Thursday, March 27, 2014

#18 - Santa Barbara




In early December, 2009, only two short months after my seventeenth marathon in Long beach I toed the line for at the inaugural marathon in Santa Barbara, California. I was excited about the race because I love that area of our Golden State, it is scenic, rich in history, next to the ocean, and just a two hour drive north from my house.  I went into it with the mind set of, “just enjoy the day”, because anything would be better than Long Beach.  However, as the weekend approached I felt suffocated by guilt of having to flee Hannah’s playoff soccer game early that Saturday in order to high tail it north in time to check in for the race, because I was told there was “no race day” check in.  Hannah’s team was not amazing, they probably would not win this game, but I was the team parent, and had never missed one of her practices let alone a game all season.  I felt like I was not only abandoning her, but her fellow players, and their parents who looked to me for guidance for when to bring snacks, and what time to wake their kids up for games each week, etc.  I walked off the field with a heavy heart before the whistle blew and drove as fast as the law allowed to make the cut off time to pick up my bib. 
 The jolly 4AM bus ride to the starting line was straight up the 101 to an elementary school where they dropped us off and loaded us in to a multi-purpose room of sorts to sit and wait for nearly two hours until the race started at 7AM.  I did not mind the cattle pin like enclosure because it was freezing outside, and my cold threshold is fragile at best.  I chatted up a newbie marathoner who was racing her first marathon, my favorite, fresh meat.  I tried my best to both excite and calm her nerves for the big day she had ahead of her, but soon enough we were both on our feet and stepping outside to get our last potty stop and stretches in before the start. 
The sun was gently peeking out above the mountains to our backs when the gun fired and we were off!  The pace was fast, too fast, but I went with the flow the first few miles, then settled into more mortal like pace between miles five and six.  We were running directly into the sun for the first ten miles which was comfy and warm, but a tad blinding, still it made sense because this was virtually a point to point race, remember the bus ride earlier?  However, I am partial to loops, just ask Marion, I am famous or infamous for the “loop” training courses I have devised for myself for both run and bike training, so my brain was a little frazzled that I would be running in one direction for the majority of the marathon.  Nevertheless, I felt good, and just aimed for a solid, steady race.


All was right with the world until we entered into a beautiful and quaint neighborhood just past mile fifteen.  I took in water and electrolytes at the aid station, but I was feeling lightheaded and somber, and slowed to a barely jogging pace to take stock in what was going on.  I felt alone, and overwhelmed with guilt that I had left Hannah’s game early to come run this race by myself among thousands of strangers; I questioned my crazed level of selfishness, and started to get angry.  Suddenly, I heard Marion’s voice in my head screaming at me to “GO!” and make he and Hannah proud, so I picked up my feet from their self-loathing trot and started to run.
I was going in and out of feeling strong and slow through out the bulk of the miles, but I never felt a long stretch of amazing.  I just couldn't shift into the "kick ass" gear I needed to run faster.  I was enjoying the course, my pace was quicker than Long Beach, thankfully, but I was still unsatisfied, something was off.

The "you've got to be kidding me?" part of the day was when I turned left and stared straight into the bottom of a long climb to reach mile twenty four, brutal.  **I have a quick note to all you race directors and/or prospective race directors, please do not place the largest hill on your courses at mile twenty four, it is both cruel and a PR crusher, thank you.  I “ran” up the hill and down the other side to make another left turn along the ocean toward the finish line.  I was surrounded my happy runners and ecstatic spectators, but I drowned out their positivity and only heard the slow thump of my broken heart as I crossed the line in 3:55.  The look on my face and posture said it all; I was disappointed and confused with my performance.


While licking my wounds on the drive home down the coast I decided I needed a break from stand alone marathons, and shift my concentration solely to triathlon.

 

Thursday, March 20, 2014

#17 - Long Beach.... Again


I ran my 17th marathon in Long Beach again, for the third time, and it was not pretty.  I signed up for Long Beach because after Vineman I was ravenous for all things “becoming a professional triathlete,”  I had no idea what I was doing, but I figured racing another marathon was a good bet to help my cause. In hindsight, this was a naive decision.  I started the race off at a quick pace with my fellow quasi-speedsters so I did not have to pinball around as much like I did on my last go around on this course, however, I had a chip on my shoulder, and was feeling  little cocky, which would come back to haunt me later in the day.  I was by no means aware of how to run a  fast marathon at this point in my athletic career, but I thought I should be better than a lot of my fellow runners because of the two ironmans I had in the can, but I was putting the cart before the horse, and not taking my time to build on what I had spent years creating, I wanted too much too soon, and this race was the slap in the face wake-up call I needed to move forward in the right direction. 
 

I experienced some stomach troubles around mile ten, which threw my pace and psyche into a tailspin, but I regained my focus and resolve once the crowd thinned out around mile twelve.  I started to feel great after dousing my head and face with water at the mile fourteen aid station when the riff raff of the half marathoners were finally out of our way, and I could  get down to business. The crowd support is always constant and excited along the streets of Long Beach in early October; I can never get enough of the Rocky anthem thundering out of a ghetto blaster every other driveway. Unfortunately, my mind started to wane and energy deplete around mile sixteen, just before we entered the Long Beach State campus, which was exasperating and annoying because I wanted to get myself together to look good in front of the coeds.  It had been a quite some time since I was in college, but for some reason I felt like I was still one of them.  Thankfully my ego took over and my cadence quickened after mile seventeen, and I started to pick off a few runners, but once I cleared mile twenty I could not feel my legs.

My time was not impressive, but I still felt like I could hold on and finish fairly strong, not a PR, but respectable.  Nope.  I carried on through each aid station pouring water over my head and into my gullet, and slurping down a gel or two, but I was simply out of reach of myself.  I was humbled, and disappointed, but kept going.  Once again I smiled at the mile twenty three marker because sooner rather than later this race would be over, but I was far, far away from where I thought I was when I started this race, and light years away from where I wanted to be. Pros do not run marathons in over four hours. 

I rounded the last corner on down toward the finish shoot, one of my all time favorites of any marathon, and a definite high light of this course. I was bummed to see the clock read 4:09 as I crossed the line, yikes. I walked swiftly through the recovery area in frustration, and despair, but as I looked around at people still running in, lots of people, I realized I had done a lot that morning, I should be proud, I just ran my seventeenth marathon for goodness sake!  So, I decided, “today I celebrate, tomorrow I plan.”

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Marathon #16 - Vineman, 2009


I am a triathlete, and a large part of being a triathlete is transitioning from swim gear, to bike gear, and then to run gear, etc., but I am not very speedy with my transitions, and can easily admit that they are not my strong suit.  However, they are inevitable, the race is a “Tri”athlon, meaning three sports disciplines in one, so whether I like it or not, I have to go through transitions.  Currently, I am in a real life transition, and I like it just a little bit less than T1 and T2 on an Ironman course, but the finish line is on the other side, so I have to go through it.
This post will be celebrating my sixteenth marathon, and second ironman, Vineman 2009.  This race takes place near Sonoma in northern California, a good seven hour drive from my house, but still considered a “local” race in my mind because it lies within the boundaries of the Golden state.  I rented a house for a week along the Russian River for the whole Spates family to descend upon and have a real vacation.  There was fishing and canoe paddling for Marion and Hannah, and stress and worry for me in a beautiful place.  We arrived on a Tuesday, the race was the following Saturday, gulp.  My brother Peter came up the Friday night before the race to amp me up, while most of my extended family arrived on race day to cheer me on.  The swim and bike were beautiful, hard, bumpy, and foggy, but the real juice of the day was squeezed from the marathon, so here we go.
 

I rolled into the transition area from the 112 mile bike portion of the race both naive and excited about the marathon up ahead.  I had only the bar set at Ironman Louisville to hit or dip below, and I had already slashed a lot of time, so I started the run stress free.  Except for the lead logs below my waist, I felt awesome.  Luckily, I had a tremendous support team for this race, and they were stationed right where I needed them, near the “Run in and out” portion of the three loop course, so I would be seeing them six times throughout the day which was like tackling the leprechaun with the pot of gold. 
 

The course travels up and around the farmland of Windsor, California where many locals lined the streets along with their horses and cows to cheer us on.  The course was flanked with trees along the difficult hilly sections, and wide open to sunshine during the character building straight away section leading up to the turn-a-round point.  I had no idea where I ranked among the masses that were trodding along with me, but I felt good considering it was 2:30 in the afternoon and I was just starting out on a marathon.  I noticed many men, and not very many women, which is par for the course for triathlon, but somewhat annoying; come on ladies, let’s rally and build up our numbers!  Anyway, I am certain my pace was not swift, but I was happy all day long.  I was so thrilled to have so much family cheering me on, that I just wanted to finish as quickly as possible to spend time with them.  I did add on some time because of necessary pit stops three or four times throughout the day, but since this was only my second ironman, I was still learning a lot from my hard-working bod on race day, and was giving her the attention she required. 

I cherish this race because it was the end of my innocence as a triathlete, because after I crossed the finish line with a forty four minute personal best over my time at Louisville, I was flooded with delusional dreams of becoming one of the elite.  My family did not aid in bringing me down to earth at all, they were so proud of me, and boosted my ego to the heavens. We all celebrated an evening of pure bliss back at our rental fueled by pizza, beer, and ice cream.

Marion, Hannah, and our dogs loaded up our truck and headed home that following Monday.  It was a lovely, but a knawing eight hour drive down the coast as I planned and plotted my next race, and training plans.  I had crossed over from spirited athlete, to obsessed goal setter.  All I could think about was what I needed to do to qualify for Kona, what race I should sign up for, how much I should train, etc.  Miraculously, Hannah slept through my crazed jabberings most of the trip, but Marion listened and just lent fuel to fire, professing there was no reason I could not become a pro, in fact there should be no excuse why I shouldn’t, and challenged me to go for it.