Stefan (and Every Runner)

Stefan is six.  And if you've been following this blog for awhile, you know that endurance activities aren't necessarily his natural forte.  Because he has to wear shoes.  He hates shoes.  And pain and suffering and discomfort.

But, at the San Antonio Road Runners Fun Run (free!!) at McAllister Park recently, he ran a total of FOUR miles.  That's a long way for a person with little legs.

The event is basically three runs- an 800 m., a 1 mile, and a 2.5 mile (sometimes 3- it depends).  Anyone who completes all three gets a little trophy.  Stefan wanted that trophy.

I took all of the kids, and I had figured that I'd be spectating with Stefan and Austin after they ran the 100 m. kids' run.  But being around a bunch of runners is motivating even to tiny tots!  I ended up running the 800 with Austin and then, Stefan was convinced that he was going to run the 2.5 mile race for the trophy.

So I ran with him.  In jeans.  Not my smartest clothing choice ever, but it won't be a mistake that I repeat.  The sacrifices we make for our children!

The race was very hard for him.  He'd already run over 1.5 miles that morning in the other races, and he started out tired (but motivated).  He kept a running commentary (Stefan is a talker!) throughout the race, and everything he said has been said (or thought) by every runner in every race.

At the start: This is great!  I'm going to get a trophy.  I'm chasing the [lead] guy on that bike.  Is that a deer?  It's pretty out here.

A little farther:  This is hard.  I think I should walk.  

I CAN'T do this.  That little girl just passed me.  I am last.  Well, second to last because you're behind me, Mom.

Is that lady behind me?  I'm not last!  I'm going to run.  

She passed me!  I'm not doing this anymore.  Carry me.  [I told him runners don't get carried.]  Then just leave me here.

Did your watch buzz?  How fast am I going?  That's so slow!  I'm terrible and I'm slow!  I am NOT good at running.

 

Do they have a trophy for second to last?

Is that the end?   No, it's not the end.  Why did I sign up for this one?

It's the finish line.  I can't make it.  It's too far.

I am never doing this again.

Where's my trophy?

This trophy is cool.  I did it!  When I do this next time, will they give me another trophy?

Shiner Half Marathon!

Reasons to Race:

1.  Racing gives you a goal- something to aim for.

2.  Racing encourages you to train consistently.

3.  Racing helps you see what kind of progress you're making in training.

4.  You already paid for the race.

Reasons I Ran This Race:

1.  Racing gives me a goal- something to aim for.

2.  Racing encourages me to train consistently.

3.  Racing helps me see what kind of progress I'm making in training.

4.  I had already paid for the race.

Yep, I signed up for the Shiner Half Marathon this summer when triathlon training was going well, and I couldn't wait to see how that would translate into my half marathon time.  Then, I started working full time and, though I tried to stay active, my "training" was more like a few little runs a week.

I considered bailing, but I had already PAID FOR IT.  I just couldn't waste the money.  So, for four weeks before the race, I ran pretty consistently.  Yes, an entire four weeks.  And during that time, I even skipped one of the long runs.  Not exactly a stellar training plan, but Coach Mark gave me a little guidance, and he was pretty confident that I'd survive, so I decided to trust his judgment and charge ahead.

The little town of Shiner, Texas, is known for its scenic hills, picturesque downtown, and famous half marathon.  And maybe beer.  This race is capped at the population of Shiner- something like 2046 this year- and it sells out REALLY quickly.  (Another reason not to let the opportunity to run pass me by even though I was unprepared for it!) The smaller group appealed to me.  The huge crowd at my first half marathon made for a tough and unpleasant race for me.  Fewer racers sounded good!

I had very little time to prepare for the race.  I didn't even manage to leave work on time the evening before!  But I had a babysitter lined up, I picked up some Clif Gels, and called myself ready.  Saturday morning, the two hour drive went by quickly and I felt happy and relaxed.  I figured that I couldn't really be disappointed with my performance.  After all, I knew I was out of shape, so I had no expectations.

The sun came up when I was just a little bit away from Shiner, and I tried to judge the terrain and the weather.  It definitely looked like rain.  Or maybe not.  But maybe so.  And was that a hill?  No, it's not that hilly.  Wait.  Yes, it's definitely going to be hilly.

I had already been warned about the hills.  Shiner is a hilly race.  I knew I hadn't physically prepared myself for hills.  I did precisely zero hill repeats, unless you count the endless flights of stairs I climb at work.  So I told myself that hills were part physical, but a lot more mental.  I planned to be as mentally tough as I could be and hope that would be enough keep me from walking.  And I wasn't going to worry about the rain or the 100% humidity.

As it turns out, the rain should have been the least of my concerns.

Guys, the wind!!!  I haven't ever run in wind like that.  At least not uphill, and not for that long.  But I turned up my music, leaned into it, and kept going.

For the first two miles, I ignored everyone and everything, passed as many people as I could, and tried to find a group running around my pace.  I did seem to manage that, and although I didn't stay with the exact same group by any means, I did stay surrounded by steady runners, and that helped me in my "Don't Walk!" goal.

I'm to the right of the picture.  Messing with my phone.  

Great way to start.

After two miles, I felt focused enough to start looking around and enjoying the course and the other runners.  And the backs of the other runners' shirts especially.  "If you can read this, you didn't train either." "Don't let this 56 year old open-heart surgery survivor beat you."  Mine said, "Are my kids still chasing me?"

Random people running. 

I am apparently really good at avoiding race photographers.

Around mile six, a guy running next to me said, "We have been climbing for six straight miles."  And we pretty much had.  Just a gradual, unrelenting uphill with a couple of actual hills thrown in.  I thought I had heard that it started to gradually descend around the halfway point, and I told him so.   But right about this point, we started climbing a real, actual, serious hill.

And the wind!  It was a solid headwind.  About halfway up, I started to feel like Frodo and his Fellowship buddies, trying to head up Mt. Caradhras with the mountain fighting them every step of the way.  (#geekreference) All the forces of nature were telling us, "Go back!!!  Go back!!!"  Someone later said it felt like running on a treadmill.  But I kept running- not fast, but still not walking.

"Just think!" I told myself.  "This means the entire way back will be downhill with tailwind!"

Except that it wasn't an out and back.  It curved around and the headwind turned into a crosswind.  And that was tough too!  Some of the gusts caused the whole group to take a few steps sideways.

At the seven mile point, I could see the gradual descent beginning, and I pointed that out to the "We're still climbing" guy.  And it was...gravel!  A mile and a half of gravel.  Climbing guy dropped back, but, thanks to my many Cibolo Nature Trail runs, I passed about a dozen runners on that stretch.

Around mile 10, I did a caffeinated gel to help me get through the last three miles.  I was amazed at how great I still felt.  I knew I was working hard- my heart rate certainly told me that.  The hills and the wind were taking everything I had, but I WAS DOING IT!  The scenery was great- fields and hill country- and that made me glad to be out there running, plus the people running around me seemed happy to be there too.

At mile 11, the biggest difference from Shiner and Rock n' Roll became apparent.  At this point at RnR, the course goes through what might as well be the armpit of San Antonio- industrial buildings and parking lots.  But the Shiner course went through a gorgeous park with wide paved paths, and the sun (which had finally decided to come out) sparkling on the river.  It was the kind of place any runner would want to be on a Saturday morning.

And then there was this crazy steep hill at mile 12.  Truly.  Everyone started hiking up it, but at this point, I was so determined to tell Nathan (a true runner) that I hadn't walked, that I forced myself to run up it.

Then it was time to create a completely irrelevant mini race with an unsuspecting runner.  A lady in a blue shirt had been switching places with me for awhile, so I decided she needed to be vanquished.  Yep.  That's what happens at the end of a race.

And I beat her!  Woo hoo!  Success.  Petty?  Yes.  Effective?  Also yes.  Did she have any idea what was happening?  Nope.  Someone else probably defeated me.  (Neon Orange Dude at mile 13.05- I'm looking at you.)

At the finish line!  With hat in hand.  It blew off and nearly took out a runner behind me,

 so I carried it the rest of the way.

I finished in 2 hours and 10 minutes!  Because of my sporadic training, I was very surprised, especially given the wind and hills.  (This was, ironically, my goal time for Rock n Roll a year ago.  That was a far easier course with absolutely no weather issues, but I was mentally unprepared and therefore spent a lot of time walking.)  That put me 28th out of 112 in my age group.  Better than mid-pack!

Two seconds after finishing.  Selfie time!

I stuck around for about an hour of the after party- the best by far of any of my races.  Must have been the live music.  All in all, this race was the BEST I have done so far.  Well-organized and happy.  Everyone was happy.  And I am SO glad that I went ahead and raced it.

When I got home, the kids patiently listened to my race report, and then Austin took some time to admire my medal.  He does not understand the concept of finisher medals.  "You winned?" "I finished!"  "You winned?"  "I finished."  "No, you winned."

Fitness Friday- Tri for Old Glory!

I have to admit, I spent most of our Fourth of July fireworks celebration freaking out about the next day.  I was scheduled to race.  And not just to race, but to race the longest race I have ever done.

Yep, I went Olympic.

Spoiler Alert...I finished.
Thanks, Coach Travis!

 I've done four or five Sprint distance tris in the past, but this year, I really want to do an Olympic distance.  It's a big leap- it's double the distance.  And I was determined.

But nervous, really nervous.

The fact that our Fourth of July festivities meant I would be racing after four (4!) hours of sleep didn't help calm my nerves any.

When I woke up at the unearthly hour of 3:45, I decided that I, first of all, would not think again about how little sleep I had gotten.  Adrenaline would carry me through.  Second, my theme for the day would be, "Race happy."

It's cheesy, I know, but, hey, four hours of sleep!  One should not expect deep philosophical mantras after four hours of sleep.  And there was a reason for the theme.  Racing for me takes more of a mental toll than it does a physical one.  I'm not trying to win, but I still get soooo very nervous!  On the one hand, racing is a lot of fun, but on the other hand, there just seems to be so much riding on one event.  All that training.  All that prep work.  All the hopes for a good day.  I realized that if I focused more on being happy- not comfortable, by any means, but happy- I would do a lot better and give myself a reasonable shot at being the best I could be.

So "Race Happy" it was.  1500 m. swim, 23.5 mile bike, and 10K run- all happy.

As I set up in transition, I made instant Best Friends with several people (no idea of their names- that's how it goes in transition).  The guy next to me- #99- was also doing his first Olympic and he was having similar, "What on earth was I thinking signing up for this?" thoughts.  We assured ourselves that as long as we didn't drown, we'd be fine.

Coach Travis was there with me and several other Paragon Training athletes.  (The rest of the group wisely chose the Sprint option.)  He cautiously recommended a warm up run.  Ummmm, no.  Not today.  I nibbled on my banana and eyed the endless line at the Porta Potties.  So many athletes, so few toilets.

We all herded over to the swim start, and I listened intently to the directions.  Sprinters: 3 orange buoys, then turn around.  Olympics: Orange, orange, orange, green, green, green, then turn.  Okay.  I could do this.  We were told to line up according to swim speed, slower swimmers toward the back.  Another one of my instant best friends- Pink Cap Best Friend- said she swam a 2:30 100 and I said, "Great!  I'll get right behind you."  And at that very instant, I saw Coach Travis descending.  Shoot.  He'd spotted me.  "Get up there and get in the water!  You are not going to stay back here."  So I did.

And into the water I went.  The swim was actually a lot easier than I had imagined, particularly for the first half.  I didn't push it too much, but I tried not to take it too easy.  Orange, orange, orange, then green, (I started trying to do math to figure how many meters I'd covered...didn't work), green, green, and then I swam around the corner and started to head back.  At this point, two things happened: I felt completely disoriented AND I got a cramp in my side.  But I kept going, and I managed to stay on course.  After passing green, green, green again, I saw the orange- I was almost there!  I realized I had quite a bit of juice left, so I set my sights on a group of swimmers ahead of me and caught them and passed them.  Then, I did that once more.  Aaaaannnnddddd... the swim was over!  I didn't drown!  I didn't panic and back stroke!  Coach Travis said it took me 35 minutes.  A tiny bit better than I'd expected.

Orange Cap Best Friend came alongside me and said she was the one who kept hitting me on the swim.  Good to know.  She passed the entrance for transition and I hollered after her, "Wrong way!"  She didn't hear, so I had a random person grab her.  "Thanks!" she said, as we scrambled through transition.  We both got on our bikes and headed out, but she dropped her sunglasses (or something) and I didn't see her again.  The ride was beautiful: farmland and rolling hills (not flat- never believe the race flyer).  Best Friend #99 passed me on the bike and we exchanged encouraging words.  ("We didn't drown!  We haven't fallen!  Woohoo!") We rode up around Martindale, Texas, and I reached back several times to grab my phone out of my pocket to take a picture.  Each time I remembered that I didn't HAVE my phone because I was RACING, not joy-riding, and I would tell myself to get my head in the game.  The bike is my weakest event, but I'm getting stronger!  Slowly but surely.  I averaged 16.4 mph, definitely not fast by cycling standards, but a huge improvement for me.

When I got back from the bike, Travis was nowhere to be seen.  I figured he was busy with the Sprinters.  I pulled on my shoes and headed out on the run.  Apart from melting down and panicking on the swim or flatting out on the bike course, falling apart on the run was my chief fear for this race.  "Run happy, run happy," I told myself as I started running on my wobbly, lead-filled legs.  THEN, I saw Travis.  "I can't believe you're already done with the bike!  You surprised me by at least 10 minutes!"

Great confidence boost to start off the run!  Within about 1/4 of a mile, the side cramp was back with vengeance and I had a matching cramp on the other side.  Lovely.  But, "Run happy!"  I took deep breaths and waited for the cramps to pass.  Or the run to be over.  Either one.

Fortunately, the cramps did pass and I began to find a pace- not too fast, but still running.  I have to say that the weather couldn't have been better.  I had been prepared for 90 plus temps with sun, but it was 10 degrees cooler and overcast.  Not what anyone expected from Texas in July.  I started to count the miles down every time my watch buzzed.

5 more miles.  4 more miles.  3 more miles.  I only walked through the aid stations, and then I tried to walk quickly.  I was doing pretty well, but I knew if stopped at all, I'd be in trouble.  "Run happy."  The run was a loop, so I circled back around for my second 5K.  Coach Travis asked me how I was feeling.  "Happy!" And I really was, even though I was working sooo hard.

I had thought that the 2 loop run might throw me off, but it actually proved helpful.  I knew what was coming and where the aid stations were, so it kept me going for the last few miles.  I kept counting down, and I told myself, as my feet started to both go numb and burn like fire, that the pavement was NOT in fact burning through the soles of my shoes, and that stopping wouldn't make it better.  After mile 4, I realized my pace was dropping ever so slightly, so I determined to push harder.  After another 1/2 mile, I asked myself if I could push any harder.  Nope.  I wasn't collapsing, but I was working about as hard as I could.

One mile left.  I saw Best Friend #99 just ahead of me and he was walking.  "Come on, only a mile left!  Let's go!"  "You go ahead.  I'm done," he said.  "Start running.  I'll let you beat me," I told him.  "Oh, I'm way past that working.  I left my ego at home," he said, but he started running, a little ahead of me.  (No guy is ever past that working, and no triathlete leaves ego at home.)

Me...and #99

We ran toward Travis, who had a camera, and toward the FINISH.  It was a crazy trail scramble for the last little bit, and the finish line was straight up a gravelly hill.  I really was scrambling up it, but I crossed the finish line!  My Garmin had me with a 9:47 pace on the (slightly short) 10K.  (Official race time had me at a 9:07, but I think they listed the distance incorrectly.  The course wasn't quite a full 10K.)

So much steeper than it looks!

I had wanted to finish the race in 3 hours and 20 minutes, but my final time was actually 3 hours, 43 seconds!  20 minutes faster than my goal.  I'm really pleased with the result.  I felt like all of my training and all of the coaching had paid off and I got to see the improvement on race day.  So exciting, and looking forward to the next one.

Texas State Tri

Texas State Tri

It’s that time of year!  Triathlon season is underway, and I had a great time at the Texas State Tri a couple of weeks ago.

. 

I was lucky enough to be able to catch a ride to San Marcos for this one.  My coach and his girlfriend were heading up, so I didn’t have to drive.  Yay!  (It’s the little things, folks.)

The day started early, as race days do, and I had packed everything the night before. (Packing for a tri is almost as complicated as packing for a week long trip.)  Regular readers will know that I expect disaster in the lead up to races, but I have to say that this time the prep went smoothly.  No car breakdowns, no injuries, no sick babysitters, no harrowing packet pickup.  It was very unnerving.

Cat Photo Bomb

I squeezed my bike into the transition area.  It was a little tight, but the athletes around me were friendly and accommodating.  This was going to be my first race in a wetsuit and I spent a good amount of time deciding when, exactly, I wanted to struggle into the thing.  Putting those rubbery devices on is really no joke.  Think trying to get compression socks up to your neck.  Fortunately, the heater at our city pool has been out, so I’ve been getting lots of wetsuit practice.

I lined up with all of the other similarly wetsuited people (a few were braving the water temperatures without) and listened to the instructions.  I was nervous, of course, and the instructions were lengthy.  They sounded something like, “Welcome to the…something…annual Texas State Tri…which….blah…blah…blah Turn right…blah…blah.  Stay left….blah… and up the gravel…blah…blah… NO DRAFTING…blah…blah Straight ahead… blah…blah… neighborhood….blah…blah… finish line.”

I laughed and commented to a random person standing next to me, “Good thing I can just follow the person in front of me.”  “Ha, ha, me too!” she replied.  This turned out to be very NOT funny later.

I held waaaaayyyyy back to start the swim.  I was nearly dead last.  I’m not sure why.  I didn’t plan to try to push my way to the front- I dislike getting run over in the water- but I had sort of thought a mid-packish start would be fine.  Didn’t happen.  I just went with it.  After all, when I start has nothing to do with where I place at the finish.

And into the water.  Oh.My.Goodness.  There was stuff in the water.  Freakish plants growing straight up from the bottom of the Aquarena Springs.  They looked like something that belonged on a Star Wars planet.  The water was really clear, and if open water swimming didn’t terrify me so much, I probably would have thought it was beautiful.  As it was, I just kept trying to dodge the plants.  That was a terrible plan, of course, because I had no idea if swimming to the right or the left would actually get me around the plants.  The dodging was just adding meters to my swim.  Around 300 meters in, I finally realized that swimming straight through no matter what made far more sense, and I finished the 500 meters about two minutes slower than my “pool swim” time.

And onto the bike.  I really wanted to give it my all on the bike for this race.  That’s been my weakest link in other races and I was determined to improve on that.  I figured I would go as hard as I could for the 12 miles and then just do what I could after that on the run.  And I passed people!  A good number of people, actually.  That, my dear friends, is a big deal for me.  We will conveniently overlook the fact that some of those people were 20 years older than I and some were 12 year old kids.  A pass is a pass.  My training has increased both my strength and my confidence.  I started to waver around the 9 mile point, but I pushed through and averaged 16.5 mph.  (No snickering.  That’s fast for me.)

And then the run.  There’s no way to sugarcoat it.  The run leg of a tri feels awful, especially at first.  Every muscle is saying, “Hey, wasn’t that the finish line you just left behind?  Let’s walk this.  Or go get coffee.  Yes, coffee!”  I pushed through and my pace was pretty good.  It was only a 5K and I’ve been running shorter distances faster, especially after all of that half marathon training I did over the winter.  I felt relatively strong and knew I could push myself.

And...for contrast...Here is what a REAL triathlete, in this case my coach, Travis, looks like leaving transition.

I passed a lot of walkers and slower runners.  (Side note: Yes, people walk in triathlon races.  There are all levels and types and athletes of different strengths.)  And then I headed off into the woods. 

Wait, woods?  I didn’t hear anything about woods.  Nice, though.  I like running in the woods. 

Was I on the right path?  I didn’t miss a turn, did I?  Oh, good, I’m coming up to Spiderman Jersey Guy.  I’ll just run with him.

Why did he quit running????  Spiderman should NOT walk.  Web through the trees, maybe, but not walk.  Okay, I’ll just keep going. 

Nobody.  There is nobody around here and now I can’t even see Spiderman behind me.  Shouldn’t I be hitting an aid station? 

And then I stopped.  I wandered around.  I was totally convinced I was lost.  How else had I gotten all by myself? 

By this time, although my muscles still had juice, my brain was getting a little fuzzy.  In a race, I pay very little attention to where I’m going because I figure there will be markers.  My mind was trying to convince me that I had probably missed a turn off.

I finally pulled myself together and just started running.  The sad thing was, I was actually on the right path the whole time!  All those minutes.  Precious minutes.  Sigh.

The woods opened up and I ended up in a neighborhood.  There was one fork in the road with a cone but no arrow, but I ended up managing to stay on the path, and I FINALLY started to see other runners.

Or limpers.  A guy was limping up a hill in front of me.  When I asked if he was okay, he said he had an injured hamstring.  I wished him luck and passed him.

I was running along and I heard someone coming up behind me.  Darn it!  Hamstring Guy is going to pass me.  I cannot let Hamstring Guy pass me.  I ran faster.  Finally, I couldn’t keep ahead anymore and the runner pulled up alongside me.  It wasn’t Hamstring Guy.  What a relief!  It was Dude in All Black- black jersey, black shorts.  

We ran together toward the finish line and he started to pull just a little ahead of me.  I let him go.  Guys hate to be chicked and it’s not like I needed to beat him.  Had I known at that moment that I was going to be beaten out of placing in my age group by FIVE SECONDS, I would have taken him down.  Live and learn.  This is how people become obnoxious.

It was a fun day.  Not my best effort overall (1 hr. 31 min...thank you, lack of directional confidence) but I could really see that my training is paying off.  (Thanks, Coach Travis!)  Looking forward to the next one!   

Oh, and did I mention Coach Travis won the race?  Minor detail.  He’s fast.  And also does not suffer from crazy hair after a race.  (Thanks, Katlyn, for the pictures and the ride.)

Rock n Roll San Antonio Half- Part 2

So...I did it.  I finished.

Here's the glass-half-empty version:  No one wants to have the absolute worst long run of the entire training cycle take place on race day.  And that's exactly what happened to me.  Glass-half-full version:  I finished the race.  I posted a solid mid-pack time- 60% of the racers finished after I did- and I learned a lot.

And here's the long version:

After all of the chaos leading up to the race, things started to fall in place on Saturday.  My coach said he'd drive me to the race.  My aunt and uncle would get me home.  My sister agreed to babysit.  My neighbor (an all-around wonderful person AND runner) offered back-up for every single one of these things.

I started feeling extremely anxious before bed on Saturday, but I managed to sleep fairly well.  I got up, marveled at how little I needed for a running-only race (no helmet, goggles, bike, 3 pairs of shoes?), got ready, ate, whispered good-bye to my sleepy sister, and got to the carpool place on time.

We got downtown in plenty of time, stretched, and jogged around for about a mile.  (No, I would not have DREAMED of jogging, even at a slow pace, before a race if my coach hadn't been there.)  I felt great.  My legs were fresh, my stomach wasn't revolting against me, and the weather was PERFECT.  This was going to be a beautiful race.  Ah, the naive idealism of a first-timer.

My coach wished me luck, reminded me not to go out too fast and to watch my form at the end when I got tired.  I headed back to my corral to wait for the start.  It was here that I made my first mistake.  I don't remember what I told the Team that my estimated finish time was but I definitely ended up in a slower corral.  As we edged toward the starting line (Corral 16 started about 25 minutes after the first group), I started to get really hungry.  I had eaten about 3 1/2 hours before, so this might indeed have been actual hunger, but I chalked it up to nerves and ignored it.  When our group got close to the announcer, he commented that now he was seeing the corrals where "running knew no body type."  Brilliant.  Thanks for the encouragement.

For the first mile, LOTS of people were walking already.  The walk-run phenomena is firmly entrenched in distance running.  It works well for many people, but I'm not one of them, and I find pacing around walk-runners very difficult.  There were some supporters along the way, and it was interesting to see the different groups.  Some dressed up and had funny signs ("This is a lot of work for a free banana," "You are NOT almost there"), while others shouted encouragement and tried to high-five people, and then there was Team Daphne.  They looked exceptionally displeased to be there.  I imagine when she finally went past that they shouted something like, "It's your fault we had to get up early on a Sunday morning!  Run by yourself next time!"  The pastor of First Baptist had the encouragement thing down and his voice really carried.  I could have used a recorded loop of him for the rest of the race.

We passed the Alamo at mile one.  Mile one.  Why the race is arranged so that the most inspiring view comes at mile one I can't begin to fathom.  For the next couple of miles, I stuck pretty close to a 10 minute pace.  I finally realized that if I didn't kick it into gear and leave the group I was running around behind, I was going to just meander all the way to the finish.  But I found that easier said than done.  I'm not a big group person, and 25,000 runners certainly meets my definition of a big group.  The distraction was killing me, but I did manage to break free and I passed the 4:40 full marathon pacer (no idea if they were on pace or not) and left that group behind.

Miles 5 to 8 were hilly.  Ordinarily, I think I could have managed that without a problem, but, again, the runners around me were wildly inconsistent with their paces.  Some- many- were walking up the hills, and I found myself starting to do the same.  I had to fight the urge constantly.  I started to pick it up again on the downhills around the 7.5 mile mark, but right at the 8 mile point, I started to feel really chilled.  I realized I was shivering and covered in goosebumps.  Those around me were sweating freely, so it wasn't a change in the weather.  I had been drinking along the way, but I started to wonder if I needed electrolytes.  I decided to make a bathroom stop, but after waiting in line for a full minute without the line moving at all, I abandoned that idea and went to go get some Gatorade at the aid station.

Except there was no Gatorade at mile 8.  Or mile 9.  Or mile 10.  I was definitely starting to come apart at that point.  At mile 11, I finally found Gatorade.  It tasted like the absolute best stuff on earth- I think it was mixed double-strength.  My shivering stopped and the numbness I had had went away as well.  I saw a friend and neighbor volunteering and she shouted encouragement.  But speed, unfortunately, didn't return.  The full marathoners split off just after that, and suddenly, everything became deadly silent.  We were running along an ugly stretch of road by the railroad tracks (a lot of the course was actually very un-picturesque) and everyone stopped talking.  There were no bands, no spectators.  (Side note:  There weren't really very many bands along the route.  And some were playing slow music.  A couple were good, others were off-key, but did get points for substituting runner lyrics.)  We all just shuffled along toward the finish.

When we finally got to the finish line, I sprinted and passed about 25 people.  Not because I thought it would make a difference to my time.  Not because I needed to beat those people.  Just because I needed to be DONE.  And Gatorade.  I really needed to find Gatorade.  (I never, ever, ever drink Gatorade.  But I definitely needed it.)  People kept handing me stuff- a medal, water, chips (didn't take those), chocolate milk, containers of peaches (didn't take those either) and all I kept asking was, "Where is the Gatorade?"  I finally located it, couldn't figure out how to get it open- how many seals does one bottle need?- and went in search of a blanket or something because I was shivering in earnest now.  They had mylar blankets further down the chute and since my arms were full of all my "stuff"  (I have no idea why the race coordinators didn't think to offer some sort of bag or trick-or-treat bucket to put all that junk in), the volunteer had to wrap the thing around me.

I shuffled over to the Team in Training tent to wait for my cousin to finish the full marathon.  I had a text from my aunt saying he was exactly on pace.  The Team in Training volunteer offered me a taco- NO, thank you- and even his sweatshirt.  I sipped my Gatorade and tried to figure out what had happened.

I finished in 2:25.  That's...not bad, but not what I trained for, either.  I should have been able to finish in 2:10 to 2:15.  My splits- every single one of them- were slower than anything I had done in training, even on a bad day.

I made my way back over to the finishing chute to watch the other runners shuffle around trying to manage their handfuls of "stuff."  I found it hilarious that, when a runner would drop a bag of chips, he would look down at the ground in despair as if he had just dropped them into a 100 foot ravine instead of right on top of his shoes.  Reaching down that far just wasn't possible for people who had poured all of their effort into racing.  One man- quite the gentleman- reached down to grab a chip bag for an older lady.  He got stuck about halfway back up and sort of swayed back and forth for a moment before sloooooowly rising.  He should have gotten a medal just for that.

My cousin finished in 4:02- crushing his previous PR- and looked great at the end.

I got delivered back to my van and continued to ponder my race as I drove home.  About 5 minutes from my house, it finally hit me:  The Zone.  That was the problem.  I never went into The Zone.

Usually, when I run, the first mile is really tough.  I feel awkward, off-pace, and it takes all of my willpower to keep going.  Then, it gradually starts to feel a little smoother.  Around the 2.5 mile point, I find my pace, and by mile 4, I'm in The Zone.  At mile 6, I feel like I can run forever.  Miles 4 to 10 are where I post my fastest times, and there are times where I forget I'm running.  I was prepared to have to push through the last 5K of the race, but I wasn't prepared to have every...single...mile...feel like the first mile.  I'm a solitary runner and I just couldn't find my pace with all of the people around (I've never done a big race before), and I didn't have the mental toughness to push myself through.  I now know why so many run with headphones. Listening to music is the only way I can even imagine that I could have shut out all of the people around me.

But...I did it!  And, yes, I'll probably be stupid enough to do it again.  Because I have to try the headphone thing.  And bring my own electrolytes.  And start in a faster corral.  And...

Thank you again to all of the people who supported me in this!  You're the best.

Rock n Roll San Antonio Half- Part 1

For me, the most difficult part of the race is not the months of training, the miles of running, the refueling, the hydrating, or the racing.  No, it's getting to the start line that's tough.  This time, getting there deserves its own post.

I, of course, signed on with Team in Training for this race.  I'm thankful for all that they do to combat blood cancers and the San Antonio chapter is probably a fun bunch. I say "probably" because I made it to a grand total of...ZERO...practices.  Yep.  Not a single one.  I didn't make it to the get-togethers, the send-off dinner, the team-building-social-let's-have-fun stuff either.  So, I was a little out of the loop.  Not their fault at all- just the product of me having, oh, I don't know, seven kids, perhaps?  They tried, they really did, but my life simply can't accommodate other people's schedules right now, so I trained on my own and tried to keep up with the email communication as much as possible.

At any rate, because the team handled the registration, I was a little unclear on exactly how that impacted the "normal" pre-race stuff, especially packet pick-up.  I got an email saying that, if I couldn't make it to any of the team events, I could pick up my bag of "stuff" at the office.  Great.  Perfect.  On Friday morning, I sent my older kids off to school, packed up my two younger ones, and made the trek to San Antonio to get my "stuff."  Stress level on a 1 to 10 scale: 3.

When I got to the office, I grabbed the bag with my name on it and strapped Stefan and Austin back into their carseats.  And then, I looked at the stuff in the bag.  It became immediately apparent that this bag, while it contained a few snazzy items, did not, in fact, contain a race packet.  That meant a trip to downtown San Antonio.  I was already halfway there, but...packet pickup didn't start for about 3 hours.  Three hours.  Short enough to be tempting, but too much time to kill with two little guys in tow.  Plus, I had a ton of stuff to do at home.  I decided that I would just have to wait till sometime later.  Stress level: 5, edging toward 6

As I sat in the parking lot, processing all of that in my mind, I realized I had gotten a text.  It was my babysitter for race morning.  "I'm so sorry, but I have the flu and I can't babysit on Sunday."  Stress level:  8

I took a deep breath, drove home and focused on being as productive as possible, working on lesson planning and grading, while frantically trying to find another sitter and work out a ride downtown for Sunday morning.  Apparently, lots of runners get hotel rooms near the start line.  Smart.  And not possible for me.

At some point during the day, I decided that it would be better to just take the five younger boys downtown (Megan would be at gymnastics and Nathan still in school) right after school and get packet pickup out of the way.  We could leave just after 3 and be back just before 5.

We actually left at 3:30 and I started to worry about getting caught in rush hour traffic on the way back, but I forged ahead.  We got downtown, and that's when the fun started.  There was a time that I spent a decent amount of time in downtown San Antonio- Bryan actually worked there sometimes- but I had never been to the Henry B. Gonzalez Convention Center where packet pick-up was.  When I read "convention center," I pictured something like the Alamo Dome or Freeman Coliseum- big building, big parking lot.  What I actually found, after inching my way through the terrible downtown traffic, was a sidewalk-locked building with a tiny parking lot.  The sign in front of it said, "Abandon hope all ye who enter here."  (It may actually have said, "Parking by permit only," but the words had an identical effect.)  Stress level: 15

And so I began to drive around...and around.  I passed parking garages, most full, all with 3 foot height clearances- or 6 feet or 7 feet- it was all the same to my high top van.  I passed above ground lots that I had parked in in the past, but then I'd been driving a snazzy, maneuverable Acura, not a clunky, full-size Behemoth.  I started to pray and then I saw it- a space!  An open lot with a space that would allow me to back out.  I wasn't entirely sure I could circumnavigate the lot to get back out, but I decided to take a leap (drive) of faith.

I had (naturally) neglected to bring a stroller.  By this time, we were probably a mile from the convention center.  Fortunately, I ALWAYS keep my BabyErgo in the van (my children have been threatened with eternal grounding if they ever remove it), so I popped Austin on my back, grabbed Stefan and Carsten in a vulcan grip ("Mom!  You're squeezing my hand off!"  Yep.  Keep walking.) and started off with five boys through downtown San Antonio during Friday evening rush hour.  Stress level: 18

I managed, after a few loops of the very large convention center, to find the right entrance to the packet pick-up.  I kept the boys on a tight leash.  (Figuratively speaking.  If they had been selling real kid leashes at the expo, I would have been the first in line.)  We powered past all the samples (no, boys, you may not suck down packets of nothing-but-sugar goo) and finally found an exit.

We made it back to the car and out of the parking lot (they took debit card- yay!) and I realized that my phone was almost dead.  Yikes!  I have a terrible sense of direction to begin with, and we had made quite a few twists and turns to find parking.  I sent up a panicked prayer that my phone would last until I got back on I-10.  "Turn left on Commerce."  (My new directions lady is very perky.)  "Turn right on San Saba."  "Take the left lane to merge onto I 10."  And then my phone shut off.  Dead.  God has a sense of humor.  Stress level: 10

So I had my packet.  Now I just needed a babysitter and a ride.  Oh, and did I mention that the very I-10 that I had just driven on to get downtown was going to be closed all weekend?  Minor detail.  All part of the endurance sport known as "Getting to the Starting Line."  And that sport- at least for this mom- is the toughest one.

Tiny Texan

This past Sunday was the Tiny Texan Triathlon!  Here's my race recap:

I had done this race last year.  It was, in fact, my very first sprint triathlon.  When I got home, I set my bike up on the trainer in my room and didn't touch it again until 10 months later.  I did a little better with my swimming and running, but those became pretty erratic after November as well.  Even though I knew I had let myself slip over the winter, I was still hoping that my summer training would pay off at least a teensy bit by the time the Tiny Texan rolled around again.

My race prep went really smoothly.  Too smoothly, I began to superstitiously tell myself.  I've only done four races in my life, and the lead up to those included having the van- with all the kids in it- break down on the way to packet pick up, realizing the night before that I had zero race "fuel," and nearly abandoning a race completely because of extreme kid meltdown.  Not this time.  This time packet pickup went off without a hitch and I had everything packed and ready to go by 8 PM on Saturday evening.  Too smoothly.  Then, at 9 PM, I whacked my head really hard on the corner of the freezer and felt better.  No need to worry about impending doom anymore- I had a lump on my head.

The Tiny (sprint) and Small (Olympic) Triathlon takes place at Boerne Lake every July.  The sprint distance is considered a slightly "long" sprint: 800 m open water swim, 25K bike over "hill country terrain" and a 5K run.  The views are really beautiful and it's a race I'd wholeheartedly recommend to others. (Just remember:  It's Texas.  It's July.  It's hot.  It's hilly.  It's- mostly- a trail run.  You should totally go for it!)

I got my bike racked and my transition stuff set up.

Thanks, Mike, for the picture!

Transition, Before.  See Below for "After."

And then the waiting.  Lots of waiting.  I chatted with some of the other racers, recognized a few from last year and from the Rockin’ R, and just bounced around trying to burn off my nervous energy.  It’s actually fun to see so many people of so many ages and backgrounds coming together for the same crazy reason.

As the start time got closer, everyone grabbed swim caps and goggles and headed down to the lake to wait there.  The Small Texans took off first to swim their 1500 m.  The speedy ones were finished before the Tiny Texans even got in.  The fast women climbed out of the lake congratulating and encouraging each other.  The fast men climbed out, checked their watches, and shook their heads in frustration.  (I’m glad I’m not a 20-40 year old male.  Their competitiveness must just suck the joy out of everything.  It gave the rest of us something to nervously laugh about while we waited, though.)

Then came the call for the "Tiny Men" to get in the water.  They did, while inwardly swearing never again to do a race with "Tiny" in the name.  And then, the Tiny Women.  

I felt more confident about my swimming this time around, but I was still a little freaked out by the open water.  Try as I might, I couldn't keep a straight line!  For the first 300 meters, I was swimming ALL over the place.  I was getting really thrown off by some of the other swimmers who were swimming off to the right and the left.  One lady actually was swimming TOWARD me.  "Other way!"  "Thank you!"  I think she may have beaten me in the end.  About halfway, I finally started to get into a flow that allowed me to actually swim and not just try to figure out which direction I was going.  (Note to self:  Do not wear goggles that fog on race day.)  The stretch to the shore was a little tough.  There weren't any brightly colored landmarks to aim for. (I thought there was, but turns out it was a picnic area off to the left.  Thank you, fellow swimmer, for setting me straight.)  Fortunately, a spectator with a bright yellow polo had noticed the problem and stationed himself right at the exit point.  Thank you, Yellow Polo Man!

And then it was onto the bike!  My bike was my worst leg last time around, so I was determined to give this a good effort.  It's a pretty hilly ride, but it has some beautiful views.  I had done some training rides on the route so that I'd be better prepared, mentally and physically, for the race.  (That, of course, is when I took these pictures.  I would be in sad shape if I tried to snap pictures while riding.)

 The great thing about these long rides is that there are so many supportive spectators to cheer you on.

I was able to pass a few people along the way, and not too many women passed me.  A few men did.  Very fast men.  People shouted encouragements along the way.  On the way back, I fell in behind a man who was keeping a good pace for me.  (Drafting is illegal- I wasn't close, just behind him.)  As we hit the last big hill, I could see him deflate and slow down some.  "This is the LAST HILL and the view from the top is awesome!" I told him as I passed.  A woman nearby said, "Really?"  I don't know whether she believed me.  This picture doesn't do it justice, especially since the camera flattens everything out, but that's the lake in the distance, and it's breathtaking.  Worth the climb.

Then, it was time to run!  Normally, in my training, my legs would feel heavy running off the bike, but this time, I was having some serious pain in my hips.  Yikes.  I ran up the hill anyway and hoped it would work itself out.  And then came the Dam Run.

Hot. Hot. Hot.  The key for me is not to look down and see this:

Beautiful, cool, lake water does not make me feel better about running while I'm frying.  I tried to keep an even pace- something that I didn't do last year- and an awful lot of people were walking.  Only one woman passed me on the run, and she had an Ironman tattoo- so, you know, whatever.

After much deliberation, I had decided to carry my own water on the run instead of relying on the aid station.  I'm not too great at drinking out of those bitty cups and on a run this short, I don't need an excuse to walk.  I ran the whole way, and on the way back, I still felt like I was running in slow motion, but I couldn't really force myself to go any faster.  I kept telling myself it wasn't as hot as last year.  (That may or may not have been true.  Some of my fellow racers were very skeptical when I said that later.)  And the blisters!  Normally I don't have a problem running short distances without socks, but my new(ish) shoes apparently had razor blades installed on the sides that I wasn't aware of.  I plodded on and swore that next time, I'd take the 4 second hit and put on socks.

And then, the finish line!  I did, apparently, have some extra reserves I hadn't tapped because I did speed up to cross the line.  And then it was on to the after party.  Lots of very sweaty, happy people swapping war stories, and eating the BEST FOOD IN THE WORLD.  (Hunger is, indeed, the best cook.)

Transition, After.

Final Stats:

800 m Swim: 23:57 (I nearly screamed aloud in frustration when I saw that.  The same to the SECOND as last year.)

T1: 1:37

25K Bike: 1:03:26 (6 minutes faster than last year!)

T2: 1:24

5K Run: 35:53 (About a minute faster than last year.  Like last year, the 5K was "long" 3.4 miles.  Maybe one of these days they'll invent something that will help race directors use some sort of satellite to set up the distances properly.)

Overall Time: 2:06:19 (7 minutes faster than last year.  Progress!)

18th of 53 women, 6th in my age group.

I think the training did pay off a teensy bit, and this year, there won't be any dusty bike sitting in my room.

Rockin' R

So...last weekend I did something I had no business doing:

A triathlon!

Seriously, I have gotten so very out of shape since November that racing of any type should have been the furthest thing from my mind.  But, I knew I needed something to get me back in the game, and that something was the Rockin' R Triathlon in Gruene, Texas.

This photo of Gruene Mansion Inn Bed & Breakfast is courtesy of TripAdvisor

It's a beautiful course along (and in) the Guadalupe River, with huge trees arching above the road along the water.  The weather was gorgeous too!

After the Tiny Texan Tri last year, I felt pretty confident that I'd keep exercising and stay focused on getting back in shape.  And while I will admit that I didn't touch my bike at all after that race, I did keep running and swimming through the first part of the school year.  In November, I started toying with the idea of training for a half marathon (it seemed like training for one sport might be a little easier during the school year).  Then, life smacked me upside the head, the stress of everything I was (trying to) balance caught up with me and I cut way back on any sort of exercise.  I ran some here and there, but it was very inconsistent.

As the end of the school year got closer and I started to see light at the end of the tunnel, I started running a few times a week.  I ditched the treadmill and ran outside ONLY.  The sunshine and fresh air did me so much good.  And, all that fresh air might have gone to my head a little after my long winter of deprivation, because I decided in April that I should do the Rockin R, even though it was coming up in just a few weeks.

I got back in the pool and didn't drown.  I dusted off (literally) my bike and didn't die (though my legs thought they might).  I ran with a little more purpose- not very fast, but with a focus on consistency.

And then I signed up for the race.  I told myself that I was going to be slow.  That it was going to be hard.  That I was going to do it for the fun and the fitness and not focus on my times.

When my alarm went off at 4, I thought to myself, "It's a good thing they make you pay for races in advance, because I wouldn't be getting out of bed if I didn't have money on the line."

I got my transition spot set up, and started to worry a little about the water temperature.  It's been unseasonably cool and we'd had some rain, so the Guadalupe was a chilly 72.  About half the racers were wearing wet suits.  Oh well. It was only 400 meters.  I wasn't going to freeze.  

I was also a little concerned about my lack of full preparation.  The race was the Sunday after our last day of school.  I had spent the weekend grading finals.  I hadn't had my bike tuned up.  I hadn't even taken the time to get bars or anything to eat.  I had a banana and some electrolyte water.  That should do it.

And then the race started!  I watched the first swimmers start off across the river and I wondered why they were swimming with their heads up.  When I got in, I figured it out: Rocks!  There were massive rocks just below the surface.  I half swam, half pushed myself across the rocks and then, when the water got deep enough to really swim, at first, I had a hard time finding my rhythm.  I was still a little concerned about the rocks and the water was so MURKY!  I couldn't see a thing.  (Note to self: Do not watch episodes of River Monsters before open water swims.)  I got into a rhythm eventually and finished the swim without a problem.

(400 m. in 9:40, for those who care about such things.  Not too bad for me right now.)

  

Next up, bike.  My transition time was forever long.  (2:36)  My laid back attitude about the race was starting to work against me, but I was having a good time!  The ride was a beautiful one with "rolling hills."  That means there's nothing too strenuous, but it's definitely not flat.  I was SO slow.  That one ride I had taken really hadn't done much to give me any bike power.  No surprise there, but really, it was bad!  I did enjoy the ride (who doesn't love having police officers to stop traffic at every intersection!) but I felt pretty much like I was crawling along.  (13 miles in 57:56; 13.8 mph)

I had told myself when I signed up for the race that I could walk the run if I had to.  I knew that I might not have the endurance that I needed to finish otherwise.  Plus, there was a killer hill right at the start!  They promised the run was pretty flat after that, and some of the racers said it was "okay to walk the hill after the bike."  The second I hit that hill, I suddenly told myself there was NO WAY I was going to walk- not even a single step- on the run.  I don't know why that suddenly became so important.  I think I was a little frustrated by my slow bike and I didn't want to compound it by strolling along for the run.  I found a pace I could sustain and I kept it up.  I was feeling pretty good!

And then I saw the one mile marker.  "What the heck?" I actually said out loud.  I definitely felt like I had been running much longer than that.  But I told myself that the first mile is always the toughest and it was only a 5K.  I stuck to my "run slowly, but run" strategy and finished the race feeling strong.  (5K in 32:59; 9:59 min/mile.  Total time: 1:44:51)

Sorry for the lack of pictures on this one!  I was going it solo and didn't really take any myself.  But what a great day!  It was just the summer jump start that I needed.  It was a much-needed lesson in the value of jumping in and finishing- not perfectly, not even well- but finishing anyway.

Oh, and was I sore the next day?  You bet.  Totally worth it.

Tiny Texan

I finished my first sprint tri!

Sunday was the annual Tiny/Small Texan Triathlon in Boerne.  I've had my eye on this race for a few months, and I finally decided to sign up and go for it.  The sprint (Tiny) race is an 800 m. swim, 25K bike, 5K run.

I got there early, got everything set up, and nervously bounced around waiting for the race to start.  The pro triathlete who's helped me with some of my swimming, Travis, was there for the Small Texan (olympic distance race), and he talked me into a short, slow jog before the race started.  That sounded pretty crazy to me, considering that I was just hoping that I'd have the endurance to finish the race, but it was better than standing still, so I went along with it.

The Small Texan racers started first, and Travis was the first one out of the water by a minute and a half.  Then, it was time for the Tiny racers to start.  (You're probably picturing elves right now.)     I had done one open water swim before the race, so I knew I probably wouldn't panic in the water, but I wasn't willing to fight it out with the other racers at the start.  I'm not a fast swimmer and I had no intention of getting run over.  I hung back and started nearly last.  Apparently, I then passed other swimmers, but since everyone was fairly spread out in the water, I didn't really realize that.  I am terrible at swimming straight in open water.  It's harder than it looks.  The buoys were placed 200 m apart, and I stayed on track by looking up every so often and course correcting.  In politics and in swimming, I lean right.  After about 500 meters, I became pretty convinced that I was coming in dead last.  I wasn't really looking for a fast finish, but it made me remember what Nathan had said after his first tri, "You just don't want to be in the water so long that everyone knows your name and is cheering for you."  That made me laugh- yes, even while I was swimming- and I just kept going.  Turns out I wasn't last by a long shot, but since I could see people ahead of me and no one was passing me, it just felt like it.

Coach Eddie, Boerne's swim coach extraordinaire, was there to watch Travis, and Travis' mom and girlfriend came as well.  I got to borrow them to be my cheer squad too!  I ran up the hill (uphill proved to be the theme of the day) out of the lake and into the transition area, hopped on my bike and headed out.  (Thanks, Katlyn, for the pictures!)

The ride started out along the I-10 access road.  It was a little hilly (something I never realized when driving in the car!) but not too bad at all.  I started to feel pretty confident.  We Tiny racers turned around just after the Welfare Country Club (ritzy place, let me tell you) and PoPo's restaurant.  (All the German speakers should feel free to snicker.  No, I've never eaten there.)  We actually had to head back just as things were getting scenic.  The announcer had said before the race that, on the way back, we would pass the lake and go in the other direction "for a little bit" to make it a true 25K ride.  No problem, I could do a little bit.

Well, his definition of a little bit and my definition of a little bit are clearly different.  Oh my goodness, the hills!  I just became determined not to walk up any of them.  And I didn't.  It was beautiful and scenic in a Texas sort of way, with a view of the lake after the turnaround, but my lack of training on the road started to become apparent.  I don't care how much I crank up the resistance on my trainer, it's not the same as actually riding uphill.

I still felt good coming out of the bike, though I knew I had slowed considerably during that last "little bit" (which I think was at least 1/3 of the ride.)  I got back into transition, slipped on my running shoes, and took off up the rocky hill for the run.  And then I hit the dam.  I had heard people mention the dam- how hot it was, how hard it was to run at the end of the race- but now I knew what all the fuss was about.  It was soooo hot!  I felt like an egg in a frying pan, and I was pretty certain that I had used every last ounce of power in my legs biking up those hills.  At this moment, I was really worried that I was going to have to walk the run, but I pushed ahead, and kept going as best I could.  The run revealed another problem with my training- no heat acclimation.  I work out on a treadmill in the air conditioning.  My body had no idea what to do with the temperatures I was dealing with.  The aid station and its cold water seemed forever away!  And I have to admit, I was kind of shocked with how I was feeling.  I'm not a fast runner, but my 5K pace is pretty consistent, so I felt confident that I could handle the run.  Halfway through, my legs were cramping so badly (holdover from the bike) that I could see my muscles spasming.  I stopped to work that out, and then, coming back across the dam, I finally realized that I just HAD to keep an even pace.  There was a lady who was running more slowly than my usual pace, but she was being consistent.  I got behind her and just followed her to the finish line.  Thanks #177!

At the finish line, I picked up my medal and WATER, carefully made my way down to the lake and cooled off!!  My final times were 800m swim: 23:57; 25K bike 1 hr, 9 min; 5K run 37:04.  Total time: 2:13:34.  I actually came in third in my age group, which surprised me because I felt SO slow.  I guess it helps that everyone else was having to deal with the same hills and heat.  (Travis came in first in his age group and third all around for the olympic distance.  The top three finishers were all pros.  And it actually took him just 10 minutes longer to finish twice the distance that I covered.  Ah, well, the joys of being young.)

I had a great time, and there wasn't a single moment during the race that I regretted signing up for it (not even on the dam!)  I had some great inspiration along the way:  On the swim, I could hear Coach Eddie: "Steady, even pace."  Coach Travis: "Ten strokes then look up or else you're going to end up in the middle of the lake." On the bike, "Coach" Dad: "Don't coast- keep pedaling!"  Amanda, who got me started on this craziness: "You've got to start taking these hills, Aimee!" Trust me, after struggling up the hills- I wasn't chickening out and braking on the way down.   And the most inspiring of all, little Carsten, "Mommy, I hope you win your race!"

Not win, buddy, finish.  And that's a win in my book.