Erin Go Run

When I lived in Solana Beach with a friend from college, we occasionally made our drunken way to a local bar that is not fit for the area, let me tell you. The ol’ “Surf and Saddle” brings out people from the wood works. On any given night, you could run into any slew of people. One night you might talk to a man that had just been released from prison for almost killing his sister’s ex-boyfriend, whereas on another night you will run into the freshly graduated (or drop-outs) from the nearby community college that live off of their winnings at the weekly goldfish racing.

One night in particular, Jimme and I had ventured our way to the Surf and Saddle for a nice cocktail or three. After almost being accosted by the ex-prisonmate and a group of college punks that don’t know the first clue about being alive on this Earth (ugh, seriously) one man seated at the bar had been eyeing our conversations immensely. Once Jimme and I got a moment to ourselves, his mid-life-crisis-lets-see-if-I-still-got-it radar began to go off. Beginning with the small talk “are you girls here alone” and “what are pretty girls like you doing in a bar like this” he found a way to begin talking more personally with Jimme. As she continued pounding her drink and fake laughing at his old-fashioned jokes while he gently caressed her leg and hand uncomfortably and awkwardly, I continued to look like I was meant to be at the bar alone. I did the usual; checked my phone every ten seconds for a possible text or call, watched TV intensely, tried to observe the bartenders to see which one would make my next drink stronger.

Long story short, this guy Larry turned out to be a “horse buyer” from Florida. He was here for the summer, watching the horses and buying them. His trick is that he buys the youngin’s (horses, I mean) and then sells them several years later when they are at their racing prime. He kept talking about this and that with Jimme and I, which seemed like a very unrealistic profession for his image (and name), but as long as he was buying our drinks, he could have been the King of Tibet and I would have stilled smiled and nodded.

He then proceeded to invite us to the track (us, only cause he knew I was Jimme’s wingman) to watch the horses practice. I, in my beginnings of a drunken stupor, began raving about my dream to do a time trial around the track. The Del Mar track is approximately one mile long, which, to a runner, is a fantasy. He promised me that he would get me on the track to do that, and insisted that Jimme get his number to make the arrangements… hmmm… suspicious at all? Naaaahhhhhh! He kept talking up his expertise about the turf, the horses, etc.etc. as I drifted off into runner’s dreamland and pictured my record braking mile on the Del Mar track making the news.

Needless to say, the summer went by and the text messages got creepier and creepier from Larry. He not only texted Jimme when he was in the shower thinking of her, but he also made sure to call and leave a message on her phone and then quickly call into her work to ask why she didn’t pick up. Eventually she avoided all contact, which led him to the last message we would hear from Larry stating how inconsiderate and rude it is to just blow someone off. He left back home at the end of the season and we never heard from Larry again.

As for the track, I insisted that Jimme return at least one of his calls, so to have a chance at the time trial. I thought better of myself and of, well, nothing much else. I would have protected Jimme from running off with “Larry the Horse Guy” just as long as I had gotten to run around that track. But alas, I will have to keep dreaming. But wait; its opening day…. Wonder who is at the Surf and Saddle?

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Mile 26   split: 7:42   marathon time: 3:20:31

This last mile, while you think it would go quickly, actually somewhat drags on. The finish is at the recruiting depot, but you have to run through it first..ugh. And not only that, but you are weaving through its mini streets while, again, torturing your legs and making you ruin a smooth stride. Excited to finish to really see if this time was real, I saw a girl ahead of me looking of the same age division as I, and contemplated passing her. With ¾ of a mile left, I could have passed her, but who knows what kind of kick she could have produced at the end to still beat me. I thought about my options, but finally said, E, just finish… run your own race, and have the time of your life.

Mile 26.2   split: 1:21  marathon time: 3:22:05

Running past the finish line crowd, my last bit of cockiness came out as I wondered if co-worker/ friend George was there to greet us (Gaia was also running the race today). Annnnd for the cockiness: he might not even be here yet. I went on to cross the finish line in my fastest time to date…

…and that, ladies and gentlemen, was the San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon from the perspective of this slightly awkward and slightly cocky runner.

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Mile 23   split: 7:45   marathon time: 2:57:28

Still running with Cass, she kept trying to motivate me/ coach me. It was frustrating at points because she obviously didn’t understand my fatigue, but I love that she was helping me. There wasn’t much happening throughout this mile, except that I kept telling myself that I only had a measly little 5K left to run (and you all only have one more post to read about this danged marathon).

Mile 24   split: 7:37   marathon time: 3:05:06

You all know as well as I that when I have the opportunity to brag about a performance or myself, I am surely going to take it. Like I mentioned before, we had personalized bibs, so as I ran by the crowds, they were able to cheer for us by name. Running with Cass (and as you can see by the split time, quite impressively), spectators would cheer me on, and congratulate me on my performance: “Wow, Erin! You look so strong!” “Erin, you look great! Almost there!” “You are looking amazing!” I could keep going, but I will spare you.

Mile 25   split: 7:41   marathon time: 3:12:48

Earlier in the race, when I began to believe for myself that I might actually have a great race, there was a man that had written all over his upper torso “3:20 Follow Me to Boston.” Back then, I was doubtful that I would have this kind of race. And he ended up speeding (not literally) off ahead, which made things seem realistic at the time that 3:20 would be but a dream for me. But alas, as I was running alone again here in mile 25, I approached this man who was struggling a bit. While I didn’t have the courage to pump him up and motivate him to finish up with me, I whispered under my breath, here we go, 3:20, let’s do this.

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Mile 20    split: 7:46   marathon time: 2:34:19

If you read back in my blog a few miles (mile 2, to be exact), you’ll read about two gentlemen that I happened to be running alongside who made claims on their brilliant marathon strategy, the race starts at mile 20… As I approached this mile, I thought of those two and, of course, in my cockiness blurted in my head, Mile 20, huh? Where are you now!? I never really got a good look at who they were or what they were even wearing, so I wouldn’t have known if they were in fact beginning to race, stopped and walking, or where they were in relation to me (for all I know they could have been right next to me). Although I got a good whiff of their sweat back at mile 2, it wasn’t enough to determine which of these fools running with me now were really them. For their own sake, I hope they were able to live up to their strategy.

Mile 21   split: 7:42   marathon time: 2:42:01

Anyone that has run the San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon before very well knows that miles 21 through about 24 are possibly the worst; not physically, but mentally. Not only are there NO fans (except the bums and seagulls that sleep in the filth we call the San Diego River), but there is no shade and at one point you can see the runners that are about a mile in front of you and two miles in front of you at the same time (more on that later). I was approaching this mile with the best of intentions; to get through it. Right before the 21 mile marker, you have to weave through some pitiful plywood boards that have idiotic symbols on it that are supposed to replicate “Yay! Keep running, idiots, doing great, even though you are crazy!” in “Egyptian” as if you are in a maze at Coney Island. You are so pissed off by this, more so than your legs for being tortured so, that you almost want to take the water from the “pharaohs” and throw it back in their face.

But to my surprise, these stupid boards were like the winning door, that once I passed them, there was none other than my very own Cass!!! Thinking she was just cheering again, I ran by her to give her a high five; but instead of reciprocating, she began to run with me. She ended up running with me until mile 25, helping me through the worst parts of the race. She kept saying how well I was doing and how strong I looked. I just kept thanking her for running and for being with me through the tough part… I haven’t seen her in ages, and wished that this was just another practice that we got to spend chit chatting, but I think she knew that I was on record pace, so she just ran alongside of me… helped me through.

Mile 22   split: 7:41   marathon time: 2:49:43

Like I said before, the worst part of the race is when you can see the people 1 and 2 miles ahead of you; lucky bastards, almost done…. As you turn from Sea World Drive onto Friars, you get the privilege of rocking out to one of the bands, but then you get the unfortunate task of having to see the hundreds of people turning back onto Sea World drive (to the Mile 23 marker). What does this mean? That you have to pointlessly run down Friars, possibly the most boring and scary road in all of San Diego, for half of a mile and then make a sharp U-turn (which also makes your legs burn like a bladder infection). This isn’t even the worst part. Just when you are about to make the U-turn, you look up to the band to rock out a little bit more, but instead get pissed at the sight of runners already on the Pacific Coast Highway, approaching Mile 24…. Damn you all, and your running talent. Turning around, you huff and puff past the next water station and then right before you turn off of the wretched Friars road, you look left and kind of chuckle at the runners just entering into the Hell you were in, but quickly sympathize and move on.   

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Mile 17    split: 7:34   marathon time: 2:11:15

My inner monologue: Oh mile 17. How I hated you last year. Why it was just upon these very streets that I experienced my weakest moments. Calf pain, dragging my fat ass across the bridge, only to smell the reek of Mission Bay and my race. It was a sad time last year, but my how I have grown. So miserable, so lonely, so little confidence. What a year it has been though. (I continue pinpointing random low moments within the last year). I am grateful for my time right now, Thank you, God. You were there with me always, helping me grow and learn, and suffer. Keep me strong, help me to get through this….

… this is where I saw Alicia last year. In my sad state. Thank goodness that isn’t me anymore. Those pictures were so horrible. 

Mile 18    split: 7:42   marathon time: 2:18:58

From the sidelines (I found out afterwards that they were yelling this at runners behind me):

“You are losing to a drunk girl!”

Mile 19    split: 7:34   marathon time: 2:26:32

A few paces down the PB/Crown Point stretch is none other than my very own Lil B, his friend Millie, and an ex teammate Steve.  I ran by in excitement, ready to high five everyone (“high Five”) and shout “record time, guys! Record time!” Steve joined me for a few paces, but that was short lived as I had been holding some pee in for approximately 19 miles. I took a 20 second timeout at the port-o-potty, but not without debating whether to keep my time running or not… of course, I stopped it since I wanted to get my “true running time.” Turns out I not only had the race of my life, but also the pee of my life too; 20 seconds (I figured that out from the discrepancy between my chip time and watch time).

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Mile 14    split: 6:44   marathon time: 1:48:28

Running along my merry little way, I started into the area of the race where I was running alone with not many fans around to cheer for me. However, we did have personalized bib numbers, so people were able to cheer for yours truly by name. A couple people shouted for me as I ran by, and one little girl even commented about how fast I was running. Thank you, girl. I was mid-mile when I came up to a camera man that was shooting pictures of the race that would later be sold. Unlike I normally do in races, I looked directly at them, smiled, and waved. These photo ops are typically used to make a bad race look good. No matter what stance you are in, the main goal is to have your photo taken slightly from the side. That way any rolls that are flapping around look a little bit more stretched out, your stride looks impeccable, as no one can really tell what point in the stride you are in.

Not today, though. I was waving and flailing all around, trying to add attention to my race. I didn’t care how my fat looked; I just wanted everyone to know how fast I looked.

Mile 15    split: 7:37   marathon time: 1:56:05

Somehow my sense of time got taken off its kilter because as I scanned the clock and punched in my split, I somehow thought it was only 8am and that my friends wanting to watch me in a couple of miles I told not to be there until at least 8:30. I even told them that was early, and I might not even be there for a while (remember, back at the beginning of the race I thought I was going to have a super slow super shitty race). I spent a good portion of the mile worrying that I would not see them. This made me sad, as I haven’t had anyone present to watch me at a race since my parents in college. At one point, I even asked myself if I should slow down so that I wouldn’t pass through those miles before they got there. Of course, that was short lived as I started making up funny little quips to excuse myself when they were pissed at me afterwards; “Sorry guys, I was running so fast, I didn’t even realize that I would have gone through that point so quickly”… and that was even more short-lived when I looked at the real-time on my watch and realized it was already 8:30 and I wouldn’t see them for another 3 miles.

Mile 16   split: 7:35    marathon time: 2:03:41

 LezzBizzle!!!!! Right before the start of the race, my old Jamba Lesbian friend (she hates when I make the obvious even more obvious) called and told me that she was handing out water at mile 16. I figured I was going to be running a stupid race, I could stop and chat with her; or at least let her try to make a move on me (in running tights I like to think of myself as irresistible). But as I was in the midst of a record-breaking time, I thought I would still have time to stop to give my other fans a chance to settle in at mile 18 and 19. On the contrary, one cannot stop at such a point. I was coming up to the water station and started looking out for a boyish looking girl by clothes, little doll face with rosy cheeks (yes lezbizz, your cheeks are rosy and feminine). I saw the perfect candidate and as I was approaching, she started to cheep pretty loud. I raised my hands as if I was, for the first time, finishing a race and almost began screaming lesbian obscenities (its allowed, this was not my typical race)…..

…. And suddenly realized that that wasn’t Lezbizz; it was a lesbian. Stupidly, and finally in this race humbly, I lowered my arms and continued running; searching, where is she, where is she….

…Lezbizz!! As I snatched (no pun intended) water from her hands, she told me I was a rockstar and I smiled and said I know. And that was lezbizz….

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Mile 13    split: 7:38   marathon time: 1:40:52

Normally or traditionally, I would try and sing Bon Jovi’s famous song “Ohhhhh, we’re halfway there… Wooahh OH! Living on a prayer” as I crossed the line and then memorized my half marathon time. But if you have even remotely been following this race, you know as well as I that this race was different. Passing the 13 mile mark definitely felt good because I knew I was halfway done. BUT…. Crossing the line at 1:40 put me on a whole new playing field. If I kept going at the same pace, which I didn’t want to promise myself, I was going to run a record setting time. It was at this point in the race when my fear of crashing disintegrated and I finally gained confidence in running a great race. There are not many moments in a runner’s life that are as motivating or inspirational as this (at least not during competition); usually it is fear that pushes you. 

Mile 13.1   split: 00:51      Marathon time: 1:41:43

This is technically my half-point. Still, it’s fast. On pace and loving it!

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Mile 10   split: 8:07   marathon time: 1:18:03

I might have talked myself into fainting like Bryan so much that I made myself dizzy. In a car, when you look at the road on a freeway, you see thin lines as if the highway was recently raked. Well, seeing them in slower motion and on foot does not make it any easier. I was caught in between the option of running dizzily as I was looking down on the freeway or running on the shoulder which is at a slant and could possibly ruin the race of my life. I chose to run in the slow lane, but far enough over that looking lightly to my left would rid my peripheral of the hypnotizing freeway lines. A bit of a struggle, but not nearly as dizzy.

Mile 11   split: 7:22   marathon time: 1:25:26

You’ll notice that I did not say anything about my previous mile time. Not sure exactly what held me back. It was a gradual hill, but not enough to make me run one out of the only two miles over 8 minutes. BUT, if you look at this mile, I think I more than make up for the time. This mile time marks the fastest mile of the race; not bad. It was in this mile (not sure why because this mile is the most uninteresting part of San Diego) that I reflected back on the Dublin marathon. I thought about running through the city streets that Dublin residents probably didn’t give two sh—s about but had me in awe and disbelief. It made me wonder if anyone was running this race with those same thoughts right now. While even San Diego residents can enjoy many picturesque parts of this race, it is definitely not going to be on the southbound 163. Nevertheless, I am sure there are some that did.

Mile 12   split: 7:47   marathon time: 1:33:13

Finally off the freeway, we turned into Fashion Valley where I got to reflect back on my old stomping grounds from my USD days. To the right was the Jamba Juice that I spent many hours of my young life at. Turning left, I was approaching the dreaded mall that was always flooded with frustrating traffic during any holiday season. Doo do do doo, running along, basking in my past, who should appear but one of the best parts of it; Cass! Cassandra Chavez waved and cheered me on, fueling my second wind and energizing me even more than I already was. I waved and kept running on; excited to see such a close (former) teammate.

Little bit about Cass: Cassandra Chavez was one of our top runners at University of San Diego. Each year, she not only improved her performance in each and every race, but she inspired all of her teammates to run like they meant it. Her senior year especially, Cassandra had the best season of her life while overcoming personal obstacles. But she never let those get in the way of her giving it her all, every time. If I had to sum Cassandra up in one sentence, it would be: she gave all of her heart and energy into each and every mile, each and every step, and in each and every person. 

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Mile 7   split: 7:48    marathon time: 54:21

With the 3:30 pacer in front of me, I began making it a target. I was slowly approaching the large group of inexperienced runners with some natural talent, and before I knew it I was passing them. Still a little bit nervous as to whether I was going too quickly, I pushed on ahead and made my way to the embarcadero; one of my favorite places to run in San Diego. As energetic and fast-paced as I felt, I knew that I most definitely would not last for the entire race, so I whipped out one of my power gels and took it down, slightly choking on it because they aren’t as good as you would think.

Mile 8   split: 7:52   marathon time: 1:02:13

Running through the embarcadero is one of my favorite runs to do. Besides the one downfall, tourists, it is a very picturesque run that shows off some of the better parts of San Diego. Many people tend to take San Diego for granted. But on foot running through, it forces the unappreciative to look around and see why so many people visit. Tall buildings of downtown rise above, creating shadows onto the waters of the harbor. Looking across the harbor, you catch a glimpse of the quaint and little town of Coronado. Seaport Village has many of the little shops that parents love, but kids dread on summer vacations (save for the candy and magic shop). Along the path, different artworks are present every few yards. They reflect a more edgy side of San Diego, create something unique and eye-catching. For a runner, they give you something to pace off of, in addition to being something that distracts you. There are famous pirate ships and of course the famous aircraft carrier museum, the Midway. With nothing but a cool breeze, it is difficult not to just let yourself go and run through such enjoyment. 

Mile 9   split: 7:42   marathon time: 1:09:56

Several weeks ago, a few friends of mine and I participated in the La Jolla Half Marathon. Most of us struggled through the race, finishing better and worse than expected. One of us, on pace to run the race of his life, didn’t finish. At about mile 9, we found out, Bryan had passed out on the side of the race course where he was hosed off and then rushed to the hospital. Later it turned out to be low blood sugar and dehydration.

It was through this mile that I feared the worst… that I was going to pull a Bryan. Drinking the day before a marathon is the worst thing you can do for your hydration and blood sugar levels. And while Bryan didn’t drink the day before the race, I scared myself even more because not only did I drink, but I was running twice as far!! Constant daydreams ran through my head in mile 9 of dropping to the ground, hitting my head on the curb, etc. After all, I was on pace for the race of my life.

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Mile 4  split: 7:28   marathon time: 30:59

The fourth mile was still packed; hundreds of people were running with me. As people were trying to weave in and out of people, a couple of old sweaty men managed to pass me and rub their sweaty arms on mine…. Ugh! I didn’t want to wipe it off, cause I didn’t want to touch their sweat juices. So instead I had to embrace it and let it air dry…. Meanwhile, some girl comes shooting out of the mass of runners and finds the most central bush. Instead of running behind the bush to gain some privacy, she pops a squat right front blank for the thousands to see and starts peeing. Times like this I feel nothing but pity for women, as many of them do not have the luxury of using a P-Mate. 

This brings me back to the one time in my running career that I peed during a race. It was only a 5k, so I really don’t have an excuse… minutes before the start of the race I had mentioned to my teammate that I had to pee. She insisted that it was just nerves. In the last mile of the race, there was a large downhill. With every step that I took, there was a little bit of leakage. Every step. And I was on record pace, so it’s not like I could slow down, you know? Coming around to the home stretch, fans would cheer for me, and as their heads turned to follow me down the runway, their cheers of “Go Erin! Go Temecula!” turned into laughs, and points (or I assume they were, but I was obviously looking forward).

This girl had no shame in peeing in front of everyone. It wasn’t even a girly pee. It was coming out strong. What surprises me the most is that she even still had to pee. As she ran by us, you couldn’t help but look at her pants because they were wet; from peeing in them.

Mile 5   split: 7:46   marathon time: 38:45

Running through downtown now, there are more fans out cheering on the streets. This is one of the coolest parts of a marathon. They bring their yells, claps, bells, and best of all, their signs. My favorite sign in this marathon was seen here, in mile 5 of the race, reading:

“Think of all the gas $$ you are saving right now”

Creative really, and best of all it helps you to smile during an intense race and to focus your attention on something else. Also motivating in this mile was a man on a megaphone shouting inspirational words to us. “Great job” “conserve your energy” “calm your breathing” Calm it!? Are you kidding me?? Dot com! How exactly do you do that in a 26 mile race? But apparently this guy knows; according to other racers, he is a motivational life coach with 20,000 followers.

Mile 6   split: 7:46   marathon time: 46:32

By mile 6, I started scaring myself. We were still in the midst of Downtown and my pace was still quite fast. I was afraid I was going to burn out like I did last year, or in the La Jolla Half. This was probably the most doubtful and negative mile, and luckily it did not last for very long. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t going all out, and if it came down to it, I had less than 20 miles to run. Once you get past Downtown, it’s just a loop around the bay. 

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