The Oakland Marathon and Running Festival

Sometimes you need a change of perspective. That's what vacation travel is for, or moving, or remodeling. When you can't afford any of those things, there's running.

It was 7:30 am and a thousand runners jostled nervously in downtown Oakland, filling Broadway for a block or two. I looked for familiar faces from my training group but saw no one, so instead I sidled toward the pace group -- 4 hours and 10 minutes goal finish time -- I had decided to run with. An air horn blasted, confetti rained down on us, we all clicked our watches and we pressed forward, slowly jogging through the inflatable orange starting arch. As I often do at the beginning of a race, I felt a surge of emotion and the pressure of tears behind my eyes. It's exciting, being in this pack of weekend warriors and semipro athletes, owning the streets as we take on some distance challenge. This time, nothing less than 26.2 miles -- which required a massive loop around my city.

As you run down the middle of the boulevard, trying to avoid the excessive camber of the road (a fruitless exercise, as it turned out for me), you see everything through new eyes. Storefronts. Quirky houses. Architecture. People. Especially people.

The running festival brought out the best in Oakland. Police officers smiled benevolently and cheered us on. People in bathrobes waved from front porches or presented us with bowls of orange slices, strawberries or muffins.

"Oakland is proud. Oakland loves you," said a tall, dark man from a lonely corner in industrial West Oakland. The diversity was spectacular, not surprisingly. There were the urban alternative artist types from The Crucible, there were the Black Hole Raiders Fans in full face makeup and monster garb, there were A's fans, Hell's Angels astride Harley Davidsons, musicians ranging from smooth R&B to heavy metal, bemused Mexicans ("Echanos un grito pues!" I yelled as we ran past some paisanos at Foothill near High Street -- they obliged with a howl), millionaire Montclairians with lavish food spreads, community-oriented Fruitvale families, oblivious flea-marketers, Jack London Square hipsters, Mandela Parkway baptists, Lake Merritt joggers. I missed them, but there were even Raiderettes at the finish line.

With so much to look at, the distance was not that daunting. My problem, however, was my right iliotibial band, a ligament that runs from hip to ankle on the outside of the leg. Never an issue during the 19 weeks of training, not even a twinge in the Kaiser half-marathon in February. Six years after my first marathon, however, my IT band decided to show me, again, its displeasure. Back in April 2004 I ran the hilly, windy Big Sur marathon, and at mile 17 was stricken with horrible IT band pain. This time, the pain came much earlier. By mile 11 I had gone from wondering what kind of personal record I was going to set to wondering how the hell I was going to finish.

I think the cambered road and the pounding I took racing down Lincoln's steep hill (against the advice of the pacers, who I heard telling me to slow down as I left them behind) were the main culprits. Perhaps stretching wasn't good, once the pain had begun (I have since read that you shouldn't stretch during the acute phase because it only increases irritation). I tried to change my pace, lean on my left leg more, pick up my feet, run faster, chat with other runners and ask them what to do about it ("I had a problem all last year with my IT band," said one pacer), and finally pop 600 mg of ibuprofen at an aid station. It all worked, more or less, and I finished in 4:21, only about 6 minutes off my goal of 4:15 -- but 28 minutes faster than my first marathon! I felt good, other than my leg.

The post-race activities were marvelous. I waited in line and got a wonderful free massage. The booths and live music in the beautiful park in front of City Hall were well organized. Oh, and my race shirt and medal -- fabulous too. It's been great reading articles in the Tribune about the socioeconomic benefits of the race, and I am definitely looking forward to next year. Only maybe next time, I'll walk down Lincoln.