The Rock and Bonk Marathon Race Report

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. and I was ready for it. Having already woken up at 2:30 a.m. and 3:30 a.m. to go peeps, I was feeling pretty good. Hydrated. Rested. Excited. I body-glided, dressed, slurped down my Organic Optimum Power Instant Hot Oatmeal (from a mug in my hotel room, since I forgot to pack spoons...) and began to quasi-obsess over how to wear my hair. Double French braids and a visor or pony tail and dri-fit cap?

At 5:15 a.m., I went downstairs. A. Maria, THE Little Miss Runner Pants herself, picked me up. (How cool is THAT?) A few moments later we were zipping down the freeway, headed to the starting village. With A. Maria's friend behind the wheel, we navigated a sweet back-road route to avoid the traffic. By 5:30 a.m. we were at the starting village.

We waited in line for the Port-o-potties, and I dodged a guy from my running club who irritates the hell out of me, before we met up with Runner Susan. Again, we used the port-o-potties, and then we went our separate ways to take some time for ourselves. I was excited, but calm. I felt really good and strong, but I wasn't sure I had eaten enough. So I grabbed a half of a bagel, jogged around Balboa park for a few minutes, peed yet again behind some bushes - much to the surprise (delight?) of the fellas who were doing the same - and headed to the corrals.

I entered Corral #4 and took a look around... Damn, these runners looked GOOD! But I felt good, too, so it was great standing side by side with a great group of men and women. I spotted the 3:40 pacer and tried to focus on going out slow and staying with the 3:40 pack. But then the gun went off, and we were on our way, and I quickly lost sight of that group as I dodged in and out of pockets of people.

The start was actually quite smooth for a race with 20,000 participants. I've done two Rock N Roll Half Marathons in Virginia Beach, and I will give Elite Racing props for consistently doing a great job at setting up the corrals. I passed the Mile 1 marker at 9:27 gun time and heard someone say, "25 more miles to go!" I couldn't stop smiling. I love running, races, and especially marathons.

Around mile 3 - just past the San Diego Zoo - I realized I was going to have to pee again. So I pulled over and went behind a bush. If you haven't noticed, I really detest port-o-potties. (And I've got a cute butt, so if some runners get to see it, good for them!) Looking back, I am sure that this quick pee break only took about 30 seconds. But I definitely picked up the pace after this pit stop. I spotted what I thought was the 3:40 pace group, and tried to catch up. Only to realize once I was within a few yards of them that they were the 3:30 pace group...

Still, I felt good. I didn't feel like I was breathing heavily. I didn't feel like my legs were uncomfortable. I felt strong. And fast. And fabulous. Down into the Gas Lamp district, the crowds were pretty good, although still a little too quiet and sedate, in my opinion. Pretty soon - actually, all too soon - I had passed the 10K mark. Chip time - 48:57. Pace - 7:54 min/mile.

Um, SLOW DOWN, Nic! Awesome 10K PR aside, we're racing a marathon here. Buck up!

So I let myself fall further behind the 3:30 group. Continuing through the Gas Lamp District past Mile 7 and onto 10th Avenue towards Mile 8. I continued to glide down the slight hill onto Highway 163, checking my pace band at every mile. Mile 9, Mile 10, Mile 11, Mile 12 - still ahead of a 3:40 finish. I can do this, I can do this. I feel great. Still many miles to go, but I feel strong and powerful. 3:40! 3:40! 3:40!

I crossed Mile 13.1 in 1:47:06. Another PR! Holy Shit. That's three minutes faster than my best half marathon to date.

Nic, slow down!!!! 8:11 minutes/mile is still TOO FAST!

Except that I didn't say that too myself. Maybe the logical side of me said that to myself, but the"Wow I'm running such a great race" side of me said something else: Keep it up! This is so much fun! Faster faster faster! Right left right left fly glide soar!

Why does my rational and practical side have to be so quite and reserved? If only Rational-Practical screamed like Bold-Daring does. Maybe Rational-Practical would have been able to make herself heard. But no... Bold-Daring was out of control! It was as if we were at a crazy college (UVA) fraternity party and everyone was about to go and streak The Lawn, but not without first taking shots of Jegger. (Bold-Daring was always up for Jegger shots. And streaking The Lawn.) So of course, yesterday on the marathon course, Bold-Daring wanted to keep up the quick pace. But not before grabbing a cup of Powerade at the next water stop.

I honestly don't remember having Powerade problems in the past. Dad says I hate the stuff. And since I never consume Powerade or Gatorade during training, I probably at one point did decide to not drink it anymore. (And because you called me three times during the race, Dad, I'm sure it's also because you remember everything and are often right. Happy Father's Day.) But I have definitely had Gatorade or Powerade during other races without any problems. But yesterday, the Powerade did NOT sit well. Nor did it absorb. It just kind of floated in my stomach. But I didn't really notice it until after Mile 14. After I had just drank another cup of it. And subsequently threw up in my mouth.

It was nasty. But it made me laugh, kind of, as I instinctively recited some of my favorite lines from the movie Dodgeball. Allow me...

• White Goodman: Are you okay?
• Kate Veatch: I'm fine. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.
• White Goodman: In some cultures, they only eat vomit. I never been there, but I read about it... *in a book*.

How can you not sort of recover even just a little bit when reciting lines from Dodgeball? Damn, Ben Stiller is a GENIUS. Anyway, I kept going, but by Mile 15 I was hurting - badly. It felt like I had put an entire keg of water (or beer... or Powerade...) in my stomach. I could hear and feel it swirling around in there. I kept wanting to burp but nothing would come out. Then the real stomach pain set in. I pulled over to the side to try to walk it off, but by then it was too late. I was in real trouble.

I think I slowed down to about 10 minute miles by Mile 16 or 17. I remember the 3:40 pace group passing me somewhere along that mile. But I hadn't given up yet, though. I remember thinking - HOPING - that my stomach would start to cooperate. I drank some water and walked for a couple of minutes. I don't remember any crowds during this leg of the race, but maybe that's because I couldn't think about much more than my stomach at that point.

Between Mile 18 and 19, I tried to drink more water. But it was just so hard to swallow. The thought of adding anything else to my stomach repulsed me. By Mile 20, my time was 3:07:11. That's when I finally accepted that 3:40 was not going to happen. Hell, at that point I knew I wasn't going to PR anymore, either. And I figured that I better just get to the finish line un-injured. So much for rocking and rolling... I had definitely bonked. (My first time ever.)

I heard the announcers at the finish line right as I was about to cross Mile 26. I heard them counting down the four-hour mark. And I felt an even larger ache as I realized I wasn't even going to break four hours. The dancer in me tried to smile as I came in for the final stretch, but it just hurt too much. I glanced at the clock and noticed that it read 4:03:43. Once I was in the finisher's chute, I just curled up in a ball. I couldn't even cry. I collected my things and headed out to the grass near the San Diego Track Club where we agreed to meet up with everyone. I nibbled on a Clif Bar and a banana, sipped some water, and just sat there kind of dazed.

After a while, I started to reflect. In particular, I thought about what I had been afraid of before the race: pain and failure.

Pain: The pain I felt at Mile 20 was not the same kind of pain I had been afraid of before the race. No, it was worse. Worse because I brought this pain onto myself with a very unintelligent, snap-decision. I'm sure I make many unintelligent snap-decisions throughout my daily life, but normally I can quickly recover from them. I couldn't recover from this one. Not on that course, anyway.

And Failure: Failure sucks as much as I thought it would. My ego is bruised. And I'm embarrassed. I don't fail. Really, I don't. I have only been handed one other rejection in my life. I hate that I finished the race yesterday in 4:02:24 - lungs solid, legs strong, hips and knees pain-free, stomach ROARING with pain. I hate that physically, I was capable of running the race I wanted to run. And I hate that I made a very bad decision - all by myself - and that that decision brought me down. I hate the clarity of hindsight and I hate that I can't go back and fix this mistake. I hate that I have to wait until October before I can try to prove myself again. I REALLY hate how this race played out.

***BIG EFFING SIGH***

But I love that I ran a 1:47 half marathon. I love that I visited San Diego. I love that I got to hang out with the real-life versions of bloggers - the running chick in the orange hat, laura from my beautiful life, runner susan, little miss runner pants, aa from it's a beautiful life, ncmunckin from winning by losing, anne run dmz, and Jeff. And I love that was able to celebrate the end of the worst marathon ever with a new fabulous real-life friend over French fries and tequila shots.

I still have a lot more to think about, though. As AFS very kindly reminded me, I am still a young marathoner. Both in age and inexperience. I am signed up for the San Francisco Half Marathon on July 31, and the Chicago Marathon on October 22, and I am much better positioned for these races coming off of the training I completed throughout the first half of 2006 than I was when I ran my last full and half marathons. I still think I can qualify for Boston this year, if I want to. (And I do, but that's a whole other topic...) But I need some time to rest and recollect my thoughts and focus, first.

One final note, though. When reviewing my results on the Rock N Roll site, I found this interesting tidbit of information: "For the record, you finished ahead of about 72% of male finishers."

Good to know that despite totally bonking, I still kicked some serious Man Butt!