I arrived at the Fremont train station at 5:30 on a cold Sunday morning, anticipating a large crowd that never materialized. The train came on time and was soon heading to the Embarcadero station in San Francisco. In Hayward, two people dressed as hamburger and fries boarded.
As I emerged from the underground station on Market Street, the sight of towering skyscrapers reminded me why I love San Francisco. Then while I ate a bagel for "breakfast", an odd woman approached me and said, "I hope you are well-hydrated. Six ounces every twenty minutes. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Heel toe, heel toe. Good luck." I thanked her and she simply walked over and sat on a bench in Justin Herman Plaza.
At the corner of Spear and Howard, where a large crowd was already gathering, tortillas and beach balls flew through the air. I spotted a guy dressed as pizza conversing with the hamburger and fries. The lady next to me suddenly gasped, tugged at her friend's sleeve and pointed at an old man wearing a bright yellow cap and nothing else. Behind me, I glimpsed the perfect party float. It was a six by ten foot hut with beer on tap, music and around a dozen guys in Hawaiian shirts and hula skirts.
The race started promptly at eight o'clock and I crossed the starting line minutes later. For the first mile or two, I was just trying to stay afloat in the sea of 70,000 people. I walked the Hayes Street Hill instead of sprinting it (like last year) and wiping myself out (it wasn't pretty). Just before the end of Fell Street, I caught up with a man dressed as the San Francisco Ferry Building. His impressive costume looked heavy, but he ran at a steady clip.
My favorite part of the whole race was the last few miles through Golden Gate Park. It gradually sloped downhill to the breakers, where the temperature was much cooler. Just before the ocean came into view, I began my final sprint to the finish line, but realized too late that I had started too soon. I churned through the chute on momentum alone.
I spent the next half-hour stretching and enjoying the beach. My tired feet never felt so good in the sand. I didn't reach
my goal, but I beat last year's time. For most participants, B2B isn't about the finishing time, but really about the people, costumes, energy, atmosphere, beer, fun and memories.
I briefly took in Footstock, the post-race festival in the Polo Field, but left early to avoid getting too sunburned. The beer gardens looked tempting, but a cold one combined with an exhausted body and long trip home would have been unwise. When I finally reached the house, I crashed. Sleep never came so fast and I napped greedily. I can't wait for next year.
; "flying tortillas")
; "a party hut")
; "orange on the beach")
; "Footstock")
