A Hearty Ride in the Dappled Shade of the Forest Green.

I decided I need to put a new post out there so that the title of my previous post doesn't remain in view on anyone's blog list.

Said title of this post WILL BE more tasteful and uplifting .... and I'm still composing it.  How about, "The Love of Running"?  .... Boring.  "Faith in Every Foot Plant"?  ..... No that won't work.  I googled Foot Plant and came up with skateboarding sites.  Hey, how about "Gliding and Striding"?..... Oh gag.  Maybe ..."Running For Cupcakes"?

...... Or we could segue over to biking and the ride that Awesome Friends, Husband, and I did this week .... except that it featured my clumsy crash and subsequent bloody knee which was documented in full color by Friend Dave and his omnipresent camera.  Don't worry.  I won't post the picture.  This is supposed to be a NICE post to offset the last one.  But I might add, for what it's worth, it's the SAME knee that took the brunt of my little incident with a moving car last spring.  

It actually was a very fun ride.  There's a former-train-track-now-paved-trail that stretches 21 miles between the towns of Banks and Vernonia, in a lovely wooded portion of northwest Oregon.  Honesty dictates that I disclose that it was more than the 20 miles that I led Friend Sue to believe it was.  I had forgotten about that extra mile.  Really.  I did forget. 

(I'm tossing these two other photos in because I like them.
Good job, Dave!  I really do appreciate your camera ....
most of the time.)

The trail runs through scenic forests, brief meadows, over trestles and some small boarded bridge-type sections that sit just high enough off the pavement to jar the unsuspecting and non-attentive cyclist.  One such bump ate the tire of Husband's bike, and we all waited and watched helpfully as he did a quick repair.

One section of the trail would have traversed over another bridge, which I'm sure back in the train days, used to be there, but isn't now.  So the trail suddenly drops into a ravine via sharp-cornered switch-backs.  There are signs warning all bikers, which I noticed on the other side, but no matter, I rode it without incident on the way going.  Our plan was to ride from Banks to Vernonia; eat lunch; then ride back; so we got to visit the ravine twice.

The (45 minute) pizza shop, explanation below.

On our way back, full of confidence from my first try, I started down the switch-backs.  However, one was particularly sharp and I couldn't quite turn sharp enough and stay upright concurrently, so I gracefully dropped off the pavement onto a steep rocky hill.  Thanks to my shoe clips, with which I have a love/hate relationship, that kept my feet firmly attached to the peddles -- over I toppled with the bike.  Again, no picture posting.  And I also won't post a picture of the nasty bruise that arrived the next day.  ...... Well, maybe one picture.

I learned after the fact, that Husband also executed a crash more impressive than mine, in the same ravine as he came upon it unexpectedly at a speed too fast.  Neither of us are hurt, other than a few surface wounds and we both understand that in Biking World, the immediate inquiry of concern from all present consists of, "How's the bike??!"  ....... Skin heals.  Bikes don't.

So all in all, our Awesome Friends became our Patient Friends as Husband and I held up the parade with more than our share of mishaps.  Two crashes.  One flat tire.  And at lunch, our order didn't arrive until everyone else was finished eating.  (We had the NERVE to order a pizza at a pizza shop, when everyone else ordered burgers and salads.  Go figure.)  We plan to ride the trail again and hopefully many times more.  And next time, I also plan to heed the warning signs posted at the ravine.  A pleasant little walk is kind of a nice break in a long ride.  I owe it to my knee, and to my bike.

Awesome Friends and us.

(By the way, what do you think of my cheerful and perky title? ....  yeah, I know .... bleh.)

Story Time

  Remember this photo from this post?

Lindsay, featured artist extraordinaire, takes the task of van-decoration in the HTC Relay very seriously.
Her finely detailed and thought-provoking drawings tell the epic STORY of Team GoLDS ......

Once upon a time .....  

... a group of seven silly people got into a van VERY EARLY in the morning and drove to Mt. Hood to run in the Hood to Coast Relay.  Brenda was the first silly runner to start down the mountain.  

See Brenda run.

The other silly runners in Van 1 each took their turn,

and brought their half of the team into the friendly town of Sandy, OR, where Van 2, filled with seven more silly people (the other half of the team), awaited.  The driver of Van 1 ....

... got them safely where they needed to be.  He then filled in as an alternate silly runner when teammate Jon injured his knee.  Ouch!  Poor Jon.  :-(

Meanwhile, where were the silly runners of Van 2 during those first early morning hours?   Asleep in their beds.  Shhhhh!  Sleep tight, Van 2 runners!

After 197 miles, Amy finished their VERY long run to the beach.  See Amy run!  See Amy happy to stop running!

Afterwards, all the silly people of Team GoLDS drove home and lived ran Happily Ever After.

End of story.

________________________________________________

Thank you again, Chery:

For being there with your camera.

HTC 2010 .... "Life is a hiiighway. I'm gonna RUUUN it ... all night long."

Part 2 of this post.  (Thanks Chery.  I stole some of your pictures.)

<-- (Jeff's aversion to all things sweaty, including old girlfriends and wrist wraps ..... you had to have been there .... )

It only took one experience with the Hood to Coast Relay to be completely hooked.  It rocketed up to the top of my list of MOST Fun Things Ever!  So needless to say, we set our sights on 2010.  Husband and I naively volunteered to co-captain a team.  Previous teammates were invited and new ones were recruited to fill the gaps, including Daughter .... also known in this blog as FRP.  A couple of newbie-runners (spouses of teammates) decided to give it a go, signed on, and instantly began stressing.  (My mantra was, If I can do this at my age, after one year of running, ANYONE can.  No excuses.  Buck up.)    ;-)

It's fun to watch the newbies fret and worry, because we were all there once.  And I was the worst of them.

"Aren't you scared to run alone in the dark?" they ask.

"Nah, you're never really alone.  Not with all the axe-murderers and drunk drivers out there.  It's a regular party!"

"But when do we sleep?"

"Sleep?  You can do that when you get home.  Or just shove the pop cans and food wrappers aside and stretch out on the floor of the van.  Here, take my Reeboks for a pillow.  No problem."

"I dunno if I can run that long."

"You can walk some if you have to - just not until the van passes.  But you didn't hear that from me."

"And what about showers?"

"Showers??  Hahahahahahaha!"

Our team, named GoLDS, consisted of me, Bryce, Lindsay, Chery, Jon, Jeff, and our driver Steve in Van 1.  And Brent, Amy, Kimberly, John, Mark, and Ben, with driver Bill in Van 2.

Each team has a specific start time in order to spread out the congestion of over 2000 vans on the road, which is assigned just a few weeks prior to the event.  To my dismay, we were put in the FIRST wave of runners, 6:30 a.m.  That meant our trip to Timberline Lodge began at 3:30 a.m.!  It was still dark and COLD when we pulled into the parking lot.  I was the first runner and had to dress up like a Christmas tree with all the required reflectors, blinkers, headlight, bib number, etc. even though by then, daylight had arrived.

 The infamous First Leg of the HTC is 5 miles of steep downhill.  It's a knee-killer.  But it turned out to be my favorite.  A new wave of runners started every 15 minutes, and being in the first one, I was hailed by a lot of arriving vans as I ran down the road.  "There's a runner!!  It's started!!!"  HONK!  Wave!  Cheer!!!  SO exciting!  But the best cheering happens when your own van passes you as it drives ahead to wait at the next exchange.  Some people need drugs or alcohol for a high.  They should try this.

Bryce hands the wrist-wrap "baton" to Chery.

  

From Jeff to Jon, literally father to son.  Due to a knee injury, driver Steve took over for Jon for his last two legs. 

Lindsay brings it in to Brent and Van 2 takes over.  Sad to say, I don't have photos of Van 2. 

Naptime.

Here comes Amy, our final runner, approximately 31.45 hours from our start on Mt. Hood.  The team waits on the sand to cross the finish line together.  

How could anyone not LOVE this group??

This was the year we saw lives changed.  My favorite quote came from Amy, just after she finished her last leg: "I didn't know what I could do.  Now I know."

  

In less than two months, I will run in my 3rd HTC with team Van Hailin', and the excitement/stress is building.  You'll see some familiar faces in the photos and some new ones.  The addiction continues to spread.  It's this time of year when we all think- Why did I agree to this??  What was I thinking??  But afterwards, we can't wipe the silly grins off our faces nor can we WAIT until next time!  Each year I say will be my last.  We'll see.  

Care to place a bet?

Doing hard things

I teach an adult scripture class and the crucifixion is the subject of our next lesson.  Not an easy thing to ponder; however, my point is Peter's vehement claim that he would NEVER deny his Master, much less do it three times.  Within a few short hours, much to his horror, he did just that.  

As a Christian, I believe in a God who knows all.  He knows what we will do before we do it.  Therefore, some may ask, What is the point?  Why are we even here if our fate is already sealed?  Well, God does know our outcome, but the point is - we don't.  We are here to figure it out.  In a sense we are here to get to know ourselves.  We learn of our weaknesses and we learn our strengths.  Peter THOUGHT he knew himself.  He honestly THOUGHT he was stronger than he was.  He learned a bitter yet valuable lesson.  He learned he needed more strength.  He overcame and stepped up to become a powerful prophet of God.  

I, like Peter, thought I knew myself pretty well.  I thought I knew my weaknesses and my strengths.  But I've learned these past couple of years, that there's a lot yet to discover.  And much of it I won't know until I'm tested.  Again, like Peter.  

One of the ways to learn about yourself is to attempt something hard.  Something outside the old Comfort Zone.  You may fail ... but you may not.  And as my favorite YouTube video says, “If you never try, you'll never know”.  

Running has taught me that I CAN do things I never knew I could do.  I have strengths I didn’t know I had.  I can run with people who are much younger and stronger than I am.  I can organized a large athletic event.  I can finish a marathon.  I can run five miles at 3:00 a.m. on three hours sleep.  I can be a team captain.  I can put up and take down a tent by myself.  I can toil and camp in heat, wind, and grit without my shampoo and a shower.  I can climb to the top of a climbing wall AND to the top of a volcano.  I can do a triathlon ... well, okay, with a lot of liberties in the swimming portion since I don't swim.   I can sleep in a spider-infested tent .... after the spiders are gone .... but did we get them ALL?   Most of this has happened since I started running nearly three years ago.  This may not sound like much to some of you, but I’m not measuring myself against anyone but me.  The me I used to be.  And remember, I am not in my 20s or 30s (or even my 40s!) anymore.

I used to be the spectator or the support vehicle driver.  Never wanting to try or get dirty or wet.  (I still don't!)  Never wanting to fail and look stupid.  (I still don’t!)  Hence I never really knew myself nor what I could do.  I didn't even know what my fears WERE, much less if I could overcome them!  That marathon was SO frightening!  I didn't want to do it.  It took a long time to beef up my courage to register and then face six months of strict training with my Day of Reckoning looming closer and closer.   And not only did I fear the 26 miles .... I feared the 22 miles, the 20 miles, the 18, the 17, the 16, the 14, etc., that  punctuated my winter and spring every couple of weeks.

Doing hard and scary things builds confidence for the next hard and scary thing.  With each success, we are empowered to try a few more "miles".  That empowerment changes who we are.  With each failure we can learn, as Peter did, to fight through the remorse, make whatever changes are needed, and try again.   Peter reached his potential and though I would never compare sports or tent assembly to what HE became, it's still growth from challenges .... from doing what we’re afraid to do, and learning a little more about the process of becoming what God knows we can become.

My random milestone

I just noticed that it has been SIX months, to the day, since I started this blog.  And this is my 50th post.  There was no forethought, planning, nor maneuvering to make this anything but the sort-of-coincidence that it is.  Completely random.  And I have nothing significant to say at the moment, other than to acknowledge this festive little milestone.  One question does come to mind though .... What the heck did I fill 50 posts with?  (Yes, I know, poor English, but if said properly, I can't fit heck in there and the sentence definitely needed a heck.)

Fifty posts!  Good grief, have I bored you all to death yet .... assuming you're still here??

I had no idea where this blog would go when I started it, how long it would last, nor did I foresee what it would teach me.   Such as ....
I learned I like to write, as long as I like the subject.  I learned I don't have to put a lot of thought into it --- the words just come.  (Should I admit to that?)  The tweaking and editing AFTER it's written, is much more work than the initial writing and may drag on for days after it's "published" online .... another thing I've learned.   I've also learned that once I start a post, I cannot tear myself away until it's done.  So I have to be careful at times like this.  There can be no pressing deadlines ..... nowhere I need to be ...... because time stops and responsibilities evaporate once I start typing.

I've also learned that ANYTHING can inspire a post.  It doesn't have to be a BIG EVENT like a marathon or the Hood to Coast Relay.  It can just be this - my 50th Post on my blog's Six Month Anniversary.

The Mother of All Relays - Part 1

This is the unofficial, 

yet boastfully descriptive,

title of the enormously popular 

Hood to Coast (HTC) relay.

I first heard of it years ago when my brother ran in a team.  Those were the days when I was basically .......  clueless.  I had no appreciation for running whatsoever.  To emphasize just how horribly clueless I was - Favorite 2nd Son ran a half-marathon AND a full marathon while at college in 2006 and to my total shame, I WASN'T THERE.  My response had been - How nice!  I had NO IDEA of the significance of this monumental feat.  Granted, I was 700+ miles away, but at the very least I should have been cheering him via long-distance and then demanding a play-by-play account afterwards and crying as I pictured him crossing the finish line!

Likewise, when my brother ran in the HTC, or would mention that he'd ran in any event and won first place in his age group, I was dutifully impressed .... I really was .... but today, I would have gushed with pride and offered my VERY heart-felt congrats along with an enthusiastic high five!

I next heard about the HTC from a friend whose husband had joined a team from his workplace.  Friend and I heartily agreed that the whole thing sounded bizarre.  Pay money to run all those miles, spend the non-running time in a crowded van with non-showered teammates, and sleep on the ground in some field for ten minutes, then repeat it all again.  Seriously??

Then Friend's husband decided to form his own team, titled "Stormin' Mormons" (a name I found to be endearingly obnoxious) and invited my husband - who, by the way, was not a runner.  My husband does not have the capacity to turn down ANY potential fun, so he agreed immediately.  Some months later, after establishing myself in the running community with my first unimpressive 10K, I was offered a spot on the team, that had opened up due to a pregnancy.  I thought about it for a week or so.  Could I do it?  Do I dare??  Scared silly, I signed on and began training like my life depended on it.  Unlike my Husband, who likes to do his training mentally until almost the last minute.  In other words, he procrastinates.  "Running?" I imagine him saying.  "Anyone can run.  Nooooo problem."

The HTC is a 200 mile relay involving over 1200 teams with twelve runners per team.  (Plus 2 vans per team - you can imagine the traffic mess in Seaside.)   That's A LOT of people CHOOSING to do this crazy - expensive, sweaty-smelly, run-at-any-hour-of-the-day-or-night, thing.  In fact, to illustrate how popular it is, registration (which uses a lottery system) fills on the same day it opens, and hundreds of teams are turned down.  (Then the moaning begins on the message boards, "If any team needs a runner, I would DIE to get in .... PUL-LEEEEZE!!!!)

Needless to say, if your team DOES get picked, the giddy reaction is a happy dance of "YES!!!  WE GOT IN!!  Wooo Hooooooo!!!!!  While at the same time, the wide-eyed newbie teammates are: "C--P, does this mean we're really going to DO this??"

Continuing on ..... the relay begins at historic Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood and ends on the beach at Seaside, where they say you'll find the biggest beach party ever.  Your team never stops running until it reaches the sand, which means you may find yourself at 2:00 a.m., trotting along on an obscure, no-cell-phone-reception-cow-path, somewhere around Mist OR, aka the Middle of Nowhere.  Each team uses two vans with six runners, plus maybe a driver, in each van.  One van attempts to rest/sleep while the other van is on the road, alternating throughout the event.

My first HTC was in 2009.  Husband and I were assigned to Van 1.  Van 1 carried teammates Bryce, Mark, Kyndra, Anna, Amanda, and me.  Our Fearless Driver was Greg, Anna's dad.  I regret that I didn't get a photo of Greg because he was an indispensable part of the team.  He kept track of our timesheet and always knew when to send our next runner out there to grab the baton.

 Van 1  

 Amanda started us out.

That year our start time was around noon on Friday.  Unfortunately, we only see our Van 2 five times during the relay plus at the end.  So my pictures miss half of our team.

Mark finishes his first "leg" and Anna is ready to go.

Kyndra hands it off to me.

Our final runner, Chandler, from Van 2 finishes on the sand.  Van 2 also carried Ricky, Christian, Brent, Jeremy, and Jon.  With Bill as our second Indispensable Fearless Driver.

I don't remember when our team reached the beach - sometime Saturday afternoon.  The entire team waits at the end for its final runner, then we all trot across the finish line together, drivers and all.

As I read back over this post, I'm feeling like I didn't do justice to this experience.  How do I express the fun, the camaraderie, the grunginess, the exhilaration, the bonding with my teammates?  How do I convey the feeling of being on a team ... the headiness of actually participating in something this HUGE??

I can't.

I remember how I felt, somewhere around ZigZag, OR, the first time I took that baton and began to run.  Wow.  I am doing this!  I CAN do it!  I'm running in the Hood to Coast!  The thrill, the excitement, the rush of love for my teammates as they cheered me on, was almost overwhelming.  The High lasted for weeks afterwards.

No, I can't do it justice.  Was it fun?  Oh yeah.  Would I do it again?  Are you kidding?  Um ...  YES!!!!!!


Coming, this summer, to a computer near you:  Part 2 - 2010, My 2nd HTC.

Life before running

Before running, there was biking.  This started long ago when my brother inspired my husband to get rolling.  That he did and for a few years, he and his friend Dave, ruled the STP in that they were the lone Yamhill County representatives (as far as we knew) and put everyone in awe.  The STP is the annual Seattle to Portland bike ride event that most do in two days, but some, including Husband and friends, do it in one day.  200 miles.  They start before daylight and pedal like mad so as to finish before dark.  As with too many hair-brained ideas, the plan was to do it once.  That was the first of ELEVEN times.  I never rode it, but I was in many of the support vehicles over the years.  His biking group mushroomed and one year there were over 20 of our friends making that long one-day ride.

This photo was taken the year our guys were sponsored by Vitamin Water, which provided matching shirts.  The color was perfect.  You could spot them for miles.

You've got to love this photo.  Resting.  Trying to keep the lactic acid from pooling in the legs.

The group has evolved over the years, and Husband has since retired from the tough training that the STP demands, taking on a more sane leisurely approach to biking, with plans to divert his love for the sport in different direction.  Along the way, I acquired my first bike.  (Word from the wise: Save yourself some money and never buy a hybrid bike if you plan to ride with road-bikers.  You will most certainly, and sooner than you think, want to switch to a road bike.  Unless of course, you LIKE being in the rear, working your legs into jelly, trying to keep up.)  We evolved into a tandem, AKA a bicycle-built-for-two.  A tandem allows us to ride together, meaning I can always keep up with him!  Together and with Dear Friends, we have packed on a lot of miles.  We've biked in the San Juan Islands, Vancouver Island, Coeur d'Alene Idaho, the Oregon coast, and just about everywhere in Yamhill and adjoining counties.

This photo was taken atop ridiculously tall and steep Mt. Constitution (lovingly nicknamed "Constipation") on Orcas Island, WA.  Which we climbed.  On our bikes.  But oh, the view!  (When biking, I suffer from a frightening and debilitating condition called, "helmet hair", which is evident immediately upon removal of the helmet.  Therefore, it stays ON for most posed pictures.)

This was on a boat taking us from Victoria BC to the San Juans.  (See what I mean about the hair?)

Columbia Gorge

Newport Oregon.  (Little did I know then, that nearly three years later, I would run down this very road in a marathon.  THAT was totally off my radar screen!)

I love this shot.  Fellow tandem friends, Dave and Nancy.  He's pedaling hard, crouching to minimize wind resistance, and she's peeking over his head.

This is my view when on our tandem.

Here is one of the rare shots of us on the ol' tandem, disembarking from the Wheatland Ferry, just north of Salem.  (It must have been cold, judging by my multiple layers.)

Last year I splurged on my current bike and though I'll never be completely worthy of it, I still feel that same sense of awe every time I clip into its pedals.  I discovered I like it better than the back of the tandem, but at the same time, I also learned that biking had been EASIER (for me) with a stronger rider aboard.

Biking has been a great part of our lives.  Yesterday we rode in our third (and likely our last) Strawberry Century based in Lebanon Oregon.  The name must be from the season during which it always takes place.  With organized biking events, the word century means 100 miles.  (I know a guy who hadn't ridden much and didn't know this, when invited to do one.  He figured it out along the way and managed to finish the distance.  He eventually became an ironman, so don't feel too sorry for him.)  Having spent my winter/spring in marathon training and off a bike, I wasn't prepared to go the whole way, so we just did 77 miles, unlike previous years when we did it all.  We got to ride through this:

And see scenery like this:

Many of our biking friends are still hot into the STP and they train obsessively, so we can no longer keep up.  Nor do we really want to, as we cheer them on.  While riding yesterday through some of the most beautiful country that Oregon has to offer, I saw one lone woman running along the road.  My first thought was, "Fun!"  That thought never jumps into my head when I see a cyclist, so at heart, I am and hopefully always will be, a runner.

Post note:  There's a running debate (Ha!  No pun intended.) .... change that to friendly debate ... in our household.  Which is more difficult, a marathon or the STP?  What do YOU think?  (Your answer may depend on whom you like better ... him or yours truly.  Just keep in mind whose blog this is.)

Post M thoughts

I'm five days into Post-Marathon Life with NO plans for another.  So far ... so good.

After practically ruining my toes, I was almost ready to consider going up yet ANOTHER shoe size, from boat to pontoon.  However, I'm experimenting with a better way to do the laces that may allow room for my high arches, yet keep my foot firmly held to the back of my shoe.  I've also found that with more reasonable running distances, like 10Ks or less, I usually don't have a problem.  I'm tossing this onto my barricade against marathon #2!  (I'm also keeping a picture of my battered toes on file, as a helpful reminder and no, I will not post it.)  But with the Hood to Coast coming, I may just buy some black polish and be done with it .... does anyone know where I can find a tiny decal of a Nike Swoosh ..... ?

Got a good pep talk from mentor/friend Mark who gave me lots of great advice that I could have used last week.  Potassium is NOT what I need.  I need Magnesium.  Well, darn.  Too late now.  Plus the unhappy news that leg cramps are a manifestation of not-strong-enough muscles.  "They go away after time," he says.  (Understood to mean:  As long as that "time" is packed with lots of track and speed work and overall working the poor ol' muscles to DEATH.  It doesn't just happen with time ALONE.  Double darn.)  I AM feeling inspired to get to the track and work on some 400 meter repeats - notice how I'm finally beginning to talk the talk?  And what's more, I understood what I just wrote.  Progress!  Anyway, apparently a woman my age should be able to run one 9-minute mile (or faster) to be statistically safe from nasty heart issues.  Just one mile, according to Mentor Mark.  (For men, it's an 8-minute mile.)  So as soon as the ol' legs are rested ..... I'll probably have a coronary just trying to hit that 9 minute goal.

I did run two sluggish miles yesterday because I'm allowing myself some serious down time and I believe in thoroughly milking what I went through last Saturday.   And two miles IS considered restful, in my book.

This weekend, Bryce & I are planning to do one of our favorite annual bike rides, the Strawberry Century, except that we're lopping off a few decades and plan to just do 70 miles on our tandem.  (Still milking.)  I'll probably blog about it, so be warned.

Finally, those two pitiful, yet glorious pounds that I lost running those 26 miles, are back with gusto.  That just about puts the finishing touch on my suspicion that life, age, and weight loss, are really not fair.

The BIG M

My sister wants details.  So here goes. 

I felt far less trepidation going into this, than I expected.  The past two weeks I was actually a little excited.  Besides, any time I get to spend with Lindsay, my FRP, I'm excited.  She is, for lack of a more worthy adjective, awesome.

We headed for Newport Friday afternoon and checked into the Embarcadero Hotel, AKA Race Headquarters, putting us into the middle of the hubbub.  Packet pickup was exciting and intimidating.  We sized up the other runners.  Was anyone older, fatter, or sporting our clueless newbie look?  Nope.  They mostly looked lean, experienced, and nonchalant.  “Oh yes,” I imagined one saying casually to another.  “This is my 3rd marathon this week.  Let’s grab breakfast at the Pig and Pancake, after we finish.  I’ll meet you there at nine-thirty.  That’ll give me time for a shower.”

This was the 13th Newport Marathon.  Good thing we were not superstitious.  Little did we know that it would turn out to the the hottest.  

After dinner, we drove the route.   And drove.  And drove.  Oh my.  It was a long way.  It starts at the famous Newport lighthouse which sits in a park at the north end of the Scary Bridge.  (Said bridge is, in my opinion, fashioned from the Wicked Witch's castle, by the look of the pillars.)  

Then the route rambles around on some roads that are a blur to me now.  It heads back under the bridge and down to the old waterfront, which is a also a blur.  I do remember running on the boardwalk.  I love running on boardwalks.  The bounce is perfect.  Then it heads inland along a river.  For miles.  And somewhere around mile 15, it doubles back for an ungodly long distance before it finishes in front of our hotel.

So back to us - after pinning our numbers on our shorts and making the final decision as to which shirt to wear in the morning, we swallowed some Ambien, set the alarms, and went to bed.  I think I slept maybe 6 hours.

Bryce dropped us off at the starting line about 6:30 a.m., and headed off to find a parking spot. 

As you can see, I chose my biking shirt with the bulging back pockets, full of food-type-stuff.  Lindsay beelined to join the very long potty line to deal with some Ensure that wasn't sitting well in her stomach, and I was immediately spotted by friends from our fabulous facebook group, Runner's Anonymous (RA).  

900 participants.  It feels pretty amazing to be a part of something like this.

At 7:00 we were off.  I remembered the advice of a friend: “In the first six miles, pass no one.”  T’was good that all 900 of us didn’t heed this advice because those six miles would have kept us in one huge human-glob.  Instead, I was passed almost immediately by nearly EVERYONE, and Lindsay was out of sight in the first minute.  I didn’t see her again until somewhere around mile 15, shortly before I got to the turn-around.  

Bryce kept the camera going at strategic places, or wherever he was allowed access.  (He was and is, by the way, the most supportive spouse a person could ever hope for.)

Later I texted Bryce, “9 miles.  Feel good.”  That was about the last point I actually did feel good.  It all went down hill (my strength, not the road unfortunately) from there. 

My biggest fear was leg cramps.  They had bothered me occasionally on some of my previous runs and they are crippling.   There is no way I can run when they set in.  So I did everything I knew to prevent them.  Potassium supplements.  Plenty of water.  Plenty of food.  Walking breaks.  But somewhere around mile 12 or 13, I could feel them coming on.   When my calf really seized up, it reduced me to a hobble.   I did the only thing I could.  Pray.  “Heavenly Father, what do I do now?”

“Eat”, was my next thought.  So I did.  My bulging pockets were full of Power Bar “Energy Blasts”, those chewy things that are full of carbs and calories.  The cramps subsided and I kept going.  Throughout the entire run, each time the cramps flared up, I would continue my conversation with God.  “Help!  I can’t do this alone.  Please carry me a little.”  And I kept going.  Eat what I could swallow.  Drink every two miles.  Pray.

The water stations, manned by cheerful high schoolers, offered Gatorade and water.  Towards the end, I learned to dump water on my head and down my shirt, and drink the Gatorade.  I’m happy to say, I never got the two liquids confused.  

When I finally got to see Lindsay again, she looked great!  She reached the turn-around ahead of me, so we were running in opposite directions.  She came at me with arms out and we hugged, cheered, and yelled our I LOVE YOUs!  Then off she went and I didn’t see her again until the finish.
Bryce was waiting at the turn-around with cold juice and PB&J sandwiches.  Now I fully admit I have made claims in this blog that I can eat anything during a run and usually this is true.  But this time I was up against a horse of a different color.  I needed to eat, but it wasn't easy.  I managed to down a few bites of a small sandwich then took the remainder with me with promises that I'd finish it.  Which I did.  Eventually.  At least it wasn't an Energy Blast.

The rest of the run was grueling.  My run-with-walking-breaks turned into walk-with-occasional-running-breaks.  I had a goal to get in under 6 hours.  That meant a finish before 1:00.  I was going to do it, come hell or whatever.

The mob of runners had long ago disappeared.  There were just a few of us in sight.  I met a nice woman from Arizona who would pass me, then I’d pass her, and repeat.  Again and again.  She said she hadn’t trained, and was taking it slow.  For some reason, I didn’t hate her for that.  With all my many months of training, and her lack thereof, we were still comrades on the road.  Battling the same beast.

It got hot.  The forecast had said mid 60s.  It actually got up to around 80 which is great for just about any activity, other than running.  The heat didn’t bother me, but Bryce said it probably slowed us down.  Well, okay.  So it wasn’t my slowness and age?  It was the heat?  Works for me.   

I knew at some point the Scary Bridge would come back into sight and that would mean I was on the home stretch.  So I watched for it for miles.  Stupid Bridge!!!  WHERE IS IT??  Finally it appeared off in the distance.  Approximately 5 more miles to go.  At this point my legs absolutely refused to run.  The cramping wouldn’t allow it.  So I brisk-walked.  Hard.  I was grateful for all those years of hard walking before I discovered running, because it paid off.  I’d run for a minute or so, and walk some more.  I was watching the time, still determined to meet my under-6-hour goal.  My legs were DEAD, but I couldn’t stop or even slow down.  I’m somewhat proud to say, I passed several other walkers. 

 At one point I was about 10 feet behind another walker.  I started running and got just ahead of him then had to walk again.  

“The legs just won’t do it.” I said.  “I hear you.” he said.  That was the extent of our conversation, but we shared a complete meeting of the minds.

“Just 1.4 miles left!” the high schoolers cheered at the last water station.   Push.  Push.  Push.  Can’t slow down!  I was at about 5.6 hours.  Push.  Push.  Hurry!!  Then up ahead, Bryce appeared.  He brought much love and encouragement, a bottle of cold water which he ordered me to drink, and then he dumped the remainder on me.  

“You’re almost there!  It’s just up ahead, around the corner!”  The last stretch took us up a small hill, then descended down to the finish line.  I pushed to the top, then, by the grace of God, began to run.  No cramps.  I ran down the hill.  I heard my name shouted out -- RA friends!  The finish line, oops, no, go here .... turn right, into a parking lot.  I heard my name announced over the loud speaker.  Someone handed me the hand-made-of-glass medal and I put it on.  DONE!!  Where’s Lindsay??  There she is!!  (She got in an hour ahead of me.)  WE DID IT!!!!!  I remember the look on her face.  HUGE grin!  We did it.   My FRP and I did it.  (Note the words on the yellow shirt.)

We are MARATHONERS.