I got the nickname "Beath" because of a typo. Beth + Beast = Beath. A few weeks ago, autocorrect gave me another nickname, "Heft". It's funny because it's true. 2014 has been hard on me. Beath Mode made a few feeble attempts, but "Heft Mode", well, that's been on in full force.
This post is not meant to be a pity party or self-deprecation fest. I'll give the same disclaimer I give before any blog post, which is that I like to look back on my progress and remember where I was, how I got there, how I felt that day, etc. I write this because I don't want to forget Heft Mode.
That last running race I did was in June of this year. I did triathlons and some swim races between then and now, but those aren't the same. I used to run all the time. People used to make fun of me because I couldn't go a weekend without a race. I remember reading Facebook posts early on a Sunday morning by friends getting ready for a local 5K, and commenting, "Good idea! See you there!". Sure, maybe it said something about my mental health that I wasn't able to cope with unstructured downtime, but at least it lent itself to my physical health. I can assure you that my decline in physical health has not improved my mental health. Yep, fat & crazy here, coming to you live!
So what went wrong? <This is where I picture that cool cinematography trick where current day rewinds back to the moment where everything went to hell.> Except, well, I don't have a defining moment. Somewhere after Timberman 70.3 (August 2013), things just started to pile up and everything became overwhelming. Training got hard and unsatisfying. I suffered through Goofy Challenge training. I had horribly slow times for the half and the full, which I justified by saying that it was a novelty race and that the time didn't matter. Boston training was even worse. I skipped most team runs, and dropped out of the two big on-course runs. My heart wasn't in it. I hung in there by the tiniest of threads because I knew I'd regret it if I hadn't gone to reclaim the finish line in 2014. I wanted to take a break after Boston, but I didn't want to give up on the goals I had already set. I had two more half marathons to run, and a couple of triathlons to complete. I slogged through all of those. Yes, there were some fun moments, but the overall feeling was that I didn't belong out there anymore. I took a break from running in September, resisting the one or two urges I got to run, just so I could say I had a zero-mileage month.
Sometimes I think that I let myself get back to square one because I didn't get it right the first time through. I look back on my accomplishments and I impress myself. Except at the time, I was never satisfied. My race pictures were always too fat, my times were too slow, my food wasn't healthy enough. And I want to be clear on what I got wrong -- it wasn't my size, my pace, or my eating habits -- it was the self-imposed judgement on all of those things. I let external judgement influence my own self-judgement. I want to do it all again, and I want to be proud of every step I take, every embarrassing race photo, and I want to praise the imperfect body that got me to that place. If your all-organic diet works for you, or if you swear by your Beachbody lifestyle with your Shakeology obsession, or if you weigh yourself before and after every workout because science is going to help you become a better athlete -- I applaud you, and I support you, but I will not join you. You know what I miss most about running? It was an open channel to my higher power. I've been having trouble making that connection lately, and the volume on these other "solutions" is suddenly much louder than it was before. Those solutions aren't for me. I am Independent Goat, the hefty & happy one.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Monday, September 15, 2014
Race Report: Merrimack 10.6K Swim (Relay)
Merrimack 10.6K Swim (Relay)
September 14, 2014
Swim legs: 2.5mi/2mi/2mi
Total Time: 3:52:58
Air Temperature: 50F at the start (8am), 70ish at the finish (12pm)
Water temperature: 68F
It never occurred to me to sign up for a swim-only race. Last year I had the epiphany that I should sign up for the swim leg in a triathlon relay, but that involved finding two other people who could bike and run. Thank God for Karen, the swim coach for E3, who made me realize that you could actually just swim. Karen suggested this race to me, Jerome, and Ruthanne to do as a relay. Ruthanne took a pass on the race for this year, so my cousin Jane joined the team. It would have been the furthest that any of us had ever swum in a race; all of us having swum 1.2 miles in 70.3 events, but never in any event other than a triathlon.
Race-day prep
Race day prep was mostly logistics management. We were all swimming on our own to train, although none of us were really nervous. We all knew we could swim 1-1.5 miles easily, and we figured the current would make up the difference (more on that later.) The two biggest pieces of race-day management were the kayaker, and the shuttling that would need to be done.
This race required that each individual swimmer or relay team have its own kayak support. None of us knew a kayaker who would be available on race day, so we opted to have the race director assign someone to us from a local kayak club. Her name was Sue, and we emailed and spoke on the phone prior to the race, but didn't meet in person until race morning, about 20 minutes before the race start. Luckily, none of the Swim Shady swimmers had ever done this before, so we didn't really have much instruction to give beyond "get me from point A to point B". I can imagine that if we ever get serious about open water swimming, we'd pick a kayaker who can read water currents and the wind and the competition and whatever else there is to know beyond "point A to point B". But we're not there yet, so it worked out perfectly.
The second piece was the shuttling. We thought we had figured out a fool proof plan, so I was explaining to my mom how we'd leave Jane's car at the first relay point, then drive her to the start in my car, where we'd meet Jerome in his car, and my mother interrupted to say why didn't she just come up and be our shuttle person. Ah ha! Brilliant! Thanks to my mom for doing that, especially because it was her birthday and it was a peach of a day that she could have spent doing other things.
Race Start
We all met at mom's house and she drove us to the race start. We got there about 6:45am for an 8am start. Packet pick-up was advertised from 5:30am - 7:00am, so we got there as close to 7am as possible since we knew we didn't have to worry about shuttling a car to the finish or unloading a kayak, etc. We each got marked with "T2" on our hands, and that was it for check-in. No numbered caps or arm tattoos or timing chips. There were a total of 21 solo swimmers and 2 relay teams with 3 members each, so less than 30 swimmers. After we checked in, I saw my friend Lori and her boyfriend & kayaker Tom. Then we saw coach Karen who introduced us to a few people. Jerome and I walked down to the water to take some pictures. We noticed that there appeared to be zero current in the river. I'm not going to lie, I was envisioning a RIVER. Maybe not whitecaps and raging rapids, but certainly not this stand-still pool that we were looking at. I had swum 2 miles non-stop at Walden a few weeks ago, though, so even if there was zero current (technically, not possible) I knew I'd be ok.
It was finally time for the swimmers to get in the water. Jerome and I carried Sue's kayak down to the river for her, and Jane got in the water. There wasn't really a starting line, just a random smattering of kayaks and swimmers. I don't even remember if there was a starting horn or if the race director just yelled go, but off they went down the river.
Relay spot #1
My watch buzzed again after another half mile, which meant I was already halfway done. I was feeling like I could swim forever. I was about 15 second slower on the 2nd half mile than the first, but that didn't concern me much. I had asked Sue, our kayaker, to be ahead of me by at least one boat length, and to stay on my left side, which is the side I breathe the most on. I wanted her ahead of me so I could just follow her, and not have to worry about sighting. Because of this, I was able to breathe every 4-6 strokes and only sighted or bilaterally breathed a few times. At one point she was stopped and turned perpendicular so I picked my head up and kept paddling, and asked her if she was doing ok. She was in great spirits and said she was doing well, but just wanted to make sure she was keeping an eye on me. I guess I hadn't thought about how awkward it would be for the kayaker to have the swimmer behind you and have to keep turning your neck for 4 hours. I thanked her for doing a great job, and we continued on. When my watch buzzed a third time, I knew I had a half mile to go, so I cranked up the pace a little bit. After a few minutes I started sighting to my right, but I couldn't see anything on the right hand side of the river that looked like a boat launch, It was just thick trees as far as the eyes could see. After a few more minutes, I saw Sue motion to my right. I looked right and saw people standing on the shore. I made a sharp angle and started heading right to them. As I got closer, I noticed that they were all wearing jeans. I sighted again and noticed they all had fishing poles. I looked a little further down the river, and that's when I saw Jerome in his wetsuit standing on another boat launch. I widened my angle a little bit and continued down the river. I swam as close as I could to the shore before standing up, because I can swim faster than I can walk. I high fived Jerome, and off he went. I stopped my watch and it read 56:52 for 1.91 miles. I felt like I could have kept swimming, but I was also happy to be done because I knew I did really well and I was ready to go celebrate.
September 14, 2014
Swim legs: 2.5mi/2mi/2mi
Total Time: 3:52:58
Air Temperature: 50F at the start (8am), 70ish at the finish (12pm)
Water temperature: 68F
It never occurred to me to sign up for a swim-only race. Last year I had the epiphany that I should sign up for the swim leg in a triathlon relay, but that involved finding two other people who could bike and run. Thank God for Karen, the swim coach for E3, who made me realize that you could actually just swim. Karen suggested this race to me, Jerome, and Ruthanne to do as a relay. Ruthanne took a pass on the race for this year, so my cousin Jane joined the team. It would have been the furthest that any of us had ever swum in a race; all of us having swum 1.2 miles in 70.3 events, but never in any event other than a triathlon.
Race-day prep
Race day prep was mostly logistics management. We were all swimming on our own to train, although none of us were really nervous. We all knew we could swim 1-1.5 miles easily, and we figured the current would make up the difference (more on that later.) The two biggest pieces of race-day management were the kayaker, and the shuttling that would need to be done.
This race required that each individual swimmer or relay team have its own kayak support. None of us knew a kayaker who would be available on race day, so we opted to have the race director assign someone to us from a local kayak club. Her name was Sue, and we emailed and spoke on the phone prior to the race, but didn't meet in person until race morning, about 20 minutes before the race start. Luckily, none of the Swim Shady swimmers had ever done this before, so we didn't really have much instruction to give beyond "get me from point A to point B". I can imagine that if we ever get serious about open water swimming, we'd pick a kayaker who can read water currents and the wind and the competition and whatever else there is to know beyond "point A to point B". But we're not there yet, so it worked out perfectly.
The second piece was the shuttling. We thought we had figured out a fool proof plan, so I was explaining to my mom how we'd leave Jane's car at the first relay point, then drive her to the start in my car, where we'd meet Jerome in his car, and my mother interrupted to say why didn't she just come up and be our shuttle person. Ah ha! Brilliant! Thanks to my mom for doing that, especially because it was her birthday and it was a peach of a day that she could have spent doing other things.
Race Start
We all met at mom's house and she drove us to the race start. We got there about 6:45am for an 8am start. Packet pick-up was advertised from 5:30am - 7:00am, so we got there as close to 7am as possible since we knew we didn't have to worry about shuttling a car to the finish or unloading a kayak, etc. We each got marked with "T2" on our hands, and that was it for check-in. No numbered caps or arm tattoos or timing chips. There were a total of 21 solo swimmers and 2 relay teams with 3 members each, so less than 30 swimmers. After we checked in, I saw my friend Lori and her boyfriend & kayaker Tom. Then we saw coach Karen who introduced us to a few people. Jerome and I walked down to the water to take some pictures. We noticed that there appeared to be zero current in the river. I'm not going to lie, I was envisioning a RIVER. Maybe not whitecaps and raging rapids, but certainly not this stand-still pool that we were looking at. I had swum 2 miles non-stop at Walden a few weeks ago, though, so even if there was zero current (technically, not possible) I knew I'd be ok.
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| Merrimack River at the start. (Photo credit: Jerome.) |
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| Starting the trek from Tyngsboro to Lowell on the Merrimack |
Relay spot #1
Jerome and I got in my mom's car and we headed to the first relay spot, which was at Top Line Granite in Tyngsboro. We drove over the Tyngsboro bridge and could see the kayaks and swimmers headed toward us. When we got to Top Line Granite (another 2 miles from the bridge), we discovered that the gate to the parking lot was locked. We parked outside the gate and walked around the locked gate onto the property. It felt a little strange to be sneaking along chain link fencing with barbed wire on the top, but once we were in, it was fine. We walked down to the boat ramp and found the timer. Since there were only 2 relay teams, her job was to record the time for each swimmer as they exited the water. We figured we'd have about 40 minutes before we saw the first swimmers, and another 30 minutes or so before we saw Jane. Luckily the air was chilly enough that I could justify putting my wetsuit on really early. I was too nervous to not have it on. I just wanted to be ready so I didn't have to think about doing anything else. We all noticed that there was definitely more current in the water here than at the start. The other relay team that was waiting had a lovely golden retriever who was fetching a tennis ball that his owner would launch halfway into the river. The current was strong enough that we could see the ball moving, but not strong enough that it swept the tennis ball away before the dog could paddle out to it and retrieve it. That was a good distraction for us before we saw any swimmers come through. I threw the ball a couple of times but decided I should save every bit of shoulder & arm strength I had. Finally we saw the lead swimmers approaching. The first two swimmers were so close to each other, each with a kayak trailing behind. The final results show the first two swimmers finishing two seconds apart. Makes me wonder if they were helping each other out the whole time, or if it was a knock-down drag out fight for the whole 6.5 miles to the finish line. A few minutes later we saw Karen, easily identifiable by her sister's little yellow kayak. We cheered from the sidelines but she was too far away and too focused on the task at hand to hear us. She was in a pack of at least 2 other swimmers/kayakers that were all very close. The other relay team came and left so it was just us and the timer waiting for Jane. She estimated her time to be an hour and twenty minutes, and sure enough, at an hour and twenty-one minutes we saw her and our 14' white kayak round the bend. She came out of the water, we did the "tag you're it" exchange, and off I went.
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| Looking upstream waiting for Jane. (Photo credit: Jerome) |
Leg #2 - My Swim
I set off on my swim and just focused on going slow & controlled. I set the alerts on my watch to beep/vibrate every half mile. My plan was to swim comfortably for the first 1/2 mile. When my watch buzzed, I could see how long that took so I could estimate what the total swim would take, and I could adjust my effort accordingly. I settled in pretty quickly. There were one or two kayaks in visible distance behind Jane when she finished, so my goal was to not let either of those swimmers pass me. I remembered Karen telling me that she likes to sneak past swimmers on the side that they aren't breathing on, so I made sure to bilateral breathe every once in a while just to make sure I knew what was going on all around me. So far, the coast was clear. My watch buzzed and I checked it. First 1/2 mile was 14:30. Definitely the fastest I've ever swum, thanks to the current. The current definitely didn't feel strong though. If I stopped swimming and just floated, I don't think I would move very much at all.
I have to say, the Merrimack River is awesome. I was a little nervous about swimming in it because I thought it would be nasty and stinky and that I've be covered in muck when I got out, but none of that was true. I could actually see the bottom of the river the entire time I was swimming. The water was very clear, with just a slight brown tinge to it from the silt. There was absolutely no trash, creepy plant life, or aquatic life that I saw, which made me very happy. At one point, I thought, "Now I understand what Karen has been saying this whole time about loving open water swimming." I had the Tyngsboro/N. Chelmsford section of the river. Jerome had the Lowell portion of the river and reported seeing at least a few tires at the bottom, so I think I lucked out on leg 2. The sky was so blue that day, and the river is lined with trees almost the whole way. This is a picture that Tom took of Lori while she was swimming. This is exactly how I remember it.
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| Lovely day on the Merrimack! |
The Finish Line
With Jerome on his way to the finish line via the Merrimack, Jane, my mom, and I got into the car and started driving there so we could watch the other finishers and wait for Jerome. Karen was already finished by the time we got there -- she was the first female overall, of course. Ruthanne, now in marathon training mode, just finished her long run so she was there for the post-race festivities as well. We cheered in the swimmers and cringed every time a swimmer made a bee-line for the swim exit, and was told they had to go back out to and around the buoy before they could finish. When we saw our white kayak and then Jerome, Karen gathered everyone on the beach to make a tunnel for Jerome as he got out of the water. Everyone was clapping and cheering for his finish. We did it! And we came in 2nd place in the relay team division! (Yes, out of 2 teams.)
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| The real Swim Shady! |
A huge thank you to Coach Karen for not only recommending the race, giving us confidence that we could do it, but also for the hours of her own time that she spent with us at Walden and in the pool showing us how to be better swimmers. We've come a long way, and we still have a long way to go, but we're sticking with you if you'll let us!
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| E3 Training Solutions representing! |
Post race thoughts
I loved this race, and I would love to be able to do this race as a solo swimmer. Maybe not next year, but perhaps the year after? We'll have to see how 2015 goes. As I write this race report, I am in an unprecedented state where I have no races on my race calendar, not even a 5k fun run or a Turkey Trot. I am going to enjoy a little downtime, and then go into 2015 with an open mind.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Race Report: Cranberry Olympic Triathlon
Cranberry Olympic Triathlon
August 23, 2014
Swim .9 / Bike 26.2 / Run 6.2
Total Time: 3:47:19
I had signed up for this race under the influence of peer pressure and a post-race high. You know, the normal way. Ruthanne & Jerome were signing up and I thought it sounded like a good idea too. I had never completed an Olympic distance tri -- my only other attempt was Mass State last year, where I DNF'd by quitting in a hissy fit after the bike. My mantra for this summer was to keep everything fun, which translated into signing up for a million races but not really training for any of them. And yes, I guess I did train, just not conscientiously or purposefully. If it weren't for tagging along with Ruthanne and Jerome for half of their workouts, I might not have done anything except the races themselves. My only planned training day for Cranberry was going to be the Timberman Sprint the week before Cranberry (if you're new to triathlon, I don't recommend this method.)
But here's what happened at Timberman....
I ended up missing the race entirely due to vertigo. I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and on the way to the bathroom I got severely dizzy, which then triggered a feeling of motion sickness, which then made me puke. I went back to bed hoping to sleep it off in the next couple of hours. The room was spinning, and I was frantically looking at the time, wondering if I'd be able to sleep long enough to wake up feeling refreshed. Answer: no. I woke up two more times, and both times it ended up the same way, with me vomiting in the bathroom. I even did the math, wondering if I could wait it out long enough to get to the race just before my swim wave went off, but that still involved me getting out of bed which was the trigger for the nausea. So, Timberman didn't happen, which also meant my training for Cranberry didn't happen. This has sort of been my calling card for 2014, so it was par for the course.
Here's why missing Timberman was the best thing that could have happened...
I was nervous before Timberman. I was only doing the sprint, which I downgraded to from the 70.3. I think the feeling of nervousness was just what my mind/body thought it was supposed to do before "Timberman", since that's what consumed my entire life last year. I got to the expo on Friday afternoon to pick up my number, and I half expected that I'd feel disappointed that I wasn't doing the 70.3. I felt zero disappointment. I was all-in for the sprint, with not a shred of nostalgia or remorse or regret. But yet I still kept that same mindset that I had for the 70.3 last year: that I would be dead last, or that I'd be the only one walking my bike up the hill, etc. I seem to have been stuck in this negativity for a long, long time. So that's why, when I couldn't race at Timberman, I got a good healthy dose of perspective. I would have loved to be walking my bike up the hill and coming in dead last (which I wouldn't have, btw. I checked the results to compare my imaginary time against actual finishers.) Suddenly I felt gratitude for health and ability that I had been taking for granted. And I know that sounds totally cliche but that's what happened. The other weird thing is that my vertigo went away later that evening. I've had vertigo twice before, and both times it lasted a few days to a week. Is it odd, or is it God? I think this was a divine intervention to get my head back in the game. Which finally brings me to the actual Cranberry race report...
Race morning
When I woke up healthy on race morning, I knew it was going to be a good day. This was going to be my first Olympic distance triathlon, and even if I did come in last, I didn't care. I was so grateful to have the opportunity to do this race that I barely had any other nervousness or fears. The only fear I had was sort of irrational -- which was that my back tire was going to come flying off my bike because I didn't trust that I put the skewer in correctly. I stopped at the Landry's bike tent at the race site to have them adjust my rear wheel, which I thought would be a 5-second fix. They ended up taking the wheel off and putting it on some spinny thing and then adjusting all the spokes because my wheel was "crooked". EVEN THAT DIDN'T FREAK ME OUT! Instead, I was like, wow, good thing I don't trust my own wheel tightening skills or I wouldn't have stood in this line and I wouldn't have known my wheel was crooked. Thanks again, universe! I got to the rack in transition to set up; I was right next to my E3 teammates Ruthanne, Jerome, and Stephanie. We got ourselves ready and headed down to the swim.
The Swim - 31:34 (2:00/100yds)
I'm never really nervous about the swim because it's the event that I enjoy the most, and my strongest event of the 3. The swim was in Loon Pond in Lakeville, which was barely .9 around the edge. And when I say "edge" I mean that literally. We were practically crawling along some home owners lakefront property at some points in the swim. Besides the super shallow waters, the other notable thing about this race was that it was the first time I've ever done a time trial start in a triathlon. With a time trial start, you file into the water in two single file lines, 3 seconds apart. A lot of people like this because it reduces the amount of elbowing and jostling you get with a wave start (where everyone in the whole wave starts at the same time.) I personally didn't like the time trial start because all it meant was that there was a steady stream of people I needed to try to swim past, and others from behind who were trying to pass me. At least with a wave start, you quickly settle into your pace and after the first 100 yards or so, the whole wave has naturally organized itself by pace. And because the course was so shallow, it's not like you could swim wide to get some space. At one point, another woman and I were swimming so close to each other side by side that it felt like a drill that coach Karen did with me at Walden, where she laced her fingers over mine and guided my arm with hers. So, I pretended that's what was happening and focused on faking good form. (haha!)
T1 - 2:45
The run from the water to the transition area was a little tricky. There were steep, uneven stone steps that led from the water up to the grass, then a bit of a run around transition to get into transition. It was long enough that I had time to make a joke to a fellow athlete that we must be taking the scenic route. I tried something new with my nutrition for this race, which was to load up my tri shirt with my nutrition before the swim so it was one less thing I needed to do in transition. I figured any pond water that got into the sealed packages would be no more than what I'd have already swallowed in the course of the swim. Seemed like a good idea in theory, but it failed in practice. When I took my wetsuit off, all of my nutrition fell out of my pockets. I didn't notice this at first. Instead, it was like, "Hey! Mandarin Orange Gu! I have one of those too! Oh wait, that's mine." "Hey! Black Cherry Shot Bloks! I have one of those too! Oh wait, that's mine." So I re-loaded the two escapees into my tri top and headed out of transition with my bike. It was like Hansel & Gretel, because I kept finding nutrition on the ground that was clearly mine, that must have fallen out as I was taking my wetsuit off approaching the bike. I was able to get everything I had dropped. Lesson learned... loading up your tri top with nutrition does not save you any time if you end up in a scavenger hunt for it later.
The Bike - 1:44:36 (15mph)
Listen up, folks, because you might not ever hear me say this again: I LOVED this bike course. And it was so pretty too! I am famous for being oblivious to amazing scenery during races. Friends will be awestruck by mountains and lakes and foliage, and I'm like, "did you guys see all those potholes?" But not this time! This time I noticed it all and I was having a blast. The course was mostly flat. Uphills are my nemesis, but there were only a few of those, and they weren't horrible so they didn't kill my overall average speed like they usually do. I stayed in a pretty good mental space during the bike, which was pretty easy to do because I really was having a fine old time. It helped that I started singing a little song that used to help me when I was training for Timberman 70.3 last year. You all know the song, it's "Whole World in His Hands" from your Sunday School days. The way I sing it on the bike is to be aware of my surroundings and, for lack of a better word, "pray" for those people by singing a song about them. For instance, "He's got the sweaty man in spandex, in his hands. He's got the sweaty man in spandex, in his hands. He's got the sweaty man in spandex, in his hands. He's got the sweaty man in his hands." And so on and so on with "woman in the purple", "volunteers", "crazy crazy drivers", etc. It really helps me get out of my own head and focus on the things around me. I probably did about 8 iterations of that before I needed a new tune. I switched to Zac Brown Band's "Let It Go" (not the Frozen version) which has a refrain that was perfect for miles 19-21:
T2 - 2:32
I still had the rest of my nutrition in my pockets from T1, so there wasn't much to do in T2 except rack my bike, take off my helmet, swap out bike shoes for sneakers, and grab my hat and race belt. For some reason everything felt slow and clunky. Not in a bad way, just in a way that I know I can improve upon later.
The Run - 1:25:53 (13:51/mile)
I find it hilarious that I'm concerned about improving my T2 time, but not my near 14 minute per mile pace on the run. Oh yes, I'm a funny one alright. I haven't run more than a 5K since April, and even my 5K's have been in the sluggish range. It was no surprise that the run was going to be atrocious. I guess that's why I'm not disappointed in it. Low expectations FTW! Honestly, though, I am not sure I could have run any faster if this was a standalone 10K, so I'm pretty impressed with this. I was definitely conscious of my pace, and was determined to keep it under 14:00/mile. I ran/walked the entire course, running whenever the average pace got too close to 14:00, and walking when I felt like I had enough of a cushion. The run course was nice because most of it was in the shade. There was hardly any traffic, and the volunteers and aid stations were incredible. There was a water stop every mile on the run course, and most of them had an array of choices: water, coke, heed, gu, oranges, bananas, and ice. I took a few oranges and opted for a burning hot gu in lieu of the shot bloks that I still had in my pocket from before the swim. In true Jerome style, he went blazing past me in the final 1/2 mile of the course. One of these days, Jerome, one of these days!!!!
I ended up finishing in 3:47:19, well under my pie-in-the-sky goal of a sub 4:00. I thought my bike would be at least 20 minutes slower than it was, so I am absolutely thrilled with this time. Everything about this race was fantastic: the course, the organization, the volunteers, seeing some E3 peeps, the beautiful scenery, the clock still being up at the end, and even hot food being served long after half of the field had left. And because this race was so perfect, I feel completely satisfied in calling this my last tri for 2014. No more last minute sign-ups for me. Nothing can top this race, and I want to go out on a high note. It's too early to plan for 2015, but if I happen to have triathlons on my schedule next year, and I happen to need an Olympic distance race in August, this one is definitely going on the schedule!*
*assuming Peej says it's ok because I promised her I would ask for permission this time around.
August 23, 2014
Swim .9 / Bike 26.2 / Run 6.2
Total Time: 3:47:19
I had signed up for this race under the influence of peer pressure and a post-race high. You know, the normal way. Ruthanne & Jerome were signing up and I thought it sounded like a good idea too. I had never completed an Olympic distance tri -- my only other attempt was Mass State last year, where I DNF'd by quitting in a hissy fit after the bike. My mantra for this summer was to keep everything fun, which translated into signing up for a million races but not really training for any of them. And yes, I guess I did train, just not conscientiously or purposefully. If it weren't for tagging along with Ruthanne and Jerome for half of their workouts, I might not have done anything except the races themselves. My only planned training day for Cranberry was going to be the Timberman Sprint the week before Cranberry (if you're new to triathlon, I don't recommend this method.)
But here's what happened at Timberman....
I ended up missing the race entirely due to vertigo. I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and on the way to the bathroom I got severely dizzy, which then triggered a feeling of motion sickness, which then made me puke. I went back to bed hoping to sleep it off in the next couple of hours. The room was spinning, and I was frantically looking at the time, wondering if I'd be able to sleep long enough to wake up feeling refreshed. Answer: no. I woke up two more times, and both times it ended up the same way, with me vomiting in the bathroom. I even did the math, wondering if I could wait it out long enough to get to the race just before my swim wave went off, but that still involved me getting out of bed which was the trigger for the nausea. So, Timberman didn't happen, which also meant my training for Cranberry didn't happen. This has sort of been my calling card for 2014, so it was par for the course.
Here's why missing Timberman was the best thing that could have happened...
I was nervous before Timberman. I was only doing the sprint, which I downgraded to from the 70.3. I think the feeling of nervousness was just what my mind/body thought it was supposed to do before "Timberman", since that's what consumed my entire life last year. I got to the expo on Friday afternoon to pick up my number, and I half expected that I'd feel disappointed that I wasn't doing the 70.3. I felt zero disappointment. I was all-in for the sprint, with not a shred of nostalgia or remorse or regret. But yet I still kept that same mindset that I had for the 70.3 last year: that I would be dead last, or that I'd be the only one walking my bike up the hill, etc. I seem to have been stuck in this negativity for a long, long time. So that's why, when I couldn't race at Timberman, I got a good healthy dose of perspective. I would have loved to be walking my bike up the hill and coming in dead last (which I wouldn't have, btw. I checked the results to compare my imaginary time against actual finishers.) Suddenly I felt gratitude for health and ability that I had been taking for granted. And I know that sounds totally cliche but that's what happened. The other weird thing is that my vertigo went away later that evening. I've had vertigo twice before, and both times it lasted a few days to a week. Is it odd, or is it God? I think this was a divine intervention to get my head back in the game. Which finally brings me to the actual Cranberry race report...
Race morning
When I woke up healthy on race morning, I knew it was going to be a good day. This was going to be my first Olympic distance triathlon, and even if I did come in last, I didn't care. I was so grateful to have the opportunity to do this race that I barely had any other nervousness or fears. The only fear I had was sort of irrational -- which was that my back tire was going to come flying off my bike because I didn't trust that I put the skewer in correctly. I stopped at the Landry's bike tent at the race site to have them adjust my rear wheel, which I thought would be a 5-second fix. They ended up taking the wheel off and putting it on some spinny thing and then adjusting all the spokes because my wheel was "crooked". EVEN THAT DIDN'T FREAK ME OUT! Instead, I was like, wow, good thing I don't trust my own wheel tightening skills or I wouldn't have stood in this line and I wouldn't have known my wheel was crooked. Thanks again, universe! I got to the rack in transition to set up; I was right next to my E3 teammates Ruthanne, Jerome, and Stephanie. We got ourselves ready and headed down to the swim.
The Swim - 31:34 (2:00/100yds)
I'm never really nervous about the swim because it's the event that I enjoy the most, and my strongest event of the 3. The swim was in Loon Pond in Lakeville, which was barely .9 around the edge. And when I say "edge" I mean that literally. We were practically crawling along some home owners lakefront property at some points in the swim. Besides the super shallow waters, the other notable thing about this race was that it was the first time I've ever done a time trial start in a triathlon. With a time trial start, you file into the water in two single file lines, 3 seconds apart. A lot of people like this because it reduces the amount of elbowing and jostling you get with a wave start (where everyone in the whole wave starts at the same time.) I personally didn't like the time trial start because all it meant was that there was a steady stream of people I needed to try to swim past, and others from behind who were trying to pass me. At least with a wave start, you quickly settle into your pace and after the first 100 yards or so, the whole wave has naturally organized itself by pace. And because the course was so shallow, it's not like you could swim wide to get some space. At one point, another woman and I were swimming so close to each other side by side that it felt like a drill that coach Karen did with me at Walden, where she laced her fingers over mine and guided my arm with hers. So, I pretended that's what was happening and focused on faking good form. (haha!)
T1 - 2:45
The run from the water to the transition area was a little tricky. There were steep, uneven stone steps that led from the water up to the grass, then a bit of a run around transition to get into transition. It was long enough that I had time to make a joke to a fellow athlete that we must be taking the scenic route. I tried something new with my nutrition for this race, which was to load up my tri shirt with my nutrition before the swim so it was one less thing I needed to do in transition. I figured any pond water that got into the sealed packages would be no more than what I'd have already swallowed in the course of the swim. Seemed like a good idea in theory, but it failed in practice. When I took my wetsuit off, all of my nutrition fell out of my pockets. I didn't notice this at first. Instead, it was like, "Hey! Mandarin Orange Gu! I have one of those too! Oh wait, that's mine." "Hey! Black Cherry Shot Bloks! I have one of those too! Oh wait, that's mine." So I re-loaded the two escapees into my tri top and headed out of transition with my bike. It was like Hansel & Gretel, because I kept finding nutrition on the ground that was clearly mine, that must have fallen out as I was taking my wetsuit off approaching the bike. I was able to get everything I had dropped. Lesson learned... loading up your tri top with nutrition does not save you any time if you end up in a scavenger hunt for it later.
The Bike - 1:44:36 (15mph)
Listen up, folks, because you might not ever hear me say this again: I LOVED this bike course. And it was so pretty too! I am famous for being oblivious to amazing scenery during races. Friends will be awestruck by mountains and lakes and foliage, and I'm like, "did you guys see all those potholes?" But not this time! This time I noticed it all and I was having a blast. The course was mostly flat. Uphills are my nemesis, but there were only a few of those, and they weren't horrible so they didn't kill my overall average speed like they usually do. I stayed in a pretty good mental space during the bike, which was pretty easy to do because I really was having a fine old time. It helped that I started singing a little song that used to help me when I was training for Timberman 70.3 last year. You all know the song, it's "Whole World in His Hands" from your Sunday School days. The way I sing it on the bike is to be aware of my surroundings and, for lack of a better word, "pray" for those people by singing a song about them. For instance, "He's got the sweaty man in spandex, in his hands. He's got the sweaty man in spandex, in his hands. He's got the sweaty man in spandex, in his hands. He's got the sweaty man in his hands." And so on and so on with "woman in the purple", "volunteers", "crazy crazy drivers", etc. It really helps me get out of my own head and focus on the things around me. I probably did about 8 iterations of that before I needed a new tune. I switched to Zac Brown Band's "Let It Go" (not the Frozen version) which has a refrain that was perfect for miles 19-21:
Keep your heart above your head and your eyes wide openI lowered my voice to what I thought was a muffle when I approached a couple of volunteers at a turn, but as I approached they said, "Keep singing! That's what we like to hear!" The last couple of miles on the bike were the toughest. There was some rough road, and some hills, and I was just plain tired of being on the bike. The bike course merges with the run course for the last 2 miles, so that was a nice distraction (after you finish thinking, "Oh GOD! They are so far ahead of me!") I was able to spot Frank (of "Frank and Denise" fame) and cheer for him, so that was fun to see someone I knew. Finally I saw the cones that were the sure fire indicator that I had reached transition.
So this world can't find a way to leave you cold
And know you're not the only ship out on the ocean
Save your strength for things that you can change
Forgive the ones you can't
You gotta let it go
T2 - 2:32
I still had the rest of my nutrition in my pockets from T1, so there wasn't much to do in T2 except rack my bike, take off my helmet, swap out bike shoes for sneakers, and grab my hat and race belt. For some reason everything felt slow and clunky. Not in a bad way, just in a way that I know I can improve upon later.
The Run - 1:25:53 (13:51/mile)
I find it hilarious that I'm concerned about improving my T2 time, but not my near 14 minute per mile pace on the run. Oh yes, I'm a funny one alright. I haven't run more than a 5K since April, and even my 5K's have been in the sluggish range. It was no surprise that the run was going to be atrocious. I guess that's why I'm not disappointed in it. Low expectations FTW! Honestly, though, I am not sure I could have run any faster if this was a standalone 10K, so I'm pretty impressed with this. I was definitely conscious of my pace, and was determined to keep it under 14:00/mile. I ran/walked the entire course, running whenever the average pace got too close to 14:00, and walking when I felt like I had enough of a cushion. The run course was nice because most of it was in the shade. There was hardly any traffic, and the volunteers and aid stations were incredible. There was a water stop every mile on the run course, and most of them had an array of choices: water, coke, heed, gu, oranges, bananas, and ice. I took a few oranges and opted for a burning hot gu in lieu of the shot bloks that I still had in my pocket from before the swim. In true Jerome style, he went blazing past me in the final 1/2 mile of the course. One of these days, Jerome, one of these days!!!!
 |
| Not last! |
I ended up finishing in 3:47:19, well under my pie-in-the-sky goal of a sub 4:00. I thought my bike would be at least 20 minutes slower than it was, so I am absolutely thrilled with this time. Everything about this race was fantastic: the course, the organization, the volunteers, seeing some E3 peeps, the beautiful scenery, the clock still being up at the end, and even hot food being served long after half of the field had left. And because this race was so perfect, I feel completely satisfied in calling this my last tri for 2014. No more last minute sign-ups for me. Nothing can top this race, and I want to go out on a high note. It's too early to plan for 2015, but if I happen to have triathlons on my schedule next year, and I happen to need an Olympic distance race in August, this one is definitely going on the schedule!*
*assuming Peej says it's ok because I promised her I would ask for permission this time around.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
The girl who loved to sing
There once was a girl whose favorite thing to do was sing. She would sing in the shower, she would sing to her dog, she would sing while she did her chores, and she would sing herself to sleep. Singing was her prayer, her meditation, her entertainment, and her comfort.
She was just an average singer, and she was ok with that. She didn't need to be in the spotlight, and most of the time, her singing was tolerated by others. Other times, though, some people criticized her singing.
"All you ever do is sing. Why don't you get another hobby?" one girl asked her.
"You know you'll never be famous," another one said in a snide tone. "There are so many other people that sing better than you."
The girl started to wonder if maybe she was singing too much. Or maybe she wasn't singing the right way. Surely she should be better at singing if she put this much time into it. She decided to get a vocal coach and improve her singing. Her shower singing was replaced with Do-Re-Mi scales. She practiced lip trills, which frightened the dog. Every night when she went to bed, instead of singing, she did breath exercises with her diaphragm until she eventually faded into sleep.
She wasn't sure if any of this was helping. Her voice no longer sounded like her own. She was determined to make progress, though. She started singing in public and welcomed the applause, even if it was from friends and family and a few random strangers. She entered competitions and judged herself against others. To save her voice for the times that mattered, she stopped singing throughout the day and only sang at her scheduled times. She started to resent singing because she thought she wasn't good at it. Singing felt like a chore.
She woke up on the morning of the county fair, where she was supposed to sing later that day. Her throat was dry, her voice was hoarse, and she knew that singing was out of the question. That's when she was suddenly struck by an amazing realization. Not being able to sing, it became the only thing she wanted to do. She didn't want to sing Do-Re-Mi scales or test her vocal range, she just wanted to sing in the shower, with whatever song seemed to fit the mood. She wanted to serenade her dog while he wagged his tail and rolled around at her feet.
Even though she was disappointed that she couldn't sing at the county fair, it was the best thing that could have happened that day. She realized that day that her singing was a gift -- and not because of the effort that she put into it, but just because she enjoyed doing it. That was all that mattered, and she intended to keep it that way.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
The Fallow Yellow
**Author's Note** This blog post is not indicative of my normal self, but I'm writing it anyway, because writing for me helps me get back to my normal self. I also like an accurate record of "what it was like to train" so when I'm 400 pounds and couch-bound (or finishing a 140.6 for that matter), I can look back and remember what it was really like, even during those times when I wasn't fueled by a post-race high.
I still owe race reports for the Whaling City Triathlon-turned-Duathlon, and the Dam Triathlon. I likely won't ever write them, so here's a brief synopsis of each:
Whaling City Tri -- Swim was cancelled due to high bacteria, so they replaced the swim with a 1 mile run for a run/bike/run duathlon. I ran the mile, got on my bike, and got a flat tire about 2 miles in. I walked my bike back to transition and became a spectator instead. All good. I wasn't disappointed, but I was a little concerned that I wasn't more disappointed.
Dam Triathlon -- Loved this race. Bike had some tough hills, but a lot of great downhills. I walked my bike once. Ran out of nutrition on the bike but luckily had some waiting in T2. Run was ok. Tried to match pace with Jerome in a sprint finish -- he started like 20 minutes behind me, so caught up to me just as we were entering the finish chute -- but he blew right by me which just made me laugh and enjoy the finish even more. Got to see Ruthanne finish her first official triathlon, and got to do a tri with Connie for the first time this season.
Since then, I've felt like I'm hanging on to a cliff by my fingernails, slowly slipping and feeling it getting harder and harder to keep from falling. Forget about progress, I'm trying desperately to hang on to status quo and it's not working. Then I went on vacation -- had a lovely time -- and now my motivation is completely gone. I have been fighting this burnout for a long, long time, but haven't totally let myself relax. Instead, my idea of "relaxing" is signing up for sprint triathlons instead of 70.3 distance triathlons, or only swimming 5 days per week instead of biking and running too.
Speaking of 70.3... this coming weekend is Timberman weekend. I was signed up for the 70.3 again. My goal, when I originally signed up back in the fall was to do it again, but do it in a more sane manner. Last year I was in full "Timbermanic Depression", and this year, I wanted to train for it again without completely losing my shit. I pretty much lost my shit training for the Goofy challenge, and then managed to hang on by a thread for Boston. I'm not even sure when I decided I wasn't doing the 70.3. I think I knew it in my heart a long time ago, but didn't want to say it out loud for fear of disappointing others, specifically my friend Chris who planned to come out to do it with me, and my friend Isa who is also planning to do it. It turns out that Chris also wasn't feeling the 70.3 this year, so the decision not to do it was a relief for him as well. Isa is still doing it, along with an enormous posse from Long Island. For some reason, he is giving me way too much credit for him doing Timberman. I think his exact words were, "you got me to sign up" and "I'm in debt forever". I believe that I might have persuaded him to sign up -- but the rest is all him. So back to the disappointing others bit, I sort of feel guilty that I was a ra-ra girl, and now I'm sitting on the sidelines. I'm not only disappointing others, but I'm disappointing myself. I've changed my Timberman 70.3 registration to the sprint distance on Saturday, but even that feels insurmountable right now.
I have a race on the calendar or in mind for almost every weekend from now until the end of September, including a half marathon I said I'd run with my brother-in-law who is training for the NYC marathon. I'm sensing a pattern here, and part of that pattern is that I've sensed this pattern before. I thrive on isolation, so what is my compulsion to bring everyone else into my world at the same time I'm trying to tip-toe out of it? Maybe it's that I like the joy of racing, and I'm just looking for surrogates. Perhaps I feel that if I have some small role to play, which might only be the initial nudge to get them to sign up, then I can somehow take part in the victory.
I want to want to run again, and I want to want to do triathlons (next year, not the one I have coming up this weekend, or next weekend). I feel like the only way to get that back is to totally let go, but there is fear in that. I miss the Timbermanic Depression of a year ago because at least there were highs & lows and I could feel them. All I feel today is apathy. Maybe a triathlon will fix that....
I still owe race reports for the Whaling City Triathlon-turned-Duathlon, and the Dam Triathlon. I likely won't ever write them, so here's a brief synopsis of each:
Whaling City Tri -- Swim was cancelled due to high bacteria, so they replaced the swim with a 1 mile run for a run/bike/run duathlon. I ran the mile, got on my bike, and got a flat tire about 2 miles in. I walked my bike back to transition and became a spectator instead. All good. I wasn't disappointed, but I was a little concerned that I wasn't more disappointed.
Dam Triathlon -- Loved this race. Bike had some tough hills, but a lot of great downhills. I walked my bike once. Ran out of nutrition on the bike but luckily had some waiting in T2. Run was ok. Tried to match pace with Jerome in a sprint finish -- he started like 20 minutes behind me, so caught up to me just as we were entering the finish chute -- but he blew right by me which just made me laugh and enjoy the finish even more. Got to see Ruthanne finish her first official triathlon, and got to do a tri with Connie for the first time this season.
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| Me, Jerome & Ruthanne |
 |
| Liver Lovers! Connie, Megan & Me |
Since then, I've felt like I'm hanging on to a cliff by my fingernails, slowly slipping and feeling it getting harder and harder to keep from falling. Forget about progress, I'm trying desperately to hang on to status quo and it's not working. Then I went on vacation -- had a lovely time -- and now my motivation is completely gone. I have been fighting this burnout for a long, long time, but haven't totally let myself relax. Instead, my idea of "relaxing" is signing up for sprint triathlons instead of 70.3 distance triathlons, or only swimming 5 days per week instead of biking and running too.
Speaking of 70.3... this coming weekend is Timberman weekend. I was signed up for the 70.3 again. My goal, when I originally signed up back in the fall was to do it again, but do it in a more sane manner. Last year I was in full "Timbermanic Depression", and this year, I wanted to train for it again without completely losing my shit. I pretty much lost my shit training for the Goofy challenge, and then managed to hang on by a thread for Boston. I'm not even sure when I decided I wasn't doing the 70.3. I think I knew it in my heart a long time ago, but didn't want to say it out loud for fear of disappointing others, specifically my friend Chris who planned to come out to do it with me, and my friend Isa who is also planning to do it. It turns out that Chris also wasn't feeling the 70.3 this year, so the decision not to do it was a relief for him as well. Isa is still doing it, along with an enormous posse from Long Island. For some reason, he is giving me way too much credit for him doing Timberman. I think his exact words were, "you got me to sign up" and "I'm in debt forever". I believe that I might have persuaded him to sign up -- but the rest is all him. So back to the disappointing others bit, I sort of feel guilty that I was a ra-ra girl, and now I'm sitting on the sidelines. I'm not only disappointing others, but I'm disappointing myself. I've changed my Timberman 70.3 registration to the sprint distance on Saturday, but even that feels insurmountable right now.
I have a race on the calendar or in mind for almost every weekend from now until the end of September, including a half marathon I said I'd run with my brother-in-law who is training for the NYC marathon. I'm sensing a pattern here, and part of that pattern is that I've sensed this pattern before. I thrive on isolation, so what is my compulsion to bring everyone else into my world at the same time I'm trying to tip-toe out of it? Maybe it's that I like the joy of racing, and I'm just looking for surrogates. Perhaps I feel that if I have some small role to play, which might only be the initial nudge to get them to sign up, then I can somehow take part in the victory.
I want to want to run again, and I want to want to do triathlons (next year, not the one I have coming up this weekend, or next weekend). I feel like the only way to get that back is to totally let go, but there is fear in that. I miss the Timbermanic Depression of a year ago because at least there were highs & lows and I could feel them. All I feel today is apathy. Maybe a triathlon will fix that....
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Cohasset Triathlon Race Report
Cohasset Tri
June 29, 2014
Swim .25m / Bike 12m / Run 3.2m
Total time: 1:46:21
In preparation for this race, instead of training properly, I instead chose to focus on the competition. There were only 5 Athenas racing, and I stalked last year's results and thought I had a decent chance of beating one of them. 2 others had placed the year before, and the other 2 I had no intel on. That meant I'd only need to beat one of the two unknowns, and I'd have a chance at third place.
With that in mind, I set out to get on the podium. I have never tried so hard in a race. The whole thing was hard. The water was super cold, 56 degrees they said, but it was a hot morning, and I actually felt really good in the water when I went in to warm up (cool down?) It was only a quarter of a mile swim, so I just swam it all out as fast as I could. T1 was uneventful. I remember the person next to me in transition saying something about how the "worst part was over" and I was like, "huh? that was the only good part of the race!" but I didn't stick around for the rest of the conversation because, you know, we were in the middle of a race. The bike is just not my thing. I'm slow. I can't go uphill. I lose all momentum and come to a near stop. I didn't have to walk my bike at all on this course, but I came close. It seemed that all the downhills had sharp turns at the end, so I don't feel like I ever made up any speed. The end of the bike course couldn't get there fast enough. It seemed like there were just more and more hills even after spectators and volunteers kept saying things like, "last hill and you're home free".
Finally I got to T2. I was so happy to be off the bike, but what I quickly realized was that I'd never pedaled that hard on the bike, ummm... ever, so my legs were totally shot. I tried to run and there was just no connection between my brain and my legs. So, I walked. That was still really hard. Then there were hills. I tried to run wherever I could, and walked when I couldn't run. Continue that for 3.2 miles, with a sprint to the finish. As someone who never lays it all out there on the course, I definitely did that for this race. I didn't feel triumphant though, I just felt pain.
I didn't know how I had placed even after the race. I didn't see results posted anywhere. I waited for the awards ceremony, which I usually do anyway. I waited through about 40 minutes of awards, every single age group in 5-year increments from under 18 to over 70, male and female, including special awards like physically challenged athletes, and a special mention to triathlon/marathon legend Dick Hoyt. I loved all of that, don't get me wrong. What I didn't love, though, was that after all that waiting for them to announce the Athena winners, it never happened. He said, "Thanks everyone, see you next year!" and I felt like I was the only one left staring at the empty podium up on top of the stage. Had I known that I had placed, I would have marched up to him and demanded to be recognized (or, more likely, I would have politely asked for my medal and then slunk away quietly.)
My swim split was the fastest swim time out of the 5 of us. My bike split was the slowest, and my run split was the second slowest. So how the heck did I place, you ask? I gained a couple of minutes in the swim, and a minute or two in each of the transitions. In fact, the woman who took first place beat me on the bike by over 7 minutes and beat me on the run by almost 8 minutes. But overall, she only beat me by 6:40.
I'm happy with third place in that division, but it's sort of a sham. If I compare myself to my age group, I would have placed 43rd out of 45. Why am I killing myself to place in a division that isn't recognized, with a time slower than 98% of entire field? I did end up getting my medal in the mail a few weeks later, but with no note attached, and nothing on the medal that indicated what it was for, besides the name of the race. I guess that's how it should be. It felt no different than a participation medal. I'm not special. I'm not talented. I just showed up and performed poorly, but well enough to finish. I can't help but wonder though, if I had raced age group, maybe I would have placed 45th out of 45 because I wouldn't have been trying so hard. Maybe I would have come in dead last in my age group and decided not to try at all anymore. In a world where we compare ourselves to others almost as much as we try not to compare ourselves to others, which is actually more beneficial?
June 29, 2014
Swim .25m / Bike 12m / Run 3.2m
Total time: 1:46:21
In preparation for this race, instead of training properly, I instead chose to focus on the competition. There were only 5 Athenas racing, and I stalked last year's results and thought I had a decent chance of beating one of them. 2 others had placed the year before, and the other 2 I had no intel on. That meant I'd only need to beat one of the two unknowns, and I'd have a chance at third place.
With that in mind, I set out to get on the podium. I have never tried so hard in a race. The whole thing was hard. The water was super cold, 56 degrees they said, but it was a hot morning, and I actually felt really good in the water when I went in to warm up (cool down?) It was only a quarter of a mile swim, so I just swam it all out as fast as I could. T1 was uneventful. I remember the person next to me in transition saying something about how the "worst part was over" and I was like, "huh? that was the only good part of the race!" but I didn't stick around for the rest of the conversation because, you know, we were in the middle of a race. The bike is just not my thing. I'm slow. I can't go uphill. I lose all momentum and come to a near stop. I didn't have to walk my bike at all on this course, but I came close. It seemed that all the downhills had sharp turns at the end, so I don't feel like I ever made up any speed. The end of the bike course couldn't get there fast enough. It seemed like there were just more and more hills even after spectators and volunteers kept saying things like, "last hill and you're home free".
I didn't know how I had placed even after the race. I didn't see results posted anywhere. I waited for the awards ceremony, which I usually do anyway. I waited through about 40 minutes of awards, every single age group in 5-year increments from under 18 to over 70, male and female, including special awards like physically challenged athletes, and a special mention to triathlon/marathon legend Dick Hoyt. I loved all of that, don't get me wrong. What I didn't love, though, was that after all that waiting for them to announce the Athena winners, it never happened. He said, "Thanks everyone, see you next year!" and I felt like I was the only one left staring at the empty podium up on top of the stage. Had I known that I had placed, I would have marched up to him and demanded to be recognized (or, more likely, I would have politely asked for my medal and then slunk away quietly.)
 |
| Athena Division Results |
My swim split was the fastest swim time out of the 5 of us. My bike split was the slowest, and my run split was the second slowest. So how the heck did I place, you ask? I gained a couple of minutes in the swim, and a minute or two in each of the transitions. In fact, the woman who took first place beat me on the bike by over 7 minutes and beat me on the run by almost 8 minutes. But overall, she only beat me by 6:40.
I'm happy with third place in that division, but it's sort of a sham. If I compare myself to my age group, I would have placed 43rd out of 45. Why am I killing myself to place in a division that isn't recognized, with a time slower than 98% of entire field? I did end up getting my medal in the mail a few weeks later, but with no note attached, and nothing on the medal that indicated what it was for, besides the name of the race. I guess that's how it should be. It felt no different than a participation medal. I'm not special. I'm not talented. I just showed up and performed poorly, but well enough to finish. I can't help but wonder though, if I had raced age group, maybe I would have placed 45th out of 45 because I wouldn't have been trying so hard. Maybe I would have come in dead last in my age group and decided not to try at all anymore. In a world where we compare ourselves to others almost as much as we try not to compare ourselves to others, which is actually more beneficial?
Sunday, July 20, 2014
A late update: Escape the Cape, Heartbreak Hill Hat Trick
I haven't been posting in a while, for a couple of reasons, each of which could be expanded into its own blog post. For simplicity's sake, I'll try to keep it short:
I guess in a way, this race set the tone for the upcoming season, which is to meet myself where I'm at in my fitness level. Don't compare myself to last year (or maybe compare results, but don't beat myself up about it.) Be grateful that I can complete a triathlon. This summer is not about being better/faster/stronger, this summer is about having fun, and I need to learn how to do that with what I've got, and what I've got is a capable body, and some great tri-companions that I've met along the way.
Next post: race reports for Cohasset Tri, Whaling City, and the Dam Triathlon...
- I hit major burnout on racing, training, and all talk of racing & training;
- I haven't been completely proud of my accomplishments, and I didn't want my blog to get even more self-deprecating than it already is;
- I got overwhelmed by the backlog of race reports I needed to write, so it was easier to write none;
- I had been in that part of the cycle where social media seems too invasive, and I wanted my life to be private for awhile.
All of that being said, I still continued to race & train (and talk about racing & training), and I'm learning to be proud of my accomplishments, and I do want to capture at least some of the details of the races I've done, and clearly since I am writing this blog post, I'm in the "hey everyone, look at me" cycle of social media.
Since my last post, I've completed the Escape the Cape Sprint Triathlon, Heartbreak Hill "Hat Trick", Cohasset Sprint Triathlon, Whaling City Duathlon (DNF), and Dam Triathlon in Amesbury. I'll recap a few of the races here, what I can remember, anyway.
May 31st -- Escape the Cape Sprint Triathlon (1/3 mile swim, 10 mile bike, 3.1 mile run)
Results 1:42:10 (9th out of 11 Athenas) (Swim 16:34 / Bike 43:58 / Run 36:59) (T1 3:06 / T2 1:34)
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| Yup, that about sums it up. |
First triathlon of the year, and I hadn't really been training for triathlons. I wasn't racing it, I was just getting back into remembering how to do it. I tried to let go of the results and just focus on the process -- It was a dress rehearsal for Cohasset, I kept telling myself. The swim felt a little clunky, but I was really surprised by how bad my time was compared to last year (more than 6 minutes slower). The bike was fine, I really have no expectations for that since I haven't been doing the work. The run was also slower, but I had long since accepted my slower run times. This picture was taken in the last 1/2 mile of the race, on an uphill. I was playing leapfrog with the guy behind me for the second half of the race, and we kept each other going. Some of the neighbors on the course were out in their lawns saying to him, "You're not going to let her beat you, are you?" so I think that lit a fire under both of us for the second half of the race (except for this hill, in which we are both walking, but hey, it's all good.)
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| E3 Teammates -- Frank, Denise, me, Stephanie |
June 7th & 8th -- Heartbreak Hill "Hat Trick" (5K & 10K back-to-back on Saturday, half marathon on Sunday)
Results (5K 43:58 / 10K 1:26:12 / Half 3:27:23)
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| 5K selfie - still smiling and not sweating! |
5K was fine - nice & easy, purposeful walking. Connie & I stayed together and kept it conversational. 10K was a little tougher, especially the first 1-2 miles, but then I felt great the last 1-2 miles, knowing it was over until the next day. The half the next day sucked. Worst half marathon I ever ran. Barely made the 3.5 hour cutoff. I will admit, I think I felt like if I could do Goofy (half marathon Saturday, full on Sunday) then this wouldn't feel that hard. I even said to Connie in the first few miles of the race that it would take until about mile 4 before we'd feel warmed up.
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| Half Marathon finish |
I think I felt warmed up for about 1/2 mile, and then I immediately felt tired. I walked a lot. I was playing the worst sort of running games with my watch, but couldn't stick to anything. "Run for 5 minutes, then walk for 1 minute." "Ok, just run for 3 minutes, then walk for 3 minutes." "Forget it, just try to run for at least 1 minute during every mile." Ugh, those kind of mental games are torture, and I hadn't had to play those for years. At about mile 9, I caught up to Connie and our other liver teammate Jim. I walked with them for about 2 miles before Jim convinced us to go on without him. Connie and I tried to run some of the last couple of miles, but by then it was clear that we were only in this "to finish" and that was going to happen, so it was hard to run when there seemed to be no good reason for it. But, I did finish, and I'm trying really hard not to take that for granted. I don't want to diminish my accomplishments, because someday I won't be able to complete a half marathon in just under the time limit, and I don't want to look back on the day I was able to do that and realize I was full of complaints and self hatred. So, yay for me! I did the hat trick! Next year, I'm doing the "five & dime" only. (<--- This is why I blog, otherwise I'd be like, "That was awesome! I'm totally doing that again!")
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| Hat Trick complete! |
Next post: race reports for Cohasset Tri, Whaling City, and the Dam Triathlon...
Monday, June 2, 2014
Race Report: Run to Remember Half Marathon
Run to Remember Half Marathon
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Boston, MA
Net time: 2:58:15
I've never wavered so much on whether or not to run a race as I did on this one. I registered for this race back in OCTOBER 2013 (!!!), when I was probably still on a Timberman high, and hadn't yet hit burn out from the Goofy Challenge or Boston. Two of my co-workers were running this one also -- Sidekick Connie, as if there was any doubt, but also another co-worker who had never run a half before. I went back & forth on whether to run this, and kept coming to same realization: it wasn't that I didn't want to run the half, it was that I didn't want to train for it. I was still only a month post-Boston and couldn't remember the last time I didn't have The Next Race on my calendar. I just wanted to wake up in the morning and do whatever I felt like doing, and not feel like I had to do X, just because Whatever Race was coming up in however many days/weeks/months. Not training felt good, so I kept doing that. I would do the occasional 2-3 mile walk/run, so it wasn't that I wasn't exercising, it was that I wasn't training. Maybe not much of a physical difference, but mentally, it meant everything.
As race day approached, I finally decided to F**k it, Just Run. (FitJR ©Keener) Connie and I met up about 10 minutes before the start. As we were walking to the corrals, Connie got a text from our other co-worker saying that he wasn't feeling well and wouldn't make it to the race. We were still in good company though, as we accidentally found liver lover Jim in the starting corrals. Jim had pretty much been running a half every week since Boston, so we didn't see much more of him after the gun went off. The first few miles were rough. I didn't know if I'd make it to the 2 mile mark before 28 minutes, which is when they divert the rest of the runners to the 5 mile course. The clock at the 2 mile mark said 31:xx when we got to it, but we didn't know if they were timing that 28 minutes from the front of the pack (which would match the clock) or the back of the pack (which is where the 14 minute milers would be). It probably took us about 4 minutes to cross the start line, so we were still cutting it very close. At about mile 2.5, we finally saw where the half marathon split off from the 5 mile course, and we had the green light to continue on with the half. (Note: I'm not sure if they actually divert anyone, or if they just say that when you sign up to discourage walkers from registering. I'm not complaining. I was glad to have a little bit of that threat going on.) At about mile 5, I realized that we hadn't taken a walk break yet, except at water stops long enough to drink the water. I hadn't run 5 miles with no walk breaks since probably last summer. Some of our mile splits were even in the 12's (fast for us at this point in time.) That wasn't the amazing thing though, the amazing thing was that we felt comfortable and we were having fun.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Boston, MA
Net time: 2:58:15
I've never wavered so much on whether or not to run a race as I did on this one. I registered for this race back in OCTOBER 2013 (!!!), when I was probably still on a Timberman high, and hadn't yet hit burn out from the Goofy Challenge or Boston. Two of my co-workers were running this one also -- Sidekick Connie, as if there was any doubt, but also another co-worker who had never run a half before. I went back & forth on whether to run this, and kept coming to same realization: it wasn't that I didn't want to run the half, it was that I didn't want to train for it. I was still only a month post-Boston and couldn't remember the last time I didn't have The Next Race on my calendar. I just wanted to wake up in the morning and do whatever I felt like doing, and not feel like I had to do X, just because Whatever Race was coming up in however many days/weeks/months. Not training felt good, so I kept doing that. I would do the occasional 2-3 mile walk/run, so it wasn't that I wasn't exercising, it was that I wasn't training. Maybe not much of a physical difference, but mentally, it meant everything.
As race day approached, I finally decided to F**k it, Just Run. (FitJR ©Keener) Connie and I met up about 10 minutes before the start. As we were walking to the corrals, Connie got a text from our other co-worker saying that he wasn't feeling well and wouldn't make it to the race. We were still in good company though, as we accidentally found liver lover Jim in the starting corrals. Jim had pretty much been running a half every week since Boston, so we didn't see much more of him after the gun went off. The first few miles were rough. I didn't know if I'd make it to the 2 mile mark before 28 minutes, which is when they divert the rest of the runners to the 5 mile course. The clock at the 2 mile mark said 31:xx when we got to it, but we didn't know if they were timing that 28 minutes from the front of the pack (which would match the clock) or the back of the pack (which is where the 14 minute milers would be). It probably took us about 4 minutes to cross the start line, so we were still cutting it very close. At about mile 2.5, we finally saw where the half marathon split off from the 5 mile course, and we had the green light to continue on with the half. (Note: I'm not sure if they actually divert anyone, or if they just say that when you sign up to discourage walkers from registering. I'm not complaining. I was glad to have a little bit of that threat going on.) At about mile 5, I realized that we hadn't taken a walk break yet, except at water stops long enough to drink the water. I hadn't run 5 miles with no walk breaks since probably last summer. Some of our mile splits were even in the 12's (fast for us at this point in time.) That wasn't the amazing thing though, the amazing thing was that we felt comfortable and we were having fun.
My relationship with my Garmin has stayed in a healthy place since the marathon. I am able to look at it, see the data, and not let it define me. I no longer have to categorize miles as "good" or "bad". If anything, the faster miles scare me a little because I have visions of a death march for the final miles. Connie and I were not really focused on our pace. We knew we had people behind us (the out & back course is good for that) and it wasn't until mile 10 or 11 that we actually said out loud that we were probably in a good position to beat 3 hours. I was actually psyched for this to happen, even though my time on this course 2 years ago was 2:17:xx. I could write an entire blog post on acceptance, and maybe I will, but the point here is that I was grateful to have the willingness to attempt the half marathon, grateful for the fitness to do it in under 3 hours, and grateful for the company along the way. I can assure you that none of my pictures from my 2:17:xx half marathon looked as fun as this:
I'll also mention that I went on a 28 mile bike ride the day before the half marathon, and then swam at Walden the day after the half marathon. Not training for anything really frees up time in my schedule to do things that I enjoy, like biking, running, and swimming. I think I'll continue to Not Train all summer! I'm still spending a lot of time thinking about how I can rehire my coach (Peej) but not have her give me any workouts. As much as I sound like I'm complaining about training, I loved it last year, and I really miss Peej! I just think that there's a time for everything, and my time now has to be about having down time. And by "down time" I mean being a weekend warrior with no expectations and loving every minute of it.
Up next, my race report from the Escape the Cape Sprint Triathlon, in which I totally suck but I have a lot of fun. Are we sensing a pattern here yet?
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Race Report: Chief Maloney Unity 10K
Chief Maloney Unity 10K
Sunday, April 27th
Stratham, NH to Greenland, NH
Temp: 60ish, overcast
Net time: 1:19:33
I decided to run this 10K race less than a week after Boston for two reasons: 1) I thought it would be a good shakeout run, and 2) Jane asked, and I said yes. This race is a tribute run to honor first responders, which is fitting since Jane's wife Michelle is a police officer. The run is named after fallen Police Chief Michael Maloney, who was shot in the line of duty in April of 2012.
This was a run/walk, which was fortunate, because that's exactly what I did. Jane and I were discussing our tier-goals before the race, which usually looks something like: Tier 1 goal is to finish in under xx:xx, Tier 2 goal is to finish in under xx:xx, Tier 3 goal is to finish upright and smiling, Tier 4 goal is to finish. I haven't been using tier goals for the past few months because all I care about anymore is Tier 4. Any thought of caring about time or (gasp!) pushing myself has had no appeal to me lately. But, as we know, I am easily influenced, and I decided I'd borrow one of Jane's tier goals and try to run (shuffle) the whole thing without walking. I think I ended up walking about 10-12 times in the first mile, so it was back to tier 4 for me. I hadn't run a single step since the marathon on Monday, so I didn't know what my legs would be capable of. They weren't sore, but they just felt like dead weight. I was content to continue walking/running, so that's what I did. (By the way, Jane did even better than her tier 1 goal. She got a huge PR and finished in the top 30% of the entire field. Go Jane!)
Somewhere in the first mile or two, I heard a dad say to his young son, "Hey Connor, look at all these people out here cheering for you! They are here for you, buddy! They must have heard that a 7 year old was running a whole 10k so they came out to see you." The son gave his dad a little smirk that said, "I know you're full of bull, but I'm going to gloat anyway." After the crowd thinned out a bit by mile 3, I realized I was still near this family. The dad was pushing a younger son in a jogging stroller, and Connor was mostly running with his mom, although with plenty of encouragement from dad who was always about 10 paces ahead. At mile 3, they told Connor that since he was doing such a great job, they were going to stop for ice cream on the way home. Connors face lit up and he kept on running. I continued my run/walk so sometimes I would lose them and sometimes they would lose me, but we always seemed to come back within ear shot of each other. At mile 4, Connor's parents told him they were so impressed with how well he was doing. His dad told him that as long as he finished with a smile on his face, then Connor could even pick the flavor of ice cream on the way home. Connor was so excited by this that he turned on a little speed, to which the dad said, "Slow & steady. I don't care how fast you run. That's not why I'm impressed with you. I'm impressed because you are being a good kid and you haven't complained at all. You're more than halfway through with the race. If you can just keep it up and finish with a smile, that's all I care about. Even if you have to walk to the finish, I just want you to be having fun while you do it." Great advice, and even though he wasn't talking to me, I took it. Connor continued running steady, and would tell strangers as he passed them, "This is my first 10K and I'm only 7!" As they approached mile 5, the dad laid out the strategy. They would tick off each quarter of a mile until mile 6, and then at mile 6 they would run the last .2 miles to the finish line if they had it in them. The dad reemphasized the importance of feeling good at the end of the run. I was loving this plan! One last surprise was in store for Connor. Just before mile 5, they tell him that not only will they stop for ice cream AND he gets to pick the flavor, but he can even pick whatever size he wants. Holy cow! This is going to be epic! The marker for mile 5 was just ahead. I was looking forward to ticking off the quarter miles with these guys, but then.... they were gone. Left me in the dust! Ah well, these legs weren't ready for a mile long final push, so it was just as well.
I ran/walked that last mile feeling very grateful to have heard the dad's words to his son. It may seem like common sense, but I felt an ah-ha moment as if I'd finally found what I had been missing for quite some time. This is supposed to be FUN. And today, I was definitely having fun. It might have been my slowest 10K ever, but none of that mattered anymore.
When I got the email with a link to the finish line pictures, I couldn't help but to scroll back a few photos from my own to find this family. I needed to know if Connor had finished with a smile on his face. I was happy to find a great series of shots. This is the joy that I need to remember the next time I am finishing a run.
I spotted the family during the post-race festivities, and I went over to give Connor a high five. I thanked him for being my inspiration on the run. He returned my high-five with his jaw dropped and he eyes wide. Either he thought he really was a celebrity, or he thought I was some psycho lady and he was terrified of me. Then I thanked the parents, and told them that I was basically pretending the whole race that they were talking to me. They laughed, and then genuinely congratulated me.
*****
I wrote this report on May 17th, 3 weeks after this run. I didn't want to forget this experience. I haven't really run since this 10K, although I've tried many times and they've all ended in a walk. I am taking a deliberate break from running because I want to be able to cross my next finish line with a smile on my face. In the meantime, I am enjoying my walks in this beautiful spring weather.
Stratham, NH to Greenland, NH
Temp: 60ish, overcast
Net time: 1:19:33
I decided to run this 10K race less than a week after Boston for two reasons: 1) I thought it would be a good shakeout run, and 2) Jane asked, and I said yes. This race is a tribute run to honor first responders, which is fitting since Jane's wife Michelle is a police officer. The run is named after fallen Police Chief Michael Maloney, who was shot in the line of duty in April of 2012.
This was a run/walk, which was fortunate, because that's exactly what I did. Jane and I were discussing our tier-goals before the race, which usually looks something like: Tier 1 goal is to finish in under xx:xx, Tier 2 goal is to finish in under xx:xx, Tier 3 goal is to finish upright and smiling, Tier 4 goal is to finish. I haven't been using tier goals for the past few months because all I care about anymore is Tier 4. Any thought of caring about time or (gasp!) pushing myself has had no appeal to me lately. But, as we know, I am easily influenced, and I decided I'd borrow one of Jane's tier goals and try to run (shuffle) the whole thing without walking. I think I ended up walking about 10-12 times in the first mile, so it was back to tier 4 for me. I hadn't run a single step since the marathon on Monday, so I didn't know what my legs would be capable of. They weren't sore, but they just felt like dead weight. I was content to continue walking/running, so that's what I did. (By the way, Jane did even better than her tier 1 goal. She got a huge PR and finished in the top 30% of the entire field. Go Jane!)
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| Pre-race |
When I got the email with a link to the finish line pictures, I couldn't help but to scroll back a few photos from my own to find this family. I needed to know if Connor had finished with a smile on his face. I was happy to find a great series of shots. This is the joy that I need to remember the next time I am finishing a run.
I spotted the family during the post-race festivities, and I went over to give Connor a high five. I thanked him for being my inspiration on the run. He returned my high-five with his jaw dropped and he eyes wide. Either he thought he really was a celebrity, or he thought I was some psycho lady and he was terrified of me. Then I thanked the parents, and told them that I was basically pretending the whole race that they were talking to me. They laughed, and then genuinely congratulated me.
*****
I wrote this report on May 17th, 3 weeks after this run. I didn't want to forget this experience. I haven't really run since this 10K, although I've tried many times and they've all ended in a walk. I am taking a deliberate break from running because I want to be able to cross my next finish line with a smile on my face. In the meantime, I am enjoying my walks in this beautiful spring weather.
Friday, April 25, 2014
Race Report: Boston Marathon 2014
This year's Boston Marathon was about so much more than completing 26.2 miles. I was burnt out, under-trained, and until about 3 days before the race, my heart wasn't even in it. That all changed as soon as I got to the Expo on Friday afternoon. Our team brunch was on Saturday morning which got me pumped up even more, and then my friend Trish (a qualified runner) arrived on Saturday afternoon. It was a weekend full of good vibes. Since this wasn't a typical race for me, I'm not going to write a typical race report. And even though so much is being said about the marathon in the mainstream media that captures the day so well, I like to preserve my own memories.
9. BAA bus
At 7am, my dad picked me up and we headed to pick-up Trish at her hotel in Brookline, right on the marathon course, and then continued on the course down through Kenmore Square and over to the Common where the buses were lined up. It was really exciting to drive down Beacon Street. Even though I had the thought that the next time I would be there would be 9 hours later, that didn't freak me out. When we got to the Common, there was definitely a buzz in the air. This is where athletes could check their race day bags, which was new this year since no bags were allowed to be brought to Athlete's Village. We saw Jennie and Caryn from the Liver team, which was nice because it made me feel less guilty about skipping out on the team bus. After Trish checked her bag and we took advantage of the short lines at the port-a-potties, we got on the yellow school bus and waited to set off for Hopkinton. What I remember most about the bus ride was feeling like a celebrity just for being on the bus. People were literally standing on the sidewalks of Boston watching the buses go by and waving and cheering to us. We wouldn't start running for another 2.5 hours, but we were already feeling the love from the spectators in the City of Boston. As we cruised down the highway, there was more of the same. Cars would honk their horns happily as they passed us, waving to us from inside their cars. Maybe it's like that every year, but this year it just felt like the entire state was psyched for what we were about to do. We arrived at Athlete's Village and got to spend about an hour relaxing before heading to the starting corrals.
8. Hopkinton the Ghost Town
Because of the increased field size for the 2014 Boston Marathon, there was a 4th wave added to the start. I was in back of the 3rd wave which was a mix of both qualified runners and charity runners, though most of the charity runners were in the 4th wave. I was psyched about this because with 25 minutes between waves, it gave me a headstart toward the finish line, which closes 6.5 hours after the last runner crosses the start line. (My finish time was 6:27:24, so I'm glad I had that extra cushion on the time!) I stopped at port-a-potty heaven on my way to the start line, and as a result, was way in the back of the pack for wave 3. By the time we reached the 1k marker on the course (which I was sure was the 1 mile marker -- not a good sign 1k into a 42k race) I was already mostly alone on the course. It was a very odd feeling. The previous two years that I did Boston, I remember the pack being pretty thick until about mile 9. I was .62 miles into the race and there were probably 50 yards between me and the next runner on the course. The spectators were in clumps here too -- hundreds of people at the start, and hundreds of people further down the course, but in some spots there were just a few people cheering us on from their lawns. I didn't run with my headphones so I just remember everything being so quiet. It was unreal, especially since I was just with 32,000 people about an hour ago, and with 9,000 people less than 10 minutes ago. I think if I was in the 4th wave, I might have panicked. Knowing that more people were coming soon put me at ease so I just kept running. I was trying to keep my average pace at about 14:00/mile, since I knew I was capable of sustaining most of the marathon at that pace. The problem with that pace is that that is a run/walk pace, and this early in the race, I didn't really want or need to walk. I kept forcing walk breaks but my pace was still close to 13:00/mile. It felt comfortable, but I knew I'd pay for it later if I didn't make a conscious effort to slow down.
7. Riding the Wave
I think the most fun part of the entire day was when the 4th wave caught up to us, around mile 2.5. At first it was comical. The lead runner had a police escort and he was FLYING! Meanwhile, I'm walking on the side of the road. That's the great thing about marathons -- they are roomy and all inclusive. All are welcome. (Yes, even the Boston Marathon that is for the best of the best -- we are welcome there too, like it or not.) As more and more runners passed me, it suddenly felt like the marathon I was expecting but had been missing for the past 2.5 miles. We were also approaching a spot were the spectators were out in what felt like the thousands. They crowded the roads so much that the race course funneled down to half the width of the road and the runners were packed in tight. This made it super hard to do my forced walk breaks because I literally had no where to go. I tried to get to the side of the course, but there were so many spectators wanting me to high five them, and yelling to me when I was walking that I should "push it!" and "keep going!" and "power through!" I wanted to tell them, "You don't understand! I'm trying to slow down!" but I just kept going, walking when I could, and running when the urge swept me up just like the crowd of runners.
6. BEATH MODE ON!
My first known spectator was at mile 5.9. I missed Steve last year and was super conscious of where I was on the course this year so I wouldn't miss him again. He did not disappoint, and as I approached, this is what I saw:
5. Family on the course
I say it after every race, every year, but I have the best family! They are professional spectators and this year was no different. My dad was at mile 6.5 just after the Framingham train station, and then my mom, aunt and cousins were all at the Wellesley line at mile 11.8. I didn't know my cousin Jane was planning to be there, so that surprise gave me a nice little shot of adrenaline. I saw my dad again at mile 16.5, and then my Mom and my sister were on the Newton Hills at mile 19 and again on Boylston Street. Spectating is hard work, even if you're not moving from place to place. At Trish's suggestion, I took a page out the Disney Marathon playbook (biofreeze at every aid station) and had my mom hand me Icy Hot roll-on to apply to my muscles at miles 11.8 and 19. I might start running with this in my fuel belt so I can reapply every couple of miles. Eat a gel, numb your legs. Repeat.
4. Spectators & Liver Love
In addition to my family, I also had about 1 million other spectators there to cheer me on, including about 10 people who I know personally. If you've ever spectated at a race, you might not feel like you are making a difference, but it means everything! The spectators this year were truly amazing. It didn't feel like they were just passing the time watching a marathon, it felt like it was their mission in life to get you to the finish line. And in a way, it was. In a year where the mutual feeling was "Everyone finishes," the spectators were doing their job. The added benefit of being on the Liver Team with 300+ runners is that you have built-in spectators on the course -- both fellow runners, but also anyone who is there to cheer on another Liver runner. There were countless people shouting "Go Liver" and even if I didn't know them personally, it didn't matter. It was always encouraging and motivating. The official Liver cheering station was at mile 17 -- shout out to Hung and Coach Kate who were still there when I passed.
3. Running past Park Drive
I don't think I started to cry actual tears until about mile 24.5 in the race. As I ran through the intersection of Park Drive and Beacon Street which had been barricaded a year ago, I was overcome with emotion. These were not tears of sadness for last year, or tears of pain for my current physical state. I'm not quite sure how to describe it except that it felt like the moment I didn't know I had been waiting for all year long. It was redemption, it was victory, it was a celebration. The last 1.2 miles of the course might as well have been a straight shot with the finish line in sight. The crowds were out in full force in Kenmore so it felt like a finish line. Right at about the 25 mile marker, there were two cops in the street on the course, facing the runners. Instead of them telling us, "The race is over, you are done now" as they had done a year ago, these two cops were high fiving every single runner than went by them, and were so enthusiastic about it. It was completely awesome, but of course all I could do was keep on crying.
2. Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston
Taking the famous right turn on Hereford and then a left onto Boylston was surreal. It's the image that any Boston Marathoner has in his or her head all season, and for a lot of us, it was in our head for one year and a week. Adding to the marathon emotion was seeing the firehouse on the corner of Hereford & Boylston, which lost two fire fighters in a fire last month -- one of the fallen was supposed to be running the marathon that day. These kind of compounded, devastatingly sad plot lines put Nicholas Sparks to shame! Running down Boylston Street to thousands of cheering fans was simply incredible. I would go so far as to say there is nothing like it in the world. I've crossed many finish lines, but this one felt different. It wasn't the usual "thank God I'm done!" or "I can't believe I did it!" feeling. It wasn't about the end of the race at all, really. I was totally in the moment and grateful to be there, overwhelmed with love for the city, the marathon, the spectators, the volunteers, the organizers, and all of those first responders who were there just in case. There was an overpowering emotion of "How lucky am I that I get to do this." My teammate Lisa had finished a few minutes ahead of me and was still in the finish chute when I crossed, so it was awesome to have some immediate liver love there at the finish. Also at the finish, on the other side of the fence, was my friend Dave, who I hadn't seen in 18 (!!!!!) years, although he looks exactly the same so it might as well have been last week that I saw him. He was able to capture the obligatory marathon-finisher-with-medal photo.
1. Post-race liver love
This was my third Boston, but because of last year, only my second time making it to the Westin for the liver team's post-race party. The first year didn't really count because I was in such a rush to get home to where family members were waiting to celebrate, so I didn't stick around. I stuck around this year, and it was fabulous. I got an awesome massage with 3 sets of hands on me at the same time. There was salty food and diet coke. I got to congratulate so many of my liver peeps that were still there (I wasn't the only one who didn't care about time this year, so it was nice that they weren't sweeping the floors and taking out the trash by the time I arrived.) Trish was there too, after she ripped up the course in about 4.5 hours, walked a mile to the Common to get her checked bag, took the T to her hotel, showered, took the T back to the Boylston St. area and then walked to the hotel. Perfect timing! Since I likely will not be back for a 4th year with the team or to run the Boston Marathon, this was a great ending to an incredible day.
Thanks again to everyone who has supported me over the past three years. I was able to raise almost $17,000 for the American Liver Foundation. I had three very distinct Boston Marathon experiences, ranging from intolerable heat, to a PR that never would be, to one of the most memorable days of my life. I cannot wait to come back next year as a volunteer and a spectator. Go Liver!
Top 10 Memorable Moments
10. Marathon Morning at Home
Even though our Run For Research team had team buses from the Westin at Copley to take us to Athlete's Village, I decided to take the BAA bus this year. I would have had to leave my house at 4:45am to get to the team bus, as opposed to 7am for the BAA bus. It was the difference between setting 3 alarms, and setting none (ok, I still set 3 alarms, but I woke up before they went off!) I was able to watch the WBZ TV coverage for an hour after I woke up, which was really exciting even though nothing was happening that early. They kept checking in with the reporter at Athlete's Village who would say, "No one is here yet!" It was still a good pre-race buzz to see television coverage and get a sense for the enormity of the event. I remember feeling disappointed that I was running the marathon because I felt like I was missing out on all of the excitement for the day ahead -- and yes, I knew how absurd that was even as I was feeling it.
Even though our Run For Research team had team buses from the Westin at Copley to take us to Athlete's Village, I decided to take the BAA bus this year. I would have had to leave my house at 4:45am to get to the team bus, as opposed to 7am for the BAA bus. It was the difference between setting 3 alarms, and setting none (ok, I still set 3 alarms, but I woke up before they went off!) I was able to watch the WBZ TV coverage for an hour after I woke up, which was really exciting even though nothing was happening that early. They kept checking in with the reporter at Athlete's Village who would say, "No one is here yet!" It was still a good pre-race buzz to see television coverage and get a sense for the enormity of the event. I remember feeling disappointed that I was running the marathon because I felt like I was missing out on all of the excitement for the day ahead -- and yes, I knew how absurd that was even as I was feeling it.
9. BAA bus
At 7am, my dad picked me up and we headed to pick-up Trish at her hotel in Brookline, right on the marathon course, and then continued on the course down through Kenmore Square and over to the Common where the buses were lined up. It was really exciting to drive down Beacon Street. Even though I had the thought that the next time I would be there would be 9 hours later, that didn't freak me out. When we got to the Common, there was definitely a buzz in the air. This is where athletes could check their race day bags, which was new this year since no bags were allowed to be brought to Athlete's Village. We saw Jennie and Caryn from the Liver team, which was nice because it made me feel less guilty about skipping out on the team bus. After Trish checked her bag and we took advantage of the short lines at the port-a-potties, we got on the yellow school bus and waited to set off for Hopkinton. What I remember most about the bus ride was feeling like a celebrity just for being on the bus. People were literally standing on the sidewalks of Boston watching the buses go by and waving and cheering to us. We wouldn't start running for another 2.5 hours, but we were already feeling the love from the spectators in the City of Boston. As we cruised down the highway, there was more of the same. Cars would honk their horns happily as they passed us, waving to us from inside their cars. Maybe it's like that every year, but this year it just felt like the entire state was psyched for what we were about to do. We arrived at Athlete's Village and got to spend about an hour relaxing before heading to the starting corrals.
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| Go Liver! |
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| Me & Trish at Athlete's Village |
8. Hopkinton the Ghost Town
Because of the increased field size for the 2014 Boston Marathon, there was a 4th wave added to the start. I was in back of the 3rd wave which was a mix of both qualified runners and charity runners, though most of the charity runners were in the 4th wave. I was psyched about this because with 25 minutes between waves, it gave me a headstart toward the finish line, which closes 6.5 hours after the last runner crosses the start line. (My finish time was 6:27:24, so I'm glad I had that extra cushion on the time!) I stopped at port-a-potty heaven on my way to the start line, and as a result, was way in the back of the pack for wave 3. By the time we reached the 1k marker on the course (which I was sure was the 1 mile marker -- not a good sign 1k into a 42k race) I was already mostly alone on the course. It was a very odd feeling. The previous two years that I did Boston, I remember the pack being pretty thick until about mile 9. I was .62 miles into the race and there were probably 50 yards between me and the next runner on the course. The spectators were in clumps here too -- hundreds of people at the start, and hundreds of people further down the course, but in some spots there were just a few people cheering us on from their lawns. I didn't run with my headphones so I just remember everything being so quiet. It was unreal, especially since I was just with 32,000 people about an hour ago, and with 9,000 people less than 10 minutes ago. I think if I was in the 4th wave, I might have panicked. Knowing that more people were coming soon put me at ease so I just kept running. I was trying to keep my average pace at about 14:00/mile, since I knew I was capable of sustaining most of the marathon at that pace. The problem with that pace is that that is a run/walk pace, and this early in the race, I didn't really want or need to walk. I kept forcing walk breaks but my pace was still close to 13:00/mile. It felt comfortable, but I knew I'd pay for it later if I didn't make a conscious effort to slow down.
7. Riding the Wave
I think the most fun part of the entire day was when the 4th wave caught up to us, around mile 2.5. At first it was comical. The lead runner had a police escort and he was FLYING! Meanwhile, I'm walking on the side of the road. That's the great thing about marathons -- they are roomy and all inclusive. All are welcome. (Yes, even the Boston Marathon that is for the best of the best -- we are welcome there too, like it or not.) As more and more runners passed me, it suddenly felt like the marathon I was expecting but had been missing for the past 2.5 miles. We were also approaching a spot were the spectators were out in what felt like the thousands. They crowded the roads so much that the race course funneled down to half the width of the road and the runners were packed in tight. This made it super hard to do my forced walk breaks because I literally had no where to go. I tried to get to the side of the course, but there were so many spectators wanting me to high five them, and yelling to me when I was walking that I should "push it!" and "keep going!" and "power through!" I wanted to tell them, "You don't understand! I'm trying to slow down!" but I just kept going, walking when I could, and running when the urge swept me up just like the crowd of runners.
6. BEATH MODE ON!
My first known spectator was at mile 5.9. I missed Steve last year and was super conscious of where I was on the course this year so I wouldn't miss him again. He did not disappoint, and as I approached, this is what I saw:
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| Best sign of the day! |
5. Family on the course
I say it after every race, every year, but I have the best family! They are professional spectators and this year was no different. My dad was at mile 6.5 just after the Framingham train station, and then my mom, aunt and cousins were all at the Wellesley line at mile 11.8. I didn't know my cousin Jane was planning to be there, so that surprise gave me a nice little shot of adrenaline. I saw my dad again at mile 16.5, and then my Mom and my sister were on the Newton Hills at mile 19 and again on Boylston Street. Spectating is hard work, even if you're not moving from place to place. At Trish's suggestion, I took a page out the Disney Marathon playbook (biofreeze at every aid station) and had my mom hand me Icy Hot roll-on to apply to my muscles at miles 11.8 and 19. I might start running with this in my fuel belt so I can reapply every couple of miles. Eat a gel, numb your legs. Repeat.
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| Cheering squad! And yes, my mom is rocking a Glam Runner tutu. |
4. Spectators & Liver Love
In addition to my family, I also had about 1 million other spectators there to cheer me on, including about 10 people who I know personally. If you've ever spectated at a race, you might not feel like you are making a difference, but it means everything! The spectators this year were truly amazing. It didn't feel like they were just passing the time watching a marathon, it felt like it was their mission in life to get you to the finish line. And in a way, it was. In a year where the mutual feeling was "Everyone finishes," the spectators were doing their job. The added benefit of being on the Liver Team with 300+ runners is that you have built-in spectators on the course -- both fellow runners, but also anyone who is there to cheer on another Liver runner. There were countless people shouting "Go Liver" and even if I didn't know them personally, it didn't matter. It was always encouraging and motivating. The official Liver cheering station was at mile 17 -- shout out to Hung and Coach Kate who were still there when I passed.
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| Photo credit: Hung Pham. |
3. Running past Park Drive
I don't think I started to cry actual tears until about mile 24.5 in the race. As I ran through the intersection of Park Drive and Beacon Street which had been barricaded a year ago, I was overcome with emotion. These were not tears of sadness for last year, or tears of pain for my current physical state. I'm not quite sure how to describe it except that it felt like the moment I didn't know I had been waiting for all year long. It was redemption, it was victory, it was a celebration. The last 1.2 miles of the course might as well have been a straight shot with the finish line in sight. The crowds were out in full force in Kenmore so it felt like a finish line. Right at about the 25 mile marker, there were two cops in the street on the course, facing the runners. Instead of them telling us, "The race is over, you are done now" as they had done a year ago, these two cops were high fiving every single runner than went by them, and were so enthusiastic about it. It was completely awesome, but of course all I could do was keep on crying.
2. Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston
Taking the famous right turn on Hereford and then a left onto Boylston was surreal. It's the image that any Boston Marathoner has in his or her head all season, and for a lot of us, it was in our head for one year and a week. Adding to the marathon emotion was seeing the firehouse on the corner of Hereford & Boylston, which lost two fire fighters in a fire last month -- one of the fallen was supposed to be running the marathon that day. These kind of compounded, devastatingly sad plot lines put Nicholas Sparks to shame! Running down Boylston Street to thousands of cheering fans was simply incredible. I would go so far as to say there is nothing like it in the world. I've crossed many finish lines, but this one felt different. It wasn't the usual "thank God I'm done!" or "I can't believe I did it!" feeling. It wasn't about the end of the race at all, really. I was totally in the moment and grateful to be there, overwhelmed with love for the city, the marathon, the spectators, the volunteers, the organizers, and all of those first responders who were there just in case. There was an overpowering emotion of "How lucky am I that I get to do this." My teammate Lisa had finished a few minutes ahead of me and was still in the finish chute when I crossed, so it was awesome to have some immediate liver love there at the finish. Also at the finish, on the other side of the fence, was my friend Dave, who I hadn't seen in 18 (!!!!!) years, although he looks exactly the same so it might as well have been last week that I saw him. He was able to capture the obligatory marathon-finisher-with-medal photo.
1. Post-race liver love
This was my third Boston, but because of last year, only my second time making it to the Westin for the liver team's post-race party. The first year didn't really count because I was in such a rush to get home to where family members were waiting to celebrate, so I didn't stick around. I stuck around this year, and it was fabulous. I got an awesome massage with 3 sets of hands on me at the same time. There was salty food and diet coke. I got to congratulate so many of my liver peeps that were still there (I wasn't the only one who didn't care about time this year, so it was nice that they weren't sweeping the floors and taking out the trash by the time I arrived.) Trish was there too, after she ripped up the course in about 4.5 hours, walked a mile to the Common to get her checked bag, took the T to her hotel, showered, took the T back to the Boylston St. area and then walked to the hotel. Perfect timing! Since I likely will not be back for a 4th year with the team or to run the Boston Marathon, this was a great ending to an incredible day.
Thanks again to everyone who has supported me over the past three years. I was able to raise almost $17,000 for the American Liver Foundation. I had three very distinct Boston Marathon experiences, ranging from intolerable heat, to a PR that never would be, to one of the most memorable days of my life. I cannot wait to come back next year as a volunteer and a spectator. Go Liver!
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