Marathon #13 - The Battle with LA traffic

 I ran my 13^th marathon in October of 2008 in lovely Long Beach California, again.  I decided this would be a great race to keep me tuned up after Louisville, but also intrigued to see how a marathon would feel without the swim and bike ahead of it.  I think it is fair to admit that I was a wee bit overconfident leading up to this race, which may explain the large dose of Karma that dumped on me early race morning.  I have made it my creed to leave my house no later than two hours before any start time, and since I lived about fifty minutes North of Long Beach, I was safely on the road by 5AM.  Unfortunately, the traffic gods wagged their finger at me and my cavalier attitude, and I cemented me in traffic.

 

This sort of scenario is only second to the ultimate nightmare of sleeping through my alarm clock and missing the race altogether, but I was pretty miffed.   Let me just say that I have the utmost respect and understanding of the freeway and overall traffic situation/way of life for us Angelenos.  I spent most of my early twenties in my Honda Civic driving all over Los Angeles while working as a Production Assistant, and I can tell you that nothing was more valuable to me than my Thomas Guide and upbeat adventurous attitude.  I got lost more times than I can count; however, I view getting lost as just a new way of figuring out to find some place.  That said, I guarantee that I could give you seven different options of getting from Point “A” to Point “B” in the greater Los Angeles area, the most coveted secret of all, Fountain Ave. in West Hollywood, better known as the freeway of Hollywood, you’re welcome.

Needless to say I make it a habit to give myself PLENTY of buffer time when traveling anywhere in LA, but that amount of time bloats tremendously on race morning.  The drive itself from our apartment in North Hollywood to Long Beach was smooth, and curse word free, but it took me nearly an hour just to exit the freeway, grrr.  After I finally surrendered to my predicament, I said out loud to myself,”Oh well, this is a chipped race,” meaning my official time would start when I crossed the starting line, not when the gun went off, and the plastic chip weaved through my laces would ping the sensor and let the universe know I was finally on my way.

Once I parked successfully and trotted on down to the start area I hit up the Port-o-Potty’s, (the most important part of the day), then sprinted across the starting line, carefully weaving my through the “Back of the packers” who were either jogging s-l-o-w-l-y, or walking. Suddenly, my killer instinct switched on and I started to juke in and out the snail like crowd like an NFL running back; my usual cool demeanor was still stuck on the 710, and my evil twin “Terry” had taken me over completely.

The course was slightly annoying because it narrowed down from the width of a normal street to the slender concrete bike path around mile seven, which meant if I wasn’t throwing elbows before, I certainly was now.  I think I was running at a respectable pace up until the halfway mark, then my way-too-speedy alter-ego caught up with me, and I started to lose steam. 

The most memorable part of this race is marker for mile twenty three because it is so close to the end, and it sits at the crest of a punchy, sharp hill, so once I saw that sign, I knew I just needed to smile, hit cruise control and enjoy the rest of the ride on in to the finish.  My time was fine, not amazing, but decent, 3:45.  No matter what happens during the Odyssey of a marathon, there is nothing quite as special as crossing the finish line, no matter how many hours and minutes it takes to get there.  Indeed, I started the race with a chip on my shoulder from being nailed by LA traffic, but I recovered, and discovered a higher gear I had yet to hit in previous races, so that was a plus.  I don‘t think I battered or bloodied anyone in the process, but if I did, my apologies, and I hope you had a great raceJ  Next time, I will leave the house even earlier.