Last Sunday morning's traffic report was ugly: Steady downpour over San Francisco, Golden Gate Bridge congestion, rain-slicked sidewalks, taxi AWOL.
With 20 minutes to the 2010 US Half Marathon 7 a.m. gun, I forfeited hope my reserved Luxor cab, already 55 minutes late, would show, despite five "Where are you?" calls. Sans formal Emergency Plan B, I jumped in my Camry, false started (I forgot insurance and registration), then sped across sleepy, wet San Francisco toward Aquatic Park near Fisherman's Wharf, hoping the parking gods might smile on me.
Sigh, the first garage I tried to enter saw the car in front of me grab the last admittance. I waved the cars waiting behind me to move, backed out, then frantically criss-crossed Bay, Franklin and Van Ness streets once more—for a gray moment, I considered surrendering, blowing off the race and returning to bed. At last, I spotted an open curb, half a mile from the race start.
The Race to the Race
Grabbing a cap and silver mylar race blanket, leftover from this summer's San Francisco Half Marathon, I sprinted down Van Ness toward the water, probably faster than my eventual 7:51 race pace, the blanket flying behind me like a cape.
"You're running the wrong way!" someone helpfully yelled, just as I reached the start area, hordes of runners departing. I had no time to stretch, drink or get my head straight, just cut in line at a Porta Potty ("Sorry!"), then dash back the way I'd come.
Elements en Route Starting so late, in the rain, at the tail with casual runners and bib-less bandits, didn't help my pace. I had to weave through traffic while dodging puddles, grimace when I found all the water cups empty at the first aid station, then fight human gridlock on the Golden Gate Bridge pedestrian sidewalks, which allow no more than two or three runners abreast. Worse, at Mile 5, mid-span, my left calf, already wrapped by an Ace bandage, seized up with stabbing pain. I softened my step and carried on. By the turnaround at the North Tower, my waterlogged tank top weighed on my chest like a flak jacket—I kept tugging at it, only to have it snap back quick to my skin. On the sunny side of things, moisture aside, I didn't slip 'n' slide on the bridge, suffer fogged glasses or slosh in my shoes. And the weather kept me cool the whole way. Improving Forecast I finished in 1:42:50, 202nd out of 2,978; no PR, but almost three minutes better than my 2009 US Half finish, run in ideal conditions. In rain, I'd never done more than a 20-minute, easy jog. "Take it... be satisfied!" I keep telling myself. Because my running log now includes the requisite almost-everything-went-wrong-but-I-still-finished-and-lived-to-tell tale worth drawing inspirational kicks from.
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