5:15
Somewhere in the distance ahead there's a countdown going, followed by some cheering. I guess the marathon was told they were too loud last year? From corral C, I couldn't hear anything from the front till it was my turn to go. People complain about the darnedest things.
I couldn't coerce a bowel movement before the race this year. If it were a half marathon I wouldn't be too worried, but if I'm going to jostle around for 5 hours I have to plan on making a stop. Did I feel it move? No. Sigh.
5:24
I'm not going to make the same mistake as last year going with the wrong pacing group. Last year I spent the whole first half trying to find someone to pace off of and couldn't find them. This year I'm next to the 4:50 pacers. I'd love a 4:30 time, but I basically couldn't train at all the last 3 weeks. As the countdown starts from 10, I have some pangs of regret. How did I get sick? Could I have avoided it? Should I have done some running while I was sick? Could I have steered my work stress into this coming week instead of the week before the race? Deep breath. At least I slept before the race this year.
I make note of the time as I start running: 9:30... ish. The start line is always a weird jumble of people. My head math for the rest of the race will be to assume 9 minutes, and I can work my current time off of that.
I'm wearing newer shoes. They have at most 20 miles on them. They feel different from the shoes I've used the last 4 years. More regret about the last week weeks of non-training. At least I'm on the inside of the long left hand turn towards the Golden Gate Bridge.
The pacers shout some words of encouragement. I should have asked if they're going to run-walk the race or just run. I have 3 sections I know I'm going to walk this year, so if I want to end up with the 4:50 people I'll need to get ahead a little bit. I still have that lingering poop to deal with that will take some time to handle. But how much? Deep breaths and find a rhythm.
First Mile
I noticed a bit at the start, but it's even more obvious as we start running: Gen Z is out in force this year. So many selfies, so many crew socks. Good for them. As a young millennial I suppose it's not that surprising to see them, but it's such a clearly different group from last year I can't help but feel like some torch was passed.
It's humid. My last training run I tried to run in 97% humidity and it did not go well, both because I couldn't stop coughing and also because I couldn't see. In this humidity, will I be able to regulate my body temperature? I've already started sweating, maybe this is a bad sign.
Fort Mason
Water station 1 is always a clusterfuck, and it's right before the first real uphill. I grab a water after waiting in a short line.
This year I'm already ahead of the 4:50 pacers (last year I didn't see them till the back side of the bridge), which means that the people I'm running with are just better runners than the people I was passing at this point last year. No one is walking the hill, so of course I can't. Fitness check in: breathing is fine, though I feel a tinge of a cough. I've been coughing aggressively the last 4 or 5 days but somehow nothing so far. Keep in rhythm.
I feel my legs for the first time in the race. Hill 1 down; people cheer at the top. The mood won't last. Deep breath, get the heart rate back down. That was probably a mistake, but I'm feeling good.
Mile 4
This is the start for one of the half marathon courses, but there are many fewer people than last year. How far ahead of last year's pace am I? The MC for the half marathon start mentions the 4:35 pacer about 15 seconds before I pass through the checkpoint. Sure enough, there's the flag. Panic. I've come out too hot. Missing those last few long runs hasn't done the pace auto regulation I need.
But a thought: if I can stick with the 4:35 pacer, my time will be closer to 4:30 because they went with the wave before. Should I try? The confidence is so hard to fight. Keep running your race; they'll just drop you in the hills and then there won't be any temptation.
A little bit later and there's another disaster of a water station. They only really become usable as the pack thins out on the other side of the bridge. Still, I grab 2 electrolyte waters. So happy I watched a YouTube video on how to efficiently drink water mid-race. I feel so accomplished even though I've slowed to a walk to drink.
Flashbacks to last year and how I felt. I'm not as fit. I know it. I've come out too fast, but it's a pace that feels trivial right now. Deep breaths. I need to make sure I don't let myself get overconfident.
But I could finish in 4:30.
Golden Gate Bridge #1
San Francisco is beautiful. People try to tell me that New York is beautiful, or that Chicago is stunning, but they're concrete jungles for the most part. The view of the Golden Gate Bridge above Fort Point is one of the most incredible views I've seen anywhere, let alone in a major city.
But it's darker than last year. It is overcast, but am I that far ahead of last year? We are a few days later in the year, does that matter?
The path up to the bridge is problematic. My right quad is noticeably fatigued at the top as we start the bridge. I need to be smart on the downhill. I know I'm walking the uphill.
Deep breath. Prepare to suffer.
Bridge Descent
Last year the half marathoners zoomed past, but no such activity today. Am I really that fast? I can't see the 4:35 pacers anymore, on the switchbacks I look up to check for the 4:50 pacers coming behind me. Don't see them.
I start checking bathrooms as we pass. They all have lines.
Golden Gate Bridge #2
Walking the big hill has me in better shape than last year, but my left knee isn't 100%. Still, I'm watching people around me truly suffering, and I'm going roughly the same pace. The bridge back is so much easier. Confidence is building. My run-walk strategy is going to work.
Disaster on the bridge. My right foot just involuntarily contracted into a ball mid-stride. Last year this was the immediate precursor to violent cramps. I stop to tighten my shoe. It doesn't help. Change gait, land on more open foot? Seems to help. Have my second energy gel, maybe that will also help. I'll do them every 3-4 miles from now on. Grab an electrolyte pack from the water station, though I'm really not sure if this stuff does anything. Still, it's some sugar.
While I'm walking up the hill, the 4:35 pacers jog by. How? When did I pass them? Should I try to keep up? Yes, I want that 4:30 time if I can get it. I just need to keep them in sight. That effort costs me the first twinge of an oncoming cramp. Couldn't keep the ego in check.
Back to the plan.
Mile 16
I can't wait any longer and get in the bathroom line. The trip costs me 5 minutes minimum but also saves me a couple pounds. It's hot in the porta potty and I think it tired me out more than just running.
A few minutes up the road and the winner for the half marathon passes me. My confidence couldn't be higher, though I've since found out that this group ran much more slowly than last year. This is where I fell over into the park last year, and I choose to walk it. Run-walk through the last significant elevation gain.
Somewhere between miles 17 and 18 my right quad gives me another sign it's tired. Buddy, we're so close. I'll walk every uphill for a bit, I tell myself, and the immediately jog an uphill to my quad's discomfort.
Somewhere after mile 12 or 13 I lose the ability to talk to myself outside of primal motivations like "run!" or "walk!". The confidence has evaporated already; coming the other way is the 5:05 pacer group, less than a mile behind me.
Mile 19
Cramp. My right leg is fully locked straight as my quad fires at maximum effort. Some bystanders offer me some help, but it's not going to do anything really.
Last year I didn't dare move while I was cramping. I wanted to RUN the marathon. This year I've already abandoned that idea. I want to feel accomplished. I don't want to be ashamed of my time. For the next 5 or so minutes I hobble forward with a fully nonfunctional right leg. The cramp eases. More walking. No more of the same mistake, we're still too far from the finish line to push hard.
I make the mistake of checking my phone for first the time. 8:25. Exactly 3 hours into the race. Quick mental math says 4:30 is somehow still on the table. I tell myself it won't happen; you went too fast and will now go slow. But another part of me says that's not true, I'll go fast because it's all downhill or flat after mile 20.
As I shuffle up a gear back into a jog, the 4:50 pacers appear. Shit. Forget 4:30. Keep up with them. Are they 4:50 on the clock or 4:50 on the bib? Because the former would be a 4:40 for me, which would still be good.
As I do the mental math, I notice them pulling ahead. We're going uphill. I need to walk.
Mile 22
It's been mostly downhill, and because I weigh more than most marathon runners I'm passing people and have caught back up to my 4:50 pacers. But now the cramps are coming more regularly, even walking the uphills. My right quad has been cramped in either the teardrop muscle or the vastus medius for the entirety of the slow downhill. I've been groaning a lot. This is an excellent quad workout.
Deep breaths. Focus in on the leg muscles. When one is about to cramp: shift gait, slow down, and transition into a walk. The left quad is starting to go too.
26 miles is a long way.
Mile 23
I check my phone. 9:45. People cheering from the sidelines are saying "3 miles to go" but that's a lie: the SF marathon is 26.97 miles... right? It was last year. Did we change the route? I can't think of anything different. Did I remember the distance wrong? Either way, I count 4 miles. 4 miles in 40 minutes gives me a 5 hour marathon. 10 minute miles feel impossible right now. Both legs are struggling with cramps and the 4:50 pacers are now barely visible ahead in the distance. It won't happen.
Defeat.
Mile 25+
2 miles. I've been run-walking and don't feel good about it. It's the final stretch on the Embarcadero. Flat is not appealing right now. I'm slow and I know it. But I don't see the 5:05 pacers anywhere behind me. The 1:45 pacers for the other half marathon go running by. I check my phone again at the last water station. 10:09.
There's no way. I check again. If it's 26.2 then I can still make it.
My left hamstring cramps. The right quad barely compensates without cramping but I know it wanted to. My grandmother was in her 60s when she did her last marathon, how in the world did she manage that? I'm in my (theoretical) physical prime and I can't do it the way I'd like to. The pain and flash memory of her brings a tear out.
You've never seen anyone walk this fast with a full hamstring cramp.
The 26 mile sign is just up ahead, and not long after is the 13 mile sign for the half. Is it really just 26.2? I try to start running again and the hamstring flares again, but only partially this time. Eat shit, body. We're not going to stop.
There's something liberating about committing to the bit. It was only for 2/10ths of a mile, but I don't think I could have pushed anything more out of my legs. The was no power; I wasn't moving fast at all. But stopping was the hardest thing I could have done in that moment, which is exactly the mindset I had failed to capture the previous 26 miles and the mindset I had last year.
Glance at the clock in the background before crossing. 5:07 and some change. I've got the sub-5 hour marathon.
I don't know how to stop. I can't slow up anymore or my legs would fully lock up. I find a barrier on the other side of the finish line and aim towards it. Crash, both hands on it, push to reduce weight on the legs.
Both hamstrings are gone now. I realize I'm next to the medical station. "I'm fine, just hamstrings" comes out of my mouth, or something like it.
I turn back around. The clock turns 5:09; let's just hope it was synchronized to the start line.
