Big Sur 2012 Race Report

Are you interested in running the Big Sur International Marathon?

The short answer:  DO IT.

In 2008, I ran the Big Sur Half Marathon in Monterey Bay, which is run by the same organizers as the full version with a lot of the same aid/entertainment stations, but it is a completely different course.  The half is a flat, coastal run starting and ending in Monterey Bay's Cannery Row, while the full, held at the end of April each year, is a point-to-point course starting in the beautiful redwoods of Big Sur and ending in the center of Carmel-by-the-Sea, 26.2 miles north on Highway One.  

The full marathon is by no means flat.  :)

With the memory of a fun half in mind, I spent the next three years actively recruiting people (mostly Floridians, holla!) to come out west to run Big Sur.  By the time 2011 rolled around, I had pretty much given up, and was very happy when I saw that a few awesome people (who, unfortunately, I didn't know terribly well) had registered for the 27th Presentation of the Big Sur International Marathon in 2012.  I was thrilled to finally have an excuse to register, so I did...a week and a half before suddenly registering for Ironman Lake Placid 2012.  Oops.

Running a full marathon three months before you are supposed to (which is to say, I should only be running 26.2 miles on July 22nd for Ironman) is a little risky, particularly if you are not devoting yourself 100% to marathon training because of Ironman.  Those of you who know me well know that I was pretty nervous about injuring myself, particularly because I have had a slough of injury quirks in my foot for the past year (when I rammed it into a flying trapeze platform, long story).  I couldn't risk getting injured for Ironman by running Big Sur, and yet I didn't want to forgo running Big Sur, a race I have had my eyes on for almost four years.  And so, I trained as much as I could without sacrificing Ironman and hoped for the best.

I can safely say that I had to wake up for Big Sur earlier than any other race I have ever run (including both Ironman triathlons!).  In order to safely transport 10,000 marathon, 21-miler, 10.6-miler, and 9-miler runners to various staging locations along a dark, foggy, and windy Highway One in buses, runners are expected to meet their buses in one of eight different locations in the wee small hours of the morning.  (*As an aside, why is the plural of "bus" spelled "buses"?  That seems odd.)  

As such, I woke up after a fitful sleep at 2:30, and began slowly eating my pre-race meal over the next three hours, which usually consists of a bagel and cream cheese, a banana, gatorade, and a serving of rice pudding.  While eating, I dressed, stretched, and drove myself to Carmel Middle School, where I promptly boarded one of the buses heading southbound to Big Sur.

We essentially drove the course backwards, starting from the finish area and heading southbound past the start areas for the other race distances, finally stopping at the marathon start.  I was relieved that it was dark and foggy on the drive, because I had heard from other runners in the bus that they had driven the course the day before and were even MORE nervous, now that they knew just how many hills awaited them on the course.  Ignorance is bliss, folks!  :)

Upon our arrival into the start area (two hours before the actual start of the marathon), I quickly used the porta-pottie and found a place on a bench near the medical station to eat the rest of my food and basically chill (literally!) until we started getting into corrals.  Surprisingly, the two hours went by quickly as more people started to fill the staging area, and I was distracted by the conversations between the medic volunteers ("You put Vaseline where?!") and two obnoxiously fast runners talking about their plan for this course and future races.  

Around 6:15, we begrudgingly started to strip off our top layers to check our sweats bags and head to one of three corrals at the start line.  I self-seeded myself in the last corral, having no illusions about this course and hoping for a safe and happy finish, and eagerly awaited the beginning of the race.  The announcers at the start (including Jeff Galloway and Burt Yasso, I think) announced some interesting facts about this year's marathon runners, including a wedding at mile 25 (the wedding party was also running this race), and someone who was finishing her final marathon for the "fifty marathons in fifty states" goal.  Pretty awesome!  

Before I knew it, the first and second corrals were released, and as our corral approached the start line, I chatted with the ClifBar 5:30 pacer, who said that she would be telling stories throughout the course and seemed quite lovely.  I made a mental note in my head that I would try my best to stay with her and let her stories distract me from the pain, especially in the second part of the course.  At least she would help pull me through.  :)

The start of the Big Sur Marathon literally begins in/around Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, so the first five miles or so are nestled comfortably in the redwoods with glimpses of green mountains on your right.  Even on an early Sunday morning, people wandered out of their comfy cabins and motels in the crisp air to cheer us on, and it was stunning.  Even though Highway One was closed to vehicular traffic, we were restricted to the left (coastal) lane as we made our way northward, so that occasional "caravans" of necessary road traffic could drive through the area.  About four miles into the course, the race officials drove Jeff and Burt past us, cheering us on and yelling out their windows as we moved forward.

A few weeks before the race, I had decided to run intervals for Big Sur in an effort to save my legs (as much as possible) for Ironman.  Up until I crossed the start line, I had been going back and forth on what intervals I wanted to do for the course, ranging from Jeff Galloway's suggestion of 1:1 (run 1 minute, walk 1), Beth's suggestion of 4:1, or my personal favorite, 9:1.  I decided on 9:1 for the first two hours of the course, allowing myself to switch it up at that point once I had a better sense of the challenging middle part of the course.

The first five miles went quickly, and before I knew it, I was no longer surrounded by redwoods as the scene transformed into a vast green pasture with rolling green hills to my right.  This section was relatively flat to gradual incline, and it was noticeably warmer than the early morning section in Big Sur.  I started thinking that the tank top under my running shirt was a little much, as my formerly-freezing butt was starting to roast.  I decided to keep it on for the time being, however, since I didn't know what to expect later on, and, in hindsight, I am really glad that I made this decision.  My favorite part of this section was the cow next to the highway that mooed louder than I have ever heard a cow moo, and it scared the bajeepers out of me and the guy behind me.  :)

Around mile 8, I started to notice that there were low clouds/fog up ahead, and captured a photo of the change in scenery up ahead.  Around this time, I began to experience a light headwind, but was sufficiently distracted by the first sight of the Pacific Ocean on my left.  It, sadly, was not the picturesque crashing blue waves that I had envisioned for this course, looking more like the coast of England or Ireland than California, as the sky had turned a cool shade of grey and the fog descended. 

Between miles 9 and 10, we had some small elevation changes and periods of blue sky, which allowed us to get multiple vantage points of the now-colorful coastline below.  I had never before seen such colors on the rocks, and the combination of sun and moisture created a stunningly beautiful effect.  A lot of runners took pictures during this time, including myself, as though we could not absorb enough of the sight ahead of us.  It was spectacular.

Just before mile 10, there is a small descent leading into a huge bend in the road to the left as the coastline weaves its way northward.  At the base of the descent and middle of the bend, there was a Taiko Drumming Ensemble beating away in perfect choreography, and it was the PERFECT location for them, as they not only were sighted perfectly so that runners could see what they were running towards (i.e. Hurricane Point, a two-mile ascent beginning at mile 10), but runners could also be inspired by the rhythmic beat of the drums as it transitioned them from a little descent to a ginormous, windy, difficult ascent.  Perfect placement, BSIM!

Hurricane Point, named after the exposed nature of the coastline resulting in significant wind speeds, is a two-mile ascent on windy roads, which often create a "false summit" affect because you think you are almost done with the hill, but then you turn a corner and are actually not done.  It can be demoralizing in sunny weather, but when you add headwind, fog, and remember that you still need to run 14 miles after you reach the top, it can be downright exhausting.  In a way, it was almost helpful that the high winds and fog kept my head down and obscured visibility, since it essentially meant that I wouldn't be constantly disappointed that I had not yet climbed Hurricane Point.

It was windy (see video here) and hard, but it was also doable.  Instead of sticking with my 4:1 interval for the next two hours of the race, I switched to smaller intervals of counting steps (such as "run 100 steps, walk 50") throughout this section.  I do believe that the amount of walking I did in this section helped preserve my legs for the second half of the course, and I would do it all over again.  A lot of people had walk breaks or were walking the whole thing, so at least I was not alone.

When we finally reached the top of Hurricane Point around mile 12, a few people around me started to clap and cheer.  I joined in, and realized that I had never before been in a race where the runners themselves celebrated the end of such a huge climb.  It was a nice moment, followed shortly after by a break in the fog to see the start of the descent to the halfway point, Bixby Bridge.

Bixby Bridge was, by far, what I was looking forward to the most on this course.  Not only is the bridge incredibly photogenic (even if saturated by fog, as we were on race day), but the entertainment for that section is an amplified grand piano, played by a classical pianist in a tuxedo.  It is incredibly beautiful and inspirational, set against the bridge and the sea, and could not be a better way to commemorate the halfway point of a very challenging course.  

I was very emotional at this part of the course, as it marked a goal (FINALLY running Big Sur) and combined two big passions - music and endurance sports.  I felt so lucky to be able to run this course, and grateful for this life that has taken me to this moment.  It is one of my best race moments, and will probably remain at the top of my list for the rest of my life.  It didn't help that he played an arrangement of "Bridge Over Troubled Water," which was so perfectly suited for this scenery that it was almost heavenly.  Unreal.

As I made my way past the halfway point, I started calculating my pace off of the 5:30 pace band around my wrist, happy that I had not lost too much time on Hurricane Point taking pictures.  :)  At this point in the race, I focused on having quality 4:1 intervals, so that I could make up some lost time and hold on to a near-PR race pace.  I knew that this race was far from over, and that there were some sizable rolling hills left to conquer, so I tried to keep my heart rate down and stretched during intermittent walk intervals.

I cannot remember much about miles 14-17, except that I recalculated my pace at every mile marker, hoping that I could gradually make up time so that I could be at a PR pace.  All bets were off until later, as was still worried about blowing out my legs too soon.  When I reached the Garrapata Bridge, another idyllic bridge near the Garrapata State Park around mile 17ish, I smiled to myself because I had mentally marked this location as "the wall", and I still felt pretty good.

The scenery around miles 18-20 started transitioning to the Carmel Highlands (miles 21-23).  Here, there were beautiful houses hugging the shoreline and the roadway weaved through the highlands with lots of intermittent hills.  The race director defines the Carmel Highlands as "a series of short, steep hills made all the more brutal by the sharp cut of the road, which wreaks havoc on tired quads and tender ankles."  While exquisitely beautiful, it is a very challenging part of the course.

Did I care?  Not really.  After 22.5 miles of not listening to music, I threw my earphones in and started listening to Brahms 4 with Marin Alsop/London, which is a symphony that has seen me through some very difficult times of my life.  My calculations at mile 23 had me coming in with a PR of around ten minutes, and I was THRILLED, since Big Sur was boasted as a course that you shouldn't expect to PR, and I felt GREAT!  You can see a visual representation of my mood below.  :)

At mile 24, the runners were greeted with fresh strawberries from a local family (best tasting treat ever!) and another family's lemonade stand.  Coupled with the mixture of junior high bands/orchestras and other race entertainment throughout the course, we were incredibly spoiled, and it was wonderful to see how supportive the local residents are to this event.  

I ran through mile 25 (the entrance to Pt. Lobos State Park, which I had visited for the first time the day before), happy that I only had a mile to go and seemed to be running faster than the previous mile.  I knew that the infamous "d minor hill at D Major time" was up next, aptly named not because of its musical connotations (though that would have been appreciated!), but because it's the final poke at tired legs from a course that requires so much of them.  I pounded through that last section, eager to cross the final mile marker at mile 26 and make my way towards the finish line.  

Once I had the Big Sur flags and finish chute in my eyesight, I started yelling at the crowd, where people's eyes were glued to the runners behind me, trying desperately to see if their loved ones were approaching the finish.  I was not interested in a quiet finish, so I started cheering for myself and pumping up the crowd for the runners behind me, which was pretty cool.  As I closed in on the finish line, Burt Yasso, dressed in a suit, high fived me as I crossed the line, finishing with a 12-minute PR (off of the Disney marathon in 2009, which is a flat course!) and an unbelievable race under my belt.  I couldn't believe how incredible the course was, from the logistics of the expo and the start line to the consistent course entertainment, logical aid stations, and beautiful course.  It was the race of a lifetime, and I sure as heck am going to run it again...maybe even next year!

Since the race, I have continued to be in awe.  I could not have asked for a better experience; the challenge of the course only adds to your appreciation of it.  The Big Sur Events are the only events I have ever been a part of where you get hot minestrone soup at the finish, and BOY do I love that!!!  :)

The long answer:  DO IT.  :)

Dear San Francisco,

Thank you for having ridiculously inconsistent weather for the U.S. Half Marathon on Sunday.  Because of you, I did not get muddy or cold, despite the multiple weather forecasts telling me that I would.

Fondly,

Lisa

Another one for the books...

There is something to be said for returning home, eating, and blogging before taking a shower...well, my priorities are pretty clear.  :)

What a fantastic weekend this has been!  Last night, after being quite nervous for some time, I threw my half turn in the Trapeze Arts Student Show and caught it!  I was especially happy because Teresa and Phil came out, and it's always really wonderful to be able to show someone how much you've been working on a goal, even if it was only 20 seconds long!  The half turn looks easy, but it incorporates a lot of different elements (force out, turnaround, force out over the platform, pike, swing back, and half turn to the catcher), so it can be a little daunting.  You can see a video and description of it here.

Then, this morning, I ran the US Half Marathon with a good friend (Mikey G), who was attempting his first half marathon - heck, his first road race ever!  Watching him sprint in the beginning of the race and gradually slow down in the middle of the race made me remember those early days of running, where the other 3/4 of the race was momentarily forgotten in the excitement of the first mile.  :)  He did a wonderful job, and I am really proud of him for attempting this!  (It was fun to be a pseudo-coach to him as well, helping him with random running questions after his runs.)  

My race went well.  There were a few moments when I felt disappointed with how slow I was going, but without proper training, I am still proud of my race.  Unfortunately, due to construction on the Golden Gate Bridge, the race field was limited to one of the walkways, so, naturally, there was massive congestion during parts of the course that were only 2.5 body widths across (and the fast runners already on their return).  For the first time, I actually had to stand still for 1-2 minutes twice during the bridge section, and even though I was minimally annoyed (it wasn't going to be a PR anyway), I caught myself wondering what provisions the race team considered when they realized that this would be an issue.  It's too bad that this section wasn't at the very beginning or very end, minimizing the congestion as the bulk of the bell curve hit the bridge.

Then again, what do I know, right?  I've never been a race director, but I have raced in a number of different conditions and situations, and it's not terribly difficult to imagine problems on a narrow field with 3,000-5,000 runners over an out-and-back section in a 13.1.  Oh well.  

I was also a little disappointed that we didn't get a finisher's medal because the company sent the April 2012 medals instead of these ones.  This has happened once before - at Wildflower 2010, all long course athletes were given short course medals temporarily, and were promised the correct medals mailed to them in the following weeks.  I was hoping that US Half would do that, but alas...

All in all, it was a wonderful race.  Beautiful weather (it was supposed to rain) and good friends made it an especially rewarding day.  My only bummer is a challenging injury on my foot (I rammed it into a platform during a trapeze class six months ago), which is causing me pain.  Hopefully I can get it sorted out soon...

Have a great weekend!  :)

The Place Where Dreams Are Born(e)

Two weeks ago, I ran the Nike Women's Half Marathon with no training and a bad sinus infection after running around SF with an old friend the day before.  These things, along with running under someone else's name (which I had never done before and felt slightly strange about), made me marvel at how poor my choices were.  Aside from breaking something, there wasn't much more I could do to add more stupidity to my race the next day.

Despite these things, or perhaps in spite of them, I ran a wonderful race.  Of course, it was one of my slowest and most painful half marathons, but I was expecting that, and really focused on enjoying the spirit behind the race, rather than focusing on being competitive or comparing my performance to what I was capable of doing 18 months prior.  For that reason, it was an incredibly enjoyable experience.

Two years ago, I had been "hired" by Nike/Tri California to serve as a Lead (volunteer) at the start line of the 2009 Nike Women's Marathon.  I have always enjoyed volunteering at races, for it allows me to get swept up in the energy and enthusiasm of the event and participate concretely in its production.  In 2009, I was in charge of the last two corrals at the start line, including thousands of runners and multiple middle school kids responsible for cheering on the runners at the start line.  Although it was a little stressful at times, I was really excited to contribute to this race, particularly because there were so many first-timers attempting their first 26.2 or 13.1 distances.

When a good friend (and old running buddy) from Tallahassee told me she was coming out to SF to run the race, I decided to try and buy a bib off someone who was unable to race.  Again, I felt slightly illegal and awkward about doing so, but I couldn't think of a better race to help me remember the spirit of endurance sports, something that has been buried under bereavement and fatigue over the past year.

During Ironman training, there were times when I would have an out-of-body experience, where, for a moment, I would see myself swimming/biking/running and be able to visualize - if only briefly - how my life was changing because of the training.  You can't dedicate yourself to endurance sports (or anything that requires a lot of hard work and discipline) without suspecting that your life will change because of it.  You experience these brief moments of clarity where everything comes together and you feel privileged to be able to try something like this.

Standing at the start line of the Nike Women's Marathon, I had one of those moments.  The start line winds around Union Square, which is surrounded on three sides by shops like Macy's, Tiffany & Co., and other high(er)-end shops/malls.  The fourth side is a tall hotel with two elevators ascending into the sky.  At first, I didn't pay attention to my surroundings, but as the gun went off (and we stayed standing in the same area for nearly 20 minutes while the sky slowly lightened), I looked up.  There, before me and around me, stood intermittent hotel guests and tourists, watching through their windows at the crowd of enthusiastic crazies below.  Some of them stayed in their windows for a half hour, watching the crowd slowly disperse as the race began, listening to the murmurs of the race announcer through the windows.

It was a beautiful moment.  I could so easily imagine what those people were thinking ("these people are nuts!" or "why can't they let me go back to sleep!"), but, just as easily, I imagined someone else noticing that these marathoners weren't all stick thin or lightning fast, possibly remembering a friend or family member who was "into that sort of thing", and wondering briefly if they were capable of this as well.  I could imagine a young girl, so molded by a society that values slimness instead of strength in women, wondering if she, too, could one day do something like this.  In a very real sense, we are active participants in this place where dreams are born(e), regardless of whether or not we view ourselves as such.

(I must confess that I recently heard a group of young middle schoolers on BART talking about how they lived on 700-1000 calories per day, which was incredibly disturbing on multiple levels.  Young women and men are so shaped by social trends and impulses, and it's a shame we don't try to get more of them active in multi- and endurance sports so that they can be proud of the amazing things their bodies are capable of...but I'll keep that soapbox for another blog entry.)

Inspired by my own journey and the enthusiasm of everyone around me, I ran a great race.  I listened to my body (well, my legs at least - I did a pretty good job ignoring my lungs!), enjoyed the sights, laughed off the incredulous first-timer race etiquette mistakes, and had a fabulous time.  It is a privilege to run in a city like San Francisco, and I still get a little giddy as I run towards the Golden Gate Bridge, even after three years living here.

And, of course, my knees got a little weak as I crossed the finish line, receiving the finisher's necklace from a cute fireman in a tuxedo.  :)  A perfect end to a wonderful race, and a welcomed re-immersion into the world of multisport after a year off.

Life is good.  :)

Endurance Athletes Are Crazy (myself included)

Triathlons are slowly fading into duathlons and running races, and triathletes across the globe are taking some time to think about upcoming goals and races while giving their bodies a much-needed break after a hefty training schedule.

Unless, of course, you're insane.

I've been thinking about what makes some of us so crazy about endurance sports a lot this week, after hearing about the lady who gave birth after completing the Chicago Marathon and the extent of Chrissie Wellington's injuries before winning her fourth Ironman World Championship title.  I would like to think that I'm more sane than they are, that I would cancel my Ironman or take the bus on my marathon if life came down to it, but perhaps I'm not that much different than they are (with the obvious exception that I am not as fast or as hormonal as they are, respectively).

You see, even though I haven't trained for anything is over a year, and even though my last attempts at a half marathon weren't pleasant, and even though I've gained some weight and have a cold, I'm still thinking about walking a marathon this weekend.  In a sense, I'm no crazier than they are, though they are well-muscled athletes properly trained to endure for hours at a time, and I, having successfully worn a small divet in my couch from this past year, am not.

Every experience I have had as an athlete is telling me that I am ill-prepared for this race and shouldn't do it...and yet, without realizing it, I find myself checking marathon pace calculators and walking to working thinking, "is this a 13:00/mi pace and can I keep it up for 26.2 miles without any training?"  The logical thing is to stick with the half marathon, to minimize the risk to my body by covering a more reasonable distance.  I didn't prepare for this race, so what does it matter than I'm not running the full (*which I will have been registered for, long story*), but instead, running the half.  I have nothing to prove.

And yet...my not-so-distant memory remembers me completing two Ironman triathlons within 34 days.  If that was only 15 months ago, it still must be in my body somehow, right???

Sigh.    I'll let you know what I decide to do...most likely on race morning...