Meeting God at mile 23

When I was running track in high school and later junior college, we had a running joke after especially tough workouts. I'd look at my teammates, between deep gasps to capture that ever elusive breath and say "I just saw God." It was a reflection of taking yourself to the absolute extreme, to the point you were halucinating, or to the point where you had no one left to turn to. I reached that point at mile 23.

As I wrote in Monday morning's Herald, marathon day didn't start out well for me.In fact, and this I didn't write about, the day before didn't go quite as well as I had hoped. Saturday my wife and I took a two-hour drive to see my daughter play a high school lacrosse game and then went to the airport to pick up my son, who was returning from college. To spare you some of the tedious details, we didn't leave the Bay Area until after 9 p.m. and dinner wound up being at Dennys at 10:30 p.m. (I should have been home in bed, but I catnapped in the car as my son drove). My head hit the pillow at 12:30 and the alarm went off at 3 a.m. As I left the house that morning I tripped on the stairs and wound up doing a headfirst slide on the asphalt driveway. That left me with a scrapped knee and bloody palms. After some quick first aid, I made it to the bus pickup spot. The first bus I boarded had a dead battery and we all had to get off and find other buses. The next bus I boarded was pinned in by the dead bus, meaning more of a delay. But, thanks to the work of the volunteers and the bus drivers I made it to the starting line with plenty of time to spare. (this is a very well run event).
I was actually feeling pretty good as I headed to the starting line, although I broke my sunglasses in the moments before the race, prompting a friend who knew about my adventures the day before and that morning to ask, "Are you sure you should run today?" Yep, I did. I felt fit and well prepared. As expected the first 10 miles were pretty easy. I ran at a good pace for me (9:30 per mile). The day was cool (not too cold) and overcast. At mile 9, we turned the corner to see Hurricane Point. Except, you couldn't see all of Hurricane. The top was hidden by fog. I found this to be an enormous psychological lift. One thing though, I had a little rumble in my tummy and I thought about stopping at an outhouse. But I decided against it, put on my walkman and began the climb. It was great, I think I covered the two-mile climb in about 22 minutes (again, which is good for me),with no real problems, no gut checks, not even a thought of stopping and walking. The music had given me a little lift and I realized some of my training runs had been much more difficult than this climb. I was elated when I reached the top. But my tummy, which had been fine on the climb, started rumbling again, and this time I stopped at the outhouse. I had a little diaherea, but I felt fine when I stepped out of the outhouse and started running again. Unlike last year, I didn't feel like I needed to recover. I still felt strong.

Around Mile 14, I began feeling a little anxious. It was here last year that things had begun to break down for me. I began remembering how during this section I had really started to labor and that haunted me. Facing the climb at Palo Canyon, where I had broken down and started walking last year, I put my headphones back on (I had taken them off after Hurricane) and began climbing. I got up the hill no problem. Again I was happy. I knew I was slowing down, but I was still running strong for me (10 minute miles).

I can't be sure, but I think around mile 17 the sun came out and it began to get a little uncomfortable. I began walking through aid stops, partially because of the traffic, partially to be able to drink (when I was running and drinking I was swallowing a lot of air, which was causing me a little gas pain and burps along the way), and partially because I needed a break. I didn't consider it breaking my goal of running the whole way.

At mile 18, I began counting down the miles, wishing it was Mile 20. I could still run, but it was getting more labored. I was having flash backs to last year, but kept reminding myself how horrible I had felt at this point last year and how I had pushed through it. At this point I was also aware of some Galloway runners (run for five minutes, walk for one) because they kept passing me, and passing me again. Kind of weird.

At mile 20, I believe you turn a corner and see a long stretch of the coast. It's quite beautiful, but on this day my first thought was "that's a hell of a long way. How am I going to do this?" I was hurting at this point, in a kind of, OK, I've had just about enough for today, type of way.

I hit the outskirts of the Carmel Highlands knowing I was in trouble. I ran my Highlands mantra through my head "ride out the swells" and my Yankee Point mantra "climbing can feel better then descending." I must say I underestimated Yankee Point, it was my Heartbreak hill. Three quarters of the way I broke and started walking. I just couldn't do it. If I could have cried, I would have. It was 22 miles in, I had fallen about four miles short of my goal.
I started running again at the top of Yankee Point, stopping occassionally to walk. I hit one of the final aid stations (where they give the free hugs) and got a pair of warm hugs from a couple. It was good and it did remind me of my parents. At this point I remember thinking, though, it didn't matter what I thought, what inspiration I could derive thinking about how much they loved me. I started walking again on a flat portion of the route. I was just shot physically and that was that, no inspirational speeches could get me through these final miles. I knew my son and daughter were near Mile 25, I had asked them to be there to cheer me on for that final push up D-minor hill at D-major time. I didn't want them to see me like this, walking and broken, but that was how I felt. Runners were going by me, making me feel like the race was slipping away. It was just past Mile 23, and I was beaten and depressed.

"God, I know you've got a lot of other things on your mind right now and this is really trivial in the big scheme of things, but I'm spent, I'm broken and I'm hurting . Yet, there's nothing more I want right now then to be able to run. Please, fill me with your strength."
At mile 24, I began running again. I remember feeling like I was going to cry, but that I had this power that was coming up from my rib cage. And I wasn't going fast, but I was passing a lot of those runner who had just passed me. At about 24 and half miles I saw the kids and I raised my arm with a clenched fist so they could spot me. They clapped and yelled encouragement, "You're awesome Dad!" my daughter shouted. Not me honey. Halfway up the hill, I saw a friend playing in a band. I shouted to her, and she shouted back. Later she would tell me I looked happy and strong. I didn't make it all the way up the hill, but that was OK. I had to start walking about three quarters up. But then I started running again and passing people. It was like driving a car with the gas indicator on empty. I had the feeling at any moment my engine was going to quit. At the base of the hill, I walked again, and gathered myself for a final push. I can't describe how badly I was hurting at that moment, but I was determined to power in. I knew my wife was waiting for me, and I was going to run to her. I pictured her waiting with open arms, and an embrace that said everything was going to be all right now, that I had run a good race. I remember the people lining the course along the final quarter mile. I remember seeing the finish line and thinking, "boy, that's a long way," and finally saying to myself, I may collapse in heap, but I'm going to run as fast as I possible can. I remember crying out in pain as I picked up the pace those final yards and stumbled across the finish. I finished in 4:40.34 (about 1,200th or 1,800 males), about five minutes faster than the year before.
A few yards later I spotted my wife waving to me from the crowd. I was hurting, about the worst I've ever felt, but it was good to be home.