Nike Women’s Marathon – Half-Marathon Race Report
Okay, so I’ve never written a race report before, but I’ll definitely try. Running bloggers and posters on running forums seem to have a certain style and flair that they follow; they also have run way more long distance races than I have, so they’ve probably acquired that style and flair over time. Anyway, I’ll do my best to try to describe to you what happened on October 23, 2005 in San Francisco, California.
I woke up at 5am on Sunday after having spent the night having fitful dreams about the half-marathon. In the first dream, I had missed the start because I wasn’t able to get to the starting line on time (this happened to me in 2002–after training for two months, it was devastating to not run the Dexter-Ann Arbor Half-Marathon). The second dream’s plot involved the relocation of the race to Novi, Michigan, which seemed really odd but I started walking towards the new start anyway (I know, stupid, like I would’ve been able to walk the 2,000+ miles to Novi). When I emerged from those dreams at 5am, I was a bit nervous but not overly so; my cough was still a hacking cough, but I felt good; my only real worry was getting to the starting line on time.
While my siblings got ready, I changed into my running clothes and went down to the hotel lobby to buy some water. I drank the water, bounced around, then called a taxi at 6am. The taxi came, but not before some anxious moments passed in which I thought that getting to the starting line would be next to impossible. The taxi dropped us off at Powell and Market, where we (my sister and younger brother) proceeded to follow other spectators and runners to the starting line at Union Square. Once there, we wandered for a bit as my nerves increased considerably. At 6:45am, we made our way over to Powell Street, where the 9:00-10:00/mile pace group would be lining up for the start. After some small talk, the runners were asked to get ready for the gun. My sister told me to look for the coolest looking sign at the finish line before she and my brother wished me good luck. The gun went off, the pace group ahead of us started, then we followed. We were on our way.
Mile 1: Mile one was relatively flat as we started down Post, turned left onto Montgomery, then right onto Washington. It was hard to get past the slower runners and dodge all the people. I also had to keep an eye out for cable car lines and depressions in the streets that could trip me. The sides of the streets were lined with cheering people as we made our way through pre-dawn San Francisco.
Mile 2: A little after mile two started, my ForeRunner finally cooperated and started working for me. I pushed the "start" button on the device as soon as I noticed, and I immediately saw that I was on pace for my projected goal time (which was 1:58:33–honestly, with the cold, I didn’t think I could do that pace, but it was nice to see that I was sort of on target at first even if I knew I wouldn’t make that time). We were on Embarcadero, which my sister, my younger brother and I had been on the day before. I felt pretty good despite the occasional cough and some sort of raspy breathing.
Mile 3: Ah, the 5K nearly complete. Still feeling pretty damn good. I was getting hot, though; with some fancing manuevering, I managed to slip out of my jacket and tie it around my waist without stopping. The part of the course, from Jefferson to Marina Boulevard, involved a lot of jumping up on street islands, then jumping down with enough grace to not stumble and fall flat on my face.
Mile 4: Nothing of note on this mile, but I noticed that the course clocks were a bit screwy. They definitely didn’t correspond with my ForeRunner’s perception of events. I think there were cheerleaders at this mile, but it could’ve been mile three. There was a DJ station on this mile, but I honestly don’t remember it.
Mile 5: A pretty quiet mile, I looked around and took in what I could. Because of the fog, you couldn’t see a long way past the marina.
Mile 6: This was the last mile before we started hitting the hills. I was
feeling nervous at the prospect, and told myself that the first five
miles had been run way too fast. We passed another DJ station; the DJ
waved at us, we waved back. Even though I knew hills were coming, I
could not slow down at all. I knew I was going to pay.
Mile 7: Ah, the killer mile! I did more than half of it at a steady pace, but I ultimately had to walk a bit. The phlegm was climbing up my chest and throat, my legs were killing me and I just need the rest that walking provided. I wasn’t too happy with myself, but I reasoned that I’d already run six and a half miles at a decent pace. I finished the mile running, bypassing the oxygen bar.
Mile 8: This mile was a breeze; I think I did it in 7:32 because it was downhill. It did nothing to my shins to just take advantage of the descent; I’ve read not to take downhills so lightly, but I’m still not feeling any consequences. It was nice to have such a fast mile, but I realized I had five miles ahead of me. I knew I could do it, there was no question about finishing, but the idea was daunting. Was I really going to finish a half-marathon? My goal was to finish it at 2:10 or less. I didn’t want to go over a 10:00/mile because my long runs during training were at 9:23-9:42.
Mile 9: I think mile nine had some hills to it, and this is when I had to walk once more. I didn’t feel so bad, walking this time around. I needed it, I was going to finish. My goal now was to finish it at 2:10 or less. I didn’t want to go over a
10:00/mile because my long runs during training were at 9:23-9:42; on a flatter course, I think I would’ve been booking it at mile nine. I decided to respect San Francisco’s hills rather than challenge them and lose.
Mile 10: Ascent, and then a minor descent. I also walked a bit this mile, but only towards the beginning. I’m sure this is where I saw a sign that said "Run, S!" with my nickname spelled exactly the way I spell it; it’s not often I see that in print at all. The sign, though not meant for me, encouraged me. I started running as soon as I saw the sign. Towards the end of the mile, I took some water from a water station and was forced to walk because I was slowed down by other runners stopping for water. That was okay.
Mile 11: I began the mile walking thanks to the water station, but as soon as I finished my water, I started running and vowed not to stop until I hit the finish line.
Mile 12: I’m pretty sure this is the mile where I saw buffalo (but it could’ve been mile 11). Part of this mile, towards the end, housed the Ghiradelli stop, but there was no way I was going to stop for chocolate. Sure, I could’ve held it in my hand until the end, but it would’ve melted. People cheered us on, telling us that there was very little to go. Part of this mile was also run on sand, which gave relief to my asphalt-abused calves and thighs. My ankles suffered a bit, though.
Mile 13: The last mile! Halfway down the mile, I saw my brother and sister standing there, looking casual and scanning the runners passing by them. "Guys!" I shouted as I passed because they were not looking in my direction. Simultaneously, their eyes went wide and they reached for my sister’s homemade sign. I was too fast, though; I didn’t see it. Two or three minutes later, brother M was running by my side, shouting my name. "Run, S, Run!" the signed screamed in beautiful blues and purples. "I have to stop," M panted, to which I laughed and told him I’d see him at the finish line. I hit mile 13 smiling.
Mile 13.1: I sprinted towards the end, seeing the orange finish canopy ahead of me, gleaming in the . . . er, fog. The clock read 2:12:20, give or take, but I knew it had taken me three minutes to get to the start line at the beginning, so that would be subtracted by my chip time. As I finished, a man dressed in a tuxedo and white gloves handed me a blue Tiffany box containing my finisher’s necklace, and a woman handed me a mylar blanket. I wrapped myself in my first mylar blanket ever (I know it’s silly, but I’ve always wanted one around me!), then followed the crowd. I didn’t get any food, but managed to get my finisher’s tee right away (Run Like a Girl–hee!) that proclaimed a half-marathon finisher. I then had my picture taken (they still aren’t up, and even if they were, this is an anonymous site, so it won’t be posted).
I then somehow found my brother and sister; when they congratulated me, I have to admit that I started crying a bit. I will say it now; I was really proud of myself and impressed that I had actually signed up, trained for, and completed a half-marathon that took place across the country. My siblings comforted me, but my crying fit lasted all of two seconds. We got some Gatorade, my sister bought me a "Congratulations!" tote with the event’s logo on it, and then we got in line for the bus back to Union Square. Once there, we had a breakfast at the Pinecrest Diner on Geary Street (even though I was sweaty, dirty and my hair was a mess), then headed back to the hotel in the complimentary shuttle. We spent the rest of the day hanging out with my friend Lo.
It was a great experience. It was much more than running a race; it was doing something I was truly afraid to do. Not because of the running, but because of what was involved–traveling across the country and having the will power to toss aside my fears and actually do something challenging. My life, right now, is not the most challenging; it’s downright boring. But I hope that this half-mary, across the country, on a tough course for a newcomer, with a cold tossed into the mix for good fun, is my leaping off point for good things to come. I will never, ever be able to match this experience in terms of conquering my fears. My next half-marathon will be a joy, no doubt, but this one, as the first and probably most difficult emotionally, will always stand out in my mind. I didn’t leave my heart in San Francisco, but the city and the race gave me something to bring home: Accomplishment and the right to be proud of myself for what seems the first in a long time.
