A tale of two races

Finish? Yes.
Finish with dignity? No.

My original goal was just to finish the marathon. I told myself that would be good enough for me. Then the goal became finish with dignity, the more I though about what I was doing. I will start by saying, in my imagination, yesterday played out quit different and I wasn't in any way prepared for the mostly mental and somewhat physical journey.

Saturday night was exciting! I started laying out my gear early in the morning. I was completely organized down to the care package Brandon was to meet me with at mile 19. Brandon and I went to dinner, all was right with the world and I laid in bed all night daydreaming of winning the marathon and becoming an overnight sensation in the running world. Yes, I am delusional. For real, delusional.

My secret goal was 5:30:00 which would have put me at a 12 minute pace for the entire marathon, and that is what I trained to do. At the very least, 6 hours was acceptable in my book as not a failure.

At 4:00 a.m on Sunday I got out of bed and started my morning race routine. Spotless execution of all tasks! I was so excited I made myself nauseous. We took a secret way to the start line, as to avoid the traffic which was backed up from Washington Street to Old Town. I hear it backs up to Sea World and I am grateful for Brandon and myself that we didn't get stuck. I found my running group and we did a warm up and then it was off to the start line!

When you do a big enough race you are put into corrals based upon your estimated finish time. This is so the slower and inexperienced runners are not up with the elite racers. I was in corral 21. Ready to go! A woman sings the star spangled banner and I start to choke up, and think about how cool this was going to be. The start gun went off and 10 minutes later I crossed the start line (25,000 people)! Note, I made it a point to explain corrals. I spent the first five miles dodging walkers. Thanks to Team in Training, I can only imagine they tell their participants: "Screw the rules, the more inexperienced you are the closer you have to be to the start line." I dare anyone to prove me wrong on that. Period. Team in Training is easily the worst outfit known to man. It is a cult that teaches their participants to only help one another, only cheer for their own and take out everyone else.

I call this the tale of two races because it was entirely two different races. The first half. The second half. Guess which half was best?

The first 13 miles.

What a race! I was running the race of a lifetime. I was with the 5:30:00 pace setters. Solid execution! I felt fantastic! I started to convince myself that 5:30 wasn't a goal but an easy reality. Just settle into the stride and wait until the five hours pass. No Big Deal! There were the same old funny things happening along the course: costumes, a juggler, people peeing. Same old story! I took to running along the sidelines and giving high five's to spectators. If no one was cheering I was screaming: "Come on, I can't hear you!" On the approach to a child I did the same thing throughout the race "Come on buddy, I'm going to need five to keep going." Hand in the air, if a child was sitting, I waited. I stopped at every water station to hydrate, I cheered for every band. This was my race! I beat my La Jolla Half Marathon time, not by much, but I beat it and I was very proud. I was taking it all in. I felt that I was mentally prepared for the mind games you inevitably start to play with yourself at his type of event. I knew what to tell myself to block out the pain, I knew which songs on my IPod would keep me lifted. I didn't need it until:

Mile 17, or what we can refer to as the second half............ I started to feel a blister around 163, which is about mile 15. It felt like a bad blister, but nothing I couldn't run through. By mile 17 I was begging for Vaseline from the medical tent. Vaseline on, foot inspected, all good! By the time I hit mile 19, which was in front of our house and I saw Brandon, it was over. I had given up. Honestly, it's embarrassing but I really did. The pain was more than I could handle at that point and I knew there was still a long way to go. Brandon rode his bike along side me for a mile or two and then I asked him to go. I feel terrible because I can only imagine how worried he was. Miss Optimistic the night before: "If I'm not at mile 19 by 10:30 am, something is drastically wrong!" I got to mile 19 at 11:15 a.m. I just needed to be alone. I was still giving high fives to kids along the course only now I was crying. I'm sure their parents are thanking me for the "crazy, crying lady nightmares" their children are sure to have. Asking for high fives turned into a demand. I decided it was best to walk the majority of the mileage left and screw the time. The time was already long gone I couldn't even see the pace setter flag any longer. It was a ship in the distance I would never run fast enough to catch. Mile 19-23 are a blur of crying, cursing, talking myself out of quitting, warm water at the water stops and cheerleaders that were tired of cheering. It had already been a very long day for the volunteers. I must have been begging the right God for a miracle because literally out of now where, Julie jumped in front of me.....

"SARA! YOU LOOK GREAT! I"M SO PROUD OF YOU! Your doing it."

Crying turns to sobs............

I didn't even notice that Julie was scratched up. In her haste not to miss me she tripped and fell. That is how she came out of nowhere, she slid right past me and jumped up. Very sly, Julie!

"Julie, I can't do this any longer. It hurts so much and I want to quit. What is stopping me from quitting?"

"I AM!" She grabbed my hand, laced her fingers in mine and walked me in the remaining three miles. The last three miles took over an hour and she talked and told me funny stories the entire time I was sobbing and breathing heavy as if birth was imminent. I couldn't have been more miserable of a person. I couldn't even attempt to run at this point. My beautiful dancers feet had been replaced by bloody stumps and I can only pray they return to their former glory so I can face a pedicure. At mile 26 all of the coaches, bikes, non runners are stopped from entering M.C.R.D. Marines are standing at the gates to make sure non runners can't enter without going through security.

"O.k., this is where I drop you off!" Julie let go of my hand and hugged me. She is the bravest woman on earth for hugging me at that point, the smell alone. I became hysterical. I was that girl. I did run the remaining 200 yards to the finish line. Run is relative. It was more like a shuffle. Sobbing. Embarrassed. People stopped to cheer for me as I looked like I was going to commit suicide at the finish line. For one second after I crossed the line I sucked it up. I heard you all cheer as I knew you would have done and Brandon sigh in relief. I immediately demanded a medal put around my neck and I collapsed in a pile of orange rinds and banana peels by the slipper station. I begged the volunteers to throw me some sandals and then I was on my way home. Julie found me at the end. I believe she bartered a piece of chocolate for entry to see me finish. Julie walked me to the shuttles about 1/2 mile from the finish. She started her own trek the over three miles back to her car....... Finish time 6:35:00, Time at the half: 2:43:00

I'll win it next year. Thank you Julie.... Thank you Brandon........