Bittersweet Start to 2011

By 3:15 Friday afternoon, I was officially done.  I sat there in my parked car for a few moments and just exhaled.  And coughed.  Man, was I done.  It had been a rough first week back in class.  I thought about what had gone well and maybe not so well during the week.  I thought about the trunk full of work to correct and next week's lessons to plan.  And I was sick.  I coughed again.  I just needed a few moments to pull it all together before stepping out of the car for track practice.  Long exhale.  And another cough.  Well, at least the week's done.    It was time to get ready to run.  The 2011 season starts tomorrow. 

I turned on the radio just as the Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony" began.  Somehow it seemed to fit the moment.  Maybe I should add this to tomorrow's playlist, I thought.

 I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now.

I was looking forward to starting 2011 with 22 miles at the Crystal Springs Trail Run, hoping to pick right up where I left trail running about 13 months ago.  I had put together about six months of solid base building with some exceptionally strong long runs.  No injuries, only a few little nics.  I felt ready to go.   I knew I'd have a hard time matching my sub-3 hour run from December 2009, but at least I could see where I was at the start of 2011 in relation to the end of 2009.  Crystal Springs was going to be the start to my best year of running yet.

The 22 mile course elevation profile

And then I started to cough.  Four days before the race I could feel it.  Still, I figured it would pass, so when Steve Uniack said he was going over to Woodside for the race with some other locals, I decided to go online and ponder making the commitment.  I saw the list of entrants and noticed some familar names, including my ultrarunning hero, Scott Dunlap.  Hello.  I took out the credit card and signed up for the 22 miles.

Being sick, I declined Steve's invitation to car pool and made my way to the bay early Saturday morning.  I tried to maintain my usual fueling/hydrating routine on race morning but I could tell I wasn't 100%.   Cars were backed up as they opened the park gates at 8:00 so things were hectic for the 8:30 start of the marathon and 50K.    

The Man!

I roamed around the start, wondering if maybe I'd notice a familiar face or two.  I tried not to look to stalkerish when I noticed Scott.   He was still getting his gear in order with just a few minutes before the start so I waited discretely for a quick window to gush just a little and snap a quick picture.  Mission #1 accomplished.

I got in line for my bib number and saw Bill Marweg.  We said hey and then noticed the bibs were labelled "Bizz Johnson Trail Marathon."  Hmm. Odd.  We decided we were in favor of  Coastal Trail Runs conserving some resources but I should have recognized a bad omen when I saw one. 

  

We then met up with Steve Uniack, Layla Bohm and Bill's wife Debbie and daughter Amanda.  Amanda's a former student and she and her parents have gone to Europe no less than 3 times with my class.  Steve is the father of another of my students, Chris.  And Layla was my favorite News Sentinel reporter/blogger while she worked there.  All good people.    The race was just a few minutes away.  We all geared up, visited the bathroom one last time and made our final preparations.  Some wondered about the condition of the trail, others wondered how many layers to wear.  I was already hungry and the race hadn't started yet.  Cough.  Uh-Oh.

The 9:00 start was a combined field of 5-milers, 11-milers and the 22.  It starts on a fast downhill for the first 3/4 mile.  We soon found out the trail was a little slick but , overall, fast and puddle-free.  I settled in about 4 runners off the front and found my comfort zone.  When the first climbs began, my legs seemed to respond well.  But I was coughing from deep, deep down, abdominally, and I started having doubts by the third mile.  I took a few 10 second walk breaks on the uphills, letting my heart rate come down and cleaning out the old throat each time.  I was also pretty light-headed and started thinking about coming back down the hill with the 11 mile runners.  I didn't know if I had three hours or so of work in me.

Don't let the smile fool you . . .

By the 4 mile mark I was thinking alot.  Thinking way too much.  Thinking of all the things that felt wrong.  Thinking of all the stuff I had to do when I got home.  Thinking of how bad it is to think so much.  By the time I hit the 5 mile mark I had talked myself into turning around for the 11 mile race.  The terrain levelled out and I just focused on easy breathing as I eased into the aid station.  I really wasn't hungry or thirsty.  52 minutes into the race and I hadn't taken hardly any water and the very thought of putting down a GU or anything else made my stomach turn. 

I was on the verge of heading back down, when for some strange reason I started up the next trail on the 22 mile course.  Looking back I don't know why.  But about a half mile up the course I stepped in a huge puddle and it occurred to me that if I continued, I would be not only wiped out for the rest of the weekend with my family but probably zapped for a few weeks for running.  It wasn't worth it, I figured.  So, I turned around.



DNF Nazi says, "No chute for you!"

 I went back to the first aid station and waited for Steve and Bill, thinking I'd hitch a ride with the guys back down the hill.  The fellas proved to be jovial company, even coining a new trail running term, "checking the map" (based on a encounter my bladder had with a CHP officer just hours earlier).  It was a fun ride down the mountain, chatting and just soaking in the magnificent redwoods.  As we approached the finish, I felt unworthy of the chute.  I ran off to the side and handed my race bib to the timer and told her to mark me as a DNF.  First time in my life, "Did Not Finish." 

In retrospect, maybe I should have just ran a fast 11 miles and called it a day.  Or maybe I shouldn't have been out there at all.  I was still trying to figure it out when I went back to the car and called my wife.  She was surprised to hear me call so soon but relieved that I turned back early.  Wives . . . 

Me, I was still searching.  But when  I tossed my running bib into the backseat, it hit me like a lightening bolt.   Flashback 4 years . . . in the midst of a long drought, I signed up for a marathon with a friend hoping it would motivate me to get back on the horse.  Well, I never ran that marathon, I just ate the $100 and registered my one and only DNS.  And which marathon was it?  Why, no other than the Bizz Johnson Marathon, the same name I saw on the label of my one and only DNF.  Weird coincidence.  Curse you, Bizz Johnson!  You give BJ's a bad name!

And if I told you what the first song was when I turned on the radio to drive home from Woodside, you wouldn't believe me. 

No change, I can't change
I can't change, I can't change
But I'm here in my mind
I am here in my mind
And I'm a million different people
from one day to the next
I can't change my mind
No, no, no, no, no, no, no
I can't change
I can't change it

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life