Race Recap - We're Breaking Three!

Ahhh yes, it is finally time for the long awaited blog post. It’s been two weeks since the Rock’n’Roll Marathon, I’ve had some time to process the race, and I’m ready to dive right in. Welcome to race day, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

First, let me answer what is probably your biggest question.

Question: Did I break 3 hours in the marathon?

Answer: No, not even close. *laughs in an “I wish you could’ve seen it” type of way.

Before we get into a full play-by-play of the race, I'd like to address something that has lingered in the past couple of blog posts, now that I have an answer and a solution. Heading into this race, I knew that breaking three hours probably wasn’t going to happen. I tried to stay optimistic and focus on the things that were going right. I’m a huge believer in the power of our minds, so I was focusing on maintaining a positive outlook. Despite that, I’ve been a runner for long enough to know when things are going awry. The wheels fell off of this training cycle when we decided to do house projects during the most critical part of the program and the taper before the race. It was a prime example of life happening and I managed it the best I could, but I simply did not have enough time to get the wheels back on track fully prior to the marathon. Also, remember that chest tightness and breathing issue that I have mentioned in the past couple of posts? Well, it turns out that I was, at minimum, having an allergic reaction to the moldy carpet, carpet that had endured years of renters prior to us moving in, that I had removed and was still sitting in the garage until we could dispose of it. So yes, I was slowly poisoning myself with mold and probably cat hair, which if you know me at all then you know that 1) I believe cats are adorable and 2) I am very allergic to cats therefore I don’t own one because I like to be able to breathe, thank you very much. It’s a silly mistake and it could have been avoided by simply scheduling a junk removal service right after I removed the carpet, but I love efficiency, so I thought it best to wait until we had all of the baseboards removed too so we only had to hire a removal service once. That was very obviously a mistake and I now know that for next time. Oops!

There is so much I have to say about this race, but at the same time, I feel like I remember very little about it. It was an odd experience of being in a state of absolute tunnel vision for 26.2 miles. Let’s just say my very best friend, who drove all the way to San Diego to cheer me on (thanks by the way, you’re the best 😍), saw me multiple times on the course and I never saw her. That’s right. Not even one single time. I was so focused on surviving that everything else was background noise. (Sorry bff, you’re actually not background noise, I just was in absolute survival mode.) Apparently that means my eyes and ears and perhaps brain don’t work super well when I'm trying to survive. Anyways, I’d love to take you through the parts that I do remember. Let’s break it down, shall we?

Pre-Race:

I felt AWESOME. Other than breathing issues (ugh *double eye roll for extra emphasis), I felt dialed in. My spirits were high, my pre-race routine was going swimmingly, and perhaps this is TMI, but yes, I even had a successful trip to the bathroom. If you’re a runner, then you know the importance of that last one. I drank my coffee, ate a bagel, and felt splendid. We had a nice little walk up 6th street, along Balboa Park to get to the starting line and I appreciated the opportunity to warm up my legs prior to the race. After a of couple trips to the porta potties, just in case, I was ready to go. I hopped in Corral 1, honestly feeling a bit intimidated by being so far forward in the race field, and turned on my Rock’n’Roll San Diego playlist. If you’re curious, you can find it on Spotify…just saying. All I ask is that you don't judge me for being a chronic "come up with a playlist title and design some cover art before promptly adding two songs and forgetting about the playlist completely" Spotify user. I managed to finish my playlist for this race and that's all that really matters. As a big believer in signs from the Universe, I felt empowered when the first song to come on was Lose Yourself by Eminem. This song also came on when I turned on my car to begin my drive south to catch my flight to San Diego and it was the first song I used on Instagram. I felt like the Universe was telling me that this was going to be a great race. Well, I do still believe the Universe was saying something but I don’t think it was about having a great race anymore. Hmmmm maybe some time will clarify the actual message I was supposed to be receiving.

Mile 1:

The gun went off, I pressed play, and took off down the street. It was exhilarating. And then I quickly became aware that I was too hot and was working way too hard to maintain my goal pace. I was sweating profusely and thirsty within the first mile, which is extremely abnormal for me. I tried to stay positive and clocked my first mile in 6:45, just slightly under my goal pace. I hoped that I would cool off and feel better once the race field spread out and I wasn’t surrounded by a tightly packed group of runners.

Miles 2-3:

I grabbed water at the very first aid station and that helped, though only slightly. At this point in my life as a runner, I am very aware of my body and how it normally functions. I knew something was off, really off. Still, I tried to push all negativity aside and thought that I’d check back in with myself at about the 5k mark. Mile 2 was a 6:59 and mile 3 was a 7:26. After the training I did, there was no sound reason for me to be running that slow, relatively speaking, that early in the race. I am known for getting caught up in the adrenaline of starting lines and beginning races way too fast, so for me to be feeling so flat, drained, and slow by mile 3 was completely out of character.

Miles 4-10:

After mile 3, I decided that I needed to just focus on finishing. I deliberately slowed down my pace in the hopes of preserving some of my training. In theory, I was hoping to treat this race as a long training run, take a bit of time off afterwards, and roll into a new training cycle for a late summer or early fall marathon. To successfully set myself up for that though I had to slow down and just grind away at the miles. And boy oh boy, a grind it was.

I spent this section of miles battling every single negative thought in the book and coming up with every excuse to step off the course. Yes, it was true that I was struggling with my breathing, not in a medical emergency type of a way though. If that was the case, I would have actually stopped. Yes, it was also true that my hip started hurting within the first two miles. And yes, it was also true that I was embarrassed. But we’ll get to that part later, I promise.

I trudged through the streets, streets I knew were going to be the most entertaining because we had driven the course previously. But again, just like my missing my best friend, I hardly saw any of the course entertainment either. One thing I can say is that the University Ave area of San Diego really turned out to support all of us runners and I love them for that. I may not have been in a state to make eye contact at the moment, but despite the grimace that I am sure was plastered across my face, I did appreciate every single spectator. They got bonus points if they were standing there with a cute dog.

One thing I do remember is a man in a kilt offering shots at his self-created “sobriety checkpoint” that he was hosting in his driveway at about mile 4 or 5. If I had had better reflexes, I probably would’ve taken a shot of Fireball because 1) I had nothing to really lose at that point and 2) it would’ve been a great story to tell at my 100th birthday party one day. But alas, my brain processing time was far too slow and there wasn’t a chance that I was turning around to run back to get that shot. So, I made a mental note to add “mid-marathon Fireball” to my bucket list and kept on cruising. It is essential to note that “cruising” means mentally cursing with every single step and then, once I ran out of swear words, I started inventing some that could truly embody the full spectrum of my irritation. I was an absolute delight out there, can’t you tell?

Just before mile 10, we climbed a short but extremely punchy hill and my hip screamed at me with every step. In all seriousness, it was at this point that I truly didn’t know if my body would let me climb the 1.5 mile hill at the end of the race. This hill was excruciating and I was limping. I promptly added this to my reasons why I may need to alter my plans. I knew that my mom was going to be at mile 10 and I had decided, for those very legitimate reasons (ahem , excuses, well except for the limping because that was very real) that I listed above, I was going to step out of the race. I had it all planned out. She was going to be standing there on the right hand side of the course and I was just going to step to the side and silently vanish amongst the throngs of spectators. Well, mile 10 finally came into view and I heard a familiar voice, the equivalent to the singing of angels at that moment, and I knew I was almost done. And then I saw her, my wonderful mother, standing on the left side of the course, my pathway to freedom barred by a fence. I grimaced in her general direction (sorry mom, I promise I love you a lot and was very happy to see you!) and swore a whole heck of a lot as I followed the course to the right and out of sight.

Miles 11 - 14:

At this point, I knew that maybe the Universe was doing its thing again (still confused about that Eminem song following me, but okay, whatever) and she was on what I considered to be the “wrong side” because I needed to keep going. It’s a stretch, I know, but I was grasping for anything to keep me running towards the finish line. It was at this point that I realized it was going to be an absolute sufferfest of a run for the next 16.2 miles and I just needed to suck it up.

The things that motivated me in this moment are as follows:

1. My loving family and friends, near and far, that were rooting for me

2. My mom and best friend (and her lovely sister too, of course!) that come to San Diego to be my IRL cheer squad. I love you all and thanks-a-billion!

3. My desire to say, “I ran the Rock’n’Roll San Diego marathon.”

4. The finisher’s medal. Although I’m not much of a “medal” person, I wanted to feel like I earned that and the “free” shirt they gave me for signing up for the race.

5. I wanted to be able to wear the shirt my mom bought me at the expo. Yes, I’m kinda superstitious and I don’t wear shirts from races I didn’t complete and I also don’t wear shirts before I complete the race. Weird I know, but I’ve got a whole long list of weird things about me that I could share with you. Perhaps another time…

6. Pride. And maybe a touch of ego. And just a dash, okay maybe the whole dang jar, of stubbornness that I like to refer to as “passion and grit.” Interpret that as you will, but if you know me then you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.

Apparently those six things were enough to keep me trucking, so I proceeded, despite it all, to hit halfway. I knew that mile 13.1 was at the end of what I now believe to be one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in the entire world, Mission Hills. I am still open to being someone’s roommate if they live in this area by the way. Just kidding! Or am I….? Again, I was in such a state of survival that I don’t remember basically anything from this section of the race and I had been looking forward to it since we drove the course on Friday. As an insufferable looky-loo who loves exploring and looking at interesting areas, this says a lot about how I was feeling at this point. I was in a cave and the name of the cave was PAIN, all caps to express the appropriate level of misery. Finally, we descended into Presidio Park and past a gorgeous building that again, I know was there but I didn’t actually look up from the pavement long enough to see, and we crossed the halfway point. It was at this moment that I really knew I was going to finish this thing. If I could run 13.1 miles feeling this horrible, I knew that I could do it again. Or at least I hoped I could.

Mile 14:

We ran on a sketchy bike path and all I remember is making eye contact with a terrifying man who was standing in the wash/river/wasteland thing that we were running past. I think most of you know what I mean when I say making eye contact with this man, not once but twice because he swiveled his head around to lock eyes with me a second time, was an immediate “NO.” I just remember saying thanks to every single God and Divine Being that I could think of because at least I wasn’t out there on that path alone. That was a total tangent, but also that is the only thing I remember from this section of the race and clearly this man left an impression on me, albeit a negative one.

Oops! That was a lie. I also saw what I am convinced was a turtle on a log, but that may have just been a combination of rage, delirium, and a well-placed bag of trash floating in the water. Just don’t argue with me on this one, please. It WAS a turtle. I’m sure of it.

Miles 15-20:

This whole part of the race was a fog of industrial buildings, pavement, and a whole lot of suffering, though the suffering wasn’t just me. Looking around, it was very obvious that I was not alone in feeling truly terrible. I’ve run quite a few marathons at this point and I know what to expect from myself and my fellow runners at different miles during the race. I have never seen this level of suffering from others so early in a marathon. Many people looked absolutely trashed and we hadn’t even reached the dreaded “wall” that lingers around miles 18-20. I started seeing other people who looked like they were really struggling from about mile 9 on. I don’t enjoy the suffering of others, but there was an ounce of comfort in knowing I wasn’t entirely alone in feeling this bad. It was also at this point in the race that I witnessed, only from behind (which is important), a man wearing a Trump mask, red blazer, and blue speedo. He was running ahead of me and all I can say is that it took my mind off of things for a moment, and not in a good way. Turns out my best friend also saw this dude at about the same time she saw me. I did not see her but did see this guy’s backside. Feel free to analyze that on my behalf, because I’d really rather not know what that says about me.

Miles 21-22:

More drudgery. It was at this point that I started taking a few very brief walking breaks because my hip was so angry at me. It really bothered me to do this but I knew I had to set myself up to be physically capable of climbing that final long hill on the freeway, which I still didn’t know if I could do, given the way I was feeling. Desperate times called for desperate measures so I decided to do something that I NEVER do and would NEVER advise anyone else to do, unless absolutely necessary. I drank the electrolyte drink that was being handed out at the aid stations, despite having never tried it before. This can be a recipe for absolute gastrointestinal disaster mid-race, but I weighed the pros and cons and decided to do it. What was some extra time in the roadside toilets at this point anyways? If nothing else, if things went sideways I’d have a valid reason to sit down for a minute. I drank the electrolyte drink because I thought perhaps some of my hip pain was actually a cramp from imbalanced electrolytes after sweating so profusely in the first few miles. I thought that maybe I would be in better shape to get up that final hill if I chanced it with the unknown elixir. The good news was that I didn’t get an upset stomach and the flavor reminded me of something from childhood, though I can’t tell you of what exactly. The bad news was that my hips felt the same. Oh well, at least I tried.

Miles 22-24:

Up, up, up we went. It was long, it was exposed, and thank goodness it wasn’t sunny because I may have just curled up right there to be cooked like an egg on the pavement in Phoenix in July. The only positive was that some DJ was playing YMCA when I went running (to be read as “crawling”) by. I’m not much of a Village People fan but wow, that song did something for me. I’m pretty sure we used to dance to that in PE in elementary school sometimes and I loved PE so I’ll chalk this up to nostalgia from my days as an adorable, though just as stubborn, I mean passionate, 8 year old. I picked up the pace, barely, and continued on. When I finally got to the top of the hill, I was so happy. Or at least I was as happy as I was capable of being at that point.

Miles 24-26:

The course descended through Balboa Park and I finally started to come out of my tunnel of sorrow, but only slightly. I did notice the very tall bridges that we were running underneath and I remember thinking that that was really cool. “Cool” was the extent of my intellectual capacity by that point, but I stand by it, that part was actually really cool. Honestly, I think the downhill miles were worse than running up the big hill. My legs were fried and my hip was still snarling with every step. I just needed to be done. I passed the last aid station and a man said that we had a half mile to go. I remember not knowing whether or not to believe him. I wanted to try to run a bit faster but I knew I didn’t have much left to give. Strategy was going to be key. It is a dicey game to play to take roadside distance estimations from unverified sources. Still, I let the tantalizing thought of being only a half mile away buoy me into downtown San Diego.

Miles 26-26.2:

I did manage to see my mom somewhere around the 26th mile marker. It was like a baby duck hearing her mother duck quack. I picked up on her voice from out of the crowd and saw her for a fleeting moment. That is the only face I remember seeing amongst the crowds, as everyone else was a complete blur. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the arch marking the finish line. In the last .1 of a mile, I decided to try to pass as many people as I could. I’m a lot of things and competitive to a fault may be one of them. I did pass a few, hitting my fastest pace all day at 5:10/mi, which felt like a record breaking sprint at the time. At last, I crossed the finish line, overwhelmed by my excitement to be done.

Post-Race:

I managed to stagger my way out of the finishers’ area without being grabbed by a medic, much to my surprise. I'm pretty sure I had a significant hobble and "thousand yard stare" that could've been considered to be alarming by some medical professionals. Like an teenager who swiftly dodges the bouncers at a nightclub, I avoided all individuals dressed in red that were armed with Band-Aids and Icy Hot, ultimately finding myself out of the finishers' area. I was even lucky enough to find a seat on a curb that looked relatively void of old wads of gum. I plopped down with only minimal amounts of grunting and groaning, then proceeded to I stare blankly at my shoes, trying to resurface from the haze of what I had just experienced.

So....What Was Your Time?

Thanks for asking! My official time was 3:42:55. That’s a far cry from a sub-3 marathon and I’m completely okay with that.

Was I a bit bummed to have missed my goal? Of course. But then I got vegan ice cream and everything was magically better! While the ice cream was delicious, in all seriousness, when I decided to publicize my goals and my training, I was the most terrified of failing in front of others. The embarrassment that I thought would surely swallow me whole if I didn’t break three hours loomed over me. Honestly, I felt it edge in towards the outer boundaries of my brain, especially in the first ten miles, but I never succumbed to it. I like to picture myself running along, as weary and haggard as you could possibly imagine, batting away that embarrassment like a truly ticked old lady shooing a cat off of her porch. And guess what, it worked. Sure, I didn’t hit my goal. If you want to get all technical about it, I failed. But what learned was, I can experience what I perceived to be the worst possible outcome and still be okay. At the end of it all, my body was able to carry me 26.2 miles and I had a wonderful support system cheering me on. No matter how the race went, that could never be a truly awful day.

I like to find purpose in the things that I do and the experiences I have. When I decided to be vulnerable and share my running journey, I was really scared. I now look at this experience and I think that perhaps my purpose for sharing my training was to show others that it is okay to not hit your goals, even when other people are watching. It’s okay and we’ll live to try another time. I used to be unwilling to take that risk but now I am so thankful that I did. It took me almost ten whole years of marathoning to get there, but hey, progress is still progress. This race taught me how to be happy with experiencing life as a human being rather than trying to perfect my own humanness. I firmly believe that lesson is worth far more than any finishing time could be.

I would like to wrap up the experience of the Rock’n’Roll San Diego marathon with the best part, a thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who has joined me along this journey. Whether you read every blog post, sent me encouraging texts (and margarita recipes 😉), or sent an occasional prayer to the running gods on my behalf, I appreciated it all more than I could ever adequately express. Thank you for being a part of this experience. It means the absolute world to me.

So, what’s next?

Well, I have some big plans and barring major life events, which might happen and necessitate some rearranging of my race schedule (moving, I’m looking at you 👀), I am planning on participating in a couple of races this summer and fall.

First, I am going to try my hand at breaking three hours at a local marathon in September. Now that the majority of the house projects are done and I am not slowly succumbing to mold poisoning, I feel optimistic about my abilities to roll my previous training plan into a continuation of this marathon build. Seriously, it's crazy how much better I feel with that old carpet out of my house. So, if you know anything about High School Musical, then you already are well aware that it is a franchise with the ability to hold on…for years…and years….and years. In that spirit, We’re Breaking Three shall continue!

Second, I am signed up for an all new type of adventure. We are talking about what I like to call “the great beyond” of my running journey. Perhaps against better judgment, but in full embodiment of my adventurous spirit, I will be tackling a race that is far longer than anything I’ve ever attempted before. I am currently registered for my first 100 mile race at Javelina Jundred in Arizona in October. I have wanted to run this race for years and I can’t wait to go for it. Some may be wondering the all important question of “WHY?” right about now. Well, I guess I just figured that since I loved my first 50 miler so much that I might as well go for a 100 miler. Double the distance just means double the fun, right? Right?!

Like I said, I do have some pretty significant life changes that may or may not happen in the next few months. I've decided to train like I am going to have the opportunity to run the above races. If life happens and I have to come up with a new plan, then I shall, in the iconic words of Ross, I'll just PIVOT.

If you are curious about what any or all of that will look like, I will be sharing my training here and on Instagram. I can’t promise any specific race results, but I can pretty confidently guarantee more training insights, dog videos, random anecdotes, sprinkles of eccentricity, and hopefully a touch of personal growth as well. See you there!

Be sure to head on over to @imhaileymorgan on Instagram to see the latest updates.

Best wishes!

Hailey

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