…Continued from the previous post.

I’m just checking my notes here on my recent visit to the Long Beach Marathon, and it says right here that the last wave of runners crossed the line in 45 minutes!  This is incredible!

Granted, the people in this final wave were running the half-marathon distance of 13.2 miles, instead of the 26.2 mile course laid out for the marathoners. But most of them were “first-timers”, taking part in their maiden distance-running event. To do it in just 45 minutes!? This is historic!!

No…hang on…wait a sec…OK, this is a little embarrassing. A closer read of my scribbling seems to indicate that it took 45 minutes to get every last athlete across the starting line. My bad.

See, everything gets all out of proportion when you’re talking about the kinds of numbers that the producers of the LBM dealt with. Once you stop and consider that almost 17,000 runners took part in this race, 45 minutes to get everybody off and running is a comparative heartbeat. And I can’t even fathom how long it would have taken to simply start the race if it hadn’t been run like a top.

While I’m sure it was done to maximize the operational efficiency of the race, it was also great for the event’s atmosphere that the marathoners and half-marathoners all started the race together and finished in the same spot. They ran the same course for roughly the first 11 miles, at which point the marathoners branched off onto an outer loop of 13.1 miles. This loop brought them back to rejoin the main course (and their half-marathon brethren) for the final few miles.

Everyone crossed the same finish line, which in a nod toward spotlighting the marathoners, had been divided into two separate final lanes. The whole thing was well-thought out and well-executed, without a trace of the potential chaos that always lurks when elite athletes and rookies compete shoulder to shoulder.

Water Station At The 10K Mark

The first 6 miles of the course took everyone on a loop through the tourism and entertainment district of Long Beach, out to where the HMS Queen Mary is permanently docked. By the time the runners came back through the Festival area, the field had spaced itself out naturally, creating what was literally a continuous, hours-long stream of runners. From a hilltop vantage point where I watched them begin their trek along the beach portion of the route, it was impossible not to think of a stream of ants resolutely migrating back to the anthill with a deconstructed picnic lunch.

I headed on bike up to Ocean Drive, the main drag along which the runners would travel in the final few miles of their run before turning a final corner and heading down the hill to the Finish line. Away from the crush of the central festival area, it was much quieter here. People lined the streets in small clusters, some armed with placards and shouts of encouragement. Most though, just looked on in silent admiration at the early waves of half-marathoners already gliding toward the finish in still-perfect form – and in awe when a yellow bibbed marathoner ran by, having already conquered their outer loop in an astonishingly short period of time.

Riding further out into the course, I reached the 11-mile split point and stationed myself where the half-marathoners were branching onto the homeward stretch of Ocean Drive miles. This was the intersection of Pain and Pride for the “half-ers”, especially those with minimal big-race experience to draw upon. For these late-waver starters this was the hardest part of what for most was a personal quest.

They’d been running up a long gradual hill from the beach for quite some time and you could read on their faces that they were thinking about The Wall. Many were alternating between running and walking – anything to keep moving forward – and normal running strides were in short supply. And thanks to some uncharacteristic humidity in the air, there were also more than a few cheeks bearing streaks of non-waterproof mascara.

It was there that the organizers had set up a water station at the top of the hill, with a huge inflatable red arch (proudly brought to you by Clif Bar) symbolizing that the worst of the course was now behind the runners. A sizable group of vocal supporters had gathered to help will the athletes to the other side of that arch – and the flat and eventually downhill ground that would greet them for the rest of the race.

EMTs Help Out A Determined Finisher

Back at the Finish area I felt compelled to waive my usual annoyance with glib, motor-mouthed event emcees. For at this event the running commentary (oops – rogue pun alert) worked very, very well. Their lightheartedness at the Start had been the perfect antidote for nerves, and at the other end of the event, their sincere words of congratulations and encouragement in greeting people coming down the final stretch created a soothing soundtrack voiceover – “Congratulations! Great job – welcome to Long Beach!” I’m positive it was appreciated.

82-Year Old Carlos Mora On His Appointed Rounds

Out of the thousands of personal victories that played themselves out, a few finishing snapshots stayed with me:  Mycle Brandy, who had literally just that week completed a walk across America to raise awareness of American Heart/Stroke Associations…A marathoner who had carried the Marine Corps flag aloft for the entire 26.2 mile run… 82-year-old Carlos Mora, completing his 26^th Long Beach Marathon, one of 16 men who have successfully run every LBM since it began in 1982…And Steve Mackel, looking fresh as a daisy as he passed by and called out “Where’s the love, SOLE Runners?”

Back in the Runners Club village, where hours earlier Mackel’s SOLE Runners club had assembled in the dark, a quietly euphoric vibe was in the air. The exhilaration of the Finish had passed, as it took some time for the runners to cross the line, proceed into a long chute where they received their medal and their foil blanket, and spawn back across the Festival area to this home base.

Steve Mackel With Happy SOLE Runner