I felt like a deflated balloon today at the California International Marathon. I started the race tucked in behind the 3-hour pacers. I figured I’d stay with them for at least the first half before I picked up the pace. I ran 3:04 at Fargo in May and 3:02 at Marathon 2 Marathon in November, so 3:00 (2:59:59)  seemed like a good progressive choice.

I loped along happily for the first 13 miles. The pace felt easy and fun. My only worry was slipping on the raised reflectors in the middle of the road. CIM is a big, crowded race, and I kept getting pushed back towards the reflectors. It was a minor worry. Mostly, I enjoyed watching all the runners around me. Almost everyone in the 3-hour pace group was wearing Nike Vaporflys and the pink Nike ZoomX’s.  I only saw two folks, not including myself, who were wearing anything different. There was a friendly man with at least 10 pounds of dreadlocks down his back who was also in a pair.

And then, the halfway point hit, and it was like energy started to leak from me like a deflating balloon. I moved like a 6-day old helium balloon floating along 10 inches off the floor. I thought maybe I was low on calories, so I downed another gel. 15 minutes passed. Now, I was only 5 inches off the floor. I did all the things I know to do — walked to drop my heart rate, took in liquid calories, dumped some water on my head, made sure I was keeping a positive attitude (The faster time is a long-term goal — nothing that’s going to break me during a race.)… Nothing helped. I basically jogged. And jogged. And jogged. I couldn’t even pick up the pace 2 miles from the finish line. People streamed by me. 1 mile out: Jogging. And I jogged right over the timing mat.

Here’s all I can come up with to explain what happened: My mother in-law was really sick when we were with her over Thanksgiving in Mexico. (Yup, blaming my MIL!) And I felt utterly wiped out last week. I got into bed as soon as the kids left for school on Monday and worked from there. I did this all week. And I napped a lot. I got back into bed when Eliot got home from work and lay there like a salted slug. I thought I was depressed, but maybe I had some sort of virus.

I also didn’t feed myself very well while we were in Mexico. It was easier not to make waves.

I’d decided to start CIM because I’d spent money on a plane ticket, and you never know what race day might bring. And for 13 miles, it seemed like I’d made the right call.

If I’d fallen apart at 18 miles, I’d look at my training, but not 13 miles. So I think I’m going to have to do another marathon before I start on the 100k training. Happily Texas has lots of early year marathons. Then it’s back to ultras for a good long while.

There was another Liza Howard running CIM this weekend. She was Canadian and ran a 2:43. This led to a lot of confusion and tiresome corrections. “Nope. Not me.  Canadian Lizas: 1 American Lizas: 0”

I was feeling like I’d been run over by a truck by the time I made it to the airport this afternoon. I missed having my family at the race. I missed having friends at the race. And I was tired of XS race shirts that didn’t come anywhere close to fitting. And then I had a really lovely interaction while ordering an expensive hamburger with a friendly couple who had been at the race. They made my day. Thanks nice folks!