Making the Marathon

Across the Bay 12k (2019)

by Patrick Loera | Jul 14, 2019 | Making the Marathon

Back to San Francisco, I went for this run. But this time was a little different.
Running through the city without being completely inebriated allowed me to take in several parts of the city that I seldom have an opportunity to appreciate. So naturally I wanted to go back.

When I signed up for the Across the Bay 12k by Run Local, I made sure I wasn’t signing up for a half marathon this time. Good thing there weren’t any backpacks or additional swag. Actually, the added benefit of this race was given to me during the race.

Living in the San Francisco Bay Area doesn’t mean I had ever really taken full advantage of the most beautiful views in the bay. Well, Run Local gave me more than a reason to cross one of those landmarks off my list—they also gave me a medal for doing it. I finally made it across the Golden Gate Bridge on foot for the very first time in my life.
It amazes me that people really come from around the world to see this bridge, yet I had trouble making time to drive an hour away to see one of the most beautiful areas in California.

That day, procrastination took an L.

So what was it like? Ha!

If you’re the type of runner who likes knocking out your runs in the early morning, then you’ll remember the feeling on the first few days when waking up at ass-crack-30 really hurt.

The day started earlier than normal since I had to drive to San Francisco. Luckily, I had a couple friends join me for the drive up. I have run with Ben and Christina in other Represent Running events in San Jose, so we decided to carpool for the event in SF to save on parking and gas. We fought through traffic and found some conveniently expensive parking at the Aquatic Center bus area at the end of Fisherman’s Wharf. That’s where we caught a shuttle to the starting line.

It was foggy and cold that morning, a typical San Francisco morning. The bus ride across the bridge and into the park was a little chillier because of the wind. But we packed into that yellow bus with no seatbelts, feeling like a school bus ride to the big game, so the energy of people began to fog up the windows.

We arrived on the Sausalito side of the bridge in a park called Fort Baker. As soon as I stepped off the bus, the energy was challenged by the foggy fingers slowly making their way up my shirt. The chill wrapped itself around me and sent a chill down my spine.

Great. Now I have to pee.

Like any race bathroom area, the line was down the block. We thought there was plenty of time left with 30 minutes to our start time, but we were still in line when the National Anthem started and still in line when they announced our corral start followed by a gunshot.

We decided to make peace with the idea of catching the third wave. It was 8:10AM, we did our business and we were finally walking to the starting line to start with the third wave of people at 8:15AM. We made it just in time to hear the third wave countdown. All good.

AWe were off! Our three-pack stayed close together until we hit the first obstacle of the course—climb the hill to get to the bridge. One by one, people began to walk as we made our way up the hill. Then Christina fell behind and Ben and I kept pushing through. My intention was to keep going until it hurt, but it never started hurting, so I never stopped. I couldn’t believe that I made it to the top.

Then that joy turned into amazement when I caught the view of the bridge. I slowed my trot down to a near walk while I grabbed a cup of water from the water station at the top of the hill. Then reality hit. I was about to run over the Golden Gate Bridge for the first in my life.

The euphoria of accomplishing a bucket-list item only lasted for a few minutes before the cold breeze of the Pacific Ocean brought me back to the moment. An SF Police Officer stood at the gate to the bridge greeting runners as we passed by. Then the eerily blank presence of the netting just off the ocean-side railing holding firm in the wind ready to catch whatever comes its way—another reminder of the tragedy that continues to haunt the bridge year after year.

I shook off the daydream and fell back into my amazement of running across the bridge. A smile took over my face. The fog was a cool relief mixing with the sweat rolling down my face. And the smell, the fresh air smell with a hint of asphalt and just enough ocean salt in the mist to remind you of the ocean below.

Over the bridge, next to threads of the steel cables, under the giant metal arches disappearing up into the fog, along the historic pathway built before I was born.

As I went farther over the bridge, the wind whipped around each steel column. There were even times when it almost pulled my hat off my head.

I couldn’t see it, but I could hear, beyond that fog, the gateway to the largest ocean in the world.

There were moments when I would pass people and look over the rail to see the ocean below. It was blueish green, riddled with white-capped waves from the surging wind.

My face hurt because I smiled nearly the whole way across the bridge.

Ben and I stayed close all the way to the end of the bridge while Christina fell back. I did my best to stay with him as we reached the toll booth to enter the city. Then we turned off onto another trail that went under the bridge and down to the coast.

The downhill trail gave me some speed and I let my body carry me down the hill. At the bottom, we turned up the coast toward the bridge and ran along the rocks only a few feet from the water. The ocean breeze formed a slight mist from the waves crashing against the rocks, a relieving and nutritious moment as I licked the salt off my lips.

The view of the Golden Gate Bridge from Fort Point National Historic Site is simply amazing. I had to take a quick moment to fully take it in, vowing to come back another day to truly appreciate it. Then we moved past the Presidio and Crissy Field. Then Ben turned the boosters on and left me in his dust, but I wasn’t far behind.

The crowd of runners moved across the marina trail past the beautiful homes and the Yacht Harbor until we entered the Great Meadow Park at Fort Mason, which was another hill that I completely demolished by the way.

The park trail led us into another nice downhill slope. And again, I let my body carry me down the hill, keeping the same pace until we turned onto Van Ness at Aquatic Park. That’s when I turned the corner and saw the finish line less than 50 yards away. I turned up my music and sprinted as hard as I could to the finish line, crossing with a chip time of 1:11:13 and beating my time at Bay to Breakers in May 2019.

Ben was waiting for me at the finish line since he had finished a few minutes before I did. We slapped high-fives, took some finish line picks, and hung around to wait for Christina, who wasn’t far behind either.

Afterwards, we picked up our cool shirts and cruised through the festivities. We even stopped at a local spot for an amazing breakfast before we made the drive home.

On the drive home, a sense of accomplishment overwhelmed me. It was the same sense that I had gotten from every race I’ve done before. It was a sense of relief because I had finally done something with my athletic abilities.

Next up, my one year running anniversary at the Wharf to Wharf race in Santa Cruz. Did I get faster? How far have I come with my running?

I guess there was only one way to find out.

Trailquake Slugatoga (2019)

by Patrick Loera | Jun 3, 2019 | Making the Marathon, Running

Have you ever seen an overweight man hauling ass down a steep trail while struggling to get his legs under him in time to keep going and not crash, yet somehow keeping it together? Well, that was me in 2019. Man boobs and all. I felt like an elephant ballerina in a tank top gingerly making my way down the trail. In all seriousness, I was uncomfortable on most of my runs and this one was no exception. But I didn’t care. The only thing I cared about was finishing the race.

At the time, my diet wasn’t something I paid much attention to. Consequently, that put me in the unhealthy 190-to-200-pound range and not a good 190 for my height. I was a short Mexican guy who lived off pizza, burgers, fried foods, and beer for so many years without any exercise that changing my old behaviors wasn’t easy. So I had to get myself used to the uncomfortable feeling that takes over when I’m pushing my body too hard.

That’s what took me to the Trailquake 10k at Sanborn Park in Saratoga, CA.

Before Trailquake, I had only been on a few hikes on trails in the San Jose area since the Race Thru the Redwoods a year earlier, but I hadn’t done any trail runs and very few hills. I seriously had no clue what I was getting myself into.

I was so new to running that I didn’t even look at the course and incline sections before the race. But I’m not sure it would have made much of a difference since I was still pretty much out of shape. It wasn’t until after the race and was asked the question about elevation that I decided to look. What I found was that the course reached its peak elevation at just over 2,900 feet with a total elevation gain/loss of approximately 1,846 feet.

In other words, the entire first half of the course was uphill.

When I arrived at the park, I was welcomed by giants in the forest, the smell of clean forest air, and a nice, cool temperature. The birds were chirping and the crowds of trail runners seemed to respect the quietness of the moment, speaking lower than usual to each other.

It was a different vibe than the road races but not any less competitive. I could sense it from the way people were looking at me and at other runners, sizing them up, probably imagining themselves running past them.

Most people looked really prepared with trail shoes and running vests. Some had hiking poles. And then there was me in road running shoes, a belt to carry my phone, and no water to take with me.

This is what happens when you don’t read the pre race information—you’re unprepared.

We lined up in our corals moments before the race with the people running the half marathon in front to head out first. I was in the front of the 10k pack stretching and trying to sike myself up. But looking at the group of people running the half marathon was a little intimidating.

I still remember feeling overwhelmed at the thought of running a half marathon on the trail.

When the 10k coral moved up to the start line, my toe was physically on the start line and I thought I heard the announcer say to start at 8:45am. So I plugged in my headphones, cranked up the music to drown out the people talking next to me, and I watched the clock.

I watched the seconds build every minute that passed like a kid waiting to get out of class. As soon as it hit 8:45am, I bolted down the trail and didn’t look back. The cold wind brushed my face and the free space of being in the front of the pack put a smile on my face.

At the first big hill, I glanced to my left and right and realized that I was so far in front of the pack that nobody was around me. For the first time in my race career, I was actually in first place. At the top of the hill, there was a Y in the trail with two flags, one on each side. So I went left.

Now, I was going down hill. So I let myself go and flew down the hill. Then I realized that there were not any flags along the route. I turned to see if anyone was behind me, but I didn’t see anyone. I finally decided to turn back until I saw someone just in case.

Back up the hill I went, anxious to see someone so I could turn back around and fly down the hill again. But there was nobody. When I got in view of the Y in the trail again, my fear came to fruition—I went the wrong way. Then I passed the camera man at the top of the hill.

“I tried yelling to stop you from going that way, but you didn’t hear me,” said the cameraman from behind his lens while snapping away at the runners.

Yup, I went the wrong way.

Later in the race, another runner notices me and says, “hey, thanks for the laughs, man. You took off and the announcer tried to stop you. But you just kept running.”

I laughed it off in embarrassment.

Thanks for telling me. I didn’t know that but now I know why nobody was around me.

“Yeah, then someone said you sent the wrong way. So they let it slide. You can’t make this shit up,” he said laughing with the runner next to him.

During the run, it was difficult not to soak in nature. I might have been a little embarrassed, but that went away after a while. I ran around redwoods and sequoias, over small streams, climbed over logs and up rocky paths. The fresh air was intoxicating, giving me a runner’s high in perfect weather. It was exactly where I wanted to be.

As difficult as the run was at times, I had a great time moving over those obstacles. There was a great water and aid station near the halfway point of the race that offered water, GU, and some fruit, so I took a couple bites of fruit and some water before heading down.

Now this was the fun part of that run—the downhill.

On the way down, I really let my feet get under me. There were moments when I was in a full sprint and barely trying. Then there were times during the descent where it hurt to stop because my knees took the weight of my momentum. It might have hurt at times, but it sure was fun.

I was exhausted by the time I got to the bottom, but there was still another mile to finish the line. My legs were jello and it had started heating up, so I had started to cramp. I had to walk with less than a mile left in my 10k, so I went back to the walk/run strategy I discovered earlier. That gave me enough energy to run across the finish line instead of walking. When I crossed the finish line, I was beat and embarrassed but I felt good.

That was the first time in my running career that a trail made me upset with competitiveness mixed with my sweat still coming out of me. But first thing was first, I had to run more trails and definitely more hills. I also needed to lose weight and work on my core strength. The pain in my legs going up and down the hills was eye-opening.

I finished the Trailquake 10k in 1:26:00 and was determined to beat that time in the following year, but that didn’t happen thanks to a pandemic.

Bay to Breakers (2019)

by Patrick Loera | May 19, 2019 | Making the Marathon, Running

Oh, San Francisco!

After running my first half marathon a month before the Bay 2 Breakers, I guess you could say I was hooked on running. I went online and searched for a new race as soon as I got home, which led me here, again.

Driving through the city during the day has a sense of awh that makes anyone stop to take pictures. At night, that beauty is turned into bright lights that outline the SF skyline. There are so many spots throughout the city that still make me stop at the right moment when the curtain of mystery is pulled back and the natural beauty of the Golden Gate Bridge dressed in fog, giving people standing on Crissy Field an amazing backdrop for their photos.

Running through the city, on the other hand, is really two different experiences—running solo, with a group, or running during a race.

Solo runs and group runs at various parts of the city that are runner-friendly spots are nice with beautiful views. But running through the city as part of a race allows you to run in the middle of the street through neighborhoods that would normally be swarmed with cars.

I’ve been lucky enough to do both during my time. The only difference about running the Bay 2 Breakers race in 2019 is that I was sober and actually registered for the first time. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve been one of those drunken people stumbling through the streets with a friends and other partiers having the time of our lives with very little regard for the neighborhoods we were passing through.

Each time I was obliterated before I even got to the starting line. Unfortunately, all except one of these times were during the pre-smartphone era, which meant no cameras phones on everybody around you, and the only record I had were my memories, stories from friends, and some hard copy photos that have all but one been lost over the years.

I still remember that day; that was one hell of a party! We dressed up in a “Running from Bulls” theme then taped a bull piñata to a beer cooler on wheels so it looked like it was chasing us through the crowd. We drank and yelled.

“Get outta the way! They’re coming! Look out! The bulls are coming!

What a party. You might say I was a completely different person in my 20s.

This time, I got to enjoy what I saw and actually remember the whole thing rather than bits and pieces from half-remembered stories.

In case you don’t know, Bay 2 Breakers is an annual 12k race in San Francisco that takes runners through the city from the docks on the bay to the Pacific Ocean breakers at Ocean Beach. This race gained a reputation for being a party race long before I was born. And when I was old enough to drink and party, I absolutely made sure I indulge in the festivities.

If you’re not from San Francisco or from out of California, you may have heard plenty about the city in general. Stuff about hippies and streakers, housing projects and ritzy neighborhoods, the Castro, the Haight, the Piers, the Golden Gate Bridge. Whatever you’ve heard, it’s probably true, or it was true at some point, and guess what? You get to see it all at that race; pun intended.

Race Day

On the day of the race, it was pouring. The rain was on and off when I drove up the 101 freeway to Millbrae where I caught the shuttle into the race. It was still raining hard when I arrived, so I decided to put on a light raincoat before I jumped on the shuttle.

The bus was nice and warm and I had the entire row to myself, so it gave me a chance to take in the sparkly skyline of the city. Even in the rain, it still has beauty. It rained the entire ride up to the city, and I was mentally preparing myself for wet socks and soggy toes. It was 5:30AM and the last thing I wanted to think about was soggy toes. If you couldn’t tell, I’m not really a fan of running in the rain, but sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do, right?

We pulled up near Harrison St. and Folsom St.in the city and stepped right back into the rain. It was a short walk to the starting corral, but I had over an hour to spare and I wanted to get out of the rain.

My best bet to stay dry was to walk close to the buildings for a little cover, but it wasn’t much help since it was raining so hard. When I got to my corral, it was completely empty with only the volunteers hanging around in the rain. Then a beam of light came down and illuminated the only open store on the block— Starbucks.

The place was getting packed by the second. I didn’t want to drink too much coffee, but sitting alone in a packed coffee shop scrolling through the news feed on my phone made it really hard to babysit my tall coffee. At the time, I was fairly new to running, and I hadn’t discovered the pre-race nutrition that worked for me, and coffee certainly was not one of them. I’ve actually heard that coffee works for some people, but it gets me more dehydrated than normal. Unfortunately, I didn’t know that at the time.

After about an hour, the rain had passed and people were starting to gather outside in larger numbers. I walked back to my assigned corral and met my buddy Omar. It only took a few minutes for the corral to get packed with a mixture of costumes, rain ponchos, and plain-clothes runners.

Then, in typical Bay 2 Breakers fashion, they do the weirdest shit ever with a customary “Tortilla Throw.” There were tortillas flying around like Frisbees, rocketing past me smacking people in the head. It looked like a massive food fight in the middle of the street. I even caught a few tortilla missiles in the back of the head. Suddenly, I saw a large super-burrito-sized tortilla flying across the sky like an elegant Manta Ray and then landing on someone’s face in slow motion. Absolutely hilarious!

We started between the buildings a few blocks away from the Bay Bridge at Main and Howard St. We followed Howard through to South Market then crossed into Hayes Valley where I faced the biggest challenge of the race, Hayes Hill.

It was challenging having to maneuver around the partiers like a slow running back excited to be in the game. But Hayes Hill only meant that I had to run a little more than a half mile uphill while trying to keep my jukes in rhythm. I started walking only a few blocks up the hill.

Looking back at this race, I can totally understand why a 5.5% incline was so much trouble for me. Most of my training had been on flat surfaces with only a few hills with low slopes and I was wearing a rain jacket for God sakes. My legs were in condition to take that challenge on, but I did it anyway.

I got to the top of the hill out of breath but relieved that I made it. Then I started going down the other side of the hill and that’s when I learned about quad strength. My legs were jello already and I wasn’t even halfway. I let my legs go for some of the way down just to feel some speed until it started hurting from my feet hitting the pavement. I even caught the race mascot—a giant, pink gorilla—on the way down.

The hill cleared the way a bit and now it was mostly runners, and I was finally able to get into a good pace. I cruised by San Francisco’s famous Painted Ladies houses and then followed the crowd into Golden Gate Park. Then my next obstacle confronted me: the beauty of the park and a long gradual incline.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance to really appreciate the beauty of the park. Instead, I took a mental note of all the places I wanted to come back to see. There’s the Conservatory of Flowers, de Young Museum, Marx Meadow, a couple beautiful ponds, the Bison Paddock. Yeah, the park really has Bison. The route took me through the entire park, shooting me out of the western most part at Highway 1, where the park meets the beach.

At this point in the race, my out-of-shape body was starting to complain. The hour and half of standing before the race, all the jukes I put on the crowds of partiers, Hayes Hill, and let’s not forget the coffee as well. Yeah, I began burping up the Cliff Bar and coffee I consumed before the race. I had to start walking or I was going to spew on the course.

Then a group of costum-wearing runners passed me, screaming and having a blast. That was motivation enough to get me jogging again. Their good spirits and high energy was infectious. My stomach felt better and my legs felt strong again—my second wind.

With the finish line in sight, I picked up the pace to the best of my ability, pushing myself all the way through the line.

Time: 1:16:56

Then it was that same sense of accomplishment. The feeling that I had once again done something good for myself. My smile took over. Goosebumps. Butterflies. I felt high. I wanted more.

In the end, I had a great time. I ran through the city and saw some great costumes, and, most importantly, I learned a couple valuable lessons: choose my nutrition wisely, hydrate more, and run more hills.

Next up, the Trail Quake 10k at Sanborn Park in Saratoga, CA.

SV Half Marathon (2019)

by Patrick Loera | Apr 28, 2019 | Making the Marathon, Running

I’m a sucker for free stuff and even more so with free stuff from races.

In 2019, that’s really all it took for me to upgrade my race from Silicon Valley 10K to the Silicon Valley Half Marathon even though I had never run farther than 6.2 miles, and I had yet to ever do that without stopping.

It didn’t matter. I was blinded by the bling. In a lot of ways, I still am to this day.

“How do I get one of those backpacks?” I hesitantly asked. My question was met by a nice young lady with lots of enthusiasm.

“I’ll give you a free backpack and a quarter-zip long-sleeve if you upgrade your race from the 10K to the Half Marathon.

“Oh really? How much more is it?” I asked. It might have sounded better if I had just said, “Take my money! Please! Just give me that cool-looking backpack.”

It didn’t matter, I paid the fee without playing the tape all the way through because all I wanted was some free stuff. *heavy eye roll*

Moments later, I was walking away with an SV Half Marathon backpack and quarter-zip long-sleeve. I got back to my car, got ready to pull out of the parking spot, then reality hit me.

“I just signed up for a fucking half marathon without any training,” I said to myself.

Anxiety hit next.

Should I take the stuff back?

Can I?

Shit!

Well, now I have to run it.

At the time, I had no idea how to run long distances. I thought of myself as a basketball player, an old, 5-foot 7-inch, 200-pound runner with indications of high blood pressure kind of basketball player. I might have lost a good amount of weight and had been running regularly, but I really wasn’t prepared to run 13.1 miles for a damn backpack and a medal.

As a young athlete, I was used to doing wind sprints in practice. Basketball, football, baseball, soccer; they all made me do wind sprints. Being the fastest Mexican kid at every school I transferred to for the majority of my childhood sort of groomed me for running fast. So it’s always been natural for me to do things like run hard and finish strong. But I never paid any attention when I would ride my bike next to my parents while they were on their long runs in the Evergreen Hills of San Jose.

It wasn’t until that moment, sitting in my car searching the internet for how to run a half marathon, that the thought of ever running a half marathon would ever become a reality.

Have you ever jumped off a cliff into a body of water?

Do you remember the first time you did it?

There’s a moment right before you jump where the strength of your anxiety, the fear that lives inside you, keeps you from jumping. It’s almost crippling. When you were in the water looking up, the jumping point didn’t look that high, but now that you’re on top of the cliff, on the edge, you tremble.

Your breath shortens. Legs weak. Fear. It consumes you. It rushes through your body in the form of adrenaline as you stare at the water.

Then you hear the chants from your friends, Jump! You can do it! Jump! Don’t be scared!

The shouts motivate you to believe it’s possible. You take a few deep breaths, start talking yourself into it, until finally you know that you can jump and you’ll survive.

That’s when you jump. And for a split second, the fear is gone; you’re free; you’re flying. Then you hit the water and the cold water pulls the fear out of you once and for all, leaving nothing but the joy of accomplishment. The rush is intoxicating and you can’t wait to jump again.

That’s exactly how I felt when the announcer began his final countdown seconds before I started running. For a brief moment, I felt comfortable. It felt as if I really belonged there. Was this peace? It felt like butterflies in my stomach, extending down to my thumbs. Signals telling me this is where I belong.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Go! Go! Go!

I hit my music, walked up to the starting line and started a light jog. My only training was struggling to run 6.2 miles without stopping. I read tons of contradicting articles. Some told me to run short distances, and others said not to run but just to stretch the day before and do a light walk to “stay limber.” The only consistency I found was about my diet and what to eat the days before the race and during the race. So I packed three packs of GU and a Cliff Bar for breakfast.

As little as it was, it was enough to give me some sense of confidence to commit and test myself on this run. Even after I started running, I still had doubt. I had little conviction that I was going to finish, but that’s all I wanted to do. How’s my body going to react? Will I die? Need an ambulance?

“Let’s find out,” I whispered to myself over the music.

We ran up Santa Clara Street and turned down 10th Street before turning again onto San Salvador, the south side of the San Jose State University campus. For me, it was a great way to start the race because that was the route I’d been running for the past year.

I kept a nice pace next to a group of people in red shirts who looked like they knew what they were doing. We moved through downtown San Jose, passing Ryland park, around the Heritage Rose Garden in Guadalupe River Park then back into downtown.

The group of red shirts I was following seemed to have gotten slower as we jogged around Cesar Chavez park, which was where the six-mile marker stood. Then it was back to Santa Clara Street to the SAP Center where the 10K finished, where I had initially committed to finishing before I got starstruck by a backpack. *heavy eye roll*

“A backpack!” I laughed to myself, looking at the 10K finish line with admiration.

Now, I’m in uncharted territory. At this point in the race, every step I take is a new distance PR. I’ve never run this far before. Just before that cycle of thinking, well into the sixth mile, excitement filled my body. Euphoria almost. Then self doubt set in, telling me I need to walk at mile seven.

Now my thoughts were racing and the enjoyment I had felt moments ago was gone. Suddenly, I started to panic. My heart rate bumped up a bit, my speed, and then tiredness, self-doubt.

I finally decided to walk at the one hour mark for 60 seconds. Plus, there was a water station up ahead, so the timing really couldn’t have been any better. I tore open the GU packet and started eating.

At this stage in my running career, I didn’t know much about how to sustain myself for long runs. Running a marathon was such a far-fetched idea that I never considered myself capable of completing it.

The sour after taste from the GU lingered for a moment until I washed it down with a cup of water and kept walking. My timer blared over my music and I started jogging again. I reset my timer for 30 minutes to remind myself to walk again, as if I was actually able to run for 30 minutes straight at this point.

The course took us through the College Park neighborhood for the eighth mile and by the beautiful homes in the Municipal Rose Garden neighborhood for the ninth-mile marker.

I still remember thinking, “I just ran nine miles. Holy shit!”

That’s when I started to feel my legs get tired, of course. They almost felt numb as I tried to keep a good pace, but I had to walk again. A few moments later, my 30-minute timer went off and my online-article-training prepared me for this part of the race.

Okay. Reset my timer for one minute. Keep walking fast. Change the song. Move those legs! Shake out arms. Do butt kickers. Go, go, go!

Now I was paying attention to the time. I made a decision to go back to the basics that helped me run 6 miles: run for four minutes; walk for 30-60 seconds. Hopefully, this tactic will get me to the end of the race.

We ran around Lincoln High School just before mile 10, and then started back towards downtown. That’s when I could really feel my legs start to wobble. My four-minute timer went off, so I took my second GU. It almost seemed like fate that a water station was right there again. I swear I didn’t time it that way. It really was the running Gods looking out for me. I washed the GU down and set my timer for another four minutes, walked a little bit longer before I hit start on the timer, and then I started running again.

Run for four minutes. Walk for 30 seconds. Find a comfortable rhythm. Run at a conversational pace.

I had no idea what the hell a conversation pace was. But it wasn’t hard to figure out, which I eventually did, but not during this race.

I kept repeating those words to myself as I passed mile 11 and followed the other trotters back onto the Alameda, moving back to downtown San Jose. That’s when I realized that it just got harder to start running after walking for 30 seconds. Maybe if I keep walking it will help.

I had no choice but to keep walking fast and run where I can until I’m done. The final water station was in sight, so I took my final packet of GU. Down it went and then running again. I really tried to keep running but I had to walk after a few minutes. I was beat.

That’s when a group of people came from behind me, laughing and having a good time. They also had on red shirts, but they weren’t the people I was following earlier in the race.

Their motivational shouts broke through my music, “You can do it! Keep going! You’re almost there.”

The back of their shirts said, “Too Legit Fitness.” My mind quickly went to MC Hammer’s song, Too Legit To Quit. One of them was holding a sign that said “2:20 Pace.”

Suddenly, I spoke, “All right, all right, all right! Let’s do it!”

“That’s the spirit! Stay with us,” one of them said.

We passed mile 12 and I was now in the middle of the group. I lowered my music to listen to these guys continue to motivate the group. These guys were cruising. It looked effortless to them. Who are these people?

“We’re in the final mile. This is it! All your hard work and training is paying off now! All that time you put into running and training was for this very moment. Now go get it!”

Both guys went back and forth with their motivating words of wisdom. I wasn’t looking at them directly. Instead, I was doing what my mom had taught me in running, which was to watch the road and pay attention to your steps. Then, one of the guys said the most powerful words at the exact time I needed to hear them.

“Focus on your breath. Feel the strength move through your legs with every step you take. You’re getting stronger. This is your moment! Look! There’s the finish line!”

I smashed through the final incline, focusing on my feet, when I heard my girlfriend yell out, “You can do it, Pat! Go, baby, go!”

She ran with me for a moment, recording me, before I turned up the speed (or at least I thought I did). I moved into racing snail mode.

There it is. The finish line. My legs were about to give out but I held it together. I could feel myself about to cry. It came from deep inside from both pride and pain.

I kept pushing; kept my feet under me; kept putting one foot in front of the other until I crossed the finish line.

“I did it!” I said, struggling to breath.

The soreness in my legs seemed to come on immediately after I stopped running. I didn’t want to cry anymore. The pain had a new meaning. This was now the pain of accomplishment, and I loved it.

“So that’s what a half marathon feels like, huh?” I couldn’t believe that I made it.

For the first time in my life, I ran a half marathon, and I did it at the Silicon Valley Half Marathon in 2:19:41. The bar was officially set.

For the next four days, stairs were my enemy. But it was a bitter sweet reminder that I was capable of doing more—of running more, farther.

The next day I signed up for the Bay2Breakers in San Francisco. That run was another fun experience because it was the first time that I did it without being completely shit-faced drunk. I can’t wait to share it with you.

Until next time…

San Jose Shamrock (2019)

by Patrick Loera | Mar 21, 2019 | Making the Marathon, Running

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Some lucky days deserve to last a little longer. While most people were getting ready to start their St. Paddy’s day, I was out running through downtown San Jose trying to break a personal record while trying not to make my cold worse.

My third race of 2019 took me to the inaugural San Jose Shamrock 10K by Run Local.

Fighting a cold and running in the rain is not the business. That’s what I thought on the morning of the race. Days before, as soon as I felt the cold coming on, I stopped running and focused on my rest and recovery. I stretched and I slept. That’s it. I was even debating not running the race. Good thing some over-the-counter cold medicine did their job to help me shake it, so I actually felt good enough to run when I woke up.

Any normal person might have stayed home to rest, but I was determined to run the first Shamrock Run 10K in San Jose. I’m sure the fact that I already paid for the race was more of a reason to get up and go. After three days of listening to the rain, resting, and stretching, I was kind of itching to get out and run.

The rain finally stopped, and I love the smell of fresh air after a good rain. Plus, the sun being out made for some great running conditions.

When I arrived at the race, the party had already started with bagpipes screaming, an announcer getting the crowd juiced, and I had chills running through my body from the hum of the crowd and partially because my fever was starting to creep back.

I found a nice spot next to a building and stretched a bit more just to release the tension. My girlfriend was worried about me and attempted to convince me to go home to rest. But I down played the chills and tried to act as macho as possible. I’m not very macho, by the way, so she saw right through me, but she also knew how much I wanted to run.

“We’ll get you some Pho soup after the race,” she said with a disapproving look before we parted ways at the starting line.

The crowd slowly crept to the starting line with about five minutes to spare before the race began. Then I started sizing people up, thinking how I was going to get around them when we started running. Every second we got closer to the final countdown made me itch more to run. I missed the mental therapy of running, my alone time.

Then the anxiety hit me, so I started shaking out my arms and legs to get them warm.

There was a big arch at the starting line on San Pedro St. between the buildings in downtown San Jose. The sound of the crowd echoed off the buildings as they cheered with excitement when the race started.

I was farther back in the crowd and I found myself among the walkers, so I started with a light jog. We moved slowly down San Pedro St. and turned on San Fernando St., then down Almaden Blvd.

I cruised along for a little while before I got warmed up. And then it was bliss; the high I was looking for, the run. My joy was short lived before my competitive edge took over. I pushed forward with a slightly faster cadence than usual. Suddenly, I was in race mode, thinking of my pace and my rhythm as I maneuvered around the walkers. I began analyzing the slower crowds of people and imagining the running lines I could take to pass them.

These moments might actually be when I’m one with the force because I can feel the distance between the people, their speeds, their cadence, their swerve directions as they run. It even feels like I can sense when someone’s about to start walking, and I’ll move over for the pass. I wonder if they can feel the pressure from me running closely behind them, pushing them with my energy like a tailgater in traffic, flashing you to get out of the way.

Beep-beep-beep!! Move to the right people!!

From Almaden Blvd., we turned down Santa Clara St. and turned around at the train tracks bridge just past the SAP Pavilion. We ran between the SAP Pavilion and the Arena Green through Little Italy and then back through the buildings before I started the second loop of the 10K.

When I started the second loop, I took a few seconds to think if I should walk, but my body wouldn’t let me. It was a wonderful feeling because I wasn’t tired despite being sick the past few days. I kept moving and started the second loop in my usual cadence.

Now, there were no walkers and I was free to run in a straight line down the middle of the street. I usually run along the centerline or the broken line during races, and it was smooth sailing for about a mile. Then I started seeing walkers still in their first loop. It dawned on me that I was about to lap some of them, which was certainly a first for me.

I moved through Little Italy again and back between the buildings when I felt the same old pain arise on my outer, left knee. I wanted this to be my first 10K race I ran without stopping, but this wasn’t going to be the one. Before the pain could get any worse, I slowed my pace to walk. I counted 15 seconds and then started to power walk for another 15 seconds to see how it felt. The pain went away and I started jogging again before I got into my regular rhythm again.

It was the final stretch of the race with less than a mile left, and there were only a few more turns before the finish line was in sight. That’s when I turned it up. I picked up my speed and started passing runners and walkers. Then the finish line was in sight and I hit the boosters.

A few guys who had passed me earlier in the race were now next to me trying to keep up, but they both fell behind as I kept a regular pace. I was about 100 feet from the finish line when I spotted a large group of people casually walking closer to the end. I picked up the pace to make it around them before I crossed the finish line.

Success! I glanced at the clock when I crossed the finish line and noticed it displayed a little after 58 minutes. That means that my chip time was faster this time.

It turns out that I set a new PR by running a 10K in 00:56:30. It felt like Michael Jordan’s Flu Game when he racked up 38 points to help the Bulls take Game 5 of the NBA Finals against the Utah Jazz. I wonder if I would have stopped had I not been sick or if my knee wouldn’t have started hurting. I guess I’ll have to find out in the next run.

408k Race to the Row (2019)

by Patrick Loera | Feb 4, 2019 | Making the Marathon, Running

My second run of 2019 took place at Run Local’s 408K Race to the Row. Running an 8K from San Jose to Santa Clara isn’t that far, but it was long enough for me to learn how different types of nutrition affect my body.

The morning of the race, I woke up to the sound of rain hitting my window. I’ve always found that sound soothing, but the thought of running in the rain isn’t really my ideal weather for an enjoyable run. It rained all week, so it wasn’t a surprise that it was raining the morning of the race. Plus, the cool air helped to keep my body temp down—but not at first.

Since the Resolution Run, I focused on strengthening my legs and stretching more and I was running every day. I even started attending a strength-training class a few times a week with a yoga class on my off days. It was easy for me to get used to the treadmill program runs. The thing about using treadmill programs is that I don’t run for very long but the machine does alter the elevation for me. My regular program choice is a high-intensity interval run that breaks each into 1-3 minutes at a time with low-intensity intervals between each set. This high-to-low-intensity set goes for about 30-32 minutes each time. I’m starting to suspect that this is causing a disruption in my cadence when I’m not running on the treadmill.

On race day, I got out of bed, did my morning stretches, and checked the weather. I would typically eat a Cliff bar after my stretches as a pre-run breakfast, but I had forgotten to go shopping that week and all I had was a package of Honey Stinger Energy Chews.

I chewed through my gummy breakfast and checked the weather hoping the rain would subside long enough to let me run without getting wet like the Santa Run. According to Google, the rain was scheduled to stop from 7:00AM to 9:00AM, and for once the damn weather forecast was right. The rain may have let up, but the chill was still in the air, and then I thought it was a good idea to wear sweatpants on the run, which I wouldn’t normally do. I felt great about my apparel choice on my way to the race, but then I got into my corral and felt a little stuffy.

Walking up to races and finding my corral was still new to me that year, and I was still pretty far back in the field. I arrived at the race and started getting loose with arm shakes and leg stretches and body twists. It wasn’t long before the National Anthem quieted the crowd and the nerves really started. Then, the sounds of a jet above became noticeable between lines in the song. In epic timing, a silvery American Airlines jet was flying across the sky with the American Flag on its tailwinds. I just wish I had gotten a better picture of the plane, but some images in life can’t be captured with a phone, not yet at least.

The race began and I felt good. We started at the SAP Pavilion, ran down The Alameda, then past the beautiful homes in Shasta-Hanchett Park, Lincoln High School, the Municipal Rose Garden, and then we crossed Bascom before making our way around the Westfield Valley Fair mall for the Mariachi Mile. I’m sure here are plenty of ways to see the different neighborhoods of San Jose, but running through the city in the middle of the road certainly gives you a better appreciation.

Mariachi Mile had six mariachi bands playing music and cheering us on. As a Mexican American, I grew up listening to Mariachi music, so this was a special motivator. Once I heard the music, I slowed my stride, paused my music, and I flashed back to my childhood, visualizing my grandparents dancing with each other. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, and I could hear my grandpa singing again. For that moment, the first part of the final mile, I was happy and no longer tired. I smiled and even tried to dance a little, trying not to miss a step, but it was enough to throw out of rhythm.

Suddenly, with the finish line in sight, I got tired. My legs were wobbly. My stomach became upset, and I felt the energy gummies that I ate for breakfast start to make their way back up. I felt the warm surge through my body, so I slowed down, focused on my breathing, and I kept moving my legs and swinging my arms. I was almost at the finish line when I wanted to stop, but I kept going. That push was the hardest quarter-mile push I had done up to that point.

I was exhausted when I crossed the finish line. My fingers were tingling, my legs were jello, and I felt like vomiting when the finish-line camera man snapped a few shots of me. Then the sounds of the mariachi and seeing the Mexican dancers in all their beauty began to soothe my stomach. I collected my metal, grabbed a bottle of water from one of the nice volunteers, and I walked around to check out the sponsor tents.

Despite my troubles during the race, I had a great time. I ran an 8K in 00:45:19 and I ran the Race to the Row for the first time.

In the end, I learned some important lessons to work on before the San Jose Shamrock Run on St. Patrick’s Day.

First, I learned that the pre-race meal is really important. I’m definitely not doing the gummy breakfast again.
Second, I shouldn’t get too excited during the race because it will pull me out of rhythm. I have to stay focused.
And, third, I have to do longer runs on the treadmill with a consistent speed rather than just doing the treadmill programs with fluctuating speeds.

See you there!

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