Minutes before the start, I walked past the white starting line and turned back toward the runners. I snapped a picture. There would be more shots to come. For years, I had trained hard to qualify for Boston. Four months earlier I ran the best marathon of my life. Now, my marathon focus had shifted, at least for this race. Strapped around my waist was a carrying case. Its sole purpose was storing my camera. Big Sur was to be enjoyed and savored and I was determined to remember it for years to come. I wasn’t concerned about time, wasn’t concerned about performance. I was concerned with only getting good pictures from my 26-mile trek up the California coast. At 7 a.m., the race began and the photojournalist was off.
The ocean stayed behind the curtain of forest in the early miles. We passed country stores and went by Big Sur Village and Molera State Park. It was greenery and country on both sides of the road. With the morning warming up and the blue sky above, the day was getting better with each step.
The trees gave way to the Pacific, nine miles into the race. It was stunning. There couldn’t have been a better way to experience this stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway than what we were doing now. You’d miss so much by zipping down Highway 1 in a car. Running was the only way. Smelling the fresh air, feeling the ocean breeze, listening to the crashing of the waves, and seeing all this splendor was a privilege. It’s a wonder where a pair of running shoes can take you.
On our right were soft, green rolling hills. On our left were high jagged cliffs that met the waters of the Pacific. The waves crashing against the rocks changed the water color from blue to white. The setting was spewing greens and blues and whites. If this wasn’t paradise, it was at least in the same zip code. To add to this beauty, musicians kept the beat going. At several spots along the course, classical musicians, decked out in tuxedos, entertained the passing onlookers. Violins, trombones, and cellos never missed a note.
The runners needed every ounce of energy they could get. Big Sur was not an easy course. There were many long, tough hills we had to conquer. It was not a course where you would do a personal best, it was a course that, personally, was the best.
After a 400-foot climb from mile 10 to 12, I stopped running. It wasn’t because I was fatigued. I was at Hurricane Point when I ran up and my jaw ran down. The view topped anything I had ever seen. I looked down to the cliffs and the coast and saw the Bixby Bridge. The bridge is one of the highest single-span concrete arch bridges in the world. It’s also one of the most photographed. I know it was on this day. I’ve seen pictures of the bridge in television commercials, but it’s just not the same as seeing it in person. A mile later I was running across it.
At the other end of the bridge, I stopped to take a picture of Jonathon Lee. Dressed in a tuxedo, Lee was playing classical music on his piano. This marathon surely was different. I wasn’t hitting walls, I was hitting wonders, one right after another.
I was having a ball as I continued north up the coast. Aid stations supplied more than your typical water and sports drink. There were tables of fruit, including strawberries, oranges, and bananas. I couldn’t help myself. I ate at every station. I had run 20 miles and I think I was gaining weight. The food kept coming.
Closer to town, more spectators lined the streets. One little girl held a long tray of the biggest, juiciest strawberries I had ever seen. I helped myself to plenty. It was obvious the strawberries originated nearby. Monterey, California, was known as the "Salad Bowl of the Nation." Lettuce, cucumbers, avocados, radishes, and strawberries flourished there. I was getting my fill of California’s finest foods.
The Pacific was out of view as I lumbered the last mile of the race to Carmel. I had finished my roll of film and the race was coming to a close. It was approaching noon when the finisher’s medal was draped over my neck. I had been on the course for 4 hours and 59 minutes. At the finish, with my legs aching, I sprawled out on the street. After several minutes, I walked to my car at Carmel High School to begin my 20-minute journey back to the hotel in Salinas.
I showered, ate more food, and drove back to Carmel. I spent the next few hours hiking at Point Lobos, which I had passed on the 24th mile of the marathon. Lobos was lovely. I walked the trails, oblivious to the fact my body had just endured five hours of running. I climbed the rocks and nestled into a spot directly over the crashing waters of the Pacific. I sat for hours, mesmerized by the water’s movement. It was an absolutely beautiful setting and I was in my own little world.
I remained in California a few more days experiencing its coastline. I smiled as seals floated on their backs breaking clams with rocks. I was surprised how that lone cypress could survive out by the cliff. I shook when I swam at the beach in Pacific Grove. The Monterey Peninsula was everything as advertised. Quite simply, it was a top-rate presentation.
|