#22 - Ironman St. George, 2012

Wind.

It comes and it goes,
sometimes it’s fun,
and sometimes it blows.

 

I grew up encountering a handful of windy storms that wreaked havoc in Southern California because we are not used to, my mind is blanking, what is it called?  Oh right, weather. I always found running and riding in windy conditions incredibly annoying, but not scary, that changed soon after I hopped in the water of Sand Hollow Reservoir a second time for Ironman St. George, 2012. 

 

The water was glassy, and gorgeous for the 7AM start, perfect conditions for a 2.4 mile swim with a thousand or so of my nearest and dearest fellow competitors. We were a smiley, happy bunch of muscly misfits swimming into another amazing all day triathlon, except about ten minutes into the swim, the smiles switched to screams, and our race turned from a feat of endurance, to an act of survival.  The swells grew to 5ft. high, and began to roll like ocean waves after our first turn, which I initially I thought was wake from the rescue boats staged in the reservoir, but after I made the second turn I realized the waves were not from the boats, but from a massive and sudden windstorm that swooped in over all of us.  We were too far into the race for the officials to stop it, and too early into it to get ahead of it.  I kept my cool because I knew my swim fitness was there, and I was thankful that I grew up playing in the waves of Torrance beach and was able handle myself in mighty waves such as this; I was practically body-surfing.  I accepted that the expectations I set out for myself for the day were blown away by the 40mph winds, and now the goal was just to finish the race in one piece. 

 

My heart skipped a beat for all my buddies in the water who were not accustomed to these conditions, and a sick feeling washed over me that many people may be scared to death by these waves, and not prepared at all  of how to handle them.  Swimming in open water is completely different from swimming cozily within lane lines in a pool on the best day, a day like today was treacherous for all of us, and I prayed that we would all emerge from the water alive.  Thankfully, I later heard that even though many dreams were dashed during the swim, no lives were lost. 

 

When I finally emerged from the raucous waves and into transition I was thrilled to be on land, but as I hopped on my bike and rode out I yelled to my family, “Mission aborted!!”  This was because my goal swim time was 1:10hrs., per usual, but I came out of the water in 1:35hrs., and I knew the wind was going to continue slamming us on the bike, and wanted to let them know that this was going to be a much longer day for all of us than I had planned.

 

The bike leg was hysterical.  Imagine riding your bike as hard as you can into a relentless headwind for nearly 7.5 hours, so pretty much an entire work day for the average American.  I was not surprised by any portion of the course because I rode it the previous year, and it was just as tough as I remembered it.  Ironically, the steepest hill on the course, “The Wall”, turned out to be the easiest part of the day. I had to give a wink and a smile to the heavens as the wind downshifted to a slight breeze after the first sharp right turn up “The Wall”, and miraculously it felt more like a hand on my back than a tornado in my face. 

 

The saving grace of the grueling bike course is its beauty.  There is nothing more glorious in my opinion than the red rocks surrounding St. George, Utah.  I was alone over a large portion of the day, but I felt giddy and appreciative at how hard this race was turning out to be, I knew I was part of something special.  Did I think the bike course would never end? Yes.  Was I happy with my split of 7:27hrs., over an hour slower than my time in 2011?  No, but I finished under the cut-off which considering the conditions was not impressive, but respectable.  I had no idea as I rolled into Transition how many athletes did not make the bike cut off, or even the swim cut off for that matter, I just knew I had a marathon ahead of me, and it was time to run.

 

The upside to the 2012 race was that the run course was moved from the exposed, hot, hilly suffer fest of 2011, to a much more manageable course that looped around downtown St. George. Even though I appreciated the race organizers efforts to make our lives somewhat more pleasant, I don’t think I had ever been so annoyed during a marathon as I was that Cinco De Mayo in 2012.  It was probably because I had never started a marathon so late in the day, around 4PM, and my legs and spirit were weak from the beat down the wind had given me all day.  Luckily, the air was still for the marathon, another gift from above. Nevertheless, try as I might, my legs were like cinder blocks, my stomach was rock hard, until it gave out around hour 12, which I understood; I was usually done by then. I had some dark moments between miles 10 – 20, and I am positive that only reason I did not walk off the course and weep in my spandex was I knew that my family was waiting for me at the finish line. I had to pick my sorry spirits up and run for them.  I knew I would be fine if I quit, I was that delusional, but I didn’t quit, I “ran” as fast as I could to the finish line not only to finish the race, but to just put an end to this bloody day.

 

When we arrived back at the hotel I stopped to talk to a family who congratulated me for finishing the race, a normal sentiment, yes, but their tone was weighted and sincere because their daughter did not finish.  It turned out that Ironman St. George 2012 had the largest attrition percentage ever, 29% of the participants did not finish.  That is a HUGE number.  My time was an abysmal 13:39hrs., nearly 2.5 hours slower than my best time at IM Arizona, but I still had a finishing medal dangling around neck, and was proud to be a part of such a historical race.  Plus, marathon #22 was in the books, and I was well on my way to reaching 35 by 35.

The Inception of 35 by 35

The beginning of 2012 was abysmal at best.  Marion was working 100+ hour weeks; I am not exaggerating.  He had two days off in January, the 1^st, and the Saturday after his birthday. We are both used to the Indentured Servitude way of life in the Visual effects industry, but this stint was too much, and just plain sad.  That said, he finished his project in early March, so we jumped at the opportunity to escape for a few days with our two dogs up to a gorgeous camp ground in the mountains above Santa Barbara called Lake Cachuma.

 

I was happy to be having some quality time together, but I was incredibly anxious from the moment we left the house, and just felt off. I could not sleep the first night, I felt trapped by both the wooden walls of the cabin, and tormented by my own thoughts of what my life had become. I felt that my identity was purely about taking care of Marion’s child, being supportive of his career, and along the way had failed to realize my own dreams of becoming a professional triathlete. 

 I brought my road bike and trainer so that I could pedal away indoors, the campsite was right off of a busy highway that I did not feel comfortable riding on, plus the wind was insane, but I was training for another Ironman coming up in St. George, so I had to get the work done one way or another. Marion spent much of the first day searching for a fishing spot, he found a good one, but not many fish.  I was spending my free time reading a wonderful book called Second Wind, One Woman’s Midlife Quest To Run Seven Marathons On Seven Continents written by the marvelous Cami Ostman.  I appreciated the adventures Cami underwent in her book because she was a “real” runner, not an elite athlete, and she took on incredible challenges to both start and finish the races. I was impressed and inspired.

The second morning of our trip Marion wanted to go fishing early, which was fine, but our dogs, especially our boy, Marzen, were in rare, annoying form. He was barking and pacing the cabin, and for the life of me, I could not figure out how to make him calm down.  Slowly, then all of sudden I cracked.  I grabbed my notebook and wrote down a manifesto of how my life was a complete failure, I had no idea who I was anymore, and I did not want to go on one more second when Marion walked through the door.  Poor guy, I was a wet, crying mess sitting on the couch, while our dogs were howling and pacing like caged hyenas. He knelt down next to the dogs, pleaded with me to calm down, and then took the dogs outside to see if they had to go to the bathroom.  Apparently, his instincts were right; Marzen just needed a good poop to bring him back down to earth. I was still in hysterics when the three of them walked back into the cabin, Marion sat next to me and listened to all I had to say, even though much of it must have hurt his ears, he told me I could do whatever I wanted, but I had no idea what that would be.  I decided to go for a run, because clearly I needed some fresh air, and I needed to burn some anxiety.  That run was windy, dusty, and not fun at all, but it completely turned my attitude around, and woke me up.  The key to my happiness was running. It was the one part of my life that I had complete control over, was all my own, and could depend on to give me clarity. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading Cami’s book and cooking up a plan that would give me purpose, so that I could continue living my every day for Marion and Hannah while maintaining my own identity.

The final morning of our “relaxing” vacation, was my first real trail run around Lake Cachuma.  It was beautiful, a little scary because I was not sure where I was going, but the air was still, my mind was clear, and my legs were moving, perfect.

 I told Marion about my plan to run thirty five marathons by the time I turned thirty five and write a book about it all ten minutes after we pulled out of the Lake Cachuma Campsite. He never flinched at the idea being a bit much, this is because I would need to run fourteen marathons within two and a half years, he just said, “Okay, get going.” I stared out the window overwhelmed with bliss, both because this quest felt right, and because I knew once again that Marion was the perfect match for me.  

 

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....

 

#20 - Ironman Arizona - Part 1: Road Trippin' With My Mom

As the air SoCal air started to cool from late Summer to Fall 2010, Ironman Arizona was quickly approaching and I thought up an opportunity for some amazing mother daughter bonding, “Hey mom, do you want to drive out to Tempe with me a couple of days before the race?”  Marion would not be able to miss work to drive out with me, and I wanted a partner in crime if any funny business came up.  Also, I thought it would be a wonderful chance for my mom and I to spend some uninterrupted time together, and nothing spells out QT than a road trip in the desert.   

My mother has four children, and had to schlep us all over the planet to zillions of practices, games, meets, cheerleading competitions, etc., for the better part of her adult life, so I figured why not one more sporting event where she could just relax and come along for the ride.  Thankfully, she said, “yes,” yay!

 

My mom is the most beautiful woman I know.  Marion is very excited about his future, because lucky for both of us, I look a lot like her.  However, there is much more to my mother than her gorgeous exterior, she is brilliant, hard-working, and an eternal optimist.  More importantly, she has been a tremendous role model to both me and Mary, because after my parent’s divorce she went back to college, while raising four children between the ages of 8-16 on her own, and became an award-winning high school English teacher.  I have to admit that I used to find it aggravating when she picked me up from Junior High hours after the bell rang because she had to work, but I was always proud of her, and grew to appreciate my after school adventures in the library.  I now completely understand the heroics it took for her to hightail it from work thirty minutes away from my school in order to pick me up, because in turn I have had MANY nail-biting moments racing up the 405 freeway from my old office in Santa Monica to pick up Hannah from Daycare in Encino during rush hour traffic, not fun.  I am one lucky girl to have had her in my corner through years of intense club soccer teams, broken basketball dreams, and the current pep infused phone call I make before every marathon, my mom is simply the best.

My mom’s house is on the way to Tempe, so it was easy for me to swing by and pick her up before we headed east for our mother/daughter adventure in the desert sun. Throughout the six-plus hour drive, my mom and I talked about current events, my brothers and sisters, and lots of triathlon Pro talk. I told her all about Hillary, naturally, as well as the greatest triathlete of all time, Chrissie Wellington.  Chrissie had won the Ironman World Championships in Kona from 2007 – 2009, however she had to bow out on race morning in 2010 because she was incredibly sick, but vowed to make her come back at Arizona, which meant we would be on the course together!  The following morning when I was in line for packet pick up, my mom was standing just a few feet away under a tree, when a sinewy, tan and ripped arm slid in front of me and said to the volunteers, “Can I check in quickly, I have to hurry on to the pro panel.” I turned toward my mom, my eyes bugging out of my head, heart pounding through my small-chested chest, and mouthed, “That’s Chrissie.” She laughed, understanding right away what a HUGE moment that was for me, and told me later in her classic, adorably sentimental voice that seeing Chrissie was a sign of exciting things ahead for my race. 

I could never convey to my mom how special those two days and nights were for me to spend with her, just the two of us, in Tempe, AZ before the most significant race of my life.  I had not only physically prepared for this Ironman, but I had invested time, energy, money, mental and emotional fortitude in pursuit of this singular goal, and to have my mom there with me gave me breath in my lungs to enjoy it all. 

 

 

#19 - Titanica on a Bicycle

On the night of November 22^nd, 2009 I walked out of our office toward the living room and plopped down on our gold crushed velvet chair my step dad lent me years before to help furnish my second “real world” apartment, and said matter-of-factly to Marion, “I need to race Arizona.” I had spent the better part of my Sunday staring at our computer watching the live coverage of Ironman Arizona, cheering for my favorite pros, and stalking my competition in my age group.  I realized the top girl’s were not entirely out of my reach, and if properly trained and tuned up, I could make a strong go of it the following year and nab a Kona spot. The following morning, I was at my computer a few minutes before 11AM PST, my hand hovering deftly above my mouse ready to pounce when the lines went live at Ironman.com and I was able to register for my race with destiny exactly 364 days away.  

Next, I made some key decisions to help give me the best chance possible to be fit and ready by November. I hired a triathlon coach, Super Stud Ultraman World Champion, Hillary Biscay, and was scouring Craig’s list for deals on a Triathlon Bike, my roadie with clip on aerobar days were over, I was ready to walk the walk with the big kids. 

Hillary started me off with a track interval work out on January 1^st, which was awesome, I felt like I was in high school again, that said, I did the work out wrong, oops. I gave myself too much rest in between 400m repeats, a rookie mistake I would never make again under Hillary’s watch.  She wanted to boost my marathon speed a bit, so I raced a few half marathons during the first part of the year, a half Ironman, and an Olympic distance triathlon with my lil’ brother Bo, and his friend Justin, which was a definite highlight of my year, not my performance mind you, but the special time spent with Bo was priceless.

I had two Ironman triathlons slated for my year, so you may be asking, “Okay, we know about Arizona, but what else did she do?” Good question, who can guess which race I chose?  Anyone? Okay, okay, the suspense is even making me restless, I raced in late July, in northern California, yep, Vineman.  This time around was completely different because instead of my family joining me, I raced along side my oldest friend from college, thee swimming and cycling extraordinaire, Sarah Gonzalez, and her two adorable lovey-dovey friends Erin Plante, and Matt Mattilla.  It would be their first ironman, my third, and subsequent nineteenth marathon.  We had a fun few days leading up to the race, it was great to be back in Guernesville, I felt like a bit of a local, we rented a hip house in the woods, and laughed and psyched each other up before the big day.  Once again Peter rallied up from San Francisco to spend the night, and then shuttle us to the swim start race morning, thanks Pete.

I was very excited for the swim leg of the race because I had spent MANY hours in the pool the previous seven months leading up to this point, Hillary is a swimming machine, and her carefully designed swim work outs are legendary, so I was excited to test my progress.  Guess what my swim time was? 1:14 hours!!!!  Okay, for those who did not read my previous post about my first go at Vineman, my time then was 1:14… No Change At ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!  I couldn’t believe it, but whatever, I let my wounded pride and sore arms stay behind in T1 and vowed to pedal hard throughout the 112 mile bike leg.  **A  brief side note here, I am about 85% legs, which may be my downfall as a not-so speedy swimmer, however, I love to swim, and I KNOW that Hillary’s work outs boosted my confidence and endurance in the water, but clearly I could not execute on race day. Oh well.

The bike leg was awesome, until it wasn’t.  I was pushing hard the first loop of the two loop course, passing people, and smiling, then at mile 100 tragedy struck. I was at the bottom of the biggest hill on the course, Chaulk Hill, and my bike locked as I was shifting to an easier gear prepping for the climb, and I stopped moving.  I could not shift, “what the?”  I walked up to the top of the hill where I asked a couple of spectators in cycling gear to come check out my bike to see if it was ride-able, “yeah, you’re fine, you just can’t change gears.” The fury of my alter ego Titanica took over, but once I got the “Okay” from Joe Bicycle I threw my leg over my bike and was off!  Luckily, I only had about twelve miles to go, but having to push hard that entire time with no help of easier gears to rest my legs for the marathon was not ideal.  When I rolled into T2 I saw my dad and Peter cheering and smiling, and I yelled out in an inflamed temper tantrum tone, “I had a bike mechanical, and lost ten minutes!” My poor dad, he had flown up solo just to see the race, then fly home, he must have been thrilled to know my attitude was a few notches below gleeful. 

 

I cannot explain what a mental bomb I had experienced with my bike issue, it was embarrassing. I needlessly loaded a ton of pressure on my shoulders to race perfectly not only for myself, but to make Hillary proud, and to back up my ironman propaganda I was preaching to my friends all week.  Thankfully, I still had a marathon to run, and we all know how running can bring me back from the brink of self-destruction, so I threw in all my chips, and yelped pitifully running out of T2 “let’s go, T!” 

I have decided to save you all from the the gritty details of what went on during the marathon, it was not pretty. To sum up, I made more pit stops than I can count, and after crossing the finish line I literally burst into tears, not a shining moment. The upside is that I finished in 11:47, knocking off about thirty minutes from my previous year’s performance, placing 2^nd in my age group, and completing my nineteenth marathon to boot.  Even better was that I had the chance to cheer on my friend’s to their first ironman finishes, and have the most fun post-race day lounge fest ever at our swanky house that following Sunday. Obviously I did not have that much to be upset about, but a whole lot to learn from. Ironman Arizona was still four months out.