Highway 1 - Best Seen By Foot
Dr. Neal Barry, D.C.

April 24th has finally come and gone. After signing up for my third consecutive Big Sur International Marathon in September, this date had been approaching with great anticipation. All of those hours of training, running alone, running in the wee hours of the morning, or after the sun has long set, through the January rain storms, etc., were ready to be tested.

Big Sur was lucky enough to have continuous rain storms for the two days leading up to marathon day, filling the streams, feeding the massive redwoods, and allowing waterfalls to fall with increased speed. While that is great for the woods and natural beauty, it is not the best for the minds of those waiting for their turn to traverse Highway One without a car, or an umbrella.

Arriving in Big Sur on Friday, to stay at Pfeiffer State Park (about .2 miles from the start) brought about the usual questions: did we bring everything, what do we need to get at the expo, where should we hike, etc.

Saturday meant driving along the course up to Monterey to receive bib numbers, T-shirts, and other trinkets from the expo. I tried to focus on driving and not map out every inch in my mind, but it's almost an unavoidable certainty. The benefits of being on the course meant remembering how many hills there are late in the run, when to take it easy, when to push it, and finally, what the finish area looks like. Those familiar butterflies started to creep up as we drove up the 26.2 miles to the finish line and my legs were beginning to remember what this day was all about.

Sunday morning arrived. No more rain.

Staying in Big Sur means that you do not have to wake up at 3:00 to catch a bus to drive you down to the start. I cannot comment on how chilly it must have been at 3 am, but it was still pretty cool at 6:30 when I made it down to the start. Swarms of people were buzzing around with unbridled energy packing themselves back onto the highway. A quick prayer was offered to all of the runners, beautiful white doves were released, and a helicopter hovered overhead to catch the start.

Three, Two, One...Bang!!! And the leaders are off.

The first few miles are slightly downhill and it's hard to control your pace. Having both lanes of the highway open allows everyone to spread out and you are almost immediately able to establish your pace, and pass or fall back as you choose. The woods are dense and beautiful; completely untouched by modern humanity. The first five miles pass with hardly a notice, and out in the distance is the Big Sur Lighthouse standing out on the massive rock of Point Sur. The lighthouse passes at mile 8 as runners realize that we're almost 1/3 of the way done. We have clearly left any signs of civilization behind. "Wow, that was easy" a runner next to me says. 'Yeah' I think; the first part always is, we haven't really even climbed a hill worth mentioning - not to worry my friend, they're waiting for us.

Mile 9 allows you to see Hurricane Point. The two mile climb from mile 10-12 that rises 56 stories!! At this point, the weather turns south. The headwind picks up, the rain starts to fall, and the temperature drops. 'Oh great' I think, just in time to trek it skyward. I've learned how to conquer Hurricane Point (maybe conquer isn't the right word...it's more like survive) in previous years by just taking it easy and keeping a steady pace. As you reach the top, the sign tells you to look back a see what you've accomplished. What an amazing view, you can't believe it. The coastline was nice enough to place one mile of downhill to offset the 2 uphill miles. Then you look ahead and see Bixby Bridge below, the halfway point.

After an easy cruise down the hill I cross Bixby and am greeted by a volunteer informing us of our times; and that we're half-way done (as if we didn't know)

13.1 miles in, 1:57 minutes in...below 4 hours...great! I know that the second half will bring more difficult physical and mental demands that I am eager to take on. Miles 16-17 bring on the first challenge. Your body has become accustomed to running downhill, and now my legs are noticing the biomechanical changes taking place. Water, Gatorade, and GU stations are a god-send at this point. The next 5-6 miles are really a blur. The scenery continued to be absolutely amazing, the hills come and go, and fellow runners jockey back and forth. Very little talking is going on, except the occasional words of encouragement to runners who look like they are ready to throw in the towel. Finally mile 20 is reached. 'Yes,' I think 'we're in the two's.' At this point, I can feel my legs really starting to burn and my knees are becoming exquisitely painful. This is the one downfall to being a doctor, and a runner. You're very aware of your body, anatomy, and physiology. I started diagnosing myself and knowing that I would tell a patient to rest, ice, stretch, and reduce whatever activity was creating the pain. Well, I know that I'm not going to do that, so I push through the bursitis kickin' in, the iliotibial band syndrome starting, and the glut. medius weakness forcing my balance off. That's the funny thing about distance runners...we ignore whatever we need to in order to reach the required destination.

To no surprise, each mile marker seemed to get farther and farther apart. I've taken to walking up the majority of each hill, and I'm OK with that because my quads (which completely spasmed by mile 20 every time that I extended my knees the last two years) are doing just fine. That's not exactly true. My legs are ready to be cut off, but they haven't spasmed. I'm going to keep pushing intelligently and pulling back when I have to.

With 3 miles to go, the course has re-entered civilization and people begin to line the roads to cheer you on. The gas station party on the right pulls you up one of the last hills on the course. Local strawberries look like gold and I grab a bunch, thank the woman for being there to help everyone, and push myself up the hill at little more than a snails pace.

Oh my goodness, I'm almost there. "You can be tired in 15 minutes" I yell to myself and those running around me "keep movin' those legs." Carmel is now all around us; the crazy belly-dancers are screaming and cheering and shaking as they support your efforts.

Holy crap...there's the familiar big red finish line banner...it's so close. I've decided that no matter how tired I am, I am not going to allow anyone to pass me over the last 385 yards. I look behind me to see others picking it up to empty the tank. I kick it in to high gear, which is too much for my legs, they begin to really hurt but my mind is made up.

The finishers and spectators are lining the road now and screaming in support. . I run hard over both mats (to stop the Championchip) and keep running until I'm under the big banner.

YEAH!!!!! 4:14:02 That's my personal best. Beat my times by 13 minutes!!

Now it's time to scarf down some food, try to balance my electrolytes, find my girlfriend (4:18:56), clean up a little, and get on a bus back to Big Sur.

The volunteers do such an amazing job in the days preceding the events, and setting up a small town at the finish area. The run wouldn't exist without them.

Big Sur is an astonishing piece of this planet and getting to see it on foot is an experience that cannot be matched. I highly recommend this marathon to any and all who have read this piece. You'll be amazed.

We can only accomplish the miracles that we have the courage to begin.

Check photos at photos.yahoo.com/drneal_santabarbara

April 2005