Down She Goes

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 4^th 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 7^th 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.

#21: Ironman St. George, 2011 - Battle with Apollo

I decided to race in the 2^nd annual Ironman St. George about three days after I arrived home from Arizona.  To admit this as a complete “What do I do now?” full on obsessed panic attack would not be an over statement, I was feeling incredibly insecure and needed to lock up another race just to be able to breathe again.  It is worth noting that most Ironman triathlons sell out for the following year the day after the race takes place, hence why I was in such a fury to sign up for Arizona so quickly in 2009, this is because the races are both popular and typically only allow 2,500 participants to compete.  However, IM St. George was scheduled for May 7^th, 2011, less than six months from when I signed up, and I had no problem getting in… hmmm… I had heard that the course was beautiful, nestled among the red rocks close to Zion national park, but it was supposed to be fairly challenging, too.  I think I heard more than once, “St. George has the toughest bike/run course combination in North America.” Sweet.  I was psyched, still drunk on post-race ambition, and confident that I could carve out a solid training program on my own that would have me properly prepped and primed for 140.6 miles in gorgeous St. George, Utah.

 

Another HUGE bonus for IM St. George is that is geographically desirable, just a couple hours north of Las Vegas, which makes it just over a six hours from my house, not too shabby.  I did have a fantastic “Pep stop” in Claremont to meet up for coffee with my mom and step dad, Kent, because they would not be able to come to the race, and it was quite unnerving for my mama to send me off on my own, so this hour or so chatting before my adventure was mutually beneficial for both of us.  I did have a solid crew of family coming in to root me on, my Aunt Corrie and Uncle Fred would be driving over from Arizona, and Marion would be flying in on Saturday afternoon just in time to see me start the run, but I was on my own for these early days. 

Actually, that is not entirely true… I was overjoyed when upon my arrival in St. George I was quickly brought into the fold of a few fellow members of a triathlon club I joined in the beginning of the year, P5.  I was not the most active member of the squad because I lived about forty minutes away from their epicenter, which meant I stuck to my usual solo training, but these folks were great, especially my super-cyclist friend Mary. They let me tag along with them on the tour of the bike course, a training swim, ride, and an “at home” pro talk with a former professional who shall remain nameless, because he/she gave us the most ludicrous nutrition advice that unfortunately I followed on race day… more on that laterJ  Nevertheless, it was wonderful to have the camaraderie of friends on the race course.

The race day started with a bus ride from the finish line in downtown St. George out to Sand Hollow reservoir in nearby Hurricane for the swim.  I love this kind of bus ride, it reminds me of the airplane flight before skydiving, and the only option is to jump.

The swim was absolutely beautiful.  My swim fitness was not at the peak it was at IMAZ, I did let that portion of training slip since I was on my own, but I knew I could put in a solid effort, and still preserve valuable energy for the difficult bike and run legs that would dominate the day.  I was out of the water in 1:16, bummer, however there was no time to dwell on my lackluster time, next up was meat and potatoes of the course, the bike and run.

Let’s see, how should in describe the bike course?  There are so many adjectives to choose from, but following are a few adequate examples; hot, steep, windy, challenging, unforgiving, painful, slow, soul-crushing, sad, etc. It was by far the toughest course I had ever pedaled across during an Ironman; however my sanity was not completely cracked because the scenery was absolutely stunning.  Everywhere where my feeble-minded head turned I was struck with beautiful red rocks, screaming blue sky, and unique late Spring desert landscape, it was breathtaking. The temperatures were in the high 90’s, and there was very little shade, so I was baking up nicely throughout the 6:16 hour ride, and it seemed impossible to take in enough fluids, both water and sports drink, it was never enough.  I was about half way through the ride when I realized I should have taken salt tabs with me, but I followed the advice from the “Pro” I mentioned earlier who suggested the sodium in the sports drink provided would suffice, maybe for him/her, but that would not be enough for me.  I was losing way too much salt, and salt is needed to keep fluids in your body to prevent dehydration, and I simply did not have enough.

On to the RUN!  I will sum up the run course with one word, WOW!  Luckily I was not feeling the ill effects of dehydration when I started the run, and I saw Aunt Corrie, Fred, and Marion lined up cheering for me as I exited the transition area which was heavenly. The course was unreal, the scenery was beautiful, but there was a steaming cloud of dread surrounding every participant, it appeared like less of a marathon, and more like a Death March.   I would need every ounce of expertise to conquer it, but conquer it I did.  I refused to let the grueling and incessant hills bring me down, instead I embraced the piercing and unrelenting sunlight as an energy source rather than its true identity of skin-searing Sorcerous, and I never let it see me walk. 

The final three miles were pretty shady, and thankfully all downhill. The finish shoot was a fabulous downhill section toward the center of town surrounded by fans and my fantastic mini, yet mighty crew cheering me on toward my 5^th Ironman finish!  They must have known this one hurt more than most, I finished in 11:56hrs., much slower than my recent times, but I had never been so happy at a finish line, and smiled wide all the way back to our hotel where we split up for showers, and promised meet up later for dinner.

 

This is where things get a little gnarly.....

When I was in the shower I started to feel faint, so I laid down for a minute or two, but once I stood up again I proceeded to get sick all over the place.  I gained some strength and normalcy when I changed and went to my Aunt and Uncle’s room, but I told them I would not be up for dinner, and frankly had a tough time stringing that simple sentence together.  I felt sorry for my Aunt Corrie because she was the only parental figure represented at this race and here I was falling apart right in front of her.  She wanted to call an ambulance, but I told her I just wanted to lie down and that I should feel fine later.  I could barely make it back to our rom, in fact I didn’t, I slumped down in the hallway in front of our door and even had some fellow hotel guests’ snicker at my “drunk-like” behavior, but I was not drunk, I was dehydrated.

Once Marion heaved me into our room, he quickly threw on his shining armor and forced me to drink two large bottles of water filled with NUUN tablets, and shouted at me NOT to fall asleep.  All I wanted to do was sleep.  Fortunately, I regained my faculties fairly quickly after Marion’s Magical hydration elixir took hold, and was able to eat some food that Aunt Corrie brought back to our room from their dinner.  I felt horrible that she had to see me in that crippled state, especially since I was the vision of strength, an Ironman, just an hour earlier. I was simply not at all prepared for what the heat would do to me, and was forced to learn my lesson the hard way, follow your own instinct, not the crowd, and ALWAYS BRING SALT TABS!

I was a tad shaken after Ironman St. George, but I knew the lessons learned were greater than the humility of going through them, and I would not make the same mistake twice.

#20 - Ironman Arizona, Part Two: Coolest Day EVER

Let’s back up just a smidge, after I raced Vineman for the second time in July, and my swim time did NOT improve at all, Hillary ordered five weeks of “swim camp”, which meant hours and hours of swimming every day for five weeks. This daily fun time in the water luckily coincided with Hannah’s gymnastics Summer camp that was a few miles from a splendid outdoor pool that I could swim in while she flipped and cartwheeled herself through another adolescent Summer.  I know it sounds decadent to be able to train all day long, and it is, but it does still require some masterful time management skills in order to plan 4-5 hours of training around a child’s Summer schedule. I did enjoy my long hours in the pool, I think I got faster, but I would not really know until race day a few months away in November. I did put in lots and lots of riding and running as well, but it was the swim that I was most nervous and excited about.

The night before the race Marion and Hannah flew in from LA, the plane was late, but it didn’t really matter, I never get more than a few hours of sleep the night before an ironman, but I was envious that they were fast asleep just a few minutes after hitting the pillow. Lucky. Oh well, they had a big day ahead of them, too.

I was up and out EARLY, and thankful to have found a prime parking spot close to the start/finish line, and to make some fantastic conversation with a fellow athlete, and mother of four, in my age group in the transition area. This is usually my favorite time of the day, just a few thousand athletes squirming into our wetsuits awaiting a whole day of exercise and self-exploration.

 

We waded together in Tempe Town Lake awaiting the cannon for the start, it was the most beautiful morning I had ever seen, the sky was slowly lighting up, there were spectators everywhere, and I was pumped to put my extensive swim training to the test.  The swim is one big loop, my favorite, because there are only a few turns, and less chance to get mowed over by faster swimmers careering up behind you on their second loop.  I had my fair share of elbows to the head, and knees to the ribs, but I felt amazing.  I climbed out of the lake and looked at my watch, 1:12, “YES!!” I executed my swim correctly and achieved a two min. PR:), then smiled frigidly all the way through transition to the change tents.

I started the three loop bike course confident and ready to unleash the long-legged beast that I had been feeding and coddling for months, it was time to show up.  As luck would have it, we had a wretched head wind on the way out to the turn-a-round spot, and the roads were VERY crowded, but we did have a killer tail wind on the way back to town, which was helpful.  There were also more than a few sprinkles of rain mixed in for good measure, so even though it was a flat course, it required skill and grit.  Hillary had me well prepared, I maintained my pace throughout each loop, and drank up the roaring cheers from my family at the turn-a-round spot in town, which may have been enhanced from there encampment at a local bar during the five plus hour bike leg, whatever makes the team happy. Meanwhile, I kept grinding away with each pedal stroke and before I knew it, I was rolling down to transition, hopping off my bike and asking the volunteers in the change tents, “How many girls have you seen come through so far?” They were lovely and replied, “Just a couple.”  It turns out I was 28^th in my age group after the swim, bummer, then moved up to 7^th place after the bike, sweet.

 

I started the run quicker than prescribed by Hillary, about a 8:40ish per mile pace, but I knew that I needed to feed on the adrenaline while I had it, so I just planned to maintain it for as long as possible.  As I rounded the first of three loops on the run course I heard Marion yell out, “You did the bike in 5:43!” That was a HUGE personal best for me, and gave me an added “pep in my step”, but nothing could compare to the ultimate shot of adrenaline, seeing Hillary cheering for me around mile eight of the run. I had yet to actually meet her in person through the whole year that we had been working together, and we kept missing each other during the days leading up to the race, so to hear and see her rooting for me was pretty much the coolest thing ever, I just hoped that she was proud of me.

 

As I was finishing up the first of the three loops of the marathon, I heard a motorcycle with a cameraman on the back seat speed around me, yep, Chrissie Wellington was closing in on her LAST loop of the race and onto a record setting Ironman time.  I gave her a shout as she passed me, but she was in a zone, and I respected that, plus I had my own race to focus on. The next sixteen miles or so were a grueling tug of war with the fading sunlight, ergh, I did not want to finish in the darkness of the desert night.  However, as I was rounding mile 25ish let’s say, I thought I was flying like a cheetah, not quite, my pace was about 9min. miles, maybe more actually; either way that pace would not have me reach my goal of finishing under eleven hours.  Then a cool thing happened, I looked up to the fresh moon blazed night sky above me and smiled wide and said “thank you.” I accepted that it was almost over, this singular race which I mounted with so much stress and distress wrapped up and fried into a giant ball of self-inflicted expectations that were not going to be met.  However, I felt relieved and excited more than depressed because I realized my journey was far from over, I had too much to learn, and way too many memories left to create, adventures to conquer, and races to race.  Thankfully, along with this exhaustive state of euphoria came a laser like focus to finish with strength and class, and as I rounded the last dark left corner before the brightly lit bleacher flanked finish line I smiled wide, raised my arms, and ran through the finish line into the arms of a very proud coach. 

The next morning I followed my last bit of training from Hillary and rode the stationary bike in the hotel gym to flush out my legs, and gain a bit of perspective about what happened the day before. I finished the race in 7^th place in my age group, which meant no Kona slot for me, but I gained a thirty five minute PR, was thrilled with the day, and planned to spend another six plus hour car ride home devising future ironman strategies… Sadly, I could not keep Hillary as my coach because I am simply not THAT much of a Baller, but she still checks in on me, has become a true friend, and continues to inspire me every day. 

One more thing, I ran my 20^th marathon in 4:07, not my best time ever, but by far best marathon within an ironman, and one of my favorite marathons EVER....