#25 - Carlsbad...a little bit faster this time

I am going to talk in depth about marathon #25 here, but you may be asking yourself, what about marathons #23 and #24?  Well, let me tell you where to find those two marvelous adventures if you find yourself wanting… #23 was covered as the very first entry of this blog within my Ironman Louisville post, so if you toggle back a few pages, you will find it there.  Then, #24 was my 2^nd time out at the Santa Clarita Marathon, which can be found in my Santa Clarita love-fest I wrote a few months ago, once again, just a few clicks away from your heart’s desire.  This brings us to marathon #25, my 2^nd dalliance at the Carlsbad marathon in January of 2013. 

I decided to race Carlsbad again because it hit two very important criteria: 1.) Free accommodations, I could stay with Mary and Jim. 2.) Geographically desirable, ‘twas only two hours down the coast.  When race weekend approached, it turned out to be fairly hectic for all of us because Hannah had two large events going on, testing for high school, and a club volleyball tournament.  Luckily, the tournament was in Anaheim, CA which is in between my home in LA, and Carlsbad, yay.  I was able to watch one of her matches, but still needed to hustle afterward to check in before the race expo closed its curtains for the night.  The upside to my drive down south was that once again I would be bunking with my big sis Mary, and her husband, Jim.  However, little did we know it was not just the three of us that night, but there was a newly sprouted soul who was waiting to surprise us all just a few weeks later, Mary was unknowingly pregnant with my niece, Darby.

I was excited about the race as always, but I was also curious to know if my newfound speed I discovered at the Santa Clarita marathon was just a fluke, or if it would pop up again for me on race day.  I told Mary that she and Jim should enjoy their day off together, and not to worry about going out to cheer me on this time around.  I was just happy to have spent another special night with my sister, and it turned out to be one for the history books, as just a couple of weeks later she found out about Darby, “Taryn, I’m pregnant!” That was by far my favorite phone call of all time.

I woke up on race morning to a drizzle in the air that I was not too psyched about, but I figured I had never run a marathon in the rain before, so I guess it was my turn.  The race organizers handed out plastic trash bags for us to protect us from the ever surprising precipitation that always seems to surprise SoCal residents, rain??  I peeled off my trash bag while walking to the start because I did not need any drag pulling me down, I wanted to run as fast as I could, for as long as I could, to just see what would happen. 

I always appreciate running a course for the second or third time, I think that familiarity is priceless.  We started early again, 6AM, I felt great, and cruised along the first 10k of the race passing most of my competitors until I found my groove with the 3:15 pace group.  Yep, that happened. The weather was perfect.  The rain had stopped, which left the air cool, but not cold.  I wanted to keep my pace around 7:00min. miles for as long as I could hang on, then I would try to keep it below 8:00min. miles for the rest of the race. 

I met a few nice fellows around mile 7 or so who were on running quests of their own, so it was fun to share my 35 by 35 story and be cheered on and respected by my peers, and then I dropped them.  I cranked through the first half marathon in 1:37hrs., beating my personal best for a stand-alone half marathon, so I knew today would be something special, maybe my speediness was not a fluke?

I ran through some uncomfortable miles between 15-18, always my toughest spot on this course.  They have us run out on a coarsely paved highway for a 4 mile or so out and back that tends to play games with your psyche more than anything else, but I just took each step with measured pace and kept my eyes up and ahead.  Soon enough I was screaming down the hill just after mile 18 and meeting up with all of the half marathoners that careen in to the course at that point of the course.  I looked down at my watch around mile 21 and tried to do the math in my head of what my finish time would be if I fell to a 10min. pace for the last few miles, 3:25… what?  I was stunned because I am terrible at math, but I think I had that figure right, and I wasn’t even running that slow, so if I maintained my current pace I could go under 3:25… WHAT!!??  I smiled and laughed out loud to myself as I was in my own little world among thousands, and then picked up the pace.

The last mile or so was a series of twists and turns, ups and then a marvelous downhill that lead us through a path of cheering fans on toward the finish line.  I stormed down the hill like the large legged lady I am, and leapt across the line with a huge grin and looked down at my watch, 3:23hrs.!!  I was literally beside myself with glee, I couldn’t believe it, but there it was in its honest to goodness Garmin gleamed glory; I cracked 3:25, wow. 

I had never enjoyed a drive on the 5 freeway more than I did that day on my way home, as I reveled in my fast time, and plotted to go even faster next time.  Then it hit me, I had just finished my 25^th marathon, only 10 more to go…

Ragnar Relay Wasatch Back - 197 miles of Utah goodness!!

****Time warp time***** Present DayJ

 

The best part about my most recent running adventure was that it was not my idea.  I give complete props to my super speedy sister Sarah for bringing the challenge to my attention back in late January of this year.  Sarah me called early one mid-week morning and asked me if I wanted to be part of  a  team running the Ragnar Wasatch Back Relay in late June, hmm, I thought for a few minutes, ran the idea by Marion, and said, “yes.”  The next six months were plagued with ups and downs of losing a team member to illness, trying desperately to find another one, and amping myself up for not only running a whopping 38+ miles in less than two days, a first for me, but doing so with four people I had never met, and one person who I knew a little too well.  However, my insecurities were dashed when our team, “We Are 6” first came together on the Thursday evening before the race. We had runners in their 60’s, 50’s, 40’s and 30’s, they all were seasoned runners, and remarkably good human beings.  I knew I was part of something special, and the next two days would be an amazing adventure.

 

The Ragnar relay teams are typically made up of twelve people, but as our name described, we were a team of six, which meant we each would be running six legs of the race, verses three.  I was beyond thrilled to go into a race completely blind, I mean, yes, I have run a lot over the past twenty years or so, but this race was a whole different animal, and I was up for the challenge.  I even got a good chuckle when I met two girls behind me while boarding our flight from LA to Salt Lake, they were talking about running at night, so I turned around and asked them if they were doing Ragnar.  They were adorable, and asked me which van I was in, assuming I was part of a twelve person team, when I replied, “Oh, we are an Ultra team.”  Their faces went white, and jaws dropped, “What?  That’s crazy!”  I asked them how many miles they would be running throughout the whole race, about 15-17, meanwhile I would be running over 38… good times. 

 

I met up with Sarah at baggage claim at the airport as we flew into Salt Lake City from two opposite ends of California.  She ran and leapt in my arms, and it felt like we were back in college again spending the summer choreographing dances to Backstreet Boys and shaping America’s youth as Camp Counselors at Rolling Hills Country Day Camp. Our relationship had grown distant the last ten years, but we were now back on track, and I was so excited to share this adventure with her. 

 

We quickly met up with two other members of our team, our fearless Captain, Dave, and the king of the “tough” legs, Kevin.  We needed a quick car change and traded in our mini-van for a much more durable black Secret Service-esque suburban and headed north to the race start in Logan.  We hit a bit of traffic, but it was probably the most scenic traffic jam I had ever been in, and a bit of a tease as the gorgeous mountains we saw out the window we surmised we would be running through the following two days back down from Logan to Park City. 

 

The remaining members of our team, Steve and Laura, drove up from Salt Lake in the afternoon just in time to get in some quick bonding in the girl’s room and we were off for a delicious Italian dinner at one of Logan’s top rated restaurants, which lived up to its glowing reputation, ‘twas delicious.  We turned in early, because even though our start time was not until 9AM we wanted to be up early, and wanted all of our ducks in row before the clock started ticking.  That is the deal with Ragnar, they give you 36 hours to finish the race, so we had from 9AM on Friday morning until 9PM on Saturday night to run 197 miles from Logan to Park City. Each leg of the race varied in distance and difficulty, Sarah started us off, while I would be the 5^th leg, which meant we would be running about every 5-6 hours depending on the speediness of our teammates.  We had two cars filled with three runners each and would leap frog each other throughout the course. 

 

The logistics eventually worked out, but it took a little while to get in our groove.  We hit a big snag early, because Steve and Kevin drove to the wrong exchange point to meet Sarah, so she was a little bummed when I talked with her calling on a stranger’s phone saying, “They aren’t here!” Well, luckily, after a few sniffles, and a little positive reinforcement, “Sarah, you smoked that first leg!” she relaxed and passed along the slap band “baton” to a harried and sorrowful Steve and sent him on his way for the second leg of the race, his longest, 9.2 miles. 

 

My first leg of the race was 7.4 mile leg uphill on a muddy trail named Avon Pass that was both challenging and fun.  I was trying to maintain a steady, conscious pace of 9:30-10min. miles that I planned to maintain for all six of my legs, so I was not being a speedster for this first time out, I knew I had a long way to go.

 

Laura ran before me and she was quick, so I had to be ready to rock whenever she set off on her leg, and that was the real game of the event, trying to get to the next leg in time to rest for a minute, prepare, and blast off when she sprinted up to the exchange point.  We all decided in our pre-race meetings that we would bring six different change of clothes for each leg, and let me tell you, that was a clutch move for me.  I made a complete wardrobe change after every leg, so that I felt as “fresh” as possible with each new leg.  I still smelled horrible, but I felt renewed, and it worked.  My second leg of the race was 7.3 miles up to Snow Basin ski resort. I am sure you are saying “Wow, T, that seems like a climb?” Yes, you would be correct in that assumption.  It was long, steep, and even steeper, and then I came the crest at the 2.5 mile mark to the most striking valley I have ever laid my green eyes on, and down I flew.  We went up again, and again, but I have never felt so alive and thankful during any run of my life, the sun was setting, the sky was never-ending, and I was drinking up every bit of it.  I had no idea what time it was, I was deep in the zone, and nothing else mattered except running to the top of the mountain.  When I finally reached the top I slapped the bracelet on Dave and felt a wee bit delirious, Sarah asked me, “was it hard?” to which I replied, “I ran up to a ski resort!” I was in an altitude induced state of bliss, and couldn’t wait to run some more!

 

Sarah’s next leg of the race was 9.3 miles downhill, which might sound fun, but actually downhills can be even more brutal the uphills, and over nine miles of it was no joke, but she looked amazing as we drove by her, and finished like the natural runner she is.  At this point in the race, two rounds in, we had our routine down, I would explain it, but I don’t want to give anyone a headache.  In essence, we would jump ahead in time to rest for a while before we had to run again.  Next up was the fun stuff, nighttime running.  Luckily, my toughest legs were #1, #2, and #6, so the middle of the night stuff was pretty flat and chill, but I did not fall in love with my headlamp, I prefer the sun please.

 

By far the biggest buzzkill of this event was the commute between exchange areas.  I understand that we were driving on two lane roads most of the time, and there were over 1,300 teams, but honestly, we would spend over an hour between exchanges on more than one occasion, once again making sleep a dream and not much of a reality.  I think I did fall asleep for at least 30-40 minutes between 2:45AM-4:30AM sitting upright in our Secret Service Suburban driver’s seat, but I was not expecting much, and I was happy with the few minutes of slumber I had. I was in awe of Kevin being able to run 11.6 miles in those wee hours of the morning, but he looked euphoric at 5AM when he finished, truly inspiring. We gave each other quick high fives then headed off to my next exchange because Laura was licking her chops to run this leg fast, and I wanted to be ready. 

 

The 4th leg for me was a 5.5mile mellow sunrise romp that I trotted along at my prescribed pace, feeling lucky to have made it to the morning, but fully aware that we still had a very long day ahead of us. Unfortunately, the drive to the next exchange to meet Dave was brutally slow.  He only had 6.3 miles to run, so Laura and I needed to hustle, but we were only able to inch slowly along the back roads to reach our destination.  We did have some entertainment from a guy dangling form the back of his van changing in front of us, nothing too scandalous, but it did help pass the time.  Once we finally reached Dave’s exchange we drove off to the Jordanelle Reservoir overlook to wait for Kevin to run in and Laura to take off.  The drive was beautiful, but the climb to the reservoir was exposed, providing no shade at all from the Midsummer Day’s rising temps, and it was a long climb of 7.7 miles that once again Kevin would have to manage.  He had some truly tough legs to muscle through on this course. 

We parked our suburban among many other vans and vehicles overlooking this amazing scene of nature, and took a breath at how far we had come in our journey.  Dave and I had given up estimating our finish time at this point because there were still too many variables with the six remaining legs of the race, but we knew the end was near, and that was enough to rejoice.  I met some wonderful fellow runners in my favorite meeting spot on the course, the Port-O-Potty line, they were lovely and impressed that we were an Ultra team, a fact that never seemed to disappoint. 

 

When Kevin ran in to the exchange he did not have the euphoric look on his face like he did after his long leg a few hours ago, instead he yelled, “What the !@#$ was that?!”   We laughed and gave him hugs and high fives because once again he fought hard for the team, and shared a bit of honesty in his review of the course.  Laura took off and ran nearly all downhill for her 6.1 mile leg, which meant once again Dave and I had to high tail it to my exchange so I could receive the slap bracelet from our speedster and head out on my way. 

 

After I received the bracelet from Laura I was off on a hot, flat 4 mile run through the sleepy town of Midway.  The highlight was I ran through a covered bridge, but even though this was my shortest leg of the race, it seemed to never-ending.  I felt fine, my pace was solid, but I just wanted to be done.  I still had my final leg, 9.8miles ahead of me, and this little jaunt was messing with my head.  Thankfully, before I knew it I rounded the final corner and saw the orange balloons of the exchange up ahead and Dave ready with his arm out for the slap bracelet; another leg down, only one more to go.

 

This last round of our race was in a word, hard. Not only were we dealing with heat, but also a healthy dose of sleep deprivation.  Sarah and Steve’s legs were fairly flat, but hot, and dreadful.  While Kevin’s leg started the first 4.4 miles up a ridiculous climb lovingly named, “Ragnar Hill.”  We drove our Suburban up the hill to the exchange where Laura would take the bracelet from Kevin and run another 4 miles up to my exchange, which wasn’t even the top of the hill!  I would need to run another mile up before I crested the hill, but more on that later.  We parked along the narrow, crowded road in the shade, and really let the toll of the day sink in.  I ate a little, and closed my eyes for a few minutes, when I suddenly stirred myself awake with the burning feeling Kevin was not far away.  I climbed out of the car and started to pace up and down the hill cheering on fellow runners who were nearly finished with most likely the toughest 4.4 mile run of their lives, it was awesome.  I was proud of every single one of these strangers, but then I saw Sarah and Steve walking up the hill, and ran down to meet their embrace.  They had both finished, their mission was complete, which I was thrilled about, and slightly jealous of, because I still had a ways to go.  Then, like the swift slight spirit of Hermes, Kevin came charging up the hill and we yelled and screamed for him to finish strong, this was it for him, too.  He passed the bracelet off to Laura, and she was off like a mountain goat gnawing away at the hill like it was a treat and not the massive meal it felt to the rest of the runners around her.  She ran it beautifully, Dave and I stopped various times along our drive up to my final exchange and marveled at how well she was handling the tough climb, to say I impressed would be a massive understatement, Laura is a gifted runner.

 

I waited for Laura at my exchange with a light-headed anxiety never felt in all my years of running, would be descending over 2,100ft., which is a lot of downhill to absorb on a good day, but careening downhill that far over nearly 10 miles on less than one hour of sleep and over 30 miles of running in my legs was unchartered territory for me, and I was nervous.  Once I started running up the first mile which was the finale of “Ragnar Hill”, my nerves began to ease, because I was doing what I love, and what my body finds second nature, running. The next few miles were filled with glorious twists and turns of steep descent, but I was careful to maintain my measured pace because running too fast was just plain dumb, and I wanted to feel good most of the way.  The best word to describe the way my mind and body were feeling would be “weird”.  I felt overwhelmed by exhaustion, and took to squirting water into my face just to stay alert, which felt slightly disconcerting. Then the downhill leveled out, which was a welcomed sensation for my quads, but what came next was not… we had a short, steep climb.  I had already run up thousands of feet, I was over it, so this hill did not get a smile out of me, nor tears.  Instead, I just ran up it like any other, and sped away as fast as I could down the other side when I reached the top.  At this point in the race my Garmin had lost all of its juice, so I was using my good ‘ol Timex to get me through, and the time I wanted to hit was 90min.  I told Dave that was my target, and I did not want to let him down.  It took about 40min., but I finally found my legs again, and they were having a ball cruising down the winding road to Park City, I was making great time, and was thrilled.  Once we reached the bottom of the descent they had us run through Deer Valley, which meant more uphill, my head and heart were sick of running uphill, but my legs were up for the challenge.  When I made it to the top of the climb the arrows pointed us down a steep, shale laden bike/ski trail that put needless minutes into my time.  I was more annoyed than anything else because I just wanted to be done, and I did not want to fall, or roll my ankle on this last mile of the course, then I saw the road, and was shortly on pavement again. 

 

We had ¾ miles to go when I picked up the pace and read 1:33hrs. on my watch, I was devastated, I missed my time, and let my team down.  I made the last turn through a crowd filled park that was home to the final exchange of the race, and finish line area, I nearly sprinted in to slap the bracelet on to Dave, and fell into the arms of my cheering teammates.  I had never felt so exhausted at the end of any race, not even an ironman could compare to the mental and physical exhaustion I was feeling, and I did not keep it to myself.  “That was awful!” Sarah was surprised to see me upset, especially because she thought I looked good running in, but I felt like a failure because my time was longer than I planned, because the course was much more difficult than I anticipated, which at that moment, made me angry, but really I think my exhaustion got the better of me.

 

We all walked around for a while, and waited for Dave to round the final turn so we could all run through the finish line together, a very cool experience, one that made me happy, and sad.  I had just met 4 out of 5 my teammates less than two days before, and now we were bonded by this journey through Utah that will live on forever in my memory as one of the greatest events in my life.  I know that if I can run 10 miles up and downhill on only minutes of sleep and 30 miles into my legs, I can handle anything.  We finished in 34:18, which is pretty decent for our first time out.  “We Are 6”, more like “we are an Amazing 6”.

#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....