One of my favorite races of all
time is the Carpinteria International distance triathlon in Carpinteria, Ca. I
first raced it in 2007, which was my second triathlon ever, then in 2010 I finished with better than decent
results, so I decided to take another crack at it in late September, 2011.
The city of Carpinteria is about twenty minutes south of Santa Barbara
along the gorgeous California coast. It
is a small town, but hosts a lovely race. I came
into the race in 2011 with fast expectations mainly because I was familiar with the course,
and was looking forward to the shorter distances than my usual Ironman faire. The three legs break down as follows: 1.5K
swim, 40K bike, 10K run, which translates to a fun, fast day at the races.
The swim is a nerve-wracking beach
start where we all line up in our wetsuits and frazzled nerves and sprint into
the ocean when the horn blows. I think I have beaten the “I am not a great
swimmer” horse to death by now, so I will save your patience for that, but I
came out of the water not exactly where I wanted, but not as far back as I expected, so I was stoked! Next, I took off on
my bike with the confidence of a late ‘80’s Mike Tyson, I was feelin’ good and working hard, all was
going to plan.
The road was slick because we were
in the midst of a heavy dew/constant drizzle that was common for our proximity
to the ocean, but not exactly what I was used to coming from my hotbox
environment in the San Fernando Valley. I wanted to be smart, and handle my
bike correctly while still pushing hard in the straightaways and being careful through the
curves. Around mile ten I shifted gears because there
was a sharp right turn ahead that luckily was clearly marked so I slowed down
to make the turn, when suddenly “thwack!”, I went down. My shoulder hit the pavement first, absorbing
most of the shock, next my head slammed against the wet ground and even with my helmet on, I knew was hurt. I did not pass out; thankfully, I scrambled
up on my feet to get out of the way of passing riders, and off to the side of
the road to assess my injuries. A
volunteer in her mid-fifties named Pam was instantly at my side caring for me,
and offering to drive me to the medical tent at the finish line. I was initially resistant because I thought I
just had some gnarly road rash, then I glimpsed blood on the inside of my
helmet and I took her up on her offer. Pam was adorable, she kept
trying to make me feel better about not finishing the race as we drove back to
town, but honestly I didn’t care at all about quitting, this race was purely
fun for me, it wasn’t an Ironman, and I knew from experience that head injuries
were nothing to mess around with.
When I was in the 4th
grade my sister Mary and I walked to and from school every day and were bullied
by a neighborhood thug who would do all kinds of disgusting things to us
ranging from hurtful taunting, to inappropriate touching; it was brutal. My brother Peter was in the 7th
grade at the time and he would spend at least an hour with me every day teaching
me various fighting techniques to get back at this girl and stand up for
myself. So, one day Mary and I were
minding our business walking home and there she was, yelling, grabbing at us
with her nasty younger siblings cheering her on, but something switched inside
me, I channeled Peter’s teachings and backhanded her with all of my might with
my right arm and sent her soaring. It
was the most exhilarating sensation I had ever felt in my life. She literally flew back a few feet, screamed
at us like a whiny toddler, and scurried off to her house with her little brats whimpering behind her. Mary was so proud of me, we high-fived, then bolted
home as fast as we could because, a.) We were high on our triumph and, b.) so I
could tell Peter about our victory! He
was usually already home when we got home, so we were surprised and let down to
find the house completely empty when we came barreling through the front door
cheering our adolescent heads off. We went about our afternoon business with
homework, and Airwolf watching when
the phone rang, it was our Mom eerily telling me that Peter was being rushed to
the hospital with a head injury. I hung up the phone and burst into tears. Apparently,
he had been swinging in between the two high cabinets in the kitchen, a bad
habit my mom daily warned him not to do, when he swung too high, lost his grip,
and fell to the ground directly on top of his head. My mom was usually in class at that time of
day, but she was miraculously home, and was able to get him the medical care he
needed. It gives me chills thinking about
what Mary and I would have done if we had found him, it could have been disastrous.
The next twenty four hours were
pretty scary because of the seriousness of his concussion, he was in ICU, but
thankfully made it out okay, and was shortly back to being classic Peter
again. Naturally, I did not tell him
about my glorious smack down until he was out of the woods, but he was thrilled
when I told him, and Mary and I never heard a peep out of that bully ever
again.
Pam dropped me off about a block
from the med tent because the streets were blocked off to traffic, so I thanked
her, unloaded my bike and started to walk toward the tent when a man with
a stroller ran up to me to help with my
bike and guide me safely to the tent. It
turns out he was a nurse in the Navy, and said I didn’t look so good, and thought
I might pass out, which is why he ran to help me. I was alone in the med tent for a few quiet
minutes while my new friend went to find help, then before I knew it I was on
my back in a neck brace with paramedics and firemen looking over me, asking me
all kinds of questions, and prepping to load me in the ambulance to drive to
the hospital. I was very hesitant about
the necessity of the ambulance because I thought I was fine, and I knew it
would cost a fortune that our insurance would not cover, but before I could
protest too much Marion shouted from the back corner of the tent, “it’s okay,
Taryn, don’t worry about the money, you need to go to the hospital.” I had
never been so happy to have him with me at a race. The next thing I knew I was moved on to a
gurney and loaded into the back of an ambulance, all while people were crossing
the finish line in front of me, I was beyond embarrassed to be ending the race
like this. To add insult to injury, they
did not even turn on the sirens for our drive to the hospital, which I silently
hoped would be a savings on our bill.
I was in the emergency room for a couple
of hours where I received x-rays for my shoulders, pelvis, and hips, all were
fine, once again my “big girl” body came in handy, but I did need a few staples
for the gash on my head, good times. I
was ordered by the Dr. and Marion to take it easy for a while, but I did have my
indoor Bike trainer that I was allowed to pedal to maintain my sanity, still my
confidence was waning every day. I remember Peter reciting the cyclist’s creed,
“It’s not if you fall, but when you fall.” That helped, but I was
still a mess.
I was scheduled to run the Malibu
Marathon in early November, but I had missed too much valuable training time
with my recovery, so I bailed on that race and most everything else. I was starting to question what on earth I
was doing, or not doing with my life, and searching for a reason to keep going
with my training, and life in general.
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