So it's past midnight, and tomorrow morning in the AM I have to drive up to Paso Robles with my gents, William and the injured David Gray (bike crash going fast down a curve: we are happy the clavicle is all that was hurt... clavicles are repairable, David Grays are irreplaceable.) But I wanted to write at least a little something-something.
It's time for my first TRI of the season, oh yes children, both swimming and biking AND running!! I've become a little accustomed to just to one of the multisports I hardly recall what it's like to Body Glide up my life and strip that wetsuit off and hop all soggy onto my saddle. But like everything, race day is upon me before I even know it, and I can just hope for glory. Or at least moderate glory.
Glory was attained during Ragnar a few short weekends ago, where Van #2 of the Fortius team kicked it so hard in the race nuts it was gasping for air. Firstly, everyone was chill as eff and rockingly positive in mood, and totally down to partake in Golden Road brews after our first hot and steamy Anaheim miles, and kept up the morale even after sleeping on a lawn for an hour and then getting rudely awoken by sprinklers. (I was in the van, where I wasn't sleeping but instead thinking of having to pee and listening to an overactive digestive tract.) My three legs had been shortened and Alison's had been lengthened (significantly... her last was to be 11.1 miles), and what with her lawyer job sleep depriving her all week, and her Leona 50-mile trail run coming up, I offered to swap out come lap 2 and be a mensch. Plus I was interested to see if I could bust it up on a near half marathon after little sleep and previous ass busting. Sure enough, though we just all garnered a few hours in our van nap that morning after a Denny food fest, everyone practically PRed for the race pace-wise, giving a fabulously strong finish. I was super proud to maintain an 8:32 pace for my 11.1 (WITH traffic light stops--there were at least five, and this monster hill in the middle-- wretch!!-- and frogger dodging pedestrians on the boardwalk come mile 9.5. Almost knocked over a big dude eating an ice cream cone. Shit was so real.) In the end, our team came in fourth in our division, which is rad, especially since we had a coupla snafus and only missed rank 3 by six minutes, that, had all gone swimmingly, we woulda had on lock. But no worries, we still were glorious champions (as evidenced by my learning of "We Are the Champions" on ukulele in the van, grace a my cell phone. Oh internet!) To feel like you were there, you may watch the kickass video I threw together afterwards, featuring the Gotye theme song of van 2, which played on repeat on Alison's iPad.
I do declare, I'm getting into pretty good running shape, and am kiiiiinda interested to see what's going to happen at Wildflower. Kinda. The rest of me is like, "Oh shit, I have to DO that? UUUUUGH." To review last year's travails... regard: http://hollywoodtriathlete.blogspot.com/2011/05/wildflower-long-course-epic-saga.html
Word on the street is the winds shouldn't be over 10 mph, whereas they were 30 last year (bitchass winds!) So that already should make the bike slightly less awful. Then there's the whole pint of blood not missing from my blood stream, which might be helpful as well. And I've been training according to some plans I got based on my lactate threshold with decent amounts of fidelity (one of these days I will post that)... of course my swimming's bleh, but I did my length in 37 minutes in the pool, and I'm just trying for 38 to match last year, so we're already in a good place. So what should my goal be? I have no idea. With the lack of wind and good run training, I could viably shave off a good amount of time. But for now, I'm just going to say, under 7. Maybe 6:30. Maybe better. But let's not get too cray. We all know this course is a bitch, and this is all, knock on wood, if all goes TOTALLY IDEALLY. So whatever, in the end, lez just do it.
Ok. Time to see what I haven't packed. And sleep. And keep pounding my Gatorade so I hydrate up what my time in the brewery hath taken away from me. More to come, of course. Woot woooooooot, Wildflower, year four, triathaversary!!
Friday, May 4, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
LA Marathon, looking forward, looking back.
This entry might be a tidbit epic. Let me pause and read the last ambien-scrawled entry to see what may or may not have been coherent.
Oh wow. That was a special, magical time. Can we all applaud my lack of grammatical mistakes? (I honestly don't remember writing much of that. But it sure sounds nice and poetical. And is factually accurate, on the whole.)
To recap, last season, post Vineman, I did two more long courses (aka 70.3s), Orangeman in late September and Pumpkinman in late October. Orangeman was a last minute impulse buy via active.com's doorbuster half off rate (who can resist a deeply discounted half Ironman!? Okay, maybe a lot of people, but not this girl.) When you're a budget triathlete such as myself, the allure of a long course within driving distance (a bit south of Long Beach) at half price is just too strong to eschew. So I didn't. I also, being 150lbs, said what the hey, and signed up for Athena. I of course won, because... well, there were maybe only four of us. And second place didn't finish until hours later. Same thing happened at Pumpkinman, that beautiful but brutal Nevada course. I saw only one other Athena on the course, and in the end, I won and had no one else to podium with me. That race was remarkably ill planned. There was an Olympic the same day, and all the support flaked out early, while we long coursers were getting dehydrated and bonking in the heinous 94 degree weather. My hands were completely swollen on the run, but I managed to power through, and even caught the little ladies I was chasing. Say what you will about my ass size and mass, but I sure do have some power to me. Mullers finish strong.
This whole Athena versus age group question was weighing on my mind (weighs... weight... ugh) heavily (uch, more puns) and continues to be a minor nuisance if not a mild plague on my psyche. Were it not enough to be an actress, I now have an additional bonus reason to be weight-obsessed. HOORAY! I've been working on this... the more stressed out I get, the less weight I lose, and even seem to gain it. Having cut out alcohol entirely before the LA Marathon, I lost not a single pound, and felt depressed and shitty about it. Guess what's not helpful for anything? Feeling depressed and shitty. This was also tied into a general malaise/anxiety/existential crisis, due to my lack of anything resembling a career and overall crumbling of certain things I'd grown to rely on, namely my tutoring client, some creative endeavors, and feeling shit about my wounded foot-- I appear to have gotten a bit of plantar fascitis in my left foot from some pre-Christmas marathon training with the Roadrunners, which means my heel THROBS with pain. (Wonder why I didn't update sooner? Well, when you're depressed and feel like you're encased in cement, blogging suddenly becomes an almost impossible task. I had every intention of it, but would just stare at the computer impotently, as if it were an entirely impossible task.) Depression doesn't suit me at all, but it's not something you can easily shake, and it really did take me more than a few college tries this time around. I did have a couple of cry fests that ended in me curled in a fetal ball on my bed in the middle of the day that interrupted some training. Nothing quite like going out for a run only to have to walk home sobbing five minutes later. Dignity!
I also don't really like to spread my shit around-- unless of course, ex post facto, as I am now-- so I tried not to be too much of a sad sack around other people, and did still manage to get my miles in, despite the throbbing heel and lack of pound droppage. (I am convinced this is mainly due to the unbelievable amount of stress I was experiencing... cortisol makes you hold onto bellyfat like crazy. Seriously, how else couldn't I lose weight having cut out all the alcohol calories? Nonsense.) Happily, I turned a corner shortly before race time, and started the slow climb out of that tremendous rut. No more doing distracted standup shows and then bursting into tears elsewhere, thank God. I started making plans for new creative endeavors, took measures to heal myself, take care of myself, and even got a job interview. Hi there, turn of fate! The weekend before the marathon I went home to New York for my friend's wedding, which always serves as a nice palate cleanser, and by the time I was back, I was ready to make some moves. Of course, I was pissed off by the dreadful weather forecasts, and anxious, as I've never tried to run so long so fast (doing a marathon is one thing, but doing it sub four... dag, yo.)
Saturday was raining and cold as eff, and it didn't look too promising. As mentioned in vague terms in the poetical Ambien blog, I rallied the funds to sign up for Ironman Arizona (not a budget road by any means, FYI) with our Dirty Half Dozen... Mike Ruhland, David Gray, William Hurst and Michael Wimer (as well as a few other of our pals, but we're the O.G.s) This will, of course, lead to significant further blogging adventures, as I embark on a quest to be an MDotter, not just a generic Ironman. I'm thinking with this marathon training under my belt, and my awesome dudes there to train with, I'm gonna be SO much better prepared than I was for Vineman, which I nearly fell into backwards. So, that's kinda thrilling. As it were, William, Wimer and David and I have been training in Group 4 of the Roadrunners this whole time, trying to get that sub-4 marathon. Wimer and David were smoking the finish every run, but I wasn't so sure how I'd fare. I was excited that we were all in it together, though, and excited to start our quest that will end in November in Tempe. (Oh, getting chills already! Just being there, seeing people finish, hearing that "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"... that is so worth the extra four hundo. Ew. I said hundo. What a douche.)
At any rate, Wimer offered up his wonderful apartment for an athlete slumber party, and we all zonked out (some of us more drugged than others... ahem, me) by around 9PM and woke up ass early to get on a 4:30 AM shuttle over to Dodgers Stadium, where we waited around and ran up and back to the bathroom a billion times, what with all the hydrating. I again had my anxious battle against my digestive system to make some moves before the race, if you know what I mean-- and I know you do-- and that ultimately worked out to a sufficient end. It was freezing cold and we all had ponchos on, prepared for the imminent rain, and our throwaway warmup gear. Slowly the sun started to appear, and slowly we saw... clear skies. And the rain which was inevitable suddenly was nowhere to be seen, and by our 7:30 start, we were running under blue skies entirely, and by the time we were looping back out of Chinatown and into Echo Park, I had to take off my poncho to let my skin breathe. (I kept it at my waist just in case the weather turned, but it turned out I didn't need it at all.)
I was so excited and thrilled by the glorious weather the running part seemed almost immaterial. I was reading a bit about Chi Running, and just thinking about the idea of that effortless running, and how your energy sort of just moves through you, and I really felt that that day. We ran out the first five miles nice and easy, never going a full 9 mph, then kicked it up as we entered East Hollywood (hi, my home!), and kicked it up more as we went along, following our perfect metronome of a pace leader, Adrian. The man is a beautiful and accurate running machine, and we swarmed him like bees to their queen. I don't think I've ever smiled so much during a race. Yes, there was fatigue, but mostly I was just taking in the empty streets, the gorgeous skies, the happy people all around me, and I felt so, so so so grateful to be there, to be able-bodied and running, and I didn't feel tired or like I was trying, even... at all. It was super zen. I was at one with the LA Marathon.
Of course my chi flow was vaguely blocked by the incredible pressing urgency of my bladder-- having to line up in our starting corral an hour before the race started, there was no last minute pee break possible, and things were getting dire. I was afraid I'd never catch up to our steady, relentless pace group if I ducked out to a port-a-potty, so when we hit that downhill on Crescent Heights, I blasted off like a rocket and kept it up through WeHo and all the way into Beverly Hills, where I, at long last, saw a vacant pee place, ran in, used my amazing ninja speed pee skills honed in college (we had girl pee races... who knew that was going to be so useful!? Or useful ever in life??) and blasted back out, seeing Adrian speed through the mass of runners, as he too had taken a break. I caught up, and felt even more stoked, as now I was happy, with the group, feeling my chi, and significantly lighter and less deeply uncomfortable. We ran through Century City and past mile 18, and I still felt totally kickass, smiling like a fool, high fiving cheerleading high schoolers alongside the route, grabbing water and keeping up my Gu schedule (I ate way less than suggested and did just fine... trying to figure out the whole nutrition thing this season.) I knew we had the dreaded hill at the VA, though I didn't really know what that meant or what to expect, but I felt good about it, and couldn't wait to be on San Vincente for those glorious last home stretch miles we'd run during practice so many early Saturday mornings.
Mile 20 came... and then mile 21... and there was the hill... and it was totally fine. Who knows what alchemy combined to make the marathon go so well... perhaps our exponential taper really did the trick, or my crazy low glycemic pasta binge the day before stored up my energy well. But mostly I'm thinking it was my turn of mood recently, and my positive outlook. Everything about that marathon was beautiful and awesome. The hill was a part of it. I floated up and felt fine. There was a photographer at the top of the hill snapping pictures of everyone looking like death and I'm looking at him like I'm five years old and just got a puppy:
By this point, I KNEW I was going to make my sub-4 time, and I was super thrilled about it. And I was doing it without feeling like utter death, which was even cooler. I was totally pumped to hit those final miles on San Vincente and, like I've been saying for the past few months, "bust a move." i.e. "I'm hoping I can keep up with the pace group the whole time and then bust a move at the last few miles." A.K.A. finish strong, Muller style. Cuz that's how I roll, with mah negative splits, holmes.
(I'll stop.)
Of course, trying to negative split on a marathon gets a little rough, and our pace group was already running 8:40s by that point, but I was all about it, and after seeing my friend Lisa Z, who said, "Wow, you're way out front here!" I felt even more rad, and started to zoom-a-zoom zoom. I caught up to my friend Nancy, who's always been wicked solid during our pace group runs and out ahead with Wimer and Dave, and then caught up to Michael, who'd been ahead of the group the entire time. Our friend Lisa, who's tiny and fast as hell, was picking up the pace too, so I tried to stick with her for the last few miles. It was starting to feel pretty ragged, and it didn't help that my Garmin was showing me to be a full half mile ahead than I was (you often pick up nearly an extra half mile on a course, just since you zigzag when getting water, etc.) My chi was less flowy, and it was battle time. I stayed with Lisa, the bunny to my greyhound, and we rounded the bend to Ocean Ave, where that finishers chute couldn't have seemed possibly more far. I was getting to that very uncomfortable place, where all you want to do is slow down, but you know you shouldn't and you can't, because this is all you've got, this last moment, and this is what it's all been for, but oh my GOD why am I not DONE yet, and is that chute getting FURTHER AWAY?? Lisa seemed to be outstripping me, as was some random other girl who I, for whatever reason, suddenly decided was my mortal enemy. Maybe because she had on headphones and I was jealous. Or that she looked effortlessly sporty in that moment. And because we had the same body type so we were basically doppelgaengers and I had to destroy her. Ya know, the usual. I was making exhausted cries like a pro tennis player with every gasp at this point, and thank God, there was one last water station before the last hurrah, so I downed a few, and then true move busting took place, and I overtook sporty doppelgaenger AND Lisa my bunny, watching that timer click on the 3:54, knowing I was going to finish two minutes faster than hoped, and crossed with great warrior victory, with Lisa coming fast behind me commending me on my crazy power swell, though I couldn't talk to her, because I thought vomiting was inevitable. According to the Garmin, I got up to a 5:22 pace-- probs for like... four seconds-- and a max heartrate of 199, so, yeah, the vomit part seems to make sense.
I didn't vomit (yay!) and was nearly too out of breath to even have my happy crying catharsis, but man, did I feel awesome. And then immediately like I was 80. I could not believe I possibly ran that long doing an average of 8:50min/miles with my last three down to 8:27, 8:06 and 7:53 respectively (and an average pace of 7:22 on that last stretch) and now literally could not walk ten feet normally. We were all hobbling around like invalids, but glorious champion invalids, and we even were given capes-- it was ridiculously windy, which, in my tunnel vision warrior state I did not notice whatsoever, and our warming blankets became victorious superhero gear that flew valiantly in the wind:
I sure look way more awesome still than I did moving... shortly after this, I climbed over a fence to get into Michael's apartment building, since security wasn't going to let us through, and it was like an octogenarian trying to be a cat burglar: worst sneaky maneuver ever. Happily no one saw me, and I hobbled up to the apartment, where we all took horrifying but beneficial 10 minute ice baths in Michael's tub. Even after the trail marathon, I don't know that I felt this sore... I was practically hauling myself around via furniture. And then when I went to take a shower and took off my compression tights, my left shoulder seized up into a Charley Horse so intensely painful I felt nauseous and nearly blacked out and had to sit down. (It would have been super awkward if I blacked out in the bathroom with no pants on. Yikes.)
Michael had invited our coterie of kickass over for a most glorious recovery celebration meal on the rooftop room next to the pool, which had a gorgeous view of the ocean and the runners trickling in below and a masseuse doing recovery rubdowns (SO BALLER.) It was the perfect end to our first major event of the season, and it was so nice to have everyone there who'd been through it all together, even Adrian, our fearless leader. Dave had run into some mega cramping issues, but was happy to have finished, and William finished at under 4:30, which he confessed was his secret realistic goal that he didn't tell anyone-- having been sick, his training was a little off. Michael finished right on my heels, having a fantastic first marathon EVER, and even slowing down to kiss babies and friends on the victory lap in (I don't kiss babies if they're on the way to the finish line, I SLAP THEM DOWN.) Okay so I don't know if Michael kissed babies, but I like that mental image. :-) Lisa, of course, had a strong race, but something went awry shortly after, so she took a catnap in the sun and recuperated. So it was a mixed bag for the group, but by the time we were all noshing on salmon and sipping our beers, everyone was feeling pretty damn good about themselves. I just felt so proud of everyone and myself and so insanely grateful to be there with my amazing, loving, generous friends. It was nearly like I was in a dream-- I'd been looking forward to this moment after, all of us together up there on the roof, looking down on Santa Monica like a set of demigods on our little mini Olympus. And there we were... all with finisher medals on, and we'd done it. We DID it. I did it... in time. Holy shit! And yes, all the crappy feelings of previous months were terrible, but suddenly I felt like, wow, I can do anything, and I just did something truly awesome, I'm a beast, I can totally do this, whatever this might be. And so sure, I do still want to get out of Athena range and see what kind of contender I could become (I have some stats to share in a later time about my conditioning... for inquiring minds and such) but I don't feel shitty about it, because I know that even with some extra weight and a bum heel, I'm a solid runner, and I can handle my business. That's a really good feeling.
So I'm focusing on the positive in every part of my life, and it's spreading like a glorious virus of joy. I'm putting up little reminders (one including the not so subtle poster: GET SHIT DONE) to get my ass in gear more effectively when at home (I like to hibernate and tend to think that watching epic amounts of TV shows on Netflix while "tidying" or cooking counts as being productive) and have started to make a training plan to get ready for the dread Wildflower long course. Next up, first, is the 200-mile Ragnar relay race, which I'm now feeling pretty good about doing my legs at an 8:45 pace... if I could do the marathon as fast as I did, I can do a six mile, two mile, and eight mile leg faster. Right? HELL YES. I like this feeling. The old weak sad crap fat feeling was so unbecoming. Happy positive and righteous Nik is what's up. Life is for the alive, so let's keep living it (said Sweeney Todd before throwing Mrs. Lovett in the oven... though it's a great quote.) It's springtime, bitches! Let's do some bricks!
More to come soon, on lactate thresholds and my Paleo process...
Oh wow. That was a special, magical time. Can we all applaud my lack of grammatical mistakes? (I honestly don't remember writing much of that. But it sure sounds nice and poetical. And is factually accurate, on the whole.)
To recap, last season, post Vineman, I did two more long courses (aka 70.3s), Orangeman in late September and Pumpkinman in late October. Orangeman was a last minute impulse buy via active.com's doorbuster half off rate (who can resist a deeply discounted half Ironman!? Okay, maybe a lot of people, but not this girl.) When you're a budget triathlete such as myself, the allure of a long course within driving distance (a bit south of Long Beach) at half price is just too strong to eschew. So I didn't. I also, being 150lbs, said what the hey, and signed up for Athena. I of course won, because... well, there were maybe only four of us. And second place didn't finish until hours later. Same thing happened at Pumpkinman, that beautiful but brutal Nevada course. I saw only one other Athena on the course, and in the end, I won and had no one else to podium with me. That race was remarkably ill planned. There was an Olympic the same day, and all the support flaked out early, while we long coursers were getting dehydrated and bonking in the heinous 94 degree weather. My hands were completely swollen on the run, but I managed to power through, and even caught the little ladies I was chasing. Say what you will about my ass size and mass, but I sure do have some power to me. Mullers finish strong.
This whole Athena versus age group question was weighing on my mind (weighs... weight... ugh) heavily (uch, more puns) and continues to be a minor nuisance if not a mild plague on my psyche. Were it not enough to be an actress, I now have an additional bonus reason to be weight-obsessed. HOORAY! I've been working on this... the more stressed out I get, the less weight I lose, and even seem to gain it. Having cut out alcohol entirely before the LA Marathon, I lost not a single pound, and felt depressed and shitty about it. Guess what's not helpful for anything? Feeling depressed and shitty. This was also tied into a general malaise/anxiety/existential crisis, due to my lack of anything resembling a career and overall crumbling of certain things I'd grown to rely on, namely my tutoring client, some creative endeavors, and feeling shit about my wounded foot-- I appear to have gotten a bit of plantar fascitis in my left foot from some pre-Christmas marathon training with the Roadrunners, which means my heel THROBS with pain. (Wonder why I didn't update sooner? Well, when you're depressed and feel like you're encased in cement, blogging suddenly becomes an almost impossible task. I had every intention of it, but would just stare at the computer impotently, as if it were an entirely impossible task.) Depression doesn't suit me at all, but it's not something you can easily shake, and it really did take me more than a few college tries this time around. I did have a couple of cry fests that ended in me curled in a fetal ball on my bed in the middle of the day that interrupted some training. Nothing quite like going out for a run only to have to walk home sobbing five minutes later. Dignity!
I also don't really like to spread my shit around-- unless of course, ex post facto, as I am now-- so I tried not to be too much of a sad sack around other people, and did still manage to get my miles in, despite the throbbing heel and lack of pound droppage. (I am convinced this is mainly due to the unbelievable amount of stress I was experiencing... cortisol makes you hold onto bellyfat like crazy. Seriously, how else couldn't I lose weight having cut out all the alcohol calories? Nonsense.) Happily, I turned a corner shortly before race time, and started the slow climb out of that tremendous rut. No more doing distracted standup shows and then bursting into tears elsewhere, thank God. I started making plans for new creative endeavors, took measures to heal myself, take care of myself, and even got a job interview. Hi there, turn of fate! The weekend before the marathon I went home to New York for my friend's wedding, which always serves as a nice palate cleanser, and by the time I was back, I was ready to make some moves. Of course, I was pissed off by the dreadful weather forecasts, and anxious, as I've never tried to run so long so fast (doing a marathon is one thing, but doing it sub four... dag, yo.)
Saturday was raining and cold as eff, and it didn't look too promising. As mentioned in vague terms in the poetical Ambien blog, I rallied the funds to sign up for Ironman Arizona (not a budget road by any means, FYI) with our Dirty Half Dozen... Mike Ruhland, David Gray, William Hurst and Michael Wimer (as well as a few other of our pals, but we're the O.G.s) This will, of course, lead to significant further blogging adventures, as I embark on a quest to be an MDotter, not just a generic Ironman. I'm thinking with this marathon training under my belt, and my awesome dudes there to train with, I'm gonna be SO much better prepared than I was for Vineman, which I nearly fell into backwards. So, that's kinda thrilling. As it were, William, Wimer and David and I have been training in Group 4 of the Roadrunners this whole time, trying to get that sub-4 marathon. Wimer and David were smoking the finish every run, but I wasn't so sure how I'd fare. I was excited that we were all in it together, though, and excited to start our quest that will end in November in Tempe. (Oh, getting chills already! Just being there, seeing people finish, hearing that "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"... that is so worth the extra four hundo. Ew. I said hundo. What a douche.)
At any rate, Wimer offered up his wonderful apartment for an athlete slumber party, and we all zonked out (some of us more drugged than others... ahem, me) by around 9PM and woke up ass early to get on a 4:30 AM shuttle over to Dodgers Stadium, where we waited around and ran up and back to the bathroom a billion times, what with all the hydrating. I again had my anxious battle against my digestive system to make some moves before the race, if you know what I mean-- and I know you do-- and that ultimately worked out to a sufficient end. It was freezing cold and we all had ponchos on, prepared for the imminent rain, and our throwaway warmup gear. Slowly the sun started to appear, and slowly we saw... clear skies. And the rain which was inevitable suddenly was nowhere to be seen, and by our 7:30 start, we were running under blue skies entirely, and by the time we were looping back out of Chinatown and into Echo Park, I had to take off my poncho to let my skin breathe. (I kept it at my waist just in case the weather turned, but it turned out I didn't need it at all.)
I was so excited and thrilled by the glorious weather the running part seemed almost immaterial. I was reading a bit about Chi Running, and just thinking about the idea of that effortless running, and how your energy sort of just moves through you, and I really felt that that day. We ran out the first five miles nice and easy, never going a full 9 mph, then kicked it up as we entered East Hollywood (hi, my home!), and kicked it up more as we went along, following our perfect metronome of a pace leader, Adrian. The man is a beautiful and accurate running machine, and we swarmed him like bees to their queen. I don't think I've ever smiled so much during a race. Yes, there was fatigue, but mostly I was just taking in the empty streets, the gorgeous skies, the happy people all around me, and I felt so, so so so grateful to be there, to be able-bodied and running, and I didn't feel tired or like I was trying, even... at all. It was super zen. I was at one with the LA Marathon.
Of course my chi flow was vaguely blocked by the incredible pressing urgency of my bladder-- having to line up in our starting corral an hour before the race started, there was no last minute pee break possible, and things were getting dire. I was afraid I'd never catch up to our steady, relentless pace group if I ducked out to a port-a-potty, so when we hit that downhill on Crescent Heights, I blasted off like a rocket and kept it up through WeHo and all the way into Beverly Hills, where I, at long last, saw a vacant pee place, ran in, used my amazing ninja speed pee skills honed in college (we had girl pee races... who knew that was going to be so useful!? Or useful ever in life??) and blasted back out, seeing Adrian speed through the mass of runners, as he too had taken a break. I caught up, and felt even more stoked, as now I was happy, with the group, feeling my chi, and significantly lighter and less deeply uncomfortable. We ran through Century City and past mile 18, and I still felt totally kickass, smiling like a fool, high fiving cheerleading high schoolers alongside the route, grabbing water and keeping up my Gu schedule (I ate way less than suggested and did just fine... trying to figure out the whole nutrition thing this season.) I knew we had the dreaded hill at the VA, though I didn't really know what that meant or what to expect, but I felt good about it, and couldn't wait to be on San Vincente for those glorious last home stretch miles we'd run during practice so many early Saturday mornings.
Mile 20 came... and then mile 21... and there was the hill... and it was totally fine. Who knows what alchemy combined to make the marathon go so well... perhaps our exponential taper really did the trick, or my crazy low glycemic pasta binge the day before stored up my energy well. But mostly I'm thinking it was my turn of mood recently, and my positive outlook. Everything about that marathon was beautiful and awesome. The hill was a part of it. I floated up and felt fine. There was a photographer at the top of the hill snapping pictures of everyone looking like death and I'm looking at him like I'm five years old and just got a puppy:
(I'll stop.)
Of course, trying to negative split on a marathon gets a little rough, and our pace group was already running 8:40s by that point, but I was all about it, and after seeing my friend Lisa Z, who said, "Wow, you're way out front here!" I felt even more rad, and started to zoom-a-zoom zoom. I caught up to my friend Nancy, who's always been wicked solid during our pace group runs and out ahead with Wimer and Dave, and then caught up to Michael, who'd been ahead of the group the entire time. Our friend Lisa, who's tiny and fast as hell, was picking up the pace too, so I tried to stick with her for the last few miles. It was starting to feel pretty ragged, and it didn't help that my Garmin was showing me to be a full half mile ahead than I was (you often pick up nearly an extra half mile on a course, just since you zigzag when getting water, etc.) My chi was less flowy, and it was battle time. I stayed with Lisa, the bunny to my greyhound, and we rounded the bend to Ocean Ave, where that finishers chute couldn't have seemed possibly more far. I was getting to that very uncomfortable place, where all you want to do is slow down, but you know you shouldn't and you can't, because this is all you've got, this last moment, and this is what it's all been for, but oh my GOD why am I not DONE yet, and is that chute getting FURTHER AWAY?? Lisa seemed to be outstripping me, as was some random other girl who I, for whatever reason, suddenly decided was my mortal enemy. Maybe because she had on headphones and I was jealous. Or that she looked effortlessly sporty in that moment. And because we had the same body type so we were basically doppelgaengers and I had to destroy her. Ya know, the usual. I was making exhausted cries like a pro tennis player with every gasp at this point, and thank God, there was one last water station before the last hurrah, so I downed a few, and then true move busting took place, and I overtook sporty doppelgaenger AND Lisa my bunny, watching that timer click on the 3:54, knowing I was going to finish two minutes faster than hoped, and crossed with great warrior victory, with Lisa coming fast behind me commending me on my crazy power swell, though I couldn't talk to her, because I thought vomiting was inevitable. According to the Garmin, I got up to a 5:22 pace-- probs for like... four seconds-- and a max heartrate of 199, so, yeah, the vomit part seems to make sense.
I didn't vomit (yay!) and was nearly too out of breath to even have my happy crying catharsis, but man, did I feel awesome. And then immediately like I was 80. I could not believe I possibly ran that long doing an average of 8:50min/miles with my last three down to 8:27, 8:06 and 7:53 respectively (and an average pace of 7:22 on that last stretch) and now literally could not walk ten feet normally. We were all hobbling around like invalids, but glorious champion invalids, and we even were given capes-- it was ridiculously windy, which, in my tunnel vision warrior state I did not notice whatsoever, and our warming blankets became victorious superhero gear that flew valiantly in the wind:
Michael had invited our coterie of kickass over for a most glorious recovery celebration meal on the rooftop room next to the pool, which had a gorgeous view of the ocean and the runners trickling in below and a masseuse doing recovery rubdowns (SO BALLER.) It was the perfect end to our first major event of the season, and it was so nice to have everyone there who'd been through it all together, even Adrian, our fearless leader. Dave had run into some mega cramping issues, but was happy to have finished, and William finished at under 4:30, which he confessed was his secret realistic goal that he didn't tell anyone-- having been sick, his training was a little off. Michael finished right on my heels, having a fantastic first marathon EVER, and even slowing down to kiss babies and friends on the victory lap in (I don't kiss babies if they're on the way to the finish line, I SLAP THEM DOWN.) Okay so I don't know if Michael kissed babies, but I like that mental image. :-) Lisa, of course, had a strong race, but something went awry shortly after, so she took a catnap in the sun and recuperated. So it was a mixed bag for the group, but by the time we were all noshing on salmon and sipping our beers, everyone was feeling pretty damn good about themselves. I just felt so proud of everyone and myself and so insanely grateful to be there with my amazing, loving, generous friends. It was nearly like I was in a dream-- I'd been looking forward to this moment after, all of us together up there on the roof, looking down on Santa Monica like a set of demigods on our little mini Olympus. And there we were... all with finisher medals on, and we'd done it. We DID it. I did it... in time. Holy shit! And yes, all the crappy feelings of previous months were terrible, but suddenly I felt like, wow, I can do anything, and I just did something truly awesome, I'm a beast, I can totally do this, whatever this might be. And so sure, I do still want to get out of Athena range and see what kind of contender I could become (I have some stats to share in a later time about my conditioning... for inquiring minds and such) but I don't feel shitty about it, because I know that even with some extra weight and a bum heel, I'm a solid runner, and I can handle my business. That's a really good feeling.
So I'm focusing on the positive in every part of my life, and it's spreading like a glorious virus of joy. I'm putting up little reminders (one including the not so subtle poster: GET SHIT DONE) to get my ass in gear more effectively when at home (I like to hibernate and tend to think that watching epic amounts of TV shows on Netflix while "tidying" or cooking counts as being productive) and have started to make a training plan to get ready for the dread Wildflower long course. Next up, first, is the 200-mile Ragnar relay race, which I'm now feeling pretty good about doing my legs at an 8:45 pace... if I could do the marathon as fast as I did, I can do a six mile, two mile, and eight mile leg faster. Right? HELL YES. I like this feeling. The old weak sad crap fat feeling was so unbecoming. Happy positive and righteous Nik is what's up. Life is for the alive, so let's keep living it (said Sweeney Todd before throwing Mrs. Lovett in the oven... though it's a great quote.) It's springtime, bitches! Let's do some bricks!
More to come soon, on lactate thresholds and my Paleo process...
Saturday, March 17, 2012
A sloppy, weary, hazy prelude to the Los Angeles Marathon
First of all: happy new season. I don't believe I've gotten you caught up on the denouement of the last. Perhaps that will be a goal after we kick off this season right, to catch up with time past. There were two more half ironman races, races in Athena weight, and won, but newly I'm coming to the conclusion that that is an honor I'd rather not have, and instead would like to discover how I could excel by dropping those ten pounds and upping my speed and become more of a contender in my age group.
This race is both the first and the last of some of these things. Yes, I am still Athena, though there's no weight division in the categories. We are trying to race sub 4, and I will, all with the knowledge that running that long and hard with ten fewer pounds would be a great joy. And so, I hope, and I imagine myself onward into an efforted victory, that the upcoming seasons will show more success, with less effort, and more happiness, and a slimmer self.
Why am I writing so weird? I'm on Ambien, and the page seems to be moving back and forth.
I wanted to write something before the race, something to catch you up to speed on the trials and tribulations, the victories and defeats, and most importantly, the decision to all sign up for IMAZ together. Tomorrow, Four of our crew shall enter into that battle and we shall emerge bonded for life. And then, in November, we will be all the more ready to slay that dragon within ourselves. Marathon is step one. I fear nothing. We are together, cold rain or no, and we are gonna carry each other through to victory. Here's to 2012, a year in which Nikki races WITH. The struggle lies within, the strength lies without.
This race is both the first and the last of some of these things. Yes, I am still Athena, though there's no weight division in the categories. We are trying to race sub 4, and I will, all with the knowledge that running that long and hard with ten fewer pounds would be a great joy. And so, I hope, and I imagine myself onward into an efforted victory, that the upcoming seasons will show more success, with less effort, and more happiness, and a slimmer self.
Why am I writing so weird? I'm on Ambien, and the page seems to be moving back and forth.
I wanted to write something before the race, something to catch you up to speed on the trials and tribulations, the victories and defeats, and most importantly, the decision to all sign up for IMAZ together. Tomorrow, Four of our crew shall enter into that battle and we shall emerge bonded for life. And then, in November, we will be all the more ready to slay that dragon within ourselves. Marathon is step one. I fear nothing. We are together, cold rain or no, and we are gonna carry each other through to victory. Here's to 2012, a year in which Nikki races WITH. The struggle lies within, the strength lies without.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Recovery, Postmortem, and Pancakes.
Hello, adoring public. (Hi Michael!)
So, it's been just over a week now since the race, and much like a mother who desires more children despite having endured the ravages of childbirth, I now have only vague recollections of the massive mileage I did last Saturday and feel a sadness that I do not have another epic quest in the near future. I did learn that the headwinds I encountered on the bike ride pick up every year at the same time-- sadly, if I knew that, I might have gone ahead and abandoned my "curb your bike arousal" strategy for the first loop, and allowed recovery on the second windy loop, which was gonna suck butt anyhow. It kind of makes me want to do the course again. Weirdo! Am I obsessing over this? Yes. Do I accept that I still did well enough? Well... kind of. I finished, and I did a good job, and I need to relax about it.
This week, I took it easy: Mom and I did a little hike in Griffith and saw an observatory show on Tuesday, then I ran three miles (didn't do the bike) during the Wednesday brick, did 1.5 hour of awesome yoga Thursday, took Friday off for giving blood (learned my lesson and waited until AFTER the race!) and did the Saturday Valley ride, where I was the only girl, and the only person riding conservatively, which made me feel like a slowpoke. I was truly lagging, and this of course bothered me, because I had to represent for my gender, but of course I was down a pint of blood and had done an ironman a week ago, so I had every excuse... though my pride wasn't so much in line with this. Even with my heart rate up to Zone 5, I couldn't keep up... it was astonishing how hard it was. Of course, then I found out at mile 30 that my front brakes were on... the whole time. Once I took them off, everything got WAY easier. What a doofus. I do think, though, if I hadn't been saying "well, it must be the blood loss, or I need to recover more..." I would have checked the dang brake sooner. Ohhhh well. As my friend David says, I got some good resistance training.
Today was the ocean swim and run at Zuma, followed by the amazing Amy-brainchild of a potluck parking lot brunch. Everyone cottoned to the idea, and it mushroomed into this crazy amazing feast, complete with a kerosene camping grill, grace a Michael Ruhland, on which I made four batches of my family recipe pancakes. I got a little traumatized from my ocean swim (upon exiting, I somehow was caught completely unawares by some gargantuan ninja wave that beat the shit out of me-- tore my cap and goggles straight off my face, it was nothing short of terrifying) so our communal food love was a nice little healing moment. Were it not for the company, I would have flipped off the ocean and never returned. (I not-so-secretly hate the ocean. And now it's even more clear why. Bastard sea, trying to kill me!!)
I will take a minute to float into tangent land and pancake ruminations: making epic loads of these homemade pancakes has been a love of mine since college. Anyone who knows me for an extended period of time, will, at some point, experience the pure unadulterated gluten form of love that are these pancakes. So, what gives? First of all, they are undeniably delicious. I myself, having eaten them since I had teeth with which to do so, am still always surprised when I try them by how freaking awesome they are. Secondly, they hold a certain deep significance to me, and so I like to share them, not only because it's super awesome to share something that's delicious, because then everyone will love you, but because you're sort of taking this private love that you connect with the dish and are opening it up to a larger audience, which is just a nice gesture. Sure, you can get good pancakes at The Griddle, but is it a family recipe with cute pictures of little girls in the kitchen to back it up? No. It's all about heart. (And these are free.)
For those not in the know, my Dad was an East German refugee. Germans don't do big American breakfasts... for them, it's more like a soft boiled egg, a couple rolls with a sandwich meat slice or two, and perhaps a little Nutella. So when he first had a whopping stack of hotcakes with syrup and bacon, he became totally obsessed with discovering the perfect pancake recipe. My whole life, I remember him refining it, and every Saturday was pancake day. There are home videos of first my sister, then myself, respectively at around age three, making the pancake recipe in its nacent stage. (In the video of my sister, she is mixing the butter with the egg, which, as you will see in the modern version, is no longer how we do it. She kept licking the spoon and saying, "Delicious", even though she was basically just licking egg and butter. Ew. In my video, I taste the batter, solemnly look at the camera, and say, "It tastes like baking soda". I was more of a realist, I guess.) By the time I was in high school, we had hit the sweet spot for years now, and it was well known that Dad's pancakes were spectacular: when we'd have big brunches with my friends and their families, the griddle would be on for over an hour, and everyone would leave happy and stuffed to the gills. (It's impossible to eat just one.)
Since we all knew the recipe, we never wrote it down... so it was only a couple years after my Dad died and I was visiting my cousins in Germany that they said (in German), hey, look, here's the pancake recipe. It was of course, all in milliliters and, well, German, so I copied it down, converted it to cups, and made it again at home. It was incredible, like alchemy: after three years, I was tasting his pancakes again, and they were exactly as delicious as they'd been every Saturday.
Ever since then, I've been making these pancakes in my own version of big family brunches with the people I meet... I've made them in the basement of a Princeton dormitory, for my grad school friends in Cambridge AND in the dormitory in Moscow, in Brazil for the kids who'd never tasted a pancake, let alone syrup, and my fellow teachers, and now here, in the Zuma parking lot, with my tri friends. And they always come out delicious, and they always make the day just a little bit more wonderful.
(I actually woke up from a dream at like 4AM that I was making these pancakes with my Dad, and was telling him about the tri brunch. It has been a while since I had an opportunity to make them for a bunch of people.)
Here's the recipe, so everyone can carry on the amazing pancake love into their own family traditions. A good thing to eat after a big day of cardio.
Muller Pancakes
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon (my addition)
3 tbsp butter
3 tbsp yogurt or sour cream (I use fat free greek yogurt and it works PERFECTLY)
1 egg
1 cup milk (I use skim and it's fine.)
1 tsp vanilla
Mix dry ingredients and fork butter into the mixture. Create a well. Add the egg, yogurt and vanilla and mix. Slowly add in the milk and mix until smooth (depending on how thick you like your batter, you might add less milk. You can decide as you're mixing.)
*Make sure not to overmix your batter, or you'll get a chewy pancake! It's almost better to err on the side of slightly lumpy-- once cooked, it's just fine.
On preheated griddle (med-hot) grease with butter and pour medallions of batter. Flip when bubbles appear and batter appears a little dry on the edges-- should be golden brown on the other side. If you want to add fruit (I recommend banana slices, chocolate chips, apple slices with cinnamon or blueberries) do so when the batter is still wet. Serve while fresh and hot with syrup!
One batch makes approximately six medium sized pancakes. To feed a large group of people, I generally make four batches and it's more than enough (and yet they all magically get eaten!)
So, it's been just over a week now since the race, and much like a mother who desires more children despite having endured the ravages of childbirth, I now have only vague recollections of the massive mileage I did last Saturday and feel a sadness that I do not have another epic quest in the near future. I did learn that the headwinds I encountered on the bike ride pick up every year at the same time-- sadly, if I knew that, I might have gone ahead and abandoned my "curb your bike arousal" strategy for the first loop, and allowed recovery on the second windy loop, which was gonna suck butt anyhow. It kind of makes me want to do the course again. Weirdo! Am I obsessing over this? Yes. Do I accept that I still did well enough? Well... kind of. I finished, and I did a good job, and I need to relax about it.
This week, I took it easy: Mom and I did a little hike in Griffith and saw an observatory show on Tuesday, then I ran three miles (didn't do the bike) during the Wednesday brick, did 1.5 hour of awesome yoga Thursday, took Friday off for giving blood (learned my lesson and waited until AFTER the race!) and did the Saturday Valley ride, where I was the only girl, and the only person riding conservatively, which made me feel like a slowpoke. I was truly lagging, and this of course bothered me, because I had to represent for my gender, but of course I was down a pint of blood and had done an ironman a week ago, so I had every excuse... though my pride wasn't so much in line with this. Even with my heart rate up to Zone 5, I couldn't keep up... it was astonishing how hard it was. Of course, then I found out at mile 30 that my front brakes were on... the whole time. Once I took them off, everything got WAY easier. What a doofus. I do think, though, if I hadn't been saying "well, it must be the blood loss, or I need to recover more..." I would have checked the dang brake sooner. Ohhhh well. As my friend David says, I got some good resistance training.
Today was the ocean swim and run at Zuma, followed by the amazing Amy-brainchild of a potluck parking lot brunch. Everyone cottoned to the idea, and it mushroomed into this crazy amazing feast, complete with a kerosene camping grill, grace a Michael Ruhland, on which I made four batches of my family recipe pancakes. I got a little traumatized from my ocean swim (upon exiting, I somehow was caught completely unawares by some gargantuan ninja wave that beat the shit out of me-- tore my cap and goggles straight off my face, it was nothing short of terrifying) so our communal food love was a nice little healing moment. Were it not for the company, I would have flipped off the ocean and never returned. (I not-so-secretly hate the ocean. And now it's even more clear why. Bastard sea, trying to kill me!!)
I will take a minute to float into tangent land and pancake ruminations: making epic loads of these homemade pancakes has been a love of mine since college. Anyone who knows me for an extended period of time, will, at some point, experience the pure unadulterated gluten form of love that are these pancakes. So, what gives? First of all, they are undeniably delicious. I myself, having eaten them since I had teeth with which to do so, am still always surprised when I try them by how freaking awesome they are. Secondly, they hold a certain deep significance to me, and so I like to share them, not only because it's super awesome to share something that's delicious, because then everyone will love you, but because you're sort of taking this private love that you connect with the dish and are opening it up to a larger audience, which is just a nice gesture. Sure, you can get good pancakes at The Griddle, but is it a family recipe with cute pictures of little girls in the kitchen to back it up? No. It's all about heart. (And these are free.)
For those not in the know, my Dad was an East German refugee. Germans don't do big American breakfasts... for them, it's more like a soft boiled egg, a couple rolls with a sandwich meat slice or two, and perhaps a little Nutella. So when he first had a whopping stack of hotcakes with syrup and bacon, he became totally obsessed with discovering the perfect pancake recipe. My whole life, I remember him refining it, and every Saturday was pancake day. There are home videos of first my sister, then myself, respectively at around age three, making the pancake recipe in its nacent stage. (In the video of my sister, she is mixing the butter with the egg, which, as you will see in the modern version, is no longer how we do it. She kept licking the spoon and saying, "Delicious", even though she was basically just licking egg and butter. Ew. In my video, I taste the batter, solemnly look at the camera, and say, "It tastes like baking soda". I was more of a realist, I guess.) By the time I was in high school, we had hit the sweet spot for years now, and it was well known that Dad's pancakes were spectacular: when we'd have big brunches with my friends and their families, the griddle would be on for over an hour, and everyone would leave happy and stuffed to the gills. (It's impossible to eat just one.)
Since we all knew the recipe, we never wrote it down... so it was only a couple years after my Dad died and I was visiting my cousins in Germany that they said (in German), hey, look, here's the pancake recipe. It was of course, all in milliliters and, well, German, so I copied it down, converted it to cups, and made it again at home. It was incredible, like alchemy: after three years, I was tasting his pancakes again, and they were exactly as delicious as they'd been every Saturday.
Ever since then, I've been making these pancakes in my own version of big family brunches with the people I meet... I've made them in the basement of a Princeton dormitory, for my grad school friends in Cambridge AND in the dormitory in Moscow, in Brazil for the kids who'd never tasted a pancake, let alone syrup, and my fellow teachers, and now here, in the Zuma parking lot, with my tri friends. And they always come out delicious, and they always make the day just a little bit more wonderful.
(I actually woke up from a dream at like 4AM that I was making these pancakes with my Dad, and was telling him about the tri brunch. It has been a while since I had an opportunity to make them for a bunch of people.)
Here's the recipe, so everyone can carry on the amazing pancake love into their own family traditions. A good thing to eat after a big day of cardio.
Muller Pancakes
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon (my addition)
3 tbsp butter
3 tbsp yogurt or sour cream (I use fat free greek yogurt and it works PERFECTLY)
1 egg
1 cup milk (I use skim and it's fine.)
1 tsp vanilla
Mix dry ingredients and fork butter into the mixture. Create a well. Add the egg, yogurt and vanilla and mix. Slowly add in the milk and mix until smooth (depending on how thick you like your batter, you might add less milk. You can decide as you're mixing.)
*Make sure not to overmix your batter, or you'll get a chewy pancake! It's almost better to err on the side of slightly lumpy-- once cooked, it's just fine.
On preheated griddle (med-hot) grease with butter and pour medallions of batter. Flip when bubbles appear and batter appears a little dry on the edges-- should be golden brown on the other side. If you want to add fruit (I recommend banana slices, chocolate chips, apple slices with cinnamon or blueberries) do so when the batter is still wet. Serve while fresh and hot with syrup!
One batch makes approximately six medium sized pancakes. To feed a large group of people, I generally make four batches and it's more than enough (and yet they all magically get eaten!)
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Ironman finish: a video
Here's the footage of me from the end of my race. Mom is going nuts, rightly so. :-)
From the other side of Iron.
Well, I did it. I'm now an Ironman.
(Not a registered trademark Ironman, but anyone who says my 2.4 mile swim 112 mile bike and marathon don't count because my medal lacks an M-Dot deserve a swift kick to the groin.)
The first thing I have to say about the experience is, the people who say, "oh I could do the bike and the running, but the swim is what would kill me" are fucking idiots. That marathon was the most excruciating thing I think I've ever done to myself. (Except, perhaps, the previous marathon.) Also, when I started triathlon training three years ago, I hadn't swum laps since age 8 during swim team (where I always got last). My swim split was the most successful of the three despite the fact that I didn't do any drills and just plopped myself in the pool for 85 laps maybe twice a week. Go figure. End point: even if you're a shit swimmer, at worst, it will take you maybe two hours. A marathon after 112 miles of biking and the aforementioned swim, however, is nothing to cough at.
So. Let's talk results.
There were 269 women signed up, according to the participant list (a few probably didn't show, too, but I guess it was something like that. To give you an idea of what a total sausagefest tris are, there were 585 male finishers.) Of these women, 208 finished*. (And it IS enough just to finish.) Of these finishers, though, I was 88th. In my age group, 38 gals competed, and I ranked 16th. Not shabby for a budgety coachless kid like myself. (*it says 208 here, but on the main site said 214, so take your pick, I dunno why the discrepancy's there.)
It was really hard to know what to expect of the race on the whole, given that it was my first time, and since I'd been swimming my 2.4 miles of monotonous pool laps in around 80 minutes, that wound up being the split I predicted on the nose. The others I was off by a half hour... which bummed me out, because, given that I'd decided to hope for sub 13, once I realized that was an unreasonable expectation, I got pretty disheartened, and that's not a good way to feel when you're running your marathon. I had sworn I'd save up on the first bike loop so I'd have energy to spare, and a book I read said to keep my heart rate at Zone 1 for the first THIRTY miles. Of course I was just dying to up my pace when all these people were zipping by me, but thought, "Oh, I will make up for it on the second loop." I did start going nice and fast post mile 56, but by then it had already been four hours, and I thought "well this isn't going to happen in 6:30." Of course, the terrible headwinds didn't help at all either. I kind of wonder if I should have allowed myself to go juuuust a little faster on the first loop of the bike. It was probably best to err on the side of caution, though, even if, while running, I was thinking, "there is nothing about me right now that feels fast... I shoulda just biked harder." My run would also have been better were it not for the extended pottytimes, but those are just the things you must accept. I did eventually readjust to thinking sub 14 would be just fine, since that had been my original guess, and simply aimed to beat the sunset, which I did. It did sort of feel like getting a B+, but that's because I'm a total overachieving d-bag to myself. I did better than a majority of people, yet it's always the fast girls who are better than me that I fixate on... pretty sure those girls aren't brokeass overcommitted actress-writer-comediennes, either. But such is my way. I guess it's good to never feel totally satisfied with yourself. That way you keep getting better, and achieve some humility. ("Have you tried the humble pie? It's delicious.") That said, I do still recognize that there are a million things out of my control that could have kept me from finishing, so I'm very, very grateful. There was a room full of people on stretchers that were not so fortunate... or even just those walking from cramps. While I wish I could have been faster, I did the best I could with my current training, and there's a lot that could have interfered with my best. So... hooray!
Now's the time where, for the very interested, I will take you through the play-by-play of the day. Note: it is often fairly gross, but I hope you'd expect that by now. No copious rectal bleeding, though! And how glad we all are for that. But don't say I didn't warn you. I'm not gonna censor this.
Since Mom and I were staying in Healdsburg, we had to wake up at 4:30AM to get over there by 6ish. We had a little scare when we discovered the dome light of the car was on (wouldn't that just be rich to miss my race because of a dead car battery???) but clearly some battery angel was working magic, because the car started without a problem. That's very, VERY lucky, since it was on since the evening before when I put my bike in. (Didn't notice the door was slightly ajar. Woof, that would have been tragic.) We drove the forty minutes through dusty wine country to find the swim start teeming with folks. Mom went to look for parking while I racked my bike and got ready... only then realizing how late it really was. I still hadn't had my prerace BM (it's a pretty essential part... so essential, that my friend Larry who was going to do the race with me requested that, instead of a marathon mile, this special moment be dedicated to him) and was kind of freaking out, since the line to the port-a-potties was, as it always is, huge. I waited for a second, but then realized this wouldn't work out if I timed it wrong and was still without my wetsuit and such. So I got my suit on, and I had a couple things for Mom to take, but then couldn't find her, so I ran back to leave it in transition, and then it was like five minutes before my start, and the line had vanished and the few people let me go ahead, so I got that taken care of right quick, and when I ran down to the swim start, where all the pink capped girls of my group were already swarmed, I finally found Mom, who'd been equally panicked, as she'd had to park far away and then didn't know where to find me. We hugged and I waded off just in time. Yeesh, so much for a calm collected race start. But you do what you can. I later found out that Mom snuck off somewhere and burst into tears from the stress. Poor Mom. Doing an Ironman is hard and all, but for her to be my only support, and this her first triathlon, it's a lot of pressure. Way easier if you have a couple of sherpas than just one. But she did a great job, and happily Mark (friend who introduced me to Dan and Julia, our hosts, to review) wound up coming out and totally saved the day, driving around with Mom and helping her find me on the course. Yay, Mark!
As evidenced by my time, the swim went very smoothly. The water was a mild temperature, though not warm enough to make wetsuits illegal (a yearly concern), and the usual shallow spots with people walking were there around the turn-around. I didn't walk, but scraped along the bottom with my hands like scoops. I figured, if I'm gonna scrape, might as well own it. The men on the swim were friggin a-holes, as they often are... very crawly-pushy-shovy. Bossy swimming. Lots of leg grabbing, or just swimming right into you for no good reason. I overheard a woman later commenting how nice women are on the course and what jerks the men were on the swim. I made up for this by crawl-smacking whomever messed with me. Or by passing them... I did pass a lot of these jerky dudes. In your face!
Vineman T1 is weird because you have to put all your shit in a bag so it gets transported to the finish... I handed mine off to Mom (well, really to a lady, who handed it to Mom when I hollered at her) after getting everything together. It did take an annoyingly long time to transition, but whatever, c'est la vie. I was off on the bike soon enough... was supposed to be getting my heart rate low, anyhow.
I had some watch-related irritation throughout the race: I was wearing three different watches, since my Garmin isn't waterproof and only works for 10 hours, which of course is too short for the race (boo.) So I had my Polar heart-rate monitor (good ole Polar) and my Timex waterproof watch, so I could get the full time of the race. Of freaking course, when I put on my Garmin, it somehow pressed the timer button on the Timex, so I lost my time. BOO. I kept it on and just mathed out from 6:42 what my total time was. Made me grumpy. My Garmin also ticked me off by randomly stopping on the bike once I did turn it on, and then didn't start on the run even though I turned it on, so my distance was off by exactly a mile. I know that sounds like whining, but honestly, when you're used to using something, and you're doing a race of this magnitude, those small things effect you. At least it was a pretty precise mile, because if I had to do anything more than add a mile to figure out my marathon status, I would have burst into tears. (They don't really have very good course marking for that... just these every so often multipurpose markers that say 5-13.5-23.5, for example. I don't want to know 13.5, you bastards, I want to know 13! And 14! and all of them!!! See? The little things get you.)
Anyway, the first loop of the bike was spent curbing bike arousal and feeling lame when I got passed a bunch, and the weather was cool and damp, with cloudy skies... perfect IM weather. I got a lot of comments on my epic amount of Gu (I taped them to my bike, where they dangled like Christmas ornaments from the handlebars.) I told one lady that I referred to my bike as Gu-ernesville. Ha, nerd. (Guernesville's where the swim started, in case you were unawares.) I'd taped a recorder to my bike, because I thought it would be an interesting experiment to record some of the race, so every so often I'd turn it on and say stuff. I don't know how successful that was, since it would of course be windy, and a few times I probably didn't turn it on right, but I'm betting there's some fun things to listen to. Most of it, though, is me talking about peeing on my bike. Yes, bike peeing is evidently a time-honored Ironman tradition, and when I went to my first Ironman Q&A, the woman running it even gave advice on how to properly do it. I'm guessing it's more popular with women than men, since dudes can quickly pee on the side of the road, but it makes sense to avoid stopping. Of course, it's totally gross... and you wind up with a shoe full of pee. It's also really awkward... every time I was trying to relax enough to go through with it someone would pass me. You don't want someone to see you pee yourself, regardless of the circumstances. Plus, I knew that lady was down, but was pretty sure most folks would be judgmental. I'm not the fastest biker, so it probably seems silly to go as far to pee on the bike to save time. I just figured, hey, once it's done, you can keep doing it, thereby cutting down on multiple pee stops and avoiding longtime discomfort. Besides, there was never a port-a-potty without a line. You think I'm waiting for a toilet when I've got 112 miles to bike, you are wrong. So yes, I did that off to the right a few times... once there was a turn coming up after where a photographer was. I'm doing the "hah, you're taking a picture of me and I just peed myself like a minute ago" smile-- which I did not know was a smile until yesterday. This is why it's called the Ironman, not the Ironlady. There's nothing ladylike about it. Oh, but men, men are gross. Good thing pee is sterile, because I later had to use my right foot to perform impromptu surgery.
At mile 56, I picked up my special needs foods (pretzels and a giant melted-then-refrozen PB Twix) and went to town, fueling my speed up. The sky cleared up and it was completely gorgeous, biking through those bright green vineyards with the blue sky overhead. I felt pretty strong, and was happy to get a move-on at long last. I also felt really lucky that I didn't have any bike trouble... there were scores of people on the side of the road fixing flats. One woman had commented, "I'm glad I don't have a fancy bike, it looks like they're the ones that keep breaking!" It was kind of true. I did nearly lose my chain at around mile 88 or so (I was a little concerned; it keeps coming off when I put it in the car and came off during a Griffith ride) but then I downshifted and it caught again (phew!) Also, the whole time, there was some weird sound from one of my tires... like there was something causing friction against it, as though I were braking, or there were a piece of paper on it or something. I checked at 56 and didn't find anything wrong, though. Later in the evening, Mark mentioned the front tire didn't come off properly, so it may have been that. Who knows. I figure we can give that a little responsibility for my slow ride. Heh.
The bike ride started getting pretty raw at around 90 miles. The clouds disappeared entirely, so the sun was beating down on us, and it was around 2 PM, when it's hottest. Then, as a special bonus, some insane headwinds kicked up, making my brilliant plan to make up time all the harder. I was dogging it at like 13 mph a few times. Lameo. Of course, there was Chalk Hill, which, the first time around, was okay, but the second time came at mile 100. What the fuck yo! That's some sadistic shit. I turned on my recorder for that one. The motivational posters on the side of the road were pretty necessary at that point... I especially like the one that said "bragging rights for life". Hell yeah. One lady ringing a cowbell asked how I felt, and I said, "you know what I feel like? Running a marathon. I think it'd really help me flush out my legs." Joking helps... but man, was I looking forward to getting the hell off the bike-- my neck was just killing me from holding up my head the whole time. I've never actually done a bike ride that long. And it was LONG.
I got aero and picked up some speed for the last few miles, zipping into T2, where I saw Mom and Mark cheering. That transition took a lot of time too, because I'd decided to change into my compression shorts, and if there's one thing that takes a while, it's pulling on tightass compression shorts onto your pee-wet leg of your wobbly sore body. Plus, I wanted to hand off my shorts to Mom instead of running back to my transition spot and then back out... of course then they fell out of the plastic bag I'd put them in and I had to double back. Annoysville! I tossed them at her and said, "don't touch those, there's pee on them!" and ran away. The glamor of being an ironmother.
I felt, as I was told I would feel, remarkably well on the run start. I kept having to slow myself down from a nine-minute mile, and while my neck hurt, I felt pretty fresh. This of course got pretty old, pretty soon. I started to slow when I got a bit of gastric activity, and stopped for the toilet, which in turn took for EVER... I don't know what was passing through me, but it felt like that, similar to this race, was iron. Needless to say, there was some strain involved, which did not do me well. There are a few things that can happen physically that will make running a marathon exceptionally more difficult, such as cramps and chaffing. Add to that list an inside-out asshole. Extremely uncomfortable. So yeah, I ran with a pretty serious rhoid for at least 6 miles until I literally had to push it back in. BWAH. (I warned you about the TMI, didn't I? If you didn't want to hear terrible butt stories, why on earth would you be reading this blog?) So yeah, the butt issue definitely put a damper on the run, and though I was able to eventually remedy that, there was no getting around the stress the run put on my body. There'd been a stand at the expo with the folks who designed my compression shorts, and since I'd been hesitant to wear them on the bike for fear of chafing, I asked if the guy thought it was worth losing the time in transition to change into them. He said he thought for sure, since they reduce the vibrations of the muscles and this would be an especially stressful run, given that it was hilly and on pavement. This was all I could think about with every footfall that jarred my entire aching body. I can't say for sure that the compression sleeves and shorts help, but I can't imagine how awful it would have been without them. So, I think I made a good call with that one.
Once I'd figured out on the bike that doing the race in under 13 hours seemed impossible, I'd gotten a little sad, and then once I'd wasted all that time with my poop issue, it seemed like even less likely, so I became somewhat resigned to my fate of a mediocre finish. I was, of course, supposed to go easier on the first loops and then really work the last one, but my muscles hurt so much, and my feet were killing me, even though my heart rate was relatively low. Every time I walked through an aid station, it would take so much effort to get started again, and there were about three pain in the ass hills (since it was out and back, I guess that'd be like five, since the last one didn't go back down?) that kept draining my resolve. So I did walk quite a bit, and found my running pace getting slower and slower... the idea of a negative split felt very far away. I stuck to my promise and tried to keep positive, thinking of those I dedicated the miles to, and it did actually help... I just wish I'd had a little bit more of a plan. For example, if I was not going to walk the hills, or what pace to aim for and when. But I did have the plan for the last six, which was not to walk at all, and thereby finish the way I'd hoped to, which is for real. Negative thoughts be gone: this was my ironman, and it's just one day, and you can't go back and do it better once you're done. So even if I didn't make my goal, I was going to finish well.
I started to kick it up a notch, totally ignoring the incredible burning chafing under my arms (damn LA Tri Club singlet!!) and ran through the aid stations, just getting water, having eaten my last Gu. (There is very little that compares to the sickening feeling of force-feeding yourself sugary energy gel for the 13th hour of a race because you know you must to avoid bonking. Happily, if my appetite did not agree, my body certainly did, and my digestive tract never gave up on me, and processed the sugar right well.) I thought of the people on my list, Jack and the doggy, my sister and her cross-country runs, and finally, with 2.2 miles left, I got to my Dad's mile. The visualization of my sister had helped-- to keep pace, I was chanting things in my head with my pace about not stopping and keeping running for her, and it bizarrely all started to rhyme without me thinking about it, go fig. I thought of my Dad and was chanting stuff for him (I run this mile for my father/so that I can bring him honor) and then I thought of the verse he'd written in the letter he wrote me for graduation, which epitomized the way he lived and therefore was what we put on his grave-- Ecclesiastes 9:10: whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your might. This has also been my personal motto, but for some reason I didn't think of using it as a mantra until this moment. So I just started chanting, over and over, "whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your might," and all that feeling of lethargy and pain just left me, and my pace went up, and up, and the last 2.2 miles, I was running faster than I had the entire time. I came to my mother's mile, and started running for her, but kept repeating the verse, and just pushed and pushed as hard as I could, and when I rounded the corner as the sun was setting and dusk started to settle in, I sped up more, and started repeating "do it with all your might, do it with all your might" and then "with all your might, with all your might" over and over. And then I saw Dan and Mark, and I was at the chute, and I ran as fast as I could, which was well faster than I ever could have imagined, and I ran through the Vineman banner, and they gave me my medal and took off my chip, and I came over to Mom and we both cried and cried. Which was perfect.
I later saw on my Garmin that my final sprint reached a 5:42 minute mile... of course, not for long, but still. That's kind of rad. I did it... with all my might. Just the way I wanted to.
Afterwards, Mom, Mark, Dan and I took pictures, I got a little food and did a 15-minute massage, and then we got all my stuff out of transition and headed home for my horrific ice bath and a champagne toast. I somehow managed to stay up past midnight (I know, what the hell?) and then woke up this morning at 5, and got up by 7 to write this (double what the hell!) Probably because I kept thinking up things I wanted to write here. I'm feeling sore, of course, but pretty great. To be fair, I also popped a painkiller when I first woke at 5ish, hoping it would sedate me back to sleep, so I'm not so sure how I really feel, but after that kind of work, I deserve a little soreness, and a little rest.
As I was sitting with Mom on the bench as she helped me take off my sneakers after the race, I realized: I really did that. I did it? I just did an Ironman? And I frankly still can't fully grasp it. Back in the apartment, as I sat on the floor half comatose, I realized: I just did two half Ironman races, back to back. I did a full Ironman. Half of that is a big race. I did a race for over 13 hours without stopping. What?! So yes, as much as it's insane to you, it's just as crazy to me. I guess really I didn't do an Ironman, I did it one mile at a time. During the bike and the run, that's all I kept thinking: just keep going, and eventually, you'll be done. And that was true. It was the same with the training: just get up and do it, one day at a time, and eventually, you'll be there.
Today we're going to go to visit Julia at Moshin and do a real bonafide wine tasting, when I won't have to worry about my hydration. And I can think about what my next race will be. But the Ironman is now a fait accomplit.
(Not a registered trademark Ironman, but anyone who says my 2.4 mile swim 112 mile bike and marathon don't count because my medal lacks an M-Dot deserve a swift kick to the groin.)
The first thing I have to say about the experience is, the people who say, "oh I could do the bike and the running, but the swim is what would kill me" are fucking idiots. That marathon was the most excruciating thing I think I've ever done to myself. (Except, perhaps, the previous marathon.) Also, when I started triathlon training three years ago, I hadn't swum laps since age 8 during swim team (where I always got last). My swim split was the most successful of the three despite the fact that I didn't do any drills and just plopped myself in the pool for 85 laps maybe twice a week. Go figure. End point: even if you're a shit swimmer, at worst, it will take you maybe two hours. A marathon after 112 miles of biking and the aforementioned swim, however, is nothing to cough at.
So. Let's talk results.
| bib number: | 774 |
| age: | 28 |
| gender: | F |
| location: | West Hollywood, CA |
| division place: | 16 out of 38 |
| gender place: | 88 out of 208 |
| time: | 13:48:39 |
| pace: | 0: |
| swim: | 1:15:21 |
| t1: | 8:18 |
| bike29mi: | 1:53:54 |
| bike84mi: | 3:26:22 |
| bike: | 7:05:01 |
| t2: | 7:12 |
There were 269 women signed up, according to the participant list (a few probably didn't show, too, but I guess it was something like that. To give you an idea of what a total sausagefest tris are, there were 585 male finishers.) Of these women, 208 finished*. (And it IS enough just to finish.) Of these finishers, though, I was 88th. In my age group, 38 gals competed, and I ranked 16th. Not shabby for a budgety coachless kid like myself. (*it says 208 here, but on the main site said 214, so take your pick, I dunno why the discrepancy's there.)
It was really hard to know what to expect of the race on the whole, given that it was my first time, and since I'd been swimming my 2.4 miles of monotonous pool laps in around 80 minutes, that wound up being the split I predicted on the nose. The others I was off by a half hour... which bummed me out, because, given that I'd decided to hope for sub 13, once I realized that was an unreasonable expectation, I got pretty disheartened, and that's not a good way to feel when you're running your marathon. I had sworn I'd save up on the first bike loop so I'd have energy to spare, and a book I read said to keep my heart rate at Zone 1 for the first THIRTY miles. Of course I was just dying to up my pace when all these people were zipping by me, but thought, "Oh, I will make up for it on the second loop." I did start going nice and fast post mile 56, but by then it had already been four hours, and I thought "well this isn't going to happen in 6:30." Of course, the terrible headwinds didn't help at all either. I kind of wonder if I should have allowed myself to go juuuust a little faster on the first loop of the bike. It was probably best to err on the side of caution, though, even if, while running, I was thinking, "there is nothing about me right now that feels fast... I shoulda just biked harder." My run would also have been better were it not for the extended pottytimes, but those are just the things you must accept. I did eventually readjust to thinking sub 14 would be just fine, since that had been my original guess, and simply aimed to beat the sunset, which I did. It did sort of feel like getting a B+, but that's because I'm a total overachieving d-bag to myself. I did better than a majority of people, yet it's always the fast girls who are better than me that I fixate on... pretty sure those girls aren't brokeass overcommitted actress-writer-comediennes, either. But such is my way. I guess it's good to never feel totally satisfied with yourself. That way you keep getting better, and achieve some humility. ("Have you tried the humble pie? It's delicious.") That said, I do still recognize that there are a million things out of my control that could have kept me from finishing, so I'm very, very grateful. There was a room full of people on stretchers that were not so fortunate... or even just those walking from cramps. While I wish I could have been faster, I did the best I could with my current training, and there's a lot that could have interfered with my best. So... hooray!
Now's the time where, for the very interested, I will take you through the play-by-play of the day. Note: it is often fairly gross, but I hope you'd expect that by now. No copious rectal bleeding, though! And how glad we all are for that. But don't say I didn't warn you. I'm not gonna censor this.
Since Mom and I were staying in Healdsburg, we had to wake up at 4:30AM to get over there by 6ish. We had a little scare when we discovered the dome light of the car was on (wouldn't that just be rich to miss my race because of a dead car battery???) but clearly some battery angel was working magic, because the car started without a problem. That's very, VERY lucky, since it was on since the evening before when I put my bike in. (Didn't notice the door was slightly ajar. Woof, that would have been tragic.) We drove the forty minutes through dusty wine country to find the swim start teeming with folks. Mom went to look for parking while I racked my bike and got ready... only then realizing how late it really was. I still hadn't had my prerace BM (it's a pretty essential part... so essential, that my friend Larry who was going to do the race with me requested that, instead of a marathon mile, this special moment be dedicated to him) and was kind of freaking out, since the line to the port-a-potties was, as it always is, huge. I waited for a second, but then realized this wouldn't work out if I timed it wrong and was still without my wetsuit and such. So I got my suit on, and I had a couple things for Mom to take, but then couldn't find her, so I ran back to leave it in transition, and then it was like five minutes before my start, and the line had vanished and the few people let me go ahead, so I got that taken care of right quick, and when I ran down to the swim start, where all the pink capped girls of my group were already swarmed, I finally found Mom, who'd been equally panicked, as she'd had to park far away and then didn't know where to find me. We hugged and I waded off just in time. Yeesh, so much for a calm collected race start. But you do what you can. I later found out that Mom snuck off somewhere and burst into tears from the stress. Poor Mom. Doing an Ironman is hard and all, but for her to be my only support, and this her first triathlon, it's a lot of pressure. Way easier if you have a couple of sherpas than just one. But she did a great job, and happily Mark (friend who introduced me to Dan and Julia, our hosts, to review) wound up coming out and totally saved the day, driving around with Mom and helping her find me on the course. Yay, Mark!
As evidenced by my time, the swim went very smoothly. The water was a mild temperature, though not warm enough to make wetsuits illegal (a yearly concern), and the usual shallow spots with people walking were there around the turn-around. I didn't walk, but scraped along the bottom with my hands like scoops. I figured, if I'm gonna scrape, might as well own it. The men on the swim were friggin a-holes, as they often are... very crawly-pushy-shovy. Bossy swimming. Lots of leg grabbing, or just swimming right into you for no good reason. I overheard a woman later commenting how nice women are on the course and what jerks the men were on the swim. I made up for this by crawl-smacking whomever messed with me. Or by passing them... I did pass a lot of these jerky dudes. In your face!
 |
I knew I'd made good time when I exited, so I was all smiles. |
I had some watch-related irritation throughout the race: I was wearing three different watches, since my Garmin isn't waterproof and only works for 10 hours, which of course is too short for the race (boo.) So I had my Polar heart-rate monitor (good ole Polar) and my Timex waterproof watch, so I could get the full time of the race. Of freaking course, when I put on my Garmin, it somehow pressed the timer button on the Timex, so I lost my time. BOO. I kept it on and just mathed out from 6:42 what my total time was. Made me grumpy. My Garmin also ticked me off by randomly stopping on the bike once I did turn it on, and then didn't start on the run even though I turned it on, so my distance was off by exactly a mile. I know that sounds like whining, but honestly, when you're used to using something, and you're doing a race of this magnitude, those small things effect you. At least it was a pretty precise mile, because if I had to do anything more than add a mile to figure out my marathon status, I would have burst into tears. (They don't really have very good course marking for that... just these every so often multipurpose markers that say 5-13.5-23.5, for example. I don't want to know 13.5, you bastards, I want to know 13! And 14! and all of them!!! See? The little things get you.)
Anyway, the first loop of the bike was spent curbing bike arousal and feeling lame when I got passed a bunch, and the weather was cool and damp, with cloudy skies... perfect IM weather. I got a lot of comments on my epic amount of Gu (I taped them to my bike, where they dangled like Christmas ornaments from the handlebars.) I told one lady that I referred to my bike as Gu-ernesville. Ha, nerd. (Guernesville's where the swim started, in case you were unawares.) I'd taped a recorder to my bike, because I thought it would be an interesting experiment to record some of the race, so every so often I'd turn it on and say stuff. I don't know how successful that was, since it would of course be windy, and a few times I probably didn't turn it on right, but I'm betting there's some fun things to listen to. Most of it, though, is me talking about peeing on my bike. Yes, bike peeing is evidently a time-honored Ironman tradition, and when I went to my first Ironman Q&A, the woman running it even gave advice on how to properly do it. I'm guessing it's more popular with women than men, since dudes can quickly pee on the side of the road, but it makes sense to avoid stopping. Of course, it's totally gross... and you wind up with a shoe full of pee. It's also really awkward... every time I was trying to relax enough to go through with it someone would pass me. You don't want someone to see you pee yourself, regardless of the circumstances. Plus, I knew that lady was down, but was pretty sure most folks would be judgmental. I'm not the fastest biker, so it probably seems silly to go as far to pee on the bike to save time. I just figured, hey, once it's done, you can keep doing it, thereby cutting down on multiple pee stops and avoiding longtime discomfort. Besides, there was never a port-a-potty without a line. You think I'm waiting for a toilet when I've got 112 miles to bike, you are wrong. So yes, I did that off to the right a few times... once there was a turn coming up after where a photographer was. I'm doing the "hah, you're taking a picture of me and I just peed myself like a minute ago" smile-- which I did not know was a smile until yesterday. This is why it's called the Ironman, not the Ironlady. There's nothing ladylike about it. Oh, but men, men are gross. Good thing pee is sterile, because I later had to use my right foot to perform impromptu surgery.
At mile 56, I picked up my special needs foods (pretzels and a giant melted-then-refrozen PB Twix) and went to town, fueling my speed up. The sky cleared up and it was completely gorgeous, biking through those bright green vineyards with the blue sky overhead. I felt pretty strong, and was happy to get a move-on at long last. I also felt really lucky that I didn't have any bike trouble... there were scores of people on the side of the road fixing flats. One woman had commented, "I'm glad I don't have a fancy bike, it looks like they're the ones that keep breaking!" It was kind of true. I did nearly lose my chain at around mile 88 or so (I was a little concerned; it keeps coming off when I put it in the car and came off during a Griffith ride) but then I downshifted and it caught again (phew!) Also, the whole time, there was some weird sound from one of my tires... like there was something causing friction against it, as though I were braking, or there were a piece of paper on it or something. I checked at 56 and didn't find anything wrong, though. Later in the evening, Mark mentioned the front tire didn't come off properly, so it may have been that. Who knows. I figure we can give that a little responsibility for my slow ride. Heh.
The bike ride started getting pretty raw at around 90 miles. The clouds disappeared entirely, so the sun was beating down on us, and it was around 2 PM, when it's hottest. Then, as a special bonus, some insane headwinds kicked up, making my brilliant plan to make up time all the harder. I was dogging it at like 13 mph a few times. Lameo. Of course, there was Chalk Hill, which, the first time around, was okay, but the second time came at mile 100. What the fuck yo! That's some sadistic shit. I turned on my recorder for that one. The motivational posters on the side of the road were pretty necessary at that point... I especially like the one that said "bragging rights for life". Hell yeah. One lady ringing a cowbell asked how I felt, and I said, "you know what I feel like? Running a marathon. I think it'd really help me flush out my legs." Joking helps... but man, was I looking forward to getting the hell off the bike-- my neck was just killing me from holding up my head the whole time. I've never actually done a bike ride that long. And it was LONG.
I got aero and picked up some speed for the last few miles, zipping into T2, where I saw Mom and Mark cheering. That transition took a lot of time too, because I'd decided to change into my compression shorts, and if there's one thing that takes a while, it's pulling on tightass compression shorts onto your pee-wet leg of your wobbly sore body. Plus, I wanted to hand off my shorts to Mom instead of running back to my transition spot and then back out... of course then they fell out of the plastic bag I'd put them in and I had to double back. Annoysville! I tossed them at her and said, "don't touch those, there's pee on them!" and ran away. The glamor of being an ironmother.
I felt, as I was told I would feel, remarkably well on the run start. I kept having to slow myself down from a nine-minute mile, and while my neck hurt, I felt pretty fresh. This of course got pretty old, pretty soon. I started to slow when I got a bit of gastric activity, and stopped for the toilet, which in turn took for EVER... I don't know what was passing through me, but it felt like that, similar to this race, was iron. Needless to say, there was some strain involved, which did not do me well. There are a few things that can happen physically that will make running a marathon exceptionally more difficult, such as cramps and chaffing. Add to that list an inside-out asshole. Extremely uncomfortable. So yeah, I ran with a pretty serious rhoid for at least 6 miles until I literally had to push it back in. BWAH. (I warned you about the TMI, didn't I? If you didn't want to hear terrible butt stories, why on earth would you be reading this blog?) So yeah, the butt issue definitely put a damper on the run, and though I was able to eventually remedy that, there was no getting around the stress the run put on my body. There'd been a stand at the expo with the folks who designed my compression shorts, and since I'd been hesitant to wear them on the bike for fear of chafing, I asked if the guy thought it was worth losing the time in transition to change into them. He said he thought for sure, since they reduce the vibrations of the muscles and this would be an especially stressful run, given that it was hilly and on pavement. This was all I could think about with every footfall that jarred my entire aching body. I can't say for sure that the compression sleeves and shorts help, but I can't imagine how awful it would have been without them. So, I think I made a good call with that one.
Once I'd figured out on the bike that doing the race in under 13 hours seemed impossible, I'd gotten a little sad, and then once I'd wasted all that time with my poop issue, it seemed like even less likely, so I became somewhat resigned to my fate of a mediocre finish. I was, of course, supposed to go easier on the first loops and then really work the last one, but my muscles hurt so much, and my feet were killing me, even though my heart rate was relatively low. Every time I walked through an aid station, it would take so much effort to get started again, and there were about three pain in the ass hills (since it was out and back, I guess that'd be like five, since the last one didn't go back down?) that kept draining my resolve. So I did walk quite a bit, and found my running pace getting slower and slower... the idea of a negative split felt very far away. I stuck to my promise and tried to keep positive, thinking of those I dedicated the miles to, and it did actually help... I just wish I'd had a little bit more of a plan. For example, if I was not going to walk the hills, or what pace to aim for and when. But I did have the plan for the last six, which was not to walk at all, and thereby finish the way I'd hoped to, which is for real. Negative thoughts be gone: this was my ironman, and it's just one day, and you can't go back and do it better once you're done. So even if I didn't make my goal, I was going to finish well.
I started to kick it up a notch, totally ignoring the incredible burning chafing under my arms (damn LA Tri Club singlet!!) and ran through the aid stations, just getting water, having eaten my last Gu. (There is very little that compares to the sickening feeling of force-feeding yourself sugary energy gel for the 13th hour of a race because you know you must to avoid bonking. Happily, if my appetite did not agree, my body certainly did, and my digestive tract never gave up on me, and processed the sugar right well.) I thought of the people on my list, Jack and the doggy, my sister and her cross-country runs, and finally, with 2.2 miles left, I got to my Dad's mile. The visualization of my sister had helped-- to keep pace, I was chanting things in my head with my pace about not stopping and keeping running for her, and it bizarrely all started to rhyme without me thinking about it, go fig. I thought of my Dad and was chanting stuff for him (I run this mile for my father/so that I can bring him honor) and then I thought of the verse he'd written in the letter he wrote me for graduation, which epitomized the way he lived and therefore was what we put on his grave-- Ecclesiastes 9:10: whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your might. This has also been my personal motto, but for some reason I didn't think of using it as a mantra until this moment. So I just started chanting, over and over, "whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your might," and all that feeling of lethargy and pain just left me, and my pace went up, and up, and the last 2.2 miles, I was running faster than I had the entire time. I came to my mother's mile, and started running for her, but kept repeating the verse, and just pushed and pushed as hard as I could, and when I rounded the corner as the sun was setting and dusk started to settle in, I sped up more, and started repeating "do it with all your might, do it with all your might" and then "with all your might, with all your might" over and over. And then I saw Dan and Mark, and I was at the chute, and I ran as fast as I could, which was well faster than I ever could have imagined, and I ran through the Vineman banner, and they gave me my medal and took off my chip, and I came over to Mom and we both cried and cried. Which was perfect.
I later saw on my Garmin that my final sprint reached a 5:42 minute mile... of course, not for long, but still. That's kind of rad. I did it... with all my might. Just the way I wanted to.
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| Finisher medal, finisher tee shirt, and finisher burger. |
Afterwards, Mom, Mark, Dan and I took pictures, I got a little food and did a 15-minute massage, and then we got all my stuff out of transition and headed home for my horrific ice bath and a champagne toast. I somehow managed to stay up past midnight (I know, what the hell?) and then woke up this morning at 5, and got up by 7 to write this (double what the hell!) Probably because I kept thinking up things I wanted to write here. I'm feeling sore, of course, but pretty great. To be fair, I also popped a painkiller when I first woke at 5ish, hoping it would sedate me back to sleep, so I'm not so sure how I really feel, but after that kind of work, I deserve a little soreness, and a little rest.
As I was sitting with Mom on the bench as she helped me take off my sneakers after the race, I realized: I really did that. I did it? I just did an Ironman? And I frankly still can't fully grasp it. Back in the apartment, as I sat on the floor half comatose, I realized: I just did two half Ironman races, back to back. I did a full Ironman. Half of that is a big race. I did a race for over 13 hours without stopping. What?! So yes, as much as it's insane to you, it's just as crazy to me. I guess really I didn't do an Ironman, I did it one mile at a time. During the bike and the run, that's all I kept thinking: just keep going, and eventually, you'll be done. And that was true. It was the same with the training: just get up and do it, one day at a time, and eventually, you'll be there.
Today we're going to go to visit Julia at Moshin and do a real bonafide wine tasting, when I won't have to worry about my hydration. And I can think about what my next race will be. But the Ironman is now a fait accomplit.
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