Off Roading, Part two: #30, The Northface Challenge

 

 

I ran my 30^th marathon last Saturday, December 7^th, 2013.  I ran the 26.2 miles through the rightfully famed and epically gorgeous Marin Headlands in San Francisco, Ca.  The race is called the Northface Challenge because it is sponsored by Northface, and there are many different distances offered to “challenge” one self.  I chose my old standby marathon distance, but there were a 50K and 50 mile races offered that day as well. Honestly, I kind of felt a little wussy choosing half the distance,26.2 miles, but I just can’t quit my sweet 26.2.  The morning was cold, but sunny, as I met many amazing people as we hovered together around a heat lamp before we headed off to the start line where Marathon Man himself, Dean Karnazes, lead is in a quick pep talk, and then waved us all good luck and off we ran into nature.  Oh yeah, in case you were wondering, this was a trail runJ

 

I registered for this race in early February 2013, I was intrigued because it was going to be a real challenge for me. I knew the course was tough from talking with friends who had run it before, and I felt for the first time in a while a twinge of butterflies in my stomach when I clicked “Register” on the website.  I was nervous, scared actually, but still excited to learn more about running and myself through training and competing in this race.

The specific trail training I ran before this race could be described as minimal at best.   I ran the Santa Clarita marathon on 11/3, so I had only five weeks to properly prep for this race with putting in long runs in the hills, and even though I cranked out some great runs, I should have done much, much more in months prior. **PLEASE give yourself many miles on the trails if you choose to race a marathon in the dirt.  I had a ball discovering new trails above my YMCA where I swim, and galloping across familiar trails from my years on the Claremont Cross Country team, Go Wolfpack! However, this running life is its own journey, so now I know running on trails is valuable throughout the year, not just five weeks before a trail marathon…

The course can be described in three words: hilly, beautiful, and hilly… I was not surprised by the hills, but they were steep, and went up for miles. Therefore, I chose my strategy quickly; keep running for as long as humanly possible.  That may seem obvious, but most of my cohorts succumbed to walking up the hills during the first couple of miles, and I was not going to go along with the crowd this time around. I knew I had enough strength to run most of the way, not necessarily speed, this was not a PR course, but I kept chipping away at my own heart-rate controlled pace, and picked off “walkers” from mile five on.

There was a section of the race between mile 15 – 19 where we descended down and climbed up from Muir Beach and shared the course with the 50 milers, and 50K runners, studs that they were, what I noticed was that most, if not all of them were walking, and just looked dreadful.  On the other hand, I felt good.  Well, let me re-phrase that, my masochistic twin, “Terry”, was in full effect from mile 17 on, and I started to enjoy the grind, so I felt good, but I may have looked pretty terrible, too.

The finish line snuck up on me because one of the girls I met before the race said the race was slightly over 26.2  miles, so I was tracking my Garmin meticulously, and was shocked when the finish line coincided with just over 25 miles on  my watch, nevertheless I thundered on down the hill through the finish shoot with a broad smile, and cheerful quads to finally end the constant beating they endured for the last 4:41 hours.   

 

 

The real bonus to this endurance infused weekend in San Francisco was visiting with my sister, Sarah Fox, and cheering her on for her first marathon in Sacramento at the California International Marathon, the following Sunday.  Sarah has always been very special to me and it was a real honor to play a role in helping her train for, and ultimately crush the race.  Plus, I was able to meet her Super-Cyclist boyfriend and geek out in bike talk for a minute with him, which I rarely get to do, and then spend some quality time with my older brother Chris as we were “Spectator in Arms” along the charming streets of Sacramento rooting Speedy Sarah on to her first  marathon finish. 

 

This weekend was a challenge and success in time management, and luckily I was able to squeeze in a couple of hours between Sarah's marathon and my flight home visiting with Peter, Alexa, and my amazing niece and nephew, Kaia and Reed; the running force is strong in them, too.   

 

Off Roading - Part One: #11, Catalina

I am jumping ahead here a bit to Marathon #11, because even though I have written about #10, it is not the type of material I would like to release to world wide web just yet, so once again you’ll have wait for the book for that juice...

I do have a theme for this post, in fact it is going to be a 2 part mini-series of sorts having to do with my two dalliances with trail marathons.  The first trail marathon I ran was on St. Patrick’s Day 2007, my half birthday, and Patron Saint’s Day, which is what I will share right now, however, my next marathon is a trail marathon that I am racing in San Francisco this upcoming weekend…gulp,  so stay tuned for that adventurous round up next week.

On to marathon #11, the Catalina island marathon.  Catalina is a small island about twenty six miles off of the California coast, I grew up seeing every day from my backyard, but I never thought I would run around it one day,  I did, and that day was March 17^th, 2007.  I was newly married and living in Marion’s tiny, “Shanty Town” apartment in North Hollywood at the time, a few months away from moving into our first house, and a few months into a fantastic new job.  I somehow maintained my training while working twelve plus hour days and an hour plus commute, and thankfully felt ready to run when my alarm went off at 3AM on race morning.  Yes, you read that right, I was up at 3AM…. The reason is because I had to drive about an hour south to Marina Del Rey in order to catch a ferry to the start of the race at Twin Harbors on Catalina.  The boat was full, but I did not talk to anyone, instead I caught a few zzz’s over the water, and then stood in the pre-dawn darkness with the rest of the runners waiting to be ushered over a wide field to our make-shift starting line.  I saw many stereotypical, grizzly runners on every side of me; older bandana wearing men and a few women passionately embracing cotton, and high fiving each other like eight years olds, I felt like a true rookie, it was amazing.  When I looked up all I saw were hills in front of me, and a lone buffalo off to the edge of the field enjoying his breakfast and unique view this Saturday morning.  I was smiling from ear to ear because I knew this was going to be a true running experience that would to shred me to the bone.

When the gun went off runners starting cheering and yelling through the flat field, and all the way up our first of many, many hills.  I had no delusions of starting off speedy, I was a novice with this trail business, so I wanted to be smart and just tuck into a good rhythm with the many seasoned crazies around me.  We were all moving in a line for the most part, up and over various trails and rocks, each respecting the careful footing needed to stay upright, and move along safely through the course.  I looked at my watch around mile 4, and quickly decided not to do that again. I was moving at a painfully slow pace, but someone told me for trail races to add on an hour to my usual finish time, so considering that concession I guess I was on pace, but the numbers were far too large for my liking, so I kept my head up the rest of the day.

The course was breath taking, and just plain surreal.  I had always viewed Catalina as this far off Neverland across the ocean, and suddenly here I was running all over and around it like I was within my own sweat infused fairytale, which was pretty cool.  Nevertheless, the hills were relentless, so I followed my cohorts and walked up most of them, a sin in marathons, but in this case it seemed like part of the unspoken code, so I went along with it. 

 

The course started in Two Harbors, and wound its way through to the other side of the island to Avalon, the hip, hub of activity in Catalina.  It felt like we were truly running into civilization because after miles and miles of pure nature, we ran up a long winding fire road, crested the top, then dipped over the other side into the bustle of Avalon.  Thrilled at the sight before me, I screamed down the last hill at a scorching pace, when a seasoned gent came up behind and cheered at my performance, clearly aware of my naiveté, he was kind with his support, then he blew by me down the final turn into the finish shoot along main street.  My finish time was right on the money for the trail course prediction, 4:52, not bad, but still a longer than usual day of running for me. I enjoyed the raw connection I discovered with myself and the island that day, my body had never worked that hard just to work through a course, I was very proud of my efforts, and left Catalina that afternoon with a renewed faith of what I knew I was capable of.

To Be Continued….

Santa Clarita - Marathon #9, #24, and #29

I have a special place in my heart for the Santa Clarita marathon.  For starters, it is close to my house, and anything that is geographically desirable in LA, meaning less than a thirty minute drive, is worth its weight in gold.  Most is my marathons require months of planning, hotels, flights, car rentals, food choices, etc., but Santa Clarita is essentially in my backyard, which gives it a Gold Star in my book.  However, the first time I ran the Santa Clarita marathon, my 9^th marathon, I was on the brink of break with marathons, it was ugly.  Then the second time I ran it, my 24^th marathon, I was reborn as a fast runner, and the third time I ran it, my 29^th marathon, I started the race with the best below the knee ensemble ever…. The common thread of all three races is that I finished each one with the thrill of knowing I had a short drive homeJ  

The first time I ran the race was November 6^th, 2005, a little over six months after Boston.  I signed up for the race because of its location, and it was far enough out of Boston for me to sort of forget my abysmal race in Bean Town and hopefully regain my pre-pneumonia fitness.  Unfortunately, I was still not ready to climb out of my “Why am I such a #$*&&% runner?” state of mind quite yet, so I trained enough to run it, but once again I was not in proper marathon shape on the starting line.

 I think psychologically there was a wall I put up between my pre-Boston qualifying self, and post-Boston qualifying self, in essence I was in a funk.  On the life front, Marion and I were engaged, living together, and in the early stages of planning our wedding, which was exciting, kind of, but more nauseating and stressful than I ever thought it would be.  Nevertheless, training for the marathon was my escape and lifeline like usual, but it also felt like a distraction, and should be lower on my priority list, so I let it slip.  I showed up on race day nervous for the pain that I would feel all day, and instead of embracing the pain and pushing through it, I let it swallow me up, and when I crossed that finish line I knew that I would not see another one for a very long time.

 Wow, Boo-hoo, sheesh, let’s move on from that “Debbie Downer” part of the story and get to the good stuff, my rebirth as a speedy runner!  Cut to, November 4^th, 2012, our 6^th wedding anniversary, my 24th marathon, and the first time I would run a “stand alone” marathon for three years, (I was running them within ironman triathlons from 2010-2012), but I had not run a marathon with fresh legs in a while, and it felt like I was running one for the first time, which was more exciting than I expected because I put no expectations on myself, I just wanted to run as fast as I could.  Well, I picked a spiffy looking blonde girl at the starting line wearing neon pink shorts and knew if I could stay close to her, I would be in a good shape.  I started off moving quick, but a sensible pace, 7:30ish.. “what?” that is NOT normal for me, but I was just rolling with it, because if I blew up, I blew up, I would crawl across the finish line if I had to, no worries.  I clocked my fastest half marathon that day, 1:37, my previous PR was 1:40 at a stand-alone half-mary, so I knew my day was going well at that half-way point.  I did encounter a very uncomfortable burning sensation on the balls of my feet around mile 15ish which I thought at the time was a pitfall of wearing my swift New Balance 630 light weight shoes, but I have learned in months since that it was nerves flaring up do to Martin’s Neroma in my feet, (I won’t bore you with the details, but it is painful.)  In any case, I slowed my pace a bit between miles 17-20 because of the pain, also that it the lonely part of the course where we are out on the bike paths with no half marathoners to distract us, and barely any supporters to cheer for us, but it also clicked in my head that the faster I ran through this icky spot, the sooner I would be back in the fold, so I picked it up, and proceeded to pick off a few female runners on my way through the last few miles toward the finish. 

When I saw that my watch barely reading 3:00hrs. at the 23 mile marker, I laughed out loud, it was insane, I had never run that fast, I almost wanted to ask a volunteer if I was on the right part of the course, did I cut it somehow? No, I was just finally a fast runner.  I finished the race in 3 hours, 28 minutes, nine minutes faster than my Boston Marathon qualifying time, 1^st in my age group, and 4^th overall female.. What? I know!!   I was flying on air I could not believe it, and it was my wedding anniversary to boot!!  Sadly, I celebrated with Marion on Skype because he was working on a movie set in Montreal, but it was still a very special day, and the turning point of me being the runner I always dreamed I would be, cheers to my mid-thirties!!

 

 

Okay, here we are just 10 days after my 29^th marathon, and the 3rd time I raced in Santa Clarita.  It was  a beautiful day, I gained an hour of sleep because of the switch to “Regular Time”, which was helpful, but I honestly had no idea how I would feel when I trotted down to the starting line in my blaring neon compression socks and neon running shoes; I was excited to run fast, but for how long?  That would be the grand mystery of the day. 

The gun went off after a glorious rendition of the national anthem sung by a 7^th grader, amazing talent indeed. I started off rather quickly; my goal was to maintain a 7:30min. per mile avg. throughout the day, that would have me finishing at around 3:15 hours, a solid 6 min. personal best for me, and a big ask, but I figured why not just run hard and see how long I could hang on?  Well, I was cruising fairly comfortable at a 7:10ish pace for the first 11 miles, then around mile 13 I unknowingly slowed my pace a bit, “hmm, this feels different.” I was in 3^rd place, but then a quick young runner, I could tell because she was wearing a cotton t-shirt and her calves were yet to be chiseled in the marvelous way long hours on the road tend to do, but I was honestly impressed by her effort, and cheered her on as she passed me by, knocking me off the podium.

I looked at my watch more than I should have between miles 15 and 19, but I could not resist because I felt like I was movin’ quickly, but my watch did not lie, I was not.  I knew my chips were cashed in between mile 21 and 22 at a turn-around spot where I watched three girls thundering up seconds behind me looking  strong, one of which is in FULL make up, no joke, but again I cheered them on as they passed me one by one, they deserved it.  At this point in the race I was feeling the mental and physical fatigue of running six marathons in one year, two of which were within ironmans, and knowing I had one more left in just five weeks, a trail marathon no less, gulp, so I just gathered myself and decided to finish feeling solid, and not torn apart. 

 

Unfortunately, I came upon a fretful sight just after the mile 24 marker, it was the cotton t-shirt girl, “uh-oh, she should be way farther ahead than where she is right now”.  When I came upon her she stopped running altogether and had that creamy colored crust of dehydration slathered all over her face, she was flanked by two friends on their bikes, but they only had water, and she needed electrolytes stat!  I stopped to offer all the nutrition I had on me, but she said she said her stomach hurt, and waved me on, so I ran off with a quickened pace praying that there would be some medics at the mile 25 aid station, yep there they were, “Hey, there is a girl about a half mile back who needs electrolytes!” I was a little fuzzy, but I think they heard me, because I saw them pedal off in her direction, but I was still on the clock, so I kept running toward the finish line.  I was less than a mile out, and started to feel good.  I knew my PR wishes were blown, but I would still finish with a decent time, especially considering the year I had put into my legs, so I was just smiling, cheering fellow runners on, and enjoying myself as I rounded the final few turns toward the finish line.  I finished in 3 hours 30min, just two minutes slower than my previous race there a year ago, my turning point marathon, so I was pretty happy with #29, not my best day, but I pushed hard early, hung on to the end, and moved one race closer to my goalJ

Marathon #8: Finally, Boston

Hey All,

Following is the tale of how I ran the Boston Marathon on April 18^th, 2005.  However, I need to take a moment and acknowledge my grandmother’s passing on October 8^th of this year.  I don’t know how to put into words what it feels like to have her gone, but I want to try.  I am not sad per se, because she lived an amazing ninety four years, and I have faith that she died peacefully, I just still want her to be here.  I feel like even though she lived a long life, it still ended, and that fact makes me catch my breath and try hard to hold back tears.  Over the past few years nearly every time I saw her she would say to me, “You need to write, you are such a good writer.”  I was taken aback each time because I knew she meant it. I always wanted to make her proud, so I will keep writing, hopefully you’ll keep reading.

The six months in between the Sacramento marathon, #7, my Boston marathon qualifier, and THEE Boston marathon were split between spending time with Marion and working.  I did maintain my marathon fitness, but my “Boston Marathon Qualifying” fitness disappeared somewhere around Thanksgiving. I came down with a chest scorching case of pneumonia just before Christmas which was painful, and humbling.  I could not run at all for about ten days because my lungs were filled with liquid goodness that felt like piercing daggers every time I tried to do more than walk.  In fact, one of the sweetest gestures Marion ever showed me was when he offered to walk around town for as long as I wanted, all day even if that is what it took for me to feel something of a work out, a true sign of my version of a Knight in Shining Armor.

 Somewhere around late January I started to get my act together, but when Marathon weekend rolled around in mid-April I was not in the prime shape I had expected to be.  Nevertheless, I was thrilled to be running in Boston, and to share the experience with some of my best friends, my parents, Peter, Alexa, and Marion.  It was a huge weekend for Marion because he would have to spend a good eight hours with my family on his own, gulp, but I couldn’t worry about that, he would be fine… right? 

The race started at Hopkinton High School, 26.2 miles outside of Boston.  We were seeded in our corrals that corresponded with our qualifying times so I was with a whole bunch of speedy 3:40ish finishers, and when the gun went off, these ladies blew out of there like they were being chased by the bulls Pamplona! I joined in the swift dalliance for a mile or so, but I thought it was foolish, and wanted to savor the moment, so I slowed down, way down.  The race dragged on FOREVER.  I was thrilled and inspired beyond measure when we ran by the thunderous crowds of coeds of Wellesley College, but then my heart sank and pace slowed when I overheard  a member of the crowd saying the top female has just crossed the finish line, and I was barely past mile 14, ugh.  I trudged on, and on, and on, until I was at the base of Heartbreak Hill, which starts at mile 17, and does not end until mile 21, no joke, it is a four mile stretch of unrelenting uphill, anyone who tells you something different is trying to sell you something.  The absolute high light was that Marion, Dad, Sally, Peter and Alexa were standing together, cheering for me at the top, their voices were heavenly, and I was so relieved that Marion was still alive and they looked they were genuinely enjoying each other’s company. 

I only had five miles left, and they were not pleasant.  I was ready for it to be over, but at my current pace, I had a good forty five minutes before I could call it a day, or huge lifetime accomplishment, but at that moment, I wanted it to be over.  So, I ran as hard as I could, smiled half-heartedly at the crowd with every ounce of excitement  and passion I had left, and  I rounded the corner onto Boylston St. and charged into the finish shoot with a time four hours eleven minutes, 4:11, thirty four minutes slower than my qualifying time in Sacramento.  I was disappointed with my performance, yes, but I was happy that I accomplished my goal to race the Boston Marathon by the age of twenty five, blissfully ignorant that I would want to run twenty seven more marathons over the next ten years.    

Why I wanted to be an Ironman

I think it would be fun to go back just a bit to introduce how I first fell in love with ironman triathlons.  I am sure it is not too far out to assume that it had a whole lot to do with my brother Peter.  Peter and a few of his friends decided in the Summer of 2003 to sign up and race Ironman Lake Placid on July 25^th, 2004. It is necessity to sign up for these races a year in advance because, A.) They sell out quickly, B.) It takes a whole year to train for them.  I cannot stress that enough.  If any of you are planning on racing an ironman anytime in your life you need to give your body no less than one year to prepare for such a tremendous effort.  Back to Peter and his cronies, they were studs, all in their late twenties, early thirties, but finding the time to train for an ironman while maintaining somewhat of one’s previous lifestyle is a struggle, and Peter felt it, but he made it through, and arrived in Lake Placid prepped and prepared for the race.

My sister Mary and I decided to cheer him on along with both sets of our parents, but we were rollin’ on  a tighter budget than our rentals, and missing more than one day of work was not an option, so we flew out on the redeye on Friday night, then drove five hours through Manhattan and all of New York until we arrived at our destination of mesmerizing Lake Placid New York.  We stayed at a huge house that all of the athletes were staying at too, and to say there was tension in the air is a colossal understatement.  Mary and I bunked together in  the basement, and woke up at  ridiculously early hour of 5AM, mind you this was EST, and we were still on PST, and had been traveling the entire day before, so we were  a little out of sorts.  Nevertheless, I did not think about my fatigue at all because I was in awe of these five or six guys and girls who were about to shatter their existence all day and possibly into the night swimming, biking and running beyond what they had ever done before.  I wanted to give Peter a big hug and tell him how proud I was, instead I gave him space, which I think meant more than anything else, because he knew I respected what he was doing, and secretly wishing I was doing it, too. 

Alexa had made these hysterical matching t-shirts for all of us to wear during the race which were amazing.  The racers started off the day swimming two laps in Mirror lake, and Peter was the first of his friends out of the water at just over an hour, that is fast!  We scrambled over to the Bike Out section of transition so we could see him pedal off into oblivion, and after a quick thaw from the chilly waters he was on his bike and off onto the course.  We all decided to get some breakfast after the swim because he would be on the bike for more than five hours, so we had some time to kill.  Over breakfast  Alexa passed out cards that Peter wrote to each of us, a genuine “thank you” fitting of his character.  I was blown away by mine, obviously I still have it, so following is an excerpt of what he wrote:

What up T! I’ll bet you’re watching this whole spectacle wishing that you could be wearing a # on your way to the finish line.  Am I right?  We both seem to share the same pleasure of pushing ourselves for these long endurance races.  And I think you understand the reason why I’m out here better than anyone.  Which makes it that much more special for me that you’re here.

He was right, I did get it, and I knew that I would be there some day, but it was his day today, and I just wanted to cheer loud and proud for my big bro!

Peter started the run looking strong, which is an awesome feat, because the Lake Placid bike course is one of the most difficult on the Ironman circuit, but Peter is a runner above anything else, so I knew he would crush the marathon.  We found a great spectating spot on top of a hill that the runners passed through four times, so we saw a lot of everybody which was a lot of fun.  I was stunned to see people of all ages, shapes and sizes cruising right along on this arduous Ironman course, I was both impressed and humbled.  As a bonus, Mary and I were having the time of our lives together.  She is probably my favorite person to spend an entire seventy two hours with, a statement my mother probably re-booted her computer over to confirm she read correctly, but it’s true.  Mary and I are very different, true, but she is my sister and my best friend, and possibly the only person on the planet who knows every inch of me inside and out.  She did make me drive the whole trip, all ten hours of our commute from JFK to Lake Placid and back, but it was worth it, no one makes me laugh like Mary.

Peter’s last couple of miles were a teary mess for a few of us, we were all so proud of him. We knew he would do it, but witnessing someone you love finish an Ironman is truly an amazing experience, and he did it in spectacular fashion, 11:29 hours.  

Peter has yet to race another Ironman, but he has been at a few of mine, and I can always count on him for a priceless pep talk before the start and after the finish of every race, marathon or ironman, I can always count on Peter to get me through it.

One Year Out

Greetings  everyone, you may be wondering “where you been, girl?”  Well, let me ease your needless fretting by sharing that I was doing you all a favor the last ten weeks by immersing myself into a writing course that will hopefully make your reading experience that much more enjoyable.  Also, I raced in my ninth Ironman two weeks ago in Madison, Wisconsin, woo-hoo!  I will delve more into that adventure next time around, but right now I want to check in and see how you all are doing, and give a progress report of where I am now, a newly minted thirty four year old woman, one year, and seven marathons away from completing my quest of 35 By 35.

 I have been to writing and re-writing a post about my seventh marathon, Boston, for quite some time now, but everything I have written seems off, and just plain dated.  However, I suppose that is what makes this whole process special, running through those amazing races all over again but with the perspective of a well-seasoned runner and human being, instead of an early twenties single girl with minimal responsibility.  It was right around my jaunt through the streets of Boston that my life started to shift dramatically, and to be honest, it is little tough to go back there.  I will, I promise, but that explains why I have been dragging my feet in sharing it all with you. 

I am leaving you with such a cliffhanger......

Marathon #27 - Vineman, 2013 Riveting Race Recap

Okay, it is time warp time to present day!!!!!!  I hope I will not throw off your diligence of reading my journey from one marathon to the next, but I must interject here and share a very special marathon within a very special race, Vineman, 2013. Vineman is an iron-distance triathlon which takes place in the amazing northern California wine country.  This was my third time racing, which was setting up to be my 8th ironman, and 27th marathon, big day.  Even though I was very excited to race, I did not too much pressure on myself because my “A” race is still a few weeks away in Madison, WI. That said, Vineman  was just meant to test out the machine, work out some kinks, and enjoy the day.  The incredibly special part of this race was that my husband was going to be able to come, and I would be able to visit with my brother Peter and his family, plus my newly re-Californiafied step brother Chris, and his family, my younger step sister would make an appearance, and finally my saintly sister in law Shannon, and my god daughter Kate would give me the inspiration needed to give this race all that I had, and more than I knew even existed. 

We rented an adorable house in Monte Rio, all I can say is, I love Monte Rio, and you should all go there as soon as possible, it is heavenly.  I did encounter a few issues with my bike the day before the race and need to make a change with my rear wheel, which was both annoying, and liberating because I felt like I had already survived my spell of trouble even before the gun went off.  The 2.4 mile swim starts on Johnson’s Beach along the Russian River, and even though it felt like never-ending plodding in mucky goo, I was moving along just fine.  When I came out of the water, tussled with my Rocket Science wetsuit, and noticed there were many, many bikes still on the rack I was pumped because that meant my swim must not have been too terrible, so off I went to ride up the mini hill out of transition and onto the road.  I saw Marion off to the left behind the barriers and I yelled, “How many silver caps?!”  “Not many! GO!”  He shouted with a respectful balance of reassurance, and authority, and off I rode with a smile.

The silver caps is a reference to all of the ladies in my swim group, ages 30 – 44, or maybe more than that, in basic terms, my competition.  The bike course is a 2 loop 56 mile ride through breathtaking vineyards, and farms that outline Sonoma County.  I pushed my pace hard from the start, having faith in my fitness, and not at all considering the marathon I had to run after I was finished with this fabulous spin through wine country. I have found this is a great metal tactic in order to stay present, because if I think about how huge a day is, my head might explode.

The first miracle of the day occurred when I was up and over the “big” climb up Chalk Hill road, and on my way finishing my first loop heading back to town when I heard, “Go Taryn!!” It was Chris and his wife, Debbie.  I could not believe they found such a perfect spot in the bike course to find me, especially since this was their first triathlon spectating experience, very impressive. It is amazing the impact that hearing your own name gives you when deep into a race, it is like a shot of adrenaline that instantly gives you super powers.

The spectacular spectator awards continued when I was starting out again on my second loop and heard screaming voices streaming out of a car careening straight toward me, it was Peter, Alexa and their amazing kiddos, Kaia and Reed.  Alexa took some straight out of LAVA magazine photographs from Shotgun, they cheered, and speed away from me to find a place to pull over further down the road. When I caught up to them pedaling up a mini hill, Peter yelled, “This is your day!”  Chills shot through me, and a sensation of happiness flowed over me, because I felt so thankful to be right where I was, right when I was, enjoying the fruits of years of toil and labor and livin’ the dream.

When I rolled into the transition area ready to start the marathon I had a sense I was in a good spot, there were nearly no bikes on my rack, but I did not have a watch on the bike either, so the first time I saw the time it was when I put on my Garmin to start the run, it read 1:43PM, that was wonderful.  I knew that if I could run my marathon like I was capable to I would finish the race in under 11 hours, my goal for the last three years.  I started the run feeling good, I saw my whole family on the first of three loops as we exited Windsor high school, Peter taking his cue to run along side me as always and assess how I was feeling.  I was feeling good, but I needed to make a pit stop just to ensure a comfortable run, but otherwise I great.  My stop was short, and I was cranking away sub eight miles for the first three miles or so, sifting my way through the large crowd of mainly female half ironman racers, until I reached the turn-a-round point for the ladies, while us FULL ironman racers still had a bit to run.  The coolness of this next point of my life cannot be understated,  I had seen the first place woman screaming down the opposite side of the road, then about five to ten minutes later I saw another woman, but that was it.  I did not need confirmation that I was in third place, but I wanted it.  I yelled out to one of the female volunteers near our turn-a-round point how many girls she had seen, “You’re number three!”  A warm feeling of pride washed over me when I heard those words out loud, and saw the look of awe in her expression, wow, I was in third place!  Fortunately, this was not my first rodeo, so I knew there was still a lot of the race to run, but no matter what I could be proud of a strong bike leg, and I would run the best marathon possible to keep my place in the heap. 

Once I started to pass by mile eight, all was not looking well.  I had taken a couple of salt tabs to be on the safe side, even though we completely lucked out with amazing 80 degree temperature, (sorry San Antonio ladies, I know you hate to hear that….), plus I was drinking water, and sports drink, but my tum-tum was getting a little grumbly.  Let’s go back a bit to let me explain.  I had prepped my bike to eat two powerbars, two packages of block-type gels, and a Gu gel, well, I lost one of powerbars early during the ride, and after feeling dizzy and nearly falling asleep in the aero position, I opted to eat a couple of the Clif bars they were passing out at the aid stations, a brutal necessity at the time that came back to haunt me on the run.  Luckily, I was finishing up my first loop and would be replenished by goodness from my family along the sidewalks as I ran in to start my second loop.  I did regain a bit of a pep in my step, but once I was back in the incessant hills of Windsor, I needed to stop again, take a minute to regain my composure, turn off my watch, and take a 20-second time out.  When I emerged from the port-o-potty I felt a sense of strength and renewal, but I was sure that I had lost my third place position, oh well, I just wanted to finish my 27th marathon. 

When I finished my second loop, around mile 17ish, life was not looking so great.  At this point I had one singular focus, run to the next port-o-potty, cursing those bloody cliff bars the whole mile stretch I needed to cover before I reached my salvation.  For the first time ever, I had to wait in line, awesome.  It did not matter, I did my thing, took in some fuel at the two next aid stations, and finally around mile 20 a calm came over my stomach, and I was ready to run my own race.  I feel a little guilty for saying this, but I was relieve d to see that the closest girls behind me were looking a little rough too, so I believed with my renewed vigor I should be able to keep my third place finish. 

For the last six miles I felt right in my wheelhouse, the tail-end of marathons are my favorite part of the race, and in an ironman, they are even more special.  I looked at my watch and knew that I would be over eleven hours, but not by much, so I would push as hard as possible to finish strong.  As I rounded the 25.5 mile marker the crowd on the corner was quiet until I yelled, ”This is it for me!” They erupted in cheers, and stood to clap for me loud and proud as I ran down the road to make another turn, then down to the finish line.  Since the race as all about loops, there was a turn for the “2^nd loop” and one for the “Finish”, when I turned toward the finish option, the crowd around me started screaming, I heard Marion and Chris from the sideline, and sprinted in for my first podium finish. 

I finished 3^rd place overall female, and 1^st in my 30-34 age group, with a time of 11:08hrs, 4 minutes than my previous best ironman time, and with a 3:59 marathon, finally creeping underneath the 4 hour ironman marathon boulder that weighed on me for so long. Most importantly I finished my 27^th marathon, only 8 more to goJ

Running Shoes PSA - Read It, Believe It, Live It

 

I believe the most important puzzle of running, is finding the proper running shoes.  I remember my first pair of running shoes, Nike Air Pegasus, and they were fantastic.  However, I did not race in my Air Pegasus, no, no, I raced in Nike racing flats of course, silly goose.  That said, I am 99.9% sure that I will never buy a  pair of Nike running shoes for myself ever again.  The reason is because Nike’s are not the right shoe for me.  The key point of that sentence, was not the right shoe for me, but they could be perfect for Sally Mae lining up right next to me, but there is no universal perfect running shoe. 

I had an intense education about running shoes during a four month stint in 2004 working at The Starting Line, a premiere specialty running store located in Marina Del Rey, Ca.  I learned all about the different categories of shoes from neutral, stability, and up to motion control, (there was no minimal category at the time, but rather just racing flats.)  I would analyze runners first walk barefoot before choosing a shoe for them, then I would observe them running on a treadmill in said “shoe”, and start the conversation about they felt, and how I thought they looked, and whether that shoe was the right match.  Sometimes I would hit pay dirt the first time out, other times I would go through 4-5 different brands and different models therein before we found their proper suitor.  My favorite a part was introducing all sorts of lacing options that would fix nearly every off fit and my customers would leave feeling they were ready to run off into the sunset with their shoes.  It was a wonderful job, I loved every minute of it.

 Along the way I discovered I was best fitted for Stability shoes, and that Mizunos were a great brand for me.  Sadly, I learned quickly that shoe companies enjoyed switching up their styles of shoes just as quickly as couture fashion designers, so a certain model that worked for me one year, was completely different the next. The Brooks Adrenaline was a big seller, so I tried it, loved it, and it was the only shoe I ran in from 2004 – 2010. I have a strict rule to go no longer than three months in one pair of shoes, which is about 500 miles. I keep track of the tight three month window by writing the date I buy my shoes on the instep with a black sharpie, just like I used to write all over my converse in Jr. High, T+O, or whatever boy I was crushing on at the moment, but this purpose actually justifies shoe graffiti, because once your shoes start to break down, so do you.  Most running injuries start from the ground up, so the pain travels up from the feet, to the knees, the back, the neck, and soon your brain is telling you it is too painful to run, no bueno mis amigos, after three months, every pair must retire. 

During the Summer of 2010 I saw a piece on the news about New Balance shoes being the only running shoe company that does all of their manufacturing in the states, and since I buy at least four pairs of running shoes per year, I wanted to put that money back in Uncle Sam’s pocket, and put a smile on my face.  This is where the help of a running store expert comes in handy, because I knew very little about New Balance, so I walked into my local running store in the Valley, Runnergy, and said I need the closest New Balance to the Adrenaline, and they showed me the way to the 760’s, yay, they were wonderful.  Naturally, their production did not last, so I went to the 860’s, which were similar enough to the 760’s to stop my blubbering, and aid me through many, many miles.  However, in early September of 2012 I discovered New Balance’s online outlet, Joe’s Outlet, and picked out the 630’s on a whim, a hasty, almost adulterous choice that changed my world forever. 

First of all, the 630’s were only $40, which was a monetary miracle on its own, but they were my first neutral shoe, which meant they were much lighter than the 860’s, but with more support than a minimal shoe/racing flat, and they made me fly.  In December I ordered three more pairs to stock up, a brilliant move in retrospect because when I went to order more in April they were gone from the site, out of production, and gone from my life forever.  I am almost through my fourth pair which will last me through September, but the illustrious 630 shoe is nowhere to be found, why New Balance? WHY?  Then again maybe it is a blessing in disguise because I have just taken a chance on a whole new shoe company ALTRA, and am enjoying their zero drop technology just fine so far.  I am back to paying full price at Runnergy, but they are wonderful people, so I don’t mind giving them my husband’s hard-earned visual effect sweatshop money because the shoes are paramount for this runner’s journey, and should be for all of us.

The Line Up: Altras, NB 630's, NB 730's

Okay, I will wrap it up here by saying that shoes are VERY important, please do the right thing, and treat your feet with the respect they deserve.

Marathon #7: Sacramento, and much, much more

***Spoiler Alert***  I married Marion…. That said, the goal of this blog is to use it as an outline for a book, so when that book deal happens, I promise to devote a big, fat chapter to my courtship with Marion, but in the meantime, I will keep the nitty-gritty of it all off of the internet in respect to key players, but just know that when the book comes out, that chapter alone will be worth the purchaseJ  I will share that our wedding included skydiving, dirt bike riding, and lots of dancing; Peter nick-named it the “X-Games” wedding, which was quite fitting.  However, the absolute best part of that day in early November, 2006, was that I became a step mother to an amazing seven year old girl named Hannah, who is now fourteen…… yikes… time flies…. 

Marion and I started dating officially on September 19^th, 2004, just two days after my twenty-fifth birthday, and two weeks before marathon #7, the Cowtown marathon in Sacramento, Ca.  We had been friends for months, so he was well aware that I was a runner, and that I was nearly fanatical about qualifying for Boston, he even knew what time I needed finish in to do it.  Which is why I was truly touched when he left me a voice mail message at 10:40AM on Sunday, October 3^rd the day of the marathon saying, “Hi, it is 10:40, so hopefully you have finished by now, and if you did, you qualified for Boston!”  Pretty cool.

I flew up to Sacramento the day before the race, it is a quick flight from LA, and far more easy on the legs than the five hour drive in the car. I rented a car which was one of those gigantic Lincoln’s or something, picture your grand parents last fly ride, and that was me rolling around our State’s capital.  My hotel was nothing special, and barely a hotel at all, but it would do for the purpose of this trip, which was to get in and out of Sacramento as quickly as possible, meaning with the fastest marathon to date. The expo was not very "expo" like at all, but it was simple, and efficient, which I appreciated; I didn’t really need another energy gel, anyway.

My pre-race nutrition was not quite honed in yet, but a huge smoothie and  fore-arm sized brownie for lunch, then a box of Junior Mints later than night when I watched the movie Ladder 49, yummy.  Before I went to bed I knocked back some trail mix, and Gatorade, not a perfect pre-race meal, but not too dangerous either.  I slept, which was a blessing, but I was thrilled when my alarm went off, because my body was primed and ready to go.  The race started in a park in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, the crowd was on the small side, which I loved, it felt intimate, like I already knew these runners, because they were real runners, but I just nodded and smiled among them, knowing today would be more than just a race that gave me my seventh finishing T-Shirt, one to wear every day of the week, but something more.

The race started off well, I was running at a quicker pace than I needed to meet my qualifying time, which was perfect, it meant I was banking time for when I really needed it.  The course weaved through neighborhoods lined with trees heavy with leaves that had yet to fall for Fall, which meant lots of shade underneath nature’s umbrella, a check in the “pro” corner for this course.  The only not-so-scenic section was the stretch between miles 12-14 on the frontage road to the freeway, but I did not think much of the ugliness because I was way ahead of schedule at the half way mark, yay.  My energy started to wane a bit around mile 17, which is normal for me, but that is where I saw a gorgeous couple come galloping across the park yelling their beautiful faces off for me to “Go”, it was my friend Sarah and her boyfriend, Mike. They came to the race to surprise me because Sarah knew how important Boston was for me, and that I was betting on this race for it to finally happen.  Sarah is an amazing human being, she was the first friend I made my freshman year in college, and is a Pediatric nurse today, I am very thankful to have her in my life.  Also, she has perfect timing, because I needed some pep in my step at that moment of the race, and she and Mike gave me the jolt I needed to keep pushing my pace, I was so close.  She told me that my younger sister Sarah, along with Tim and his family were waiting for me at the finish line, which was like drinking gummy berry juice; I was good to go to finish strong! 

The final mile of the course looped around the park toward the finish so I could see it about half a mile before I made the final turn, and I heard the announcer reading off times, I looked at my watch, it read 3:35; I did it.  I would finish under 3:40, I had punched my ticket for Boston, finally.  My official time was 3:37, whew, and Tim was the first person to come up and tell me that I qualified, which made it extra special.  I was impressed with my execution, I did what I needed to do, but I was in shock that after three attempts at qualifying for Boston after my San Francisco “Do it by 25” goal, I did it, and would be running the Boston marathon in six months.  I could not wait to call Marion back after his adorable message to tell him I did it, and ask if he wanted to come with me to Boston, and everywhere else for the rest of my life.

Marathon #6: Back On The Horse In My Home Town

The end of 2003 was fairly drama free, I moved into my new apartment on New Year’s Eve with the intention of waking up, and starting fresh in the New Year, 2004.  My apartment was a fairly large studio in West Hollywood just two blocks below the Sunset Strip, and it was fantastic.  I still dearly miss the early morning runs I would do on my favorite six mile loop where I would run along Sunset Blvd. and practically taste the regret of what went on the night before.  I saw many a “walk of shame” on those mornings. 

I did not have a refrigerator for a few months, so I stored my perishables in my parent’s old Playmate folding cooler on my balcony, clever huh?  At this point in my story, I had been a vegetarian for over a year, so there was never any stinky meat on my balcony, unless I invited some over:)  While on that topic, the year 2004 brought some BIG changes in my life, I finally had some great production work gigs again, and had started my dream job selling running shoes at the best running shop in LA, The Starting Line.  I learned a tremendous amount of needful running tidbits during my stint, but once my full time job kicked in, I started to burn up from working seven days a week, so I left my retail days in the dust.  On the upside, I met a very special fellow at my day job named Marion Spates. Marion was a 3D artist, and Production Manager, and since I was a production Coordinator in charge of moving the work along, we worked pretty closely together.  I found it interesting that he seemed to always be in my office, I did share it with my producer, Chris, so it could not have all been me, but even when Chris went home for the day Marion still found reasons to stick around and chit chat away.  I knew I was toast in the “Uh-Oh, I have a big crush” department, when every morning on my drive to work I hoped to see him before everyone else arrived for a quick talk in the kitchen, my office, or even at his desk.  There was something about him that just felt right; he was kind, funny, a hard worker, and friendly with everyone in the office, plus our eye contact was ridiculous.  Yes, there was no doubt in my mind that meeting Marion would change my life forever.

All the while during this heart fluttering fun at work, I was training for my sixth marathon, a home town jaunt in Palos Verdes.  I was not taking this race seriously as a Boston qualifier because the course was incredibly hilly, and a total time crusher, but I thought it would serve as a long run to get me out of my Tucson funk.  The PV marathon is a very small race in terms of participants, but it literally goes by my parents front yard, which was not by chance on my part, I wanted a built in support team for this race, my bruised ego needed it, and my parents did not disappoint. 

I did not break any land speed records with that race, but it was by far the toughest course I ever conquered, so that was satisfying, and I finished feeling better than expected, thus it served its purpose of turning my Tucson frown upside down.  Just a few days later I was ready to find a new marathon on the horizon that would serve as another shot at Boston, and I was turned on to the Cow Town Marathon in Sacramento in early October, which meant lots of Summer running on Sunset, and may be a little romance?  Hmm, stay tuned...

Marathon #5: Red Shorts Don't Belong In The Desert

On Saturday, December, 6th 2003 I boarded a Southwest airlines flight to Tucson, AZ to run in my 5^th marathon the following Sunday, December 7^th, I was excited, but naïve.  I was in a personal state of flux; no job, living my last days in a scorched apartment, and choking under looming expectations of what this marathon was supposed to be, but somewhere inside of me, or maybe everywhere inside of me, I knew it was going to hurt.

First off there was the expensive cab ride from the airport to the host hotel, but the hotel was all I dreamt it would be, yay, worth the splurge. I was almost giggly at the race expo because for the first time I walked around with a Cheshire grin like I had the winning lottery ticket in my hand; I was well prepared for the race, calm even, and ready to blow the doors off of the desert come dawn the next morning. 

Then came dinner... I ate pasta at the Athlete Welcome Dinner.  The meal was tasty, but it had no business being in my belly the night before the most important race of my life.  Next came a near sleepless night, which would just be annoying on any other night, but detrimental this time because I needed to be up and out of my room by 4:00AM in order to board the school bus shuttle which drove us 26.2 miles into the dark desert sky toward the starting line. 

They kept us on the buses for too long. I was bouncing off the walls trying to get my fellow runners pumped up, which felt fun to me, but it might have just been obnoxious.  Oh well, I was ready to run.  I hit up the port-o-potty like usual, but my stomach was a tad more restless than usual, hmm, but I thought I was good to go and ready to tackle the day.  It was cold, and majestic, because we were literally in the middle of the desert; no spectators, just us marathoners pointed in one direction, downhill to the finish line. 

When the gun went off I shot out like a cannonball, fast, fast, fast, the miles could not go by quick enough, but something was definitely off. Initially it was my quads being crushed under my overzealous speed, and unforgiving downhill, then my stomach started to sear up like  the blur flame from a blow torch, not pleasant. I had never felt such piercing pain in my abdomen in my twenty-three years on earth, but these jabs made up for the lost time, OUCH, does not even begin to describe what I was screaming inside.  Regardless of my torture, I had to push on and move; I wanted so badly to make my splits in order to make my qualifying time of 3:40, which meant no time for pit-stops, I had to keep running. 

 When I passed the mile nine marker I knew my dream of a sub 3:40 finish was over, and my day switched from PR pursuit to survival.  My quads were bursting from the constant pounding of the “tantalizing” downhill course and my stomach was screaming at me to stop or else. However, even with straining “Superman-like” x-ray vision I could not spot another port-o-potty up ahead, so I was forced to choose plan B.  I will spare you the details, but I will say that I had to pull over on the side of the non-shaded, wide open highway, and painfully realize that choosing red shorts was not so fabulous of a decision after all. 

I had no support with me that day, and I was thankful, because I felt like a true failure, but I kept running.  I am embarrassed to admit that I was angry at the finish line.  Even though I had accomplished another huge feat of finishing a marathon in the time of 4:15, which considering my bodily breakdown was respectable, it was far from what I set out to do, and I felt like my day was ruined.  I held onto my not-so-cheery attitude through my hurried clean up routine in my room, and made sure to grab the balloons from my "pity party" for the cab ride to the airport where I called Peter to fill him in on my devastating day.  He was great as always, but it still felt like a bad dream that I wished I could wake up from.

A few hours later while sitting alone waiting for my plane to board I met a fellow marathoner who I confided in, details and all, and what he told me finally made me feel like one of the tribe, “Oh, you had G.I problems, that happens.”  That is all I needed to hear, Shit happens. 

I dozed off easily on take off knowing I had a storm of turmoil awaiting me at home, but I had faith that I would figure it out, and it was only December of 2003, I still had nine months before my deadline of qualifying for Boston, I had time, and now I had real experience to build on.  The fact was that I had just run my fifth marathon which was pretty cool, and lessons were learned.

 1.) No pasta dinners

 2.) No “downhill” courses

 3.) No quitting

Onward.