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.

 

Marathon #15 - Palos Verdes Swan Song

‘Twas May of 2009, and once again I lined up at Point Ferman Park in San Pedro to trounce the hills of Palos Verdes.  The race was super small that year because the LA marathon was being held over Memorial Day, so my guess is most runners were saving their legs for later in the month.  Personally, I love every opportunity I have to run in PV, especially if there was a marathon attached, so I did not want to miss it.  In hindsight, I am glad that I did run this race because they stopped putting on the FULL marathon a couple years later, which is tragic, but true. 

The day started off on a bright note because I snagged a sweet parking spot, a priceless feat at both the beginning and the end of race day.  It was cold, I was nervous, and not because I was going to run a marathon, but because I was going to run a hard marathon.  This course is the real deal; scenic, sure, but tough.  I ripped through the first two miles, around eight minute miles, which back then was quick.  Then, the road went right and up.  I slowed down, but this was not my first rodeo on this hill, so I did not let it dampen my mood.  I had run this hill many times during training, and during my first marathon on this course in 2004, so I was prepared, but it was still painful.  When we made the left hand turn at the crest of the hill I was relieved, and started really movin’.  I settled in right behind a young lad with an impressive white boy fro at around mile ten, and he was cruisin’.  I try to never to waste precious time or breath making friends on the race course, but we were in the middle of no man’s land, the race was very sparse, and honestly I just couldn’t shake him.  It was his first marathon, and he was a fast-paced ball of nerves, and I was not looking for a PR, so I broke my rule, and kept him company for as long as I could hang with his rippin’, “I have no idea how to pace a marathon, fleet-footed teenage pace”. I think he dropped me at mile twentyish, but I was happy to see him go ahead, I felt like my Padwan was ready to finish his own race, and I could relax and suffer in solitude.

I was alone for most of the last 10K.  I knew that I was pretty far up in place for the women, but I was not exactly sure where my rank really was, because the course was nearly deserted, even of volunteers.  I did not feel spectacular, the course punished my limbs like I knew it would, and I was looking forward to it just being over.  Luckily, the steep uphill at mile two, was a welcomed downhill trance basher at mile twenty four.  As a bonus, the last mile traveled right past my Dad’s first house he moved into when my parents separated in the mid 80’s.  My favorite memories in that house are of playing two-touch football games in the front yard with my Dad and siblings every Sunday afternoon before we had to go back to my Mom’s house.  I loathed Sundays.  There is nothing as bitter sweet and crushing than starting your day with one parent, and ending it with another.  So, I gave the house a quick nod as I passed it, but picked up my pace to leave it quickly behind me.

The last half mile is my favorite part of the course because they wind us around the road to where we can see the finish line and truly relish in our epic journey.  The crowds were abysmal at best, again, not many runners at this race, so after I crossed the finish line I sauntered off to find a tree where I could rest my legs, close my eyes, and swim in the giddiness of another marathon finish.  It was confirmed later in the day that I was the third overall female in the race, which was wonderful, but a finish that high up with a time of 3:45 meant that there were not many contenders, but it was still pretty cool to be on the podium for such a challenging race.

Marathon #14 - A Shout Out to My Big Sis

Dreamy Carlsbad, CA or as my friend Molly used to call it, “Carlsgood”, either way it is a wonderful place to be, let alone run around for most of your morning, but that is exactly what I did on January 25^th, 2009. I arrived in Carlsbad the night before the race and stayed with my sister Mary, her wonderful husband, Jim, and their adorable dogs Sawyer and Tyler.  I am always a sucker for quality time with large four-legged doggies, and these two are hilarious. 

 

 

Mary is two years older than me, and a remarkable human being, but we could not possibly be more different.  For example, she is a beautiful 5’6 brunette with olive skin, and a fashion sense rivaled only by Anna Wintour, while I am a freckly red head just shy of 5’11 who applies make up and dresses maybe five times a year.  Maybe.  We had some serious battles growing up, one of which resulted in me laying a strip of masking tape down the center of our bedroom, my mom really loved that, another involved a bruised cheek, and there have been way too many bruised feelings to count.  However, we always set aside our differences for sixty minutes every Thursday night at 8PM to watch Beverly Hills, 90210. My brothers thought that show was miraculous to bring peace between us, and it was.  Nothing beats quality togetherness like some quality time with the Walshes.

Nevertheless, after twenty or so years of not liking each other very much, I can easily say that Mary is one of my best friends, and the person on the other end of my crisis hotline.  All that said, Mary is not a runner, which may not come as a shock, but she is literally my greatest cheerleader, and understands my goals, so it meant a lot to have her play a vital role in my fourteenth marathon

Race morning was cold, dark, and early. For some reason this race felt special, I was not as excited for it during the weeks of training leading up to it, but standing below the starting line in the pitch darkness of a way-too-early start time, with thousands of fellow marathoners, I was brimming with adrenaline, and thrilled to start running, “Bang!”

The first ten miles or so of the course travel along the ocean, and since the race started early, we were witness to a beautiful sunrise that gave me both a jolt of energy, and clarity; I was simply happy to just have the ability to run a marathon, and felt blessed and thankful to be in my shoes at that beautiful moment.

I saw Mary and Jim around mile eleven, a great place to watch for you future spectators because it is far enough into the race to give the runners the pep we need to feel good about how far we have come, and enough zing to keep us trudging through the tough mid-race miles in our near future.  Mary was wearing a big sweatshirt, clanging a bell, and screaming her head off, it was awesome. I was both laughing and crying because it was amazing to hear her scream my name in such a positive tone.  She did look a little tired, but it was about 8:00AM, so I appreciated her efforts to rise, shine and run with me.  Yes, Mary Kelly Heim was actually running next to me for a good minute or so, it was epic!  I have always wanted to make her proud of me, even when she thought I was a disgusting troll of a little sister always getting in her way throughout our formative years, and literally making her sick to her stomach because I smelled like baby oil and coconut, apparently, her sudden desperate display of running to keep up with me that morning granted my wish of over thirty years, my big sister was proud of me.

The next few miles were warm as the sun was truly making an entrance to the day, but I felt good up until mile nineteen.  There is a turn-a-round point right at the crest of a short, but seemingly steep hill, and it was rough.  Luckily, there is a solid crowd at this difficult spot on the course, so I heard many chants of my name as I rounded the top, and thundered on down to run the final seven miles into the finish.  My pace had a slowed a bit, which is natural so deep into a marathon, but I was still cranking out some quick miles, so I held on as long as I could, and cruised into the finish shoot stunned that I had once again qualified for Boston in 3:38…  NiceJ

 

Marathon #13 - The Battle with LA traffic

 I ran my 13^th marathon in October of 2008 in lovely Long Beach California, again.  I decided this would be a great race to keep me tuned up after Louisville, but also intrigued to see how a marathon would feel without the swim and bike ahead of it.  I think it is fair to admit that I was a wee bit overconfident leading up to this race, which may explain the large dose of Karma that dumped on me early race morning.  I have made it my creed to leave my house no later than two hours before any start time, and since I lived about fifty minutes North of Long Beach, I was safely on the road by 5AM.  Unfortunately, the traffic gods wagged their finger at me and my cavalier attitude, and I cemented me in traffic.

 

This sort of scenario is only second to the ultimate nightmare of sleeping through my alarm clock and missing the race altogether, but I was pretty miffed.   Let me just say that I have the utmost respect and understanding of the freeway and overall traffic situation/way of life for us Angelenos.  I spent most of my early twenties in my Honda Civic driving all over Los Angeles while working as a Production Assistant, and I can tell you that nothing was more valuable to me than my Thomas Guide and upbeat adventurous attitude.  I got lost more times than I can count; however, I view getting lost as just a new way of figuring out to find some place.  That said, I guarantee that I could give you seven different options of getting from Point “A” to Point “B” in the greater Los Angeles area, the most coveted secret of all, Fountain Ave. in West Hollywood, better known as the freeway of Hollywood, you’re welcome.

Needless to say I make it a habit to give myself PLENTY of buffer time when traveling anywhere in LA, but that amount of time bloats tremendously on race morning.  The drive itself from our apartment in North Hollywood to Long Beach was smooth, and curse word free, but it took me nearly an hour just to exit the freeway, grrr.  After I finally surrendered to my predicament, I said out loud to myself,”Oh well, this is a chipped race,” meaning my official time would start when I crossed the starting line, not when the gun went off, and the plastic chip weaved through my laces would ping the sensor and let the universe know I was finally on my way.

Once I parked successfully and trotted on down to the start area I hit up the Port-o-Potty’s, (the most important part of the day), then sprinted across the starting line, carefully weaving my through the “Back of the packers” who were either jogging s-l-o-w-l-y, or walking. Suddenly, my killer instinct switched on and I started to juke in and out the snail like crowd like an NFL running back; my usual cool demeanor was still stuck on the 710, and my evil twin “Terry” had taken me over completely.

The course was slightly annoying because it narrowed down from the width of a normal street to the slender concrete bike path around mile seven, which meant if I wasn’t throwing elbows before, I certainly was now.  I think I was running at a respectable pace up until the halfway mark, then my way-too-speedy alter-ego caught up with me, and I started to lose steam. 

The most memorable part of this race is marker for mile twenty three because it is so close to the end, and it sits at the crest of a punchy, sharp hill, so once I saw that sign, I knew I just needed to smile, hit cruise control and enjoy the rest of the ride on in to the finish.  My time was fine, not amazing, but decent, 3:45.  No matter what happens during the Odyssey of a marathon, there is nothing quite as special as crossing the finish line, no matter how many hours and minutes it takes to get there.  Indeed, I started the race with a chip on my shoulder from being nailed by LA traffic, but I recovered, and discovered a higher gear I had yet to hit in previous races, so that was a plus.  I don‘t think I battered or bloodied anyone in the process, but if I did, my apologies, and I hope you had a great raceJ  Next time, I will leave the house even earlier.

Marathon #12 = Ironman #1

Hmm, let’s see, where was I?  Oh yes, marathon #12, ooh, this is a good one…. I ran marathon #12 at the end of an already long day outside as it served as the final leg of my first Ironman triathlon on August 31^st, 2008.  My apologies for the run on sentence, but I think it represents what a very long day it was.  Let me take you back to about eleven months prior to race day, I had my heart set on racing my first Ironman in Wisconsin during September of 2008, however, when I went to go sign up for that race it was already sold out… I am talking minutes here… To say my heart was broken would be an extreme understatement, but I just rolled up my sleeves and searched a little deeper until I struck gold, or Bourbon maybe, Ironman Louisville was slated for late August, and was open, perfect.  So, I paid the daunting entrance fee and sat back to realize I had a little over a year to prep to be an Ironman, good times.   

I mentioned in a previous post that I was inspired by my brother Peter to become an ironman, so naturally I went straight to him for advice on training, his advice was, and I am paraphrasing here, “You need to be in the saddle all the time.” Got it, I need to ride my bike a lot. I launched into my true training schedule about twelve weeks out from the race, which was basically the beginning of June, and one may wonder how I could have gotten all of that “saddle time” in while working twelve plus hours a day? The simple answer is that I quit my job. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?” Yep, it’s true. I have been trying to think of a way to put in writing why and  how we made that decision, Marion and I, because honestly it was almost more him than me, he really wanted me to have the proper time to train for the race, or just not do it at all, which was not an option.  However, the real answer is that A LOT went into my decision to quit my career, let’s be honest, that is what happened, but I will leave the nitty-gritty for my book, and leave you all with the idea that I left to devote all of my time to training and becoming a triathlete superstar and go pro within a year or so, which is kind of true, but not all true.

The training for the race was amazing.  I was doing at least two work outs per day for three months and followed a crude training plan that is comical in retrospect, but sufficient, and I made it to Louisville confident I would be able to finish the race with a smile on my face.  The swim was hysterical, but awesome.  I am not a great swimmer, so when I saw that I met my goal time I was stoked, and ready to crush myself on the bike. 

Oh, the bike… I know that I go on and on about my love for running, and yes I do believe that I am a respectable runner, but riding a bike is really my strong suit.  It could have something to do with the fact that my legs make up nearly 80% of my body, and never give me any Smart-alecky back talk, so I made up a lot of ground on the bike leg from my less than stellar swim performance, and was in a great spot to start the marathon.  **In case any of you don’t know the distances of an ironman triathlon, they break down like this: 2.4mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, 26.2 mile run, which means that when I started my twelfth marathon I had already been “working out” hard for eight hours in the hot, and humid late Summer Kentucky sunshine.

When I ran out of the transition area Marion yelled at me, “Now just go run your usual four hour marathon!” I can’t remember if I laughed out loud at him, or just to myself, either way I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard, bless his heart.  There was no way in the world I was going to run the marathon anywhere near four hours, or was I?

The first couple of miles they sent us over the bridge across the Ohio River, and you know what, I was feeling pretty good.  The course consisted of two loops, and was flanked with a great crowd most of the way, and top notch support with aid stations at every mile stocked up with water, wet sponges, hoses, food, and flat coke.  I chatted with a few fellow runners along the route, and even though I was not moving very quickly at all, I felt like I was flying.  I had never felt so in my element; and alive, months of hard work and sacrifice had come down to these moments, and they felt priceless.  The sun had set at around mile twenty two, and it was nearly, not quite, but nearly dark when I rounded the final turn toward the final shoot into the finish line set up at 4^th Street Live, the epicenter of Louisville nightlife.  I crossed the line hearing Marion, my Dad, and Hannah cheering for me, even now I am tearing up, so I probably was then, too, because it the greatest experience of my life, so far.  The crazy part was that I felt good, great even, and was smiling from ear to ear, I was an Ironman. 

My finish time was 12:52 and change, about an hour faster than my goal time, and my marathon split was 4:28, not a PR marathon time of course, but I knew I could do better next time…

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….