Queen Of The Mountain

Distance:  50K
Total feet climbed:  6,947
Time:  8 hours

Yesterday I finished my first ultramarathon, the Crown King Scramble.  It is a trail 50K that starts near sea level and runs up into the mountains.  After the hell that was trying to finish a marathon with a very ambitious timing goal, I was looking forward to a race where I did not have to push the pace.  How hard could it be, I thought?  I'll jog the flats and downhills and walk the uphills.  I can hike for hours.  This will be fun!  After the marathon, I had every intention of doing a couple more long runs and some trail work to prepare for Crown King.  Well, I didn't.  My longest run between the marathon and the ultra was 7.25 the Monday before Crown King.  And it was completely flat and on the road.

The Crown King has a course limit of 9 hours.  They allow an early start for runners who are concerned they won't make it.  I signed up for the early start (1) to take the pressure off, and (2) to get some miles in before the hot sun came up.  The race accommodates two drop bags:  one at mile 15 and one for the end.  I packed a change of clothes and snacks (Pringles and granola bars) in each as well as a bunch of ziplock baggies.  They store things, they keep things dry, they are always useful!  As luck would have it, the Crown King came at an unfortunate time of the month (just like my first marathon, I'm a lucky girl!).  So I packed for that contingency as well.  This was particularly complicated as there are no bathrooms on the trail course and you must pack out what you pack in.  I'll just say that after reading a bunch of women's running blogs, I've discovered the Diva Cup, which is awesome.  And, while I'm happy to answer any questions privately, I'll spare the rest of  you any further discussion, and sorry for the tangent, but hey, it's biology!

(The race shirt has a helpful elevation map on the back.)

Peppy and Go Pro picked me up at 3:00 am.  They weren't even running.  They were taking Peppy's Jeep and manning the aid station at mile 19.  We picked up KO Kennedy and headed to Lake Pleasant, just north of Phoenix.  The advantage to running a race with only about 200 participants is that logistics are easy.  We picked up our shirts and bibs and dropped of our drop bags, then lined up at the start.  I felt like a pack animal.  I had a Camelback packed with water, Gu, powdered Pedialyte, salt pills, chapstick, tissues, baggies, and Pringles.  Then I had two waist packs holding my phone (in a baggie), two pairs of wireless headphones (in case the battery gave out), my ID/cash/credit card, and Body Glide.  One of the members of my new running group, Bisbee, had also signed up for the race after weeks of me talking it up on our group runs.  He and KO Kennedy and I started out together at 5:00 am.  I started out to Eye Of The Tiger, like I do every race, and then realized Bisbee was down for sticking with me, so I took out my headphones so I could socialize.

The first 15ish miles are rolling hills.  We started by running up and down and flat.  Then by about mile 3, we started walking the steeper inclines.  I didn't need my headlamp for long and the desert sunrise was beautiful.  The regular race start was at 6:00 am.  Bisbee and I talked about when we might expect to be passed by the 6:00ers.  We were hoping to make it to the 8-mile aid station before being passed.  In fact, we made it 12.5 miles before three speedy men ran by us making the trail look easy.

The first cut-off for the race is at mile 15, which you have to make by 9:30 am.  That allowed us 4.5 hours, but I really wanted to make it in the 3.5 hours allowed for the normal start time.  We cruised into the aid station just under 3 hours.  I picked up my drop bag and proceeded to find a bush to offer privacy so I could change out of my sweathy top and sports bra and attend to other issues.  Desert foliage is not what you would call lush, so I had to walk quite a ways before I felt comfortable disrobing.  Once I had dry clothes on again, I felt amazing.  I grabbed some Gatorade, put some more water into my Camelback and dumped in some Pedialyte to keep my electrolytes up.  Bisbee waited patiently through all this.  Then we put on some sunscreen and set off again.  We'd spent about 15 minutes at the aid station, but it was well worth it.

Everyone said 15-19 was straight uphill.  That was only partially correct.  There were a bunch of steep downhills.  While it was nice to jog them, I couldn't really enjoy them because I knew we had to go up to 6500 feet before the end of the race.  For every foot of decline there are several feet of incline.  Around mile 17, I got shaky and dizzy.  I realized I hadn't eaten anything at the last aid station.  Oops.  I sucked down some Pedialyte and consumed all the Pringles in my Camelback with all the style and grace of cookie monster.  There was one particular downhill where I was afraid my legs were too shaky to support me.  But, I made it without falling.  My blood sugar stabilized soon after.  We finally made it to the 19-mile aid station and I saw Peppy and Go Pro.  They were happy and festive and gave me a little Tecate.  I also drank Gatorade, ate some fruit and salted potatoes, and discovered a love for gummy worms.

(These Altras went from gray to mud-brown throughout the day and still, no blisters!)

Miles 19-27 are kind of a blur for me.  I know we descended more and crossed a stream multiple times.  There was lots and lots of climbing, too.  After the 22-mile aid station, it was basically a hill until the 27 mile station.  The worst part is, you can see the aid station for more than a mile before you get to it:  perched at the top of a very steep hill and never (seemingly) getting any closer.  Bisbee and I walked.  A lot.  On this stretch, I discovered my knees were aching and blamed it on the short, but numerous, downhills.  Perhaps I should have run some trails to train for this race.  Another complicating factor during this portion is that we began to see a lot more traffic on the course, which follows an ATV/Jeep road.  ATVs were blowing by us with fair regularity, kicking up dust.  I had a buff that I could pull over my mouth and nose, but doing so caused my glasses to fog, so it wasn't sustainable.  Bisbee and I spent much of our time in silence, occasionally trying to stay positive by pointing out things like "this is the best I've ever felt after 22 miles" or "this is the longest I've ever been on my feet" or "now we're officially past the marathon!"  It was good to have a running partner at this point, too.  We took turns reluctantly pointing out that we should probably jog the downhills and flats.  Left to my own devices, I probably would have walked a lot more.

(The view from mile 27.  As I posed for the picture, I thought "I'm on top of the world" and then had the Imagine Dragons song stuck in my head for the rest of the race.  Hey!)

The aid station at mile 27 is at 5600 feet.  We had a spectacular view of the the area, all the way down to where we started.  So, of course, I made Bisbee take my picture.  This aid station was distinctively less of a party atmosphere than the prior stations.  There was no music or alcohol.  Bisbee and I refueled and refilled (I had run out of water completely about a half-mile before the station).  I reapplied sunscreen and discovered a massive loss of skin when I tried to spray the back of my neck.  OUCH!

(The aftermath of running with a Camelback.  And this is with multiple layers of Body Glide.)

We plodded off toward the finish, knowing we had 900 more feet to climb over two miles before the "screaming fast" (the race organizer's words, not mine) final two miles towards the finish.  A little before the aid station, I had told Bisbee I was looking forward to being in the cool pines and being done with hills.  Bisbee pointed out that the foliage around us was still desert-scape and he seemed skeptical that we would ever end up in the pines as none were visible from the trail.  Well, at about 28.5 miles, we came around a bend and, lo and behold, PINES!  The smell of the pines baking in the sun invigorated me.  Soon we were at the summit and ready for the "screaming fast" two miles into Crown King.  Relatively speaking, they were pretty fast.  ATV-ers rode by us and clapped, by far the oddest crowd support of any of my races.  There was finally shade and the trail was nice, smooth, and sandy.  My ankles and knees felt like they would explode with every downward step, but I just let gravity take me.  My last mile was 9:22, which is not bad considering.  We turned the corner and finished in the Crown King Saloon, where we were presented with a mason jar beer mug and a finisher's jacket.  Eight hours.  A lot faster than I thought I would do it, without headphones!  My joints ached, so I took a couple of Advil.

(Me and Bisbee with our victory beers and our big victory smiles.  I am wearing comfy, dry sweats and my finisher's jacket -- aaaaaaaah.)

Poor Peppy and Go Pro were sidelined with a flat tire and never made it back up to the finish line. I enjoyed a couple beers with KO Kennedy, Bisbee, and some other folks from my running group.  We were a happy, if tired, crowd.   Husband #1 picked up me and KO Kennedy (who came in just a little after me and Bisbee).  The drive back to Phoenix was long.  28 miles on a dirt road and then lots of freeway.  I have to hand it to Husband #1 for always going along with my crazy ideas and providing the support I need to accomplish them.  At home, I took a shower, then a bath, then ate 3 pieces of pizza and fell asleep.  Today I woke up feeling really good.  I haven't had any Advil since right after the race, so I decided to go to my normal boxing boot camp.  With the exception of a leg exercise during which my quad just said "no," class felt fine.

This race was harder, but so much more enjoyable, than my last marathon.  I think I've got more ultras in my future!  In closing, I'd like to heap some praise on Aravaipa Running for putting on an amazing race.  It was well-organized.  The course was beautiful.  The aid stations were well-stocked.  Everything ran smoothly.  And I LOVE my finisher's jacket.

Mo Jo: Starting Over

Distance: Nunya
Pace: MYOB
# Poops (by dog): 1

I am out of shape. Mo Jo, runner of marathons (well one marathon), attacker of hills (downhills), is done. I'm not sure what my new name should be. Something like "No Go."

I am signed up for a half marathon this weekend in Moab, Utah. Let's just say I ain't doing it. I will go make a sign for my friends, Coach and Pixie and CC, and cheer them on. I will probably be drinking a beer while cheering because nothing says morning beer like watching other people work out. Or being in Utah, for that matter.

The wheels fell off the bus last fall. I'm not sure what happened. Call it burnout, or boredom, or laziness, but I just Didn't Want To Run Anymore. I discovered a dirty little secret, too: it was easier to control what I ate if I DIDN'T work out. I lost five pounds. I was like, who needs it?

Eventually, I started thinking, well, I should run for fitness and health and that elusive creature, mental health. I love the endorphins of running, and it helps me manage stress. So I agreed to sign up for Moab, thinking this would be a good goal to get me started again. I did a few training runs.

Then I got Cold No. 1 in January. (We are fond of numbering things here at ROW. Look at how TST tracks her family.) Cold No. 1 turned into Sinus Infection No. 1. After a two-week respite, during which I jogged exactly once, I got Cold No. 2 aka Flu No. 1. I went to the doctor, insisting I could not possibly have another virus, and the doctor said basically nope. Go take some cold medicine. So I suffered through that, and got better for about ten days, and then got Cold No. 3. I know, right? Do I never wash my hands? Do I run a kindergarten? Is someone waging germ warfare on me? Cold No. 3 turned into Sinus Infection No. 2. Fan-effing-tastic, I said.

Needless to say, I am completely out of shape now and I'm weak and apparently need a sinus transplant. But I popped my last augmentin for the sinus infection this morning and took Clancy (or Dog #2, as TST would say) for a short run.

Clancy likes couch time, too. 

The first half mile was okay. Then my right knee hurt. So we walked a little, then ran until the knee hurt, then walked. Then my ankle decided to chime in, like "Hey, what happened to couch time? This hurts. We haven't finished Season Three of Bates Motel yet. Let's go sit." I suspect what's going on is I lost some muscle during my long hiatus and so the muscles aren't supporting my joints like they need to be.

Oh yeah, and Dog #2 peed on lots and lots of stuff and only pooped once. I was, frankly, grateful for the break.

I finished the run/walk with mixed feelings. I mean, good to get back out there, but seriously, I have a ways to go! SO, in the interest of motivating me to get back in shape, I decided to update the blog so I can post about my efforts. I mean, maybe next time I will have a 3 mile run/walk with two poops. A girl can dream.

TST: I Just Ran My Dream Marathon . . . So Why Am I Crying?

Distance:  26.2
Time:  3:57:29
Pace:  9:04
Bucket List Items Completed:  1 Big One!

Yesterday I ran the BMO Phoenix Marathon.  Yes, I managed to get through an entire marathon training season without a single blog.  Sorry about that.  And thank you to the loyal readers who keep asking about Toe Shoe Tina and Mo Jo.  I am thankful people enjoy reading about our running experiences.  Toe Shoes Tina is a misnomer at this point.  I haven't put on toe shoes in well over a year.  I log too many miles to go without padding.  But Newton Tina or Altra Tina just doesn't have the same ring.

In any event, when I started to take running seriously, I came up with two "bucket list" race goals:  break 2 hours in a half marathon and 4 hours in a full marathon. At the time, both seemed to border on impossible.  Well, I've now logged 4 half marathons in under 2 hours, with my latest PR at 1:45:59.  The 4 hour marathon, however, has remained elusive.  And with previous finishes of 4:27 and 4:50, I was not sure I could break that barrier.  So I signed up for the BMO Phoenix Marathon.  First, it required no travel.  Second, it was not held in a city associated with drinking (New Orleans and Napa, anyone?).  Third, the course elevation looks like this:

With the exception of one hill, it is a downhill course.  If was ever going to break 4 hours, this was my course.  I changed up my training, too.  I (mostly) followed Hal Higdon's intermediate marathon training program.  This meant I ran more than my normal 2-3 days per week.  Because I stubbornly refused to give up boxing, this also meant I doubled up on a lot of workouts, boxing in the morning and doing shorter runs (3-5 miles) at night.  I struggled with tendonitis in my foot and eventually backed off the running a bit.  Once my long runs reached 18-20 miles, I gave up some of the shorter runs and simply did 3-4 runs per week.  This eased the pain in my foot.  I also trained faster, logging a 20 mile training run at a 9:26 pace and running many intermediate runs well into the 8:00s.  Unlike prior training seasons, my hips did not hurt at all.  My problems seemed confined to my feet and ankles:  tendonitis on the left and a bunion developing on the right.  As of this blog, I haven't worn high heels in months.  On the plus side, I've lost about 5 pounds without really trying.  Yippee!

I got to race day relatively unscathed.  I felt lazy and bloated from tapering and carb-loading.  I was ready to run. KO Kennedy and I caught the bus at 4:45 am and arrived at the race start about 45 minutes later.  It was freezing up in the dark desert mountains (okay, foothills).  Some people took advantage of the dark desert to avoid porta-potty lines.  Some of those folks ended up with jumping cacti stuck to various parts of their skin.  KO Kennedy and I wisely opted to stand in line for the bathrooms.    

(TST and KO Kennedy, ready to kill this race!)

The race started and I flew down the first 4 miles, which was my plan.  Normally it is not a good idea to start a race so fast, but it was the steepest decline and the sun was not up yet.  With a forecasted high of 90, I knew I'd struggle once the sun came up (about 30 minutes after the race started).  As I sped down the hill, I came across a group of 6 runners in bright orange shirts with some team name I could not read, but said "Mexico" at the bottom.  They spanned the entire path, which annoyed me because it was hard to get around them.  I eventually did and passed the 3:55 pacer, too.  I hit the course's only real uphill feeling great, having averaged just over 8:30 for the first downhill miles.  I backed off my pace on the hill, which lasted for about 1.5 miles.  Lo and behold, here came the orange-shirted team, holding steady at an 8:35 pace.  They passed me, but I caught them again on the next downhill.  This time I stayed behind them because they were solid steady pacers.  They seemed jovial, chatting with each other and waving to people in the crowd.  People seemed to recognize them and cheer, so maybe I should know who they are?  We hit the halfway point at 1:54:25, a respectable 8:44 pace.  

I stayed with the orange-shirted Mexican team through mile 17.  I ate some salted potatoes at mile 5 and then had Gu (rootbeer . . . yum!) at miles 10 and 15.  By mile 17, my pacers had slowed to 8:45ish miles, but I was struggling and had to slow down more.  The sun was hot, there was no shade or breeze, and the course no longer felt downhill -- the elevation map says we were on a slight decline, but it felt completely flat.  Shortly thereafter, the 3:55 pacer caught me.  I kept at my (much slower) pace and counted down the miles until I would spot my family on the sidelines at mile 20.  ("Three more miles until you see your family!"  "Two and a half more miles until you see your family!")  For all of you who show up on the sidelines to cheer on your friends and family:  I know it is a lot of waiting around for about 5 seconds of cheering, but it makes all the difference to a struggling runner.  I found them just before the 21 mile mark and it took everything I had not to just stop and go home with them.  Instead, I gave my kids hugs and ran on.  

(I may or may not be whispering to Daughter #2 "Please just put me out of my misery")

(Refreshed by seeing my family, I lurch off to finish the last 5.2 miles.  I'm clearly heel striking here, which is neither normal nor good.)

I don't remember much of the last 5.2 miles.  My legs felt like cement and I allowed myself walk breaks, always on the lookout to make sure the 4:00 pacer wasn't coming up behind me.  I ate more potatoes at mile 22.5, but it didn't really help.  When I hit 26 miles, I tried to sprint to the finish and managed to bring my pace back into the 8:00s, but nothing close to my normal finisher's kick.  I crossed the finish line, gulped down a bottle of water in about 3 seconds and then the pain hit.  My legs wobbled, I felt like Bambi walking across ice.  My feet hurt, my skin hurt, my legs refused to obey my brain.  Everything seemed to be happening so fast around me while I was in slow motion.  I shuffled to medical tent for some vaseline to slather on my numerous chafed areas and then followed the crowd toward the exit.  I called Husband #1 and he was ecstatic about my time:  3:57:29.  But I just wanted to go home. He asked where he should pick me up and I had no idea.  We were in a big outdoor mall complex and I couldn't tell where I was.  He told me to go out to the main road so he could pick me up and I just cried.  I didn't know which direction the main road was and couldn't bear the thought of being on my feet any longer.  The pain was overwhelming and I wanted to just give up and lie down in the middle of the parking lot.  Surely Husband #1 could find me and carry me out?  I realized the mapping function on my phone could orient me, which allowed me to limp to the main road.  Along the way, some very well-meaning spectator asked me where the finish line was and tried to engage me in conversation.  I mumbled some response, but was irrationally mad at her because, did I LOOK like somebody who wanted to stop and chat?????

Husband #1 found me wandering down the main road.  I collapsed into his car and sobbed like a baby.  Not out of happiness.  I felt awful.   More awful than I can recall ever feeling.  That feeling persisted all day. Every little thing seemed impossible:  "I cannot possibly go all the way across the bedroom and put on my flip flops.  They are SO.  FAR.  AWAY."  "But the Advil is ALL THE WAY IN THE KITCHEN!"  It was very frustrating.  I should have been sore, but elated about my time.  All I felt was pain, sadness, and lethargy.  To make matters worse, I had a hard time relaxing after the race because my legs felt crampy and restless.  Every time I stood up it took several seconds to steady myself and then my gait was slow and wobbly when I finally got going. It was nothing like I'd ever experienced.  After my two prior marathons, I actually felt pretty okay.  This was a whole other beast.  

I've now had about 12 hours of sleep and feel much better.  My legs are sore, but they are obeying my brain's commands.  My feet hurt, but I can bear weight on them and walk like a normal adult human instead of a drunk toddler. Finally, I am enjoying the fact that I BROKE FOUR HOURS IN A MARATHON!!!!  I will never do that again.  I'm not sure what happened to my body and brain, but it is not something I'm anxious to do again.  Sure, I'll run more long races (I have a 50K in 5 weeks and then another marathon in June).  But no more pushing for goals that hurt so bad.  I keep wondering if maybe I shouldn't have started out so fast.  I truly felt comfortable during those early downhill miles. I was not breathing heavily and was hardly sweating, so I don't think I put myself into a deficit.  I think I would have struggled those last few miles in the sun regardless of my starting pace  -- perhaps even more because I would have had to keep a faster pace in the later miles if I'd started slower.  But I guess it will remain an open question because I do not intend to find out! 

I would also be remiss if I did not give a HUGE congrats to KO Kennedy.  She managed to rock her first full marathon, finishing with a respectable time without worrying about all that pesky training that most of us do.  She's a stud.  

Creepy Camry

Distance: 9 miles 8 miles
Pace: 12 min 11 min/mile
Number of calls to police: 1

Yesterday I set out to run 9 miles. I've been building: eight miles last week, seven the week before that. I'm experimenting with fuel and pace, because I tend to lie around exhausted all day after a long run, and I want to continue to have a life on the weekends. So I'm eating before the run, eating during the run, and slowing it down for the long runs. This worked beautifully last weekend for the 8-mile run, and I was anticipating a no-problem 9.

I started at Bethany and Central on Murphy's Bridle Path at 7:05 a.m. It was supposed to be 7, but Pixie, my running companion, said her alarm didn't go off (a likely story) after I texted her at 7:04 to see where she was. I'm sure I've described the Bridle Path a zillion times, but for any non-local readers, it is a dirt path that follows Central north to the canal, about 2.5 miles. It is very popular with walkers, joggers, and bicyclists.

After I got about 1.5 miles in, I saw a car waiting at a side street to turn onto Central. It was a silver car, and the driver's side window was down about four inches. I thought he seemed eager to make the turn, so I ran behind him instead of in front so he wouldn't have to wait for me. I ran on, vaguely pleased with my civic-mindedness, and forgot about him.

A few blocks later, there was the same car--silver, with the window down four inches, waiting on a side street. Major deja vu. I thought, that's weird. This time I took a better look. Four-door Camry, dude inside. I thought, maybe he's lost. I ran past, this time in front of the car.

A few blocks later...the same car was waiting at a side street. I now thought something was up, but couldn't quite believe it. Silver Camry, window down more. Got the driver's face. I made a WTF expression and ran past him.

A few blocks later--you got it. SAME DAMN CAR, waiting at a side street.

I was completely freaked out at this point and ran past it and approached two women out walking. I said, "I'm sorry, you don't know me, but I think I'm being followed." They listened to me tell the story, and as we were talking, the car pulled up ahead of us on a side street, waiting. I was like, that's the car. Then another woman approached us and said, "Are you talking about that silver car? I saw that guy following you. He waits til you pass then turns around."

Well. This was all a bit much. I called the police on him, and they promised to send someone out. While I was on the phone with the police, he turned off the side street and drove past us on Central. We all stared at him.

I don't know if the police caught up with him or not, because last I saw him, he was driving. I left my new friends and continued my run up to Dunlap, but I didn't do the sketchy half-mile up into Sunnyslope or the canal portion of the run because those are isolated stretches and I thought I had better stay around other people. It was nuts. Plus, because I was flooded with adrenaline, I was completely unable to maintain my plan of running slow and ended up all over the place with my pace, which then caught up with me later when I decided eight miles was plenty, thank you, and screw mile 9.

Some male friends of mine have asked why I didn't get my phone out and take a picture of the guy or the license plate or be more aggressive. Well, for one, if I took his picture and he got out of the car and came after me, that would not be a good situation. What am I gonna do, fight the guy? I am unlikely to win a physical fight with a man. For another, my instinct at that point was saying very loudly, "Get away from him." I trust that voice.

Anyway, I guess this isn't my lightest or funniest post ever, and next week it will be back to describing chafing in embarrassing places. But I wanted to share it, and also to just note, be careful out there. Bring a buddy. Bring a dog. Bring your BFF bear spray. Most people are good, like the women who circled around me while I called the cops. But for that one creeper out there...just be aware and be careful.

Faster Than A Hobbit

Distance:  13.1

Time:  1:57:23

Pace: 8:54

Hobbits On The Course:  1

I am not a fan of Disney.  Disneyland rivals an oversold Southwest Airlines flight and Trader Joe’s on a Sunday afternoon in its ability to make me hate people.  And yet, on a whim, I find myself signed up to run the Disneyland half marathon.  Because who wouldn’t want to go to Disneyland on a major holiday weekend????  Daughter #2 turned 5 a couple weeks ago.  We told her the trip to Disneyland was part of her birthday present.  It’s not lying.  It’s parental multi-tasking.  So off to Disney we went on Saturday morning.  A five and a half hour drive made more bearable by my friend, Bandana, who hooked me up with a sweet Dodge Charger rental car.  A far preferable ride to Cali than my ancient Prius that’s pushing 150K miles.  (Though now the horsepower in my Prius seem insufficient.)  

I went into this race with exceptionally low expectations, both for my performance and for the overall experience.  I’ve been running quite a bit this summer because I’ve traveled a lot.  But I kind of gave up on pacing because . . . summer. And my longest run in the last couple months was only 8 miles.  So I wasn’t particularly trained for a half marathon and wasn’t expecting greatness in the timing arena.  As for experiences . . . well . . . Disney.  Ugh.  This view was reinforced when I showed up to pick up my race packet and was nearly run down more than once by grown women in sparkly princess wear pushing double-wide strollers.  

But I did immediately find some silver linings.  First, my previous half-marathon time of 1:50:04 scored me entry into Corral A (evidently the elites do not turn out for this race).  Not only that, but my race number of 412 (sorted by anticipated finishing time) meant that I got to go to the very first booth to pick up my race packet.  Most windows had lines for packet pick-up.  The 0-500 window?  Not a soul.   Second, Disney apparently takes pity on folks who pay $200 to register for a half marathon (no, not a typo) by giving us slightly discounted tickets and a break on room rates at the non-Disney properties around the parks.  I saved a little over $40 for our family’s tickets and was able to pick them up at the expo.  I navigated the expo, expertly avoiding stroller collisions, and met the family at Downtown Disney for lunch.  What a clusterf&#%.  We paid $100 for mediocre food and much needed wine, then checked in at the Anaheim Marriott.  

The Marriott was great.  The staff were super nice and it is just over a mile from the parks.  Our stay was made a little more interesting by the convention for recovering drug addicts going on this weekend.  There were some very inspirational (okay, interesting) tshirts.  And nuns.   After checking in, we went to Newport Beach so the girls could play in the ocean.  It did not disappoint, though both children got nailed in the face by powerful waves more than once, so they might disagree there.

(Pools in Phoenix do not have waves like this.)

We had a beach-side pasta dinner then headed back to the hotel for an early bedtime. Mo Jo will be happy to know I made all my race preparations that night:  making sure my bib (which held my timing chip) was properly affixed to my shirt and all my clothes were ready.  I also packed a bag of dry clothes and flip-flops for Husband #1 to bring to the finish line.  I’ve learned there’s nothing quite so divine as being able to shed wet running clothes and shoes within a few minutes of crossing the finish.

The next morning went off without a hitch.  Well, almost. No coffee shops were open before 5:00, so I had to settle for crappy hotel room coffee.  But other than that, it was great.  I had planned on just walking to the start line so my family could sleep, but ended up catching a shuttle right outside the hotel.  It was still very dark outside as the runners drowsily streamed through Downtown Disney to the start line (many adorned by glowing and/or blinking accessories).  And then I got to go through several check points to Corral A.  Yes, thanks for asking,I am very important.  The race announcers were trying to get everyone pumped up before the 5:30 am start, a tough job in Corral A.  Us expert runners were just so cool at the start – having done this hundreds of time before, at least.  One of the announcers yelled “WHO’S GOING TO SET A PERSONAL BEST TODAY????”  The response in Corral A was a resounding and unenthusiastic “meh.”  We all knew we weren’t going to PR at Disney.  They also announced that Sean Astin was running.  Cool!  A celebrity! 

(My race bib said "Corral A," but surprisingly, nobody asked me for my autograph.  Lame.)

And then we were off, Corral A going off one minute after the wheelchair racers.  The first 3-4 miles wound through Disneyland and California Adventures.  It was completely dark and the parks were beautiful.  There were many photo ops for runners to stop and take pictures with characters.  That involved stopping, so I skipped them all.  There were also race photographers every 50 feet or so.  I’m usually pretty good at spotting photographers and putting on a photo smile, but they were like ninjas.  I’m sure I will be rewarded with some hideous race pics.  Disney employees lined the dark pathways and enthusiastically cheered and offered high fives (with Mickey hands – ingenious for avoiding touching sweaty runner hands).  It was really cool to have such a supportive cheering section so early in the morning.  

It was humid.  By the end of mile 1, I was well on my way to being drenched with sweat even though I wasn’t breathing hard.  My plan was to run a 9:00 pace so I could squeak in under 2 hours.  In those early miles, I wasn’t sure I would be able to do that because I was sweating so heavily and thought it might be unsustainable, being prone to dehydration as I am.  Around mile 4 we turned out of the parks and on to the streets of Anaheim.  This opened up our space and allowed for a bit of a cooling breeze.  I was running just under a 9:00 pace and decided to go with it as long as I could.  The sun didn’t come up fully until about mile 7, which kept the temperature manageable.  I started drinking Powerade at mile 4 and walked most of the water stations while doing so.  

Because I was being a Disney grinch, I hadn’t bothered to check out the course.  It turned out to be pretty darn cool.  In addition to the early miles in the park, we actually ran into Angel Stadium and did a lap around the field.  The lower level of the stadium was packed with cheering fans.  I’m not sure how they got all those people there to cheer for random strangers, but it was amazing.  I felt like [I don’t follow baseball, so insert Angels player’s name here] rounding the bases after hitting a home run.  Even beyond the Disney crew and the Angels fans, the course support was fantastic.  There were numerous bands and cheer squads and members of the general public.  There were even a couple miles filled with a classic car club with their cars parked along the side the road.  They sat out there beeping and yelling at us from their classic cars, sipping their coffees, which I envied.  

The miles flew by as quickly as 13 miles ever can and before I knew it, I was heading back into Downtown Disney.  The humidity had taken its toll.  I could feel multiple chafing locations and a couple of blisters.  My clothes were drenched  and I was dreaming of the dry clothes awaiting me at the finish.  When the finish line came into view, I sprinted to it, got my medal, picked up  runners’ snacks (for the girls), and went to meet my family.  The girls were adorable – full of excited congratulations.  I did not share their enthusiasm, however, as Husband #1 had forgotten my bag of dry clothes.  Something I did not handle gracefully.  My mood improved slightly as we were leaving and I heard the announcer say Sean Astin was crossing the finish line.  I beat him.  Woot!  (He didn’t know we were racing each other, but that does not make my victory any less sweet.)

I walked the 1.3 miles back to the hotel in my dripping clothes and climbed into the shower, where the water scalded numerous points of my body that were newly deprived of skin.  Then I downed some Pedialyte and we hit up Disneyland (walking the 1.3 miles back).  The temperature climbed to 90 degrees.  By 2:00, I was done.  We hit the room for a bit and then returned at night for the parade and fireworks, this time finally taking the shuttle.  I am pretty sure I cleared 20 miles Sunday.  

I am still not a fan of Disneyland.  The lines were insane and many of the tourists were oblivious or downright rude.  The food was overpriced. The Haunted Mansion was closed.  But the kids had a great time (which is good, because we won’t come back for 5 years).   And the race itself surprised me.  It was exceptionally well-organized and fun.  Plus, I did more than victoriously race a hobbit.  (Though I did get beat by a few people in costume.)  I finished 1,027 out of over 15,000 racers and 260th in my division (1,398 people).  The race was a confidence booster, for sure.  I might even consider doing it again in the future.  

Mo Jo: There Is No Tri. There Is Only Do Not.

Distance: 0
Pain pills popped: LOTS
Whimpering noises: Many

I know you were looking forward to your race report. Did someone try to swim over me in the pool? Did I yank that jerk's goggles off, per race plan? How did the transition go? What was the ride like? What were our times? Would we do it again?

Well, let's back up a bit.

On Thursday, I did my final training ride on the bike--spent about an hour. I decided Friday and Saturday would be rest days so that my legs would feel strong for the race. TST and I were coordinating how to get to the race, which had an insanely early start. We considered whether she should just stay over at my house, which is closer to the race, and whether than meant that we would sabotage our efforts by drinking a ton of wine together per usual. I also planned to head over to the triathlon store on Friday afternoon to figure out what the hell I was going to wear, as the tri suit I had ordered online was really not going to be suitable for me to wear in public. Not if I planned to exit with any self-esteem, anyway.

In other words, we were mentally ready.

On Friday morning, I took a shower and was getting dressed. I reached into my closet to grab the skirt for the suit I needed to wear (yes, on a Friday), and something horrible happened. My back went into spasm.

I know "indescribable" is a sucky adjective, but holy moly, the pain. Indescribable.

I stood rigid for a while hoping it would subside, then decided I had better go into the living room and get my phone in case I needed help. But the phone was on the couch, and I couldn't bend to get it. I somehow managed, after much puzzling over how this was going to happen, and then thought I'd try lying on my back on the floor.

This did not help. Instead I was in a lot of pain on my back on the floor in my underwear, but at least I had my phone. I googled back spasm. Google said ice and advil. Well, that would require me to get off the floor. I discovered that there was no way to get off the floor, and I was now stuck on the floor. In my underwear. I was reminded of that Sex in the City episode where Miranda wrenches her back getting out of the shower and Carrie has to come rescue her naked friend. I really, really did not want to be Miranda right now.

Some time passed. I got a good, long look at the ceiling of my house.

I finally determined that I had to get up and get some pain reliever and ice. I managed to get onto my side and push up a little, then grab onto the ottoman and get upright. This hurt. Got the ice. Started texting friends for advice, including my friend H (who would have been the one to get the Carrie call, as she lives in my neighborhood, has a key to my house, and wouldn't care if I was in my underwear). At this point I was really almost crying from the pain, because the spasms kept coming.

A doctor friend kindly called me in response to my texts for help and told me basically to take all the drugs I had. I complied. Vicodin? Check. Muscle relaxant? Check. What else is in here? Xanax? I like Xanax too. Check. The only thing separating me from Heath Ledger at this point was the lack of Benadryl in my system.

Despite my drug cocktail, my back continued to hurt. I wanted to attend a special ceremony for a friend, so another friend picked me up and I went, but I may have been a little high during this ceremony. Pretty sure that I was reacting three seconds behind everyone else. Then I went home and slept and slept and slept.

Now, due to triathlon training psychosis, I was still thinking maybe I could do it. But on Saturday, the pain was still QUITE present and robust, so I texted with TST and said I probably needed to drop out, but I could crew her. She was kind enough not to insist that the bad back lady stand around for three hours while she did a triathlon, and she decided, given some work pressures and deadlines, that it made sense for her to skip this one, too. What a relief that she didn't mind--I didn't want to miss the race, but I didn't want to let my friend down, either.

We're signing up for something else. First, I'm going to get a spine transplant, and then we'll be ready!

Mo Jo: Cross Training Is for Realz

I'm going to date myself here, but I used to LOVE step aerobics. Secretly, I still do. It was awesome. Loud music, complicated routines--the more complicated, the better. I liked how I had to fully engage in it and concentrate on the pattern, lest I go flying off one side and injure myself (that happened). It was like meditation with cardio benefits.

I'm thinking about step classes today because the instructors generally made us do some sort of strength training as part of the class, and we usually had to do push ups. I was young and fit and I could KNOCK OUT some pushups. How many? 25? I give you 50. I had toned arms. They did not keep waving after I stopped waving.

15 years and 20+ pounds later, we have encountered some changes. I cannot do pushups. I hate them. I would not describe my arms as toned. No one compares me to Michelle Obama in any way. And alas, my beloved step classes are not something one finds on the Group Fitness Schedule anymore. Times have changed, and now people want GROUP POWER KICK SOMEONE'S FACE OFF class. That doesn't sound meditative at all.

All is not lost, however. I have made an important discovery while training for this triathlon (which is THIS SUNDAY OMG not that I'm worried but OMG). And that discovery is this: Cross-training works, yo. Why have people been keeping this secret from me for so long?

Okay, it's no secret, and everyone advocates cross training. I didn't listen. Running is, frankly, easier. Put on your shoes (and your water belt, and your anti-chafe cream, and your headphones, and your sunscreen, and your special running sunglasses) and go. No worrying about cars hitting your bike and safe routes and flat tires. No worrying about how your hair and makeup will be restored after the pool if you need to go back to work or look acceptable for happy hour.

(As an aside, I came back to work from the pool and my office mate, MR, said, "You look like you've come from the beach or the pool!" I said, "Oh, is my hair beach-tousled? Do I look tan?" He said, "Um, yeah... And you have goggle marks around your eyes.")

But here's what I discovered in this four short weeks of training: Biking is kick ass for runners, or at least this runner. The muscles you develop biking make your running easier. I have been feeling so strong on my runs lately, and I can even feel the difference in my legs--there is more developed muscle tone. I even checked ROW's favorite source, Runner's World, and various articles definitely support my theory that biking develops the power muscles: quads, glutes, calves. Other authorities (is the website "nomeatathlete.com" a solid source?) agree, plus note cycling is less impact on the body. You can get a great workout without the pounding on the joints.

Swimming has been good, too. Admittedly, I have had some issues with swimming. First, I appear to have some sort of weird allergy to pool water. Apparently it can't be a chlorine allergy, but the chlorine can aggravate existing sensitivity to allergens. Or, simply put, I sneeze and have a runny nose and feel generally like I would if I had snorted ragweed for about five hours after a swim. Second, as detailed in other blogs, I don't know how to swim. I thought I did, but after lots of coaching, I have discovered I have a lot to learn, like "don't inhale the wet stuff." Third: my poor hair.

But we are positive here at ROW, so let's get back to the positives: TONED ARMS. Weak sister here is a slow swimmer in part because my hard won push-up muscles appear to have atrophied over the past 15 years of sitting at a desk and typing. But even swimming a few times a week over the past few weeks has made a noticeable difference: my tricep muscles are back!

So that's pretty cool. Here I thought I was going to have to start a Retro Step Class (maybe the Jazzercise lost souls can come too) to find my triceps, but no! I can do it in a more acceptable way--by getting my very slow and awkward Missy Franklin on. Sweet.

Wish us luck on Sunday!