San Diego Women's Half Marathon

Coach Julie the night before the race:  “Have fun- with the week you have had work wise, being sick- a PR would be a LOT…..not sure it is realistic- but I do want you to give it 100% and see what happens-..”

Over a week has since passed as I continually reflect on my most recent half marathon, The San Diego Women’s half.

I began the run with the following issues:

• “chest cold” really bronchitis with some asthma components.
• 2 hours sleep at the most the night before and minimal sleep x 5 nights before from a brewing infection and taking pseudephedrine during the day to make it through work.
• Family stuff in the night

With all of this in mind, I certainly could have easily slept in and not gone.

I could have easily run easy on this one and just enjoy. I entertained these but

I signed up for this race for a PR and nothing else. I needed this time (2:30 finish) before Ironman Oceanside. It was on my goal list and I was sooooo close.

The run:

Woke up, feeling pretty funky and exhausted. I did not want to eat but made myself anyway calculating the calories I needed to consume before the race. I added extra carbo pro to my watered down Gatorade to get more calories. I just couldn’t eat more solids.

We arrive at Liberty Station. It looks pretty mellow. I’m not feeling anxious, quite the opposite. I’m thinking about a quick nap before I get out of the car. I get ready and James and I head to the start. I take a hit of my inhaler which I only use in the cold. I think it is running out- not sure so I take a few more hits. Oh well.

I get to the start and see the 2:30 pacer. Oooh last minute decision. Do I stay with her? It would be smart. I have never run with a pacer. Tried in the marathons and ultimately got dropped and completely heartbroken. It is different now. I approach her and ask how she will be pacing. She said faster at the first mile to get through the crowd then a solid 11:15 the rest of the way. Sounds good except I have this paceband I made set for a 2:23 finish. I don’t want to undermine my plans. I decide to start with her and at least keep her in view.

Not too bad at the start. Fairly comfortable but early on short of breath.

Ignored. Played music louder so I couldn’t hear my breath. Pushed through it. Stayed almost exactly on pace for a 2:23 finish until a bit after mile 10.  10:30 miles alternating with 11:30’s. I like how fast the 10:30’s go and am always looking forward to the change.

Getting dizzy about mile 5. Different kind of dizzy- not running fatigue or poor nutrition dizzy, more like when I passed out several years ago. Drank more, ate more, remained focused and ignored.

Went away.

Pace is excellent. I am pleased. I know I am pushing it more than I should but I’ll do it as far as I can. The 2:30 pace group is far behind me. I keep them in mind as my gauge when I am near the minimum PR. If they pass me it’s over. That will not happen.

I am enjoying the sunny views feeling the rhythm of my feet constantly checking in. Shoulders back, chest out, eyes to the horizon or the palm trees, core and hips fully engaged…check…and all over again at each mile. Music is good.

Dizzy returned around 8. Visual changes, thinking more like this is a lot like before I went down 5 years ago at work. Okay, keep pace but lets plan accordingly. I’m not stopping for this because there’s a good chance I’ll stay up. Moved over to the side closer to grass so at least if I go down I have less chance of hitting my head on the asphalt. Kept my eye on the medic runners. Ironic that they were always close by. Took deeper breaths…felt like lungs smaller. Chest hurts a little but not in a cardiac way. Sucks, but I’ll be fine.

Keep pace.

Body form check in…

The 10:30’s were getting harder so at each mile I welcomed the nice 11:30 break.

Getting irritated at my chest cold. Seriously? Really? Coughing, spitting, intermittent dizziness. Nice. Thanks parents for being chain smokers in my childhood. I’m irritated. I must need a gel.

Still on pace for a kick ass PR but I know I can’t hold this much longer. I have good time in the bank. I can’t do another 10:30 in the next mile. I try and I feel like shit all over. My legs and hips feel fine. That’s weird. At Carlsbad by now my hip was so tight I could barely move it. Hip felt great, calves, quads, core and hamstrings all felt fine.  My “running body” was fine, yet my whole body felt awful.  I just wanted to curl up in a ball on the grass and nap just for a few minutes. I just wanted to not be vertical anymore. It was harder and harder to keep vertical.

Tired of the gels- just cant stomach another blackberry gu. The texture is making me gag. I have been taking Gatorade at each aid station instead.

I know I am in the spot where I struggle. I own it and do something about it. The last few miles have been consistently hard and I have had no more mental strength. I vow to run, no matter what. No walking - no matter what. Walking ONLY at the aid station because I am not coordinated enough to drink and run even though I literally trained for it for three marathons, received instruction from professionals and yet still spill the whole cup on me. I grab the cup, drink and always drop in the trash and the trash is my starting line to run again. I don’t lollygag. It is one smooth motion, grab cup, walk briskly, drink and drop and go. I remain more disciplined today than in any other run.

Again no walking. I’m hitting the wall and the dizziness returns. I mentally tell the dizziness to f&^% off. I’m finishing this damn race and I am PRing. No walking. I’m crashing hard at 11 miles in. I give myself permission to run slowly, whatever it takes as long as I remain running. I can crash at the finish- only less than 2 miles away. But I really can’t go more than 2 min slower than race pace. I had 6 minutes in the bank at mile 10. I try to calculate what I have now. 2 min x 2 more miles is 4 minutes, still 2 minutes faster than my goal finish. Too close. Anything can happen in 2 minutes.

Mile 12. A few miles back the plan was I’d give it all I had from mile 12 to the finish. Okay let’s go for it. I may have picked it up to an 11 but my head was spinning. There’s a small uphill over the bridge. I know I am so close to the finish yet so far.  I jog up the bridge into Liberty Station. I’m good. Got it. I see James at the bottom of the bridge. He sees me and approaches me. I instantly break down in tears as I run. Have no idea where THAT came from. He encourages me and reminds me how close I am.

“I can’t” I tell him knowing those words are forbidden.

He says I can.

Well I guess I can.

Duh.

I have to stop crying anyway, it produces way too much mucus. So I stop.

Fuck, I’m dizzy again and I feel really wobbly now. I see the finish. James is running along saying something I can’t understand. I push as hard as I can to get through that damn finish. I chant to myself “dig deep…dig deep…dig deep…dig deep…” The pictures are going to really suck I think to myself.  I look at my watch. I could theoretically do this 4 minutes faster than goal. I AM doing it!

 I feel like I am going to go down really soon. I need to cross the line first. Someone will catch me then. The landing will be softer.

I cross the line 

2:26.

I am vertical.

I am weaving all over the place confused. People keep asking f I am ok. I lie and say yes. My vision is changing yet again, the knees feel really wobbly.  I immediately get to the side, the knees start to go down, so I grab the bar, put my head down and try to catch my breath.  Big deep breaths. It passes. I should get more to drink.

I see James. I need to lay down I tell him. Not sure if he really gets what I mean. I say it again. I need to find the grass and lay down for real now. At the end of the finish I find my spot and lay down. I look up at the sky as the blue sky and trees spin. Now it feels more like a merry go round and feels nice and relaxing. No pressure now to stay vertical. I can deal with this. It passes.

I sit up and am still a little out of breath. It passes.

Then it hits me….I exceeded my goal time by 4 minutes and beat my last PR by 6 minutes! Excellent.

Despite weird feelings of vertigo and overall bodily nastiness, I did have fun. The views were incredible. I smiled a lot.

I gave it 100%

And this is what happens…an ass kicking PR and a realization that I have more strength than I ever knew.

The Tiki Swim....2.4 miles in the ocean!

The Tiki Swim

I first saw the Tiki swim ad around the time I did IM Oceanside 70.3. After I finished the race and had a little taste of almost ocean swimming complete with swells and realized I might just be able to do this. I held off though because I never swam IN the ocean and the breaks scared the daylights out of me. Later that year I learned how to swim in the ocean thanks to a really supportive group of triathletes through Team Solana. I participated in my first ocean triathlon, The Solana Beach Triathlon. It was incredible. I fell in love with ocean swimming. I was still a little spooked at times but with more experience I felt it less and less. After Solana, I decided to go for this Tiki swim- the 1.2 miler one. The 1.2 mile seemed WAY out of my comfort zone but I like to challenge myself.

I joined a morning ocean swim group and went on occasion. They were incredible. They were patient enough to swim with me as I was the slowest. My pool time is significantly faster than my ocean time. I am still learning the ocean and still a little hesitant. These guys were so supportive and always inviting me back.

The Friday before Tiki, I swam with my group. We had the craziest surf. I got knocked over just standing there in a foot of water. We made it in and had a great time. Exiting was a challenge but we made it in with the right timing. I have never swam in surf like that so I was happy to have experienced that. I didn’t want any surprises on Tiki day.

That night I keep thinking that maybe I should consider doing the full 2.4 mile swim. Not sure where it came from but it kept creeping into my head. Each time I felt more confident that I just might pull it off. Of course when my cerebrum got involved, I would remind myself that the furthest pool swim I have done is 3500, “flat” open water 1.2 miles and ocean…well…um… maybe 1 mile. Which was based on estimates. So 2.4 miles, really? 1.2 is a stretch and still out of my comfort zone. I was feeling relaxed about the 1.2 mile swim. There was plenty of time to complete it and I wasn’t worried at all. I saw it as a nice Sunday morning ocean fun swim. I could keep it like this and go in without any stress and enjoy it. So why do I keep thinking about the 2.4? I have nothing to prove to myself. I will do it one day soon.

I email my coach and see what she thinks. I’m sure she will encourage me but she also knows what I have done and not done so I anticipate more of a “great idea….maybe in a few months.” So then that will settle it for me and I can move on with the 1.2.  She totally encouraged me. She “likes the challenge.”  I do too but is this unrealistic? Am I going to fail and feel awful? Am I going to get spooked? I heard stories about distance swimmers experiencing glycogen depletion, hallucinating and getting spooked. I have done this on runs and really do not want to do this in the ocean as I may panic. Under no circumstance can I be vulnerable in the ocean.

So packet pickup is on Saturday. My cerebrum has taken over my thought process and I have pretty much talked myself out of it. Not completely but I want someone else to decide for me as I wasn’t ready to ax this idea. The organizers may not even let me change this late so the answer is final. I get to Oceanside and look down from the pier to the harbor. That is REALLY far. I’m sure at packet pickup they will say no. In fact, I really hope they do.

I arrive at packet pickup and one of my morning swim friends, Patti is there volunteering. It’s great to see her.

“You all won’t let me upgrade to the 2.4 this late, right?” I ask.

“Of course you can! You should totally do it!!!”

Everyone at the both encourages me. I remind Patti that she has in fact been swimming with me and does she remember how slow I am. She tells me yes but that’s okay. I will be fine. Then I run into Chuck, the organizer of our morning swim group and the one who often swims with my slow ass. He encourages me too and I also remind him of my slowness. He says to do it anyway and I will be fine. Patti reminds me to swim the pace I swim with them the whole time. I am never tired after our swims.

I take a deep breath and tell them yes committing myself to the 2.4. I sign the additional waiver and get the green swim cap.

Shit what did I just do? This whole song and dance was also in front of my daughter. So I couldn’t back out now. What would she think? I now go from thinking this is a fun little Sunday swim to oh shit! I have never done this before! What if I get fished out? What if I get spooked? What if I don’t finish in 2:20? What if I die? What if there are weird sea creatures? Most of all though, what happens in the open water after 1.2 miles? The unknown scared me most. I have run marathons. What is the equivalent of mile 19 and what do I do out there? What can I expect? I have not trained for this.

I email my coach and she of course gives me excellent feedback. Stay hydrated, eat well before and go slowly. And even if I don’t finish at least I tried. That’s true. I will at least make it to the aid station (a bit over 1.2 miles) and will have achieved my original goal. There is a way out if needed. Of course, I would never give up but it was comforting to know this. It was comforting that I could go into this and not beat the crap out of myself for not making the time cutoff. I can embrace that what I was doing was pretty cool.

That night I went through my race prep anxiety induced ritual.

Alarm goes off. Swim day.

*Gulp*

shit.

Swim day.

It will be fun. Yes, it will be fun. I love the ocean. I will swim slowly and enjoy the peace and have a hell of a story after.

I ate 600 calories at breakfast and it was WAY too much food. I ran out of Carbo Pro a few weeks ago and didn’t have any left. I took some of my breakfast on the road to Oceanside and tried to finish at the start. I ended up throwing out my pancake and drinking my electrolytes. I am soooo full.

I arrive at the pier. It’s chilly. I’m worried about hypothermia and remind myself it is not winter. I take a big breath and get out of the car and walk to the pier. I see friends from Team Solana. Very nice. Best of all I see Al, the triathlete who was my swim buddy when I learned how to ocean swim in June.  He is the one who taught me. I am forever grateful to him. I immediately go to him and anxiously ask if there is anything I should know. In his calm demeanor he says, “yes, one arm in front of the other. That’s all.” Somehow that calms me. Later he tells me about arriving near the harbor. He tells me I will smell all of this wonderful food and get really hungry only to find that I have further to swim in the harbor but it is worth it. I see Patti, always a wonderful face to see. I’m still here and I didn’t back out.

A few minutes to start. I have major nausea and fear. That buoy is REALLY far. I have only gone a bit past the breakers but NEVER THAT far. There are boats out there. This is way past the pier. My hands are shaking- a combination of fear and my albuterol.

Breathe.

I remember how much I love being out there past the break and remind myself of the relaxing swim.

We line up. I go back and forth. Where to start? Which side? I am not afraid of the group so I start as close to side of the buoy near the pier. The race director tells us it is okay to wait a few minutes for the surf. Oh yes the surf. That is kinda crazy. In fact those waves are giant and rough. I won’t go there. I remind myself how much I like diving under waves. It will be fine.

Time to go.

I have work to do.

Get out, turn and swim slowly and peacefully one buoy at a time, one arm in front of the other.

First wave, too small to dive, strong, make it over it.

Next one, big, dive.

Another.

Water is nothing but foam and here comes another.

Meanwhile it feels like total survival around me, yet I am fairly comfortable and very focused. Everyone is in groups instructing each other when to dive. One person is freaking out. I want to help her. She is with other people helping her and if I don’t dive now I get thrown back to the beach.

Go!

I make it but this is long. I want to come up for air but it’s still dark. Must be a double. I come up in foam and there is one more.

And I’m down.

I have work to do.

I start swimming which is nice. I look back and I must be past the breaks. The shore is pretty far and the waves behind me are huge. I turn back and see one big one coming starting to break. Really? Okay I guess I’m not past the breaks.

I still have work to do. This one isn’t as powerful. A few more and I am finally out. Still big swells but no more diving. One swell was big enough that I dropped down and felt my breakfast shift. Oh no, I am going to puke in the water. I have never done that. Gross. Please no. Please no. It’s just a burp. Yuck.  Well at least it’s not in a pool and no one can hear me. Why did I eat so much food? Note to self: Always have Carbo Pro in stock at home.

Then I see a guy hanging onto the lifeguard board.  “Poor guy. That really sucks.” I think to myself. He’s tired out so early. He has a long way to go. I’m mentally tired from the breakers but know I can relax for a while.

I sight on the blue house at the end of the pier. It looks relatively close to the first buoy. Making progress. I look up and why is the buoy that far to my … LEFT! And really far away? WTF? No more sighting on the pier. I am getting moved over way  too far. So I try to sight on the bouy which is REALLY far and barely visible at times. It takes what seems like an eternity to get there. I see a group there so I know it’s possible. I finally reach it and look back. I am REALLY far out. Cool. The pier is a long way from here. This buoy is huge, why is it s hard to see? I make my turn and time to do the long swim. I’m ready. I’m happy and at peace.

I barely see the next buoy and try to sight on something else. Maybe the hotel? I swim and realize the lifeguard is close to my right reminding me to move back out. I see that I am closer to the pier. It is discouraging. He kindly tells me he does it all the time.

Most of the swim was about where to sight. If it was too general there was so much room for going off course but the buoys were too far away. About halfway through I had a guard to my left. He was going in the same direction. I was getting a little frustrated at where to sight and I had to breathe to my left to avoid the sun. He helps me by pointing to where I need to sight. I just want to reach the aid station to reset my brain. I’m having fun but this sighting is the hardest I have ever done. IM Oceanside had a LOT of bouys and the water was fairly flat. It was super easy to sight. The TCSD aquathlon was easier to sight. I think I was so far out in such open water where I could go in the wrong line yet still remain in the general direction. I need to add this to my list of things to improve.

I finally see the green buoy in the distance. There are two green ones on the course, one for the aid station a little over halfway through and the one to turn into the harbor. Green, good. I can see that and I can see the outrigger which is the aid station. Easy to sight.

What time is it? I have been out here for a while. The cutoff is 2:20. I really want to make the cutoff. In fact, I have developed some attachment to that even though I went in without a time attachment. I am visualizing the course map in my head. The whole way out I estimated the aid station at 1.2 miles. It is at the turn for the 1.2 mile swimmers. So really it is more than half way. I tried really hard to proportionally measure the lines in my head to get a better estimate of where I was. Was it 20% of the 1.2 miler course? I digress and I am off course again. Focus on the swim and who cares where the aid station is.

I get close to the aid station and am thirsty. I also see this as the line between the known and the unknown. I have never gone beyond 1.2 miles in the open water. I am pensive but not afraid. I really want to know the time. The volunteer tells me it is 8:44. She says I have 45 min to the finish. Really? No I have 1:05 to the cutoff. Hmm. I am not liking the time. If I am halfway then I just swam a VERY slow 1.2 mile. Crap. I know I swam way off course but it doesn’t matter. I have to take that into account with my time. Well, if the next part is not as long which I doubt it will be because I do not have to deal with surf, then…

Wait.

I can see the harbor from here! I can see the green buoy! I see the rock jetty. It’s still far but I can SEE it. The volunteer tells me to sight on the “dorito.” That passes right over my head. I have no idea what she said or meant. Whatever.

I have work to do.

Let’s go!

At this point the lifeguard is floating along with me on his board. I ask him if that is in fact the green bouy in and he says no. What do you mean no? It IS the green buoy. So it looks like it is on a stick.  He says to sight on the orange buoys. I can barely see them and they are far to the right of the green what-seems-to-be a buoy. There are a few. Oh wait there is an orange buoy with a yellow tip. Ahh the Dorito. That is what she meant back there. Okay. Got it.

I sight on the buoy but I am still fixated on the green thing that looks like a buoy. I don’t like that I am NOT sighting on this. If it’s not the buoy, then what is it?

I know this part is the unknown but this is also the very well known. I swam in the harbor for IM Oceanside to the end of the jeddies. I know that inlet. What is that damn green thing? It is at the very tip of the jeddi on a pole. So if that is NOT the green buoy where is it? I see more orange bouys ahead of the dorito. Damn. I see the harbor and it teases me. I think I am nearing the end of the swim only to look up and feel like I have gone nowhere.

The lifeguard tells me to just sight on him. I do for a while. I try to get out of this head space and I do this successfully. I pick up the pace and start enjoying “punching” the swells. The swells are bigger here. I am swimming harder feeling all of my power in my arms, core and hips. It’s a wonderful rhythm. The guard is next to me and I don’t have to sight.

I get closer, pass a few more buoys and now I am realizing time is running out.

I DO NOT WANT TO BE DISQUALIFIED.

I DO NOT WANT TO BE FISHED OUT OF THE WATER.

I interrupt those feelings and remind myself how far I am. If I can just get to the inlet of the harbor then I can be fished out. Just let me get there and I will be happy with my distance and accomplishments. I don’t need a medal today. I just want to accomplish my goal or come close. I already have. I’m okay.

For now.

Behind me I see the aid station outrigger coming in. I see someone towing the buoys. Damn I really am last.

Again, I think of what I have accomplished. I remind myself of how strong I am, how I go for things even if the odds are against me. Then…

Screw that. I am tired of being the strong determined one…who comes in near last. Sure I know I have courage and all that crap but

I AM SICK OF BEING SLOW.

I pick up my speed. I punch through the water. I look up and see the Oceanside sign. I’m IN the harbor. I am in very familiar territory. The unknown is behind me. Now I race the clock.

Déjà vu. I did this in IM Oceanside too. It was all about racing the clock and assuming I was dead last and would be fished out of the water. My lifeguard to the left is saying something. I stop and see what he is saying. He tells me he is talking to them and points to the lifeguards to my right. I had been breathing to my left most of the time so I never saw them. I look to my right and wow!!! Right next to me are three VERY young lifeguards. Hmmm….I should give them a little space. It’s awkward. They are SOOO young. How can their mothers let them out here? They must be close to my daughter’s age.  How proud their mothers must be of them. They must be excellent swimmers. Good kids.

I am turning into the last part of the harbor. My left sided lifeguard is heading in and I can’t cross him to go to the buoy. I ask him what is happening and tell him I need to go to the buoy. He is almost blocking me. He says not to worry about it and look over at the dock and sight there. That’s the finish. All I see is a boat. Oh I see. I get fished out at the boat before the finish. I point to the boat and he says yes.

I was starting to be resigned to the idea of getting fished out but I was so close to finishing I just wanted to complete the damn swim no matter what the time. I was ready to negotiate. I WILL keep swimming. I am not exiting early at some boat. He points again and asks if I can see the yellow bouy and boat launch. Yes I can. That’s the finish. Wait that boat. The boat that was fishing me out. Where is it? It’s behind me! I swam past it. There’s the finish! He looks at his watch. I look at him. He tells me to sprint now. Excellent.

I go for it as hard as I can. I last 6 stokes and

Oh my god!

My arms are full of lactic acid. I slow back down and that’s better. No, he said sprint. I tried again. Crap. I think I’m depleted. I felt fine the whole way, never really tired just mentally busy. I hear people cheering. It reminds me of my finish at Oceanside. I look at the dock to my right and see someone who looks like James. I wonder if he made it back in time form his race. It’s not him. 

I feel good and see the boat launch. It is a radically different day from Oceanside. I am NOT getting fished out. I am finishing and the sun is shining. Holy crap! I just swam 2.4 miles!!! IN THE OCEAN!

I see the volunteer there ready to help me out of the water. I swim right until I touch the bottom of the ramp, step up and take his hand. This time I let him help me. Last time I refused during as a result of pride and a minor hallucination.

I jogged up the mat to cross the finish and feel great. Wow, much better than IM Oceanside where I could not feel my legs. I see Patti, the woman in my swim group and Tiki volunteer. She places the Tiki finishers ribbon around me and gives me a hug. I did it!!!!

The group is saying there is still another swimmer out there. What? No I am the last one. I saw the bouys being pulled in. IS there really another swimmer out there? I’m not last? I leave that thought.

I run to the bathroom to pee and return to see the last finisher coming in. Everyone is cheering loudly. I want to find the lifeguard and thank him. I cheer the finisher in and start to cry. She looks exhausted. She hobbles up the ramp. Good job! I spot my lifeguard and run over to thanks him. His name s Ryan.

The chatter among friends and other swimmers is that the first bouy took forver and they too got off course. They measured the distance at 2.9miles. They also said this was the hardest surf they have ever experienced even after doing hundreds of ocean swims. This was by far the worst.

So I may have swam beyond 2.4 miles.

I made it through the surf and really didn’t find it hard, just very challenging.

I welcomed it and honestly I liked it.

The next day I looked at the results.

I was not last, there were two others after me.

I made the cutoff time with a couple of minutes to spare.

This Is My Race: Ironman 70.3

 This is My Race

3:45am - the alarm goes off. Feeling like somewhere between a child on Christmas Day and the day I took my board exams, I jump up out of bed.

It’s Ironman time!

Here I go.

Shower. Breakfast. James makes my daily tea and is just as chipper as I. We are goofy and joking. He sings the triathlon song and plays the video on his I-Phone. I need this more than anything right now. I eat my 350 cal breakfast, load up my stuff and we head out into the dark cool morning to Oceanside. I cannot remember much of the drive until we get close to the exit. Then the butterflies begin to flutter.

I review my mantra: “I got this. I will do it. I’m strong. I’m a badass. I will have a blast. And most importantly, this is MY race.”

We arrive at the parking lot. I already set up my T2 gear yesterday so really do not need to be there. I ask the staff if we can just drive straight to the harbor. It is not recommended. So we park there and walk/ride a mile to the harbor start. I arrive in the parking lot among hundreds of triathletes gathering their bikes and gear bags in the dark. I am briefly intimidated by all of the surrounding $5-10,000 triathlon racing bikes.

I remind myself “this is MY race.” 

I’m fine.

James snaps a picture of me holding my bike up for my dear friend, Willow. She saw a picture of a woman powerfully holding up her bike and wrote me a letter from Costa Rica requesting such a picture of me. I’m feeling more dorky than strong at the moment; but, we take the shot anyway. James happily walks with me most of the way to the harbor. I feel calm. It’s still dark and we walk near the ocean. It is breathtaking. The palm tree lined street makes me a little giddy. Growing up in the Midwest, the palm trees still fascinate me to this day. Cyclists buzz pass me like bees. Must be those super cool Zipp wheels that create the buzz. Meanwhile, my front wheel is rubbing on something, perhaps my brake. I stop several times to adjust it and try to hold my balance while hanging onto my gear bag and looping my leg around the mylar “Welcome Home” balloon tied to my bike. The balloon is to mark my T1 spot and the Welcome Home will make me laugh after the swim.

I see the bridge and decide it is time to leave James behind and ride off. I needed him and he was so kind to walk with me as long as I needed. I was ready. It was time to get to T1, get into my headspace and prepare for the swim that lies ahead of me. I kiss him goodbye and tell him I will see him at the finish. I say that more for me as I am so scared I will not finish.

I take a breath and go. Gliding down the hill I feel the breeze and excitement I feel every single time I start on my bike. I feel free. I feel strong. I feel like I am going to the coolest party ever.

I cross the Bike out arch into T1. Wow! Incredible. Triathletes everywhere, music playing. Everyone is busy setting up gear, having a snack, getting body markings. I look for the Triathlon Club of San Diego spot. Members can park their bikes there. It’s right here and wow a great spot. I wanted to be near a landmark so I didn’t have to think after the swim. I wanted to find my bike easily. This was perfect, right next to the parking box just like the other parking lot in T2. I have a lot of space around me to move. Perfect.

I see a familiar face. I met this wonderful woman at a training and we continue to run into each other. She is parked one rack away.  I see another familiar face and say hello.  I get my body marking done and return to my bike to see a familiar volunteer. I met her at a training run and absolutely loved her. We are happy to see each other. 3 friendly familiar faces. I feel good. I text James and tell him that I talked to 3 familiar people. He is nearby and I see him in the start corral. How great!

15 minutes until the pros start. I need to get going here. I get my wetsuit on and repack my gear. James clears out of the corral and we say goodbye. I again tell him I will see him at the finish.

Looking out at the water, it feels eerie. Will I see him at the finish? Or will I see him here at the bike if I DNF (do not finish) out of the water? I get nervous and cannot organize my gear. I feel rushed. In the guide they said they would close the transition area when the pros were starting. I needed to hurry and I felt disorganized. I’m not ready yet. I need to re- order my gear. I need to re check it. What if I forget something? Which goggles will I wear? I brought two. I grab the brand new clear ones and place the older dark ones in my morning clothes bag that I have to drop off before I start. I don’t know. I take my morning clothes bag and leave T1.

The men start and I watch in amazement. They are in a perfect line at the start and swim so fast. So powerful! Amazing! Then the pro women, powerful yet graceful. I hope to spot my favorite triathletes Andy Potts and Heather Jackson. Heather has been a huge inspiration to me. As I watch it hits me that I am going to be swimming there in less than an hour. Eerie. My stomach is doing flips.

The Swim

I drop off my Morning Clothes bag and get ready to go to my start corral. I see one of the volunteers I know. I am thrilled to see her. She has a comforting energy. “I need a hug!” I ask her and she gives me a great hug and wishes me luck.

I was told in one of my training groups to go to the front of my wave to swim to the start. So I wanted to make sure that happened. I am in Wave #17 and only see signs for Waves 14. I see a few other women with the bright pink swim cap…the same color as my wave.  The announcement comes that we need to move aside as the pro men are exiting the water. In a flash, Andy Potts runs by. As always he looks larger than life. I am eagerly awaiting the women in hopes of seeing Heather Jackson. The first woman flies by and I don’t recognize her. A few later, Heather runs by strong as ever. Okay. NOW I’m ready.

I take three hits of my inhaler for my cold induced asthma. It seems empty. Theoretically there should be a lot more inhalations than I have used. I wait to see if it kicks in.  Nothing. I’m certainly anxious but no more than I have been all morning. I’m not feeling it.  Oh crap! What if it is empty? I can’t swim in cold water without it! Deep breath. Let it go. Try again in a bit.

Wave 16 is next. I am lined up with my group behind the Wave 17 sign. I take 3 more inhalations, one being a test to see if I can taste it. I could. Okay, good. Still not feeling it but it could simply be masked by race anxiety.  I ask the volunteer where I leave my inhaler and he says close to the dock. I should see a table for glasses and inhalers. I watch Wave 16 get into the water and swim to the start buoys. Deep breath….I take a VERY deep breath. We’re next.

Wave 17… please line up at the water. I do not see the table for the inhalers and glasses and ask someone. He takes it for me. I scope out which is the most efficient side to start. I move to the right. The water is warmer than my last open water practice…a balmy 58 degrees. I splash my face to acclimate and feel confident. I say aloud “I got this.”

“Wave 17…you may now enter the water.”

I get in and immediately swim hard to the start. Then I look up and realize that I veered too far to the right AWAY from my group, AWAY from the start. I turn towards the group and swim harder. I get closer and stop to catch a breath or two.

Or three….or four… Oh no, I’m feeling that all too familiar panic creeping up. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe at all.

All of Wave 17, all of the women in bright pink swim caps start.

It’s time to go? But I’m not ready? I haven’t even gotten to my starting place. I need to breathe first.  I try to swim anyway. I can’t breathe at all. I stop to try to deep breathe and relax and it’s not happening. I put my face in the water. No way! That makes it worse.  I try to breaststroke but forgot how. Oh crap I really can’t  do this. Did my inhaler fail me? I forget everything I learned including how to swim! I try to doggie paddle. What? I know how to swim! But why can’t I? Why can’t I breathe? My group gets further away and I am still at the start. I look around bobbing in the water. Oh no, someone is going to see me bobbing here and fish me out.

I am done. I am going to turn around and go home. I can’t do this and I’d rather go now before they disqualify me while I am in the water swimming. Might as well just stop now. Breathing is still really hard and I am dizzy now. There is no way I am going to swim 1.2 miles like this. And the thought of going out to the jetty scares me.

The next wave of swimmers goes past me.

I’m still at the start.

I think about the last 9 months since I signed up for the race. I think about the hard work I put into this. I think of the many days of training and accomplishments and growth. Ironically, one would think that would be enough to snap me out of this but it doesn’t. I am happy with my growth. I already proved to myself my strength and ability so why not just go home now. Great, 9 months down the drain. I wasted my time and everyone else’s. Good one Cecily.

Why?

I have so many people who know I am doing this. What will I tell them? I quit? I don’t ever quit. What will I tell my coworkers tonight? We are all going to a spa together later. I just won’t go then. They will ask on Monday. What will I tell Coach Tom? Oh man, that leaves a horrible feeling inside. I think of all of my friends and family cheering me on. The outpour of support I have received. I think about my children. I think of what Coach Tom told me the night before. “Whatever you do, I want you to promise me you will have fun in the swim.” I made that promise to him. I can’t break it.  And my kids cannot see their mother as a quitter…ever.

Okay, deep breath. I try. I know I blew it time wise and I know I will probably DNF but I will at least try and enjoy the swim. I start swimming with my head out of the water. I move forward. I begin to put my head in the water and breathe every other stroke. Not bad at all. I’m moving forward. Then every third and finally every 4^th  stroke. I sight on the buoys and in no time I am swimming. I remember Tom telling me to swim long. I stretch out.

I got this.

I pass a few buoys and am enjoying the swim! I can breathe now and I’m out of the harbor and already ¼ out. This is so much fun. The buoys seem to be going right by. I am way out and sighting on the final buoy before I turn back. The water is choppy with more and more swimmers are bumping into me. I liked having the other swimmers around. I didn’t mind swimmers bumping or crowding me. I felt camaraderie. At this point something interesting is happening in the water. I continue to swim and look up to see swimmers just bobbing around not swimming. I feel proud that I am still swimming at a steady pace. I see some swimmers hanging onto the kayaks to rest. Wow. I don’t need to rest at all. I feel great and keep swimming. I turn and try to sight but can’t see any buoy. Instead I see a giant swell of water. Wow. It’s otherworldly and must be 6 feet tall! It’s not coming towards me. It is in front of me. The water is rocky making my swim feel nearly uphill. I am fascinated. I really want to bob there and watch this phenomenon but have work to do. Okay so now what? I barely see the next buoy and head in that direction realizing that I am essentially swimming uphill. This is exciting. I make it past the big swell and am heading back.

I anticipated that the swim back would be with the current so it will go faster. Not quite. In fact it was the opposite. That’s why I made it out so fast. Now I am swimming against a current because those buoys are not passing nearly as fast as when I came out. This is great though. I’m having fun and am looking forward to swimming in the ocean another day. The water is still choppy and it is hard to sight so I sight on a building in the same line. The harbor arrives and I turn into it. I can’t wait to tell people about the big swell. Realizing that I have been out here a long time and feeling like this swim has been longer than my practice swims,  I’m pretty sure I did not make the time cutoff especially since I panicked at the start.

I swim faster and for a split second as I am getting close to the finish I decide that I am not going to the dock. I will swim past it and swim in circles refusing to get out. I don’t want them to tell me I DNF’d. They have to come and get me! I don’t really do it but was tempted. I saw a glimpse of James right there so I better get out.

The final buoy is close and its’ time to turn right into the dock. I swim until my feet can touch, look up and see a line of swimmers in blue swim caps waiting, standing. Why are they there? They were in the wave after me, I think. Oh no! They are the other DNF-ers! Oh no! They are reaching hands out to me. Oh no. I really didn’t finish! They must be supporting me and we will all go to a tent and get counseling as a group. I have to keep some semblance of pride here and at least exit the water myself so I decline their help.

Yet, James is there telling me I am a champ. I’m confused. I’m thoroughly disoriented. “Did I make it?” I ask him. “Yes of course!!!!” he says. I don’t believe him and I look at the clock. I did make it.  Oh my gosh! I made it!!!! I only lost 10 minutes from my anticipated swim time. I made it with time to spare!

I run to the table where my inhaler is and ask for it. Except I cannot really move my lips because my face is numb. They have no idea what I am saying so I just go on and run to my bike.  I struggle with running because my legs are numb. I am so happy though. I feel blessed. I made it. Mother nature gave me a chance here.

I get to my bike and two volunteers are ready to help me. They offer to help me with my wetsuit and bags. I automatically decline their help worried that I will get disqualified. I read the rulebook several times before the race. I then realize I am near the end of the group so no one is really worried that I will somehow gain an advantage and place. I accept the help.

Now what? What do I do next? I can’t think of the order to proceed. I don’t think I am cold but I don’t know. I stare at my bag. Oh yes, drink warm water. Eat a snack. I talk with the volunteers and they are trying to move me along. What’s the big rush? I am so happy to be there. I tell them I am blessed and thought I would not make it out of the swim to this point. I get my act together and try to focus. Clothes. Warm hat. Everything is on. I LOVE the warm water and miso soup. I take another bite of bar and leave the rest. The volunteer tells me I need to eat it and how important nutrition is. She sounds just like Coach Tom and all I could do was see him there telling me this.  Okay. Fine, I put the rest of the bar in my pocket and go. The volunteers pack my bags for me. I thank them. I get to the bike out and ask if I can get on now. Yes! I can!

I grin from ear to ear through the chute out and almost cry.

I’m here.

I’m on the bike.

I made it!

I will be fine!

I’m going to spend the rest of the day riding and running!

The Bike

I am feeling great. I see someone already walking up the tiny hill out of the harbor. I feel sad for them. I power up it no problem. I am not cold. I feel good, a little tired but good. It takes me a few miles before I realize it is raining. Something I had feared throughout my training. It’s a small drizzle. I reflect on what James was shouting at me on the way out. Something like “Don’t worry, it’s not rain, just fog. You will be fine.” At the time I wonder what in the hell he is saying and why. Nothing registers in my brain then. Now I see what he is saying. And no, it’s a bit more than fog. I’m fine with it. I’m not afraid. My bike is handling it well and I am glad I wore the windbreaker. Though the water on my sunglasses is annoying. I bought new tires, Continental all weathers, for this exact reason.

I review my mantra again: “I got this. I will do it. I’m strong. I’m a badass. I will have a blast. And most importantly, this is MY race.”

I am in the flats having a great time. I could almost sing.  I went from feeling completely out of control in the water to full control on the bike. I am confident on my bike. I look at my speedometer and am easily going 24mph in the flats. Coach Tom said to ride one gear easier than what feels easy, spin and to never try to go fast at the start and bank time. I will only pay for it later. I feel great right now but know this is way too fast to start. I reluctantly pull back to 20mph. I need to average 14mph for a 4 hour bike finish. I know I can go way faster and easily finish in less than 4 hours but I need to save enough energy for the run. I’m confident in my running and have had some significant breakthroughs in my training but I know things can happen. I can fatigue. The three hills in Camp Pendleton are an unknown. I feel pretty good on hills and calculated my paces prior to the race. But I have never ridden them and have received mixed reviews of the hills. I need to save some energy for those too. So I bring my pace down further to 18 and that’s it.

I see a truck with a giant digital clock on top. Must be the pros. Yes! It’s the #1 male pro, Andy Potts. He zooms past me heading back to the harbor. He looks 100% focused. What a privilege! I continually think of how lucky I am to be here. I am thrilled to enter Camp Pendleton and explore. I am thrilled to see the countryside.

Someone is on the side of the road waiting for help to change a tire. I feel so sad for her. I see help is coming. I pray that my tires stay intact but review in my head the exact process for changing my tires. Someone passes me and cheers me on. The volunteers so far have been so kind and now even the other racers.

My elation begins to settle into comfort and solitude. I welcome this. I look around and it feels like Ireland. I am surrounded by green mountains and mist in the air. The rain stopped; but, it is still wet. It smells nice.  I reach Christianitos Rd in San Clemente, the turn into the mountains before the first climb. James and I drove as far as we could before the gates to Camp Pendleton a week ago. When we drove we scoped out the first hill at a distance which didn’t seem too bad. Until now I had been riding in and out of Camp. Once I get here I will be in Camp Pendleton the rest of the ride until the last few miles. The road was rolling which I loved. My strategy was to hammer down the hills to make up for the uphills. It’s easy and requires little energy. I ride along into the base and grab a water bottle from the volunteers. I have been eating every 15 minutes and drinking my miso/carbo pro soup. I was pretty thirsty.

The ride is smooth and I see the first climb which seemed quite intimidating. It was much steeper than what we saw at a far distance in the car. It looked steeper than my mother-in-law’s hill which was rough. I realize I should have trained harder on Double Peak by my house. Here I go. Everyone is walking. I look down and push up. I will NOT walk. I refuse. 1/3 of the way up I hit a wall.

I walk.

Damn.

Nope.

I hear volunteers shouting at the top like military generals.

I won’t walk anymore!

I get on my bike and climb the rest. I pass the walkers and cannot look at them. I make it to the top and am elated and rewarded with a beautiful downhill. The views are incredible and it’s hammertime.

The other hills come which are not nearly so steep. I complete two climbs and giggle to myself. I climb the hills well, no problems. I see several cyclists again walking. They have very expensive bikes with all of the bells and whistles. I pass them right up. I think to myself, “What exactly are they paying for with those bikes if they can’t get up the hills?” I have a newfound appreciation for my little Cannondale.

Mile 50. My pace is right on track for my projected finish time. I feel centered and confident. I am still smiling and feeling so blessed that I made it this far.  I savor every minute of this race. I want to ride faster but I have to save it for the run.  I complete the last downhill and ride in the flats. There is a small headwind. Nothing bad, but enough to make me work a little to keep the projected pace. It’s nice to start seeing where I started. I am nearing the end of Camp Pendleton and heading into Oceanside. I’m happy and tired.

Suddenly out of the blue, I begin to well up with tears and long for my family. I wanted to see them more than anything right now. Must be nutrition, I thought. So I drink and eat more. I still want to see them and hope they will be at T2. I arrive at the harbor, the very place where I took off from the swim, still ever so appreciative. The volunteers guide us to the left to ride to T2. The volunteer shouts, “You are almost there and no more hills. Great job!” Yes, at this point I really am done with the smallest of hills.

I am mentally ready for the run now. They send us downhill on the strand. It’s nice but I am confused. I know T2 is uphill from here and the volunteer said no more uphills. Maybe they changed the bike finish? Anything can happen, I suppose. I am still dreaming of my family and hoping I can make a really fast finish. I want them to see me strong. Then there is the turn back uphill.

Oh no!!!

It is short, steep and just nasty.

I stand up to pedal and feel numbness in my legs. Crap! The residents are cheering me on and telling me I am so close. I make it up but am pretty upset about the last hill. The volunteer said NO MORE HILLS! Okay move on. It’s flat to T2 …really. Unfortunately the length was not far enough for me to make a grand 30mph hour finish for my family. I enter the chute and see them with incredible signs and cowbells ringing. I cry tears of joy. I am so happy to see them. I get off my bike to enter T2 and my legs are numb. I planned to run my bike in but can’t seem to naturally put one foot in front of the other while rolling my bike. Far too much coordination for me. So I walk as fast as I can. Volunteers are guiding me to my spot. I know exactly where it is. A volunteer helps my put my bike on the rack and asks if I need anything. I tell him “I am just so blessed I am here!!!!” I am a little confused. Shoes are changed, helmet off, warm clothes off. I ate a gel, drank some and now what? What am I forgetting? I’m fine and I dart off. The volunteer yells something at me. Oh I must have forgotten to remove my helmet. I feel my head and it’s off. I turn around and ask him what? He says “Good luck!” These volunteers are the best!

The Run

I am elated. I made it to the run. I finished the bike in 4 hours and few minutes over. Perfect. I have plenty of time for the run as long as nothing bad happens. I trust in my ability but also know in the past I have freaked out and lost any semblance of a finish time.

I review my mantra for the last time: “I got this. I will do it. I’m strong. I’m a badass. I will have a blast. And most importantly, this is MY race.”

I run out of T2. The legs are feeling funky. Not quite as numb but my form is way off. Oh well.  It does feel good to be running though. I see my family at the exit and they are cheering me on. I tell them, “I got this! I’m here!”

And I’m off.

I feel as if I am trudging along at a snail’s pace when I look at my Garmin and it is saying I am going 1.5 minutes faster than planned. Nope, it’s wrong. I know I am slow right now. Let’s see what it says at 1 mile.  At 1 mile it is in fact correct. Uh oh, I need to slow down. I’m a bit short of breath the entire time so it must be right. I am supposed to run a negative split. I pull back after the first mile and still feel the same. I work on my form as best as I can. I can’t quite get the pelvis tucked in like I usually do so I work on the upper body and hope the rest will follow. I see my family again at the pier going up. I didn’t realize it was an uphill and nearly tripped. It is so great to see them again. 

2 miles in, I see the sign where it says 8 mile cut off at 3:08pm. That is my last hurdle. If I make it past that in time, I will finish this race. I look at my watch and I have plenty of time but still keep in mind something can happen so I can’t get lazy. The run along the ocean is beautiful. It is a two loop course so I see people coming and going. We enter the neighborhoods and the slight uphill. A runner catches up with me and starts chatting with me. This is his 3^rd half. His last half Ironman was in Hawaii. He asks me if this is my first. I tell him “yes and I am so blessed to be here! I didn’t think I would make it out of the swim and I am here!” We chat more and I find out he is already on his second lap. Oh how I’d like to be on my second lap. It’s okay. I’m here and am doing well. My alarm goes off, time for the walk break. I have been running 3 minutes and walking 1 minute. The runner decided to keep running and we say goodbye.

I am ready for some solitude. I need to get up this hill and focus. Overall I am feeling emotionally neutral. I am pleased with that. No drama. In the past running was always dramatic for me full of negativity, frustration and disappointment in myself. Right now I am fine. I hurt, physically. In fact I hurt a lot but I can sustain for the rest of the run. My body is far stronger than my mind allows.

The run continues, I turn at the turnaround and head back to the beach and pier again. I am calculating my times as much as my foggy brain will allow. I am far better at calculations on the bike than on the run. All I know is so far I still have more than enough time to make the 8 mile cutoff. I remain focused. I have a mile to go before the cutoff which will also lead me to the second and LAST loop.

Wow! I’m doing this. I really am.

I reflect on the fact that I made it through the swim, I kicked butt on the bike and I am going to kick butt on the run. I start calculating again and am pretty close to a PR. In fact, right now if I remain at this pace I will smash my PR.  Wow, to finish and run a PR. My last PR was in my last marathon. Then, a run on fresh legs. Not a run after a 1.2 mile swim and 56 mile hilly bike ride! Wow. I am strong! At the same time I am thinking this, I am also contemplating just relaxing on the rest of the run after 8 miles and just finishing happy. I’m not that invested in the PR. At this point I can walk the rest of the way and finish in time. We’ll see.

I go up the pier for the last time and have this wonderful moment of clarity. I look around and see children at the beach and an incredible view. I take it all in. I am so lucky to be here I think to myself. This is absolutely incredible. I am smiling again. And guess who’s there? The race photographer.  I bet that will be a nice picture. A REAL picture.

Later, I see the 8 mile cutoff sign in the distance. My eyes remain focused on it. It gets closer. A volunteer is standing there. As I pass it I am elated. The volunteer cheers me on and I tell him “ I did it! I’m going to finish!” My eyes well up and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. No more cutoffs! No more racing against the clock. My watch says 2:44pm. The 8 mile cutoff is at 3:08pm and the finish cutoff is 4:18pm. I have 94 minutes to complete 5 miles. That’s an 18+ minute mile! I believe that is my CRAWLING pace! 5 miles left and now I know nothing will go wrong short of passing out or something extreme. I am still emotionally neutral and in fact pretty happy and confident. Even if I have some sort of drama, I can crawl an 18 min mile. Heck, I can stop for a tea somewhere or hop in the ocean for a quick swim and STILL make it. If I had my phone, I could check my email. I giggle at these thoughts and keep running.

Physically, I am pretty tired. I want a nap more than anything. I close my eyes for a few seconds and it is heaven. Then I have visions of tripping over something and decide it’s not a good idea to rest my eyes on the run.  I look forward to going to the spa that night with my coworkers. I had a massage scheduled for 6:30pm and will have a story to tell these wonderful women.

Thrilled to be on the second loop, I see my friend that I met at one of my training classes. She looked tired but strong and is almost finished. We say hello again and I cheer her on. I am nearing the turnaround and almost mile 11.  I saw that mile marker before and so longed to be there. Now I am. I am finally at 11.  I am taking more walk breaks. I decide to let the PR go. I am running out of energy despite my efforts at refueling on the clock. I still feel good emotionally. NO walls. Just sleepy.

The positive energy is infectious. I am on my last lap and see other runners still running the other direction. I cheer them on and see them smile.

I meet someone along the way who is walking. I walk with her for a bit. She looks strong. I ask how long she trained and she laughed. Only 2 mos.  We talk more and we are both thrilled to be at this point in the race. I tell her my story and how blessed I am to finally make it here. I really could walk the rest at this point but I need to keep it real and run. So I say goodbye and run more.

12 miles. I’m still in the neighborhood. This is starting to become the longest 2 miles of the entire 70.3 miles I am about to complete. Now I want to be done. I try to pick it up and run faster. According to my Garmin I am still within PR territory but dropping fast. I run harder and it really is not faster than what I have been doing in my run. I make the turn downhill back to the strand along the beach. I have come down this hill several times only to turn AWAY from the finish. Now I get to go to the finish. Seeing the ocean and the sign pointing me towards the finish makes me cry.  The sun came out in the last 6 miles of the run, the waves are coming in and the volunteers are cheering me on.  I am overwhelmed with happiness. It really hits me this time that I will finish. It is no longer a theory or dream. I see the finish in the distance. I start to sprint and that lasted a few seconds. Legs were not having it. Seriously? Really? I’m hot too. The next aid station is full of lively volunteers, about 6-9 on each side. I run through, grab a wet sponge and pour it on my head.  They cheer louder and all are holding their hands up for high fives. I give them all high fives. Once I make it past them the finish chute is in sight.

I stop.

I have no idea why. I suppose to take this moment in. I take a deep breath and hold back the tears. This is it. This is what I visualized for the months. I reflect on the whole race. I reflect on my fears and accomplishments. I hear my coach, Tom’s voice in his slight accent tell me to enjoy the moment. I wish he could be here to see this, to see his hard work. I can’t wait to tell him the story. When I met him, I really believed I had no chance of finishing this race. He always believed in me despite my efforts at self-sabotage. I reflect on all of my friends cheering me on from afar. They are also there in my heart. Best of all, most of my family is right there and they will see me finish. So now it’s time to see them.

And I’m off.

Running in the chute like an elated wild woman. I hear cheers. I see my family and they are high fiving me. I feel myself smiling. The announcer announces my name. I raise my fist in the air feeling strong as ever and cross the line. The volunteer gives me my medal and I hug her with tears. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!” I tell her.

My mantra now? “I got this. I did it. I was so strong. I was a total badass. I had a blast. This race is mine, all mine.”

My goals when I started per my email to Tom:

“To finish on time, not get fished out of the water or DNF.

Most important- smile when I come through the finish chute!!!!”

All goals achieved.

Back to the Triathlon Journey

I signed up for the Ironman 70.3 California triathlon in March 2012. I have not done a tri since my first and only in 2007. Since then I have been running marathons and it was time to do something new and to strengthen the rest of my body.

I found a wonderful coach to get me started. The day I met him I was set on learning how to go fast on my bike. It's my strength and I figured if I could progress far on the bike that would make up for my slow swim and run times. He immediately said, "No, we are going to train to your weaknesses and perform at your strength. Because if you don't get your swim down you won't make it to the bike." Duh! I have had two sessions and have leaned so much! The first was a swim session and he immediately saw why I have so much anxiety in the water. "You are survival swimming. No wonder why you are so anxious." So he showed me how to improve my stroke. I picked up some bad habits and swim really inefficiently thus my snail pace. Once the new stroke kicked in I got it! Now I just need to practice coordinating all of the new things he taught me in 45 min.

In the second session we worked on my running form and technique at the track. Again, inefficient, shuffle running and only using my quads, specifically my right side. My left just goes along for the ride while my right does the work. I learned to pick up my feet a little more and straighten up my body utilizing 7 muscle groups (R and L Quads, both calves, both hamstrings and core) which is the goal. I tried engaging my left side more and that was surprisingly hard! So the goal is to strengthen the left and make it do more work. Now I know why I get anxious when I get tired running. My right leg is overworked, gets floppy and it is just done. The right leg flops anywhere, I worry my patella will dislocate and enter the vicious anxiety cycle. Wow, how did I ever survive 3 marathons? I wish I had met this guy then, I bet I would have run faster.

I am eager to get to the pool today and practice the drills. And strangely I am eager to get back to the track to strengthen the left side and learn how to run properly despite the grueling hot drills I did yesterday. I feel like thee is a light at the end of the tunnel regarding my performance. I burnt out on running after the last marathon. I tried and tried to get faster. While I did PR and knock off 15 min from my first marathon time, I never liked how I finished. Always disappointed and will never reveal my time to anyone out of the notion that my times don't make me a REAL runner.  I have always worked hard in my trainings but not efficiently. Now I am seeing that. No wonder why I struggled so much.

This should be very interesting.

Self Doubt

The last few days I have been questioning whether I should go through with this marathon in January. I was signing up to have a goal to get me off the couch. A half marathon I can phone in but a full 26.2 will keep my training honest.

I just don't have the drive the way I did with NY. I don't "want it" the way I did last year. My heart is not in it. Sure things have come up, extreme things, personal and phobias that I am not ready to work through. But I can get through anything. The problem is...I don't want to right now. I don't want running to be yet another stressor. As soon as I start running for time I get stressed and worried and beat myself up for not running in my projected time frame for training.

I want to run faster for the next marathon but I don't know if I can. I compare where I was at this point in NY training and in a few weeks from now then I made my 9 mile PR. I am not even close to holding that for 9 miles now. I can't finish slower than NY and I can't finish in the same time. I HAVE TO cut my time significantly.

I keep returning tot he thought of putting off the marathon and committing to training for a faster 5 or 10K. If I can get my mile down by 2 min I will feel like a "real" runner. But am I just looking for an excuse to drop out? Perhaps because I am burnt out in life in general? perhaps because I cannot for the life of me figure out where I can run without a boatload of anxiety? I can do short distance on the treadmill but it is painfully boring. But I can do a few miles and speed work. Maybe I should spend winter on the treadmill, lifting weights and strengthening my hips and abs? I don't know.

I watched the NYC marathon this morning and was inspired for a while. But when I thought about doing a long run today I couldn't think of where. My options that are relatively snake free are the par course and the treadmill. 6-8 loops around the par course is pretty but monotonous. I want my country road in the valley for that. And long runs on the treadmill seem impossible.

It is really hard to balance the brutality of the trianing with my own phobias. If the snakes hadn't happened I don't think I'd be in this place. But it has brought me to such a place of self doubt, to a depth I never experienced while training for NY.

I'm sleepy. Maybe I wan tto ride my bike. Winter will be here which means rains...

Snakes on a run

5 weeks after my last post. I embarked on another marathon training. The first three weeks were incredible and my growth was fast. My min mile grew 1 min faster. I was moving right along, working hard. Some personal things beyond control came up and I slowed way down.

I started back up last week and was eager until I had to face my phobia...snakes. I cannot deal with them in any rational way. never have. Never sought therapy..well..beacsue I never really needed to. They didn't interfere with my daily life. Now they have. I was on a run an I saw not one but three dead ones on my road in less than a 1/4 mile. ridiculous and completely unacceptable. Okay, so I won't run there. But why were they out in late Oct? I am prepared to face one in the summer. I expect to see one cross my road yet NEVER have in the 2 yrs I have been running.

So James goes with me on my long run in the valley. We run on the opposite side of the road where I saw the snakes previously. I get past the point where I saw the last one, take a breath of relief and shit! there is fresh dead one right at my feet. I panic. I can't do this! Why? James get me past it and we continue. The whole 13 miles I am reminding myself to breathe. Relaxation was a joke. I am about to jump out of my skin at any moment. Finally after 4 miles of no snakes in sight I let my guard down again. I am running faster enjoying this spot...my favorite and there is another dead one and it was big. I scream from a place deep down and run as fast as I can past it cursing every step of the way. I did it! Great. I did it but at this point I have no more energy inside to deal with more. Now I am heading out to the flats, the sun. Where they may be alive and sunning themselves. Dead is hard enough...I cannot handle live ones. Just drug me now.

I hit a wall and cry. I can't turn back. It's a loop and I know damn well there are 2 snakes on my path behind. Maybe there are none ahead of me but I doubt it. Nature is playing a cruel joke. I have run this loop so many times. I have run through grassy paths, country roads, next to lakes and never spotted one. Yet in the last week I have now seen 5. And one more in town in a residential area on a walk...that's 6. I move on and find some strength inside. Only 8 more miles to go. I run. My pace is horrible.

Near the end of my run on the path where there were no snakes on the way out I pick up my pace and finally let go of the fear that haunted me in the last 12 miles. I finish strong. then I worry where will I run my next long run? It was the most emotionally hellish run of my life.I don't know where I will run? Places I thought were safe, like neighborhoods in town are not. In fact I saw another last night while I went with the kids trick or treating.

So I ran the par course where there really should be lots of creepy snakes. But no cars for them to get smashed so I hope they stay in their space in the grass and I can keep mine on the trail. I really thought they were gone once it got cold here.

The Second Marathon journey

James and I will be running the Carlsbad marathon Jan 24 TOGETHER. I ran NYC last year and he ran DC last March. It will be fun to start together and compare experiences on the same path. The kids talked us into it because there is a 1 mile kids' fun run in ...... Legoland on Saturday AND Grandma lives nearby.

I am still a little hesitant. Not sure if any marathon will measure up to the NY. Not sure if I really am ready to go through training again. The training is far more brutal than the marathon. Even though I did this once before there is still the unknown, the fear of "failure."

At the same time this is an opportunity to run like a "real" runner. I'm slow, I'll admit. VERY VERY slow. I trained for distance last time and I completed the whole 26.2 miles...slowly but intact. This time I dream of cutting an hour off my finish time or more realistically 30 min. I want to learn to let go emotionally at mile 15 and then move on. I want to internalize David Goggins' attitude of every morning taking a "suck it up pill" to get through the hard training I will need to do to successfully run faster. I want to build my mental stamina further. I want a stronger core. I want to lose a few pounds and actually look like a real runner.

I have completed almost the first week of an 18 week training plan with 3 days of speed work incorporated into the running. It's been hard. today especially running in the heat. Tomorrow is my first long run. 10 miles. That used to be nothing a year ago when I was training for NY. We'll see what I say tomorrow morning. I have 119 more days....

Israel uses white phosphorus in Gaza

• By JASON KEYSER, Associated Press Writer Jason Keyser, Associated Press Writer – 54 mins ago

AP – Israeli soldiers sit on top of an armored vehicle as smoke rises from Gaza near Israel's border with …

• Play Video Mideast Video: Palestinian Israeli musical mix Reuters
• Play Video Mideast Video: World protests for Gaza Reuters

JERUSALEM – Human Rights Watch said Sunday that Israel's military has fired artillery shells with the incendiary agent white phosphorus into Gaza and a doctor there said the chemical was suspected in the case of 10 burn victims who had skin peeling off their faces and bodies.

Researchers in Israel from the rights group witnessed hours of artillery bombardments that sent trails of burning smoke indicating white phosphorus over the Jebaliya refugee camp in northern Gaza. But they could not confirm injuries on the ground because they have been barred from entering the territory.

The chief doctor at Nasser Hospital in southern Gaza said he treated several victims there with serious burns that might have been caused by phosphorus. He said, however, that he did not have the resources or expertise to say with certainty what caused the injuries.

The substance can cause serious burns if it touches the skin and can spark fires on the ground, the rights group said in a written statement calling on Israel not to use it in crowded areas of Gaza.

Military spokeswoman Maj. Avital Leibovich refused to comment directly on whether Israel was using phosphorus, but said the army was "using its munitions in accordance with international law."

Israel used white phosphorus in its 34-day war with Hezbollah in Lebanon in 2006. The U.S. military in Iraq used the incendiary during a November 2004 operation against insurgents in the city of Fallujah.

An AP photographer and a TV crew based in Gaza visited Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis on Sunday and recorded images of several burn patients.

One of them, Haitham Tahseen, recalled sitting outside his home with his family in the morning when something exploded above them.

"Suddenly, I saw bombs coming with white smoke," said the man, whose burned face was covered with medical cream. "It looked very red and it had white smoke. That's the first time I've seen such a thing."

His cousin, in another hospital bed, was more severely burned, with patches of skin peeling off his face and body, and had to be wrapped with thick white bandages.

The hospital's chief doctor, Youssef Abu Rish, said the burns were not from contact with fire, but he couldn't say what sort of substance caused them. He said information he collected on the Internet indicated it could have been white phosphorus.

White phosphorus is not considered a chemical weapon, and militaries are permitted under laws of warfare to use it in artillery shells, bombs and rockets to create smoke screens to hide troop movements as well as bright bursts in the air to illuminate battlefields at night.

Israel is not party to a convention regulating its use. Under customary laws of war, however, Israel would be expected to take all feasible precautions to minimize the impact of white phosphorus on civilians, Human Rights Watch said.

"What we're saying is the use of white phosphorus in densely populated areas like a refugee camp is showing that the Israelis are not taking all feasible precautions," said Marc Garlasco, a senior military analyst for the rights group. "It's just an unnecessary risk to the civilian population, not only in the potential for wounds but also for burning homes and infrastructure."

Garlasco was among researchers on a ridge about a mile (1.5 kilometers) from the Gaza border who observed the shelling from a 155mm artillery unit on Friday and Saturday.

Some of the burning trails of smoke caused fires on the ground that appeared to go out after a few minutes, said Garlasco, who formerly worked at the Pentagon where he was in charge of recommending high-value targets for airstrikes during the 2003 invasion of Iraq.

Each 155mm shell contains 116 of what Garlasco described as wafers doused in phosphorus that can be spread over an area as large as a sports field, depending on the height at which it detonates. The phosphorus ignites when it comes in contact with oxygen.

Human Rights Watch has not been able to confirm whether there have been any civilian casualties from phosphorus. The group has a consultant working for it inside Gaza but he has been unable to move around due to the danger. Foreign journalists have also been barred from entering Gaza.

Garlasco said photos published Thursday in British newspaper The Times showed Israeli units handling American-manufactured white phosphorus shells with fuses on them.