#28 - Ironman Wisconsin

I raced my 28^th marathon within Ironman Wisconsin on September 8^th, 2013.  I felt very close to this race because Wisconsin was the first Ironman I wanted to race back in 2008, but I could not get into it the first time, so to get a real crack at it five years later felt like fate stepping in and giving me a chance.  However, I have found it challenging to warp back to that time, a year ago in Wisconsin, because this last year has been riddled with rejection, sadness, and a near wipe out of the life I thought I was living outside of my running shoes, so instead I thought I would share an email I sent my family the day before the race which describes the wonder and appreciation I felt to finally be racing in Madison.  

Greetings Everyone,

I wanted to check in with all of you and give you a quick rundown of what I have been up to the past couple of days, and how this Ironman is shaping up to be pretty special.  First off, just after I landed on Thursday afternoon I was lucky enough to be taken on a tour of the bike course by the 2008 female Champion, Hillary Biscay, which was wonderful because not only does she know every inch of this course, this will be her seventh time racing this year, but there is no way I could have found my way around that Wisconsin farm land on my own; the course is beautiful, but tough.  Then, for a few minutes I was in the car with the 2007 overall champion, Hillary's husband Maik Twelsiek, so hopefully their amazingness rubbed off on me:)

The adventure continued as I got COMPLETELY lost on my way to my hotel, I was even pulled over by a cop for not having my lights on, but I found my way, and now I feel like I know Madison like the back of my hand. On Friday morning I set off for a mellow 40 min. run on a beautiful bike path near my hotel and as I was admiring the scenery my left foot slipped off the uneven pavement and I went down hard on my left knee and right hand, awesome! Also, I rolled my ankle, oops.  I walked on it for a minute, and decided to turn around and run back to my hotel.  Fortunately, I did not feel any broken bones, or see any black and blue, but my foot was more than tender, and started to swell, so I was getting a little nervous.  Next, I went to get coffee with a wonderful woman named Meghan Walsh, she is the contact for the charity I race for, AHOPE. She is fantastic, and we had a great morning, but my sore foot was in the back of my mind the whole visit.

Next up was going to the Athlete meeting, and doing a little souvenir shopping back at Monona Terrace, the base camp for the race. I could move my foot around but it hurt, and I had to think for a minute about the busy rest of the year I have lined up, 1 more tri, and 2 more marathons, did I want to risk all of that to finish this race?

While I was shopping for Ironman goodies I ran into a fellow member of my Big Sexy Racing triathlon team, Jedd, a fast fellow from a neighboring Wisconsin town who is gunning for a Kona slot in the 30-34 AG.  I had only seen and spoken with him on Facebook, so it was great to catch up in person, and the bonus of all bonuses was that he is a Physical Therapist, and offered to exam my foot, um.. YES!  He gave me the "okay" to race because even though I did have swelling, but my mobility was good, and there was nothing broken, sweet!

I spent the rest of the evening eating my pre-race feast of healthy delectables from a local Co-op, and icing and moving my foot around.  By the time I went to bed, I felt about 200% better than I did in the morning, even though my hand and knee were still bloodied like an eight year old tomboy, my foot felt ready to go:)

So, here we are on "day before the race" morning, and I have one small bike ride to do in order to warm up my legs and make sure my bike is ready to rock.  Then, it is just dropping off all of my gear, a pancake feast tonight, and hopefully a few hours of sleep before I am up at 4AM and ready for another amazing day outside.

If you have a minute or two on Sunday, you can track me on www.ironman.com, there will be a link for IM Wisconsin, then go to Live Tracking, and plug in my bib# 516 to find me.  Also, Hillary's # is 41, and Maik is #1... My $ is on him for the win, and for Hillary to be close to the front, too.  I am going to push hard all day, but for this ninth IM of mine I am just happy to be lining up and enjoying the day. 

If you made it through this whole email, thank you!  Also, thank you for the amazing support and inspiration you all have given me throughout these many years of endurance events, I really appreciate it. 

Love,

Iron T

I am thrilled to report that Maik did indeed take the win, and Hillary raced valiantly as always, while I placed 5th in my age group, my best place to date. I did not know it at the time, maybe somewhere deep inside I did, but Wisconsin would be my last Ironman on this leg of my life’s journey, and I could not have imagined a more fabulous finale. 

#35 - San Francisco, Again and for good this time...

There is something sensational and horrific about accomplishing a goal.  I set a goal I knew was within my grasp, but far enough ahead of me to where I did not have to worry about reaching it and moving beyond it for a couple of years, then suddenly those years were up.  

I finished my 35^th marathon on July 27^th, 2014.  I can’t believe it happened, but I know it did, I was there.  I was grossly appreciative of how painful an experience it was from before the start to after the finish.  Actually, that may be a bit dramatic, but it was a difficult experience.  I can still taste every mile, I wasn’t myself that day, or maybe I was actually my true self, stripped of the fast running facade that had fleeced my persona the last eighteen months, I am not sure I even know yet who I was that day?  I do know that it was not who I wanted to be, I felt bad, I ran slow, I was passed by thousands of runners, yet for some sick reason I am happy it went down the way it did.  I needed to be humbled by the marathon.

I flew up to Oakland on Saturday morning; I took the BART for the first time over to the city, and chatted it up with a mother/daughter SoCal half marathon running duo that were in town to run the race.  I did not mention the marathon would be my 35^th, and as such the culmination of a 2.5 year quest of self-preservation and motivation.  However, I did share that I was running the marathon.  I was excited about the course this time around because we would be running over the Golden Gate Bridge, a new addition since my first stint in 2003, and a real treat for any native Californian, or citizen of the world for that matter.

I exited at the Embarcadero stop, grabbed some fuel from Noah’s bagels and started my walk down to the race expo being held at Fort Mason where I would meet up with my sister Sarah; she was running the race, too. Sarah mentioned that it was a pretty long walk, and that I should probably take a cab, but I wanted to stretch my legs and enjoy my mini-vaca weekend, so I said I would be fine.  Cut to 20 minutes later and I flagged down a pedi-cab, the bicycle cabbies, and sat back to enjoy the ride to Fort Mason as a true tourist. The expo was an absolute madhouse, but I met up with Sarah just fine, and met one of her friend’s Erin, who was an Ambassador for the race, and would also be running it.  Sarah and I sauntered back to her car along the strand next Crissy Field, and it felt wonderful to actually talk to someone who cared about me, and I could be honest with.  Marion was still in China, and I was living on an island at home, so this time with Sarah was so delicious I wanted to both slurp it up quickly, and savor it soundly because it would need to hold me over for a while.  We chilled at her house for a few hours doing the glamorous tasks of runners such as foam rolling, or softball rolling in my case, while drinking water and prepping for a pre-race feast with her two friends name Erin, the previously mentioned race Ambassador, and a carbon copy of one of best friends from college, Annie, but every bit these girls was absolute gold.  We made pancakes and pasta, shared running and life stories, and goals for the race.  I have to admit that my goals were not very ambitious, I was not feeling in top form after the previous four weeks which included Ragnar, and the June Lake Half Ironman, but I felt that competitive burn to aim for at least 3:30. Ambassador Erin treated us to a white bracelet which gave us access to the Ambassador tent, which was exactly the VIP treatment I was looking for the finale of my quest, I did not expect it, but certainly did not it turn down.  We all said our “good byes”, and “good lucks”, and then the Erin’s were off in an Uber out into the San Francisco night. 

The Kelly/Fox sisters were in bed by 8PMish, I think I was asleep by 9:30PM, and we were up and at ‘em by 3AM. I was aware of my body, and it did not feel as light and gingerly as usual; however, I was more excited to be sharing this wonderful experience with Sarah, I had a feeling she would be running a very special race. We headed toward the aforementioned Ambassador’s tent where we chatted and chilled with the Erin’s and other happy runners underneath the illuminated Bay Bridge.  The bridge’s lights were still on, because the sun was not up, yep, another 5:30A start time, bring it!

We started in in different waves, I was about two minutes ahead of the girls, but when the gun went off, so did my expectations for the day, I did not feel good.  I was moving at my usual early miles sub 7:30min. per mile pace, but I just felt out of sync, tired, and annoyed that there were no clear mile markers set up, grr. Yes, I have a Garmin, but I still prefer a large sign letting me know I am making progress.  The first few miles were littered with short steep hills, I trudged up them confidently, but everyone else must have felt better about themselves because runners were flying by me in droves, I felt like I was stuck in second gear while they were flying up to fifth.  When I finally let myself look at my watch it read 5miles, that was a shock, those first five miles flew by, whew, maybe I was not as far off my usual self as I thought?

The next four to five miles took us over the Golden Gate Bridge, which was everything I hoped it would be.  I finally felt strong, and found my groove, then I saw Sarah and “Annie” Erin on my way back over to the city. They both looked awesome, calm, cool and collected.  Luckily, I still felt good at that point, so I probably looked good to them, too, but then we climbed a big hill leading into Golden Gate Park over mile ten and then flew down a long steep downhill on the other side which was nice, I love downhill’s, but once we hit the flats again around mile eleven, everything changed.  I was thrilled to see ambassador Erin fly past me up a neighborhood hill, for about three seconds I thought I would catch up to her, nope. 

The next two and a half hours were filled with slow running, measly expectations, and overflowing gratitude.  I never allowed myself to be sad and disappointed at how my body had finally tapped out.  I should be spent, on my BEST day, on ANYONE’S best day, marathons are hard. This race should be hard, today, and every other day, in shape or not, 26.2 miles is a long way to run, and I had been blessed to be running it for the 35th time, how could I not be feeling anything but thankful at the many gifts this race had given me? I smiled and accepted that the marathon was teaching me a lesson, and feeding me humble pie instead of GU, I needed it, and even wanted it.  “The marathon saved me, in every way a runner can be saved.”

I experienced the best “pass” ever by a fellow runner around mile 21, Sarah passed me looking great, and I waved her on with a pain induced prideful smile, she was crushing it!  I finally found my legs again around mile 24, just enough time for me to enjoy the last 2 miles of this race, and the final leg of my quest to run 35 marathons by the time I turned 35.  Once again the San Francisco marathon would prove to be a pivotal race in my journey, it was 11 years earlier to the day that I first broke 4 hours and believed I could actually run marathons for real, and the Boston qualifier seed was planted.  I am happy to report that have run many fast marathons, a few slow ones, and the secret is that they were all equally wonderful.  A finish line, is a finish line, no matter how long it takes to get there, crossing over it never gets old.   

#26: OC Marathon - School is In Session

I ran my 26^th marathon on Cinco de Mayo, 2013 in lovely Orange County California, I was on another solo mission because we had out-of-towners arriving that night Marion needed to receive and entertain, so I packed up my pancakes and drove south to breath in some cool ocean air, and enjoy a nice long run the next day. 

I wrestled with a blistering case of hotel fever around 7PM and decided to venture on a walk-about around the hotel.  This has become one of my favorite activities after my dad took me on a business trip to Washington DC when I was ten, and we stayed at the JW Marriott where he would let me explore the hotel and its adjoining mall for hours by myself while he was in business meetings.  Mind you this was 1990, and I was still a large framed girl even then, so I don’t think I was an easy target, but would I let Hannah go exploring on her own even now at 15? “Uh, no.” That said, I am thankful my dad gave me that freedom because I think that trip gave me a shot of independence that shaped my confidence for the rest of my life.  Hence, my many inspired solo missions to sporting events around the world. 

Once I ventured outside, I found an adorable couple taking photos at the gazebo just beyond the pool, and offered to take one of the two of them.  We chatted for a while and it turned out they were running the race tomorrow as well, and it was the wife’s first marathon, yum, a newbie! I jumped right into telling her all of the amazing sensations she would feel during the race, the pain, the glory, the fatigue, the tears, she looked a tad bewildered, but I think she appreciated my enthusiasm. Her husband asked me what my goal time was, and before I could think I blurted out, “3:20.”

“Wow, that’s awesome, good luck!”

“Thanks, you too.” I smiled and turned back toward the lobby and said out loud to myself, ‘what did I just say?’ Then a cool confidence washed over me and I said it again, internally this time, ‘3:20.”

The start time was a ludicrous 5:30AM, hence the hotel stay, but I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the starting line was literally in front of my hotel, sweet!  The mood was stirring because this race was only two weeks after the Boston marathon bombings, the security was tight, and the race director held a moment of silence for the victims just before the gun went off.  While standing in silence I felt my chest heat up, and tears swell, because runners are a family, and we were hurting as a family, but we would rise above and beyond the terror together for the next 26.2 miles.

I took off quickly and kept my pace at 6:45min. miles for the first two or three, and thought to myself maybe early starts aren’t so bad after all?  I felt strong and consistent for the first eight miles and looked at my watch and saw it said 1:00, awesome, I even passed a super speedy tiny blond girl that beat me a few months earlier in Santa Clarita, so my confidence was high because this was working.  I accepted the challenge in those early miles that this was a race of strategy, and it was time to lay down a dominating routine for my marathons.  Around mile ten or so I hopped on the heels of a slight framed Asian man in his early 50’s I would guess who was a carving through the course by choosing the perfect angles to reduce wasting energy, and I was thrilled to be in the front row of this real world class on tactics.  I was maintaining a sub 7:40min. mile pace for back end ten miles of the race, where it really gets going, just after mile sixteen . My body felt strong, but my feet were burning up, a small price to pay for choosing minimal-esque racing shoes.  I knew this would be a fast race for me, but I felt more like a rule-abiding intern, not wanting to be overzealous and break the rules, I should have switched on my animal instinct to make real headway, instead I bided my time working my way up the field and watching fellow females peel away as I passed them, which was great, but could I have done more?

I passed the 3:15 hour pacer just around mile 25, don’t get too excited, his group had already dropped him.  I knew I was close to something special, 3:20 was now in my sights, but mile 25 went on for an eternity, and even though I cranked up my pace to catch up with my expectations, I knew I was just outside of my goal, and would be finishing over 3:20.  When I rounded that dreadful 26 mile corner and still had .2 miles to go, my legs opened up, but my heart sank, the clock said it all, 3:21.  I walked through the finish shoot and found a large tree to lean my legs on; when some gentleman walked up to me said I was the 6^th overall female, “Wow, thanks.’ I was 35% pleased with my performance and 65% disappointed, I didn’t push hard enough, I could have, I should have, why didn’t I? Then I remembered that I was in the middle of this BIG quest, and this race was only #26 of #35, and I had a ways to go in my journey, and I needed to try to be smart about it, I was asking a lot of my body, I should not be greedy.  I would have another another crack of going for 3:20 
again, only two measly Ironmans stood in the way of another marathon starting line.

#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.