The Half Way Point

All of a sudden, it was 5:17 a.m. And I was still lying in my bed! Staring at the alarm clock, wondering, "How the hell did that happen?"

I quickly threw on my gear and dashed out onto the street. I flagged a cab and made it to the start at 5:39 a.m. In time to hear them counting down the Wave 3 start. So I jumped in at the back of the pack, and I was off.

You know, I don't think I have felt good on a run since May. Seriously. My last runner's high was pre-Rock-N-Bonk-Marathon. Until today, that is. Even though I grinded out almost seven miles yesterday, this morning's very early 13.1 felt pretty good. Not the entire time, but there were moments. Moments when I remembered why I like to run. And that felt good.

I cruised through the first couple of miles. And then I soared up that hill between miles two and three. That hill that not even a year ago made me want to die. I glided down the hill and onto Marina Drive, where - get this - I actually saw the Golden Gate Bridge. Miraculously, even at 6:00 a.m., the fog remained perched high enough above the city ensuring a protective blanket from the sun while still enabling a stunning view of the area terrain.

With the cruise control set, I zoomed along through the first five miles. Dashing up yet another hill around Mile 5, I was able to position myself with a cruising altitude of 8:20-ish pace for the out and back over the Golden Gate Bridge.

It was kind of windy up there. And it was boring. So I slowed down a little on the bridge, as I remembered I technically wasn't supposed to be RACING this morning. Righ before the turn-around, I looked up and caught a glimpse of the city skyline. I puased as I enjoyed a few
seconds of complete happiness. This beautiful city, and this beautiful weather, and this great race... it's home.

And it was time to begin running back to it. I crossed Mile 7 and noticed that my watch read 59 minutes. "8:30s," I thought. "Cool. I should try to keep this up." So I continued to cruise back over the bridge. 2 more miles on the Golden Gate, followed by a rather difficult mile up Lincoln Avenue in the Presidio, before a long descent above Baker Beach to Mile 11.

This morning, I realized that the mile between markers 10 and 11 is my favorite mile of running in San Francisco. It was that beautiful. Really.

But all too quickly, the course rounded over to 26th Avenue. Where it upped and flattened and upped and flattened - repeatedly and painfully - for the next mile. But by now, I had made it to the front of the Wave 3 pack. Because each time we finished an up, I noticed that very few people were in front of me working on the next one.

I wasn't feeling particularly strong this morning. But the benefit of a Homefield Advantage can't be underestimated. I somehow managed to find a rhythm this morning. At times it was syncopated, and at others it was smooth. But it was enough to push me through every one of those last ups, such that I cruised into the 13.1 First Half Finish Line in Golden Gate Park near the DeYoung Museum somewhere around 1:52:00.

Hmm. Not bad... for a training run.

So I grabbed a banana. And a Cytomax. And a water. I stretched for a few minutes before I headed out of the park onto Fulton Avenue. I hailed a taxi and was home, showered, and back in bed by 8:16 a.m.

13 hours later, I'm still pretty tired. And although I'm pleased with the race/training run results, my reservations about a Boston Qualifying performance in Chicago have returned. Sometimes it just doesn't seem possible.

But it's too late to turn around. The goal of qualifying for Boston isn't an out and back course. I'm learning that it will likely keep getting harder and harder. But I'm halfway there... 13.1 miles down, 13.1 miles to go. It's too late to turn around. Time to see this thing through to the end.