Why I wanted to be an Ironman

I think it would be fun to go back just a bit to introduce how I first fell in love with ironman triathlons.  I am sure it is not too far out to assume that it had a whole lot to do with my brother Peter.  Peter and a few of his friends decided in the Summer of 2003 to sign up and race Ironman Lake Placid on July 25^th, 2004. It is necessity to sign up for these races a year in advance because, A.) They sell out quickly, B.) It takes a whole year to train for them.  I cannot stress that enough.  If any of you are planning on racing an ironman anytime in your life you need to give your body no less than one year to prepare for such a tremendous effort.  Back to Peter and his cronies, they were studs, all in their late twenties, early thirties, but finding the time to train for an ironman while maintaining somewhat of one’s previous lifestyle is a struggle, and Peter felt it, but he made it through, and arrived in Lake Placid prepped and prepared for the race.

My sister Mary and I decided to cheer him on along with both sets of our parents, but we were rollin’ on  a tighter budget than our rentals, and missing more than one day of work was not an option, so we flew out on the redeye on Friday night, then drove five hours through Manhattan and all of New York until we arrived at our destination of mesmerizing Lake Placid New York.  We stayed at a huge house that all of the athletes were staying at too, and to say there was tension in the air is a colossal understatement.  Mary and I bunked together in  the basement, and woke up at  ridiculously early hour of 5AM, mind you this was EST, and we were still on PST, and had been traveling the entire day before, so we were  a little out of sorts.  Nevertheless, I did not think about my fatigue at all because I was in awe of these five or six guys and girls who were about to shatter their existence all day and possibly into the night swimming, biking and running beyond what they had ever done before.  I wanted to give Peter a big hug and tell him how proud I was, instead I gave him space, which I think meant more than anything else, because he knew I respected what he was doing, and secretly wishing I was doing it, too. 

Alexa had made these hysterical matching t-shirts for all of us to wear during the race which were amazing.  The racers started off the day swimming two laps in Mirror lake, and Peter was the first of his friends out of the water at just over an hour, that is fast!  We scrambled over to the Bike Out section of transition so we could see him pedal off into oblivion, and after a quick thaw from the chilly waters he was on his bike and off onto the course.  We all decided to get some breakfast after the swim because he would be on the bike for more than five hours, so we had some time to kill.  Over breakfast  Alexa passed out cards that Peter wrote to each of us, a genuine “thank you” fitting of his character.  I was blown away by mine, obviously I still have it, so following is an excerpt of what he wrote:

What up T! I’ll bet you’re watching this whole spectacle wishing that you could be wearing a # on your way to the finish line.  Am I right?  We both seem to share the same pleasure of pushing ourselves for these long endurance races.  And I think you understand the reason why I’m out here better than anyone.  Which makes it that much more special for me that you’re here.

He was right, I did get it, and I knew that I would be there some day, but it was his day today, and I just wanted to cheer loud and proud for my big bro!

Peter started the run looking strong, which is an awesome feat, because the Lake Placid bike course is one of the most difficult on the Ironman circuit, but Peter is a runner above anything else, so I knew he would crush the marathon.  We found a great spectating spot on top of a hill that the runners passed through four times, so we saw a lot of everybody which was a lot of fun.  I was stunned to see people of all ages, shapes and sizes cruising right along on this arduous Ironman course, I was both impressed and humbled.  As a bonus, Mary and I were having the time of our lives together.  She is probably my favorite person to spend an entire seventy two hours with, a statement my mother probably re-booted her computer over to confirm she read correctly, but it’s true.  Mary and I are very different, true, but she is my sister and my best friend, and possibly the only person on the planet who knows every inch of me inside and out.  She did make me drive the whole trip, all ten hours of our commute from JFK to Lake Placid and back, but it was worth it, no one makes me laugh like Mary.

Peter’s last couple of miles were a teary mess for a few of us, we were all so proud of him. We knew he would do it, but witnessing someone you love finish an Ironman is truly an amazing experience, and he did it in spectacular fashion, 11:29 hours.  

Peter has yet to race another Ironman, but he has been at a few of mine, and I can always count on him for a priceless pep talk before the start and after the finish of every race, marathon or ironman, I can always count on Peter to get me through it.

One Year Out

Greetings  everyone, you may be wondering “where you been, girl?”  Well, let me ease your needless fretting by sharing that I was doing you all a favor the last ten weeks by immersing myself into a writing course that will hopefully make your reading experience that much more enjoyable.  Also, I raced in my ninth Ironman two weeks ago in Madison, Wisconsin, woo-hoo!  I will delve more into that adventure next time around, but right now I want to check in and see how you all are doing, and give a progress report of where I am now, a newly minted thirty four year old woman, one year, and seven marathons away from completing my quest of 35 By 35.

 I have been to writing and re-writing a post about my seventh marathon, Boston, for quite some time now, but everything I have written seems off, and just plain dated.  However, I suppose that is what makes this whole process special, running through those amazing races all over again but with the perspective of a well-seasoned runner and human being, instead of an early twenties single girl with minimal responsibility.  It was right around my jaunt through the streets of Boston that my life started to shift dramatically, and to be honest, it is little tough to go back there.  I will, I promise, but that explains why I have been dragging my feet in sharing it all with you. 

I am leaving you with such a cliffhanger......

Marathon #27 - Vineman, 2013 Riveting Race Recap

Okay, it is time warp time to present day!!!!!!  I hope I will not throw off your diligence of reading my journey from one marathon to the next, but I must interject here and share a very special marathon within a very special race, Vineman, 2013. Vineman is an iron-distance triathlon which takes place in the amazing northern California wine country.  This was my third time racing, which was setting up to be my 8th ironman, and 27th marathon, big day.  Even though I was very excited to race, I did not too much pressure on myself because my “A” race is still a few weeks away in Madison, WI. That said, Vineman  was just meant to test out the machine, work out some kinks, and enjoy the day.  The incredibly special part of this race was that my husband was going to be able to come, and I would be able to visit with my brother Peter and his family, plus my newly re-Californiafied step brother Chris, and his family, my younger step sister would make an appearance, and finally my saintly sister in law Shannon, and my god daughter Kate would give me the inspiration needed to give this race all that I had, and more than I knew even existed. 

We rented an adorable house in Monte Rio, all I can say is, I love Monte Rio, and you should all go there as soon as possible, it is heavenly.  I did encounter a few issues with my bike the day before the race and need to make a change with my rear wheel, which was both annoying, and liberating because I felt like I had already survived my spell of trouble even before the gun went off.  The 2.4 mile swim starts on Johnson’s Beach along the Russian River, and even though it felt like never-ending plodding in mucky goo, I was moving along just fine.  When I came out of the water, tussled with my Rocket Science wetsuit, and noticed there were many, many bikes still on the rack I was pumped because that meant my swim must not have been too terrible, so off I went to ride up the mini hill out of transition and onto the road.  I saw Marion off to the left behind the barriers and I yelled, “How many silver caps?!”  “Not many! GO!”  He shouted with a respectful balance of reassurance, and authority, and off I rode with a smile.

The silver caps is a reference to all of the ladies in my swim group, ages 30 – 44, or maybe more than that, in basic terms, my competition.  The bike course is a 2 loop 56 mile ride through breathtaking vineyards, and farms that outline Sonoma County.  I pushed my pace hard from the start, having faith in my fitness, and not at all considering the marathon I had to run after I was finished with this fabulous spin through wine country. I have found this is a great metal tactic in order to stay present, because if I think about how huge a day is, my head might explode.

The first miracle of the day occurred when I was up and over the “big” climb up Chalk Hill road, and on my way finishing my first loop heading back to town when I heard, “Go Taryn!!” It was Chris and his wife, Debbie.  I could not believe they found such a perfect spot in the bike course to find me, especially since this was their first triathlon spectating experience, very impressive. It is amazing the impact that hearing your own name gives you when deep into a race, it is like a shot of adrenaline that instantly gives you super powers.

The spectacular spectator awards continued when I was starting out again on my second loop and heard screaming voices streaming out of a car careening straight toward me, it was Peter, Alexa and their amazing kiddos, Kaia and Reed.  Alexa took some straight out of LAVA magazine photographs from Shotgun, they cheered, and speed away from me to find a place to pull over further down the road. When I caught up to them pedaling up a mini hill, Peter yelled, “This is your day!”  Chills shot through me, and a sensation of happiness flowed over me, because I felt so thankful to be right where I was, right when I was, enjoying the fruits of years of toil and labor and livin’ the dream.

When I rolled into the transition area ready to start the marathon I had a sense I was in a good spot, there were nearly no bikes on my rack, but I did not have a watch on the bike either, so the first time I saw the time it was when I put on my Garmin to start the run, it read 1:43PM, that was wonderful.  I knew that if I could run my marathon like I was capable to I would finish the race in under 11 hours, my goal for the last three years.  I started the run feeling good, I saw my whole family on the first of three loops as we exited Windsor high school, Peter taking his cue to run along side me as always and assess how I was feeling.  I was feeling good, but I needed to make a pit stop just to ensure a comfortable run, but otherwise I great.  My stop was short, and I was cranking away sub eight miles for the first three miles or so, sifting my way through the large crowd of mainly female half ironman racers, until I reached the turn-a-round point for the ladies, while us FULL ironman racers still had a bit to run.  The coolness of this next point of my life cannot be understated,  I had seen the first place woman screaming down the opposite side of the road, then about five to ten minutes later I saw another woman, but that was it.  I did not need confirmation that I was in third place, but I wanted it.  I yelled out to one of the female volunteers near our turn-a-round point how many girls she had seen, “You’re number three!”  A warm feeling of pride washed over me when I heard those words out loud, and saw the look of awe in her expression, wow, I was in third place!  Fortunately, this was not my first rodeo, so I knew there was still a lot of the race to run, but no matter what I could be proud of a strong bike leg, and I would run the best marathon possible to keep my place in the heap. 

Once I started to pass by mile eight, all was not looking well.  I had taken a couple of salt tabs to be on the safe side, even though we completely lucked out with amazing 80 degree temperature, (sorry San Antonio ladies, I know you hate to hear that….), plus I was drinking water, and sports drink, but my tum-tum was getting a little grumbly.  Let’s go back a bit to let me explain.  I had prepped my bike to eat two powerbars, two packages of block-type gels, and a Gu gel, well, I lost one of powerbars early during the ride, and after feeling dizzy and nearly falling asleep in the aero position, I opted to eat a couple of the Clif bars they were passing out at the aid stations, a brutal necessity at the time that came back to haunt me on the run.  Luckily, I was finishing up my first loop and would be replenished by goodness from my family along the sidewalks as I ran in to start my second loop.  I did regain a bit of a pep in my step, but once I was back in the incessant hills of Windsor, I needed to stop again, take a minute to regain my composure, turn off my watch, and take a 20-second time out.  When I emerged from the port-o-potty I felt a sense of strength and renewal, but I was sure that I had lost my third place position, oh well, I just wanted to finish my 27th marathon. 

When I finished my second loop, around mile 17ish, life was not looking so great.  At this point I had one singular focus, run to the next port-o-potty, cursing those bloody cliff bars the whole mile stretch I needed to cover before I reached my salvation.  For the first time ever, I had to wait in line, awesome.  It did not matter, I did my thing, took in some fuel at the two next aid stations, and finally around mile 20 a calm came over my stomach, and I was ready to run my own race.  I feel a little guilty for saying this, but I was relieve d to see that the closest girls behind me were looking a little rough too, so I believed with my renewed vigor I should be able to keep my third place finish. 

For the last six miles I felt right in my wheelhouse, the tail-end of marathons are my favorite part of the race, and in an ironman, they are even more special.  I looked at my watch and knew that I would be over eleven hours, but not by much, so I would push as hard as possible to finish strong.  As I rounded the 25.5 mile marker the crowd on the corner was quiet until I yelled, ”This is it for me!” They erupted in cheers, and stood to clap for me loud and proud as I ran down the road to make another turn, then down to the finish line.  Since the race as all about loops, there was a turn for the “2^nd loop” and one for the “Finish”, when I turned toward the finish option, the crowd around me started screaming, I heard Marion and Chris from the sideline, and sprinted in for my first podium finish. 

I finished 3^rd place overall female, and 1^st in my 30-34 age group, with a time of 11:08hrs, 4 minutes than my previous best ironman time, and with a 3:59 marathon, finally creeping underneath the 4 hour ironman marathon boulder that weighed on me for so long. Most importantly I finished my 27^th marathon, only 8 more to goJ

Running Shoes PSA - Read It, Believe It, Live It

 

I believe the most important puzzle of running, is finding the proper running shoes.  I remember my first pair of running shoes, Nike Air Pegasus, and they were fantastic.  However, I did not race in my Air Pegasus, no, no, I raced in Nike racing flats of course, silly goose.  That said, I am 99.9% sure that I will never buy a  pair of Nike running shoes for myself ever again.  The reason is because Nike’s are not the right shoe for me.  The key point of that sentence, was not the right shoe for me, but they could be perfect for Sally Mae lining up right next to me, but there is no universal perfect running shoe. 

I had an intense education about running shoes during a four month stint in 2004 working at The Starting Line, a premiere specialty running store located in Marina Del Rey, Ca.  I learned all about the different categories of shoes from neutral, stability, and up to motion control, (there was no minimal category at the time, but rather just racing flats.)  I would analyze runners first walk barefoot before choosing a shoe for them, then I would observe them running on a treadmill in said “shoe”, and start the conversation about they felt, and how I thought they looked, and whether that shoe was the right match.  Sometimes I would hit pay dirt the first time out, other times I would go through 4-5 different brands and different models therein before we found their proper suitor.  My favorite a part was introducing all sorts of lacing options that would fix nearly every off fit and my customers would leave feeling they were ready to run off into the sunset with their shoes.  It was a wonderful job, I loved every minute of it.

 Along the way I discovered I was best fitted for Stability shoes, and that Mizunos were a great brand for me.  Sadly, I learned quickly that shoe companies enjoyed switching up their styles of shoes just as quickly as couture fashion designers, so a certain model that worked for me one year, was completely different the next. The Brooks Adrenaline was a big seller, so I tried it, loved it, and it was the only shoe I ran in from 2004 – 2010. I have a strict rule to go no longer than three months in one pair of shoes, which is about 500 miles. I keep track of the tight three month window by writing the date I buy my shoes on the instep with a black sharpie, just like I used to write all over my converse in Jr. High, T+O, or whatever boy I was crushing on at the moment, but this purpose actually justifies shoe graffiti, because once your shoes start to break down, so do you.  Most running injuries start from the ground up, so the pain travels up from the feet, to the knees, the back, the neck, and soon your brain is telling you it is too painful to run, no bueno mis amigos, after three months, every pair must retire. 

During the Summer of 2010 I saw a piece on the news about New Balance shoes being the only running shoe company that does all of their manufacturing in the states, and since I buy at least four pairs of running shoes per year, I wanted to put that money back in Uncle Sam’s pocket, and put a smile on my face.  This is where the help of a running store expert comes in handy, because I knew very little about New Balance, so I walked into my local running store in the Valley, Runnergy, and said I need the closest New Balance to the Adrenaline, and they showed me the way to the 760’s, yay, they were wonderful.  Naturally, their production did not last, so I went to the 860’s, which were similar enough to the 760’s to stop my blubbering, and aid me through many, many miles.  However, in early September of 2012 I discovered New Balance’s online outlet, Joe’s Outlet, and picked out the 630’s on a whim, a hasty, almost adulterous choice that changed my world forever. 

First of all, the 630’s were only $40, which was a monetary miracle on its own, but they were my first neutral shoe, which meant they were much lighter than the 860’s, but with more support than a minimal shoe/racing flat, and they made me fly.  In December I ordered three more pairs to stock up, a brilliant move in retrospect because when I went to order more in April they were gone from the site, out of production, and gone from my life forever.  I am almost through my fourth pair which will last me through September, but the illustrious 630 shoe is nowhere to be found, why New Balance? WHY?  Then again maybe it is a blessing in disguise because I have just taken a chance on a whole new shoe company ALTRA, and am enjoying their zero drop technology just fine so far.  I am back to paying full price at Runnergy, but they are wonderful people, so I don’t mind giving them my husband’s hard-earned visual effect sweatshop money because the shoes are paramount for this runner’s journey, and should be for all of us.

The Line Up: Altras, NB 630's, NB 730's

Okay, I will wrap it up here by saying that shoes are VERY important, please do the right thing, and treat your feet with the respect they deserve.

Marathon #7: Sacramento, and much, much more

***Spoiler Alert***  I married Marion…. That said, the goal of this blog is to use it as an outline for a book, so when that book deal happens, I promise to devote a big, fat chapter to my courtship with Marion, but in the meantime, I will keep the nitty-gritty of it all off of the internet in respect to key players, but just know that when the book comes out, that chapter alone will be worth the purchaseJ  I will share that our wedding included skydiving, dirt bike riding, and lots of dancing; Peter nick-named it the “X-Games” wedding, which was quite fitting.  However, the absolute best part of that day in early November, 2006, was that I became a step mother to an amazing seven year old girl named Hannah, who is now fourteen…… yikes… time flies…. 

Marion and I started dating officially on September 19^th, 2004, just two days after my twenty-fifth birthday, and two weeks before marathon #7, the Cowtown marathon in Sacramento, Ca.  We had been friends for months, so he was well aware that I was a runner, and that I was nearly fanatical about qualifying for Boston, he even knew what time I needed finish in to do it.  Which is why I was truly touched when he left me a voice mail message at 10:40AM on Sunday, October 3^rd the day of the marathon saying, “Hi, it is 10:40, so hopefully you have finished by now, and if you did, you qualified for Boston!”  Pretty cool.

I flew up to Sacramento the day before the race, it is a quick flight from LA, and far more easy on the legs than the five hour drive in the car. I rented a car which was one of those gigantic Lincoln’s or something, picture your grand parents last fly ride, and that was me rolling around our State’s capital.  My hotel was nothing special, and barely a hotel at all, but it would do for the purpose of this trip, which was to get in and out of Sacramento as quickly as possible, meaning with the fastest marathon to date. The expo was not very "expo" like at all, but it was simple, and efficient, which I appreciated; I didn’t really need another energy gel, anyway.

My pre-race nutrition was not quite honed in yet, but a huge smoothie and  fore-arm sized brownie for lunch, then a box of Junior Mints later than night when I watched the movie Ladder 49, yummy.  Before I went to bed I knocked back some trail mix, and Gatorade, not a perfect pre-race meal, but not too dangerous either.  I slept, which was a blessing, but I was thrilled when my alarm went off, because my body was primed and ready to go.  The race started in a park in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, the crowd was on the small side, which I loved, it felt intimate, like I already knew these runners, because they were real runners, but I just nodded and smiled among them, knowing today would be more than just a race that gave me my seventh finishing T-Shirt, one to wear every day of the week, but something more.

The race started off well, I was running at a quicker pace than I needed to meet my qualifying time, which was perfect, it meant I was banking time for when I really needed it.  The course weaved through neighborhoods lined with trees heavy with leaves that had yet to fall for Fall, which meant lots of shade underneath nature’s umbrella, a check in the “pro” corner for this course.  The only not-so-scenic section was the stretch between miles 12-14 on the frontage road to the freeway, but I did not think much of the ugliness because I was way ahead of schedule at the half way mark, yay.  My energy started to wane a bit around mile 17, which is normal for me, but that is where I saw a gorgeous couple come galloping across the park yelling their beautiful faces off for me to “Go”, it was my friend Sarah and her boyfriend, Mike. They came to the race to surprise me because Sarah knew how important Boston was for me, and that I was betting on this race for it to finally happen.  Sarah is an amazing human being, she was the first friend I made my freshman year in college, and is a Pediatric nurse today, I am very thankful to have her in my life.  Also, she has perfect timing, because I needed some pep in my step at that moment of the race, and she and Mike gave me the jolt I needed to keep pushing my pace, I was so close.  She told me that my younger sister Sarah, along with Tim and his family were waiting for me at the finish line, which was like drinking gummy berry juice; I was good to go to finish strong! 

The final mile of the course looped around the park toward the finish so I could see it about half a mile before I made the final turn, and I heard the announcer reading off times, I looked at my watch, it read 3:35; I did it.  I would finish under 3:40, I had punched my ticket for Boston, finally.  My official time was 3:37, whew, and Tim was the first person to come up and tell me that I qualified, which made it extra special.  I was impressed with my execution, I did what I needed to do, but I was in shock that after three attempts at qualifying for Boston after my San Francisco “Do it by 25” goal, I did it, and would be running the Boston marathon in six months.  I could not wait to call Marion back after his adorable message to tell him I did it, and ask if he wanted to come with me to Boston, and everywhere else for the rest of my life.

Marathon #6: Back On The Horse In My Home Town

The end of 2003 was fairly drama free, I moved into my new apartment on New Year’s Eve with the intention of waking up, and starting fresh in the New Year, 2004.  My apartment was a fairly large studio in West Hollywood just two blocks below the Sunset Strip, and it was fantastic.  I still dearly miss the early morning runs I would do on my favorite six mile loop where I would run along Sunset Blvd. and practically taste the regret of what went on the night before.  I saw many a “walk of shame” on those mornings. 

I did not have a refrigerator for a few months, so I stored my perishables in my parent’s old Playmate folding cooler on my balcony, clever huh?  At this point in my story, I had been a vegetarian for over a year, so there was never any stinky meat on my balcony, unless I invited some over:)  While on that topic, the year 2004 brought some BIG changes in my life, I finally had some great production work gigs again, and had started my dream job selling running shoes at the best running shop in LA, The Starting Line.  I learned a tremendous amount of needful running tidbits during my stint, but once my full time job kicked in, I started to burn up from working seven days a week, so I left my retail days in the dust.  On the upside, I met a very special fellow at my day job named Marion Spates. Marion was a 3D artist, and Production Manager, and since I was a production Coordinator in charge of moving the work along, we worked pretty closely together.  I found it interesting that he seemed to always be in my office, I did share it with my producer, Chris, so it could not have all been me, but even when Chris went home for the day Marion still found reasons to stick around and chit chat away.  I knew I was toast in the “Uh-Oh, I have a big crush” department, when every morning on my drive to work I hoped to see him before everyone else arrived for a quick talk in the kitchen, my office, or even at his desk.  There was something about him that just felt right; he was kind, funny, a hard worker, and friendly with everyone in the office, plus our eye contact was ridiculous.  Yes, there was no doubt in my mind that meeting Marion would change my life forever.

All the while during this heart fluttering fun at work, I was training for my sixth marathon, a home town jaunt in Palos Verdes.  I was not taking this race seriously as a Boston qualifier because the course was incredibly hilly, and a total time crusher, but I thought it would serve as a long run to get me out of my Tucson funk.  The PV marathon is a very small race in terms of participants, but it literally goes by my parents front yard, which was not by chance on my part, I wanted a built in support team for this race, my bruised ego needed it, and my parents did not disappoint. 

I did not break any land speed records with that race, but it was by far the toughest course I ever conquered, so that was satisfying, and I finished feeling better than expected, thus it served its purpose of turning my Tucson frown upside down.  Just a few days later I was ready to find a new marathon on the horizon that would serve as another shot at Boston, and I was turned on to the Cow Town Marathon in Sacramento in early October, which meant lots of Summer running on Sunset, and may be a little romance?  Hmm, stay tuned...

Marathon #5: Red Shorts Don't Belong In The Desert

On Saturday, December, 6th 2003 I boarded a Southwest airlines flight to Tucson, AZ to run in my 5^th marathon the following Sunday, December 7^th, I was excited, but naïve.  I was in a personal state of flux; no job, living my last days in a scorched apartment, and choking under looming expectations of what this marathon was supposed to be, but somewhere inside of me, or maybe everywhere inside of me, I knew it was going to hurt.

First off there was the expensive cab ride from the airport to the host hotel, but the hotel was all I dreamt it would be, yay, worth the splurge. I was almost giggly at the race expo because for the first time I walked around with a Cheshire grin like I had the winning lottery ticket in my hand; I was well prepared for the race, calm even, and ready to blow the doors off of the desert come dawn the next morning. 

Then came dinner... I ate pasta at the Athlete Welcome Dinner.  The meal was tasty, but it had no business being in my belly the night before the most important race of my life.  Next came a near sleepless night, which would just be annoying on any other night, but detrimental this time because I needed to be up and out of my room by 4:00AM in order to board the school bus shuttle which drove us 26.2 miles into the dark desert sky toward the starting line. 

They kept us on the buses for too long. I was bouncing off the walls trying to get my fellow runners pumped up, which felt fun to me, but it might have just been obnoxious.  Oh well, I was ready to run.  I hit up the port-o-potty like usual, but my stomach was a tad more restless than usual, hmm, but I thought I was good to go and ready to tackle the day.  It was cold, and majestic, because we were literally in the middle of the desert; no spectators, just us marathoners pointed in one direction, downhill to the finish line. 

When the gun went off I shot out like a cannonball, fast, fast, fast, the miles could not go by quick enough, but something was definitely off. Initially it was my quads being crushed under my overzealous speed, and unforgiving downhill, then my stomach started to sear up like  the blur flame from a blow torch, not pleasant. I had never felt such piercing pain in my abdomen in my twenty-three years on earth, but these jabs made up for the lost time, OUCH, does not even begin to describe what I was screaming inside.  Regardless of my torture, I had to push on and move; I wanted so badly to make my splits in order to make my qualifying time of 3:40, which meant no time for pit-stops, I had to keep running. 

 When I passed the mile nine marker I knew my dream of a sub 3:40 finish was over, and my day switched from PR pursuit to survival.  My quads were bursting from the constant pounding of the “tantalizing” downhill course and my stomach was screaming at me to stop or else. However, even with straining “Superman-like” x-ray vision I could not spot another port-o-potty up ahead, so I was forced to choose plan B.  I will spare you the details, but I will say that I had to pull over on the side of the non-shaded, wide open highway, and painfully realize that choosing red shorts was not so fabulous of a decision after all. 

I had no support with me that day, and I was thankful, because I felt like a true failure, but I kept running.  I am embarrassed to admit that I was angry at the finish line.  Even though I had accomplished another huge feat of finishing a marathon in the time of 4:15, which considering my bodily breakdown was respectable, it was far from what I set out to do, and I felt like my day was ruined.  I held onto my not-so-cheery attitude through my hurried clean up routine in my room, and made sure to grab the balloons from my "pity party" for the cab ride to the airport where I called Peter to fill him in on my devastating day.  He was great as always, but it still felt like a bad dream that I wished I could wake up from.

A few hours later while sitting alone waiting for my plane to board I met a fellow marathoner who I confided in, details and all, and what he told me finally made me feel like one of the tribe, “Oh, you had G.I problems, that happens.”  That is all I needed to hear, Shit happens. 

I dozed off easily on take off knowing I had a storm of turmoil awaiting me at home, but I had faith that I would figure it out, and it was only December of 2003, I still had nine months before my deadline of qualifying for Boston, I had time, and now I had real experience to build on.  The fact was that I had just run my fifth marathon which was pretty cool, and lessons were learned.

 1.) No pasta dinners

 2.) No “downhill” courses

 3.) No quitting

Onward.