Davidson Area Running Team

As written and run by Chas Willimon, and originally posted on his blog.

Those that know me are aware that I keep a pretty regular two-month training cycle between big races.  I nearly doubled that training period for Ridge-To-Bridge, but having already signed up for Anthem Marathon in Richmond–a brief fourteen days after R2B, I was not about to let a perfectly good registration go to waste.  So this race was an experiment in quick recovery/quick preparation, and seeing what effect two close marathons might have on my body.  I’ve been racing and writing a lot lately, so I will keep the recap brief and then go on to what worked and what didn’t.

It was a beautiful Autumn day in Richmond.  The starting race temperature hovered around 40 degrees, and the leaves were in peak color change.  My two-week recovery/taper had me feeling good and fit, but not necessarily fit enough to shoot for another sub-3:05 or sub-3:10.  However, when I saw fellow DARTer Brian Helfrich at the start and he affirmed his goal of 3:05, I figured I might as well try and hang with that pace and see what happens.  I lost Brian halfway through the first mile, but I latched on to the official 3:05 pacer.  Miles 2-6 were positively beautiful.  A long stretch on Monument Avenue surely was the backdrop of many of the event’s promotional photographs.  Shortly after the 10k timing mat, I had to drop out of the 3:05 pace group to use the restroom.

A sustained downhill allowed me to make up some lost time and bank a couple more quick splits.  We crossed the James River on the traffic-free Huguenot Memorial Bridge and looped around onto Riverside Drive.  Here lay the setting for the rest of the promo photos.  Riverside was serenely shaded by trees and detached from the urban backdrop of Richmond.  I made conversation with a couple other runners: Butch, a teen running his first marathon; and Scott, a wiry Jesus look-alike running his seventy-sixth marathon.  On a residential uphill leading away from the banks of the river, Scott fell behind and Butch pulled away.  It would not be the last I would see of either of them.

I crossed the timing mat at the 13.1 mark on pace for a 3:07 finish, but I knew that the second half of the course was bound to be more challenging.  I figured 3:10 was possible, but I wasn’t going to kill myself to reach for it.  At mile marker 15, I really started to feel the effects of having run a hard marathon two weeks before.  It was as if all of the post-race soreness from R2B suddenly awakened.  To exacerbate the situation, I was feeling as if my fuel stores were running low at a very early and inopportune point in the race.  More on that later.

After mile marker 16, the course brought us back to the North side of the James River via the Lee Bridge.  As I had been told to expect, the entire length of the bridge was a gentle climb that was fully exposed to the wind.  It was not the worst hill or bridge I had run, but I certainly wanted to be across it.  I gained the North side of the river, made another necessary pit stop, passed the ever-freindly Scott again, and tried to split some more miles in the mid-low 7 minute pace.  3:10 was looking unlikely.  Does anybody have 3:15?

Miles 18-22 were just plain not fun.  The day was heating up quickly, and Broad Street was not nearly as scenic as some of the more photogenic stretches of the course.  In fact, it was reminiscent of the second half of Thunder Road, when you’re just ready to be done.  Butch was having harder day than me.  He was seated on the curb at mile marker 20, shaking his head in exasperation.  At mile marker 22, I asked myself, “What the hell are you doing?  Aren’t you supposed to be having fun?”  So, I walked a hundred yards and caught my breath.

I picked up my running pace again just in time to jump into the 3:15 pace group.  It was easier to run in a group, so I figured I would hang on to these folks for a while.  The next couple of miles went by quickly but not easily.  I allowed myself another short walk break at mile marker 24 and then resolved to run the remainder of the flat/downhill end of the course.  As I navigated the last few turns through downtown Richmond, I tried to kick into a hard pace for the last half mile.  Bad idea.  I immediately felt my chest shut everything down, so I settled back into a jog and waited for the finish line to approach.  The last 0.2 miles of South Fifth Street lead straight downhill to the river, and I found my kick in time to muster a sprint for the finish.  I threw my arms out to the side and screamed, doing my best Mo Farrah impression.  I can’t wait to see how that photo comes out!  Final time: 3:15:50.  Hey, I’ll take it!

Mile splits:

7:11, 7:07, 7:04, 6:53, 7:04, 7:03, 7:50 (potty break #1), 6:49, 7:09, 6:55, 7:04, 7:19, 7:10

First half: 1:33:29

7:11, 7:10, 7:13, 7:31, 8:58 (potty break #2), 7:30, 7:27, 7:49, 7:54, 8:50 (walk break #1), 7:17, 8:40 (walk break #2), 8:01, 0.2 mile in 1:28 (6:25 pace)

Second half: 1:42:21

Total: 3:15:50
Things that worked:

Socks: Feetures Elite.  Not.  One.  Single.  Blister.  Period.

Compression:  Zensah calf sleeves and Nathan Reflective Arm Sleeves.  The Nathans fit better than any arm sleeve I worn so far, they have grippy bands on the upper cuff to hold them in place, and one of them has a little gel-sized pocket.  Nice.

Gels: I went back to GU for this marathon.  I still prefer the taste of Clif, but GU tends to work just as well for me.  Also, even though GU is a bit thick for my liking, I find that if I hold the gel packet in my warm hand for a minute or two before shooting it, the gel softens up to a nice, thin consistency.

Pace Teams:  I don’t do a lot of big city marathons, so I don’t often have the luxury of latching on to official pacers.  I hung around a few pacers for a couple of times during this race.  The pace team leaders at Richmond were spot-on accurate with their splits and very supportive to their followers, especially in the late stages of the race.

Walk-breaks:  All in all, I did not lose a whole bunch of time to my walk breaks.  I walked quickly, maintaining a 15-minute pace or better, and I saved a lot of energy in the process.  On my second walk break, I actually passed a couple of people.  Never underestimated the benefits of walking!

“Gangam Style:”  I heard this song THREE TIMES during the race, and it pumped me up each time.  Hooray for Korean hip hop!

Things that did not work:

Shoes:  New Balance MRC 1600.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love these shoes, and they’re a great, go-fast racing flat…for a Half.  During the last 10 or so miles of the marathon, I found myself wishing for a little more underfoot protection.  I ought to have stuck with the Brooks Green Silences that carried me through R2B.

Pre-race Nutrition:  As with most races, I have my final three days before go-time scheduled out meal-by-meal, and almost calorie-by-calorie.  However, while hastily packing my gear into the car before going to work on Friday morning (from whence I was headed straight to Richmond), I accidentally left my lunch bag at home, and it contained many of my snacks and such that would continue my scheduled carbo-loading in the 4.5 hour drive North.  Therefore, I had to substitute my pre-ordained feeding plans with pretzels, bagels, and other high-carb treats I could get from gas stations and convenience stores along the way.  I had no reliable way to monitor my caloric intake or carbohydrate ratio.  I don’t know if I overfed, underfed, or just ate the wrong stuff, but I did not go into the race feeling effectively fueled.  A couple of necessary potty breaks during the race also were indicators of a less-than-optimal nutritional plan, and they probably cost me a couple of minutes altogether.  Lesson learned: As Treebeard would say, “Don’t be hasty!”

as run and written by Ryan Werner and found on his blog

I knew at several points during the Pinhoti 100, I was going to have to pick up the pen again.

I sort of lost my race recap mojo in 2010 & 2011. I had been posting pretty regularly on my blog site, including pictures and whatnot, and just sort of lost the passion for it. Somewhat because I felt I was saying some of the same things over and over again and it was a bit stale. Somewhat because I’m a middle of the pack age grouper that was questioning myself and if I really had anything of value to put out there. So I stopped. Then Pinhoti happened. And there were things I wanted to say. And some things I needed to say.

Let’s go straight to the things that need to be said…

Many of you know how this deal works. You set the stage about the race. Then the blow-by-blow details. Then the lessons learned, acknowledgements, etc. In the case of Pinhoti, only one thing really matters. The acknowledgements. ‘The Whos’. The rest of the details I likened to something between a twenty-seven and a half hour Stanley Kubrick film and a purest form of euphoria. None of which matters in the slightest or ever would have come to fruition without ‘The Whos’.

Nate Hearns and Scott Harber… There is a fourth. Matt Miller. But we’ll get to him in a minute. We had many talks prior to Pinhoti about our race plan and approach. We had no idea what would actually happen or how it would unfold. Unfortunately, my race was in jeopardy in the bus on the ride to the start line in Heflin, AL. The last seven miles in a school bus on a very choppy service road had me chewing on Tums like Smarties and contemplating opening the bus window and hanging my head out to relieve myself. And the meltdown kept on from here.

Over the course of the 100 miles, I believe I legitimately quit five times. I insisted (sometime angrily) that Nate and Scott go on. And they simply would not leave me. They both selflessly sacrificed to pull me along that trail. Sometimes literally. Pushing me out of aid stations. Pulling me up and out of chairs I was trying to sleep in. And as the race progressed, it simply came to this – I couldn’t leave them. It wasn’t an option. For any of us. We had to finish. And it had to be together. No questions asked.

After the fact we came to realize two things – Had we broken up and gone solo at any point, our chances of finishing were slim. For me, the chances were nil. We also had no idea the significance of three people toeing the line of a 100 miler together, staying together and crossing together. Apparently this is practically unheard of. Odd thing for us, we couldn’t imagine it any other way.

The bond I’ve had with these two friends was strong before the race. I’d venture to say it’s now unbreakable. The Message translation of Ecclesiastes 4:12 can’t say it better…

“By yourself you’re unprotected. With a friend you can face the worst. Can you round up a third?
A three-stranded rope isn’t easily snapped.” Amen.

Allyson Werner, Morgan Hearns and Anne Harber… The wives. The crew. In addition to months of support leading up to the race, our wives followed us to the unmolested single-track trails of the Talladega National Forest to take on crew duties. We would quickly learn how absolutely critical this role was. Much more so than we could have imagined going into the race.

Anne, along with their two boys, Riley and Ethan, took the day shift. Basically the aid stations up to mile 41. They yelled. They cheered. They encouraged. At mile 41, I will be forever indebted to Anne for doing one of the most simple (and gross) things one could ask of someone else – help removing a sock. We had crossed a somewhat deep stream some 10-15 miles earlier. My feet were toast. Socks still wet and covered in junk from the trail. I grabbed a chair at the 41 aid station and proceeded to try and remove my socks. Compression socks at that. I got one, but the other I simply could not. Every time I bent over, my IT band would lock up so bad it would throw me back into the chair. I called on Anne, and not only did she get the sock off but she proceeded to dig her thumb and finger into my hip and help relieve the pressure on my IT band. Had it not been for her, I may not have left the 41 station. I was done. I think for the third time at this point. She then proceeded to hand me her phone. It was Allyson. I don’t remember the conversation. It doesn’t matter. I had new life. And new reason to get to mile 55 where she would be waiting.

The sun set somewhere between miles 41 and 55. We made our way through the darkness and emerged from the hole in the woods into the party scene known as the mile 55 aid station where I was anxious to collapse into Allyson’s arms and hand in my bib. I did just that, fell into her arms. But she and the others were having none of the quitting stuff. She and Morgan had laid out a very comfortable blanket in the parking lot and a literal spread of caloric bliss. I was struggling to put anything in my mouth at this point. Nate and Scott, not so much. They ate plenty for me. Dozing in and out of consciousness, I recall the conversation including the girl’s gymnastics results, our friend Matt Miller pulling out at mile 30, and food. All I wanted was to stay on that blanket. Forever. I wish there was more to it, but Allyson and Morgan both in their own ways looked at me and said something that included ‘Get up. You are going to do this. You are staying with these guys. Stopping is not an option.’ And so, it wasn’t. I stood. I moved. Allyson’s hope and expectation moved me forward.

We repeated this routine… miles 60, 65, 69. Then, it was into the abyss known as miles 69-85 (insert reference to a Kubrick film.) A couple of things got me through, but the main one was simply knowing Allyson was waiting for me. And that she and Morgan expected me to be there with Nate and Scott. I had to stop half way up Horn Mountain around mile 73 and puke for several minutes. I stood there bent over, then was moved by the thought… ‘Ok.. Now go. Allyson is waiting.’ So I went.

And there she was. Mile 85, then 90, 95, and of course at the finish line. She and Morgan had navigated through the night on literally a few hours of sleep providing not just food and supplies, but her. That is what did it. Just her. Being there, telling me I could and not giving me an option otherwise. Without her and the support of Morgan, I would still be laying face down in some remote parking lot of the mile 55 aid station. My love and gratitude is beyond words.

Matt Miller… Killah Millah. The unsung hero of the race. It can easily be argued that Matt is responsible for this ultra madness. He was the seasoned ultra veteran and ultimately the one who identified Pinhoti and moved us toward it. For as long as we’ve known Matt, it’s no secret that his kryptonite is heat. So when we saw in the days leading up to Pinhoti that Saturday was calling for a high in the low 80’s, we knew there could be problems. And unfortunately there were. Matt left the mile 28 aid station and shortly after the body simply broke down. The vomiting wouldn’t stop. Things weren’t working. Versus pressing ahead to the 35 stop and then up the climb of Cheaha, he turned around and back tracked the couple of miles back to 28. A decision that was difficult to say the least, but the right one.

The girls heard Matt had DNF’d and as stated prior had passed along that news to us at the 55 aid station. But we had no other details. As Nate, Scott and I emerged from the dark into the mile 60 aid station, I thought I had in fact begun to loose what was left of my mind. There he was. In the literal middle of nowhere. Matthew D. Miller. Trying to gather my wits and comprehend what was going on, Matt proceeded to explain that the folks running the mile 60 aid station were the same folks that manned the 28 station. When he had returned to 28 to DNF, they nursed him back to life and then he was along for the ride.

What I observed at 60 and the remaining aid stations was one of the most inspirational things I’ve ever been a part of. I’m sitting here in tears even as I type this. I saw a guy who could have easily packed it in. Went back to the hotel and slept. Perhaps sulked, loaded the car and went home. Instead, he came back from the dead and made a decision to help get us to the line. He greeted us with open arms. He scrambled for food and drinks. He spoke encouragement. Not just for us, but for all of the runners. The girls said he owned the stations when he was there. In additional to all of the pressure above, now there was Matt. I wasn’t going to let him down. He stayed to see us – all three of us together – finish. I had no option but to do my part. I was going to finish for Matt. He’d earned that.

As far as the actual race details? Inconsequential really the more I wrote the above. We finished 100 miles in 27 hours, 22 minutes. 63rd, 64th and 65th out of 108 finishers (197 people started the race.) For me, a song can often sum it up far better than I can. And in this case, it happens to be Rob Base from 1988. I only regret I didn’t have more energy at the finish line to throw some moves (with the white guy, squinty eyed, bottom-lip overbite, of course.)

as run and written by Lori Ackerman

I’ve never written a race recap or a blog and I probably never will again. I know I’ve left out many details, but I was trying to keep it short. This recap is probably less about running and more about the journey. If I hadn’t started running with DART I probably would’ve never run this marathon. I am so thankful for the Davidson running community and the lifelong friends I’ve made. I look forward to
getting back out on the roads with all of you very soon!

My First Marathon

When I started my journey towards physical therapy school 4 years ago I quit doing triathlons because I no longer had time for school, swim, bike and run. So, I ran wherever and whenever I could. Last summer I met Jason Gardner and he tried to convince me to train for Thunder Road Marathon. I’d never even considered running a marathon. I kept up with the long runs up to 19 miles, but school was stressful and I was struggling with the weekday runs. Eventually school got too overwhelming and I decided against Thunder Road. Although my family was skeptical about the training and juggling my final year of school, I decided I’d sign up for MCM in March when registration opened. March 7th was the day of MCM sign up. It was also 3 days before Corporate Cup Half Marathon. I’d trained hard for this half and was ready to go. I went for an easy run that morning and some how severely injured my back. Unable to walk or even put weight on my right leg I still signed up for MCM that afternoon. I signed up and put it out of my mind focusing on getting better. I was forced to take 12 weeks off from running. I swam 6 days a week to keep up my fitness, then spent 4 weeks slowly building up my running base before the official 16 week training program started. This meant 16 weeks of smart rehab and then 16 weeks of marathon training mixed in with finishing my last 8 months of school! I adjusted my marathon goals. This wouldn’t be about time, but about having fun and enjoying the experience.

The month heading into the marathon was spent studying 8+ hours a day for my PT Licensure exam. I was beyond stressed and the marathon was barely in the back of my mind. I knew I’d put in the work and race day would take care of itself. The Tuesday before the race I took my 5-hour exam. Friday we drove to DC to stay with my cousin. My husband Ashley and I were winging it…I’d been so stressed that I hadn’t planned a thing. I didn’t even know where or when packet pickup was. Luckily Hope Childress was more than organized and created an awesome cheat sheet for me.

Saturday morning Ashley and I headed to find the expo. We planned to grab breakfast along the way. Bad idea. We saw nowhere to eat. It was now approaching 10:30 and I hadn’t eaten a bite nor did I have a full water bottle. Not good. Someone was watching over me because as we walked into the expo we found a nutri-grain bar on the ground. It was unopened and I was starving…so yes I ate it. Ashley bought me a water as we stood in line to get into the expo. Things were looking up and I was learning my lesson about planning for food before a big marathon. The expo was my worst nightmare. I made Ashley stand in line for over 30 minutes to buy me a silly $20 visor. Meanwhile I found the nuun tent and “the stick” tent. I chugged some nuun and rolled the heck out of my calves. Soon enough we headed to the hotel and I was demanding lunch. No restaurants were open around us and I was forced to eat pizza….this food thing was not off to a good start. Oh well…go with the flow is what I kept telling myself!

Pre-race dinner was at a cute Italian restaurant downtown. I managed to pass up the pre-race beer with dinner. This took will power…but I figured this is the biggest & longest race I’ve ever run, so I guess I’m “supposed” to hydrate the night before? Who knows….

Hope (r) and me, pre-race.

The race started at 7:55. We determined we’d leave the hotel at 6:00am thinking we’d have plenty of time. Wow was I wrong! We were lucky to hop onto an empty metro. A few stops later the chaos began. When we arrived at pentagon station it was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen when thousands of people were trying to access 2 escalators to exit the station. We finally made it out and had to wait about 10-15 minutes for Hope & Jyl Deering. We also met Jason here so we could all start the 2 mile walk to the start. Along the 2 mile walk we took some pics, dropped off bags at the UPS trucks and finally made it to the portos at about 7:30. The line was slow going and I really didn’t think I’d make the start. With about 5 minutes until the start I made it out of the porto line and Hope and I jogged to our corral. The crowd was amazing. The gun fires. Woohooo! Cheers of excitement and then we just stand there. About 11 minutes later we finally crossed the start line and we’re off!!

The race is almost a blur. This is what I do know…

We were packed in like sardines. We were struggling to pass people and were having a hard time keeping our pace in the crowds. Hope and I worked hard not to lose each other in the crowd. We wanted to stay together as long as possible. At mile 7 we started up a pretty steep hill. Hope was cruising up this hill and I fell back a little. On the downhill she flew and I fell back a little more, but was working to stay within reach. At the next water station I lost her in the chaos. At about mile 10 I spotted Hope up ahead and tried to push the pace to catch her. I lost her in the crowd again and finally made a decision to slow down and just run my own race. I knew we’d separate eventually, so I was prepared and ready to go it alone for the next 16 miles.

Meanwhile, while I was struggling to keep up with Hope, I spotted Ashley on the side of the road. He was like a deer in headlights staring at the thousands of people passing by him in a blur. I got really excited to see him, which gave me a quick burst of energy. About a half-mile later my parents spotted me. My dad was screaming with all his might! It was awesome! The energy I received from their cheers was incredible.

Mile 11 I’m coming down from the high of seeing my family and I notice the road finally seems to open up. I’m still surrounded by people, but no longer fighting to pass people or maintain pace. Finally I can settle into a comfortable rhythm. I was shocked it took 11 miles for the crowd to thin. I was exhausted and I wasn’t even to the halfway
point. I definitely underestimated the energy spent trying to fight the crowd, but I just kept plugging along.

We headed to a 3-mile section along the river. You’d think this would be scenic and peaceful. No, not nice. Horribly boring. No spectators and everyone around me were wearing headphones so no one was talking. Some very very kind people put up small signs with one-liners about every 10 feet along this 3-mile section. I read every single sign. This got me through that section for sure. From there we headed towards the monuments. I honestly don’t even remember seeing them.

Around mile 15 I was suddenly aware of how thirsty I was. I’d been taking water at every aid station but it wasn’t enough. The aid stations were insanity. After the first two I learned to skip ahead to the last table, grab my 2 cups, chug them back while walking a few steps then take off again. I grabbed water at 16 but it wasn’t enough. All I could think about was how thirsty I was. Mile 18 water stop, Yes! I ran straight through it before I realized it was over. This station was about ½ the length of the others and before I knew it I’d missed the last table. Damn, should I turn back? No, just keep going…. Meanwhile I’d been scanning the streets looking for Ashley or my parents. I was going to beg them for every ounce of water they had. I never saw them. Mile 19 I saw a water fountain on the path next to the course. Screw it…I’m stopping. I stood at that water fountain chugging water for what seemed like minutes, to the point that my stomach hurt. But I didn’t care. I then continued to stand there and stretch for a few more minutes. What was I doing? Get going!!

What do you know….1/2 mile later there was another water stop and yes I grabbed more water. Oh my stomach, but it tasted so good! Mile 20 you head over the bridge into Arlington, VA. I was really beginning to feel the pain in my legs and I wanted to stop. I’d spent the last 10 miles searching for Ashley, wondering where he was and why he wasn’t on the course (turns out he missed me at mile 17) and then suddenly there he was on the bridge. It was wonderful! He ran with me for about a ½ mile, we chatted and then he said he’d see me at the finish. Whoa the finish???

Two miles later we exited the bridge into Crystal City. Crystal City was the best part of the race. The crowds on the street and the music were unlike anything I’ve ever seen. My legs felt like lead but mile 22 was incredible because of the crowd support. Mile 23 I hit the wall. The crowd was screaming just a 5k to go….that was the worst thing to hear at the time! I wanted to walk so badly. I kept telling myself to make it to the next mile marker. Going into mile 24 I’d maintained a 10 min pace which is right where I wanted to be. Mile 24 I think the wall actually hit me instead of me hitting the wall. My pace slowed to 11 min pace. Again, I kept telling myself just to make it to the next mile marker then maybe you can walk. Mile 25 there was an aid station…what a tease! I wanted to walk so badly, but the finish was so close! I looked at my watch and saw that if I had any chance of breaking 4:30 I’d have to run. Damn. So I ran straight through the aid station. Turns out I ran 12 min pace that last mile. Ashley took a video…it was comical. I’m really not sure we can call that a run. The final .2 is straight up hill. How cruel!!! I crossed the finish line in 4:30:52. I didn’t make it under 4:30, but I didn’t care. My goals all a long were not about time, but about the experience.

I crossed the finish and experienced a little hyperventilation episode. I couldn’t catch my breath. I also couldn’t stop walking for fear of being trampled by the thousands of people behind me. The Marines immediately corralled us into lines to get our medals, a salute and a handshake. It was awesome. They then pushed us into a line for a finisher photo. I wanted no part of that and made my way towards another line for water, Gatorade, food and jackets. From there we walked and walked and walked to the Family Meet Up. Thank goodness I’m an “A” and could stop at the first meet up area.

We were so cold after the race that we wanted no part of the finisher festival or the beer tent. We found a small café nearby where we could get warm, have a little food, lots of fluids and even a bathroom. Jill waited 30 minutes in the metro line for us and shortly we were headed back to the hotel. That evening we celebrated with good food, good beer, even better company and maybe some dirty martinis.

The entire weekend was a success. I truly had no idea what I was getting into when I signed up for a race with 40,000 other people. I was not prepared for the crowds or the planning necessary for this event, but we were able to wing it and make the best of it. Everyone says it, but the Marines put on a fantastic event. It was extremely emotional to see the injured veterans running the race, but also incredibly motivating and inspiring at the same time.

As I finished my first marathon I said never again. As I watch videos from the race, think about things I could’ve done differently and think about what it would be like to train without the stress of school….I realize there just might be another marathon in my future.

To top off the week….3 days after the race I found out I passed my licensure exam and I am now officially a NC certified PT! And as I type this I’m on vacation at the beach celebrating my 5th wedding anniversary to the most amazing guy I know. The last 10 days have been a roller coaster, but I wouldn’t have it any other way!

Written and run by Chas Willimon, and originally posted on his blog.

Lately, I’ve made no effort to keep secret the fact that Ridge To Bridge Marathon (R2B) was to be my first honest attempt at qualifying for Boston.  Up until now, all of my goals, while lofty, have been reasonably within my ability level.  Either they were to finish a given ultra-distance (OSS/CIA 50-miler), or to break a fast time milestone for a shorter distance (LKN Rotary 10K, Charity Chase Half-Marathon).  For R2B, I would be racing “fast” for a longer time than ever before.  Breaking a 3:05 for BQ was–I thought–just beyond my ability range, or at the very edge of it.  3:05 works out to a 7:03 minute/mile pace.  I planned on keeping a 7:01 overall pace to allow a little wiggle room.  Any more wiggle room and I would run the risk of burning out my energy too quickly.  There was almost no margin for error.  To put the daunting nature of this goal into perspective, 7:00 was my mile repeat pace a year ago.  This would be my toughest running challenge thus far.

I drove up to the host hotel–Quality Inn, Morganton–the evening before the marathon and met up with Mike Smith, Bryan Massingayle, and Bryan’s friends Brad and Pam.  Pam was making her 26.2 debut at R2B while Bryan and Mike were seeking sub-3:10 BQs.  I was happy to have the camaraderie of my fellow marathoners and the leisure of packing in a van and hopping over to the bus shuttle in Lenoir, rather than having to get up before 4am, drive 1.5 hours the morning of the race just to catch another half hour of riding in a bus.  Mike and I shared a room, spent a little time talking equipment and strategy, watched the first and best scene of Gladiator on hotel cable, and fell asleep before 9pm.  I don’t know about Mike, but I slept like a baby.

Everyone was in good spirits as Bryan drove us to the bus pick-up at the finish area.  R2B is a point-to-point course starting in Jonas Ridge and ending in Lenoir, so most of the racers were leaving their cars and gear at the finish and catching the charter buses to take them up the mountain to the start.  That’s right, charter buses; David Lee spared no expense for the participants in his race!  The temperature was in the low 40s at the starting area–perfect for running–and the foliage was peaking in Autumnal colors.  It was shaping up to be a fantastic day for a marathon.  Good.  I would need everything to work in my favor.  No room for error!

Bobby Aswell, me, and Bryan Massingayle before the start.

Miles: 1-6: REFRAIN!

After some nerve-settling warm-ups, a gathering around the starting mats, and a recognition of the national anthem, we were off.  As per my race strategy outlined in my recap of Lungstrong 15K earlier this month, I relaxed into an easier-than-goal pace in the mid-low 7s for the first couple of miles.  Bryan anticipated the same strategy and backed himself off as he came beside me.  “Discipline,” I reminded us both.  He acknowledged.  Mike smiled knowingly in agreement as he slowly passed us.  Shortly after the first mile, I could see the first and second place runners on the opposite side of a hooking bend in the road, already very far ahead.  I did my best to only pay attention to my own watch.  It was not a race yet.  I caught Mike near mile 2, and he remarked that he thought the course would be more rolling.  I was hesitant to agree just yet.  I noticed friend and fellow Charlotte-area runner Emily Hansen at the aid station cheering us on.  Emily was a veteran of this race, and I definitely took her anecdotes into account when devising my own strategy.

The next 3+ miles were a rolling out-and-back along the ridge.  I spied a beautiful gorge around mile 3.5 that was filled with morning fog.  It looked to me like a bowl of fluffy mashed potatoes.  Beautiful.  The turnaround gave me a clue how far ahead the leaders were, and how many people were ahead of me.  In second place was Shannon Scott, who had run a few miles alongside me toward the end of Salem Lake 30K a month earlier.  I also saw Clint Siemers making good time and Bobby Aswell, Jr. not too far ahead of me.  I caught up with Bobby about halfway through the 5th mile.  He greeted me and let me go.  The next mile was the longest…ahem…”climb” of the race: about 2% grade for just under 7 minutes.  I gave myself permission to work the hill a little to start negatively splitting my miles and to make sure the legs were awake for the romp down the mountain.  Aid station 2 was the same location as aid station 1, so I hailed Emily and passed my arm sleeves, gloves, and ear warmers off to her before starting my descent.  Off we go…

Splits for miles 1-6: 7:28, 7:21, 7:15, 7:04, 7:09, 7:20

Miles 7-15: RESTRAIN!

Over the next 9 miles–save for about a half mile of small but surprising uphill in the middle–the elevation dropped a staggering 2000 feet.  The course literally ran us down a mountain.  This is really what makes R2B famous–a monumental downhill that made for fast splits and potential blow-ups.  Naturally, I had to make up some time for a conservative first 10K, but in doing so, I had to bank some time for the fatigued back end of the race.  No problem, all I had to do was run a few seconds below pace for this stretch, right?  It was more complicated than that.  Firstly, I was a little too conservative on top of the ridge, and I started the drop about a minute behind goal pace, twice the gap with which I was comfortable.  Secondly, one does not just trot down this mountain dirt road.  The grade was steep a lot of the time, steeper at other spots, and downright recklessly steep for some stretches.

The many switchbacks made for interesting scenery and precarious footing.  I easily was in the top 10% of a strung out field, so I saw and passed other runners intermittently.  The surface was a fine gravel dirt road with some larger rocks here and there, but it was more forgiving than asphalt and far more runnable than any trail.  On the numerous hairpin turns, I had to choose between cutting the tangents and treading on more rutted footing or taking the turns widely, more smoothly, and sacrificing a second or two in the process.  Over a dozen or so such turns, those seconds add up, and today there was no room for error!

Flying down the mountain at the half. Weeeeeee!

I focused on maintaining cadence and form, and let the hill carry me away.  Weeeeee!  Thankfully, my mile splits were coming down very quickly…maybe too quickly.  When I saw a sub-6 minute split at mile marker 11, I thought I might be getting a little too reckless.  By the time I reached the halfway aid station, I read 1:31:35 on my watch, on pace for 3:03.  I had made up all of my time from the ridge and I still had a lot of downhill to go.  I listened to my legs.  the quads were already starting to feel a bit rubbery.  Uh oh.  That’s the first sign of them eventually giving out all together.  Hopefully, they would just stay rubbery for the rest of the race and the soreness (oh yes, the soreness was in the mail) would wait until later in the day.  By the time I got to the bottom of the hill, I had written my check, and now my legs had to cash it.

Splits for miles 7-15: 6:54, 6:50, 6:55, 7:07, 6:38, 5:59(!), 6:57, [13.1 mile split: 1:31:35],6:44, 6:49

Miles 16-22: SUSTAIN!

To paraphrase Bobby Aswell, one’s ability to succeed at R2B depends on his or her ability to run the last 10 miles.  If the long downhill of the mountain makes this race famous, the 10+ miles of sobering flat on the back end make it infamous.  As soon as the slope leveled off and the gravel road turned into smooth, hard asphalt, I instantly felt the fatigue of my legs.  The first flat mile after the mountain was an out-and-back during which I got to sneak a peek at much of the field ahead and behind me.  Clint stilled looked good and was pulling ahead.  After I turned around, I came upon Bobby, Bryan, fellow DARTer and BQ-seeker Tommy Wagoner, and Mike all in order.  They appeared to be trying to wake up their legs much as I was.  It took me that whole mile to get recalibrated.  Then, I found my pace again, hard as it was.  I pushed to hold my splits as close to 7s as possible.  I had to.  With the weather heating up and my energy stores only getting lower, there was no room for error.

After every mile marker, I re-did the math in my head, affirming the pace I needed to keep, wishing there was just a little more of a time cushion.  “No dice, Chas,” I told myself, “you gotta earn it with every step!”  The scattered runners ahead of me were fewer and farther between.  I passed the first place female runner at mile 20, and she encouraged me, making no attempt to retaliate.  10K left, and 43 minutes in order to finish 3:03-something.  Yep, I still had to hold a 7:00 pace.  It was starting to get old, but at least the miles were ticking away.  I just had to keep talking myself through it.

Splits for miles 16-22: 7:14, 6:57, 6:55, 7:02, 7:07

Miles 23-26.2; PAIN!

In the final miles of the race, I suffered what I can only describe as a slow bonk.  My legs were hurting and felt like bricks, but this had started miles ago.  The agony slowly made its way up my body, and all of my muscles just wanted a break, even just to ease back on the pace for a few seconds.  What made it worse was that I was practically alone for most of these final miles.  I admonished myself to ignore the agony and keep pushing.  Quoth the inner monologue:

“You’ve hurt worse than this!  Suck it up!”

“Forget the rest of the race, THIS is what you trained for!”

“Almost there…no room for error…dig, dig, DIG!”

The asphalt gave way to perfectly hard-packed dirt road in the final couple of miles.  I think I passed a couple more people here, but I honestly don’t remember.  After mile marker 25, I started counting the minutes and the fractions of a mile on my GPS watch.  All I had to do was endure a little more pain.  Half a mile from the finish, I ran alongside the destination at Brown Mountain Beach Resort and heard the noisemakers of the crowd as one or two other finishers crossed the line.  I heard someone cheering my name, but I could not recognize the voice.  I ran down one last little hill and into a final, too-long loop around the gravel parking lot.  I passed one more runner in this stretch, and he appeared not to have a kick left in him.  As I rounded the last corner for the final quarter mile, I saw that Tommy had been my cheerleader.  Tommy had dropped out of the race at mile 20 with a seized-up hamstring.  Disappointing as it was, he was still there to cheer me on, take pictures, and run ahead of me towards the finish arch.

Mile 26 and still pushing.

There was a tiny but sadistic little uphill in the final yards leading to the finish line.  I had to beat 3:05.  I saw 3:04:xx on the gun clock.  No room for error.  I did not–could not–sprint to the finish.  It was all I could do just to maintain my pace through the final inches of the race distance.  As soon as I was sure I had cleared the timing mats, I stopped running.  A volunteer draped a thermal space blanket on me, and I ripped the timing chip from my shoe.  I was taking no chances having that thing go off accidentally and negating my time.  Official chip time: 3:04:07.  I was lucky 13th place overall, and I had placed 3rd in my age group.  More than that, I was a Boston Qualifier.

Finished…and done.

Third place in age group. Nice little pottery award.

Splits for miles 23-26.2: 7:17, 7:05, 7:00, 7:19, [final 0.2 mile in 1:24], [second half: 1:32:32], [chip time: 3:04:07]

The potential for a fast downhill at R2B was the lure of many BQ hopefuls on this day.  Clint fared best out of all of us with a 2:57:xx, nearly 18 minutes ahead of his qualifying time.  That was also good enough for 6th place overall.  Fellow DARTer Dean King also qualified with a 3:23:xx.  Bobby Aswell completed his 182nd marathon with a 3:13:xx and a 3rd place age group award.  Bryan, Mike, and a few other familiar faces came short of their goals, but still finished with respectable times.  Like any R2B veteran will attest, this was adeceivingly difficult course.

Only in the past couple of days has it registered with me…six months ago, I never would have said I had a chance to qualify for Boston.  I worked my ass off for four months and accomplished several other running goals that I thought were well beyond my reach.  All of that effort and obsession paid off…with a margin of just 53 seconds.  Truly, there was no room for error.

In emulation of ultra-running guru/blogger Jonathan Savage, here’s what worked:

Shoes: Brooks Green Silence with YANKZ quick laces.  A high performance racing flat with a socklike upper and a surprising amout of cushion underneath.  Why is Brooks discontinuing this shoe?

Compression: RaceReady LD compression shorts and 2XU calf sleeves.

Gels: Clif Shots.  In my opinion, they taste better than GU, and that’s important in a long race.  However, they do have a higher sugar/maltodextrin ratio, so they do need to be chased with water in order to clear properly.

as run and written by Allen Strickland and found on his blog

Right up there with the OrthoCarolina Classic 10K, the LungStrong 15K stands out as one of my favorite Charlotte-area races.  A distance other than the ubiquitous 5K, a beautiful course featuring colorful fall foliage and lovely views of Lake Norman, a post-race spread that would make All-World tailgaters envious (this year there was beer, Brooklyn Pizza, and Jersey Mike’s subs) – all these things make it one of the, arguably the, best local races. Add the fact that the starting line is about a mile and a half from my home and you know I would be found there on Saturday morning.  I looked forward to running it for the 5th year in a row (my longest streak at any race).

I came into this one with modest goals.  I had, borrowing a phrase from Aaron, a ‘soft’ PR at this distance, a 1:07:49, or about 7:15 pace, set way back in 2009.  I thought I should be able to break that pretty easily, so that became the primary goal.  I believed I was fit enough to break 1:05, just under 7:00 pace, so that became the aggressive goal.

Pre-race went pretty smoothly.  Laura and I made the long drive from my place, leaving at 6:44 and arriving at 6:48 – it took so long because we had to stop at the light at Jetton.  We parked at the Wells Fargo and headed to get our chips.  Quick aside – Tim, can we please graduate from using the antiquated timing chips? Can you not get the bibs with the built in chips or at least a D-chip?  It’s a bit of a pain to wait in line to get a chip before the race, and I don’t enjoy being harassed for the chip at the end of the race, bending over to remove it, and nearly passing out.  It’s kind of like insisting on using a pay phone – sure, they still work, but it would be much more convenient to use a cell phone.  That’s my one and only complaint about LungStrong – now back to your regularly scheduled blog.

Heading from the car to the chip line, we ran into my pals Dean and Bill and I introduced them to Laura.  Another thing I love about LungStrong – it brings out representatives from all the diverse running communities out there.  Before the day was through, I would see friends from all the running groups that I would typically encounter separately – UCRR (arch-rival Brian Sammons,  running his first race in nearly a year), DART (Chas, Cliff Weston, and Sarah Keen), Charlotte Running Club (more than I can name, but here are a few – Emily Barrett, John Fillette, Eric Bilbrey, Caleb Boyd, Billy Shue.  Mike Beigay, while not running, was on hand to peddle gear), friends that have moved in nearby – Karin Helmbrecht and Chris Lamperski, and friends that have moved ‘far’ away, Michelle Hazelton and Thomas Eggar.  It was quite a hodgepodge of runners and I loved seeing them all in one place.

We got our chips and ran a little warm-up with Dean, and suddenly it was go time.  We lined up near the front where one of the fastest local runners in my age group, Jim McKeon, shook my hand and we chatted about the Wineglass Marathon, site of his first marathon.  All morning, I had been counting the masters that I knew I couldn’t hang with – Stephen Spada, Jim McKeon, etc. etc.  What were my odds of winning an age group award on this day?  I had a better chance of being struck by a meteor.

And then someone sounded the start and just like that we were racing.  Earlier in the week, I discussed race strategy with Coach Stanford and he recommended taking things out nice and orderly, about a 7:15-7:20 first mile before settling into goal pace of sub-7′s, so that’s what I attempted to do.  Regular readers know that I have avery difficult time going out slowly, but today I was determined.

5 steps in, Sarah cut me off and I cried out, “Is that Sarah Keen cutting me off?!” and she pointed to a little kid that had ostensibly cut her off.  This guy was tiny, I mean like 5 or 6 years old tiny, but he was cruising at sub-7 pace and he had a pace tattoo on his arm.  He obviously meant business as he pulled away.

Nearing Jetton Road, a firetruck, sirens blaring, came barreling out of the firehouse.  This was the same place where a firetruck nearly derailed my 2009 PR race near the finish as a race volunteer screamed for us to stop while a firetruck departed the station, but instead, Christi Cranford and I and a bunch of other runners ran off the road, up on the grass hill adjacent to the road, and continued on.  If Jesus himself had been in the road and screamed for me to stop, I would have run around him.  What the hell, is this the busiest firestation in America, or is this a bizarre coincidence?  Regardless, nobody asked us to stop this time, and the hordes of runners just moved over to the right and the truck and the runners continued on their respective missions.

I kept checking my pace and struggled to throttle back as hundreds of old, chubby, and infirmed folks blazed by.  Oh how I wanted to pick up the pace, but I refused.  Sarah was probably a hundred meters ahead of me within the first half mile, but I resisted the temptation to speed up and catch her.  Laura was relying on me to be the early pacesetter and ran just off my right shoulder.  Apparently, she too was struggling to hold back because she passed me.

We turned left into Jetton Park and I was too focused on pace and the race to appreciate the beautiful autumn scenery.  I had my eyes on the clock at the 1-mile mark which clicked on 7:15 just as I crossed the line.  “Perfect!” I cried out loud as I gave myself permission to start accelerating on this rare flat section of the course.  I sped past Laura who called out “Goodbye!” and I waved.

I reeled Sarah in as we neared the first water stop, just outside of the park, as we turned left onto Jetton Road.  I quickly downed some water and continued to push the pace.  I still felt fine which was to be expected at this, the easiest, flattest, part of the tough course.

I was cruising now, running a 6:58 second mile, but I felt like I was pushing maybe a little harder than I should be – the heart rate read in the 160′s.  I wasn’t sure I could maintain that level of effort, but I was going to try.  Shortly after the second mile, Sarah eased up beside me and accused me of shooting her with a snot rocket.  I maintained my innocence, but needing to fire off another one, I surged ahead to make sure I was in the clear before launching the next.

I continued to maintain sub-7′s, but they felt more difficult than I thought they should.  I kept hovering around a heart rate of 160 or higher – going much higher than that was dangerous business, setting myself up to trip the lactic acid time bomb, so I tried to ease off the gas ever so slightly.

I heard someone cheer my name near the next water stop and I looked up to see Anne Marie (aka, “Hard Core”) and Joey.  I waved.  Buoyed by their cheers, I picked up the pace.  Having run the course a week earlier, I knew we were rapidly running out of “flat and easy” so my rationale was “you might as well crank through here before things start getting ugly”.

From miles 3 to 5, I went to war with another runner, a tiny little waif of a lady wearing a perfectly color-coordinated pink outfit, complete with a flowery little top and a short skort.  She kept passing me on the uphills, and I would pass her back on the downs.  It was unnerving.  I would throw in a long surge and think that I had finally dropped her, only to have her casually pass me back moments later.

I was huffing and puffing and grimacing, while she maintained a demure, peaceful little smile.  I was all UFC, Semper Fi, and SPARTA – she was all flowers, butterflies, and “Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?”  But like a stone cold assassin, she killed my will to stay with her.  I could only watch from behind as she became a tiny little pink dot on the horizon.

Me at mile 5.

My opponent at mile 5.

After my epic battle with Veronica, I started feeling the fatigue set in.  My sub-7′s turned into over-7′s.  Nearing the toughest part of the course, the 4ish rolling miles through the peninsula and back up Jetton Road, suddenly a PR was no longer a sure thing.  It didn’t sound easy anymore.  Gut check time.

Now I was just hanging on as my splits climbed.  7:12.  7:17.  7:21.  Hang on, Gramps, you can still set a PR if you don’t act stupid.  While the wheels hadn’t completely fallen off, they were getting mighty wobbly.  At the mile 7 water stop, Anne Marie and Joey cheered, giving me another boost.

But that was the last moment of glory.  I was completely in damage control for the rest of the race.  I just wanted it to be over.  I hung on by a thread as I got passed by a big guy in Vibram Five Fingers – while these are technically allowed/appropriate in a race, they’re like wearing a bolo tie at work – they kind of mark you as “that weird guy”.  Then someone came by wearing the dreaded water bottle belt – I wanted to yank that thing off, throw it down on the ground, stomp on it and scream, “It’s 45 degrees and they have water nearly every mile!  You don’t need a *$#%ing water belt!” But I didn’t have enough energy – I just watched the water belt guy pulling away. The 3 kinds of people to pass you that indicate your race is now going badly – 1) Someone carrying a pace sign.  2) Someone in a costume.  3) Someone wearing a *$#%ing water belt.

Sigh.  I had very little left.  There was a strong headwind on the final stretch, so I tried to tuck in behind water belt guy and draft, but he quickly buried me.

By this point, I could see the last turn ahead and I was grateful.  Again, I just wanted this thing to be over.  I was seriously fading.

We made the left turn, and then the right that put us back into Jetton Village.  Only a quarter of a mile to go.  I was perfectly content to, in the words of the infamous Boston Masshole, “jog it the ^&*$ out”, when somebody tried to pass me.  “Damn it!” I thought.  “Are you going to make me kick here?”  I accelerated, dropping whoever it was making the move, when I spotted the little kid up ahead.  Again, damn it.  I can’t just let a 6-year-old kid beat me.  So I chased him.

Just as I was passing the kid, Mike Beigay showed up to take a pic.  I really didn’t want another picture of me, battling it out with a little kid, floating around on the internet, so I desperately cried out to Mike, “Wait!  Wait, til I get past this kid!” and I pointed to the boy.  Here’s the photo of me pointing to the little boy, just outside the frame:

I am pointing to a tiny little boy just outside of the frame. Thank god Mike didn’t get him in the pic.

I turned onto the homestretch and saw the clock rapidly approaching 1:07.  I kicked for all I was worth to at least come in under 1:07, and I did, barely.  I was ever so grateful it was over.

Sarah finished seconds behind me and said, “I almost caught you!” but apparently snot rocket debris had prevented her from beating me.  Then Laura came in seconds later.  She is right on my heels with minimal training – I don’t know what I’m going to do when she does beat me, which seems inevitable.  I’ve never had a girlfriend beat me in a race and I’m not sure how I’ll react when it happens.  But since I’m her unofficial coach, I think I’ll be really proud.  Or really upset.  One of those two.

Let the games begin – it would be all fun from that point forward. Brooklyn Pizza, beer, Harvey’s chicken wings, and conversation.  I only have 2 post-race regrets – 1) I waited too long to get a Jersey Mike’s sub – they were all gone by the time I approached the tent.  2) We didn’t make it to Zada Jane’s for brunch with Thomas and Michelle.  Laura and I never ventured too far from the beer truck, and we had a grand old time chatting with various running pals.

At the awards ceremony, Laura picked up her age group medal, a ‘gold’ for finishing first in the 40-44 category, and I picked up my, “nice try, keep dreaming old man” award.

To cap off the day, we got our free picture taken at the Coca Cola truck, where the photographer wouldn’t let us hold our beers in the pic, so we set them down on the table where a little girl nearly drank them, reaching for the cups and saying, “Free Coke?”  Here’s the pic:

Free pic courtesy of the Coke folks.

Not my greatest race ever, but certainly not my worst either.  I would dub it ‘acceptable’.  All things considered, it was a good day.

Now I have to decide what’s next.  I’m mulling over finding another marathon to take a shot at a 2014 Boston qualifier.  We’ll see – I’ll let you know.

As swum by Jyl Deering and found on Hope Childress’ blog

The weekend of September 22 & 23 was a busy weekend for this trio; each embarking our on own quest. Last week, we read about Graham’s Iron Adventure. Well, on September 22, Jyl went to Boston to slay her own dragon, Boston Sharkfest; a 1500 meter open water swim across Boston Harbor.

Take it away, Jyl!

So this past weekend I had the crazy idea to swim 1500 meters across Boston Harbor. I thought in my brain this Shark Fest Swim, the first year in Boston, would be a good idea and practice for my ultimate work out goal of swimming from Alcatraz to San Francisco in 2013.

I arrived Friday morning to a cold and dreary Boston. After checking the forecast, I saw the water temp was about 62 degrees, not the 68-70 degrees they mentioned on the website at the time of sign up. I had a sleeveless wetsuit, an awful thing (no one likes trying on or wearing one of these things) and really wished I went for and practiced with the full sleeve one… Never did it cross my mind that the water would be this cold! Mistake number #1 of the weekend!

Saturday morning came and was dreary and drizzly and cold again. Wishing I had gloves and a winter hat as I walked from the hotel to the start was one thing! Man, if the air was this cold, imagine the water!
Mom and I hung out at the finish line, where water taxis were taking us over to the start. I noticed these people hanging around looked like serious swimmers/athletes. Mom mentioned that no silly normal or person thinking they were in shape would jump into the harbor! She was right!

I finally boarded a small water taxi to the start line with about 20 other swimmers. Most were quiet and checking out the scene, and there were 2 college kids on my boat going in Speedos for the swim. Man, I thought they were crazy, but they were the only ones doing it I would soon realize. Sure they were about the 10% of the crowd, but there were people, including a very cute Olympian open water swimmer, Alex Meyer (who won the race, finishing in half the time I did it, and no wet suit).
Anyway, I had about an hour and a half to hang out and stare at the dark, cold water from the start line. I chatted with people from all over the country, some experienced and a lot this being their first open water swim race, like me. Most of the Bostonians weren’t scared of the water temp, that’s when I realized I was a Southern girl now… My 80 degree HFFA pool temp will never seem cold again!

We got our rules and regs, and 300 people were set to jump off the pier in 4 waves. I decided to go in mid pack, and ended up in wave 3. I watched the other waves go off and began to realize I was crazy. Why was I doing this? I saw some people struggle at the start for sure, but did not see anyone go to the wonderful kayakers or paddle boarders…

Jyl, post swim with her nephew, Daniel.
Damn Jyl, that looks cold…

I walked toward the start of my wave, and was nervous. Some people were sticking their feet in the water and testing it and I pondered it, and thank God, I didn’t do it. The whistle went off and I was on the far side of the pack and one of the last to go. I didn’t want to get in the crowd and when I jumped in feet first, it was a feeling of shear panic. I have NEVER felt this before. Some choice words went through my brain and then my brain said MOVE. My face, neck, arms turned to quick ice cubes and the first couple of strokes I did not put my face in the water. I was frozen. I tried not to panic and breathe and finally after about a minute I realized I needed to keep going and move forward. I honestly thought if there were kayakers that first minute, I would have stopped. It was awfully cold! I did an obstacle at the tough mudder where you dunk in a dumpster of ice and quickly climb out. This was worse and I had to go 1500 meters to the other side!
I got in my groove and stayed on the outside of the pack and took one stroke at a time. I can say for about 10 minutes I didn’t freeze, but then about half way through the race, I got cold again. Thank God for the wet suit! It was a saving grace. I also wore two swim caps, and I guess any extra layer helped some!

I know I touched things in that harbor, and not sure what they were? Fish, the bottom, dead bodies, garbage. Or other racers I didn’t see, but I did have a couple freak outs of ‘what is touching my fingers?’
Spotting was hard, because of fog and the darkness, but aiming for the city was the only way I went. Also following the other yellow caps the whole way!

Finally I saw the white tent near the marina (and lots of huge Boston harbor boats) and I tried to swim faster, not sure if I did or not, but I wanted out. The taste of salt water was another thing I couldn’t practice for, and wasn’t prepared for. I finally saw the back up of finishers near the white tent with the timing pad, and also at that time, I could hear people cheering from the side of the harbor. I KNEW warmth was in reach. I touched the timing board and then had to swim about 50 meters to the ladders to get out of the harbor. At that time I heard my mom and family calling my name, and I smiled. Thank God I was done!

I got out as quick as I could and got that wetsuit off (with some great burns around my neck from where it rubbed) and got in a blanket and had a beer. I finished and NEVER have to do that again! My brother checked my time and it was just over 30 minutes. Again the Olympian did it in 16 minutes, and my goal was just not to come in last or have a boat pick me up, which neither happened.

Would I do that again? NO- I swam Boston and I’m happy I did it. Am I going to do Alcatraz? I haven’t decided. I can say the 55 degree water can’t be any worse than the water of Boston, but the current and shark factor and jumping off a boat, still make me not click the ‘Register NOW’ button… But I do need a new challenge for 2013, and I can’t think of anything else that would be more challenging and more fun!

Hey Jyl…..remind me to update the Reasons Why Swimming Sucks!

I am so, SO proud of you!

I get asked a lot why I keep going, keep swimming, keep running….. How can I not when I have completely awesome friends, like Jyl and Graham, that continue to surround me with inspiration and motivation? I am one lucky girl.