D-Day: The Big Sur International Marathon

It's going up quite late because my life has been hectic lately but here it is!

The Big Sur International Marathon: The Culmination of 104 Days of Training

I woke up at 0330 after a fitful night of sleep. I tried to go to bed at a somewhat reasonable time (around 2200) but as soon as I laid down I had a headache. It wasn't going away so I got up to take an Aleve and wait for it to kick in... Didn't get to bed until 2300. As if four hours of sleep weren't bad enough, I woke up twice during the night thanks to my air mattress deflating.

I woke up and threw on the clothes I laid out the night before. I didn't get to wear the clothes I normally wear for PT as they were soaked with sea water. Instead I wore the same kind of clothes but a different combination of top and bottom. I also couldn't find my personal championchip so I used the rental they gave me... Minor discrepancies in my plan that were annoying but not terrible.

The cold was another story. Fortunately, I was sporting my Marine Corps Detachment sweatshirt as I stood in line for the bus. Worse than that was my cold... I still haven't shaken that bug. So there I was standing in line to board a 0415 bus in downtown Monterey for an hour-long drive to the starting line. I drifted a bit but didn't really sleep. There was too much energy and taking naps without my CPAP doesn't help me anyways.

We show up at the Big Sur ranger station just as dawn is breaking... I ran into a few of my Marines there. I, however, am both hungry and a bit dehydrated so I head out in search of the pre-race handouts. Experience has taught me that running with an empty stomach first thing in the morning wipes me out. Experience and logic tell me that running a marathon dehydrated is a recipe for disaster (and a few fatalities over the years). I get a bagel, a banana, and some Gatorade in me before hitting the head. Then it's time to drop off my sweats and make my way up the hill to the finish line.

During all this an announcer is chatting it up and music is playing. He's talking about the "Grizzled Vets" who have run every Big Sur Marathon since it's inception 22 years ago. He also talked about how only 1/10th of a percent of the population ever run a marathon, even though at the start line it seems like everyone does. There were literally thousands of people there. Somehow I found one of my Marines in the mix... Not one of the crazy super-PTers who had a speed goal in mind for this marathon. Just another Marine hoping to finish it.

Right before the start the announcer plays Eye of the Tiger. I am now addicted to that song.

Then there was the gunshot and, slowly, this huge mass of people starts moving forward... It's a veritable tide of bodies. From my vantage point near the top of the hill I could look down and seeing this horde of colored shirts and bobbing heads slowly creeping forward until we all spaced out and picked up speed. I reminded myself that I needed to keep it slow at the start and not fall for the trap of running forward thanks to all the energy in the air. There was a lot of it. Everyone was laughing and joking and it felt like a carnival of sorts for several miles. There were even bands positioned alongside the course and local families came out to cheer us on.

The other Marine and I were cracking jokes as we ran together. All sorts of stuff came up from bringing a backhoe to wreak vengeance upon a hill to abducting one of the marathon girls. Some of it was just awe-inspiring. There was a man there who ran the whole marathon with a full-sized American flag. There were young people, old people, couples... Everyone from all sorts of walks of life were there. The relay was going at the same time and I even saw school kids running 5-7 miles for their part.

The scenery out there is beautiful and I really got to enjoy it since I was on foot and not in a car. We started in the forest on some gently rolling hills that took us right past some of the little shops (one actually called 'general store') that make up the local community. Before too long we found ourselves at the coast. I could run right up to the edge of the course and look down to see the ocean waves pounding the rocks below us. By this point I was still feeling really good and was smiling like an idiot for anyone who would look my way. I was excited to finally be there. Before too long the pain started and anyone who has run long distances can tell you this: The pain never leaves. It just changes location.

The other Marine and I also drifted apart as I stopped to work on my shoe. We would periodically pass each other for a good portion of the race. Then I didn't see him until near the end when he passed me then I passed him once more and kept on going.

I was still feeling rather good (despite the pain) all the way until Hurricane Point. I think a lot of it had to do with the aid stations. I'm used to running dry so the aid stations with their Gatorade and water were a nice change of pace for me. I know that I have a tendency to cramp up in my calves so I was pounding the Gatorade. Then when they started setting out fruit I would eat that, especially the bananas.

Hurricane Point is infamous. It's a two-mile climb from sea level up to the high point of the marathon at 560ft. The music was a lot less frequent after the start of the race but at the base of Hurricane Point there were these drummers. You could hear them before you even rounded the bend to bring you to the point. They were a sight to behold and did a good jump of pumping you up for the run but the effect quickly fades as you start the climb.

Hurricane Point marked the start of my walking breaks. I would walk through the aid stations but it wasn't until Hurricane Point that I started walking up the hills. The lady I ran with during my 20mi training run explained it to me: You hit a certain point during your runs when running up hill isn't any faster than walking. The only difference is that you're tearing up your body and burning your stamina that much faster. Instead, you power-walk it up the hills and if you really stretch out your stride you'll not only keep a decent pace but you'll rejuvenate your muscles to run the flatter land and downgrades. So on Hurricane Point I'd run most of it and walk the really obnoxious parts of it... I was still pretty fresh so outside of the aid stations there were only one or two walking points.

Hurricane Point is also where signs started popping up with names for points on the course invented by runners. Most of them were puns. Horrible puns. Some of them referred to the pain I was quickly becoming familiar with. Hurricane Point is also the largest collection of warming layers that I have ever seen. Everyone who started the race with something to keep them toasty quickly abandoned it... I know why. Wearing a warming layer during a hike at MCT almost guaranteed a visit from the corpsman and his silver bullet. Knowing this, I was running with no such warming layer and stayed pretty warm. My hands quickly lost function though.

Then you top the Point and think that you're done with the hills. It's a horrible lie. I knew better but my mind was still thinking, "Hey, that's the worst of it, right?" "No, mind. It's not." "Damn you, Marine! Damn you for making me do this!" I shut up the complaining pretty quick by contemplating the run. My thoughts were more and more grandiose as time went on. Before too long I was contemplating how the marathon proved that man is in fact made in the form of divinity. Here I was proving my mastery of the terrain and the elements (thanks to the predicted weather of 'sunny with no wind except a slight tailwind' turning into 'foggy with a strong wind in your face' for much of the run) and, more importantly, myself. Of my own volition. I just decided to go out there and prove what I am made of. It made me feel like I am capable of anything. I also considered what extremely tiny fraction of a percent of humanity I was elevating myself to... I'm a US Marine. I'm a linguist. I'm a marathon runner. How many people are any one of those things? How about all three?

I don't think you can call it a 'superiority complex' if it's true. :D

As the race went on I was hurting more and more and feeling more and more fatigued. The carnival feeling was long gone and by that point I was working off of willpower. It was a gutcheck. Also, despite what I was saying earlier, I found myself counting the miles and minutes. The first hour passed by like it was nothing (how strange it seems to say that... "My first hour of running was nothing"). I was keenly aware of the rest thanks to the time shouters at the mile markers, many of which were Marines. Hitting mile 13.1 on the bridge was nice. Then I had little fractions in my head as I kept going like "3/5 done" or something similar.

Finally I hit mile 20 and the fun began. The course was already really starting to wear on me by then but mile 20 was a big deal for me as once I hit mile 20 I was running farther than I had ever ran before. My record before the marathon was my 20mi training run so every step after mile 20 was something new. It was also important as I had been feeling like my calves were going to cramp up for a few miles by then and it was in the final mile of my 20mi training run when my right calf cramped up twice and my left calf once. I have run through all my cramps on my training runs but they quickly drained my legs of all strength. It took everything I had during those runs to finish.

I never did cramp during the marathon and I think that's because of the care I took during the whole event. I hydrated at every aid station, ate bananas, and walked when I thought it would be a good time to. Therefore, my body never forced me to walk. That's hard to recover from. Instead, I pushed on... Mile 21. Mile 22. Mile 23. Each one had me counting it down in my head, "Just five more." "Just four more." "Just three more... PFT!" People were starting to re-emerge alongside the road to cheer us on. Earlier some of the vehicles in the convoys had messages written on their rear windows or drivers would shout at us from the windows.

I think the third most motivating (after the flag) sight I saw during the whole race was two Marines from the volunteer crew who were bored of being stuck in traffic and were running in the race in boots and utes. One of those Marines is the guy I recruited from back home. The marathon girls were a nice distraction too. Besides being wonderfully fit, just think about how much commitment and strength of character it takes to train for a marathon and then get up that morning and see it through. I'm intimately aware of it. I'm also aware of how easy it is to quit as my training partner did. So I have an intense admiration and respect for everyone who was running that day.

Anyways... The running. Mile 23. By this point we were in more rolling hills and working our way inland towards Carmel. It was also at this point that I topped "Strawberry Hill" and found a small unofficial aid station where locals were giving out strawberries with the tops cut off. Oh. My. God. Best strawberries ever. It was an explosion of flavor and juiciness and general bliss in my mouth. I nearly ran back to grab more.

It was shortly after Strawberry Hill that I hit what I think is the hardest part of the race. Harder even than Hurricane Point and this part is flat. Yes, flat. The thing is that during a long run varying degrees of grade work the muscles slightly differently. Walking the uphills and then running the downhills was giving my legs a nice variety to the workout so different parts were smoking and recovering at different times. The last part of the marathon is pretty much flat. That means that my legs are working the exact same muscles the exact same way for a longer period of time.

It hurt. Quickly. It was also the end of the aid stations but I wasn't going to give up that close to the finish line. Mile 24. Mile 25. Mile 26. "One more mile to go! Just one!" It was a very, very long mile.

Then I started hearing strains of an announcer's voice and a crowd on the wind... Finally I rounded a bend and saw it: The bright red gateway that marked the finish line. This was when all my pacing paid off. I sprinted out the last bit of the marathon. After 26 miles of my cruising speed I pushed the pedal to the medal and pounded pavement.

It's a delicious feeling to pass people at that point. You feel like your sailing through the air. All your pain leaves you as you push towards the finish line and you glance to the left and to your right to see people puttering out. Then you reach down inside, grab hold of something, and surpass them. I crossed that finish line and shivered from the excitement. From the sense of accomplishment. I just had to let out a little warcry... This July I'll shake some windows in San Francisco with my voice.

Then I hobbled over to get my medal, cut of my rental chip, and get some free food. Then I hobbled to pick up my sweats, put them on, and proudly displayed my finisher's medallion right next to the MCD emblem on the front. Next was hobbling over to the buses. On the bus I met another marathon runner who, despite running many marathons, ran slower than me... That was nice to hear. He also said that the Big Sur is the hardest course he's ever ran and he's ran in different countries. His last bit of information for me was that his little body monitor device estimated the calorie burn at 3860.

I was hungry. Ravenous. I broke regs and stopped by a Quizno's in my sweaty PTs to pick up a large sandwich. After running a marathon, I really didn't care. If an NCO chewed me out for it, I was just going to stand there, take it, and puff out my chest a bit until he saw the medallion. Heh. Instead I made it home in peace to inhale my sandwich and ramble at my friends.

It was an amazing experience... Amazing. Simple awe-inspiring. The terrain, the volunteers, the runners, and myself. Doing this was a big deal for me. I started this long, long race with a partner. And then she dropped out and, for a little while there, I stagnated while waiting for her. Finally, I had to make a decision: Drop out too or go on my own. I decided to go on my own having realized that I would always regret doing anything else. It was hard. Extremely hard. To just will myself to run farther and farther.

I went on my own... And I did it. While life has proven to me time and time again that I really can't rely on other people, I can rely on myself. I've proven that. Also, just two years ago when I decided to enlist I had to run an Initial Strength Test. I could do zero pull-ups, twelve crunches, and I think I finished the 1.5 mi but we weren't sure... I still vomited afterwards. Two short years later and I can do twenty pull ups, 100 crunches, and I just ran a marathon. I've also proven that I can do anything I put my mind to.

I have mastered myself. My body obeys my mind and my mind obeys my will. There is nothing I can not do if I feel so inclined. As I've said before... Some people are destined for greatness. Most are destined for mediocrity. A select few decide to make themselves great.

I have decided to be everything that I can be. I am going to live my dreams.

Finishing the Big Sur International Marathon is just the start.