Trotting through the transition area, I'm pleased to note the absence of quite a few bikes still. Of course, that just means more people who will pass me on the run, but that's ok, I take my perks where I can get 'em. I hit the split button exiting the transition area, just as someone in the crowd calls out "Tricia!" "Hillary!" I exchange a travelling high-five with my tri-buddy. "Are you doing the Olympic tomorrow?" I ask as I jog away. "Yeah!" she calls back. "Go get 'em, girl! You look good!" Boy, I'm glad Hillary's not racing today; she and I are extremely well-matched in ability, but somehow she always succeeds in beating me every race! In truth, it's always a blast when Hillary's racing, 'cause I always push twice as hard with her there. Today, though, I'm just as glad to have one less reason to push.Through the crowds, past the initial aid station, and I'm really doing it, I am starting the run in my first half-Ironman. I feel great! A little tired, of course, but no rubberlegs. In fact, my legs felt worse starting the run just doing the Olympic course here last year. This is weird! How can it be that I feel better after a longer, harder bike? Very strange, but hey, who am I to question it? Run with it, TriBaby!
The first mile travels the identical stretch of road on which we started the bike, so I know there shouldn't be any nasty, hilly surprises for a bit. I can stretch out the legs and settle into a rhythm. Trot, trot, trot, trot.....yeah, nice and easy, this isn't bad. I'm leaving the noise of the expo area behind, but there are still quite a few spectators out on the road here. I pass one very strong-looking runner and hazard a guess that he must be having an off day; nothing else could possibly account for my passing him! Other runners are already streaming by on either side of me, but I pay no mind; I had my little fling on the bike. From now on, to quote the Queen of Kona, this is simply "getting the job done."
Getting the job done proves a bit tough at the moment, however, amid the steady stream of disinterested spectators milling about on the narrow roadway. I suddenly understand what it means to be a true BOPper: the exciting part of the race is over as far as the spectators are concerned, and we BOPpers are considerably less interesting after these guys have already watched 5 or 6 hundred triathletes stream by in the past 4 hours. Heck, who could blame them? But, shoot, they sure are getting in the way now! It makes this part of the run psychologically difficult having to bob and weave to avoid the people migrating between the campgrounds and the expo. It's hard to concentrate, to relax, to get smooth, and they're just not trying very hard to get out of the way. I do my best to block it out, and remind myself that this is just for the first mile; it's mostly trails after this, so don't let it get to you.
Well, the pedestrians I can deal with, but when a car pulls out of one of the campgrounds and bears down upon me from the rear, I get pissed. Geez, this guy's worse than the bozos towing boats out on the bike course! Amid this scattered crowd of walkers and runners, he's just rolling right along; in fact, he comes so close to me at one point that a single mis-step or stumble would have rendered me road kill. "God, get AWAY!" I yell angrily at the open passenger window as I waste precious energy sprinting away from the oncoming juggernaut. He finally goes by at a wider spot in the road and I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. I wish I could run faster just to be able to hurry up and get out of all this traffic .
Ah, but wait a minute; you don't want to run fast right here. No, slow down, honeychild, look around carefully; don't you realize where you are? Keep your eyes peeled. Nope, not over there; nope, not on this side. Keep lo........ah! Well, lookee here! A triumphant laugh bubbles forth from my lips as I pause roadside to stoop down and retrieve a spongey black triangle about the size of an open hand. Yep, you guessed it: The Return of the Prodigal Pad! Grinning gleefully, I stuff that sucker in my singlet pocket and resume my trot, content that all is now right with the world.
The second mile takes us on a fire road and dirt trail used for the sprint tri's bike course, and is familiar to me from the Olympic course last year. The first steep little rises hurt, but not as badly as they did a year ago, and not, I'm sure, as badly as what is to come. I down a packet of Gu just past the two-mile marker when I feel myself drooping a bit, and immediately I perk right up. Gotta remember to keep taking that stuff every couple of miles or so, keep the energy up.
Back on the road for a short stretch, and then we say goodbye to the pavement after a 200 meter climb that ends with a left turn onto narrow dirt trails just before the three-mile marker. I'm in completely new territory now, and am impressed by its beauty as I leave the road behind. I grab water and Gatorade from the enthusiastic guys at the mile 3 aid station and head down toward Harris Creek. Running parallel to the creek along its high north bank, I'm struck by how peaceful it is out here. The narrow trail winds in and out of shady woods, but the creek remains in view for most of the fourth mile. I have to move aside only twice out here to allow people to pass, which surprises me; I expected to be getting run off the trail by the thundering hordes by now. I exchange 'Hallo's with a group of happy boaters lounging in the middle of the creek just before I spot a short, steep uphill section a couple of curves ahead. A runner is walking up that hill. "Nope, not me!" I promise myself defiantly. "I will not walk; no matter what, I cannot allow myself to walk."
I reach the hill and plow my way up, arms swinging, breathing deliberately. Whew, ok, that wasn't so bad. Now I'm heading away from the creek. Hmmm, I wonder when the really hard stuff begins?
I wouldn't have long to wait; I was almost to the 4-mile marker.
The infamous 4-mile aid station! You know, I was so focussed that I nearly went straight through it without even noticing anything unusual. That oughta tell you something right there! This year the students chose to be democratic and provide an attraction for the female athletes as well. I refill my water bottle and grab a cup of Gatorade and some orange slices before I realize that the comely young man graciously handing me cups is buck naked. Oh, yeah, this *is* the four-mile aid station, huh? Hmm. Well, I certainly appreciate your efforts, guys!
Just beyond the aid station I find out "when the really hard stuff begins," although it begins pretty innocuously. The pitch of the hill doesn't worry me, but I can't see how long it is. We're running up a wide gulley cut by winter rains between rolling hillsides, heading into the woods, and it requires more than a little concentration negotiating the rocks, ruts, and tree roots littering the trail. A gal just ahead of me stops to walk. Nope, not me! She picks up a jog again before I can catch her, but I still feel something like a moral triumph: I haven't walked yet! Of course, the key word here is "yet", because now I see that this ain't no speedbump. This hill shows no sign of easing up any time in the near future; in fact, it's getting steeper, god help us!
The girl ahead walks once more, and this time my steady plod carries me past her. "Hang in there," I gasp breathlessly. "Good job," she replies. Ahead I spy a trio of runners walking, and I focus on catching them. I feel like I'm moving in slow motion, but gradually, inexorably, I gain on them. At last I trot by to their expressions of admiration and encouragement. "Thanks!" I wheeze back. "Dunno how long this'll last, though." I'm 5 yards beyond them when the trail narrows and takes a sharp, painful twist to the left up a steeper(!) part of the hill. OUCH! I look up to see a woman picking her way carefully along, and I notice the marking on her left calf: OW. Uh huh.
The next mile and a half are a painful blur of impossibly steep trails occasionally relieved by ordinary uphills. At one point I am forced to employ the old hands-on-the-knees technique in order to maintain forward/upward progress on a particularly heinous stretch of trail. Along the way, the trio I had passed see-saws with me, sometimes walking, sometimes resuming a run and passing me back, only to walk and drop behind me once again. This gets really annoying at the points where they are able to walk as fast as (or faster than!) I am "running".
At long last, painfully, we approach the crest of the hill. *WHEW* The trail widens to become a rutted dirt road, sloping gently downhill to the left through an open green pasture. Although I'm ecstatic to be headed downhill for a change, my exhausted legs have a hard time adjusting to my schizophrenic demands upon them. Not only that, but these are serious ruts! No frivolous ruts here, I tell ya. One false step and SPLAT! Right into a cow pattie. The gal from the trio of run/walkers passes me descending the hill and for a moment my tired mind entertains the evil, vindictive fantasy of tearing her hair out by the roots. Well, she could at least SPLAT! into a cow pattie. No fair! I kept running/jogging the whole way, you shouldn't get to pass me now just 'cause it's downhill. Hmmmph. Well, never mind, I have bigger things to worry about, like the blisters starting to form on my toes.
My poor feet! Long runs usually cause them no problems, but this particular little trot has rendered them unusually hot and sweaty. I can feel the friction building amongst my toes, almost hear them plotting rebellion against the despot driving them forward under these insane conditions. Obviously, I must do something soon to quell the mutiny, or risk an all-out revolt.
Based on tales of past woe at Wildflower, I had conscientiously been avoiding the thorough dousings with water offered at the aid stations, opting instead for little more than a mild spray or just one or two cups poured over the head. By doing so, I hoped to avoid completely soaking my shoes and socks, thus preventing blisters. Alas, my caution availed me nought, for here I am, not yet halfway through the run, and my dogs are barking loud and clear. All right, another moment of truth; what should I do? I have a tube of Vaseline in my torsopack. I can stop and put some on my feet. But that will take FOREVER! Oh, yeah? Well it won't take as long as the time you'll spend kicking yourself later when you fail to finish the race because of these damned blisters. Just do it! Take the time now, 'cause if you don't, you will certainly regret it later.
OK, ok, you talked me into it! I'll stop at the next aid station.
The next aid station is at mile 6. As I pull in, the volunteers ask "What do you want? Water? Gatorade?" "Your chair!" I reply. "Here you go!" A student immediately vacates his beach chair and ushers me in. "Thanks." I plop down and begin yanking off shoes and socks. Two or three of them cluster around me with water, Gatorade, and fruit as I slather my toes with gobs of good ol' Vaseline, the triathlete's friend. "Does that stop blisters?" one naif asks, wide-eyed. "Well, it should help; we'll see!" Socks and shoes back on, I take the orange slices proffered me, refill my bottle, and I'm on my way again. "Thanks, guys; you've probably just saved my race." I mean it, too. My toes seem mollified, and I only wasted about 3 minutes altogether. Yeah, I'd say it was worth it.
Refreshed after my breather, I renew my run with a spring in my stride. I remember to rip out another packet of Gu. Like clockwork, I'm squeezing down the Gu every two miles. This may be erring on the side of excess, but it sure beats becoming intimately acquainted with the Wall.
The trail now parallels the entrance road into the park and continues uphill, but with a far kinder, gentler slope. Heck, after what we've just come through, I wouldn't even call this a hill. Incredibly, riders are still coming in from the bike course. It makes me groan inwardly to see them and think of just starting the run now. Thank god I'm just about halfway done, only 6 and a half miles left! If I can keep this pace up, I might even be able to finish in under 7 hours. But hold on, hold on, stay focussed; just keep your eye on the old heart rate and you'll be fine.
I've been vigilantly keeping my heart rate hovering around 165, except, of course, between miles 4 and 6 when it shot up to about 175 or 180 on those black diamond pitches. On this part of the course, however, 163-165 is no problem. I keep drinking non-stop, being very careful to stay hydrated. It's pretty darned warm, but it's not the withering, baking heat that has historically mowed down Wildflower competitors on a regular basis. I later heard that the "official course temperature" at 1pm was 90 degrees, but it sure doesn't feel that hot. Maybe it's because I'm hydrating so thoroughly. As a matter of fact, upon reaching the aid station around mile 7, I run right through and tell the volunteers, "Believe it or not, I'm waterlogged! No water for me, thanks!"
A slow, peaceful uphill grind on trails, partly shaded here and there, before nearing the campgrounds once again. On pavement for a short stretch, through another aid station where I throw a couple of cups over my head, and around a bend to the left to return to the dirt for most of miles 8 and 9. A slight downhill....ah! I pass another fellow out here and tap him on the shoulder as I trot by. "Hang in there! Just over 5 miles to go!"
The trail narrows a bit just as a couple of runners catch me from behind. I move over as far to the right as possible and cheer them as they pass. "You look great!" they respond. Whether you're fast or slow out here, this course engenders genuine camaraderie among those brave enough to challenge it; without exception, everyone out here is supportive. Oh, except for the bimbo who runs by me about a minute later. Here I am, running as far to the right of this 6-foot wide trail as possible to allow folks to pass me, and for some incomprehensible reason she has to pass on my right. Well, maybe she was doing some kind of promo for Arrid Extra Dry---you know: "Get a little closer, now don't be shy!"
I shake off this minor annoyance trotting through the upper camp grounds en route to the 9-mile marker, where I know we'll leave the trails for good and have nothing but pavement between us and that sweet, blessed finish line. In my mind, getting back on the road marks the beginning of the home stretch. Last year I saw the long course competitors running on this stretch of road, and from mile 9 on I know exactly where the course goes. This knowledge makes the distance seem trivial; once I hit the road, I can practically waltz home!
Trotting through the overflow camp grounds, the spectators cheer us on enthusiastically. I grin to a couple of girls lounging in the shade of a huge oak tree. "Hey, wanna trade places for a little while?" I inquire. "No way!" they crow back. "Besides, we couldn't do it anywhere near as well as you're doing; good job!" I pass the 9-mile marker, and eagerly anticipate the pavement. Where is it, where is it? I should be on the road by now; dang, why is it so far past the....There! Cool, the road!! All right, TriBaby, home stretch! Now all you got to do is run down this hill, turn around and run back up, and then it's mostly downhill to the finish.
Oh, but first there's a little more uphill here, of course. Plodding along, I spot a racer who obviously finished the race some time ago and is now headed back to his campsite with a couple of friends. "I hate you!" I scowl good-naturedly as I pass them, "You're already finished!" "Don't hate me," he answers in equally jovial tones, "I DNF'ed, but you're gonna finish; go get 'em!" "Oh, geez, I'm sorry! But thanks!" Now if I can just get over this bloody hill....trot trot trot trot....There! Here we go...
Ah, this feels so good. Look at all the people walking up the hill on the opposite side of the road, though. God, it looks like a scene out of the Grapes of Wrath or something! There are certainly more folks walking than running. Not me, though, I WON'T walk up this hill; I'll hit the bottom, turn around, and I will keep running, that's all there is to it. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy this downhill for all it's worth.
I use the gradual descent to make up a little time without expending a whole lot of effort. My long legs prove a definite asset in this endeavor; I just keep stickin' 'em out and they move me right on down the hill. I even pass a few people, offering words of support as I hurtle by. I lob words of encouragement across the road to those toiling uphill as well; those that can spare a breath volley cheers right back to me. I hit the bottom of the hill and the aid station at the turnaround, where I refill my water bottle one last time. "What, you mean I gotta run back UP that thing?" I whine to the aid station volunteers. "Hey, what goes down has gotta go back up!" a student responds helpfully with a truly evil grin. "Aw, don't rub it in!" I moan with a laugh and head back whence I came.
"I *love* this hill! I *want* to run up this hill. This hill loves me, because I am gravitationally gifted, and it will therefore treat me kindly!" I bellow to no one in particular. A gal just ahead of me laughs as I pass, babbling like an idiot. "Oh, if only that were true!" "Well, even if it's not, think of it this way: Just three more miles!"
The hill really isn't so bad. I actually feel stronger and stronger as I pass more and more walkers. Somehow, I draw energy from them; each one I pass strengthens my own resolve to keep running, no matter how slowly. I offer encouragement to all. Though they don't know it, they are helping me, in a way I can't even explain. And look up there; it's the girl who ran by me just before the mile 6 aid station, and I wanted to tear her hair out! Once more, she's ahead of me, and walking. "This time," I tell myself, "I am going to get her; I will catch her, I will pass her, and I will drop her for good." This goal clearly before me, I move inexorably forward, eyes locked on target. I catch her. I pass her. I leave her behind, still walking, and I never see her again. Any desire to tear her hair out completely vanishes; damn, that feels good!
I crest the hill triumphantly and head down to the mile 11 aid station, where I find a particularly rowdy and enthusiastic contingent of Cal Poly students. "Is it all downhill from here?" I ask. "Well, you've got a little more uphill first; you want some water over your head?" I decline, but then change my mind and say, "Well, yeah, ok....." and before I can add "...just a little bit," find myself facing a corridor of enthusiastic dousers, each eagerly awaiting his turn to baptize me, triathlon style. Except for the first two, who aren't waiting, but have already soaked me pretty well. Oh well, so much for keeping my feet dry. Only two miles to go, anyway, you'll be ok. Splash, splash, whoosh.....drip, drip, drip. Well, it sure feels good.
I squish my way merrily along, each step wringing entire aquatic ecosystems from my size nines. Squish, squish, squish....boy, I hope my feet hold up for the next two miles! Squish, squish, squish, squish...sorta reminds me of the wine-making episode of I Love Lucy. The squishing abates a bit as I begin the very last uphill. The *last* uphill! And I feel great! All right, you're really in the home stretch now, and you feel strong, so go ahead, push a little!
Despite the hill, I begin to wind it up. I can practically *taste* that finish line! I feel fantastic, there's still a little lift in my knees, and I've definitely got a squish in my step. I even pass a couple of more people. I've never passed this many people on the run in my life; unbelievable. There are more people on the road here, and more traffic. There's the 12-mile marker---only a mile left to go!
I reach the Lynch Hill Road intersection and am nearly hit by errant traffic that the volunteers fail to control; in a state of oblivious bliss, I hardly even notice. I've reached the turn at the top of the hill, and am about to begin the final descent! Squish, squish, squish, squish.... Around the curve of the road, and laid out below I see the lake, nestled amid tawny golden hills softly rolling across the horizon. Chills start to run up my spine; it is so magnificently beautiful. "I thought I would never see this," I think in reverent awe as a gentle breeze from the lake caresses my face. A voice deeper within, however, contradicts me: "Yes, you did; you never had any doubt, you knew you could do it, and here you are; enjoy it!"
Down the hill I fly. Oddly enough, my quads don't protest. Last year, running down this hill at the end of the Olympic race positively pulverized my legs; now I have no problem turning it loose and barrelling pell-mell lakeward, scooping up time in chunks in the final mile. People walking, driving, and riding bikes up the hill shout encouragement, and I grin back, revelling in a state of sheer disbelief and ecstasy. Almost to the bottom, just about there... I pass a fellow racer who has cramped up in the home stretch. "Cramp?" I inquire sympathetically, touching his shoulder. "Yeah." "But you're gonna finish! You're almost there, just hang on!"
I've finished the pounding descent, now just the last quarter mile flat stretch; don't wind it up too soon, hang on, hang on.... I can hear the crowd, I begin to see the orange snow fencing of the transition area.... Not just yet... People are cheering, clapping shouting...... The chute! It's a bloody long chute, but I've hit the finish chute! NOW! The most enormous grin breaks out across my face, making it feel that it's about to split in two. I hear the music on the loudspeaker, Blues Traveller--- one of my favorite training songs; my face surely will crack in two with this grin! Wind it up, wind it up, give it everything you've got left...... Ahhhh!
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6:38:50. That's what my watch says. I broke 7 hours, easily. I can't believe it.
This must be what it feels like to finish the Ironman (well, close, anyway). It feels sweet, alive, affirmed, ecstatic. Does anything else feel like this? Perhaps falling in love, or perhaps people feel this way on their wedding day, or when babies are born. I don't know, never having experienced any of those things, but here and now I am experiencing this, and it is awesome.