The San Francisco Marathon: Where The F%&k Is My Beer?!

Picking up the race bib and filling up on the schwag.

See that tab on the bottom right of my race bib?  It’s the one that says BEER.  Well for the last six years, that tab has remained on my bib… unused.  This year would be no different.  I’ve been running this race since 2007 (full and 1st and 2nd half marathons) and every year they run out of beer by the time I cross the finish line.  It doesn’t matter if I run the full marathon, the 1st half, or the 2nd half.  I never get my beer.

I started off race weekend by picking up my bib and schwag bag at the expo right after work.  Of course, I had to swing by and say hi to the good people at Fleet Feet SF right off the bat.  I got to know them during the Nike Women’s Marathon training program that they hosted last year.  You tend to grow attached to people after running a bunch of miles together.

Since I got to the expo rather late, a few exhibitors had already run out of things to give away and some had already packed up and closed for the day.  Not a big deal since I would be back the next day.  I didn’t leave empty handed though.  I ended up buying a shirt from the race merchandise, pint glass, phone case, and a pair of shoes.

New pair of New Balance 890 v3. Saturday morning shake out run.

I started off Saturday with a quick 3.5mi shake out run over at Crissy Field.  It was the maiden run for my newly purchased New Balance 890 v3 that I got the day before at the expo.  They felt super light and responsive, and was pretty happy with their overall feel.  I headed back over to the expo after finishing my run, mainly because I wanted to meet up with some other runners.  However I encountered an abomination of nature beforehand…

Blue Monkey Coconut Water mascot.

As I was walking around the expo floor I laid my eyes upon one of the most hideous and terrifying things I had ever seen.  It was the mascot for Blue Monkey Coconut Water.  Holy Lord, I was scared shitless.  This thing looked like the illegitimate child of the evil monkey and someone from the Blue Man Group.  I don’t know how effective this monstrosity was at promoting that its brand of coconut water, but I’ll let you know that I’ve never wanted Zico so bad.  Thank goodness I had met up with Captain Linz and Pavement Runner shortly thereafter to erase that image from my short term memory.

Energy Bits from Captain Linz!!!

I recognized Captain Linz while I was waiting around, and to my surprise he still had the Energy Bits that he was offering earlier in the morning.  Huge score for me.  It’s such a pleasure meeting people from social media in real life.  Captain Linz is one cool dude.

Pavement Runner in the flesh. Peace.

And then there’s Pavement Runner.  I met Brian for the first time, albeit briefly, at the Boston Strong run in San Francisco.  It’s always nice to chat with fellow runners when not actually running. 

After grabbing some of the products that the exhibitors were handing out, I headed over to SoMa StrEat Food Park for lunch.  A few of my favorite trucks were serving there that day, including Little Green Cyclo, Manna JPT, and Adam’s Grub Truck.  I don’t always see Manna so I decided to grab some sushi from them.

Unagi street roll. Unagi, fried egg, and golden Japanese curry over avocado roll.

I went with the unagi (barbecued eel) with golden Japanese curry and fried egg over avocado roll.  This is usually on the menu, so don’t think I ordered some crazy off-menu dish.  I did request for brown rice for the avocado roll cause I didn’t want to feel like a complete fattie.  I love that Manna serves Japanese comfort food, unlike the typical Japanese dishes you see on restaurant menus.  It’s this kind of food that I crave and grew to love during the time I worked at a Japanese bilingual preschool some years ago.  It’s nothing very fancy- just good homestyle comfort food.  Totemo oiishi desu nee!

Being that I was running a full marathon, I decided to have something from Adam’s Grub Truck as well.  I have to carb load don’t I?  Although I love their food, I seldom visit because their food isn’t exactly healthy.  Okay let’s face it- their menu is a cardiologist’s nightmare. 

Ultimate AGT fries.

Putting aside my better judgement I ordered the Ultimate AGT fries… for dinner.  This is a mound of season criss-cut fries, pulled pork, Asian coleslaw, house-made bbq sauce, fried egg, jalapenos, and two dinosaur chicken nuggets.  I’ve always wanted to try this but I knew I would feel too guilty.  And I did feel guilty.  I did take solace in the fact that I would have 26.2 miles to burn off the calories the next day.

Decked out in Giants gear for the race. Orange and black all day.

The sun rises from Treasure Island on race morning.

On race morning I took some of the Energy Bits with my morning coffee.  Later on I found out that drinking coffee while taking vitamins and supplements inhibits their absorption into your system, since coffee is a diuretic.  I guess that explains why I wasn’t exactly bouncing off the walls at the start.  I’ve taken Energy Bits before (during work) and about 90 minutes after taking them I wanted to do push-ups and jumping jacks in my cubicle.  I swear I was ready to do an Insanity circuit or run a few miles right then and there.  Well I know better now don’t I?

I felt pretty good from the start up until about mile 16.  Running on the Golden Gate Bridge is amazing.  It’s the only time you actually get to run on the road deck… and not dodge tourists in ugly shorts.  I took it nice and easy and I was still feeling strong.  I’ve run this race plenty of times, and I train on much of the acutal course throughout the year.  I just knew I had to save myself for the final 8 or so miles.  Also, my training wasn’t as rigorous as I wanted it to be.  I only topped out at 18 miles for my longest run during training.  I was trusting my experience with this race and fittness from running the Oakland Marathon back in March to get me through.

I was pretty bummed when I got to Golden Gate Park and the Hash House Harriers weren’t offering runners beer as they customarily did.  It’s always something to look forward to when complete strangers offer you alcoholic beverages.  After seeing them for several years on the course, I finally took them up on their offer a couple years ago and grabbed a beer from them.  It was the best decision I’ve made during a race.  I didn’t feel anything for the next half mile and I was smiling a hell of a lot more after that.  This year they had a sign that said “Sorry, no beer.  Cops busted us.”  Fuck.  You.  Terrorists.

With my one sure shot of getting a beer vanishing, I really didn’t care anymore for the rest of the race.  When I got to Stow Lake, the police cruiser sweeping the course was right on my tail.  It passed me once I got onto JFK Dr., but I got a second wind while running down Haight and passed it.  I had a good quarter mile lead.  I thought I was in the clear.  For the record, it’s not fun running from a cop car.  And it’s even more demoralizing when it’s only going about 5mph.

By the time I made it to Potrero Hill, I was gassed and my feet were really nagging me.  The cop car passed me and I never saw it again.  SFPD asked runners who were behind the cruiser to run on the sidewalk because they were ready to open up the streets.  This actually didn’t bother me one bit.  I was disappointed, but I wasn’t upset at all.  I was disappointed because it was the first time that I had been swept.

From mile 20 to mile 23 I felt that I was still in pretty good shape.  Yes my feet hurt like hell and I was slower than molasses, but I wasn’t in any major pain.  The last 5k however was excruciating.  This is my least favorite part of the course: the Dogpatch.  Course support usually wanes here and spectators are scarce.  Even worse, I hate how hipsters gawk at me with their  glasses while having brunch curbside.  The least you can do is clap or raise a glass to us you assholes.

The last mile of The San Francisco Marathon is always the longest.  It never fails.  It seems to go on forever and ever.  I had no incentive for running out the last mile.  I knew the beer garden was out of beer by that time, so I really didn’t want to push myself.  I did however already pay for my registration.  All I was doing was getting my money’s worth and taking in the sights.  I was born and raised in the Bay Area, and yet the views never get old.  I took my time and I crossed the finish line with dignity.

I didn’t care that I finished with one of my slowest times for a full marathon- 6:19, and I didn’t care that I got swept.  I did care that for the seventh straight year I failed to redeem my post-race drink ticket.  I vow next year to finish fast enough to finally hand that beer ticket over for a nice cold one.  If it takes a PR for me to do it, then so be it.  I will be healthier.  I will be fitter.  I will be faster.  I will be better.  Training for SFM 2014 starts now.  I want my fucking beer.      

Bison Brewing Co. Hop Cuvee paired with 2013 San Francisco Marathon finishers medal.

Cheers,

Francis

 

 

The Third Sunday in May

Start line of Capitola Half Marathon and Surfer’s Path Marathon- Santa Cruz, CA. Photo credit: @ChristineCre8s

Sunday, May 19, 2013.  Race day.  I woke up right on time as my alarm sounded at 4:00am.  I made coffee, got dressed and headed out the door.  Every year on the first Sunday in May since 2006, I’ve laced up my running shoes and participated in San Francisco’s annual cross-city race, the Bay to Breakers 12k.

This year, I didn’t head out to the start line at Howard and Main.  I didn’t see any costumed runners.  No flying tortillas.  No naked runners.  None of that.  Instead I drove south… down to Santa Cruz for the Capitola Half Marathon.  But I wasn’t headed to Santa Cruz to participate.  I was going to be a spectator and support all those running, armed with cowbells.  And why was I not even running either race, or running at all for that matter?  Why would I choose to watch a race instead of running it?  Simply put, there’s more  to being a runner than just running.  I will come back to this point later.

Exactly seven years ago I ran my first race: the 2006 Bay to Breakers 12k.  It was an amazing experience and I saw first hand why Runner’s World named it one of the races you had to run in your lifetime.  Want proof?  See for yourself…

Start line for 2010 Bay to Breakers.

Pirates.

Vikings.

Just a doctor drinking a Red Bull. Notice the liquid in the IV drips.

I don’t know if the bear wants the bacon or the beer.

I didn’t have any singles.

As Disney as San Francisco will get.

La, La, La-La, La-La, La, La-La La-Laaaa…

The mass of humanity at Hayes Street hill.

Synchronized swimmers.

Beyonce and Lady Gaga with a fanboy.

Gumby.

American Gladiators jousting!

House parties galore.

More people.

Haduken! Shoryuken!

NBA stars Allen Iverson, James Worthy, Latrell Sprewell, and Clyde Drexler.

This is the last thing that will happen.

Just another family outing in the city.

As you can see, Bay to Breakers is a 12k parade of revelry.  However, I saw a lot of changes over the seven years that I participated in Bay to Breakers.  Floats were banned from the course a couple years ago.  I saw less and less of the house parties.  No more alcohol on course.  I saw fewer spectators along the route.  Then the entire stretch of the Panhandle as the race heads into Golden Gate Park was completely fenced off from spectator access.  Footstock, the post-race festival, was also greatly reduced in size and scope.  There was also a significant presence of security checking for race bibs.  The race was becoming more and more, dare I say, normal.  I understand the increased police and security presence.  It only makes sense when this amount of people take to the streets all at once.  However with all these changes, the race seemed a lot less fun for me.  It wasn’t that quintessential San Francisco road race that it was billed to be, nor was it what I had previously experienced.  I was just over it.

Don’t get me wrong though.  Bay to Breakers is still a great event, and I would encourage you to do it at least twice… yes, twice.  Experience it once as a serious runner at the front of the pack, then experience it once as a runner in the back of the pack.  Bay to Breakers is like the mullet of the racing world: business in the front, party in the back.  For what it’s worth, you get to see all of San Francisco’s creativity, vibrance, and exuberance all in a span of 7.45 miles.

Now back to my point that there is more to being a runner than just running.  My friend Eileen was running the Capitola Half Marathon in an attempt to break a sub-2 hour half marathon.  Since I had decided to forgo running in this year’s Bay to Breakers, she asked that I come down for support.  I gladly obliged, and Christine came along for good measure… plus three cowbells.

Supporting the runners with Christine, armed with cowbells.

If you’ve ever run a race, particularly a difficult one or one that you have a specific goal for, you understand the importance of course support.  Think of a time you were completely physically and mentally exhausted, just completely spent and had nothing left.  Often times a few words of encouragement in a difficult situation can make a difference.  A volunteer offering a cup of water, a funny sign, hearing cowbells ring, complete strangers cheering you on, applause… they all make a difference.  For a brief moment, the pain seems a little bit easier to bear, you feed off the crowd’s energy, you catch a second wind.  I know the feeling because I’ve been in their place before.  I know how important it is to have support.  As I stood there with Christine at the 13 mile mark ringing cowbell and looking for Eileen, I looked at the faces of the runners passing by us.  I saw smiles, I saw anguish, looks of despair, utter relief, determination, runners cruising in, runners getting in their finishing kick, and runners hobbling in.  I saw myself in their faces.  I’ve been in their shoes and I wanted them to finish strong as if I were the one running.

.10 miles to go

Another half marathon in the books for Eileen.

The bling.

I feel that runners have an intrinsic sense of empathy and compassion.  Think about it.  How often do people run in memory of another, for a group of people, for a school, for a city, for a nation, for victims, for a charity, to raise money for an organization, to raise awareness of a particular cause, and so on?  Runners care.  I care.  I’m glad that Bay to Breakers was the race that kick started my racing career, but I’ve learned that there’s more to running than having a great costume and having a great time.  Sometimes you have to take the focus off yourself and support others.  Sometimes you have to sacrifice lacing up your own shoes so that someone else will feel better about lacing up theirs.  Christine and I woke up in the early hours of that third Sunday in May of 2013 and made our way down to support someone other than ourselves.  Being a runner is so much more than finishing a race and getting a t-shirt and medal.  Being a runner is also about supporting and helping others, and I am a proud runner.

Cheers to all the runners out there.

Unfortunately, Eileen didn’t get that sub-2 hour half marathon that she was after.  But there will be other races, and there will be many more supporters.

Stay hungry,

Francis

Race Recap: There Will Be Blood.

05/04/13: Western Pacific Marathon/ Half/ 10k/ 5k

I woke up at just past 4:00am on the morning of May 4, 2013 with blood running down my nose, on my face, and on my shirt.  Not a pleasant awakening by any means.  Once I got myself cleaned up, I fell back asleep roughly half an hour to 45 minutes later.  I vaguely remember my alarm going off a few times, with each time my hand reaching for the snooze button.  Once I finally got to my senses, it was 7:20am.  Shit.  The marathon was starting in 10 minutes.  Well, looks like I wasn’t making that race.

I’ve run a few other Brazen Racing events before, and I knew that there were staggered start times for the different distances.  I texted Eileen, who was running the half marathon, and told her that there was no way I was making it on time.  If I hurried up and  got ready, I could make it in time to run another distance.  All my race gear was already laid out the night before, so I just threw everything on.  In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have even bothered to put on the compression shorts.  I only wear them when running a half marathon or longer.  Precious minutes ticked away.  I grabbed my coffee and flew out the door.

By the time I had made it, it was already 8:30 and the 10k runners had just left.  I met up with my other friend Janette, who was already there but not running.  I had 15 minutes to grab my bib.  No problem, right?  Wrong.  The registration table for the marathon was already cleared off, as I had expected.  I went directly to the race solutions/ distance change table. Apparently they didn’t have my bib.  I was told to go to the tables handling the other distances.  Well, nobody there had my bib either.  “Where the hell is my bib?!  I pre-registered!”

At this point, the 5k was moments away from crossing the start.  After running around the entire start area trying to find my bib, one of the people at the timing table told me he’d just get me a new one.  God bless this guy.  He was in a walking boot, hustled to the race solutions tent (where I started this whole quest), grabbed a new bib, stuck a timing chip to it, and took down my information.  I quickly pinned the bib on my shirt and took off.

By this time everyone was gone.  This wasn’t my first time coming from the very back of the pack, so it wasn’t a big deal.  And besides, the event was chip-timed, not gun-timed.  The problem here however is that I was running the 5k.  Do you know what kind of people are in the back of the pack of a 5k?  Here you have the baby strollers, dogs, random kids running across the width of the path, families walking 3 or more abreast, pregnant ladies… you get the idea.  It was like running through a minefield.

To make matters worse, it was hot as balls.  The temperature gauge in my car read 72 degrees at 8:30am.  It was not going to be fun dodging obstacles in this heat.  Once I got past the slowest of the slow, I had another issue to deal with.  Also amongst the 5k participants, you will find the highly competitive and motivated newbie runners.  In principle I applaud their effort and determination.  In actuality, I despise them.  I despise them because these are the people that will speed up once they hear you coming, try to match your pace once you get along beside them, then try to catch you once you get ahead. It is incredibly irritating.  I’m nobody’s rabbit.  Just run your own race, thank you very much.

It was really f%&king hot.

Once I got past those fools I was finally able to settle into a comfortable pace.  When I got to the first water stop, I proceeded to grab a cup of water from a volunteer, and poured it over my head.  Like I said, it was hot as balls.  I didn’t bother taking anything to drink because I already had a loaded CamelBak.  Yes, I had a CamelBak with 2L of coconut water AND I was wearing compression shorts… for. a. fucking. 5k.  At this point, I let the self-loathing set in.

For the remainder of the race I just let my mind wander and took it easy.  I was running with the middle-of-the-pack 5k participants and some faster 10k runners.  The course had cleared up considerably as well.  I finished the race in 33:53, a respectable 10:32min/mi pace.  It’s definitely not my fastest 5k time, but I’m currently training for distance not speed.

My favorite part of participating in a Brazen Racing event is the post-race spread, specifically the ice cream.  They always have It’s It ice cream sandwiches at the finish.  I look forward to that as much as I do getting the medal, which by the way are also amazing.  However, as I shoved the ice cream down my throat, I felt like I hadn’t earned it.  I’m a distance runner and I take pride in that.  I had also been expecting to run a full marathon, and I ate accordingly.  Getting a medal and eating ice cream after just a 5k just didn’t sit well with me.

Some of the post-race goodies.

@eileenjoy approaching the finish.

After relaxing for a bit with Janette and Eileen, I went straight to Sawyer Camp Trail to get in some more mileage.  By the time I got to the trail it was already 12:30.  It was midday (I hate running midday) and was incredibly hot.  Still nothing was going to stop me from getting this mileage in.  I decided to run another 10 miles to get a half marathon for the day.  Although an occasional cool breeze and the trees along the trail provided some respite from the rays of the sun beating down on me, it was still only temporary relief from the high temps.  I ended up doing a lot of walking because the heat was so intense.  It also didn’t help that my CamelBak ran dry with 3 miles to go.

Trees forming a shaded canopy along Sawyer Camp Trail.

It was hot, I was drained, and I had no water… but I kept pushing.  Because that’s what runners do.  I could’ve easily turned around sooner, but I’d only be cheating myself.  I needed to earn that damn medal and ice cream.  And after 10 miles in the middle of the day, and 3 miles in the morning, I think I did just that.  Just because you cross the finish line doesn’t mean that the race is over.

Stay hungry,

Francis

Always earned, never given.

It’s Just A Hill, Get Over It.

The heart of the city from Telegraph Hill.

I love hearing other people whine and complain about hills.  “It’s too hard.”  “My legs hurt.”  “I’m tired.”  Wah, wah, wah.  Well listen, hills don’t discriminate against people.  They are equal opportunity hard asses.  They’re as hard on me as they are on you.  So suck it up and get over it.  Besides, they’re good for you.

I never hated hills myself, nor was I afraid of them.  If anything, I was really just hesitant.  Early on I doubted myself as a runner.  Me… run up that?  I mean who in their right mind would run up a hill that has cable cars designed to carry people to the top?

At the top of Hyde and Lombard.

Well I did eventually suck it up and tried running some hills.  I started with smaller ones at first just so I wouldn’t feel completely discouraged.  And yes, small hills do exist in San Francisco.  I ran up as hard as I could, then took walk breaks at the intersections where the pavement flattened out, and started it all over again.

For longer hills, I ran to a landmark of my choosing then took a break to catch my breath once I reached it.  I walked to another landmark, then gunned it to the top of the hill when I reached that.  It was fartlek at its finest.  As I ran with more confidence I moved up to the big boys: Hyde St., Lombard St., Coit Tower.  The more hills I ran, the faster I got.  And the feeling of climbing to the top of a monster hill is almost indescribable.

Intersection of Hyde and Sacramento, looking down into Chinatown and financial district.

Not only did I feel like an absolute badass running up the steep hills of San Francisco, it gave me a real sense of accomplishment and pride.  When I would run up Hyde St., I would look over to a cable car slowly making its way to the top.  I’d look at the tourists in their ugly shorts and sandals and think to myself, “lazyasses.”  When I’d get to the top of Lombard, I would literally look down on others who were too afraid or simply unwilling to make the climb to the top.   “Yes, I am better than you because I tried and succeeded.  What’s your excuse?”

Looking down the waterfall on Strawberry Hill in Golden Gate Park.

When I run races, especially those outside of San Francisco, I welcome the hills.  I welcome them because I know that I’ll be able to pass a boat load of people walking who are huffing and puffing- and miserable.  I remember one particular time when I ran the Austin Marathon.  I overheard a couple runners next to me worrying, “Uh oh, here comes the hill.”  On the outside I was perfectly calm and focused.  On the inside I sneered, thinking “You call this a hill?  I’ve seen women in high heels walk faster than that.  You’re fucking pathetic.”  It’s a also great feeling too to know that you have an extra gear in your back pocket just in case some jackass in a costume tries to pass you in the final stretch of a race.  It will happen eventually.  Trust me.

Don’t be scared of hills.  It’s simple… put one foot in front of the other and show that hill who’s boss.  No whining, no complaining, no bitching, no moaning.  Hills are not your enemy.  You’re your own enemy.  Hills are really just a metaphor for challenges you face.  Are you going to take them on, or just avoid them?  You will become a better and stronger person for tackling your own personal hills- whatever those may be.  Welcome those hills, then conquer them.  And besides, the view is much better from the top.

Watching the sunset from the top of Fort Mason.

Stay hungry,

Francis