to be coming together perfectly. My allergies/asthma had finally calmed down, the weather looked a little chilly but nice, and I'd slept like a baby all week. Maybe it was the 4:30am wake-up call, but I felt unusually relaxed about everything.

Friends don't believe me when I say my race fuel is Lucky Charms. Check out the nightstand. I don't joke about my race routine.

Exhibit B: Cheerful nails. Matt's say: "Go Karen", Mine: "Run Fast"

Matt and I managed to pick our friend Lanore out of the sea of 8,000 runners. We decided to run the first miles together. She was shooting for 3:30 and I was hoping for 3:30-3:35.  The rising sun illuminated the cloud of steam that rose from the runners up ahead. Temperatures were in the mid-20s at the start and didn't rise above freezing until after I finished. The three of us were happy when the race finally began and we could warm up a bit. The first few miles were run with frozen shoes and feet. I had forgotten what chilly runs felt like. With as much cold weather experience as I have (Alaska Karen would balk and call 25F "balmy"), I was confident that a few miles would warm me up wonderfully.

In the months leading up to this race, I debated whether or not to run based on feel. Until I chained myself to a specific time goal a few marathons ago, I had always run and done well pacing off of internal cues. I decided to go back to that and ignore my watch other than the mile splits.  On this rolling hills course, Garmin wasn't going to be much help anyways.

Miles 1-6: 8:08, 7:51, 7:48, 7:42, 7:55, 7:56

The first six miles passed quickly and I was surprised when we were already that far. If a mile split was too quick, I made sure to slow the next one down a little. I thought back to last year's 5 mile split, I felt incredible today compared to then!  Matt, Lanore, and I chatted about the spectator signs until she began to pull away from me at mile 7.

The course made a sudden turn south and sunshine filtered through broken clouds. It was beautiful. Depending on whether the aid station was in the shade or not determined its safety. We had to slow quite a bit for most of them on the first half of the course. Runners ahead had dropped partially used cups of water and it was glare ice. Many stations had someone out front shouting a warning about the ice. It was a nice smooth glaze over the roadway and Matt said he saw a couple people fall. Ouch. The Gatorade was a nice temperature, but the water was so cold it hurt my teeth and made me cough as it went down.

At some point before halfway, I looked over at Matt and saw he had half inch icicles growing from his beard. He ran his fingers across his chin to investigate. "I knew I should have brought the camera," he said. This is his first beard and he's constantly amused by how it feels, looks, and behaves in all kinds of weather. I may never see his clean shaven freckles again!

(source) It looked like this. Cropped to keep me looking like too much of a creeper....

At mile 9, I felt the really easy effort level begin to slip away. This is about where I expected it and just let myself forget about pacing. My legs know what to do.

Miles 7-13: 7:51, 8:04, 8:01, 7:55, 8:02, 8:00, 7:57

I reached halfway in 1:44. "You only have to keep under 8:30 pace the rest of the way to run a 3:35!" I said to myself, "You can do that! That's your long run pace!"

Miles 14-20: 7:59, 8:29 (inhaler), 8:03, 8:01, 8:17, 8:11, 8:37

Last time I was at the allergist, I asked about how to use my inhaler during a long race. She told me that since a marathon is much more intense on my lungs, I could use it more frequently, once an hour if I needed to. The cold air caused some mild discomfort in my lungs so I decided that two hours in was time enough for a hit. I pulled off to the curb at mile 15 and fought with cold fingers to get the inhaler out and positioned properly to get anything into my mouth. After a few failed attempts, I was finally able to get it to work. Within a mile, I felt my body relax and I was able to run comfortably once again.

During a particularly sunny spot in mile 17, I heard a voice call out to me. "Go Karen and Matt!" It was Becky manning one of the intersections as a course marshal. That's when I thought of all of you, my readers, following along at home. I don't say it enough, but I truly cherish all the support you've given me during these last few years. As much as I wanted to have a good day for myself, I wanted to make all of you proud as well.

Pre-race dinner with, Matt, blogger Selica, Lanore and her husband Ron (not pictured).

The cold in my hands began to travel up into my arms and neck. Since I always sweat so heavily, I can never get my hands warm without being completely drenched everywhere else and now I was feeling the chilly breeze slice through my outfit.  I drafted off of Matt and it helped a bit but my breathing had returned to a loud, raspy donkey wheeze. My lips were numb and my throat sore from the cold air (I'm a mouth-breather when I run). Without realizing it at first, I had begun raising my hand to my mouth to warm my face. It wasn't really helping.

Miles 21-25: 8:27, 8:46 (inhaler), 8:40, 8:56, 9:04

As I gradually slowed, Matt found himself looking over his shoulder more frequently and noticing I was falling behind. I turned on my iPod and used it to pacify any negative thoughts. It worked perfectly and soon I was jamming as I ran down the street. I slowed to almost a walk as we crossed a small bridge over the American River., but otherwise kept a steady shuffle. Now we were on the Downtown Sacramento grid.  Not much longer now, I told myself, You've got this! I was passing dozens of people and found this enormously encouraging.

Then mile 25 came. Everything suddenly seized up. My vision blurred and my legs trembled. With each footfall, I found myself focusing on the landing just to stay upright. It reminded me of the fatigue I had late in chemo treatments. I could barely stand. As the 3:35 pace group passed by, I told myself to stick with them and catch up. My body refused to move with them. It was as if I were standing still, my legs tied together, watching as they sprinted by.

"Don't stop, you're almost there!" Matt offered. Even though he didn't mention it, I could tell by the look on his face that he already knew I'd miss my goal. For the last half of a mile, he repeated the same thing. "You're almost there, keep going. Don't stop." He later said he was surprised I didn't bark angrily at him and didn't stop. Instead I just agreed and mindlessly followed him down the street.

Mile 26: 10:20

When we reached the split for the separate male and female finish lines, Matt reminded me of our agreement. We were going to race to the finish; he promised not to go all out.  On that final straightaway lined with people, I wobbled as they cheered for me. I can only imagine that I looked like a stumbling drunk as lithe runners dashed past me. I'm sure at least a dozen girls passed me on that final approach alone.

The volunteers must have seen me struggling because as I tripped over the second of two timing mats, they caught me and I never hit the ground.  They pulled me back up and pretty much carried me through the line, stopping to remove the timing chip, get my medal, and wrap me in a foil blanket. Eventually the quaking in my legs had diminished enough for me to stand on my own. They offered to help me to the med tent, but I mumbled something about Matt finishing with me and pointed to the men's finish line. "He's just right over there", I said. I thanked them for their help. Upon realizing that I did have someone to look after me and I wasn't just babbling incoherently, they left me with him. "Finish line angels swooped down and saved me," I told Matt.  Okay, maybe I wasn't quite with it after all. I still don't know how it happened, but someone managed to pause my Garmin within ten seconds of my finishing.

We gathered our sweat bags and found a spot on the lawn of the state capitol building. There were still quite a few frosty spots on the grass but we chose a sunny one. I sprawled out in the sunshine and rested for a few minutes before changing into a dry shirt and reading the time on my watch. A few minutes short of my goal, but still a respectable PR (previous: 3:43:07, CIM 2012):

3:37:36
8:19/mi.

I have to admit that it stings a little bit to watch my goal slip away in the last half mile. Maybe my asthma medications make my lungs more sensitive to the cold? All I know is that I spent the remainder of the day coughing and feeling slightly confused. I should have worn a scarf to warm the air as I breathed it in.

I remember the Dairy Queen part too.

The worst part of it is that I had two friends congratulate me on a Boston Qualifying time without them realizing that for my age, 3:37 is just shy of one. I hated having to correct them and say "no, I was two minutes off." One even congratulated me and then said, "oh, well I take it back then," when I told him I didn't BQ. Thanks, I guess?

I am proud of the fact that I didn't give up. I have a new PR. Sometimes progress doesn't follow a linear pattern and it's essential to look back at the big picture.  With this marathon, I’ve officially removed over 80 minutes from my first marathon time (4:58:35) in 2009.

Running doesn’t come easy to me, the last thing someone would call me is a “natural”, so every bit of what I’ve accomplished has come from hard work and consistency. And if that's not something to be proud of, I don't know what is.