Race Result

Racer:	Steve Smith
Race:	Big Sur Marathon
Date:	Sunday, April 28, 2002
Location:	Big Sur, CA
Race Type:	Run - Marathon
Age Group:	Male 30 - 34
Time:	3:09:12
Overall Place:	57
Age Group Place:	13
Comment:	Not bad for a training run

Race Report:

As you drive south along Highway 1 and enter into Carmel, California you will see the following sign:

Big Sur 26
San Luis Obispo 132
Los Angeles 337

Well, not quite. Someone, a runner, one of our ilk, our clan, stuck a nice, clean piece of graffiti on that road sign. Right next to that 26 is one of those small, reflective mailbox numbers, the number "2." With that small act all is right in the world, because if there was ever a stretch a road worthy of a marathon effort it is this stretch of curvy asphalt ribboned along the majesty of vast ocean meeting coastal mountains.

What runner doesn't see 26 miles and think, 26.2? Jack-Jill. Salt-pepper; Peanut butter-jelly. 26-point two. And, given the scenery since arriving in Monterey, Carmel’s northerly, larger neighbor, I relished the opportunity to run 26.2 miles along this fabled road.

***

Three years before the 2002 Big Sur International Marathon I ran my first marathon, the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington D.C. Independent of my own middle-age crisis decision making (I would turn 30 the day before the race), two friends from work also chose Marine Corps as their first marathon. Scott would prove to be the center our training trio, a little slower than me, and a little faster than Beverly. Scott and Beverly would train together occasionally, and so would Scott and I. We all finished the marathon that day and we all enjoyed ourselves. More importantly, we found that having a common goal made the training more fun, more communal, even if we did much of our training by ourselves.

With this in mind, the decision to run another marathon as a group was easy. In 2000 I had to watch Scott run his second marathon (and break 4 hours at Maryland’s Marathon in the Parks) after injuring my calf six weeks before the race. In 2001 I lotteried into the New York City Marathon without my marathon buddies. By the end of the year Scott, Beverly, and I were looking forward to aiming for another marathon as group.

Why Big Sur? Well, before Scott, Beverly, or I had ever run a marathon I’d put the idea into their head that the Big Sur marathon would be a fun time. As an avid backpacker and traveler, I’d always had my eye on Big Sur but had never made it there. I’d driven hundreds of miles along Highway 1 north and south of Big Sur, but I had somehow never made it to Big Sur itself. Sure, I told them, it’s a little hilly, but the view -- ahh, the view.

What drew me to Big Sur marathon itself was a brief conversation I had with a guy with the coolest job in the world. While attending a course at the National Outdoor Leadership School in the wintry northwest corner of Wyoming, I made friends with my instructor Don. I’d started running road races the previous year and was thinking about the Marine Corps Marathon later that year. We got to talking about running and Don mentioned he’d done the Big Sur Marathon. Big Sur? I asked? Holy cow, I didn’t know they had a marathon. (At this stage in my running career I figured there were 10 or 12 marathons like Chicago, New York, Boston.) Yeah, says Don, they have one and it’s a bitch. They say take your marathon time and add 15 minutes to it. I think he ran a 3:12.

Now, you have to realize, the guy telling me this story has climbed some of the most serious mountains in the world. He’s hiked 20 mile-days with 60 pounds on his back for weeks on end. He’s dragged a 100-pound sled through a blizzard and smiled for 15 hours through dark morning, snowy day, and dark and snowy night. Tough? Hell, I thought, if you say so -- sign me up. So I tucked the Big Sur marathon into the back of my mind and loaded up my sled for the day’s fun.

Many people have been introduced to the Big Sur race in a similar way. If you know anything about the Big Sur marathon you probably know these two things: 1) the course is stunningly beautiful and 2) there’s a hill, its name is Hurricane Point, and it will hurt. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ve probably also heard there’s a piano at a very pretty bridge, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

What the course gives out in tough, double that for beauty. If you've seen a car commercial in the last 15 years, you know a little bit of the course’s scenery. The picturesque Bixby Bridge, in addition to serving as the backdrop of one in five car commercials, is one of the icons of the Big Sur International Marathon. It is a stunning piece of architecture beautifully set into the curving hills and ravines of the California coast, and while most Americans dream of cruising these tight turns in a convertible performance car, there’s a group of us that see this scenery and want to spend a little more time with it, or at least have it as a quiet companion as we push ourselves.

***

Monterey is the usual home base for the traveling marathoner. Carmel is smaller, quaint, and much pricier. To give you some idea of the area around Carmel, realize that Clint Eastwood did a spell as the mayor of Carmel and the legendary Pebble Beach golf course is just outside of town. Big Sur itself offers camping for the adventurous and little else. If you’re flying to the race, a car is an excellent idea given all to do outside of Monterey. However, the budget minded can easily live without a car if they simply want to take in Monterey itself (and don’t mind waiting for the shuttle bus after the race). If you are flying to the race, consider flying into San Francisco; as a major international airport it will offer more flexibility with flight scheduling and the drive to Monterey is beautiful. The Monterey airport is certainly convenient, only a $XX ride into town.

I arrived in Monterey on Thursday to share a room with a friend from Ohio, Dave. My co-workers arrived later that night after having some connection woes in San Francisco. They made an unscheduled drive from San Francisco to Monterey, but had to do so in the less scenic dark of night.

The group of us previewed the race course on Friday. It was the first time any of us had seen Big Sur. But, more importantly, it was the first time we’d seen Hurricane Point. The talk for the rest of the day was about That Damn Hill. It was big, but not too big. Bullshit, it was huge. Nah, it wasn’t too bad. Besides (rationalization) it comes at just the right spot, miles 10 through 12. Not too soon. Not too far into the race. About the Point (hah, point! Try mountain) this was universally agreed: If it has to be somewhere, miles 10 through 12 is a fine spot.

Monterey, like most coastal California towns, is a diner’s haven. Mexican, coffee houses, seafood, stylish breakfast joints all await the hungry tourist. We ventured onto the Pier (of course) for dinner and dined more for Monterey than for the Big Sur marathon. With bellies full of wonderous seafood dishes and minds full with shadows of Hurricane Point we hustled into bed as early as we could. Because after the scenery and after Hurricane Point, the next major point of interest for this race is that you have to be up at an hour not fit for print. Shhh, lean over and I’ll whisper.

(it begins with three -- yes, a three)

And, like most things about this race, it’s a double-edged sword. Highway 1 is a two-lane ribbon through paradise. It’s not known for its shoulders. To run 4,000 runners 26 (point 2) miles up the coast requires the closure of at least one lane (In my opinion, two would do better). In order to get everyone to the start before the road closes, the race organizers shuttle most people from Monterey to the race for the 7 a.m. start. (Those adventurous, cheapo folks camping in Big Sur don’t look so silly now, do they?)

Waking up at three o’clock violates one of my cardinal rules in life: I don’t wake up at three o’clock. If something requires me to be awake at three o’clock in the morning then damn it, I’ll just stay up. However, given the modern miracle of jet travel, I found a loophole. In Washington D.C. it would already by 6 a.m. when I woke up, so I managed a few hours of sleep without violating any essential ethic policies.

Beverly, Dave, Scott and I stumbled out of bed and over to the shuttle pick-up area. Like all early-morning bus rides to a race, we had the Nervous-And-Loud-Good-Natured-But-Annoying-Guy. You know the type. “Hey! Why does everyone look so tired? HA!” and ‘mr. Bus Driver! Could you just park here at mile 10 and wait for me? I sure could use a ride up THIS!” That it was three in the morning was bad enough, but as we drove onto the best stretches of Highway 1, it was a draw.

For outside the bus window was something I imagine to be rare: a sharp, clear night with full moon above the Pacific Ocean. (Every previous morning was foggy and drizzly). Given the height of the seats in our luxury travel bus, I had a clear view over the guard rails, and I stared at the amazing night for what seemed like seconds, but turned out to be x.x hours to the race start. The ocean was calm and the moon lit a pathway from the oceans edge into the horizon and I wouldn’t have traded a wink of sleep for the bus ride.

***

Given that I’m heading into Central California in six days to do the Wildflower Half Ironman, I seed myself waaaay back in the line. I’ve promised myself this is a training run, a jaunt with friends. Waaaay in the back, as we’re all packed into the narrow two-lane road of Highway 1, I see the most bizarre thing. The banner with the five-foot letters that spell “START” waffles, waivers, and then falls into the crowd. Some runners reach up to prevent it from hitting the ground, like concerned citizens keeping the Stars and Stripes clean. There’s some commotion, a raising of the banner, and a few moment before the race starts! Finally. It isn’t until I pass the Start-line I realize the seriousness of the situation. A man is on the side of the road, his head bleeding slightly. Man! How much does that suck? You spend months training for a marathon, probably a long drive or a plane ride to get California, and finally wake up at three in order to get to beautiful Big Sur -- and WHACK! The Start-line slaps you upside the head.

***
I’m finally on my way, thankful that course hadn’t hit me in the head or anywhere else. The first few miles are through some dense forest, on a gentle downhill slope. The race organization shows early. Each mile is clearly marked, with a helpful volunteer calling out your time. Just beyond that volunteer is another volunteer calling out your predicted finish time given your current location and time.

After XX miles we break out into the clear coastal fringe, with the Pacific stretching forever to the west and the mountains looming to the east. We run by the spectacular XXX lighthouse at mile XX. I think about the beautiful day. Lucky? I don’t know, but the three days prior to the race were all foggy mornings followed by sunny days; today we had a starry night, sunny morning, and calm winds. I think that I’m holding my pace down quite well, walking a few aid stations even this early in the run. My morning coffee isn’t quite working for me today. I haven’t, uh, done my morning business, but I am peeing. A lot. Twice in the first six miles (there are plenty of Porto Johns along the course).

I’m running along at a comfy pace and I think about the amazing bus ride to the race start. I think about my friends and all our training. I think about -- dinner. Uh oh. Maybe seafood wasn’t such a great idea. Soon I find myself approaching mile 8. No more thoughts of starry nights, friends, or calm winds. Only unpleasant thoughts of dinner and my stomach.

Hurricane Point comes into view and one thing is immediately clear: I am not running up that mountain with any unnecessary weight. Not really sure what my stomach is up to I sneak into the bathroom for a third time. I do manage to lighten my load and my stomach is happy. I approach the base of Hurricane Point in a much better state of mind.

***

Given the complexities of closing down one lane of Highway 1 for 5.5 hours, the BSIM organizers make the most of their efforts and stage several races during the day. There’s a 5K race featuring some very fast people, and a relay race for the marathon that gets some competitive teams. When I first heard this I thought, “Cool!” but as I approached mile 10 (we all remember what looms at mile 10, don’t we) I felt that this wasn’t so cool. With my stomach issues behind me I start pondering the relay teams. There are five people per team and the unlucky soul running the third leg gets to sit at the base of Hurricane Point for a few hours and stare up the 2-mile climb that awaits him or her. I come closer to the base of the mountain and my pity for the third-leggers turns into jealousy. Lucky dogs with their fresh legs. Two miles up, a few miles down and some rollers for 6.9 miles of running (how the third leg gets the longest stretch of road AND Hurricane Point is beyond me).

Finally, mile 10 arrives and it’s time to climb. I make my first competitive decision of the race: nobody passes me. This isn’t as competitive as it sounds as I’ve seeded myself well outside of my peers. I tuck my head down and slowly make my way up the hill, my heart rate slowly rising as well. After about 10 minutes I realize that I’m getting along just fine. All my limbs are still attached and all my vital organs are still inside my body. This hill isn’t so bad. The road starts to curve around and I again notice for the Pacific Ocean. As we rise up the road more of the ocean envelopes my world. I find out after the race that Hurricane Point is named for its winds, but we are lucky today; it’s clear and not even breezy. Just as I begin to feel victorious in this climb (no walking, no one passes me, I actually feel good) the road takes a very sharp turn, both around the hillside and toward the sky. The last few minutes of the climb are the worst. To this day I’m not sure if it’s the actual pitch of the road at that point, or if it’s the two miles of climbing that precedes the”summit”

Mile twelve arrives and, for the first time, I take my predicted finish time reaches my brain. 3:18. Wow. This surprises me. I’d stopped a couple of times to relieve myself and generally felt pretty good.

The descent of Hurricane Point isn’t as bad as I feared. In all our pre-race worries we even found time to worry about the downside of Hurricane Point. As if getting up the darn thing wasn’t bad enough, we’d hemmed and hawed about how downhill running can actually do more muscle damage. Great we thought.

But here I was on the other side of the Point and I was still alive. Heck, not only was I still alive, I felt good. Like most people, we managed to talk-up Hurricane Point in order to diminish it. Well, obvious or not, the strategy worked for me.

As I descended the backside of the point I was treated to one of the hallmarks of the Big Sur International Marathon. Each year since XXXX they have flown in a grand piano to sit at mile 13. That’s right, they chopper in a piano. Not only does mile 13 mark the (almost) halfway point of the race, it happens to sit in front of the scenic Bixby Bridge. And, best of all, it’s at the bottom of Hurricane Point, so even if your legs ARE sore from the descending, your treated to some pleasant music and one hell of a view.

The remainder of the course is rolling hills nothing compared to Hurricane Point, but nothing easy. At some point in time someone will joke that the course has a net elevation loss. Listen to the half-hearted chuckle that follows and believe it (the half-hearted chuckle).

After passing mile 14 and regaining normal pace and gait, I started to do the math. Mile 14 predicted finish time was 3:16. I still felt fresh. As I approached mile 15 three things occurred to me. 1) Starting out easy is a good marathon pacing strategy, especially for a training run (even-splitting is generally the best option for a PR, or at least a close positive split) 2) I really wanted to be done running and 3) If was really feeling good, and not faking it, I could snag a Boston Qualifier time of 3:10. So it was decided. At mile 16, the jets would go on.

I approached mile 16, walked some of the aid station, got myself a few drinks and an orange slice, and hit the split button on the watch. Time for a fast Sunday morning ten.

The remainder of the run course is rolling hills as you approach Carmel. There is more housing along the coast and more spectators. The point-to-point nature of the course doesn’t make for a spectator friendly course. The race organizers make up for this with musicians at every mile. But as you approach the end of the course more and more spectators appear as they travel south from Carmel along Highway 1,seeking out friends and family.

Somewhere, mile 20 I think, there are a collection of drag queens. Or were they belly dancers? Or both? But mostly I remember the rolling hills and the harder pace. By the time I am running by the drag queen belly dancers (wait a second, one of those is a lady! Or am I just getting tired) my predicted finish time is 3:12. Six (point 2) miles to go. Two minutes. Mmmm, yeah, this can work, I think. Of course, given my conservative early pacing and the pacing of your typical marathoner (too fast to the wall at mile twenty), I am passing a LOT of people as I run on.

Mile 22 brings me to a nice downhill and I start approaching someone slowly. This is new. Most people over the last six miles have come into sight, and left sight, quickly. It takes nearly a mile for me to catch up with this fellow. We run together, silently for two miles before he begins to fade or I begin to speed up, concerned with hitting my 3:10. Too bad, it would have been nice to finish up strongly together.

There’s a last small hill at mile 25 and then the finish is on a slight downhill of about 1 mile, and the finisher area is a big party. And I have something to celebrate: 3:09:12.

The finisher medal for Big Sur is really something else. For 2002 it was a baked ceramic medallion with the Bixby Bridge and highlighted with hand-painted colors. I’ve done a lot of races and I have a lot of medals, and this one is the most impressive. Much like the race itself.