They pick you up on a bus in Carmel at the ungodly hour of 3:30 am. That's the only thing ungodly that you experience that day.
The start line festival is a hoot. You lie on the pavement drinking coffee and eating a banana. The port-o-johns are more than sufficient for the crowds. The temperatures are comfortable and the banter among running legends Bart Yasso and Jeff Galloway is genuinely funny. After the anthem they release doves. Only in California.
The first five miles descending out of the redwoods go quickly. The wind hits while crossing the seaside pastures between miles 6 and 10. It is brutal. There is a technique of whitewater paddling called eddy-hopping, whereby you can ascend a river by moving from the protection of one rock to that of another. You can do the same running in a headwind. Follow one guy. Sprint across the lane and up a few yards to the next guy. It doesn't work behind anyone too small. If you are lucky you can get a pace line going, swapping leads with a few of like paces. That doesn't last long, though. Someone sees greener pastures or refuses to take a pull.
By mile 9 you see it coming: the ascent to Hurricane Point. The fog is too thick to see the road, but the hill emerges above the fog. It's not the hardest climb in marathon -- the Pike's Peak marathon comes to mind -- but it's the hardest you remember doing. By mile 10 you are into it. The upside is that it blocks the wind. But at mile 11 you leave the shelter of the mountain and the wind is back. Plow upwind and uphill until mile 12. Then drop like a stone in the sun to Bixby Canyon and the most marvelous bridge crossing imaginable.
The grand piano is amplified over the bridge. He's on Greensleeves when you cross, not quite Chariots of Fire but still enough to make you tear up. Though it's been foggy and windy, too, so maybe you are imagining it.
From here the temperatures warm somewhat. The hills do not let up, but they are rollers, not mountains. The waves and jagged rocks are constantly in view. You've been at this part in a run before. The hurt is coming. You remember a particularly strong workout. "It's just like it was when I hit beach drive on that run with 12 miles to go." You take another gel and keep moving.
At mile 20 you reach the Carmel Highlands. More hills. But what did you expect. You pass the rental house at mile 22. The next four miles contain no surprises, but they aren't easy. The final hill at mile 25 is salt in the wounds. It would be a major climb on any other race. And the descent on the other side is hell on shredded legs. But at the bottom you see the bridge and the sign warning drivers of a stoplight. You know the finish is before that light. Maybe 1/2 mile to go. Maybe less.
No sprinting. But finish strong. That makes 15 marathons and 23 times over the distance in race conditions. This was the best.
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