Act II, Scenes 1-6: Slow Going

It took almost 3 minutes for A and I to shuffle across the start line.  As we stepped underneath the bright orange arch, the shuffle became a trot, and after a few yards, the trot became a jog.  There were a number of pushy racers who elbowed their way ahead.  Many of them were men sprinting to an adjacent berm to water the weeds in full view of the thousands running by.

The current picked up speed thanks to a steep downhill getting out of Dodger Stadium.  A and I were trying to advance our position while keeping track of each other.  I could hear A yelling at me, “Don’t look back!  Stop looking back!” because I kept turning my head to make sure I didn’t lose him in the crowd.

We ran like this all through downtown, dodging people, looking for pathways through clustered bodies, running on and off sidewalks.  There was a steep uphill for around mile 5 that A strategically thought we could take advantage of.  It might not have been the smartest idea for people who didn’t  train hills, but we were able to pass a lot of people, many of whom were already walking.

We had picked up pace bracelets at the expo.  The bracelet I wore had printed the aggregate time needed per mile to finish at 3 hours and 35 minutes.  A was wearing one for a 3 hour and 25 minute finish.

My strategy for the race was to hang with A at his pace for at least 10 miles in order to bank some time that I could burn during the second half.  Many people had warned me in advance that this plan of action was fraught, but I hadn’t trained for and didn’t think I was capable of running negative splits.

Around the 6-mile mark, A looked down at his wrist and said he wasn’t going to make his goal.

Even though we were finally able to run the pace A needed, he was at such a deficit thanks to the logjam at the start that he knew he had to run under pace to make up all the time lost.  I knew I couldn’t and shouldn’t run any faster.  I had found all the dodging and weaving very taxing and there was still many slower runners ahead.  I could hear the frustration in A’s voice, and I told him to go ahead without me.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at me.

I told him to have a great race and I would see him at the finish.  He said goodbye and began to kick a little harder, pulling away into the crowd ahead.  The course made a sharp left off a freeway overpass.  I saw him running well after he made that turn, but a few minutes later I reached the corner myself and lost sight of him for good.  Now I was really on my own.