Erin Go Run

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.