The Bay

Guest Blogger Eric Jorgensen

The first time I ran across the Golden Gate Bridge was during last year’s San Francisco Marathon. It was crowded and I focused on the tight space between my lead foot and the trailing foot of the racer in front of me. I did manage to notice a guy wearing a cape and people in tutus, though.

I ran across it again last weekend and still had to tip-toe around strollers, bicycles and so, so many tourists—it’s funny to think that in only two and half months I have transitioned from wide-eyed spectator to a grumbling native. I was a third of the way across the bridge heading north when, I believe for the first time in my life, I stopped in awe.

In my short time of San Francisco runs, I have seen a band of naked cyclists, a gang of people in pink gorilla suits high-fiving strangers, a man wearing a street cone on his head dancing on Embarcadero in heavy traffic, countless people assaulting busses that left them rideless at a bus stops, and lots of sea lions.

Dodging tourists and bouncing across the bridge I looked to my right, out over the bay. I stopped running. I was taken back. The bay was beautiful.

Dozens of sailboats skimmed across the water around Alcatraz, and around Angel and Treasure Islands, and near Tiburon, Marin and the City. I could see Coit Tower where Christopher Columbus is enshrined. I could see the Bay Bridge pushing and pulling commuters. I could see the Exploratorium, Fort Mason, The Presidio, Ghiradelli and Pier 39. I could turn around see to the Pacific Ocean’s horizon. Oh, and I was standing on the Golden Gate Bridge. The City is scenic and the best place to view it was from where I was standing.

I thought back to when I raced last July. I remember observing the sights as I raced, but it didn’t hit me like it did on my run last weekend. It stopped me in my tracks. This doesn’t happen to me often. Outside of humor and excitement, my emotional range falls between a robot’s and a lawn mower’s.

Even if you are from the City, you are going to love this course. The challenge is to catch a glimpse from the Bridge. You’re going to be jockeying for inches, but if you can look out to the bay, do it. It will be early in the morning and it won’t be brimming with sailboats fighting the wind, but it will still be beautiful.

New York City is often dubbed “the city,” and it is undeniably beautiful and alive, but I don’t know if any city is as scenic as San Francisco—the City—when you’re on the Golden Gate Bridge—the Bridge. In the past, I’ve asked where the best places to train are, but I want to know: Is there a more scenic city to train in than San Francisco?

If you haven’t signed up for the race yet, make sure you do so quickly. You don’t want to miss this.

Celebrating with my girls minutes after becoming a marathoner

Guest Blogger Luis Bueno

Around midday on Feb. 7, 2010, I felt a feeling like never before.

It was then that I had done it, had conquered the impossible. Amidst all the challenges and obstacles thrown my way, I overcame. I had the ultimate bragging rights after bagging the ultimate prize.

I was a marathoner.

While my body was a mess – every muscle protested the rigors of what I had just put them through – my heart soared, my confidence boosted, my elation skyrocketed.

Conquering a marathon is perhaps the most difficult physical task I’ve ever undertaken, one that for many years was neither a goal nor a dream of mine. Not only had I done it, having run the 2010 Surf City Marathon, but I knew it was not over. I knew I wanted more. I was instantly hooked.

Reveling in my accomplishment while trying to mask my pain after the 2010 San Francisco Marathon

Why the allure? If something so life- and soul-sucking can leave you feeling utterly and completely drained and sore for days, why come back for more?

For me, it’s the finish line.

The scene and emotions at the finish of a marathon are unique and exhilarating and makes training for and running a marathon worthwhile.

At no point is the marathon more real than at the finish. Every training run, every long run, all the pounding the body has suffered through for several months leading up to the big day and in the race itself culminates at the finish line. You’ve invested time, energy, heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears to take on the challenge, and this is where the dividends pay off from that investment.

Throughout the race, you’re gunning for the finish line. Sure, you have to divide up the race in small increments. Unless you want to be mentally defeated before you get your legs underneath you, this division is a necessity – water stations, landmarks, mile signs, time goals and other such dividers help break up the immense undertaking that is a marathon.

As the mile markers fly by, energy gels consumed and sports drinks gulped down, the finish line becomes not just an abstract, far-off destination but an actual location, the ultimate landmark.

It almost seems a bit surreal. After all, more than likely you’ve been running for anywhere near three hours, four hours, five hours, churning your legs over and over again, perhaps smiling along the way, possibly crying, and then right before you is the finish line.

After my first marathon as a pace leader, celebrated with friend and group member Ku'uipo Benson

Crowds grow larger. People you’ve never seen before and probably won’t see again are clapping for you, shouting for you, encouraging you to keep running, to stay strong, to finish. A race announcer may say your name, friends and loved ones may do the same, and then the running is over. The race is done. More cheers, more congratulatory applause and a shiny medal goes around your neck.

This is glory at its finest.

And I want that feeling, I want to experience that again and again.

In some ways, I feel like I enjoy this more because of my past. Aside from a brief stint as a standout T-baller in Rancho California Little League in the early 1980s, I never played sports growing up. Once out of high school, my weight got out of control as I ballooned up to more than 300 pounds, and thus never played team sports then either. I don’t possess any strong athletic ability – I have the grace of a mechanical bull on the basketball court, the touch of an ostrich on the soccer field and can throw a football as swift-looking as a helicopter missing its tail rotor.

Jumping for joy after my sixth marathon, the 2012 OC Marathon.

Having had that background and athletic ability throughout my life, it’s only natural then to feel as if I’m living through something that was never intended for me, being at places I may not have meant to have been at. To conquer a marathon is to be a strong and determined athlete, and here I am, someone who not too long ago was wearing size 44 pants. And yet I’m rubbing elbows with these elites, with these standout athletes who have done nothing but succeeded athletically their whole lives. Here we are, wearing the same medals around after the race, having run the same course and persevered through the same conditions.

The electricity I feel at the finish line is simply a reminder to me of what happens when you dream big and work hard.

And my thirst for reveling in that can never be quenched.

Guest Blogger Charlie Johnston

One of the best inadvertent benefits of running is that it presents the opportunity to explore a city and its inhabitants in minute detail. From marveling at the fluid synchronized movement of rowing teams along the Charles River while running in Boston’s Back Bay to watching the first rays of sunlight paint the Midtown skyline during a run atop New York City’s High Line Elevated Park, there is no more intimate way to get to know a city than by running through it.

I have been visiting San Francisco since I can remember and have loved the city since I first laid eyes on it. With each visit, I got to know the city a little better. I would explore the eclectic shops of Haight-Ashbury while waiting for friends to get off work, wander through secluded groves and tree-shrouded paths in Golden Gate Park to fill an afternoon, or discover mouth-watering maple-bacon doughnuts while strolling through the Mission District on a Saturday morning. But as well as I thought I knew Frisco, it wasn’t until running the San Francisco Marathon almost four years ago that I really got to know the City by the Bay. I’ve run the marathon every year since, and grown more enamored with the city each time thanks to the delightful memories and snapshots of the city that only running through it can provide.

At 5:30 a.m. on a Sunday, the Embarcadero is devoid of its typical throngs of tourists and street performers. If not for the waves of marathoners and half marathoners filling the roadway, it might as well be a ghost town—a ghost town permeated by the tauntingly wonderful smell of baking sourdough bread. I do not know the source of the aroma, nor do I much care. What matters to me is that it means the San Francisco Marathon is officially underway. A small hill at Fort Mason, between mile markers two and three, gets the blood pumping and sets up a pleasant flat stretch through the Marina District and to Crissy Field and mile five.

This is a good time to dispel what is perhaps the most pervasive San Francisco Marathon myth around: Contrary to the city’s reputation for menacingly steep streets, the hills along the race course are really not that bad. Much to San Francisco Marathon Ambassador Eric Jorgensen’s chagrin, the race doesn’t climb Lombard Street, nor does it climb or descend any of the notoriously steep Nob, Russian, or Telegraph Hill streets, for that matter.
There are only a handful of significant climbs on the course, and with the exception of the incline from the Presidio to the road deck of the Golden Gate Bridge (about 170 feet in half a mile) they are pleasantly gradual. I’ve actually found the ups and downs of the course to be very good things, as climbing and descending hills alternately utilizes different leg-muscle groups, thereby preventing muscle fatigue.

The arch of the Golden Gate Bridge is slight, and the feeling of running a marathon on one of the most recognizable landmarks in the world bolsters runners’ energy better than perhaps any other spot on the course. I’ll never forget the times I’ve run the out-and-back over the bridge during the marathon: watching in awe as the top runners in the race flew past on their way back into the city in 2009, and soaking up the cheers from other runners when I was among those top runners in 2011. A tip for middle-of-the-pack runners: I’ve often heard that the bridge can get a little congested for folks on pace for four- to five-hour finishes (and two- to two-and-a-half-hour finishes in the half marathon), be patient and courteous of other runners, don’t stress over the crowd, and just appreciate the view of a lifetime.

The steepest drop is on Lincoln Boulevard on the west side of the Presidio, where runners descend more than 200 feet between miles 10 and 11. I’ve run this section conservatively and I’ve run this section at full speed on the brink of tumbling end-over-end. My suggestion: run it conservatively. Shorten your steps, shake out your arms, and take in the lovely view of the Pacific past Baker Beach. There is a lot of race left—assuming you’re running the full marathon—and flying down this section WILL come back to haunt you later.

The race returns to neighborhood streets in the Richmond District before entering Golden Gate Park near 25th Avenue, if you’re running the half, take a left on JFK Drive (don’t worry, it’s well marked) and kick in your finish pace, your race is all but finished. If you’re running the full, which turns right on JFK, get ready to check your half-marathon split and start mentally preparing yourself for the scenic, though occasionally lonely, six miles you’ll spend in the park. Mile 17 passes near the finish of the half marathon, where an exuberant crowd is a welcome change from the relative quiet of the rest of the park.

Mile 19 marks the entry to Haight-Ashbury, where runners are greeted by encouraging cheering and excited cowbell jingling on nearly every block. Haight Street is a slight uphill for a mile and a half and is followed by a pair of abrupt downhills as the course approaches Market Street and crosses into the Mission District. By this point, your legs will probably be starting to feel the hurt, so it is wise to approach these descents conservatively and save your energy for the generally flat miles to the finish.

Spectators and bands along the course start to wake up through the Mission District just in time to provide runners with the extra encouragement needed to make it through the final miles, and the Bay Bridge coming into view around mile marker 24 (the finish line is slightly past the bridge on the Embarcadero) is a reminder that the race is nearly over. In the last couple of year, a group of Burners—enthusiasts of Burning Man, the counterculture festival in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert—has taken to the typically lonely 24th and 25th miles of the course with exuberant cheering, trance and techno music booming from their attention-grabbing Art Cars, and chocolates and shots of Crown Royal for weary runners. As a Burner myself, I am particularly touched by their support…even though I reluctantly decline the shots.

The home of the San Francisco Giants, AT&T Park, marks the start of the final stretch, and although signs and many spectators and volunteers are on hand to warn runners, be especially mindful of the huge step that leads to the walkway around McCovey Cove—I know it’s there, am reminded each year that it’s there, and invariably stumble over it anyway.

After rounding the ballpark and hitting the straightaway to the finish, well, things quiet down a little…actually, a lot. I’m not complaining, but spectators are sparse along the final mile of the marathon. Maybe your friends and family are looking for a good place to cheer you on, and maybe you’ll let them know that the last mile is where their support will make the most difference.

My dog Oakley walking through the crystal.

Guest Blogger Nancy Cook

I don’t remember where I first heard the term, “schwag”, whether it was in the ski biz or as a runner when I would win a spot in my age group. As a running “racer”, I began to collect “schwag” or all kinds of “stuff”. I would collect fun items with the race logo & giveaways at races that I would proudly wear. Maybe I thought it would show that I am a runner – branded everywhere! It was back when I was living “hand to mouth” or as my dad would say – when I “didn’t have 2 dimes to rub together”… that I would appreciate all that could be collected as part of my race entry fee.  I would rate the race on the pre-race goodie bag, the post-race BBQ and the “schwag” that could be won by running as fast as I could!  I would race every weekend – - make new friends – eat some great BBQ and collect new running partners, along with all this great “schwag” ! SO much fun!

Boston 2009 Finish Roses from my sweetheart

My first Boston Marathon in 1997 I couldn’t afford to buy the jacket, but I eyed the $100 stylish little jacket & all the other gear with the Boston Marathon logo – paying for the Motel 8 was the priority and not more “stuff”.  Fast forward to 2002…. I bought my first marathon jacket at Boston and like my friend DP says – just love to “strut” with my jacket on! Every year I have run the Boston Marathon since I have bought the jacket and wear it with pride! I truly am a collector of jackets and love the marathon jackets that are offered at the races. So cool to say “ya – I ran that marathon!” I hate to even admit to how many marathon jackets are in my closet, but I will say that I proudly own 7 Boston Marathon jackets!

Let me tell you about the marathon EXPO…. When you go to a marathon expo, you get to see the latest in gear. You see the latest cutting edge products in technical wearable’s & energy foods. It is so fun to shop with 5000 or more of your new “running buddies” – all sharing the same love of running. I find my eyes wandering to what shirts they are wearing – what shoes they are trying on – and the varied reactions to new product being tasted. And maybe run into some friends you have met before or waited to meet along the way.

After you finish it is the shiny metal blanket that covers your shoulders, keeps you warm, or blocks the elements. It is the memories of that finish when you get the cool medal to hang around your neck and wear for at least the rest of the day! I have a shadow box of my medal collection & a shelf with some shiny hardware proudly sharing my marathon memories! Some collect bib numbers, technical tshirts & those shiny metal blankets Iike me! For some reason to look back at them gives me strength & motivation knowing what I have accomplished.

Posing with the mannequins

What is it that you like to collect from your race experience? Is there anything that you look for in particular when you go to a large athletic Expo? Be ready because the SF Marathon has a great expo with lots of vendors and fun to share! Be ready to check it out!

See you in July!
Signed “Marathon Shopaholic”

Guest Blogger Eric Jorgensen

I’m in the middle of a four-month marathon training schedule that concludes with our Wipro San Francisco Marathon, and I’m hitting that point when you can’t run the long runs without stopping for water.

You see, there’s a problem with that. I recently moved and I seem to have misplaced my hand-strapped water bottle that I love so much. And by misplaced I mean I have no idea if I packed it or threw it away. But it’s okay, because I have an imitation CamelBak. Except that it broke when I snapped it onto my back recently—imitation indeed. So, I used some store credit I have on a particular outdoors shopping website to buy a particular brand of water bottle belt to be delivered by a particular delivery company. That was a month ago, and I haven’t received a shipping notification. I am a officially a water-scavenging runner until that thing arrives.

My long runs are severely limited by me not owning a not-broken or not-delivered water dispensing unit. I pretty much am confined to running paths with water fountains available. Being that I know of only one in San Francisco, I pretty much only run one path. Where is my water belt!?

I could run loops that bring me by my house, but it’s half a mile straight up from any angle, and after you make that climb the last thing you want to do is trek back out.

A few marathon employees and ambassadors have encouraged me to run some of the trails with them, which sounds lovely, in theory. In theory I should have my water belt I paid for that would allow me to stay hydrated while I run and laugh and be merry.

I want my water belt.

Could I buy a new one? No. I paid for one already and that’s the one I want. Could I email the website and deliver a piece of my mind? Yes, but that won’t get my belt here in time for my 14-miler this weekend. That reminds me, I’m going to need a few of you to line the Marin Headlands with water bottles for me this Saturday. Thanks, friends.

I hope you all are building up the miles in your legs and working out how often to fuel and hydrate. Good luck out there!

Guest Blogger Luis Bueno

After my first-ever 18-mile run, which I ran alone in Nov. 2009 in driving rain and 40-degree temperatures in Seattle.

Amidst all of the challenges marathon training poses, perhaps the most difficult one is the long run.

Now, there are long runs (10-16ish miles) and then there are long runs (18 miles and above). Most marathon training cycles feature three or four of the latter. Of course, the former runs pose challenges of their own but runs of 18 miles or more are unique.

They can be imposing, daunting, intimidating and downright terrifying.

Taking on these runs of 18 miles-plus with another runner or a bigger group can take some of the sting off. After all, everyone is in the same boat, going after the same goal, and everyone can help inspire, motivate and help each other out.

But solo trips to the Land of High Mileage can make it much more difficult. Aside from the long distance and inevitable pain these runs can bring, now there is a different challenge – the mental demon, the same one that can easily take you down if you let him come to life.

There are ways to combat the mental demon during these long runs, methods you can use to either keep the demon at bay or strap a muzzle on him altogether.

Route It Through: Your route can make or break you. If you pick the wrong route, your mind may be mush by Mile 15. There should be something on the route to engage your interest. Pick a boring, lonely route (as I foolishly did in my first-ever solo 20-miler) and the miles might seem to drag on more than they normally would, particularly near the end. A new, unfamiliar route will keep you mentally engaged and may make the miles fly by.

I tweeted this shot of the Santa Ana River Trail in Riverside, Calif., on April 17 during a solo 20-mile run.

Route It Through, II: You can also keep yourself guessing on your route. Choose a route that, if you switch-up mid-run won’t destroy the run. Then, make a game of your route. How many miles can you go out before you turn around and how many miles are you willing to tack on at the end? Can you go five miles before turning around? Can you stretch it out to six? Seven? Eight? Can you go half the distance? It’s really a no-lose situation – go short, and you can play that mental game on the other end; go long and all you have to do is get back to the start.

Try New Tunes: If you run with music, try mixing up your playlist. Save your A-list running songs for the end and try some different tunes at the start. Or better yet, play another mental game – how long can you go without music? Try to make it six miles without tunes and then go from there. You might be surprised how long you can go without tunes, and you may feel energized when you music finally starts playing through your headphones, which will hopefully be somewhere well after Mile 10.

Challenge Within A Challenge: Try something that you normally wouldn’t. Is there a monster hill nearby? Incorporate that within your route and set your sights on scaling it. One such feat I tried once – I ran part of a solo 20-miler on my local high school track. The school is two miles away but I took a scenic route there and got onto the track at Mile 6. I trudged along on the far outside lane and did so for more than two hours. At Mile 18, I raised my hands in the air and set off for home. A similar challenge – run part of it on a treadmill. Figure out how many miles it is to your gym, run there, run however many miles you need to on the ‘mill and run back home. Or drive and park a few miles away and do the same thing. If you have a ‘mill at home, even better. Run four miles outside, run 10-12 miles on the treadmill and finish up with a short outdoor run.

Be Social: Can’t run with others? Want to bring your friends and family along for the ride? Live-tweet it. Or live-Facebook it. Or heck, send group text messages if you need to. Take a picture every one, two or whatever miles and send it out on your preferred social media platform. Not only will this give you a bit of a break (at least long enough to snap the picture) but it will keep you very engaged. You will get a reward every mile (or two). Best of all, the run will become interactive. Your Twitter followers or FB friends will cheer you on, and that virtual support will become as real as any crowd’s.

Tips From The Pros

More suggestions from my fellow San Francisco Marathon Ambassadors

Libby Hallas Jones: I’ve done a bunch of trail races where I’m alone for 20ish miles in the wilderness (small races and I’m very back of the pack). I don’t run with music, so I’ll make lists, sing to myself, focus on counting something, or try to remember something that takes a lot of concentration. If it’s a smaller race with out-and-back, I count all the people coming back. I also like to make a big 20-mile loop through the entire town so I can’t easily quit or get discouraged 11 miles in because the car is still REALLY far away.

Charlie Johnston: I  map most of my long runs (when I’m home) so they pass the same convenience store just past the halfway point. I take a few minutes to buy a bottle of water, choke down a GU or other food, and chat with the super nice employees for a minute. They’re always excited to talk and it gives me a mid(ish)-way point to look forward to. Sure, the stop might not be considered ideal in a lot of training regiments, but it seems to be working for me.

Nancy Cook: MUSIC! I have some really great super long playlsts. It truly keeps me moving at a good pace. I also love playing “I Spy” where I do a run report of how many towns, miles, hills, horses, dogs, and cool visuals along the way. If you follow me on dailymile – there is never a dull moment.

Laura Langerwerf: I try to pick a new route if I’m going to be running it solo. Running the same route you usually run alone is no fun, especially when it’s that long. I also pump up my running mix so it has all new songs or pick a different Pandora station on my iPhone.

Daniela Vasquez: When I was still in Denver, I would do HUGE loops of the city, hitting all the parks and doing a loop around them, to keep my mind busy. I like to think small mileage count… I NEVER think ‘Ugh I have 18 to go.’ Instead I focus on getting to my next stop – example: from home, get to Cheesman Park, once there focus on getting to City Park, and so on. I always plan my long runs so I know where my bathroom break will come (and that also gives me a chance to refocus, on body and breath! On trails, I count animals. On a 17-miler once I saw seven horses, 12 dogs, one deer (that started running alongside me and made me feel foolish after I saw him displaying such grace while running) and a few rabbits. I’ll never forget that run because I was having a really tough time, and seeing all that made me look at the big picture. Now that I’m in a new town, I still try to plan my runs based on mapmyrun.com maps from other runners, but I try to really take in all the new scenery. Playlists?! A must for me!

Emily Favret: I only listen to tunes for the second half of solo long runs (I do the same thing to races over 13.1). I also sadly do similar “scav hunts” that Nancy Peck-Cook does – which normally consists of how many puppies and yellow running gear I see.

Guest Blogger Courtney Alev

Last year, on May 1^st, I ran my first marathon. I went through the same ups and downs of first-time marathon training that many of you are probably going through right now: the huge highs of realizing you could run farther than you ever thought you could; the lows of soreness, nagging pain, doubt creeping in making you question what was possible. I slept probably a total of 15 minutes the night before the 2011 Big Sur Marathon, and the race that followed will go down in history of one of the most special days of my life. There is simply an amazing feeling when you cross that finish line for the first time and realize that you are a marathoner, and that no one can take that away from you.

Yesterday, I returned to Big Sur to run not my first, but my fifth marathon. I was celebrating my marathon anniversary (marathoniversary?) with another run across the jagged California coast. This time, the circumstances were much different. Gone was the fear of the unknown, the gaping black hole of whatever would happen once you got past mile 22. In its place were a new set of anxieties—should I be doing this so soon after injury? Exactly how slow can I go before they close the course? Will my knee be okay? Is it a good idea to wear new arm warmers, a new fuel belt and a new shirt on race day? (Answer: no, don’t do that, but luckily it worked out fine.)

The day began much like last year, with a 2:30AM wakeup call and a bus ride full of sleepy yet energized runners. Last year when I crossed the start line, I still wasn’t sure what my “marathon pace” would be after four months of training, and I just guessed. This year, I made a strong effort to keep my pace easy, almost insufferably so, to make sure that once my endurance inevitably failed me my legs would be able to carry me across the finish line. Last year, I was so overwhelmed with the entire experience that my mind was racing, thinking about pace, the runners around me, what layers I should shed, when I would fuel, if I should take walk breaks. Yesterday, I didn’t think about any of those things. I simply set out running, slowly, with the goal of “never be wishing that it would be over.” Meaning, keeping it slow and easy the entire time, taking pictures, walking whenever I wanted, not caring about the finish time. (There are marathons that you race and marathons that you experience, and yesterday was meant to be the latter for me.)

Instead of pushing through pain and chugging up hills, I did what I wanted to do. I laughed when the 30+ MPH headwinds made it impossible to run. I tweeted pictures of the coastline to share with friends. I dedicated each mile to someone in my life and spent a few minutes sending good vibes and thoughts their way. I let my breath get taken away when I finally made it to the top of a two-mile hill, couldn’t see the magnificent view because of the fog, yet could hear the refrains of the grand pianist piercing the grey clouds surrounding us and motivating all the runners to keep moving.

There were moments that I definitely did not want to run (or walk) anymore. Yet there were equally as many moments that I savored: stopping to watch the performers, to enjoy the view for just a few moments, to encourage struggling runners, or to enjoy as many fresh strawberries as possible, generously provided by locals, at mile 23. I crossed the finish line sprinting and happy, having succeeded at my primary goal for the day: to ENJOY.

My 5^th marathon was much slower than my first one year ago. But that didn’t matter. This year has thought me that I love the thrill of the distance, the realization that your legs are aching but are getting stronger every mile, the moments of self-realization when you get really honest with yourself after hours of running. There are races you race, races you run, and races that you merely take in and soak up, which yesterday was for me. It was an ideal marathoniversary, and I can’t wait to find some new challenges in my second year of running.

Mike, Nancy & Me

Guest Blogger Charlie Johnson

Approaching mile 25 of the 2012 Boston Marathon almost two weeks ago, I was delirious. Soaked from head to toe with the tepid water I had been splashing onto myself since mile two and struggling to keep from crumbling to my knees in a patch of fast-disappearing shade, I watched in detached horror as dozens of my wave one, corral one compatriots (these are some of the fastest and most experienced runners in the world) withdrew and collapsed all around me. Some of the less fortunate among them were even being carried away on stretchers, including last year’s Boston Marathon winner and the faster marathon runner on earth, Geoffrey Mutai, who succumbed to the heat around mile 18. The official high temperature for Marathon Monday, April 16, 2012, in Boston was 87 degrees. The humidity hovered between 40 and 60 percent and the promised tailwind of 10-20 miles per hour didn’t show up until the next day.

So oppressive was the heat that, in an unprecedented move, the Boston Athletic Association allowed, nay, suggested, that runners defer entry to next year (more than 4,000 did just that). Close to 2,500 runners were treated for heat-related illnesses on the course, more than 150 people were hospitalized for heat-related illnesses, and I couldn’t even muster a self-indulgent chuckle when the phrase “Boston Death March” snuck into my head near the start of the Newton Hills.

In 33 marathons I have never been so miserable nor contemplated quitting so many times…and I have never not finished a race. But somewhere in the stifling heat and the lukewarm water of aid stations, between my comically out-of-reach goals and heat-induced hallucinations, and among the handfuls of ice and merciful sprays of hoses, it became more than a race. It became the grotesquely beautiful embodiment of the struggles and challenges that test our resolve as runners and human beings, an opportunity to experience firsthand the humbling kindness of complete strangers, and a reminder that the human spirit is, without a doubt, utterly unstoppable.

Lining up at the start of the Boston Marathon ranks as one of the greatest rushes a runner will ever experience. The buzz of helicopters overhead, the sea of runners who have waited their whole lives to toe the hallowed Hopkinton start line, and the knowledge that you are about to run the marathon by which all other marathons are judged is nearly indescribable. The feeling at the start of this year’s race, however, was somewhat different. Excitement still prevailed, but it was an excitement laden by a stagnant fear hanging in the already sweaty 76-degree air. We all knew we were in for some serious hurt, and we all seemed to know that we couldn’t possibly comprehend just how much hurt that would be.

Around mile 10 I started to get a taste of that hurt. Having kept a quick but reasonable pace to that point, I was surprised when what felt like a six-minute and 20-second effort was yielding 6:50- to seven-minute miles. The temperature had already surpassed 80 degrees by a fair amount and every effort to kick my pace back on track proved fruitless; like stomping on the gas pedal of a 1979 Yugo in the final push over westbound Interstate 80’s nearly 8,000-foot Donner Summit—nothing happened.

Just before the Wellesley Scream Tunnel (a notoriously, um…inspirational section of the marathon where much of the all-female student body of Wellesley College lines the right side of the course, cheering and holding signs with offers of “free kisses” and marriage proposals to runners), around mile 11, fellow San Francisco Marathon Ambassador, Chris Kovalchick, caught up to me. He asked if I could hold a 6:30 pace with him and power through. In an uncharacteristically realistic move, I told him there was no use and to go on without me. Four miles later, my pace deteriorating with what felt like every step, I caught Chris—the heat had hit him too.

A couple of baking hot and windless straightaways led to the Newton Hills, a series of gradual rises leading to the infamous Heartbreak Hill at 20.5 miles. The hills looked and felt like a war zone. At least half of the field was run-walking by this point (remember, these people are still among the top 1,000 fastest runners in Boston) and the course was strewn with water-soaked paper towels, sponges, and every description of water container imaginable. As I clumsily stumbled over, around, and through the carpet of discarded items, it dawned on me that barely any of it had come from an official aid station. And that was when it hit me: for most of the race, I had been grabbing water bottles, Dixie cups, handfuls of ice, cold sponges, and even Otter Pops from toddlers, college students, senior citizens, and people with absolutely zero affiliation with the race’s army of official volunteers. These were regular Bostonians, braving record heat and beyond-cranky runners to help us reach the finish line. Their kindness was overwhelming, humbling, and beautiful. The water bills they must have suffered for their hose tunnels and endless water spraying were surely astronomical. In that moment I forgot about the heat, the pain, and my shattered race goals and pride. I stopped caring about the marathon and the finish line and basked in the great fortune I felt to be experiencing such selfless compassion from complete strangers.

The pain came back and I never recovered anything close to a pace I would have liked in the closing miles of the race, but the joy I found in the empathetic souls lining the course helped carry me through. At 1:03 p.m. (and three seconds) I staggered through the finish line in one of the slowest times I have posted in two years. I didn’t even bother to look at my Garmin and stop its timer until I had cleared the first set of water bottle-bestowing volunteers. There was no point. This wasn’t a race; it was an experience, and no arrangement of hours, minutes, and seconds could ever begin to represent what a lasting and impactful occasion it had been.

After the race, the horror stories grew as the beer flowed. I joined Ambassadors Nancy Cook, Michael Kahn, and other friends to share our experiences and commiserate over a race that pushed us more than we ever dreamed a race could.

As the sun set somewhere past Hopkinton and normalcy returned to recently reopened Boylston Street, Michael, my mom, and I found ourselves at the finish line, where a commotion drew our attention to who may have been the last person to finish the 2012 Boston Marathon. We stood in silent awe as Jason Pisano, surrounded by a group of friends acting as guides for the entire 26.2-mile race, crossed the intersection of Boylston and Exeter Streets and continued the 200 or so feet toward the finish line. Jason sat in a wheelchair, backwards, with both arms pinned to his sides in what looked like an exceedingly uncomfortable position. He propelled himself barely 18 inches at a time with only his right leg, which shook uncontrollably whenever he lifted in from the pavement. Jason, like all other wheelchair athletes, had started the race at 9 a.m. He finished within a few seconds of 9:03 p.m. It was Jason’s 52nd, and—as one of his friends lamented to me—last marathon.

Our cheering drew passersby who immediately recognized the indescribably amazing feat we were watching unfold. The crowd swelled and followed Jason toward the finish line, shouting, clapping, and cheering nearly as loudly as the tens of thousands of spectators who had vacated hours before. I’m pretty sure that there wasn’t a dry eye in the group, and I know I will never forget the 2012 Surface of the Sun Boston Marathon.

Guest Blogger Chris Kovalchick

April 16, 2012. Approximately 11:30 AM. I am roughly 14 miles into the 2012 Boston Marathon. Just past Wellesley town square, I am spent. The temperature is approaching 90F, the sun is blazing, and I have nothing left. Months of training, hundreds (actually over a thousand) miles in the calendar year alone all in preparation for one day, one event. All for what? So I can blow up thanks to a once-in-decades heat wave crashing through the eastern edge of Massachusetts. The entire town of Boston has off for Marathon Monday in honor of Patriot’s Day. On this given day, you would think it was in honor of the Boston Massacre. The course was just littered with fit, ripped bodies down on the ground at the mercy of mother nature (including several SF Marathon Ambassadors Charlie, Nancy, Keith, Roni, Michael, and Mark. Even Ambassador Susan, a spectator at this fine event with a really cool shirt, felt the fatigue from the heat). No person, runner nor observer, was spared from the misery of it all. The fastest marathoner in the world, Geoffrey Mutai (yes, the same Geoffrey Mutai that set course records in his wins at the Boston and NY Marathons in 2011)? He was carried off at mile 18, unable to continue. It was just pure carnage out there, in every sense of the word.

To think that the factor for destroying the hopes and dreams of thousands of runners was simply the measly mercury thermometer. Why couldn’t it just be the typical 45-50F with cloudy skies that it usually is 9 out of every other 10 years? Why couldn’t it be something at least marginally close to the running weather utopia I trained through in Portland, Oregon for the better part of the past year? Why couldn’t I just be immune to the heat? “The harder you train, the less the elements matter,” said my trusted training partner back in Portland when I expressed concern at the high temperatures that would eventually tear apart the entire field from top to bottom of the nation’s overall fastest marathon.

A day after the 2012 Boston Marathon, I had no answers for all of these questions. I did not know what I was feeling or thinking. Frustration, exhaustion, disappointment perhaps? The big question remained: what do I take away from my performance at the race I had hinged every step, every mile on for the past 6 months?

Let’s backtrack a bit. In June 2011, I moved to Portland and became obsessed. Obsessed with becoming a high mileage disciple. Running a marathon is like building a house, and I was driven to build a fortress. After my first 3 months of high volume (70+ miles/week), I took a shot at the Philadelphia Marathon in November 2011 and came up way short of my goal of 2:45, albeit with a PR of 2:54 at the time. “You are just getting started buddy, it takes years of dedication to the craft to reap the benefits of pounding the pavement 100 miles a week,” they told me. So I listened. And just decided to keep working hard. Even harder. On January 1, 2012, I decided I would start off the new year by officially commencing with Boston Marathon training. It began with a 1-mile time-trial followed by a 10 mile easy run with my cohorts from the NAC running contingency. The next few months, it turns out, would be some of the best of my life.

For the next 15 weeks, I was laser-focused on one thing: 26.2 on 4/16 (at least when it came to running). I ran upwards of 80 miles for 8 consecutive weeks, waking up before 5 AM every day to crank out miles before even a smidgen of daylight creeped over Mt. Hood out to the east. Every Wednesday, I would wake up at 4:30 AM for a 15 miler along Portland’s South Waterfront with Derek and Dan, two runners far faster than I with whom I could somehow match stride for stride at the end of these sets by the time March rolled around. On Saturdays, I was throwing down some killer long runs week in and week out. 373 miles in the month of March alone, including 3 weeks of 90 miles each with long runs of 24 miles. I was turning into a machine. My legs felt great. My mind felt even greater. I was having a killer training cycle, and was enjoying every minute of it.

Every run felt like a new, fresh opportunity.  Better than a fresh IPA while sitting on the rocky shores of the Oregon coastline in late summer. It didn’t matter what the weather was like on a given day, or what was happening at work or elsewhere in my life to potentially ruin my day before it even began. I relished the opportunity to lace up every morning and forget about everything: it was just me, my thoughts, my legs, going wherever I wanted, doing whatever I wished to do. At times during training, I would ask myself: “Is it supposed to be this much fun? Does it even matter what happens on race day?”

No, actually it doesn’t. I didn’t think that at the time, but now I sure do. One week after the Boston Marathon, I now try to answer the question: what do I take away from this race? The answer is easy. Enjoy the process. It is true of everything in life. And my experience in Boston is a perfect example. The only goal or attribute I did not achieve on race day was the actual finish time, due to an external variable far out of anyone’s control. Recollecting how awesome I have felt throughout the past few months, I would not give up a single day.  In the life of a 28 year old with so much uncertainty, there was nothing more certain for me every day leading up to Boston than knowing I was going out tomorrow to log miles and rejoice in the opportunity to feel alive.

Guest Blogger Andrew Thompson

To fuel or not to fuel, that is NOT the question. If you’re looking for a debate then you’ve come to the wrong place.  My intention with this post is to give an unbiased opinion of fuel types, but also make sure you better understand what it is you’re consuming in these supplements. In my distance running career I’ve completed the gauntlet of fueling. Name the type or pick a brand, and there’s a good chance I’ve tried it. As you can imagine this has forced me to develop some allegiances and I’d like to share my thoughts with you. By no means are my opinions absolute and I one hundred percent urge you to test to find which fuel your body reacts to best.  To approach this topic I’ve grouped the fuels in to 3 groups: Gel, Chew, and Powder. Each supplement has it’s pros as it does its cons, and I’ll be touching on these as we go.

Before we jump in however, I want to briefly assume the role of Bill Nye (The ONLY scientist in my opinion).  Essentially the fuels you’re consuming are highly concentrated carbohydrates, which happen to be our body’s favorite energy source. Carbs exist in 2 forms, glycogen and glucose. Glycogen is tapped first and when diminished our body will start to use the glucose. Because glycogen lives in the muscles, when depleted, fatigue can set in. The fuel you ingest is intended to build up your glycogen levels and delay the tapping of glucose from the blood stream. Other chemical factors come into play with the inclusion of things like caffeine and electrolytes, but this is the basis for our use of fuels.  Enough science though, let’s talk fuel.

First up are gels. These are probably the most traditional form of fuel and also the group with the largest allegiance. Existing in a sticky gelatinous-syrupy hybrid form, gels can be consumed quickly but always recommended to ingest with water. The perks gels are numerous. They are easy to ingest and require no chewing, there are a plethora of flavor options, and they require little space when carrying on your runs. For me however, the gels are no good. This is based on their most glaring weakness, which is the upset stomach that is often associated with gels. I fall victim to this every time. Secondly is the unique texture for which many people have an aversion towards. Couple the texture with the upset stomach, and come race day you may face major problems. Regardless I have found some GU favorites including Jet Blackberry and Blueberry Pomegranate (I’ve yet to try Peanut Butter which I have to assume is delicious!)

Chews (or Chomps) are up next. Chews are very much akin to a gummy bear, only with a more dense consistency. Also recommended for consumption with water, chews are an excellent alternative for those squeamish towards the texture of gels. The chews are in my opinion delicious, and although not as immediate as gels, I’ve found them overall equally effective. Although there is still a risk of upsetting your stomach, I’ve found the onset is much less likely when consuming chews. The major downside of chews is ironically inherited from their name. Unlike gel, chews need to be broken down by your teeth before swallowing. I’ve tried running and chewing. I as well as every mother on the planet would advise against this. The second downside is not universal, but depending on the chew you select the package size can be a burden. Luckily GU Chomps are as equally compact as the gels, and in favorite flavors like Watermelon, they can’t be beat.

The final fuel group is powders. Assuming you’re a human and consume liquids on a regular basis, you should have no trouble adapting to the consumption of powders. Simply dissolve in water and you’re ready to fuel! Personally this is my favorite. Unlike the other 2 water is required with powders. Because of this you’re killing 2 birds with 1 stone which is always a good thing, unless you’re literally killing birds with stones, no good. You also have the ability to actively control the intensity of fuel, which is directly correlated to flavor as well. If you prefer a more subtle flavor option, powders are for you.  However this is also a pitfall. Despite recommended consumption is included on packaging, It’s much easier to “mis-fuel” as the doses are not as static as the gels and chews. The main drawbacks of the powder are the logistics and bulk, they require a plan. Ideally you mix before and carry water with you, but in a marathon(+) situation you’ll likely require more than is initially mixed in one bottle. Now you need a fuel belt, or at least a large pocket for powder reserves. Don’t forget you’ll also need to stop and mix if you choose to forego the fuel belt. If the logistics are manageable to you, I highly recommend the powder option, and namely the GU Tropical Fruit Roctane mix.

Once again I implore you to experiment and find what’s right for you. Hopefully you’ve gained a direction or at least an initial starting point towards finding your fuel.  I’ll leave you with a few keys to success. 1) Never try something new on race day, unless you really enjoy pit stopping that is. 2) Don’t fuel just to fuel. If you find you don’t need it, more power to you! 3) Develop a routine. Come race day, winging it is the last thing you want to do when approaching fuel consumption. Now get out there and burn some fuel!