I developed a run/walk strategy that mainly revolved around
how to spend the most time in the shade.
I ran from tree to tree, building to building, walking anytime I was out
of the sun.
I also decided to walk the entire length of the water
stations since I find it difficult to swallow and run simultaneously. I’d take a cup from the first volunteer, sip
half, then throw the rest on my head. This
process would take me to the end of the station, where’d I’d take another cup
from the last volunteer and do it all again.
I quickly learned that my headphones were not waterproof. Luckily it was only the left side that
shorted out, and often it would dry and start working again before the next
drenching.
With all the walking I was doing, I had a lot more time to
take in my surroundings. The long
stretch on Santa Monica in Century City was particularly dead. The layout of the road was not very
spectator-friendly, and there was very little and shade. Looking straight ahead, all you could see was
a mass of people walking up one rolling cement hill after the other.
Century City aside, there were a lot of people cheering
along the course, remarkable considering how very hot it was. Even more remarkable was how a lot of them,
completely unaffiliated with the race, came armed with food for the runners
simply because they were awesome.
Someone gave me a half a banana.
I had countless orange slices from people on the side of the road. I almost grabbed a stick a woman was holding
out, hoping it was a popsicle, before she told me it was Vaseline.
During one particularly hot stretch, a random little girl
handed me a cup of water that turned out to have an ice cube in it. I almost cried.
I’m not quite sure where I was, but I came upon a group of
Port-A-Potties. I didn’t really need to use
it, but one was unoccupied so headed on in.
Maybe because it just looked so nice and shady. Yes, it was that hot that I sat in a poorly-ventilated,
plastic outhouse just for a few minutes’ shade.
In the VA hospital around mile 20, someone held a sign that
read “Near Beer” which was shortly followed by people holding cups of what
smelled like actual beer. I couldn’t
tell if the sign was meant to tell me I was in close proximity to beer, or if
they were serving Near Beer. Had it been
the latter, I might have partaken, but I couldn’t devote the few brain cells I
had left to figuring it out before I had moved on. I was running at this point, but that ended
quickly as I approached the last major incline that many people had warned me
about, exiting the grounds of the VA.
As I walked up that hill, I remember looking at my watch and
thinking, if A makes his goal, he’ll be finishing right about now. I hoped he made it.
The hill crested and the decline spit us out onto San Vicente,
a stretch of road I had run a dozen times before. I told myself that if I ran hard, I’d break 4
hours, but I simply didn’t have it in me.
The spectators were out in full force in Brentwood, leaning
into the road, right on top of the runners.
Many called out to me by name, which was printed on my bib. Every time I stopped to walk, someone would
shout, “Come on, R! You can do it!” Sometimes I’d smile weakly back. I appreciated the support, but my will was shattered.
About 2.5 miles from the finish, I looked down at my watch. The screen read, “Resume time?"
Resume time?!! Somehow my watch paused without me
realizing it. Just like my watch’s satellite
connection, any hope of breaking 4 hours completely evaporated into the
ether. I thought I’d be close, but now I
had no way of knowing.
I kept craning my neck for a view of the Pacific. I knew once I saw water, I’d be close to the
turn home. Once I made that turn, I’d be
mere moments away. I just needed to get
to the corner.
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