This weekend was supposed to be a shoo-in.

The Mighty (UCLA) Bruins caught a mighty break and didn’t have to play Saturday. I was going to display my running prowess for the entire newsroom and crush the JetBlue Long Beach Half-Marathon. Then I would return home to see the Dallas Cowboys get a bounce-back win against the hapless New York Jets.

The Bruins didn’t play Saturday but they did manage to squeeze in some bad news this week when their most skilled and experienced wide receiver announced he would sit out the rest of the year and leave the school, rather than hold out hope the head coach could right the ship by next year.

As for that other stuff…

Half-Marathon

Since the Bruins didn’t play Saturday night, I had a pretty healthy appetite and I needed it. Thirteen-plus miles is a lot to run and it requires stuffing your face with carbs to provide your body with adequate energy.

I may have taken this to the extreme, putting down a plate of spaghetti and potato wedges at Deli News Pizza before a nightcap of Frosted Mini-Wheats. Sunday’s breakfast was a generous helping of protein pancakes. It must have been the right amount of science because I had no business running as well as I did, so I’ll give the nod to the carbs.

I arrived at our downtown office around 6:30 a.m. to retrieve my marathon bib, and also to tape my knees. While I’m only 33 years old, my friend once told me that I run like a really fast troll. Feet smashing the pavement with little grace over the past decade has taken its toll on my iliotibial band.

It’s connective tissue that runs along the outside of your thigh and connects at the hip and the knee. The pain generated by a swollen IT band can be crippling, much like being a Bruins and Cowboys fan. So I wasn’t taking any chances.

As I headed to the starting line, I ran into my managing editor Melissa Evans while waiting to cross Ocean Boulevard. She’d been training hard for this race, well, at least harder than I had. And she had made many proclamations that she was going to hand me my backside on race day.

Maybe she said she would be seeing my backside on race day? I don’t know, I’ve played in bands for half my life and my ears aren’t what they used to be.

I had never run this course before and it was beautiful, although emptier than other marathons I’ve participated in. I always enjoy running by the homemade signs that spectators bring out. There were the typical “You look hot while you sweat” signs and references to Forrest Gump, but I think my favorite was the “Make your dog proud” sign.

I thought of my dog, who was probably squarely in the middle of our bed, dead asleep after having her very own paw-shaped pancake that morning. I thought, “She’s already proud of me.”

This was at mile three. In retrospect, it wasn’t very inspiring, but it’s as good a reason as any to keep chugging along.

What was inspiring was the home stretch. Mile 10 had a donut stop where volunteers were handing out donut holes to runners. I stuffed one in my face and continued to stomp to the finish line. Remember, I had to beat my editor.

But then came mile 11, where my wife and friends had positioned themselves on the median to get my attention. They had heeded my request for beer, which they had discreetly poured into a Perrier bottle. More carbs, but now my editor was really gaining on me.

As we approached the Villa Riviera and rounded the corner onto Shoreline Drive I began to pace with a man who was pushing someone in a jogging stroller. Everyone runs for a reason and some do it for those who can’t. It’s awesome and humbling. As I struggled to get my body across the finish line, he was pushing someone else the entire way.

I pretended the roar that erupted from the crowd was for me as we sprinted across the finish; time 1:45.45.

Then I headed to the beer tent to stretch out and wait for my editor.

Cowboys

Not much can be said, or should be said about what occurred later Sunday afternoon. The Cowboys were playing a lesser opponent but with less of their offensive line so I was worried going in.

To put things into perspective, the New York Jets had scored two offensive touchdowns all year. They scored three against the Cowboys in the first half. And this was all orchestrated by a former USC Trojan quarterback (Sam Darnold) playing his first game back after being diagnosed with mononucleosis.

They lost 24-22 after failing to convert a two-point conversion and then attempting an onside kick where Cowboys players were visibly jogging toward the ball that actually hit a Jets player and was free for a moment.

There was a pivotal play, where the Cowboys had seemingly cut the lead to 21-13 but were flagged for offensive pass interference on a “pick play.” The call was bad, the broadcast team said the call was bad, but no challenge flag went flying onto the field. The Cowboys settled for a field goal instead.

The team that had Superbowl aspirations heading into this year continues to shoot itself in the foot, week after week. Whether it be dropped balls, freakish turnovers, penalties for not lining up correctly—come on, guys, this is your job—or just being plain bad in late-game coaching situations.

Thanks, guys. My dog thought I was mad at her because I was yelling so loud at the television for more effort and for Dak Prescott to occasionally recognize an all-out blitz.

Love you, Mango. Hope you’re still proud.