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.
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.
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…