I've Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier : 2010 Soldier Marathon Race Report.

Marathon #12.

I started writing this recap shortly after the race but never got around to finishing it when life got busy, overwhelming and I got lazy and down on myself. Excuses; I just hate how easy they are.
But enough is enough.  I have done a write up for every marathon I have run. Seems wrong to not give thought and words to what has become one of my favorite marathons thus far.So . . .

On Saturday, November 13th--Veteran's weekend-- 2010 I ran the Inaugural Soldier's Marathon in Columbus, Ga. For those that don't want to read all the details let me just say that this is one of my most favorite marathons I have ever run. If you are looking for a small race in Georgia to run a pr this would be your race.
Here are the Cliff Notes:
45th out of 356 finishers.
6th female out of 103 other awesome women.
1st in the 35-39 age group
Finished in 3:31:07.


So yeah. I know, there is nothing really spectacular about any of that.
No prize money.
No shiny new PR.

But finishing this marathon felt better than any other race. Yet. (Playing the optimist here that things, that life might get even shinier, even prettier.)

Believe me, I know that running isn't magical. I know it is just one foot in front of the other a little bit faster than when you walk, but as I've said before running is the thing that I do. And running, it is the the thing that saves me. There is not a doubt in my mind that running is my Ritalin. I use to think that I outgrew my ADHD but recently, it occurred to me, that at the same time I decided to stop taking Ritalin was the exact same time I started running: in graduate school.  Huh. So yes. I am self medicating. But is that a bad thing?

No. It isn't at all --at least not until you get injured and can't run as much as you need to keep you on the straight side of crooked.Then it does become a bit of a problem. And all I can say is thank goodness I don't have to go school or have a job that requires a lot of focus.

For over a year I have really struggled with injury after injury and through illness (soul sucking sinus infections) and asthma  that kept throwing all my running efforts off. Come on, you know the song: I get knocked down, but I get up again, I get knocked down, but I get back up down again. Pissing the night away....You're never gonna keep me down. . .

Yeah so, it has all been pretty depressing and  I have not seen any success: just lots of backsliding. Now, I am an adult and I know by this point in my life that just because you try really really hard and wish really really hard for something to happen, it still might not happen. So I've tried to make the best of whatever running will give me.

This summer I went back to running 30-40 miles a week and just rode my bike and swam and enjoyed the summer. I had my eyes on a fall marathon and thought, hoped that by August, when the kids went back to school, I could hammer out some miles, train hard and run a fantastic fall marathon with a big fat shiny PR and be able to say: NAT IS BACK!!!

In September I signed up and committed to the Soldier marathon. I was slogging through the 90 degrees and hellacious humidity and doing my miles. By the end of September I was right on track and ran a peak 60 miles for the week. And then injury struck. Exactly 6 weeks out from my fall marathon.

I was very worried that I had a pelvic stress fracture.  It hurt every time I ran. For two weeks I dialed my running way back and rode my bike--a lot-- went to yoga, strength trained and cried. A lot. Or, rather, I cried every time I ran. Not because of pain but because I felt so defeated. So frustrated that the one thing I wanted to do I couldn't do.I could do everything else pain free but I couldn't run any significant distance pain free.

With my diligence in cross training, strength training, yoga and, dear Lord, foam rolling--it started to get better. I decided since it was getting better, not worse, and only was a problem when running -- and since I could still run some-- and it was getting slowly better that it most likely was NOT a stress fracture. My best guess is that it was weakness or some sort of tendinitis/inflammation in my priformis or glute muscles. The sciatic nerve was involved since I would feel at different times: weakness, shooting pain, tightness or tingling all down the back of my right leg, in my right hip, groin, glute and even into my foot. So I maintained my cross training with the bike, yoga and weights and  I started building back the running miles. I managed to have a 50 mile week with a 23 mile run 3 weeks out. My hip still wasn't 100% but each week it got a little better. So I decided to taper and try for the marathon.

On a trail recovery run, just a little 5 mile run, two weeks out I rolled my ankle on a rock. That caused my left Achilles to flare up. Not such a big deal since I was tapering but it was weak and sore and now talking back to me. This was pretty frustrating since I haven't had my Achilles give me issue since last Feb and now I had issues on my left side as well as what I had going on with my right hip. But,  I consoled myself, by  remembering that I've run several marathons with my Achilles less than perfect. It just means babying it, warming it up and starting out cautiously. The hip though. . .

I knew, despite a bit of optimism, as the taper progressed that I was not in shape to run a personal best at the marathon. So I forgot about that goal. I settled on an A a goal of bettering my 3:41BQ time from ING  for Soldier's marathon. At least then I could submit a faster time for a better corral at Boston. I admitted, not knowing how my injury could play out and the all too fresh memory of my painful injured BQ at ING that sub 3:40  could possibly prove a bit ambitious.

After all, I was injured, AGAIN and I had done zero speed work. With the bulk of my miles ranging in the 8:30 to 9 minute pace range I didn't even know if I could run 26 miles at sub 8:30 pace.  I knew I had the endurance to run 26.2 for a  3:45ish finish but I didn't know how I would hold up if my hip rebelled. In the past I tend to fall apart when stuff hurts. I think I have a very low threshold for pain since as soon as the tiniest thing hurts I am walking. I always mean to "suck it up" and "dig deep" but truthfully, it just never happens.

My other issue with sub 3:41 being ambitious was that nearly every run over 10 miles I was having to stop and stretch out my hip. I hadn't run 10 continuous  miles in at least 2 months. So while my training paces, speed work aside, hadn't suffered too much I was stopping the watch to stretch. And, just in case you don't know this, in a race? They don't stop the clock so you can stretch.

So while my wishful thinking goal for Soldiers was sub 3:41, I decided that my overall goal for Soldier's marathon would be to run strong and run the fastest, best race that my body would allow THAT DAY. I knew. No matter what. That I would finish the marathon. I knew that might mean a house of pain like Ga ING had been in March but in my mind, no one. No one quits a marathon on Veteran's weekend that honors the men and women of this county who have given up their lives for freedom. More pointedly, given up their lives so that I can be a person who says running is "the thing that I do." I may come off as bit two dimensional  but the reason I am allowed to be that way is not lost on me and I am very, very grateful. If the US soldiers can fight selflessly for honor and freedom then  I figured I better be able to fight selfishly for my own silly meaning of happiness. Seemed only right.  . . .

And during my training for the race I had latched onto the song "All These Things that I have Done" by the Killers. It became--please indulge me this silliness-- my fight song.

By a week out from the marathon I was feeling pretty strong. I think maybe there can be magic in taper. (Or maybe it just tempers the doubt. ) My last longer runs-- progressive 16 and 13 miles respectively-- had turned out okay: no hip pain--though I was still having to stop and stretch out my hip-- just some niggles and tightness. I felt in my right leg what I call "an awareness of the area." Since I finished those last longer runs so strongly I decided ( because I know this is exactly what all people do nursing a nagging injury) to race a 5k a week out.

I had a blast at the race, so no regrets. I even got 2nd in my age group, (that darn Stacy was there and I am always Stacy's bridesmaid). The race though, the running fast part--went horribly.
Wait for it.
That's right folks.
I WALKED.  In a 5k.
Oh. No. Not once but twice.
AWESOME!
Just the sort of marathon confidence builder I needed.

My time though was better than I would have thought,considering my two brief walk breaks.: 21:39. However the race was not without repercussions: I jacked up the arches on both feet and did something excruciatingly painful to the balls of both feet (hence the reason for the walking). I also aggravated my asthma.  I sounded like I had bronchitis for 24 hours after the race and it hurt to walk, never mind run. So yeah, that was not one of the smarter things I have done in the taper. But, if you think about all the dumb shit I have done in a taper--Hello, trying to lift a 200+ Lacrosse goalie and throwing my back out like I did before Ga ING last March.--it wasn't that bad. At least this bonehead move was running related.  . .

After the race, when I was all sad because it hurt to walk I decided to see if plugging my 5k time into the McMillan calculator would cheer me up. You know just for shits and giggles. And because, in case you didn't know. Whatever marathon time Mcmillan calculator says you are capable of --especially when based on a 5k--is EXACTLY what you will run for your next marathon. Swear. McMillian, after all, is really Scotch-Irish for "finishing time magic 8 ball."

I can't make this stuff up.

So McMillan promised me a 3:31 marathon time.

And I really did giggle at that.

Obviously though, at the end of my marathon when I saw that 3:31 happen, yeah, about shit myself.

Huh, it DOES work. . .

Okay, in all seriousness. The week before the marathon I  thought if my arches got better and my hip didn't hurt and my Achilles wasn't too angry  and the magic taper pixie visited me that maybe, just maybe I could put up a 3:35 finish .

And I decided I would be very, very happy with that.

The closer I got to race day the more doubt and anxiety I felt. By Friday, the day we were to leave for Columbus,  I was almost 100% sure that it was going to go horribly. I kind of kept hoping for some minor tragedy to strike so I wouldn't be able to go. I alternated between--what do you call the opposite of delusions of grandeur? Oh wait. Right. That is known as reality.

Well, let's just say that I was entertaining zero optimism. And this made me more than a little bit bitchy. I was also convinced that was coming down with my husband's cold and it was his fault and was not at all a slight hangover from the wine I enjoyed at Big Peach's ladies night out. Whatever.

More.smart.stuff.I.do.while.tapering.is drinking.wine.and dancing two nights before a big race.

It was really too bad that I couldn't get wasted on the car ride down to the race because riding on 85 about sent me over the edge and then all those dead deer littered along I-85.  I felt pretty certain, you know if I was a Pagan, that it was clearly an omen from Artemis foretelling that I would be more like one of those road kill deer than a sprightly doe leaping jubilantly through 26.2 miles along the Chattahoochee river side. If nothing else I sure felt as bloated and beaten as those road kill deer looked-- mangled legs and missing antlers not withstanding.

Ryan was also driving like 90mph and I was about to vomit. I am not an easy car rider. If you have ever been in a serious car accident I am sure you can relate and my request for him to slow (the fuck)  down was met with a "I'm not getting blamed for anything and you will not miss the expo."

Sigh. That is what I get for telling him we had to be at the expo no later than 6:30. It went until 7:30. What?! I don't like to be late. Ever. So sometimes I lie to the people in my life about what time stuff is because they.are.always.late. And I am not.

The expo was at the The National Infantry Museum. It is a beautiful museum. I regret that I did not get to see more of it myself but Ryan and the kids went while I ran the marathon. They loved it. They took pictures of pictures.

I was quite pleased that my number was 106--it added up to 7, my favorite number. My 5k the weekend before at also added up to 7 but since that race wasn't so awesome for me I tried not to read too much into the number and just stuck with that me? I like the number 7.

I was also pleased with my race swag: a women's sized technical short sleeved shirt, a reusable bag that will now be my new swim bag, a hand towel, a squeeze ball and lots of literature about the race that I did not read. But obviously Ryan did because he seemed to know a lot about this race, definitely more than me.

Next stop was checking into the hotel. Holiday Inn Express, it was very nice. About a 5 minute drive from the start.

Apparently though, the children misunderstood that this was just a quick over night trip. See Beau? I am carrying his luggage. That is just the stuff he packed. Carmella avoided the picture. But she had just as much crap.

Beau is special. He wore camo ALL weekend, even bought a camo hat and wore a headlamp. He wanted the soldiers to know that he was a soldier too.

After settling into our room. I googled and located at Carrabas Italian Grill. I am sure there were other fabulous and unique places to eat in Columbus, Ga but before Museum of Aviation marathon I had eaten at Carrabas and then ran my Pr the next day. Stick with what you know, was my thinking.

Apparently, however, there was the world's largest cheerleading conference EVER in Columbus, GA that same weekend and apparently cheerleaders also have enjoyed a great pre cheer meal at Carrabas. There was a 2 hour wait for a table.  As there also  was at Chili's, Olive Garden, and Friday's. I was starving, tired and about to cry. Ryan and I were having a fight about my ability to use my smart phone and read a map. So we switched. I drove, he navigated. I was, of course, going the wrong way!

So I turned around in the parking lot of a Chevron gas station. And low and behold there was a restaurant. Mark's City Grill.

I'm not gonna lie. I had serious doubts. A gas station parking lot restaurant for a pre race meal? Denny's was starting to sound good.  But I was desperate to eat and go to bed. I sent Ryan in and hoped it would be like the Sundae Cafe in Tybee that is one of the best restaurants (after  German Town Cafe and Alium) I have ever eaten at and that was also in a gas station parking lot.

It was not the bestest ever but it was clean, there were no cheerleaders and best of all, no wait.  I had pasta, vegetables and grilled chicken. Oh, and 2 420 sweetwater beers. You know, for good luck.

We played Uno with the kids while we waited for our food. We cannot be like normal people and just have a conversation. This is mostly because Beau cannot physically sit in his seat if the only thing that is expected of him is to sit in his seat and eat the food on his plate. But let him play Uno, sit and eat a meal? Well, everyone gets to eat and digest their food.  Oh, and I won. Uno that is.

 

 By 9 pm we were pulling into the hotel parking lot. And can you guess who was in the parking lot? Dean Karnazes? Nope! Paula Radcliffe and her baby? Nope! None of those cool runner people were there. But there were about 30 cheerleaders practicing their cheer routines. Great! I thought, so much for sleep. As we approached the entrance I overhead Carmella whisper to  Beau that "those are cheerleaders. Teenage girls." Beau said, "I know." And then Carmella, sagely informed him; "teenage girls are not known for making wise choices. You should stay away from them." I can't wait to see about Carmella and her teenage girl choices . . .

Ryan grumbled about my lights out and no TV. But I guess we were all totally exhausted and actually fell right asleep. I think I might have even had my best ever night before a race sleep.

Waking and getting ready for a race in a hotel room with your young children is less than ideal but if I bribe them with those nasty powdered doughnuts they will do exactly what I tell them. So getting ready went off without issue and we were all piled into the car right on time to get to the race with what I assumed would be 30 minutes to spare.

However I didn't account for the traffic to get into the parking lot. As we sat in stand still traffic and 15 minutes to gun time I told Ryan that I would just run to the start while he tried to find parking. As I jumped out of the car and started running down the grass towards the start I felt something fall off me. It was my pin that said I ♥ Running!

I paused for a moment, looking at it laying there in the bright green Fescue and thought about picking it up. My plan had been to wear the pin  for the race and when the race started to go bad--as I was certain it was going to--  I would pluck the pin off my shirt and toss it ceremoniously into the river and it would land right between Georgia and Alabama and would float all the way to Florida and get lost in the Gulf of Mexico for future archaeologists to find billions of years from now to puzzle about what it was. What it meant.

But I really had to pee so I just left it and mentally went down my checklist of other forgotten things as I ran to get in line for the porta potties:  gu, phone,  ipod, inhaler, and some tp tucked in a pocket just in case. I may not be a soldier but I was a girl scout. I realized I had forgotten to write planned my race mantra on my arms!

Usually I go with HTFU but this time I planned to write, stolen from my "anthem", If you can hold on, hold on. . . on my left arm. And on my right hand, You can!

Damn it, I thought. It was all going to hell. I knew it. And then it occurred to me. It was war! We always play "punch buggy" in the car. Beau insists. And whenever we get tied he will declare : It is War! And this is just from 11 previous marathons of experience speaking but the marathon is a mental war you wage with and against yourself. ( Only someone who has never been a solider or been to war can make a statement like that.)

So I headed over the battle line, I mean start line. And hopped right in the middle. I only knew 2 people doing this race I somehow found both of them standing one in front of the other. It is always good to have friends on your side.

Here is Shannon and I at the start: Shannon is ex Flacon's cheerleader. She ran the half and a huge Pr and  nabbed an age group award. I just know so many awesome, fast and pretty chicks.

And here is Ron. I always see him at races and he is always a lot faster than me.

He tried to talk me into some foolish mission of running sub 3:20. I told him I just was looking to get the finish line.  The closest I'm probably ever gonna get to 320 would be not finishing my Sweetwater 420. He ran 3:19.

The race started with a cannon!

 

And then we ran through two rows of soldiers standing at attention.

Nothing really hurt but I noticed right away that I just felt tired. My legs felt kind of heavy and it already felt hard and I had to pee. Ugh. So annoying. I reminded myself the first mile always sucks so I tried not to think too much about how much it was sucking.

Check out the race leaders! Their feet don't even touch the ground. That must be the trick.

As I passed the first mile marker I glanced at my watch. 8:32. Crap. I think that is possibly the slowest first mile of any marathon I have ever run-- and yes, even my first where I ran 4:08 and yes, even the trail marathon that I ran 4:58. I always bolt out a sub 8 for the first. I think for my pr I ran 7:2x for the first mile. I pretty much thought I had already lost the war right then and started resigning myself to the possibility of a four hour finish.

We were now in Fort Benning and I have to say the morning, the weather, it was beautiful. It really was what I call a "no excuses" marathon day weather. We ran up the highest elevation change on the course and I did pass a good number of people here. The hill was short but it was fairly steep.  Nevertheless right after the marker for mile 2 I saw a porta potty and tucked in. I was still running an 8:30 avg so things pace-wise still had not improved.

I have never been on a military base so I don't know if they are all as pretty Fort Benning but I loved this part of the course. And even though it was morning the residents were all out to cheer us on--some still in their pj's. It was very cool. 

For the next several miles I am trying to resist the urge to look at my watch and just relax into the run and enjoy the scenery, listen to my ipod. I don't talk to anyone these early miles.Finally at seven miles I can stand it no longer and look at my watch. I am shocked that I am at 55 minutes. The course other than that first hill had been pretty flat but I hadn't felt like I picked up the pace at all. It still felt just as hard as it had in the first mile. My heart rate felt like it was still the same. I thought about all those hour long progressive treadmill runs I had done in training after an hour on spin bike and decided maybe they had been a good workout after all.

I had been passing people and decided that maybe I should reel it in. Sometimes chatting with people helps me slow it down/keep it in check. Trying to talk makes me run a little slower because I get breathless trying to chat if I am running too hard. So I fell in step with a guy and I can't remember if he talked to me first or me him but we chatted for a bit. He had just run the New York marathon the weekend before. He asked me my goal for the race and told him about just running the best I could that day. He asked me my pr and told him, 3:28 and he told me that I was currently on pace to run a PR.

Uh oh, I thought. I started paying attention to my breathing and realized that I wasn't exactly at a conversational pace. I didn't want to crash and burn since crashing and burning and hobbling in pain to the finish I've already done and know, it is not such a fun time. So at the next aid station I decided I would walk it, let him go on. 

And that is what I did. It was little hard to let the idea of running a PR go but I knew I just didn't have that in me. It just wasn't worth it to risk it. He ended up running 3:23 for the day so it was good I didn't try to hang with him. Sometime around this point-- mile 8 or 9 I don't know-- the half runners turned around. I also started noticing on the course these little soldiers trophies. I really liked them. I assumed they were age group the trophies for the race. I decided that I kind of wanted one. Too bad that they were actually trophies for some other race. But I didn't know that then.

So I started paying attention. I had no idea how many women were ahead or behind me. The ones who had been running with me had turned out be running the half . 70% of the marathon is run on this river walk like trail along the river--which is very nice as there is no traffic and there is lots of greenery. It was peaceful and quiet next to the river.  The race had thinned out and I was pretty much running alone.There were runners with in sight but no packs around me. So once the halfers were gone I just started picking runners off.  Probably not the wisest move for even pacing but I can't help it. In these smaller marathons the single runners in front of you are like carrots being dangled at you.I sometimes think oh Ill run up to that person, maybe chat with them, but in reality I'll get to that person and well chatting doesn't happen.

Around 11 or 12 miles I come up on the first woman that I knew was doing the full. It was my first glance at potential competition for Soldiers trophy.

I fell in step with her. I can never tell people's ages. Pretty much everyone in the 30-45 range looks about the same age to me. I was running about an 8 minute average, maybe 7:5x at that point. She told me this was her 5th marathon and her goal was 3:45. I said, "Oh you're trying to qualify?" Knowing that if the answer was yes she was in my age group. And she said "yes." I said, "Well you know you are running like a 3:30ish pace." And as a way of answering that she told that she was from Colorado. I wished her luck and ran on ahead. I refused to let myself look back to see if she was there but I never saw her again.

I was stopping and walking/slow jogging through every aid station. I was still feeling pretty good, legs tired but no pain, and decided that I would just keep that up. Ryan took this picture sometime around the half point. I kept looking for a mat and clock to signify that point and it never showed up. I almost missed seeing Ryan and the kids I was so busy looking for it.

Normally I tell him not to come see me on the course. I am such a quitter and I am always so worried that if I see him I will bail on the race if he catches me when I am having a turn in the valley of darkness. It proved a non issue.

Partly because  by the time I registered Ryan and the kids  I was already past them but mostly because I had had my turn in the valley already. It was called miles one and two.


After realizing I had some where passed the 13 marker and there was not going to be mat for 13.1 I ran up on a guy and asked him where we were. He said we were at about 13.2 and 1:45ish. I was little disappointed. The times I've run under 3:30 I've hit the half in 1:42 or 1:41. But that's okay, I reminded myself, 3:35 could still happen. I was just assuming there were would be a big fade. I have no faith in me for a negative or even split marathon. I like to give myself a pretty big cushion so I can wuss out and not feel pressure in the last 10k when I am sucking ass. "You're gonna bring yourself down . . ."

I was still feeling good. It wasn't easy and I sure didn't think anything magical was gonna happen but I was holding on and sort of waiting for when my hip was going to rebel and it would all go to hell. I was tailing behind this group of 5 or6  chatty guys running together. I had been debating about whether or not to pass them. They were a pack and I was about one or two strides behind them. I was pretty happy with their pace and was in the process of deciding if I could run a little faster. I didn't want to be eavesdropper.

Finally one of them says "Go on and pass us already; you know you want to." I admitted this was true but I didn't want to be embarrassed later when inevitably they would have to pass me again. I did speed up a little and was now in step with them. I recognized one of the men from other races. Normally I don't remember people because most runners all pretty much look the same. But this guy had red hair and you just remember red hair people. Well I do. Also, in my first marathon a red headed guy I had been leap frogging with told me in the final 10k that "he didn't want to have pass me again." And I remember telling him not to worry, he wouldn't have to. Anyway, I introduced myself and his name was Anthony and he had indeed done a lot of the same marathons I had done.

We chatted for a few miles, swapped misery in ill preparedness: me my litany of injuries. Him a stomach bug the week before.During this time I saw the second girl I would see in the marathon. She said hi and she ran with us a bit. She looked easy. And she was young. I didn't try to hang with her when she pulled ahead. I was holding on, doing what I could.

Anthony pulled back when we reached a little incline. I cheered because my It band was starting sing a song that I didn't so much care for. As I ran ahead a man spectating told me that third place girl was just ahead of me. I kind of hated him because yeah, guess what dude. She just passed me. But it was helpful information in my pursuit of a soldier's trophy.With three girls ahead of me, one of them definitely younger I was still in the running for an age group trophy. Which right then, in addition to finishing, was what I wanted.

Around 17 we hit the mat that was there to make sure no one is cheating since you start running back on the course. Now if I had at all looked at the race information I would have known this. Along with that the course jogs into Alabama and it would have made sense when Anthony mentioned something about being in Alabama when we were running over a bridge. I thought he was just being kooky and talking about a Alabama state of being or something.

We ran briefly on the road--the only time all day except for the part in Fort Benning. It was a little out and back portion. I was on the look out for the female leads but I never saw them. As it turned out they were not far enough ahead of me. Winning female ran 3:24. I did get to swap hi-fives with Ron on this portion. I love getting to see people I know on a run course.

At the 18 mile aid station I stopped to grab some gu and I recognized another runner that I always see at local races. I actually had chatted with him several years before at the Alpharetta half and later the Silver comet half. I was at first just looking at him trying to place him and he looked at me and said "Do not give me that look!" I said "We've met before." I told him where. His response was "That was like 5 years ago!" And I said, " I know! And if you want to talk to me today you are going to have to run!"

I ran on and within a few minutes Jerry was at my shoulder telling me his tale of a colossal 3 hour blow up. He had just run New York the week before, he had done Ironman Louisville in the fall, was on task to run 30 marathons--in the past 5 years-- before his 30th birthday in March and he was just back from Afghanistan and had gone out at a sub 3 pace and blown himself up. And he talked and we ran together the final 8 miles of the marathon. It was awesome. It completely distracted me from my own self pity, misery, negative head talk. I need a Jerry at the end of every marathon. (Applications for Boston currently being accepted! Please apply!)

Jerry did most of the talking as I was just hanging on. I did tell him about my new goal of the trophy. Around 22 miles a woman showed up. She didn't speak to us when she passed us. Jerry and I tried to chat her up but she was very focused. I was a little worried because she looked my age. My trophy was in danger! A guy standing off course started running with her. It was a little annoying that he would hand her water and stuff at aid stations but I was walking the aid stations anyway so what did it matter if someone handed me water? As it was she was first master winner so I didn't need to worry.
 
Around 24 miles another woman fell in step with us. She looked younger than me but I  knew there were already 4 women ahead of me. My potential soldier trophy was slipping away! I was kind of half ready to fight for it  and half didn't care but either way I needed to know. So I flat out asked her how old she was. Twenty eight! I was still good!  Jerry and I leap frogged with her. Jerry switched to the metric system and kept saying stuff like 1200 meters to go.He was a numbers man. He went from saying we might go sub 3:30 to we could still hit 3:30 and I just kept saying, I am having the absolute best day possible for me. I don't care. ( I just wanted a soldier's trophy, damn it!)

As Jerry was throwing out meters and minutes and possible finish scenarios I suggested we should totally do a cartwheel at the finish. Without missing a beat he said "I suspect you have the gymnastics background to support such a move but I do not." But the idea was there. I had done cartwheels and roundoff's at the finish of 5k's and even half marathon but I didn't know if I would have the coordination to do it at the end of marathon.  . .

We were close to the finish but Jerry and his damn metric system totally confused me and we were not as close as I thought. Jerry and I had picked up the pace but when I realized that the finish was not when I thought it was going to be I stopped cold. I just kind of stood there looking at the tiniest of hills and the corner I had to turn to run down the Avenue of Flags to the finish. It was so close but it just wasn't where I wanted it to be. The girl who I had been leap frogging with caught up to me and patted me on the back as she passed me, saying, "Com'on, you have this." Damn it. I know I have it. I just thought I had it.Sigh.

Running on.

It was totally freaking awesome and if I hadn't been so annoyed that I didn't know where the finish line was I would have appreciated running down the Avenue of Flags a whole lot more. But boy oh boy was I happy and shocked when I saw 3:31xx on the clock. As I approached the finish line I was all set for my cartwheel but then I noticed the camera man right smack in the center. I thought crotch shot! Ryan will kill me! So I just run under the banner and threw my arms up.

Me and Jerry: Hey! I didn't notice before but both our bibs add up to 7!

 

And I ended up being first in my age group. I didn't get a cute trophy with solider but nonetheless a very nice carved wood plaque. But mostly I think I had the best day I could have possibly had and after the past year I am so grateful. 

And yeah, I'm cribbing the song, changing it up as I sing it when I am running:
Over and done, last call for pain
While everyone's lost, this battle is won
With all the miles that I have run
All these miles that I have run


Time, sweat and heart


If you can hold on
If you can hold on

You can.

Testing

Blogging from my phone. Can I do this?

It Might be a Cinderella Story

I often have trouble sleeping. Falling asleep, staying asleep-- just like sitting still-- is a huge challenge for me. It doesn't matter how exhausted my body might be because my mind? It never seems to tire. I know, clearly it is a sign that I am not thinking enough during the day but I get so distracted by all the sunshine and butterflies. It is hard to focus. But there, in the dark, in my bed where the quiet is punctuated by my son talking in his sleep down the hall and my husband's loud snoring next me and the dog downstairs fidgeting, well I just.can't.fall.asleep.

Throughout my life I have used various mental exercises to help me quiet and distract my mind so I can fall asleep. I remember when I was 6 I would try to count as far as could until I fell asleep. As got older counting backwards or doing multiplication tables in my head often worked. Making up stories or scenarios never work for me because I get excited about ideas and the ideas, notions and fantasies keep me up. But math? I don't get excited about math ever. So the numbers in their measured exactness, eventually, bore me to sleep.

Recently though I have been again struggling with insomnia and my number games are no longer working. I am willing to admit that it is possible that numbers have failed me because of my elementary math knowledge. Perhaps if I was better schooled in Calculus my mind could come up with more complex number exercises to lull me to sleep. But I am not going back to school just to learn more math so I can sleep. That just seems silly. So I had to come up with an alternative non math exercise. And that was when I found comfort-- and happily, sleep-- in mentally walking through my great grandmothers and grandmothers houses: specifically, Ebie, Carmela, Adelaide and Anne.

I have four houses to choose from on any given night and only once have I made it through all four houses and their rooms--having inspected yard, fence, stairs, doors, floors, walls, windows, rugs, furniture, porch and kitchen-- before the alarm went off saying,"Never mind about sleep, it is time to get up!" I find it peaceful thinking about the houses, their rooms, furnishings, objects, vistas and oddly, I feel like I am doing something important. You see, all my grandmothers have died and their houses are houses I will never have the opportunity to walk through again. At least not in how they looked when my grandmothers lived there. So I feel like, while I lay there doing nothing, that I am doing something: I am preserving photos in my mind. Sealing memories so I don't ever forget place and thing or more specifically, person.

Last week I couldn't sleep again. I was so wired that I was going to need to go on a long walk and decided I would walk through my great grandmother Ebie's house (I actually wrote a poem about standing in her front yard. You can read that poem here if you want). I feel like hers is the house I know the most details about.

It is summer and I am six, my brother is five and my mom has long hair and my dad has long hair and a seventies mustache. I am certain that this is the trip where after throwing my beloved pink bear out the car window for the third time since leaving Atlanta my dad finally said "C'est la vie"  And despite my loud and desperate pleas of  "La V! La V!" He  won't stop to go back and retrieve pink bear, with her broken music box hidden inside her bottom, from the side of the Martha Berry highway.

We arrive in the gray Pinto station wagon that has hideous maroon interior and trim. It is afternoon and it is hot and the humidity is suffocating. I am first out of the car and most likely the only one not exhausted from the five plus hour trip to Bainbridge. I run across the grass that is really just dead weeds at this point in the summer and up the red concrete steps to Ebie's front porch. To my right is painted and flaking white ornate wrought iron patio furniture. That part of the porch isn't covered and has looming live oak branches shading it. To my left that part of the porch is screened and has the unrivaled giant wicker porch swing laden with pillows. If there is anything else on the porch my mind can not see it because I only remember the swing. I marvel at the mailbox that is on the house and stick my hand, then my face through the letter slot and announce that we are here. I am always fascinated that the mailman walks up to the house and leaves mail here and not in a box out by the street.

The door is opened and I rush in. My attention is directed to the maroon Victorian style chair and polished wood tiered table with small, glass objects d' art. My eye zeros in on and my hand-- quick before she can swat it away and anyone can say a collective no,-- picks up the glass hobnailed slipper. There is only one. I puzzle that there isn't two but just one blue, high heeled, glass shoe. It makes no sense. It must be Cinderella's.

And that is when it occurs to me. I make it no further into the house and am riveted back to reality. Wide awake, (ugh again!) but realizing that it could be the shoes. That maybe, just maybe the neutral shoes I've been running in for the last 7 or so months  is why my right hip, right glute continue to give me trouble.

So the next day I don't exercise or run. And I do the same for the next 3 days. COMPLETE rest. And I have mental breakdown on every one of the days. On Friday, the fourth day, I go to Big Peach running company and my good friend Kate assists me in picking out some new shoes. I go with Adrenaline's after trying on at least 6 different shoes.

Adrenaline's. You read that right. Brooks Adrenaline's. Apparently, I am going back to the start. I wore Adrenaline's for the first 3 years I ran marathons and then wore Infiniti's and then Trance's. But always some form of motion control shoe.

Last spring I decided that I should be in a neutral shoe. And well, I've had nothing but issues with my right hip/glute since then. I have tried core work, cross training, less mileage, more rest, foam rolling, yoga and stretching and more stretching--seriously, I am part pigeon by this point-- and I am STILL having issues with my right hip/glute. The only thing that has been better for me since I switched from a motion control shoe to a neutral shoe is that my Achilles tendinitis and ankle issues are gone. But that could just be a product of lower mileage. At this point, I would welcome Achilles tendinitis back into my life if the hip/glute issue would go away.  Ankle pain is far less catastrophic than pain radiating from your low back, butt, hip and down the back of your leg and into your calf. It gets hard to ignore and I can't run if I am limping. Never mind train for the Boston marathon--yes, I am registered. Yes, I have a plane ticket (thank you Chris.) And a place to stay (thank you Allison.) And my own personal cheerleader (thank you Pookie.)

So I bought the Adrenaline's Friday. Saturday I ran 3 miles on the treadmill, tossing in a few hills and amping up the pace and well, my calf did not hurt at all. Just some tightness. My right hip and glute did ache some but were no worse than when I started. And my stride just felt more stable. More normal. Like I didn't have to think about it the whole time and worry about misstep on the right side. It was just happening.

Sunday was an 11.5 trail race. I wore my old mizuno ascend trail shoes. And for 11.5 miles, where I rolled my right and than my left ankle, my calf did not hurt at all. Again,  I had some mild ache in the hip/glute when I ran up the steeper hills but nothing like what I had been having. After the race I got one of those free massages. (Thank you Robin!)

And so that brings us to today, Monday. I woke for the first time in a long time with zero ache or tightness in my right hip/glute. And my calf is perfect. I went for an easy 6 miles--concrete, hills-- and couldn't even feel anything at all where my calf has been bothering me. My hip and glute felt better today than yesterday. Not perfect like the calf. Little bit of weakness, soreness is still there but it is better than it has been.

It might be too soon to be optimistic but Geez, could it be the shoes? Really? And so,  just like Cinderella is all I'm gonna need to get to the start (and finish) line at Boston is a little (race day) magic and just the right pair of shoes to train in? Really? I sure hope so. . .

Out Riding Fences

There has been much excitement at my house for the past few days. Ryan is finally putting up that fence I asked  him to build like oh, nine years ago. See. I can be patient.

Beau in particular is super excited. It is a little bizarre how excited he is about the fence. Carmella and I are like, meh, fence, yay! But sheesh, finally.  . .

Beau came home from school yesterday so pumped about helping Daddy build the fence. I was a little worried that Ryan didn't know yet about all the help he was going to be getting but you know what? A Beau off my back for an afternoon is a Beau off my back. I don't care who I toss under the Beau bus for that. Not that I don't love the guy but you know, his energy is like boy to the fourth power. His energy? His talking? (irony on so many levels) It trumps mine.

I insisted he do his homework first. Much fence building time was wasted over a tantrum, failed negotiations, complaining  and then him finally doing it after Ryan said he couldn't help if he didn't do his homework.  I left to take Carmella to the dentist. I returned an hour later  to find him wearing ripped camo shorts, a ripped t shirt, a pair of Carmella's old hiking boots that are 3 sizes too big, bike gloves and wielding pruners as big as him. Ryan actually wears a similar outfit to work in the yard, minus the bike gloves which are replaced by heavy duty work gloves, but I guess Beau saw what his uniform should be and improvised the best he could. I also guess that Beau was probably driving Ryan crazy with "Dad! Dad! What can I do? You need me to hold a post?" That Ryan said, "Here, take the pruners and go clear the weeds." I think the neighbors will be excited all the bushwhacking Beau did on their property.

I went to meet Steph and the other Tuesday night groupies to ride in Roswell and then run last night. Apparently I missed out on Beau's 5 hour non stop blue streak talking about fence building. When I got home at 9pm Beau heard me and woke up to tell me that he had changed the outfit we laid out for school. I looked it over and decided that since it didn't have any holes or stains that it wasn't worth the fight, so I left it. Plus, if the kid wants to look like a fool why should I stop him? Maybe in this case a little peer pressure and ribbing might be good. But knowing Beau he has probably started a fad .

He woke up at 6:30 this morning and talked nonstop about the fence, even showing and explaining to me the blue print sketch that I had been there while Ryan drew it. He kept right on talking and talking and talking until I dropped him at school at 7:20. He didn't even break subject when he did a face plant down the stairs from tripping over the boots and could not be persuaded to put on shoes that fit.

I can only guess what he talked about at school today. I find it very interesting the Adderall does not make him quiet like the Ritalin made me. He has self control, behaves, sits in his seat and is able to focus but he still has a lot to say. Ritalin near made me a mute.  I am not saying this is bad thing I am just saying I am surprised. Clearly it is a better medication.

Okay, so yeah, after school. . . 

As soon as he got in the car he said "Hurry up Mom! I gotta help Dad with the fence! " He was again pissed about the homework first stipulation; especially since Ryan had hired to workers to help and Carmella had told Beau, when she saw their truck, "Oh Dude, you've been replaced!"

He finally finished his worksheet and reading and went out to help Ryan. Even Carmella went and a bit later the neighbor girl, Riley, came over--expecting to play fashion show or veterinarian-- and got roped into fence building.  She also got roped into painting the house last summer too. You'd think she wouldn't want to come play here anymore. I know I wouldn't.

So I went out to check the progress on the fence just now and the kids told me they decided to build their own fence. In the middle of the yard. It will be their talking area, Carmella explained. And I was SO relieved to know that, now, there will be a specific area for that. It will make things so much easier on me. I might even be able to focus or complete a thought without being interrupted by chatter.

Beau said it would be their special meeting place and Riley added that it would also be "a war memorial for 1983. " Beau, Carmella and I just looked at her and she said, "Right, I don't know what I am talking about. I just wanted to say something too." See! Good thing that there will be a fenced off area in the middle of my backyard specifically designed for that!

Okay, so here is them working on their fence. I asked if the flags were for gas lines or something but Carmella said that was where the posts were going.

I know. That is going to look awesome! Really going to enhance the landscaping (snort). Okay, eventual landscaping. Whatever. It may be an eyesore but it has kept 3 children out of my house that I have been trying all afternoon to clean and, even better, it is going to be a future talking area! A play pen that the kids built for themselves. Fabulous! Who cares how ugly it is!

Running so I can (Run and THEN) Stand Still . . .

Whenever I meet someone and they inform me that they are smart or super intelligent or something to that effect I immediately form the opinion that they are in fact, most likely, not smart at all. As one manipulator to another I personally find that very insulting. If nothing else, I am good at forming opinions.

So feel free to form your own opinion but today I realized I'm a bit of an idiot. Not really blog-worthy info, I know but bear with me.

I have this mentality, I've always had it--I guess you could call it running to stand still. Right, the U2 song but the saying has been around forever. Cliche. Right, surprise again, me? Cliche, never.

I think it is maybe an ADD quality because I see it in Beau. For example, I will ask Beau and Carmella to pick up their toys around the house and clean their room. Within 5 minutes Beau, whose room was 10 times messier will announce "Done!" And go downstairs and turn on the Wii. Carmella, on the other hand will be still cleaning her already clean room and getting ready to organize her closet too, right after she gets done folding all her American Girl doll clothes and arranging her stuffed animals in little conversational vignettes.

I warn  Beau that I am going to check. And he will run to his room, shut the door and I will hear some banging around and then after 10 or so minutes, he will emerge and tell me, to "Go ahead. Check."

I tell him I will be looking under the bed . . . and his eyes will shift but he gives nothing away. Instead, he goes back downstairs, turns on the Wii and resumes, along with Hans Solo, saving the universe.

At first look, the room is perfect (for a 7 year old having cleaned it), even under the bed is clear. I start to leave but notice one of the shelves above his top bunk is crooked. Well, that's no good! So I climb up there and while straightening it I see, stuffed between the bunks and the wall but not easily seen when just standing in the room eye level, his sheets--fitted and top because I guess he was too lazy to put them on, straighten them--I don't know. He tells me "sheets are hard." Just like he use to tell me buttons were too hard and he only wanted elastic pants.

Stuffed animals, some lego Star Wars,  along with dirty clothes, books, binoculars, hand written notes and other miscellaneous items are tucked in between the side board and mattress and the wall. There is so much there that you know that it wasn't a case of a toy falling to the wayside, getting stuck and accidentally being overlooked. No, they were placed specifically there. This involved thinking and method. This is sneaky.

So I begin investigating. I open the closet. Sure enough, clothes, shoes, and whatever else is stuff, shoved, tossed and pushed where ever it can fit and the closet door can still close. I don't even bother to look in the drawers. I'll find that another day. I don't even have time for this. Why? Because I want to go to the gym and get my run done. This is all cutting into my time! My time that I planned and had accounted for!

Le big fat sigh. I think, annoyed and knowing that this is my Mama's curse yet again biting me in the ass: a child just like me. . .

Karma, Karma, bo-bkarma

Banana-fana fo-fkarma

Fee-fi-mo-mkarma

Karma!

I yell for Beau to come and having pulled everything out I tell him he has to put everything away in its right place. And I have stripped his beds too so now he has to remake them the correct way. He is pissed.  I am pissed too because this is all going to take more time. Time that I have not scheduled for! Already I am changing my planned hour spin bike and easy 6 mile treadmill run to just a run, treadmill intervals I decide. As many as I can do. That will be harder, I decide. A compromise, not what I want but still better than nothing.

Sure, I could just let it go but everybody knows when it comes to parenting it never ever workouts out when you try to rob Peter to pay Paul. In my experience Peter is the debt that is never forgotten. He is always coming back around looking for his money.

So the problem is twofold here. The first, in the case of Beau, is that he spent so much time trying to get out of cleaning that had he just done it right in the first place he would be done. He put so much effort into NOT doing the thing that was expected of him that in the end he wasted more of his time (and mine!). If he had just done what was expected of him he would have been long done. This is proving a very long and not so sharp of a learning curve for Beau.We deal with this in nearly every aspect of his life down to the smallest things--like eating a meal, writing a thank you note. It is all very time consuming and also, very frustrating because I am still trying to straighten out my own damn curve on this issue.

Hmm, I guess on second thought that curve might be wrong word because when it comes to parenting Beau it isn't so much a curve as it appears to be one freaking circle.

Anyway, I'd like to think that I am not like Beau anymore but honestly my methodology in approaching tasks that I don't love has just evolved. Certainly I don't try to avoid them or go to great efforts to skirt around them like he does but instead I put a great deal of effort into  trying to make said tasks easier or at least more palatable. Really, I put a lot of effort into trying to trick myself into thinking that I am getting out of something when really I am not.

While I won't go to length's anymore to avoid a job I don't want to do  I still  try to find the easy way out while still doing what is expected. And I am finding that while it may seem I might be "trumping the chore" so to speak it has occurred to me that I might also be making things harder for myself than if I just tackled the task as it came. But I don't know, maybe not.

Like anyone I have things I have to do before I can get to do what I want to do. This is that running to stand still part and while that is probably meant as a metaphor in my case it is literal.

I feel like I am running so that I can go running or biking or swimming or to yoga. I near exhaust myself to plan for it and it does, at times, occur to me that is a little crazy.

But this is a long ingrained habit of mine that I have to think I developed in response to what I see Beau going through. My first memory of it is when we would go back packing as a family. I would complain at length how hard it was, how tired I was, how heavy my pack was, and how much I wanted to quit. Everyone else would just quietly march ahead, ignoring me. I would ask "how long till we can stop for a break?" And my dad would say in about 15 minutes or in a mile. So I would start running. My thinking was that I would get to the rest spot first and have to wait on them. Thus I would get extra rest time, more rest than everyone else. How smart is that?

Right, if you go twice as fast you do almost need twice as much rest. See how it is still the same and also probably more effort than if I had just shut up, sucked it up and marched along with the rest of them?

Then in high school I discovered what I called "planned procrastination." For example I'd get an assignment to do a research paper. We'd have a month to complete it. Now my normal inclination would have been to put it off and wait until the night before and stay up all night and write it the day before the due date. Knowing this about myself I would prepare for it. I would decide on my topic and do all the research. I would write up an outline, pick out my quotes, write my works cited and then set it all aside until the night before it was due and then stay up all night writing the 20 page paper.

This seemed to work pretty well and it did take off some of the stress of leaving something to the last minute since I had done some of the leg work. But why, why if I had done all the research and damn near had the thing written 3 weeks earlier--why wouldn't I have just written it then? I don't know. I guess I kind of thought this was how everyone did stuff.

Then I found out when I dated this guy in high school  who was really studious (I don't want to say smart because I always did better on tests but I guess he was smarter than me . . .)  and in my Southern lit class that this was  not how everyone else wrote their term papers. He not only began his researching his paper immediately he also began writing his paper even though we still had three weeks until it was due! I think that was the first time I ever heard the word "rough draft." You mean you do more than one? I asked.  He laughed at me. I think he thought I was joking because then he asked to see my "rough draft". I showed him my outline.

So, you know, now that I am a real live adult I've been trying it the studious way: the research, write, edit, revise and rewrite way (please note, this methodology does not apply to blogging. Still old school there!) Oh, and by the way this  being an adult thing is not an age thing. It is because I have kids and I have to set the example. By default, I am the adult so for that reason I try to (most times) act like one.

What in the hell am I talking about? Well, I'll tell you. In plain terms. This week I need /want to ( I still get those words confused) go to Bikram yoga in the evening and go to the Roswell ride. Both those activities keep me out when I should be at home playing mommy in the kitchen. I also want to do a long run on Friday and ride my bike on Saturday. Both big workout days that will leave me tired and not inclined to slave over a hot stove after slaving for a few hours in the August heat running and riding.

Now my mom, Lala/Smut use to do this thing  she called "making plates." I know I have mentioned before that my affection for endorphins is inherited. My mom use to go to step aerobics in the morning and in the evening.  Sometimes she would run too so that could have been her evening workout.  My dad was also a twice a day workout fiend. Running in the morning, step aerobics with mom or karate in the evenings. Us kids would complain about having to eat dinner so late. So my mom would make dinner everyday sometime around 3 or 4 pm. Then she would clean the kitchen, put every one's food on their plate, cover it with tinfoil and pop it in the oven on warm. Then you were free to eat your dinner whenever you wanted.  This worked awesome for us when we were kids and had things like work, sports or social events after school. We also didn't have to wait to eat with my parents whose preferred eating time is never before 9pm.

I will admit making plates is genius  but the flaw in the making plates process is that you have to well, make the plates.  You have to make them everyday. You also have to be willing to leave your oven on. Something that is okay in the winter but in August? In Atlanta?

So my "genius" Nat idea was to make a bunch of meals yesterday and freeze them so that I wouldn't have to do much the rest of the week. I could catch a break was my thinking!

Pork roast in the crock pot with lime juice, salsa and cumin. Monday for pork tacos, leftover pork and black beans to made into Enchiladas Verde and frozen for dinner Friday night.

Baked Ziti. One for this week and one for next week.

On paper, and I am just saying that since I didn't actually write it down, it seemed like a good idea. But in execution (isn't that always the case?) I think it may prove more work than if I just cooked every night before going to my workout and ordering pizza when I am tried. 

For certain, I don't think I am actually getting out of any work here, which originally, I guess I thought maybe I would. I thought I could at least trick myself into thinking that someone else made me dinner. But I think, if I were to add up the hours spent making extra meals and cleaning up from making them and then add in the clean up involved on the days I eat them I think I added an extra hour or two in the kitchen rather than sparing myself any.

That part kind of bothers me. The doing of extra.

I am still not a person who wants to naturally do the extra, just cause. (Especially when it comes to things like laundry, cooking and cleaning. )This is not to say that I won't become one but at the very least I am not a person who is trying to get away with less anymore. Even if you don't see it, trust me, that is progress.

Yes though, I am still that little girl with a 30lb Jansport backpack racing down the trail, trying to beat everyone else to the rest stop so I can catch more of a break. Old habits die hard.

However, I do think that when I get home from yoga, or my bike ride or from running in the woods for a few hours when certainly I will be tired, hungry and have eyes only for food and energy only to shower that I will be grateful for the extra.  I am thinking I might even be pleased with myself at my forethought of doing the extra; for having dinner done. I will be able to relax after wards because I will have all the laundry washed and folded and put it away so that the only dirty clothes in the house are the workout clothes I peel off of me. No looming laundry baskets. And  I will be happy to sit in my clean (ish, let's be honest here) house so I can relax without guilt and worry that there is something I should be doing or should have done. Oh, and for sure, the next morning when I am stiff, sore and invariably extra tired I will be relieved that I had made certain the kids backpacks were packed, clothes laid out and everything was in its place before I  went to bed so I won't have to run up and downstairs searching for shoe, sock, homework or book because, well, probably I won't be able to, at least not quickly.

I am certain I will be grateful for it all, when (if) it happens, but there is always that Beau factor, that karma that always thwarts my plans for sitting still; my plans for lethargy. So in truth, I am always running in hopes that eventually there really will be that rare moment when I will find myself standing still.  Until then I guess I will keep on running so that when it arrives, I will be able to enjoy it.

The First Day of School

I just love the first day of school. The nervousness, the excitement surrounding the first day is tangible. It is like how the humidity in August makes the air so thick you think you might could chew it. I just love seeing the kids all shiny in their new clothes and ready to implode from possibilities and promises of a new school year.  . .

Carmella loves it because of the new school supplies and the chance to hone her superior organizational skills. (She was about to burst wide open  and leave tiny Carmella pieces all over my car when I told her I was getting her a new agenda at the school store this morning.)

Another school year means seeing if she can be even nicer to people this year. Maybe make it for a triple crown this year for the Principal's award.  . .  Honestly I think the child is relieved to have routine again as I've slacked off the past few weeks with my stringency to the chore chart and the schedule. She has seemed a bit adrift, mentioning how I need to update. . .

Beau loves it because he likes to collect friends and the first day is primo  opportunity to make new ones. Already he has made nice with the new girl from New York. Her name? Not important. But she is new and she is from New York. Exotic girl. Also, his teacher? She likes to sing and she had some funny stories. He also got to talk to all his friends from the past years, his speech teacher, his old kindergarten teacher, his first grade teacher, some lady in the library, the janitor, the Principal, Abby's dad and who knows who else. Beau may never be the most studious or most well behaved student but he is possibly the most friendly and  the most eager. (PS. I got a personal call this afternoon from his teacher telling me how awesome his day was! Uhm, that has NEVER happened.)

Me? I like it because it always seems like a chance to start over.  It also marks some free time for me to focus on training. To begin, in this case,  marathon training anew. That whole training through summer didn't workout so well for me last year. So this summer I took a big cut back in miles, tried my best to heal all my nagging injuries and enjoyed the view from the pool, the bike, the Bikram yoga mat . . .

Today I christened my first day of marathon training with a 10 mile run. I am tired and have a fun over from our recent beach vacation so this little run wasn't as awesome as I hoped but it was okay. I mean, okay as in I didn't die.

But, I mean really. Like any run in August in Atlanta at 9 am with a temp of 86 degrees and 70% humidity is ever going to be awesome? I mean, sure I could go run 10 miles on the treadmill and average a minute faster per mile and all but where is the fun in that? More importantly and most pointedly: I wouldn't be sweating out near the amount of beer running 10 miles in air conditioning as I do making nice with the sufferfest trinity of heat, hills, and humidity.

Cause, out there? In the heat? Where I bake for an hour 25ish on the side walk? I literally see the fat melting off of me.

At least, that is what I like to think  is in those pools of sweat I leave when I must stop at a stop light.

Okay. So has anyone else noticed lately the heat inflation going on? I will note  that the posted official temp says one thing--like 90 degrees-- and  then they've got this "real feel" or heat index of 10-15 degrees higher?

Is this so I will feel more extreme?
Is that so I will feel more hardcore or possibly, stupid for not only attempting outdoor endurance activities but for just peeking my head out the door?
Or is it a conspiracy to make me crank my air conditioner up? Cause, uhm yeah. That is working (daily prayer of July, August and September: Please don't break. Please don't break. In Artic Jesus name I pray you can leave me so poor I can't buy food but please keep my air conditioner fully functioning. Amen.)

Besides, what does it matter?

I don't need weather dot com to tell me that anything close to or over 90 degrees in good ole Hotlanta is going to feel like someone mistakenly stuffed me while still breathing in a crematorium. 110? 95?  Even 93 degrees-- any way you sell it to me it does not make me think my run is going to be blissful or even remotely comfortable. It honestly doesn't matter to me at this point if it is 80 degrees or 110 degrees. Unless it is under 70 degrees I am probably not going to love my run. And besides, that sweet spot for me in running? It is a cool 32 degrees. And well, I got months and months and miles and miles to go before I am there.  Ahhh, running through the woods on a snowy evening. Doesn't that just sound divine?

But never mind the heat. I'm staying in the kitchen! Hell's Kitchen, Hell's ditch, whichever-- I can take it! I am ready! Bring it on!

And like a kid on the first day of school:  I am bursting with the hope for a good year, a better year.  . .
So with my new supplies (why hello there yellow--viva Livestrong!!-- Air Pegasus) and new found ambition; I am ready to start a new. And I am  looking for my first quarter exam to be on November 13, 2010.

For certain, I have lots of studying-- lots of catching up to do-- but I hope, at the very least, to make it an A+ effort.

Lemonade in the Riptide: 2010 Chattanooga Olympic Triathlon

 If you lack the iron and the fuzz to take control of your own life, if you insist on leaving your fate to the gods, then the gods will repay your weakness by having a grin or two at your expense. Should you fail to pilot your own ship, don't be surprised at what inappropriate port you find yourself docked. . .  The price of self-destiny is never cheap, and in certain situations it is unthinkable. But to achieve the marvelous, it is precisely the unthinkable that must be thought.
from Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins

 Okay, before you read any further do me a favor, go pee. While you're at it get yourself a beer, water, some vittles, put on some good tunes. . .   Heck, maybe get yourself some Adderall. . .

I'll wait.

Go, but come back.

Please.

Seriously, get comfortable--pretty sure this is going to be long. Such is the case when one doesn't update their blog for 3 months.

Ready?

So that quote at the beginning? It has long taken up space in my head. But the past few months I've taken a risk and just let it go. I've been tired of struggling-- trying to force destiny's hand. And that was when I realized  that I was like a swimmer, no unfortunately not a Dara Torres phenom but rather one who ignored the warnings signs, red flags and found that I was  a swimmer caught in a rip current.

Here's what Wikapedia has to say about a swimmer caught in a rip current:
A swimmer caught in a rip current should not attempt to swim back to shore directly against the rip. This risks exhaustion and drowning. A rip does not pull a swimmer under water; it carries the swimmer away from the shore in a narrow channel of water. The rip is like a treadmill which the swimmer needs to step off. The swimmer should remain calm and swim parallel to the shore until out of the current.  . .
A swimmer in a strong rip, who is unable to swim away from it, should relax and calmly float or tread water to conserve energy. Eventually the rip will lose strength, and the swimmer can swim at a leisurely pace, in a direction away from the rip but back to shore. . .

Like the panicked swimmer it took me awhile to realize  that maybe I should just "relax" and go with the flow. And well, that is where the lemonade part comes into play. . .

I got thirsty.

What?  With all that struggling and thrashing about in the strong rip.  . .

Okay,  I know, I know, horribly cliche and really, if we are being literal, I think lemonade would be pretty terrible mixed in with all that salt water I'd surely be swallowing if I was caught in a real live riptide; not this metaphorical one that I'm being spun about in. Nevertheless, I am sure you get the implication that I am just trying to make the best of the situation.

So yeah, in case you haven't figured it out the running,  the running which is near, dear and self defining of who I see myself as,  has betrayed me. It just hasn't been working out. Injury this and injury that, allergy, asthma, sinus infection  has all made me run slower and the slower I became the weaker I felt physically, mentally.  It was like hitting the wall in a marathon. I ate the paste and I don't even remember having the paste, ya know?  I had lost my religion--and believe me, I tried to cling to it like a PFD but it was about as useful to me as deflated water wings.

 I had to let it go.

I had start over.

 So I got myself a new bike and have tried to learn to love the bike; to be good on the bike. And well, that last part hasn't worked out so awesomely  but I do love to ride my bike.

 I even  found my way back to the pool thanks to Steph's Friday 5am House of Swim Pain. Okay, so I am the only one who calls it that. Steph, always with the positive spin, calls it "Fun Flipperless Fridays". In this case, I really don't think I am the pessimist though; just the realist. But whichever, her Friday swim plans and her camaraderie had me in the pool for at least an hour each week good for 2 or so miles of hard swimming.

And yes, of course, I have still been running. But it hasn't been the same. It is most definitely not the marathon training that I love; that I have been logging for the past 4 years. So no more weekly 20 mile runs and definitely no 50, 60 or 70 miles per week. I have been logging 30 miles most weeks and the occasional,  40 mile week has happened but then some weeks I barely come in over 20 miles.  . .

Sigh, it is what it is. I am chill. I am relaxing. Enjoying my lemonade. My pink sweet sweet lemonade . . .

When my injuries really started to get me down my friend Doug,( yep Steph's husband), told me to just do "little runs". So that is what I have been doing. It is crazy that some weeks I run all 7 days but still only total out at 25 miles. When I run 50+ miles per week I never run 7 days a week, heck, I've done 50 miles on just 4 days of running. See, see how I have lost my religion?

See how a person might think they are drowning when first faced with that?

No, well then that is probably because you don't have an insane love/addiction/passion for running. This is not to say less of you, but you just need to  Madlib it where I say run/running and insert your love/addiction/passion and I think you'll understand. If not? Well,  I guess you lead a sad soulless existence and are just a shell of a person who has no worries because you don't float or sink: you just blow around in the world like the empty husk you are. . .

It is what it is. . .

But never mind you, this is about me!

And  I got my sinking head above water, finally. Currently I am floating along and I can see the shore again-- still going parallel to it for certain but once again; land is in sight and a little closer than it was a few months ago.

Of course, with all my new found cycling, little bit of swimming and little bit of running I figured I better sign up for a triathlon. I am a girl who is most motivated by having a reason to workout. Not getting fat and getting to fit into a bikini definitely  helps some but it doesn't urge me the same way as when I have a race to train for. I begin to see the race as a test and I don't want to the fail test. That is, ultimately how I operate. I only care when it matters. So I have to make it matter. And, more specifically, I don't want to embarrass myself. (You know like I did in the other two triathlons I did. See here and here )  Just having a race on my calendar instantly gives me the self discipline I naturally lack. But most importantly  it also gives me a reason to tell people who aren't into endurance events why I run/bike/swim as much as I do.

In May I picked the Chattanooga Waterfront Olympic Triathlon. I picked this triathlon for many reasons. There is, despite surface appearances, method to my madness. First, I wanted to try the Olympic distance. In the past I have compared myself to Goldilocks  so it should be no surprise that I felt the sprint triathlon was too small, the half ironman too big and well, I thought, the Olympic distance might be just right.

I settled on Chattanooga because the swim is in a river with this supposed great current but most important it had a time trial start, wet suits are illegal ( which nice since I don't own one),  a dock start (no creepy lake bottom), is in a river (no scary ocean creatures), and is point to point (no navigation issues). The bike  is hilly-- which I happen to prefer since I ride solely in hilly places-- and since I don't have a tri bike I would be at less of a disadvantage. Last the run, I was told, is flat. On a hot, humid day after swimming 1600 meters and riding 26 miles I am just better off without having to endure the extra torture of a rolling run course. Also, I like Chattanooga. The Chickamauga marathon that is right outside of Chattanooga had been a great race for me and remains one of my most favorite marathon experiences. The way I saw it? Chattanooga had good Nat Chi written all over it.

Ryan and I squirreled the kids away and drove up on Saturday for the race. We stopped in Chicamauga to take a short easy ride.

It was funny but as much as I know I loved that marathon most of the park was new to me, pretty, but new. Obviously I need to run that marathon again.

We made it to Chattanooga, picked up my packet, checked into the hotel and met some friends for dinner:

My friend Caroline and me. You might recognize Caroline from my blog post about GA ING. She ran the half.

I ♥ her.

Katie, Amy and Jerry. Part of the NAMC and my frequent riding friends.

Me and my friend Lisa. She is awesome.

Steve, Ryan and Jay. I ride Tuesday night Roswell ride with Steve and Jay. We do the extra loop.

Brian and Ryan. Brian is a high school friend of Ryan's who lives on Lookout Mountain. 

 

We stopped by after dinner to have a beer with him and his wife Beth. I first met them a year after Ryan and I started dating at a Halloween party at their house. Ryan was Batman and I was the Tooth fairy. Good times. Always.

Me and Beth.

Okay, so I was more than a little cranky getting back to the hotel as late as we did and had more than a few words for Mr. Drunky. I tried, in vain, to explain that this was the Natalie Show, not the Ryan Show. Lost. Telling you. Lost.on.him. He would see though just how early 4:50 am was gonna come and just how not quiet I was gonna be.

RACE DAY!!!!!

Of course I got up before the alarm went off, before the other alarm went off and before the hotel wake up call came. I had exactly 2 minutes to spare to shut down all those noises. And I am sure a courteous wife would have done those things.

I had gotten my things together the night before and Drunky had filled my water bottles and who knows what else so I just had to eat, shower and get dressed. Our hotel was not next to the start but was still close enough to ride. 

It was 6 am when we left the hotel. It was dark, the sun not yet up, and the air was still, thick with humidity. Ugh, I thought. It is going to be hot and sticky. But it would be that way for everyone. We rode the several blocks through downtown Chattanooga to the race area by the waterfront. The ride there was littered with triathletes in various stages of dress and burdened with their gear. Even before I reached transition I felt out of my league.

I was intimidated by all the hardcore athletes and their hardcore tri gear as I approached the body marking tent and transition area. I suddenly, out of no where, found myself singing in my head a song long forgotten from my youth. I changed the lyrics a little and the tune stayed with me all day. Especially on the bike when I would hear what I thought was a train coming up behind me but no, it was not a train. It would be some dude on time trial bike with the goofy looking aero helmet and solid wheels. They'd pass me like I was going backwards and  I'd wave, smile and sing . . .

Hey Kids!

One of these athletes is not like the others,
One of these athletes just doesn't belong,
Can you tell which one is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

Did you guess which athlete was not like the others?
Did you guess which one just doesn't belong?
If you guessed Natalie is not like the others,
Then you're absolutely...right! 

Things to entertain myself. 

Picture of my rack in transition area the day before. Ryan has one of those wheel things that he uses to measure lawns. We got it out and determined that my rack was indeed the very center rack equally far from all entrances and exits!

Race day though I was happy to discover that when I found my smack in the middle rack that it was across from Lisa!  I changed my set up like 15 times and ultimately decided it really didn't matter and that I was over thinking the whole thing. Here is one version. It don't think this is what I ultimately decided on though.

After setting up and being body marked I told Ryan to go back to the hotel and do whatever. Chattanooga has a time trial start and they stagger you by age group and then seed you within your age group with your predicted swim time.  I am in the 30-39 age group and I submitted, I think, 25 minutes for estimated swim time. Not sure how I came up with 25 minutes but I had done a 1000 meter time trial in 16 and change so I guessed 25 minutes would be about right. The unfortunate thing for me about the time trial start is that my age group was the second to last to start. I didn't really process this fully until race day when Lisa laid it out for me in plain terms when I kept being anxious to get on the bus to go the swim start. Why? She said.  The race starts at 7:30 but your group probably isn't going to get started until 8:30, maybe 9.  I calculated in my head as we walked barefoot around Chattanooga that meant I would probably get to be running around 10:30-11 am. Uh, so not awesomeness.

We got on the bus sometime around 7:30. True to her word Lisa and I waited forever in a hot field. I entertained myself by going potty a bazillion times, complaining about how hot I was and how much I wanted a shower and then doing some yoga poses. Sitting still, quietly mediating before a race? Yeah, not me.

Finally, and I have no idea what time it was but probably 8:45, I was in line for my swim start. I wasn't nervous, anxious or anything. Just ready to get on with it.

I was in line according to my number, sandwiched between woman 841 and  woman 843. The drill was jump off the dock into the water, swim up 10 feet, tread water until they say your number and then you commenced swimming.

 I heard 842 and I started swimming and finally began my race!
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Quick aside, I had no idea of time, pace, mph heart rate-- nothing-- the whole race. I went "naked". No watch, Garmin, bike computer, heart rate monitor etc. It was all based on perceived effort and pacing myself accordingly. My goal was under 3 hours and thinking ideally best case scenario would be 2:45. I figured 25+ minutes for the swim. 1:30 for the bike and 48 minutes for the run. Transition time making up the rest. My main goal though was to not go so hard on the bike that I had a miserable run. I did not want a sufferfest. I wanted a good race.
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I was slightly dismayed that the water was warm. I like cold water to swim in. My swim was pretty uneventful initially. I was passing lots of people. Which either meant I was kicking ass or more likely, the people I was passing had ambitiously seeded themselves.

The swim was down river. A straight shot under bridges. You'd think I couldn't mess this up. But as I was swimming I began to feel that maybe I was in the wrong place. I am a fairly straight swimmer so when I left the dock I just headed straight down the river. I would count 50 strokes and look up. After awhile I realized that there were a lot of swimmers to my right, more to the middle of the river, closer to the giant buoys and bride columns. I kept my position that was closer to shore line but worry set it. What if I was swimming in the wrong place? What if that is where the current is? What if I get disqualified? This last thought made me decide that I should swim over to the mass group that was more in the middle of the river. So I began cutting diagonally over to the middle.

This proved a bad choice. There was no current and worse there was a mass of people--some of  whom were doing breast stroke.  The water was choppier there too. But I stayed since going back would cost more time and make me swim extra.  So I fought my way through swimmers. I feel like I passed lots of people and didn't notice if people passed me. I am sure they did but I didn't see it.

Finally I was at the dock. I was told someone would pull me out. But that didn't happen. What did happen was that I hit my knee on some metal. I remember it stinging but it was go go go and I ran up the steps ripping my cap and goggles off. I looked up the hill/steps and saw Lisa running up towards transition. Voice in my head said "Catch her!".

I ran into transition right behind Lisa which was good because it helped me find my rack easily. I just went one over from her. I doused my feet in water, dried them on the towel as I put my helmet and sun glasses on, I put socks, bike shoes on and grabbed my bike and headed out to the course.

No mistakes!

Lisa was faster and was already gone but I caught up to her quickly. I was really excited that we were out on the bike course together. I caught her as the course turned onto the highway. She yelled at me that I was gonna get a penalty if I didn't pass her. I asked what if I ride here next you? Can't we just chat? No!!She yelled.  You'll get a penalty for that too! Well, boo, that's no fun!

For the first several miles I played leap frog with Lisa: me passing her on the up hill and her passing me back on the downhill. Actually, the only time I passed people was on the up hill. Then, I would get passed on the downhill by the same people. Sigh. I am not, despite popular belief, using my brakes on the downhill. Who the hell is slow on the downhill? Me! That's right. Sing the song: One of these cyclists is not like the others .  . .

I think somewhere around mile 6 or so I passed Lisa and she didn't pass me back again. It was somewhere around here that Kraig came up on me and said "Good job Natalie!" and then blew past me like I wasn't moving. Here is Kraig (right) with Jay (left). Kraig has gotten so fast on the bike. He is now in a group all by himself on the Tuesday night ride.It called the K group and no one can catch him.

Kriag was the last person I saw on the bike that I knew. By the time I got to 10 miles I was already bored. The course is out and back, mostly on the highway. While the scenery from the highway is attractive you are still riding on a 4 lane divided highway. The bike course had two of the four lanes on each side of the median. This meant though that we had to ride to the right--which was to the left of car traffic--near the cars instead of the median. It was weird having cars on my right side when I am use to them being on my left. This made me very uncomfortable and I would find myself drifting over towards the median, away from car traffic. This is a no no since that is the passing zone and if you ride in it you can get a penalty. I was very worried about getting a penalty. It is 2 minutes for each one and I couldn't afford to spare any minutes. Also, I don't like to get in trouble.

I was very focused on following the rules and also worried about getting a flat. So I felt like I was holding my breath the whole ride, which of course I wasn't but that is how I felt with all my concerns. Odd that on the swim, where I did actually hold my breath, I felt very relaxed about things. Well, except the part about possibly swimming in the wrong area .. .

I fell like I was not as aggressive as I could have been on the bike but I figured that was okay. It was going to be hot on the run so there was no need to totally cook the legs before then. At least that is what I told myself every time I had to encourage myself to NOT chase down every girl that passed me--and there were a lot. I don't care if the boys pass me in a race but I don't like it when the girls do.

The miles passed very slowly. It was the longest 26 miles I have ever ridden. This is not true at all. In fact it might actually be the fastest but it felt like an eternity. I was however, grateful that with each mile marker I passed it meant I was almost done with the bike and still hadn't flatted.

Sometime around mile 20 I remember riding up a hill and was looking down. My eye caught what I thought was red Gatorade dripping down my right leg. Didn't really register it until I reached for my bottle of Gu Brew and as I finished it off I  realized it wasn't red but purplish. So looked back at my leg and realized it wasn't GU but was blood coming from my knee that had dripped down the front of my shin. Huh? I puzzled over it and touched my knee. There was a small cut and the bone was tender.  Then I  vaguely remembered that I had hit my knee when I exited my swim so that must of been when it happened. My knee wasn't urting while I was riding but I wondered if it would prove an issue when it came time to run.  I hoped not. Then I tried to remember the last time I had a tetanus shot. So many things to worry about to keep me distracted! I am starting to think that triathlons might be too ADD even for me.

Finally I made it to transition and was so happy for my uneventful bike. I loosened my shoes as I approached the dismount line so I could just slip out of them. It was sort of congested going in and I couldn't run with my bike and then I went down the wrong rack. Curses! A mistake! I panicked a little but quickly found my rack, put my bike up, remembered this time to take off my helmet, got my shoes on, number on and ran out of transition.

Yay running!

I heard someone yell my name as I ran out of transition but no idea who it was. I started out slow, at least it felt slow. It was hot, sunny, and so humid it sucked my breath out of me. But I plodded along and I just focused on keeping my breathing even. I told myself when I settled in I could pick up the pace. All things considered I was feeling pretty good. I was passing lots of people and only got passed by a handful of men. I got passed by no women on the entire run.

In the first mile you run up a small hill and then come to some stairs. People had mentioned these to me but I didn't really think too much about it. Running up them proved difficult. My ankle felt weak so I decided I would just walk. Most people were so it was hard to pass anyway. I guess I lost some time here but that is okay.

I think it was in the 2nd mile someone gave me a towel that was soaked in ice water. I took it and wrapped it around my neck. It did help and I kept it for the whole run until the final mile because in case there was finish line pictures I didn't want one of me with a white towel around my neck. Even though it didn't clash with my pink, white and black ensemble I figured it wouldn't make for a flattering photo. People. Yes, these are the intimate thoughts of a vain woman.


I can't say I was loving the run. I did like getting to see my friends on the out and back and high fiving as we passed. That was the highlight. And I was doing okay but as I approached mile 3 I realized the feeling good and picking up the place plan wasn't going to happen. And this is when I started making the deals with myself: Okay, at the 5k point if you are feeling really gross you can walk the aid station. But then I would make it to the 5k point and I would assess that I was okay and I would say make it to the 4 mile. And the so on and so on. Each time I would make it to my determined cop out point only to be able to maintain.

By the 4th mile I started getting the chills. I have had this happen before in training and in races and I know that isn't the best sign as far as heat exhaustion goes. However, I have had chills before and been fine. I told myself I was okay and did a self assessment: hands not too swollen--I could still move my ring, breathing is okay, no cramps and I was still sweating. At the aid stations I started taking 2 waters: one to drink and one to dump on my towel--keeping it cold. This worked pretty well. Still couldn't run faster and still didn't feel awesome but it was near 90 degrees and I had swam a mile and ridden 26 miles so awesome was not really in my expectations. I did feel like I was knocking on hell's door I was still safely on the other side of it.

In the last uphill I came upon a dude leaning against a tree loudly vomiting his insides out.God, how I wished for head phones. As I started up the hill I told myself :you are not him you are fine you are fine. But just as I reached the crest of the hill I started to have that swimming head feeling and I took it down to walk when I reached the top of the hill. I counted to 20 and started back running and I was fine. Nothing got better but it didn't get any worse.

I found myself back at the stairs, this time running down them and then jumping on the road. The end is near! The end is near! As I came down the hill I could see the finish line and right before it I saw the NAMC tent. I high fived Courtney (Kriag's wife) and then ran under the finish line cheering for myself.

And I was happy! I had had a good race! A solid triathlon where I swam, biked and RAN!

My friend Tiffany took the above picture. It is right before the finish line. I love how strong I look, not defeated and certainly not fast, but I look solid. I look like I am maintaining. And well, considering the past few months? That is pretty huge for me. I'll gratefully take it.

After I finished I went to the NAMC tent to see if Ryan was there. He wasn't. They all asked me how I had done, what my time was and I had no idea. All I could say is that it was a good race. I felt good about it. I have to admit that at that moment it was nice that I could say that and wasn't allowing the numbers on a clock to define my experience it.

However, time--as we all know way too well-- it does matter. After a bit of chatting and Ryan not showing up I asked Courtney what time it was. 11:25!! I had to hurry if I wanted a shower. Check out from my hotel was at noon.

I bolted off to transition hoping to find Ryan on my way but at least to get my phone to call him to come pick me up and in my mind whisk me to the hotel so I could take a lightening fast shower. I found Ryan just as I was getting in the ridiculous long line to get back into transition.

We have to hurry I told him! I need a shower! I have 30 minutes until check out!

But alas my hopes of shiny and clean were all in vain. Ryan had checked out of the hotel already. So then what ensued was an adult tantrum in the parking garage while I cussed Ryan out for depriving me of my shower. To punish him I stripped down butt ass naked next to his truck and poured water all over myself and dried off using two of his t shirts. That should show him!


After a costume change, a beer and some continued bitching I did get over myself. Ryan and I went back to the race area and got the 2 free beers my race had earned me. I went to check the results and while not complete  with swim, bike and run times I saw my final time: 2:45:10!

How the hell is that for some pacing?!

I was already feeling good about my race but that just made it better. Sure it would have been awesome if I had been faster but I met my A goal.  I really couldn't have asked for more (I mean, of course I do but you know.)

Here is me super drunk, dirty and all smiles with Lisa while we wait for a table at The Terminal.

It took awhile for the final results and I am sure it has been a bit tortuous for you numbers people to have waited this long for the time when that was all you came here seeking:

Final time: 2:45:10 11/55 in Age group. Puts me top 20% which the top 33%  of each age group qualifies for the regional championships in September. So that is cool. I am not going but you know how I like it when I qualify.

Swim:  24:02/1600m /1:28per 100yd pace   5th in age group. Might have been faster if I hadn't been such a spaz and swam all over the place.

Transition1: 2:42

Bike: 1:24: 05/ 26 miles/ 18.57 mph  15th in age group. Sigh.

Transition2: 2:39

Run: 51:44/8:19 avg pace    5th in age group. Little disappointing there but I did the best I could given the conditions.

Not fastest or the most fabulous, I know. I am happy with it though.  I have been floundering for awhile now but I think I am ready to swim up on the shore and hit the ground running again.  

As always, thanks for reading!

Pedal with a Purpose

Okay, so I promise to blog a post about my most recent race but first I must pimp out the Pedal with a Purpose ride. I won't blah blah you with all the details, you can click here and read them for yourself, see the 6 mile, 32 mile, 62 mile and 105 mile routes and then you can click on the active.com link and sign up! So please do. Price increase will go up after July 18th!

And stay tuned for more boring stories where I talk mostly about myself and the ways I torture myself running, swimming, cycling and harassing my children, family and friends.

Hope to see you out there!