The thing with running a race year after year is that you really have an intimate outlook of the race. You know where every valley and peak is. You know how you’ll feel at specific points of the race. You know where you should be at the beginning to avoid the crush of the starting crowd. You know when to pull the trigger to finish strong.

Having run this race for the eleventh year straight, I have that intimate knowledge. I put in some good training for this race because after not having trained for the La Jolla Half a few months later, I didn’t want to have that feeling of knowing I could’ve done better had I come prepared. It wasn’t a great feeling so, I pulled together a plan and stuck to it pretty well. I was going into my taper feeling ready.

But then a week and a half earlier, I finally got caught with the COVID bug after ducking and dodging it like Neo in the Matrix for four and a half years. I actually didn’t know I had it for a couple of days until my wife got sick, decided to test and it came back positive. I had run eight easy miles earlier in the day with no problem before I tested. I mean I wasn’t feeling 100%, but good enough to run. So during race week, I paused most of my workouts to really rest and let myself recover before race day.

Some of my athletes and runbuds pre-race

By race morning, I felt good. Legs felt fresh, I slept pretty good the night before, went through my usual routine and was ready to bang out a good time! I got off the shuttle bus and ran into a lot of my runbuds and had the usual pre-race talk about race goals, how everyone felt, complaints about how early it was, the usual. Finally it was time for me to get my warm up on, so I did. Some dynamic stretches, some strides, muscle activation, posture movements, you name it. Apart from me, I had a handful of my athletes also running the race and I was excited to see how they would do.

We line up and get ready to go. I find my space near the middle of the front runners. Gun goes off and off we go! These first two and a half miles are rolling hills that slowly incline as we make our way out of the National Park/national cemetery/navy base. The view of downtown is gorgeous in the early morning overcast and seems hella far away. I know better than to go out too fast and keep the 1:30 pacer near my sights. We climb, dip downward and repeat over the early miles. Mile one passes at 6:54, mile two at 6:44. It feels a bit tough, but I chalk it up to those early warm-up miles.

Finally we get to the top of the hill right where the entry gate is. It’s an immediate descent around mile 2.5. The first aid station is there too, but having my own water bottle on me, I pass it up. Around the same time I pass up the pacer comfortably and let gravity carry 185lbs of me down the hill. There’s that benefit of carry a bit more muscle on my frame than the average runner! History helps me dictate what my pace should be on the downhill. I know not to push too hard and burn up too much energy. But I also know how to take advantage of the descent and bank some time for the long flat section of the race. Mile three clocks in at 6:23. After weaving around the streets and feeling the energy of the neighborhood cheering us on, we finally hit the bottom of the hill at mile four and clock that in 6:10.

At this point, it’s about a 10K of flat roads from Shelter Island, past the airport, around Harbor Island (partially) and towards the Embarcadero and downtown. Slowly the momentum of the hill wanes and the paces naturally slows. I know not to sweat it and know that it’s time for me to get back to putting in work. Mile five and mile six clock by at 6:56 & 7:01, respectively. I have plans to finish in about 1:30. I’ve been able to knock that out on this course in previous years, so I know it should be within reach. I get to the entrance of Harbor Island – roughly mile seven and I feel like I’m working harder than I should be. I try to not sweat it because I know that around here, it’s usually a struggle. But it does feel a bit harder than usual. By now the pacer and his crew have caught up with me. But they’re still in sight. So I just go to work. North on the island we go and eventually hit the u-turn.

Along this stretch it’s great to see all the runners ahead of you and behind as they’re on either side of the road. I see a few run homies here and there and shout them out and they’re doing the same. It’s a nice mental boost as the long stretch by the airport can feel a bit lonely. The 1:30 group slowly pulls away from me. I’m feeling deflated, but don’t dwell on it because I know there’s still a lot of race left. I catch up with one of my good friends, Tuna, and we run together a bit. “Run with me. I’m hurting too!” I tell him. We hit the turn around on the south end of the island and slowly make our way back onto the main road. I eventually run ahead of him as he’s hurting a bit more than me and slows down.

That boost of runbud energy helps me bring in a 6:57 for mile seven. But by mile 8, my legs feel like logs. Worse than they usually do. Breathing feels heavy and I can’t seem to relax it to get into a groove. I’m breathing what feels like every other step instead of every fourth step. Eight mile goes by at 7:04. Now it’s not a bad time, but it took a lot of effort for that pace. My mind’s racing. Is this lingering COVID? Is this old age finally catching up? Did I train enough? What’s going on?

There’s five miles left, and I do the runner’s math. If I can hold onto this seven minute pace, it’s just thirty five minutes left. I know I can do it. But wait! I gotta factor in the hill! It’s gonna take a bit longer than that. Boy it’s gonna be some work! I remember to pop a gel around this time, thinking maybe that’ll help – though I’ve been taking in calories in my concoction of drinkable carbs in my water bottle. I’ve also been grabbing water and electrolytes along the way. I’m doing all the things to rule out the front row seat on the struggle bus that I’m taking. My coaching hat is on tight as I’m trying to work this problem out. “Run a smart race” is what I would tell my athletes. I’m doing the same myself.

The next two miles are a slog!!!! The 1:30 group is pulling away more and more. I’ve resolved myself knowing I won’t be catching them. The one consolation is that one of my athletes whose goal was to finish in 1:30 is in that mix. When he passed me a mile earlier, he looked strong and I know he’s got it in him.

Mile nine & ten are another no man’s land of the course. Not a lot of crowd support. There’s lots of traffic from folks leaving the airport and the view is boring before you hit the embarcadero closer to mile ten. Besides it’s hard to enjoy it when you’re suffering! Mile nine is a mentally and physically painful 7:22. Mentally, because I know it should be faster and physically because that took some work to pull that off. Mile ten is a shitty 7:29. By now we’re turning onto Ash St and then making a quick turn onto Pacific Highway. The crowds pick up and I see my good friend Mensah on the sidelines. He starts to run with me and gives me some words of encouragement. “I’m hurting, fam.” I reply back. I want to chop it up with him, but I just don’t have the energy. He catches the vibes and runs just ahead of me, quiet as I’m huffing and puffing away.

Faking like I'm ok for the pics. Dying inside.

Finally, we hit Broadway and India St and the watch dings mile eleven. 7:02. Get you a runbud that can push you without saying a word! I wish I could revel in it, but I’m too tired to fully realize the boost he gave me. Besides, we’re about to hit A St., where the nearly two miles of hills begins. Previous years on this section, I’m feeling tired, but somehow can find that second wind to tackle the climb of each block and the flat section that is each intersection. Hill, plateau, hill, plateau, repeat for ten blocks. Not this year! I’m gassed.

“A slow run is still faster than walking.” This mantra has been on repeat since mile eight and I’m repeating it more and more to myself as I’m tackling these terraces. I so want to walk. But with the homie running with me, I can’t! I can’t let him down! Finally we hit the corner of A St. & 6Th Ave. where the real hill begins! “That hill is all you John B.” Mensah tells me as he turns around. “Good looking out fam.” I reply back. I was hoping he would be there with me for the hardest part! But I don’t blame him, it’s a monster, plus I know he’s probably headed back to pace other friends of ours. I’m grateful for him. But now it’s time to sit in this pain cave and climb.

“A slow run is still faster than walking. A slow run is still faster than walking. A slow run is still faster than walking.” Mile twelve is at 8:28 which is about halfway up the hill. Usually I’m passing folks up the hill. It’s the other way around this time. “Run your own race.” I tell myself. But man it stings. This last half of the hill is hard because it get’s steeper (if that’s even possible!). “A slow run is still faster than walking.” I eventually pass up some walkers. “Come on bruh, let’s go! A slow run is still faster than walking.” I tell a few. At this point I’m telling myself out loud as much as I’m telling them! One guy starts running and daps me up before slowly taking off. I never see him again. I’m happy to have helped! Another guys shoe is untied and he looks like he wants to stop to tie it. “Leave it. Keep going.” I tell him. I can tell it won’t get worse and it’ll just cost him too much time to stop for it. He takes the advice and keeps going.

Finally I reach the peak at Laurel St. and turn into Balboa Park. It’s about a kilometer left at this point. I somehow find the energy to pick up the pace knowing this. I somehow pass up one or two people as we cross the bridge over the 163 freeway. With about a half mile left, I bark out to the small group of runners around me, “Half mile guys, we got less than four minutes at this pace!” Again, I’m telling myself as much as I’m telling them. There’s one tiny incline that feels like a mountain as we enter the park through an archway around mile 13. 8:09 on the watch.

The final incline feels like a mountain!

Game face is on as we pass up the photographers snapping flicks along the way before we hit the final turn that leads to a descent to the finish line. I dig super deep to pull off finish line kick at this point. Lungs are screaming. Legs hate me. I pass up shoe lace guy and rely on muscle memory of the previous eleven years to guide me to the finish. Twist along the road, past the organ pavilion and into the finish line chute. Don’t stop! Almost there! My buddy who is the race announcer calls out my name in glorious fashion like I’m somebody special as I finally hit the timing mat, arm in the air flashing a number one!

Hard earned fight!!! Always finish like a winner!

1:34:15

My second slowest time next to running the virtual version in 2020 when COVID was peaking. I hate to make excuses for my time, but having just come off from COVID and still having those lingering symptoms even though I tested negative is the only thing I can attribute the early sufferfest to. Nonetheless, I worked my ass off for that time and gave it everything I had in me to not walk or quit. I did all the things right to run a smart race, so I’ll take those things as victories. Some days are harder at work than others. This was definitely one of them!

The silver lining is that my athlete made his goal of finishing in 1:30:34! A huge PR for him! Nearly a two minute PR on a tougher course! Big congrats Z! Proud of you my guy!!

On to the next!

AFC Half Marathon Recap

Find Your Inspiration. Be Your Motivation.

AFC Half Marathon Recap

La Jolla Half Recap

Find Your Inspiration. Be Your Motivation.