Fitness Files: Running like a true surfer

I stood on the sand in Huntington Beach, thrilled to see my son, a surfer, glide along the waves — surrounded by a pod of dolphins!

Peering through my husband’s auto-focus binoculars, I traced every detail of Ben’s wave-skimming dance.

Then, I turned my back on the breakers to gaze at traffic speeding along Pacific Coast Highway.

Just two days before, I had run right down the middle of the highway.

On Super Bowl Sunday morning, the Surf City Half Marathon closed PCH from Beach Boulevard to Warner.

The race made one jog up Seapoint, but the rest was all PCH, runners doubling back at Warner and finishing near Main Street.

I was prepared for 13.2 miles. In a recent column, I detailed my last-minute decision to run the LA Marathon. I described three workouts to test my ability: 18 miles, 19 miles and 20 miles. Completing them so recently made 13 seem easy to digest.

Sunday at Surf City, for the first time in my running life, I ran a “negative split.” Before this, my pace slowed with added miles, but this time, I started with a 9:23 mile, speeding up to 8:58 at mile nine.

Surf City is a good memory. I raced the whole way, passing runners all along the course.

We ran under bright sun but, thankfully, a cooling breeze.

Knowing the course from previous years helped. Meeting the steep upgrade at Garfield was a shock during my first Surf City run. Expecting the hill this time, I was ready with the message, “I can do this.”

In spite of all my happy talk, I tired the last mile. When an oldish runner passed me, I asked, “How old are you?” If she was in my age group, I’d try to pull out one more surge.

“Fifty-one,” she answered.

“How old are you?” she called back.

“Seventy-one,” I answered

“I want to be you,” she shouted. But by then, I was looking at her quickly receding back. She did not really want to be me. She was too fast.

I asked the next mature runner the same question, and again I heard, “Fifty-one.”

“Your competition just passed me,” I told her.

“I won’t catch her,” she said. “Today’s not my day.”

By then, I was looking at her back too. It was my day, and the 51-year-olds left me in the dust.

I came across the finish and spotted two gray-haired ladies, already relaxing. “Oh well,” I thought, “I didn’t place.” Still I felt happiness. I’d run a good race, my best effort on that particular Sunday.

As usual, I forgot to look at the clock crossing the finish, so I had no idea of my time.

Later, I looked it up. Two hours, six minutes. Seven minutes slower than my best, just a few years ago. And I got first place. Guess the gray-haired ladies who came in ahead of me were youngsters.

Before the race, my brother recommended Shawn Green’s book “The Way of Baseball, Finding Stillness at 95 mph.” I’d practiced visualizing racing easily through the whole course. I followed Green’s advice to “be in the moment,” enjoying the kinesthetic action, relaxing into the forward motion.

In the past, I’ve experienced the opposite kind of race — tensed shoulders, scrunched toes, clenched hands and counting steps and longing for the end.

Sunday, I had a tiny bit more in common with Ben’s fluid surfing movements. I let go of the tension and bought into the slide. I ran in the moment.

Newport Beach resident CARRIE LUGER SLAYBACK is a retired teacher who ran the Los Angeles Marathon at age 70, winning first place in her age group. Her blog is [email protected].