#100 Surf City Marathon Huntington Beach, California

February 2, 2020

My husband inadvertently pushes me into completing my 100th marathon distance. I ask him a few days into the new year what he thinks about signing up for the Surf City Marathon. He states, "I think it is too soon, we are not in shape and it may not be wise to run unprepared!" To me that sounds like a challenge...throw down that gauntlet. "What do you mean you don't think I can get ready to run a marathon in less than thirty days." It's the push needed to light a fire under my running shoes. After a few weeks of getting off my butt, regular running and one short long run it's time to get it done. Thankfully, we seize the opportunity who knew that 2020 would unravel into the disaster it did. All running events would cease and everything in America changed forever. The uncertainty remains...will the people of this country ever regain common sense or will they allow America to continue to deteriorate beyond repair?

The weather~the day before the race~does not disappoint! What better thing is there than spending an afternoon on the beach. Right after bib pickup inside the big white tent in the beach parking lot we land in the warm sand. The air inside the tent is rather warm with nearly a record high for the day. We quickly make our rounds through the expo...minus tasting the coveted chips and guacamole which requires a text and proof of a text to be granted a sample. No text...no chips. No thanks.

It turns into a glorious Saturday, the sun warms and strengthens us as we prepare to take on another 26.2 mile challenge. My husband elects to run the half because he is wiser and perfectly content with the idea of being able to walk after his race. I on the other hand, prefer to be completely spent and hobble after the run. It is not always sunny in California, but today is a true "California classic." We finish our day with a burger and tasty chicken sandwich at G Burger.

Sleep comes easy for me, a nice change. A quiet hotel and a comfy bed helps alleviate my normal insomnia.  My dream about a nicely wrapped present from my daughter ends abruptly as the alarm blares at 4:30 am just as it was about to reveal something very important. A false belief that the race begins at 6 am, we are out the door by 5 and parked at the high school with three other cars. Why aren't there any people on the buses yet? We get on the bus with four other people and the driver fires up the bus engine and takes (all six of us) to the start one mile away. The VIP bus ride is the fastest, easiest and most convenient marathon shuttle experience ever. As we make our way to the the host hotel lobby (beach side) it is empty. We find comfortable chairs and an empty bathroom. Where is everyone? At 5:45 a.m. I peek out and nobody is even in the corral. It turns out the race starts at 6:30 a.m. The hallway never fills up and a line never forms for the restroom. How much better can life get on a race morning! 

The weather is forecast to be cool and cloudy, perfect running conditions. I leave my husband in a comfy chair to wait out his 7:45  half marathon start time as I walk out the door straight into the corral at 6:15. It is my first marathon in seven months.

Once the race begins we charge down the Pacific Coast Highway for three miles before turning toward the only section of the race that veers away from the highway and the ocean trail. We are treated to volunteers, bands and people holding signs to cheer us along. The miles tick down as I approach mile six when my 100th marathon running odometer reaches 2600 miles. The remaining 20 miles will be the equivalent of running the last .2 of each of the hundred marathons.

What can go wrong! Great question, oh so many things, but for now it is a comfortable groove. The downhill at mile 5 is a thrill on the way out and turns into a climb at mile 8 as we make our way back toward the Pacific Coast Highway to run the remaining 16 miles. While the ocean is vaguely to the left, the focus is on the monotonous road that rises up to meet my striking running feet. With my phone in my pocket, music or a podcast is a possibility my attention; however, stays focused on the endless highway and reaching another turnaround point. I envy the runners who are already on their way back. Having done the race in 2012 I know what to expect.

There are no false illusions as I approach the finish line and deviate to turn yet another time and to a second out and back out for another 9.5 miles on the beach trail. The shared path is a concrete walkway for beach goers, bicyclists and surfers. I try and distract myself with ocean glances while dodging surfboards. My focus once again goes to reaching that final turnaround. My half marathon time is on pace for four hours, but I know the lack of training miles will slow my pace in the second half. My goal of being slightly over four hours slowly dwindles with seven miles to go when my left knee radiates pain with each step. I alter my stride and slow the pace, but nothing works. When I reach the beer and bacon station I have nothing to lose and guzzle down a beer to the delight of the guys. It is a fun group and a Godsend for disillusioned runners. I am ready and expecting the last miles to be a tough grind, but the knee pain is an added bonus. As I reach the final turnaround point of the day, there are over four miles of defeated running to go. A stop becomes (a necessary evil) to massage my calf and It-band and I end up walking for half a mile. I call my mom and husband...what else is there to do during my respite. In my struggle and push to continue I cross paths with another runner attempting to reach his last turnaround as he screams into his phone that he is done...he just can't go on anymore.

No matter what...I will get to the finish. Forgoing the beer on the return trip is followed by immediate regret.  The remaining miles are tough, but I inch my way back onto the highway and join the masses of half marathoners as we trudge along to the finish line. The rush of adrenaline at seeing the finish allows me to  pick up the pace for the final stretch. Cannot believe I have done this feat one hundred times. The pep in my step is definitely gone as I sit just outside the medical tent. They kindly give me ice and advice about my possible running retirement. Once I am reunited with my husband he walks just fine back to the bus while I hobble along in true sloth like form. No regrets...I am glad Surf City is proudly my 100th marathon. Maybe in time the pep will return and I will run again or maybe it won't.