Outside My Comfort Zone - The Spartan Super

The start of 2015 began with a devastating kick to the gut when Hannah returned home from her three week vacation in Colombia declaring she wanted to stop playing volleyball, and join the dance team. My heart was broken, and Marion went catatonic, she was becoming a great setter, but it’s her life, and this was only the first of many big decisions that she will make in her lifetime that we may not be fans of, so here we go. To be honest, I remember making a similar proclamation to my mom just before my freshman year in high school when I decided I wanted to quit soccer, my life-long obsession, and play basketball instead. A decision I have never regretted a day in my life. In any case, the up side to January was that just a couple weeks after the volleyball bomb dust settled I spent a marvelous evening with my darling niece Darby, who is blessedly too young to talk and break her parent’s hearts. All she does is smile, squeeze, and love. I needed a heaping dose of that sugar the night before my most treacherous race yet, the Spartan Super.

The Spartan races are part of the obstacle course phenomenon that is sweeping the entire planet. I decided to sign up for the Super distance, 8+ miles, because it seemed sensible and challenging. The Spartan brand is very Cross-Fit driven, which is not my forte at all, but I respect all forms of athletic competition, especially those that inspire the ordinary “Joe’s” to get off the couch and push themselves beyond their expectations. I have never been to a Cross-Fit class, and I doubt I ever will, but I had a blast running, bleeding, and cheering on fellow racers through the dusty and windy conditions at Vail Lake in Temecula, California.

I started the day in awe of the bodies all around me. There were many men and women who were ripped for days, but there were also body types and ages representing every demographic imaginable, it was truly inspiring. I was very happy I made the choice to step outside my comfort zone and try this kind of race; it was going to be a very fun day.

The race kicked for me at 8:45AM, at 8:46AM I was chest deep in cold water and mud, game on! The first mile was up a steep hill, the last 50ft. or so we had to climb up with ropes, it was very Princess Bride cliffs of insanity-esque, and I loved it! My not-so buffed out arms showed up, and cranked up and over the crest more nimbly than a few of the dudes on either side of me, so that was exciting. The next few miles or so, we cruised down a dynamic ridge that overlooked the region, it was gorgeous. Once at the bottom of the hill I conquered a heavy pulling obstacle, yay! The next few obstacles were a success, however, reality hit once I had to climb around this wall deal, with pegs, I fell instantly, and was ordered to do 30 burpees, the standard punishment for not completing an obstacle. If you are unfamiliar with burpees, think of them as the love child of a jumping jack and a push up, good times.

Next up was the spear throw, yup, more burpees for me! Luckily, I was running quite quickly in-between obstacles, but the obstacles that required epic upper body strength alluded me because of my long, tree trunk legs kept weighing me down. Surprisingly I did make it half way through the monkey bar obstacle, and nearly to the end of the reverse rope climb, until I reached for the finishing bell and collapsed to the ground in a pitiful thud. I quickly rolled over and hopped to my feet flushed in humiliation, because my fall happened right in front of a volunteer, but she just dazily pointed to her right and I quickly fled the scene with an inch of pride intact.

The next couple of miles sent us up a steep and dusty climb that crumpled many competitors to a death march, but my legs were too strong and prideful to shut down just yet. I have put them through many, many torturous days over the years which made this race feel like an adventurous romp to them, while my arms were weeping. I careened down the back side of the hill and continued on the trail then was stopped in my tracks by another by obstacle. Thankfully, it was a sled-like deal that my legs demolished, which was a welcome confidence builder leading into the final mile or so of the race.

I ran past mile seven then the trail dipped down into a wooded area with twists, turns, and jagged terrain that demanded a few leaps and bounds until once again a monkey bar-esque obstacle was right in front of me. This time I went straight to the burpee section. I am sure it wasn’t an inspiring sight, but I knocked out the 30 burpees, and ran off past mile 8 closing in on the finish line.

The next obstacle was a humongous ladder/net crawl deal that required a keen mind, and careful body positioning. I was anxious to finish so I scraped my bloody knees across the net ceiling section crawling in slow motion to the other side. I was impressed when a spider like dude bounded across the net to my right, but was reassured when he mumbled, “I’ve done this before.” Once I made it across, I carefully descended the ladder back down to earth, turned to my left and ran down a grassy hill with a smile on face; I could smell the end to this battle.

I laughed out loud when I saw the last obstacle before the finish, a rope swing over a mud pit, yeah, no way! I jaunted right over to the side, and dutifully began my 30 burpees. After what felt like a million seconds I was done, finally. I jumped to my feet, and leapt over the fire pit only yards in front of the finish line to the most understated fanfare I had yet to experience in any race. I wasn’t even sure if I was done until a volunteer handed me a medal and asked for my chip. At last, my first Spartan experience was in the books.

I was inspired by the course, the volunteers, my fellow competitors, and myself. The Spartans really asked a lot, to which I answered, “I am Sparta!”

A Note About My Dad - Kauai Christmas, 2014 -

Happy New Year all! Wow, I am thrilled beyond belief that 2015 is here, and 2014 is nestled safely in the record books. It was a great year, but a little tougher than I would have liked, so onward to 2015! I do have one final special story to share about 2014 featuring a few of my favorite people in the world, and starring the coolest graduate out of St. Monica’s high school, my dad, Pete Kelly.

My dad is a dashing Richard Gere look-a-like circa Pretty Woman, and a former football and baseball high school and collegiate stand out, who actually turned down an invitation to the Angels training camp in order to pursue his graduate degree in business. Therefore, it is no surprise that he has always been supportive of my athletic efforts from year one, we are both natural athletes, and bonded over that connection. Moreover, he has remained in tremendous shape throughout his Silver Centrum years, and I have many fond memories of weekly football games at his house growing up with him slinging the ball better than any Peyton of today to all of us Kelly/Fox kids as we raced for touchdowns and roars of approval. Honestly, I was not the happiest child, but I was my best self-playing sports, and catching my dad’s touchdown passes were valuable highlights of a few too many dark days during the late eighties/early nineties.

It is difficult to be a child of divorce, there is no way to comprehend why your parents break up, there is no need to, even though I didn’t see my dad every day growing up, he has given me immeasurable opportunities, and has always been there for me when I needed him. I am sure he has not understood many of the decisions I have made in my life, for example studying film in college, but he supported me, and helped me get on my feet in production the first nine months after I graduated college by letting me live with him and my super-step mom, Sally until I had enough change in my pocket to rent my first Studio apartment in Venice, Ca. The day I moved in my dad famously said, “You’ll remember this shoe box when you are a famous producer someday.” Ah, fatherly encouragement. However, I would expect nothing less from my dad, he works hard, is successful, and believes that I can do and achieve whatever I put my mind to, and I do, too. Thankfully, I am a lot more like him that I ever thought I would be, I eat almonds with a Hansen’s soda during cocktail hour like clockwork, a slightly PG version of his gin and tonic with Goldfish crackers, but we are both creatures of routine, and I could not be more proud.

The past ten years or so have been an interesting journey with my dad, navigating an adult relationship with your parent’s is different for everyone, and we have had our share of troubling moments, but I am thankful for every painful and empowering conversation, each one strengthened our relationship, and brought us to this very special place we are today. Did I mention that I just spent a week with him Kauai, Hi? Oh okay, I will get to that:)

  

In late September Sally emailed me asking if Marion and I would want to come with her, Dad, and my sister Sarah to Kauai for Christmas. She knew Hannah would be with her Mom’s family in Colombia, and my other siblings were with their spouses’ families for Christmas, so it made sense, but I thought it was too much, and felt overwhelmed about how to handle it. Then Marion nearly made a hole in our ceiling by leaping out of his skin when I told him, he had never been to Hawaii, and we have not been on a vacation since our honeymoon in 2006, so he thought it was a no brainer, we were going! What it really came down to for me was the chance to spend quality, uninterrupted time with Dad and Sally, because time is fleeting, and I knew this time together would be special. Also, who turns down a trip to Hawaii??

Marion and I flew out on Sunday, December 21st, Sarah arrived the day before, and Dad and Sally had been there since the 16th, so they were already in their Kauai routine. We did have a slight hiccup in that our luggage did not make the second flight to Kauai on time, but it arrived at our condo before bedtime, and I had carried on all of my running gear, so I was fine. We ate the first night at the local Poipu fish/bar restaurant, Brenneckes, it was delicious, and the laughs were as free-flowing as the fruity margaritas Marion ordered, it was a fun and a festive way to kick off the week.

The following morning Sarah, Marion and I went for an epic run up to Spouting Horn, a historical site overlooking the ocean, and back down the beach toward the Hyatt and back up Poipu Road. Next, we spent hours in the sun laying on the beach, my absolute nightmare scenario as a kid because I usually walked away with a sunburn vs. a golden tan, but this time I let my porcelain stomach sear in the sunlight, it was a Christmas miracle.

The next few days were various versions of the same schedule of bliss, early rising, long fun runs, sunshine, and tasty dinners. The absolute high light for me was taking everyone out to a hoity-toity dinner at the local hot spot, The Beach House. The setting was gorgeous, the food was incredible, everyone ate their body weight in fresh fish, and I ordered two veggie dishes! It was the best time I have had out in over 35 years:)

Sarah and I started Christmas day watching the sunrise over the pacific during an early run, kudos to her for that genius idea, it was spectacular. Next, we attended a beautiful mass at St. Raphael’s Catholic Church, the oldest Catholic Church on Kauai, and the only church in the world where flip-flops are acceptable footwear. Marion fell in love with the service, the priest, the songs, and the company; it was a special mass for us, and hopefully the start of many more in our future. I was slightly let down that the exit song was not the standard “go-to” Christmas song, “Joy to the World,” but rather, “Go Tell it On The Mountain,” it was still lovely, yet not the usual gateway into Christmas festivities that I am used to. Oh well, Marion told me to embrace the Hawaii-esque theme of the “Mountain”, so I let it go. Clearly, I haven’t let it go, because I am re-telling it here, but I refused to let the lack of my lungs belting out “Joy to the World” ruin my Christmas. We spent the remaining hours of the day lying on the beach, swimming in the ocean, and eating a scrumptious buffet dinner over-looking the sunset, pure bliss.

The following morning I had Marion up early because he and my dad were going on a deep sea fishing trip. This fishing excursion was Marion’s only request of “things to do”, so he was very excited, and thankfully my dad loves to fish. However, I find the idea of bobbing around in a boat miles away from shore revolting, so it would just be a floating opportunity for some father/son in law bonding, while I remained safely on land.  A few hours later Sarah and I wrestled us up for one last long, eleven plus mile run along the coast and across uncharted trails that were simply breathtaking. The hills were green and alive, and cliffs were craggy and gorgeous, it was a runner’s paradise.  

Our final night in Kauai was simple and sweet. Dad and Marion caught some lovely yellow fin tuna on their fishing trip that Marion barbequed and Sally sautéed, both preparations looked delicious, even though I still stuck with salad. As we sat together around the dinner table I felt calm and content, a familiar feeling that I used to have every Saturday night at my dad’s house growing up; always-wonderful food to eat, and fantastic stories to share. My dad told stories of his memories on the island, he has been visiting Kauai for over thirty years, and as I listened and smiled I felt thankful that he invited us here and proud to be his daughter. I hope to live my life with generosity, and kindness like my dad, he is a wonderful role model and an amazing human being.

Marion summed up the essence of the week, and his new “bromance” with my dad on the drive to the airport when he said, “I’m really going to miss you, Pete.” On the other hand, I couldn’t say much at all, I was too sad, a happy sad, because the week was so special, but sad to wave good-bye to my dad as he drove away from the terminal. For the first time in at least fifteen or twenty years I felt like all I was in the world was my dad’s little girl, and it was nice to feel that innocence again, to know that once we hit eighteen, or get married, it isn’t lost entirely, just buried underneath grown up responsibilities, but able to pop up once in a while to let us breathe easier, knowing our amazing dads are always looking out for us.

PEDAL Ride, AKA Finding My Smile Again

Last weekend I rode my bike a lot. In fact, I was sitting in the saddle for over eight hours Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I have not been riding all that much the past few months because of all of my agro running mileage, and because I wanted to take a breather from riding altogether. I was getting to the point where I really enjoyed my “running” life, not having to worry about fitting in swim work outs, or long bike rides, but then I remembered I committed to take part in the first PEDAL ride from San Diego to Los Angeles for my friend Steve, a good friend and former colleague. The ride would benefit Pangea Educational Development’s campaign to raise money to build a piggery in the Gulu Remand Home in Uganda. So, around early October I started to get my act together, and put in some time in the saddle. 

I knew I would not ride on my Triathlon bike because that would just be silly riding that thing in a group setting for three days, so I commandeered Marion’s road bike instead, a Fugi Gran Fondo. It’s a good thing he chose the medium frame, because it fit me perfectly. I attended two training rides, the first in early November, the second in in early December, the latter was in the rain, good times. The people I met those two days were excited, and kind; my favorite combination. The best part of my ramp up to the PEDAL ride was I started to get excited about riding bikes again.  I had been living in my running bubble for months, and now I was starting to realize “I DO love riding bikes!” Next, of course came a flood of training ideas and expectations for triathlons to race in 2015, but first was the PEDAL ride.

I signed up for this event because Steve asked me to, I am always up for a physical challenge, especially when I can help others with my efforts, but what I learned throughout the weekend about the charity, and the people who run it, just about bowled me over with warmth and faith in humanity. The funds raised for our ride would go towards building and funding a Piggery for the Gulu Ramand home. The Piggery would provide funds to boost the teaching staff from one to three, and provide real-world skills for children awaiting trial to utilize once released and make a successful life for themselves. The fundraising goal was $7,500, and we raised over $8,000, amazing.

http://www.pangeaeducation.org/pedal-riders-raising-funds-piggery-project/

We decided to take the Amtrak Surfliner train on Friday morning out of Union Station in Los Angeles to downtown San Diego where we would then hop on our bikes and start riding north. Our first stop was Carlsbad, nearly thirty five miles north from downtown, and at 12:30PM we were off! The first few miles carved through the city, and then we were out on the rolling hills leading into La Jolla, where we stopped for a special photo op in front of the Pangea Parking lot at UC San Diego, cute. 

Next, we cruised up, over, and down into the Paragliding Launch just off campus when one of the most courageous riders, Judy, screamed, “This is the best time of my life!” Suddenly, I heard Clinck, clang, her left break fell off her bike! “What? The what?” My heart sank, especially because she was riding a single speed bike, not a fancy, schmancy one like me, which basically let me choose how much pain I wanted to feel, every hill was a grind on Judy’s bike, but she was loving it! I was impressed with her gumption, and felt horrible about her brake falling off, but her spirits were not deterred, she was my hero.

We stopped for too long in the parking lot of the Hangliding launch, but it was worth it because I had the chance to chat with most of the riders, and fuel up on a peanut butter sandwich.  There were twelve of us total, and they were all such magical, hilarious human beings, I knew I was among my people. Then we met Scooter. Scooter is a pot-bellied pig who lived “in the back” of the Hang glide house and is parented by a man who is not a huge fan of the justice system, but apparently a friend of livestock. After many, many minutes waiting for the Red Bull car to meet up with us for a photo op, we decided to roll out and start making our way up north through the quaint and enviable coast towns, Solana Beach, Del Mar, until we would stop at a bike shop so Judy could get her bike fixed. I felt a little queasy because we would indeed be riding in the dark, honestly not something I expected, and I had no lights. Thankfully the bike store was fully stocked, so I bought a rear light, and said a prayer that we would make it safely the final ten plus miles in darkness to our campsite in Carlsbad. However, the best news of the day was Judy got her bike fixed free of charge, aren’t people wonderful?

I am not a fan of night riding; I do like Michael Hasselhoff, but not getting dizzy staring at a red blinking light fifteen in front of me while perplexed drivers whir past me in darkness. The scariest moment of the ride was when shrouded in pitch black we careened down a hill which ended at a stop sign, then started right back up again into a steep incline, which was exhilarating, and terrifying. Thankfully, we all made it to the campsite in one piece, but the first day was long, longer than I expected, and we only rode 33 miles… We had an 80 plus mile day ahead of us on Saturday, no doubt a much longer day in the saddle.

We were treated to a delicious pasta dinner prepared by Steve’s roommate Eric’s sister, Heather, and their Uncle, I ate two heaping platefuls, and felt fine about it. Next, we spent hours swapping stories and delving deeper into each other’s souls while roasting marshmallows and pitching tents overlooking the magnificent Pacific Ocean. I was very proud to be among these wonderful people, and thrilled to be right in the middle of such a looming adventure, the only way home was on our bikes.

Saturday morning came quickly, which was wonderful because it meant that I slept. Steve had us up, packed and ready to roll by 8:30ish, pretty impressive. At breakfast we laughed over Larabars and bananas, while dreaming of coffee, but were excited to be roughing it, and ready to start pedaling.

As we cruised through the heavily active cycling community of Oceanside we were jeered a few times by the peloton’s in spandex who had egos as over-priced as their bikes, I felt protective of the team, and did not want any of them to lose their spirit by those jerks, and they didn’t, again, an amazing group of people.

Soon we were showing our ID and pedaling through the rolling hills of Camp Pendleton, the US Marine base in Oceanside. I had ridden there a few times during triathlons, so it was a little strange not to be killing myself those first few miles like I do in a race, but this was not a race, and it felt good to encourage people up the hills, instead of zooming past them.

The day was getting hot and the miles were slowly ticking by as we rolled into San Clemente Cyclery bike shop just before Noon. Then a few more hours of riding, and another stop

behind a Costco, in their rear parking lot I should say, so, still on their premises, we found out later they did not like our intrusion, but it was a needed respite before our last long push of the day. We fueled up and got psyched up, because the steepest climb of the entire trip was on the other side of our break. We crossed the busy street packed tightly in a single line, thundered down the hill outside of Costco, made it through the light, then powered up the hill like maniacs, it was awesome! I was so proud of everyone, the hill was scary steep, but we all made it to the top in one piece with spirits intact. There were smiles and relief all around because we only needed to cover a mere thirty miles until reaching our refuge for the night in Huntington Beach, it was 3PM, we had less than two hours of daylight.

The course sent us on gorgeous trails along the freeway through Irvine and up to the lip of Huntington Beach. The trails were fun in the daylight, but treacherous in the dark. I nearly crashed making a tight right turn from the street down the path parallel to a waterway, but thankfully I righted my wheel in the nick of time, and no one was the wiser. The remaining miles on the strand along Huntington Beach were glorious, but never-ending. It was nearly 8PM when we reached our exit toward the Promised Land, Ben and Annie’s house in a lovely gated community on the northern tip of Huntington Beach. We all stuffed our faces with pizza, shared our “highs and lows” of the day, and then slept soundly for the night, because there was talk of coffee awaiting us in the morning.

When I woke up Sunday morning I was surprised and pleased that I was not sore from two solid days of riding, it had been months since I had spent that many hours in the saddle. That said, I was not exactly excited to be riding another four plus hours until we reached our final destination of South Central LA at CicLaVia. Nevertheless, we were in it together, and I was looking forward to finishing this epic journey alongside some of the most kind-hearted, and hilarious human beings I had ever met.

The first twenty miles or so felt fast and fun. The ladies in the group huddled up near the back of the pack for some delicious girl talk, a luxury I have rarely indulged in since college. Next, we spent most of the latter part of the day riding along the Los Angeles river trail that starts in Long Beach and continues through Compton, Bell Gardens, etc., until we hopped back onto the city streets in the not-so-pleasant smelling city of Vernon. One and done for me, Vernon, thank you. Soon we were in the middle of South Central LA, and the road was closed to traffic, which meant the finish line for us! We made it to CicLaVia! They close the roads off to all vehicles so people of all ages, shapes, and sizes can pedal up and down the city streets on their two-wheeled Freedom Riders, their bikes! I was proud to be among my fellow Angelenos, and to share such a special finish with my PEDAL comrades.

We hurried through our good byes, gave quick hugs, and then scattered to find our various transports back to our homes, and reality. I was happy that my Uber driver arrived quickly, because I missed Marion and Hannah, but it felt strange to be sitting in a car, rather than riding my bike.

I arrived home happy, because I gained my sense of humor back, finally. I have spent so many years as a “responsible” grown up, that I lost the part of me that laughs with others, but also makes others laugh, too. This past week was the easiest and most authentic I have felt in my own skin in a very long time, and I give much, if not all of the credit to my fellow PEDAL riders. I hope that they all continue to ride bikes, for themselves and for others, I know I will.

P.S. If you want to laugh, and appreciate brilliant comedy, check out my girls Caitlin and Katie here: http://www.teacherswebseries.com/episodes/

Then, watch your listings on TV Land in JULY:)

Launching Into 2015 - Who's With Me?

Okay, it is time to talk about the future. It may be clear by now that I am a “goal setter” and tend to guide my everyday life in pursuit of my goals, they may be months down the road, or just a task I need to complete by the end of the day, no matter what, I set a goal, and set out to achieve it. Usually I endure some kind of adventure along the way toward that goal which makes for an entertaining story, so really it is the journey along the way that keeps me coming back for more.

This brings me to today… About a year ago, (I realize that felt like a time/space continuum), I was ripping through marathons every few months along my 35 by 35 journey, and I started to ponder what my next goal would be? I will deliver three high fives to anyone guess what my first idea was??? Actually, I have shared this idea with one person, so now here it is unveiled to all of you… I want to qualify for the 2016 Olympic marathon trials. In case you were wondering what this Herculean task entails, I will need to run a marathon under 2:43 hours before the trials take place on February 13^th, 2016, (Hannah’s birthday) in Los Angeles. Obviously this is a lofty goal, but will my life go on if I don’t qualify? Yes. Would it be a miracle if I could lop off 37 minutes from my current marathon personal record in order to qualify? Yes. Does that mean I won’t try? No. What are we here for if not to go for it, and enjoy the process along the way? I’m an American for goodness sake! 

However, I do fancy myself a bit of  a running "expert", and as such I know that I do not have the body type and/or fleet-footedness to go under 2:43hrs. Maybe if I never grew those four inches in-between Freshmen and Sophomore year in high school and was not a schosch below 6',I would be in a better spot, but I am a large lady, so a 3:00 hour marathon may be possible someday, but sub 2:50 is a little ridiclulous. That said, I am a creative person, so I came up with a different Olympic Qualifying inspired plan that is sending me back to two of my favorite marathons in early 2015, the LA marathon in March, and the Boston marathon in April.

I have already launched into an 18 week “Advanced” = (75 - 100 miles per week) marathon training plan for the LA marathon, whereas Boston is only 5 weeks after LA, so the name of the game for that training plan is enough rest and recovery after LA to be ready to rock again in Boston. 

I am so excited to race the Boston course again, ten years after my first go-around in 2005, I was not in proper shape back then, so this time around I plan to give the course the respect it deserves and be in best shape possible come race day. 

Here comes the juice, my goal is to race LA around 3:15 hours, and Boston 3:11 hours, exactly one hour faster than my time as a 25 year old; clever, huh? Will I cry tears of disappointment if I don’t make those times? No. Will I push myself every single day to accomplish the training, nutrition, rest, and assessment required to reach my goals? Yes. Will I respect my body, and love every moment that she allows me to keep going? Yes. Will I hug Hannah before leaving for every work out, no matter what time it is? Yes. Will I have an amazing husband and training partner with me along the way? Yes. Will I write it all down, and share the journey with all of you? You betcha!

On another note, I have plans cooking for the back half of 2015 which include LOTS of swimming, biking, and running… Happy Thanksgiving my friends!

A Shout Out To The Love of My Life

Hi All,

The past couple of weeks have been both gratifying and paralyzing. I finished all of my posts for 35 by 35, printed out all 122 whopping pages, and started to put it all together in narrative book form which is wonderful, and terrifying. Imagine a large Hippopotamus sitting on your chest and you will start to realize what I am feeling. I am very proud of sharing these amazing marathons with all of you, but the next step is the tough part, making it all make sense and flow like a story everyone and their mother wants to read. It is a good thing that I have a magnificent human being named Marion Spates as my partner in life, and ever present positive life force as my motivator and supporter. We are celebrating our eighth wedding anniversary tomorrow, so I figured today would be a great time to say out loud what I say about him to myself every day.

WARNING: If you have a low-threshold for lovey-dovey stuff, then you may not want to keep reading, because I am about to go all "Nicolas Sparks" on all of you.

When I first saw Marion on April 26^th, 2004 walking down the hallway of the offices of Digital Dimension wearing  baggy orange pants, a beanie, and Camper shoes I knew my life was about to change. Not only was this my first day of work at an actual 9-6ish job, finally breaking free of freelance work, I felt an instant connection to him. Cut to, later that day, and for the next few weeks, Marion constantly helped me with the company’s editing system, and helped me learn the lingo of Visual Effects, not a subject I was all that familiar with, but needed to be in order to keep my job.

I learned quickly that Marion was divorced and had a five year old daughter, named Hannah. He gushed about Hannah constantly, and would leave work early every other day in order to pick her up from Daycare because he had joint custody. He was the favorite at work, because he was funny, gregarious, and kind, but I felt like there was something much deeper underneath his overt enthusiasm and zest for life. Soon I found myself racing to work early so we could talk by ourselves in the kitchen before everyone else arrived, and I had him all to myself. Mind you, Marion was not my type at all. He had earrings, tattoos, a ridiculous haircut, plus he was ten years older than me, divorced, and a father, gulp, but his kindness trumped all of that, and soon we were on our first date, kissing underneath the stars at the Hollywood Bowl.

My experience with relationships was nearly non-existent, while he was like a Champion race horse, so I figured we balanced each other out? Not really, we had many bumps in the road that may have been avoided if I knew what I was doing, instead I am proud that every conflict has strengthened us, and renewed our commitment because of our mutual respect for one another. Also, I never in a million years thought I would be loved by being exactly who I am. I know our mom’s tell us that Prince Charming will love us with all of our faults and foibles, but I thought I would eventually have to change to get a guy’s attention, but Marion loves me in baggy pants, a bun, and no make-up; however, my hair down is HUGE bonus. He rubs my gnarled running feet every night, he may not like it, but he does it. He also believes in me. He has been rooting me on as a writer long before I was, and just as much in me as a runner and triathlete, and if any of you know how Marion cheers, he gets you going.

I can’t believe we have been together for over ten years, I am pretty sure we beat the House on that bet, but the years have flown by, and I feel like we are just getting going. I am thankful to be married to my best friend who is always up for an adventure, and is pretty darn good-looking. Plus, he is an incredible human being that I believe in, trust, and am thankful for every day. Do I think he should have a grown up hair-cut and not a Mohawk at nearly forty five? Yes, but I know who I married, and love every bit of him; tattoos, earrings, and all.

Happy Anniversary, Marion

#36: Basel Part II

A HUGE reason that I wanted to run the marathon in Basel was to share the experience with Tim as I have mentioned earlier, because he is the original Marathoner in my life, but also to create memories with my two nieces and nephew, Jenna, Kate, and Blake Kelly. I wanted to fully embrace my role as “Adventurous Aunt T,” and I figured running the marathon in their new city would solidify my street cred.

I had decided a while ago that I did not want to have children of my own, a controversial and baffling choice to many, but it is the right one for me. In fact, one of the reasons I enjoyed my time in Basel so much was that both Tim, and his Super-Hero wife Shannon, never asked me once about having kids; they asked about Hannah, who is my everything. I know my calling in life was to be her step mother, and to inspire my many nieces and nephews go after their dreams, even if their parents think they are nutty, I will always be in their corner rooting them on.

One of these reasons why I am writing this blog, and this book, is so that I can have a platform to speak from in becoming a motivational speaker. However, I had a sneak peek into my future while speaking to about 25 or so eager International School Basel students during their lunch hour the Friday before the race. Shannon had spoken about me with the school’s PE teacher, a handsome and vibrant Frenchman named, Didier, and thankfully he jumped at the chance for me to speak to the students, and even put together a fantastic flyer that had the kids pumped to hear what yours truly had to say.

I was a little nervous, he associated me with some mighty fast ladies, but I was more excited than anything, and was looking forward to sharing my experiences with running and triathlon with the next generation. The highlight of the day had to have been Blake standing in front of the group next to me giving me a fantastic introduction, I was both impressed and humbled, I didn’t know he knew that much about his Aunt T? Next, I started off talking about how long a marathon is, and what it takes to train for one, the time, nutrition, etc., but I opened the floor up to questions pretty quickly because I knew if the kids were listening me voluntarily they were into in running, I didn’t need to convince them, instead I wanted to feed their passion by sharing as much as they wanted to know. They asked such inquisitive, excellent questions, every single one of them. Eventually, they had to go back to class, but not before a few of them, mainly the tall girls who reminded me so much of myself at that age, came up and asked me individual questions, they looked at me like I was their hero; it was the coolest feeling ever. As Shannon, Kate and I walked upstairs toward the car I took in a deep sigh because now I wanted to live up to their expectations of me and run fast on Sunday.

Fortunately, Saturday was an action-packed family day which included Blake’s soccer game, a detour through France to visit a Swiss castle, a stop by the race expo, and an hour so in my Mother’s would be “heaven” the Kurbis Festival; that’s Pumpkin Festival for us English speaking folks. Sadly, I did not partake in the delicious Kurbis soup, due to my strict diet before race day, it would be another pancake dinner for me later, but Jenna and Shannon gobbled some up for all of us, and then we conquered the corn maze under the steadfast leadership of Jenna. I would follow her into battle any day.

I slept well on Saturday night, but not a whole lot. I have grown accustomed to my usual 4AM wake-up call on race days, but with the 8:30AM start time this time around, that early rising hour was not required, but I was up and at ‘em anyway. Tim and I left for the tram around 6:50ish because I told him I wanted to be at the starting line an hour before the gun went off, however, we were both a little surprised when we arrived at our stop and nary a barricade was up yet, let alone crowded runners in the street. We walked around for a little while, he showed me his favorite spot looking over the Rhine River just behind a cathedral, and found a clutch breakfast spot for him to have coffee and a chocolate croissant, while I was happy to have a warm place to sit and psyche myself up.

The runners started bustling about the starting line as Tim and I both assessed the crowd and thought I had a chance to do well, but I am always on the look-out for the Spritely swift-footed 40-50 aged runners who always seem to edge me out of the top spot, I saw a couple of contenders, so I kept my expectations at bay. Who am I kidding? I was just thrilled and thankful to be there. Once again I was fit and healthy enough to be standing on marathon starting line feeling fresh and pumped to give everything I had for 26.2 miles, err 42.2 km, for you European folks out there. This race was already my greatest achievement because I had to complete 35 By 35 in order to make it here; I did, so here I was ready to run the marathon at the top of my list.

The gun went off and I started off quickly but maintained a sensible position considering the narrow cobble-stone streets. The most annoying/hilarious few hundred yards of the race was when I was stuck behind two pace runners being slapped and punched by the balloons tied on their shirts with their pace time written on them, next time carry signs my friends. Soon I darted around my balloon smacking cohorts at the corner just beyond 2K mark, and settled into a comfortably uncomfortable pace that I felt confident in maintaining for most of the race, it was fun to be running fast again.

The most amazing part of this marathon was that Tim was rooting for me in person. It could be because I am the youngest of us four Kelly kids, or that I am just a big sap, but I have always had a heavy heart when it comes to spending time with my siblings. There is no doubt that I worshipped Tim, Peter, and Mary growing up, but when Tim went away to college I was only ten, and it was not an easy transition for me. Tim was a rock for the three of us elementary aged kiddos when we moved from Palos Verdes to Claremont after my parent’s divorce, his approval meant everything to me, and that feeling has not changed over the last thirty years. Running this marathon in Basel with Tim cheering me on meant just as much to my thirty five year old self as it did to my ten year old self, absolutely everything.

I wasn’t sure when or where I would see him on the course, but it didn’t matter, because he was all over the place! The first spot I saw him was just after the 10K mark which was perfect because he let me know I was the second woman, sweet! Just after I passed him I noticed my shoes were untied, so I had to stop and tie them, I think I only lost a few seconds, but really? Shoes untied, come on Taryn! Over the next few miles we meandered through some tree-lined old roads within Basel, there were some ups and downs in elevation that altered my pace a bit, but I felt strong and consistent throughout the first of two loops on the course, then I saw Tim again and he yelled, “How are you?”

“Okay, I’m kind of feeling it.”

“Just have fun, Tar, the leader is 200 feet in front of you!”

Well, that did the trick! The slight twinge of lactic built up in my legs went away as suddenly I felt like a real competitor. I had never been this close to the lead in any marathon, or triathlon, in fact the only time I won races was in the 100meter hurdles in high school, and those were mainly in the preliminary heats. I did lead a cross country race for the first mile during my fleet-footed Freshmen season. It was the Frosh/Soph heat at the Mt. Sac Relays, the first mile on the course is flat, then a little windy, I clocked it in 6:34min., my fastest time to date, but I fell back a few places once we hit the unforgiving switchbacks, then fell further back once I started the climb up Poop Out hill, sadly no podium finish on that day. However, the feeling of being out in front, with every other runner outside of your periphery, behind you, is a feeling an athlete never forgets.

As I rounded the next turn I saw a petite blonde woman in a triathlon kit about fifty feet ahead of me, I assumed she was the leader, my pace was faster, so I didn’t make a dramatic surge or anything, soon enough I overtook her and made the pass. We gave each other a courteous nod, but she didn’t’ try to chase me down, that was it. A few yards ahead I saw a guy on a bike riding in the middle of the street with a sign on the front, I assumed he was the 1^{st place} female escort, so I asked him, “Am I in first place?” he turned to me, looking somewhat bewildered to see another woman who was nearly double the size of the pip squeak he was riding next to for the first 21km, “Marathon?”

 “Yes.”

“Yeah.”

 That was all I needed to hear, I was leading a marathon, what??!!  

The next 21km were spectacular. There were out and back sections of the course where we ran past fellow marathoners and half marathoners and one thing I always do is cheer for the lead women in races when I see them. I believe the race is run individually, not against each other, and I revere fast runners, but today I was the fast runner they were cheering for.

Yes, my legs started to ache over the last 10k or so, but I kept a consistent pace, in fact I passed quite a few prideful Basler men who were not too keen on a woman overtaking them, but this was my day, I was a machine, this was 36^th marathon for goodness sakes, I knew what I was doing, and all I wanted to say was, “On your left, thanks.”

The last kilometer or so seemed to go on forever, but soon enough I made the final turn and ran up toward the finish. I was looking for Tim in the crowds lining both sides of the street, but I was ecstatic when I saw Shannon, Jenna, Kate, and Tim cheering for me holding the cutest sign ever just before I made the final turn toward the finish line. I didn’t think the girls would be able to make it to the race because they were in various states of illness, but Shannon rallied the troops, and I will be forever grateful that the girls were able to see their Aunt T win a marathon. This trip was about creating memories with them, and I think they will remember that one for a long time.

Just after I crossed the finish line this photo was taken, and I think it says it all.

Even though this particular quest is complete, there will be many more for me, for example writing my book, and I hope there will many more for all of you, too. It doesn’t have to be running marathons, or running at all, we are all capable of amazing things if we set a goal and challenge ourselves to go after it.