Humboldt Bay Half Marathon
Eureka, CA
11 August 2019
“Believe and achieve.” – Deena Kastor
During my fifty-state journey, I had a lot of time and miles to think and reflect upon life and the world around me. I can simply summarize one of the fifty things I learned on my journey as, “Run a marathon (or half) in your hometown. Show your family and friends what you’re about and be proud of your achievement.”
Those who live in the coastal regions of Humboldt County are blessed with an abundance of wildlife, forests, fishing, swimming, great outdoor destinations and a relaxed small-town vibe. As a former Humboldt County resident, I can honestly say that July, August and September are the most pleasant months of the year with temperatures frequently topping out at 65°F. Sure, the weather can vary from gray overcast skies one day to warm and sunny the next, but that’s what makes this area unique and the perfect place to stage a marathon.
I grew up in Eureka and have family still residing there and I always look forward to traveling to this annual event. It’s a great way to visit, get out of the valley heat, and to squeeze in a run at the same time. Being able to pace is putting extra icing on the cake.
I’m always humbled and honored to volunteer as a pace leader. I take my job seriously and try my best to commit to my assigned time; but, at times, I have failed – mostly at the full marathon distance. That’s why I choose to remain in my comfort zone and take the easier option, pace half marathons.
Obviously, I enjoy pacing, or I wouldn’t do it. It’s a very rewarding experience and I’ve utilized pacers in various marathons. I don’t do it just for the complimentary race entry. I don’t do it to run my race. I do it to run the race for others. It makes me happy to help other runners achieve a milestone. I enjoy engaging in the many conversations as I learn pieces of the lives of others. However, just like at a race, serving as a pacer is always a little bit nerve-wracking. It’s a huge responsibility and the last thing I want to happen is to disappoint some other runner counting on me for inspiration and encouragement.
When pacing, the mile markers play a major role in successful performance. Ideally, pacers must cross the finish line within one minute of their goal time. For me, I need to cross the finish line between 2:14:00 and 2:15:00 — not even 2:15:01. It doesn’t matter when my Garmin chimes in at 13.1 miles — it only matters when I cross the finish line. So, pacing necessitates continual mental math, muscle memory, and careful consideration throughout the race.
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| Course route |
Running a 2:15 half marathon equates to a 10:18 pace, but because marathon and half marathon courses tend to show up long, I actually have to sustain a pace window between 10:05 to 10:15 per mile to meet my goal time.
Generally during a smaller race, pacers seem to be running alone. Even when I’m not running with anyone and it seems like I’m the only one on the road, it’s vitally important to keep that pace, since other runners ahead or behind me may covertly use me as a guide, whether they are trying to stay in front of me or keeping me in sight.
The Expo/Packet Pick-up
The Manila Community Center at the Redwood Coast Montessori School in the hamlet of Manila played host to the small expo (if one could call it that) and packet pick-up. I picked up bibs, shirts and goody bags for myself and for two other half marathon pacers who were traveling from afar and unable to arrive before closing time.
Goody bags include a tech shirt featuring unique indigenous landscape designs by a local artisan only found in Humboldt County, a packet of hemp seeds and hemp seed protein bars. It’s Humboldt, what can I say?
It was a quick in and out with zero time spent perusing the two or three vendors who decided to make their presence known.
Let’s do this
This is my fourth time serving as a pace leader for the Humboldt Bay Marathon – once as a full marathon pacer during its inaugural run and thrice as a half marathon pacer.
I was happy to get enough sleep and rest the night before the fifth running of this event. I felt rested and eager to take on the 13.1-mile challenge.
The full marathon begins a couple of blocks east of the Madaket Plaza (finish line) at 0700 sharp with the half marathon beginning at 0900 at Klopp Lake at the Arcata Marsh.
Race organizers contract with the Blue Lake Rancheria for shuttle bus serve to transport half marathon runners from the finish line area at the Madaket Plaza to Klopp Lake. Unfortunately, some sort of snafu or misunderstanding caused a minor interruption in shuttle service. Since we're runners, I suggested to the race director that if buses fail to show, we could always run to the start line. Hey, it’s only eight miles. My suggestion wasn’t well received by those waiting in line.
I arrived on the first bus to the start line staging area. I milled around the Klopp Lake Bird Sanctuary parking lot area as I waited for the other pacers to arrive, in the meantime, observing loons, scoters and mergansers lounging around the brackish ponds preening themselves. I lathered up my neckline, arms, face and legs with sun screen. The soft mucky bay mudflats gave rise to a low tide, and the sun hovered above the coastal mountains illuminating wisps of residual moisture clouds from Saturday morning’s short-lived rain event. The temperature was crisp but not too cold – perfect for running.
I was granted the honor of being the half marathon pacer leader, and with that, comes the responsibility of dispensing the pace signs to all pacers as they arrive. One-by-one pacers showed up in their distinctive bright yellow shirts and before long I was holding my one and only sign.
Armed with my chic, trendy, fashionable, high-quality handmade pace band accessorizing my Garmin, I was ready to get this show on the road. More than one hundred runners lined up on the gravelly pedestrian trail flanked by the bay and the brackish waters of Klopp Lake, eager to start. But wait…the race director announced that the final bus had yet to arrive with only one passenger. Are you kidding? As that runner jogged around the bend to join the starting queue, everyone erupted to a round of applause. Apparently, the half marathon’s protagonist of the day.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous before the start of the half marathon. I had a reason to be nervous. I considered the fact that the pace I committed to running would be slightly faster than many of my recent longer training runs.
Training in the San Joaquin Valley is a tough endeavor during the summer months – it’s hot and, at times, a little humid during the monsoon months. Sometimes, throw in some wildfire smoke as it chokes off the air quality. Because of the summer heat and my body still convalescing from my 50-state quest, my “long” runs have been slower than they would have been otherwise.
Following some final instructions and announcements, the race director performed the traditional countdown and we were off and running – thanks to the late bus, a couple of minutes past 0900.
I began my run with a sense of energy and enthusiasm. Two local runners decided my pace equaled their abilities and chose to run with me. One was an environmental scientist and the other worked as a botanist/forester.
Before I knew it, the first mile flew by with a time of 9:45. Oops, a little too fast. By conversing with others, I have the tendency to run faster as it takes the focus off my task at hand. I told those around me, “it doesn’t hurt to bank a little time, anyway. We may need it for aid stations and the bridge. Besides, the miles usually run long.”
At around Mile 2.5, runners leave the sidewalks and bikeways of Arcata to real estate subjugated by sloughs, dairies, cattle and hog farms giving runners diverse visual, audible and odorous stimuli. Mud, manure and rough broken pavement sections are common features creating hazards for anyone propelling themselves on foot. I focused on a steady 10:05 pace simultaneously paying attention to my footing. The aromatic air and sounds of agriculture provided me with a constant aide-mémoire of where I live.
Around Mile 5, runners leave the flat fertile farm lands and merge onto Samoa Boulevard (aka State Route 255) and views of the bay. At this point, runners have free reign on the coned-off southbound lane and are not required to hug the shoulder area. I found myself running alone. The two runners I had at the beginning charged out ahead, but within sight distance. Perhaps they were clandestinely using me as a guide. Possibly not, but I like to think so.
I sustained my consistent pace only slowing briefly at an aid station near Mile 7 to consume an energy gel pack and some water. Feeling good and refreshed, I maintained my pace for the next three miles leading to Vance Drive as it looped underneath and back around to the Samoa Bridge.
Feeling as if my pace began to relax, I stopped to sip a few cups of Nuun and resupplied my energy reserves at the aid station near Mile 10. With some added zest, I began my run across the Samoa Bridge – and the signature part of the course.
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| 1928 St. Francis Dam failure - Santa Clara River |
But, for some reason, an eccentric feeling came upon me as if I was a reawakened William Mullholland running from one of his most colossal and failed Southern California waterworks projects, and how easily hubris and complacency can lead to disaster.
With my walk break extending farther than I had planned, I felt a bit apprehensive and found it difficult to maintain my obligatory pace as I ascended the first incline. I was confident coming into this event up to this point, and the last thing I needed was to encounter another disaster. My calf muscles began to tighten, my legs felt heavier, but I had to keep running, as if I was running from failure, so to speak.
Being fearful of a disastrous performance similar to my previous half marathon in Napa Valley, I rolled up my sleeves, gritted my teeth and pushed away the pain and discomfort overwhelming my legs as I trudged over the “hills” of the bridge. I was determined. I was focused. And, I was not about to let that little internal voice screaming at me to admit defeat once again. The final hill of the third bridge segment loomed large, daring me to run up it. I banked enough time, so in an effort to avoid exhausting my energy reserves, I quickly walked up the rather short section, resuming my run back down the hill with a sub-9:00 pace to make up for lost time.
As I descended the final hill onto Third Street, I was within my pace window, but with much less flexibility. It hurt, but with around one mile remaining, I pushed it up the final slight incline towards the backside of the Carson Mansion, cresting at the inlaid paver stones of the Second and M Street intersection.
With the Carson Mansion behind my back, I thought, “It’s all downhill from here. Let’s do this!”
I had a sense of solitude. I glanced around, I had no one with me. The two people I had at the start maintained a 50-yard gap. I looked at my watch, did some mental calculations and concluded it was going to be close. I wasted precious time by walking the bridge’s final hill and I was thankful I banked some time at the beginning.
As I pushed my pace, my left calf began a spasmodic episode quickly forcing me to alter my gait, hobbling along like some injured soul. The last thing I wanted was a sapping calf muscle spasm, so I relaxed my pace to that fine line between cramping and not cramping. It seemed to work.
Trying not to expose my limp, I made a right turn onto F Street towards the Compass at the Boardwalk constantly monitoring my time. A course marshal directed me to the sidewalk, observed my pace time and said, “You’re cutting it close. You may not make your time.”
First of all, how does he know? And second, thanks for the inspiration.
That certainly didn’t sit well with me. I rounded the corner onto the Boardwalk and saw the inflatable finish line banner about two hundred yards in front of me. My Garmin read 2:13 and change. “I’m going to make it!” I thought.
I burned through the final mile in 10:01, dashing over the timing mat with a time of 2:14:25. It wasn’t pretty, but close enough for government work, and in the realm of admirable pacing.
RACE STATS:
Distance: Half marathon (13.1 mi). My Garmin measured 13.17 miles.
Date: 11 August 2019
Bib No.: 502
Weather at start: 63°F, clear sky with northwesterly breeze at 5 mph
Gun time: 2:14:38
Chip time: 2:14:25
Average pace: 10:12 per mile
Average cadence: 159 steps per minute
Overall rank: 57 of 107
Gender rank: 35 of 47
Division rank: 2 of 3
Elevation: 190 ft gain / 180 ft loss
Age graded score: 50.67%
Age graded time: 1:55:13
Garmin splits: 9:45, 10:01, 10:07, 9:56, 10:09, 10:01, 10:21, 10:10, 10:03, 10:28, 10:18, 11:30, 10:01, 9:22 (remaining 0.17±)
LIKES / WHAT WORKED:
- The cool temperatures and fresh air.
- Very well-organized event from packet pick-up, the well-stocked aid stations along the course to bag drop and pick up.
- Super friendly volunteer support.
- Scenic.
- Great traffic control and course monitors.
- No significant climbs.
- Easy parking race morning.
- FINISHING!!
DISLIKES / WHAT DIDN’T WORK:
- Very little spectator support.
- Delayed shuttle bus transport.
- Derelict roads throughout the farm lands.
As I review my split times, I pretty much ran the race I had hoped. But, most importantly, I satisfied my committed time goal. Hubris seemed to get in the way in the beginning, but my physical reservations balanced out everything as I established my groove.
Given my physical circumstances, I was pleased with my performance. After consuming a banana, some snacks, and guzzling a carton of chocolate milk, I walked around, stretched and applied some topical pain-relieving analgesic on my aching calves. Sure, I was a little stiff, my quads ached, but I felt better than expected.
If the day’s half marathon mileage wasn’t enough, for the first time ever, I ran back along the course in the opposite direction to intercept my wife’s path who was pacing the full marathon.
I caught up to her as she assisted another runner near Marathon Mile 24.5 just past the Woodley Island Marina access road. Our job was to encourage him to keep going, exceed his time goal and to finish with a smile. I made certain he remained ahead of me during the final mile, and in the end, his two young children each took a hand and escorted him across the finish line. I’m sure that put a smile on his face.
At the end of the day, we both dialed-in our finishing times, thus capping a successful day of running.
Final thoughts:
Now that my blog reviews chronicling my fifty-state quest have come to an end, I’m turning my attention to half marathon reviews perhaps with an occasional marathon thrown in here and there. I have only one review of a half marathon to my credit, but now I’ve decided to take on the challenge of writing more.
I enjoy traveling to my former home town, visiting family and running this marathon or half. It was a little disappointing to learn that the course route changed from its debut layout, but I still enjoy running the peninsula and challenging the Samoa Bridge.
After completing four rounds of Humboldt Bay, one thing concerns me. The running field doesn’t seem to be growing – only remaining stagnant. There are dozens of local runners and a large running club in the Humboldt-Del Norte County area. Why they don’t turn out to support a local event, is puzzling and perplexing to me. It’s a USATF sanctioned event, a fairly easy Boston qualifier course and a great course for those aspiring to qualify for the Olympic trials.
Avenue of the Giants and the Humboldt Redwoods Marathons both draw a descent size field of runners. Perhaps because of their reputable histories. I get that Humboldt Bay is not as picturesque as The Ave; but, in my opinion, the cool weather and easy access of HB makes it much more attractive.
I sincerely hope that Humboldt Bay continues into the future and I wish it nothing but success.
In the meantime, it’s back to training for two more half marathon pacing jobs – Two Cities (Clovis) and Bakersfield in November.
As always, onward and upward.
