It's not you, it's me.
I easily get overwhelmed by everything that's going on with work, training, Facebook screen-sucking, obsessive navel-gazing, etc., and the next thing you know,
months have gone by without a blog update. I really do mean to write a post after each race, but my innate sloth and latent self-diagnosed seems-like-ADHD-but-probably-isn't-
really-ADHD distract me all to easily.
So here I am again, hoping to bring you up to date without writing something that rivals
War & Peace for sheer verbosity.
Run to Home Base - May 2012
When last we read Gingah's adventures, I had just completed my first-ever six-mile training run in preparation of the upcoming (now freakin'
imminent) Surftown Half Marathon. I thought that would enable me to run my next race without needing walk breaks, but a surprisingly warm and utterly windless May morning in Boston stymied me in that effort. I was so proud to return to Fenway Park for the second time in as many years to complete the Run to Home Base 9k (now officially the Run-Walk to Home Base). Unlike last year, I managed this year to go the entire race without crying, but I also wasn't recovering from an excess of imbibing the night before; and yet, it still took me almost a full minute longer to finish the race this year than last year. Obviously, I'll have to get plastered the night before next year's race; fortunately, I know just the person in Boston to facilitate that. This remains my favorite race and the only fundraising race I run. The big personal bonus this year was a finish line photo (at left) that captured a truly historic moment: Gingah running with
both feet off the ground simultaneously!!! But most of all, I was honored and humbled by the generosity of so many individuals who sponsored my run and contributed to the Home Base Program.
Two weeks after the Run to Home Base, I was running again in my hometown of Albany at the Freihofer's Run for Women, which in 2010 was the first road race I'd entered. I hoped the third time would be the charm and that I would
finally be able to run the full distance of this course; and, lo and behold, I did! I don't even care that my time was the slowest of my three runnings. There's something psychologically important to me in being able to run the full distance.
Not long afterward, I successfully increased my longest long run (
all-running) distance to 7mi, which was particularly helpful, given that I had a truly ugly 2mi run a few days before).
Mountaineer Triathlon - June 2012
Things were progressing more or less smoothly in my half marathon training as my second triathlon (and first of 2012) loomed: the Mountaineer Women's Triathlon in Morgantown, WV.
I hadn't seen Morgantown since I graduated from West Virginia University in the spring of 1985, and while a few things were familiar, I was struck by how many things had changed. I was particularly pleased to discover the rail trail that winds through that part of West Virginia, and I look forward to further explorations during future trips. The rail trail was supposed to be the venue for the bike course for the Mountaineer Women's Triathlon (which, by the weekend I arrived for the race, had been re-christened "Girls Tri Too"), but damage to a key section of the trail relegated the bike course to a couple of local and (characteristic of the Mountain State) fiercely hilly roads.
An elevation profile chart can be very deceiving; in some cases, it can make a course look worse than it is, while in others, it can leave you ill prepared for hills that turn out to be much more challenging than anticipated. As much as I hate hills (and, yes, I utterly loathe them), I know going in that the worst thing I'll ever have to contend with in a climb is having to dismount and walk my bike to the summit. Until a discussion with my Morgantown-resident brother over drinks the night before the race, I hadn't even considered the challenge of the
descent. My approach to descents has always been pretty basic: (a) BRAKES (but not too much), and (b) do whatever it takes (including intensive prayer) to stay vertical. My brother's description of the downhills left me with considerable trepidation.
At 3:15am on race day, that trepidation exploded into a massive, frighteningly fatalistic all-out panic attack. I woke suddenly from a dead sleep in my hotel bed with my heart racing. And I mean
racing. I wondered at first if I'd had a nightmare, but after a few moments of reflection, I realized that what I felt was abject terror. I was absolutely horrified by the thought of crashing on one of the downhills. I even caught myself thinking, "If I crash really, really badly, I don't think I want to survive." I wish I were kidding. Talk about a wake-up call.
That was when I knew I needed to slap myself in the face and get a fucking
grip already. I told myself that I would preview the bike course in the car before check-in later that morning, and that if I had serious concerns, I would reserve the right to DNS. I hoped that the fear (read:
shame) of not starting a race (especially one that I had traveled hundreds of miles to compete in) would overcome my fear of the downhills. Granted, that didn't garner me any additional sleep that night. Oh, well.
The 250yd swim in the Monongahela River featured a few firsts for me: first sinking to the bottom of the river at the start of a triathlon (clearly, there is a technique to jumping off a dock into a lake, especially for someone like me, who, despite being quite well endowed with, um,
buoyancy-friendly body composition, still tends to sink like the
Titanic with Jack and Rose clinging to the stern railing); first time passing another competitor during the swim; first time being blinded by the sun after I came around the final buoy; and, most delightful, first Shamu heave. Despite the instructions of the announcer at the beginning of the race, this body does
not "simply jump up onto the dock."
Once out of the water, up the steep riverbank and through T1, I mounted my bike for the 7mi cycling course. True to my panic attack-induced promise to myself earlier that morning, before check-in I previewed the bike course as far as the traffic cones extended. This entailed a long, seemingly gentle climb along a solid stretch of Don Knotts Boulevard. (Whenever possible,
walk, don't
drive, a bike course; the car minimizes hills.) As I drove along at 10mph, I kept thinking, "Oh, shit, I can handle
this!!!" I even made a mental note to inform my brother that he owed me a
huge drink for scaring the ever-loving crap out of me. Well, it's probably for the best that I didn't realize that the bike course actually went further; at the intersection where the traffic cones ended, there was a right turn onto Smithtown Road. Once on the bike, I discovered that segment of the bike course after struggling up that long, slow climb on Don Knotts Boulevard. Smithtown Road was a two-lane road comprised
exclusively of hills and curves.
But wait! There's MORE! Smithtown Road was
not closed to traffic. (I discovered this the first time a car passed me; despite the generous berth the driver gave me, I'm still convinced it took a good 10 years off of my life.) I have never come so close to crying on a bike course, and I lost count of the number of times I wanted to quit and sit on the side of the road and have a good cry. But I knew that crying wouldn't do a damn bit of good and it wouldn't do a damn thing to change the course; I just had to keep cranking, beg for strength, and embrace the suck. I just kept chanting under my breath, "Three cranks more"; one word for each crank. The downhills were, for me, vastly more terrifying than the climbs were quadriceps-shredding. Straight downhills were scary enough, but the curves on Smithtown's downhills required damn near constant self-talk to get through. I have no doubt that Tour de France cyclists
climb steep mountains faster than I took the
descents. I tried to put out of my mind the fears of crashing, of getting a flat tire on one of the descents, of wearing out my brakes. One of the surprising upsides of that bike course is that I never noticed any soft-tissue tenderness from the saddle. Thank heaven for small favors.
Mountaineer Triathlon is actually
four separate triathlons that share much of the same course sections, albeit in different lengths. In addition to the Girls Tri Too race, there was also a sprint-distance tri, an Olympic distance tri and a half-Ironman (70.3) tri. By the time I was struggling on Smithtown Road, one of the male sprint tri racers managed a generous, "Good job!" as he breezed past my panting corpse cranking uphill. He crossed the finish line long before I did. He may even have crossed the finish line before I even reached T2.
When I approached the final, tight curve of the bike course, I wondered if I would even be able to
stand once I unclipped from my pedals. But I can honestly say I have
never been so glad to get the hell off of my bike. I wobbled into T2 in my bike shoes, re-racked my bike, and comically tried to remain vertical as I changed out of my bike shoes and into my running shoes. If there's video of my transition anywhere, it should include a disclaimer that I was
not intoxicated; otherwise, no one would know.
The run course for Mountaineer Girls Tri Too was "only" two miles. I ran it at a slower pace than I do my long runs. Let me tell you:
that is
SLOW. I
did actually run all but maybe a minute or two of the run course, but my legs were solid lead. When I finally crossed the finish line, the first words out of my mouth were, "I can't believe I did it!" I quickly and futilely put my hands over my mouth, as if to capture those words before they could escape.
I actually managed to finish second in my age group and third in my weight class. Granted, given that there were only 14 competitors in the Mountaineer Girls Tri Too race, and only two people in my age group and only three people in my weight class,
it still counts. I won my first award. I'm not going to nit-pick.
And wouldn't you know it, just six days later, I would successfully complete my longest long run to date: 8 miles.
Harvard Pilgrim Finish at the 50 10k - July 2012
I have this thing about running a race on or near my birthday. It began in 2011 with the Peachtree Road Race in Atlanta, and this year it took me to Foxborough, Massachusetts, for a 10k that began at Patriot Place and ended at the 50-yard line of Gillette Stadium. I ran more of the distance than I had been able to manage at the Peachtree, despite similarly oppressive heat and humidity (but in the Massachusetts evening instead of a Georgia late morning), and without needing to visit the medical tent afterward. When I crossed the finish line, I thought I'd come close to my Peachtree time, but had forgotten that it took nearly 10 minutes to get to the starting line, so my finish time of 1:31 and change was a great birthday present. Later that evening, as I lay on the cool grass and looked up at a sky filled with fireworks, I thought, "Now,
this is a birthday celebration!" And, like the Peachtree, this birthday celebration was made possible by loving and generous friends who opened their home to me (and, in New England, to Las Bitchitas).
Less than three weeks later, the long run distance increased yet again, this time to NINE miles. My confidence was slowly but surely building for the Surftown Half Marathon.
IronGirl Syracuse - August 2012
Leading into IronGirl Syracuse, my second (and last) triathlon of 2012 and my longest-distance tri to date, I experienced what has become the customary fortnight of pre-race stress, self-doubt, and incessant second-guessing. I've reached the point where my preparation for a local 5k doesn't even begin until the alarm goes off on race day morning, but I still stress over any race longer than that.
IronGirl gave me my best open-water swim experience to date, despite a very crowded swim wave. I swam steady and strong, which gave me the confidence I needed for the next two legs of the race.
The 30-kilometer bike course was not only the longest I'd ever encountered in a race, but it was also a longer distance than I'd ridden in training in months. (For the record, that is
not a recommended training strategy.) Fortunately, it was devoid of hills, but did include two railroad crossings and a metal-grate bridge. But this time when I dismounted, my legs were made of rubber rather than lead. It still made the ensuing 5k run a particularly pokey run-walk affair, but the cheering crowds in the final quarter mile carried me to the finish line. I had hoped to finish within 2 hours and 30 minutes. I beat that estimate by just under four minutes.
Jailhouse Rock 5k - August 2012
Like the Freihofer's Run for Women, the Jailhouse Rock 5k in Ballston Spa, NY, has become an annual race for me. What's not to love about a race course that's predominantly flat and features an ending downhill and
no uphill? Again, like the Freihofer's, my time gets longer, but I ran the full distance.
Surftown Looms
And six days later, my long run reached 10miles. I was no longer measuring runs in my head with numbers; I was running from landmark to landmark. It's still a hell of a grind, but when I hit the 10-mile mark, I literally jumped for joy. (Yes, there were non-running witnesses. I can only imagine what they were thinking.) Best of all, I finished that 10-mile run in about 2:24. While hardly lightning pace, it was fast enough to enable me to keep my bib on at the 10-mile mark at Surftown...and to do it with 11 minutes to spare. My confidence was continuing to build.
Holy crap...maybe I actually CAN do this!
Now I just needed to tack on a 5k to the end of that run and finish everything within three hours, and I'd be able to collect a finisher's medal in Westerly, Rhode Island, on September 16th.
The following weekend's scheduled 11-mile long run became a 5.7mi walk on Saturday (due to waking up feeling dizzy, which is
very unusual for me) and an abysmal 5mi run on Sunday morning that provided a sudden reminder that Immodium may be a runner's best friend. Under other circumstances, I would have tried to let it go and just do my 11-mile run the following weekend; however, the following weekend will feature the Dunkin Run (5k) and then taper week for Surftown.
At this point, the bulk of the training for Surftown is behind me; what remains is more maintenance training. But I'm in that dreaded pre-race fortnight: filled with self-doubt, stress, and the accompanying emotional roller coaster. While looking for a mantra to get me through Surftown, I found one from champion runner Deena Kastor: "Define Yourself." Standing this distance from the start line, that phrase feels both empowering and terrifying. To combat the fear, I am armed with Hebrews 12:1, which a dear friend recently posted:
Wherefore, seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses,
let us set aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us,
and let us run with patience the race that is set before us.
Stand at the start line, fears and all; breathe in and breathe out; and in whatever race you are facing, DEFINE YOURSELF.
