San Francisco Marathon


15,000 women and 150 men. I don’t know what would happen on an island with 15,000 women and 150 men, but in San Francisco, they all ran.

It was the highly-publicized Nike Women’s Marathon (although, as one might expect, this turned into a co-ed race after somebody—some GUY—sued).

Tim and I arrived in SF on Saturday at around noon and went straight to the hotel. After getting food, we headed to Union Square to pick up my marathon packet and check out the Expo. There were several hundred women lined up to get pedicures, massages, etc. Feeling intoxicated by too much estrogen, we decided to go back to the hotel and rest up before we got dinner with Tim’s dad’s cousin, aunt Lynn and her husband Doug.

At around 5pm, Lynn and Doug arrived at the hotel and took us to dinner in Little Italy. By that time I was sick of eating pasta, but oh well, I figured it was the last night. It was really good though. We ended up going to an Irish bar for a drink. I got water again. Lame. At 9pm we called it a night, so I could get enough sleep. Lame again.

At precisely 5:45 am on Sunday, the alarm went off and we got our wake-up call, all at the same time. I got dressed and ate my usual oatmeal, and we were out the door by 6:20 to join the masses of what Tim likes to call cult-ish runners at Union Square. The place was packed.

I heard the gunshot, but as it happens in any race, I didn’t start moving until a couple of minutes later. It’s funny that every runner knows that, and yet, they all pretend to be running when there is no room to run nor walk. The sight of 15,000 geared up runners pretending to run is quite ridiculous, but if you don’t believe me, go to a race and watch how everybody runs in place for like the first couple of minutes because there’s nowhere to go.

I felt pretty good at the start of the race and was about 3 minutes ahead of my usual pace by mile 6. The hill on mile 3 was not so bad, and I felt pretty confident. But then it happened. Mile 7. Hill. Mile 8. Hill. Mile 10. Hill. I suppose I should be thankful that unlike 2004, we didn’t have to run up cable car hills, but I’m not. 3 hills within 4 miles really sucks, and by the time we reached the 12th mile, I was running out of steam. I knew I was getting close to the point where marathoners and half-marathoners got separated, and I started debating whether to finish 13 or go all out. I decided to get my 90 dollars worth and go for it.

What happened after that is hard to say. Between mile 14 and 20 I think I just ran. Somewhere along there, I saw Tim, and he gave me an orange. Then I ran. It was hard, but I ran all of the way, except for the bathroom breaks. After training on a trail with bushes along the way, I got quite used to the convenience of just pulling down my pants and peeing. So despite the honey buckets throughout the course, I made 4 bathroom stops behind several bushes along the way. I’d like to think it is for the convenience, but I’m afraid that I secretly enjoy the thrill of getting caught while squatting.

Anyhow, after 20, I knew I had to finish it. It was at this point that my irritation for Team in Training reached its limit. I know they raise tons of money for cancer, etc, etc but they are by far the most irritating group of people at any race. Not only because of their matching outfits, but also because they are always screaming in an attempt to keep each other going. When you get so many of them together, all you hear is several hundred people in their matching purple outfits yelling for 26 miles. It is quite annoying, ESPECIALLY when you’re tired.

But by far, the most irritating thing they do is repeatedly scream “you’re almost there.” When you still have 6 miles to go, you are NOT almost there. When you have 4 miles to go, you are NOT almost there either. Same goes for 3 and 2 miles. Even 1 mile. When you’ve been running for 4 hours, you don’t want to hear people getting your hopes up like that. Especially me, because I always save a sprint for my glorious finish. Say “you’re almost there” and a hallucinating Kelly will start sprinting only to find that the finish line is still a quarter of a mile away. And then there is NO glorious finish. And NO glorious picture. So for that I really resent it when people say I’m almost there when I’m really not.

Team in Training aside, I must say the race was pretty fun (when you take out the painful part). The course was beautiful. We ran from Union Square and along the coast, past Fisherman's Wharf, past the Presidio, around Golden State Park, down and up again on the Great Highway. There were also several hundred people that came out to cheer their family and friends, and that was very cool. I had people cheering me on: “Go orange!” (because of my orange t-shirt) and “Go Portland” (because I was wearing a t-shirt from a Portland race).

And after all of that, I was done. Tim met me at the finish line with a (half-eaten) box of fries.

We got a cool t-shirt and a Tiffany’s necklace (which is very exciting indeed for somebody who has a bf that doesn’t believe in brand-name jewelry).

We flew back the same day. Now it’s back to the usual post-marathon ritual: binging on junk food (because after 26.2 miles you really think you can eat whatever you want), walking down the stairs backwards (because walking down the normal way hurts too much) and thinking about the next one.