From New Orleans With LOVE

I know it has been a few weeks since we raced New Orleans IM 70.3 and I should have had a race report out sooner, but as has been the case with several post race processings, as of late, this one took some time to really process all of the emotions and events of the day.  
While Patrick and I have been racing this distance for 2 years now, this race is special to me for several reasons: 1) it was our first race at this distance; 2) it was our first IM race; 3) it was a rough race the first time. 

What a pair we make!!!

When we decided to race IM NOLA again we both had mixed feelings.  We only signed up because a friend of ours was wanting to do a race at this distance.  We of course signed up early; and turns out our firned didn't sign up at all, due to life factors.  This left us facing down a race that we were not initially planning to race and really didn't have a great experience the first time we raced it.  But what are you going to do-- life gives you lemons and you can either make lemonade or throw them at people, either way you still have to do something. We were going to race!  
IM NOLA isn't a favorite of ours due to the swim being in the marina with boat oil and some high parasite levels, on the bike you are for sure going to have a head wind and a cross wind, and the run is sunny, which also means hot (especially given the changes to the course this year, which would mimic the course for the marathon of sun, sun, and more sun). But like I said this race holds a special place for us as our first 70.3 and first Ironman event; that was the positive we were banking on for this return. 

As we went in to the race we talked about finishing the race together; starting together would not be possible given our separate start waves (we are rule followers).  We were not sure what the plan was going to be as we started out that morning, we were still on the fence.  Patrick decided we would call our shot on the bike course.  
The weather the day before was less than pleasant, so much so that the race team made it a choice to leave our bikes in transition.  We choose to take bikes in the morning in order to avoid extra rain and winds.  By morning the winds were calmer- not gone but not blasting any more- and the rains had passed.  We thought we would have overcast conditions for most of the day but we would be wrong about that when the skies parted halfway through the bike and then beat down on the run. 
The swim went well for the most part, a few grabs here and there and Patrick took a blow to the face, but we lived. We both actually had really good swims.  In fact Patrick had such a good swim (in his new wetsuit) that he shaved about 13 minutes off his previous swim time and had a swim time only five minutes longer than me!!!  I guess pool time is paying off!!! 
Patrick now had a 15 minute head start onto the bike course, where I guess he decided to be a speed demon because it took me till mile 30-35 to catch him. The winds which had laid down for the swim stated to build back up as the sun peaked out.  When I did finally catch him it was after the turn around point, but I had missed him passing me in the other direction, so I was panicking.  I started to fear he wasn't on the course, when I caught him I was so very happy.  I had that chest tightness that happens as you start to cry, feeling over whelmed knowing his being so far out before I caught him meant he was having a great race!  he needed this great race, after several rough ones in recent months.
We called it on the bike to stay together.  Since drafting is illegal we played a little leap frog for the last 20 miles.  Four bike lengths is just close enough to yell at each other in order to have a conversation.  We got passed during a few conversations about the race and the wind and Patrick's new biking shorts- everyone passed with a smile, I think they felt the same as us and just had no one to yell it at. A few times I got a little too far ahead, I am not really good at glancing back so when I did if there was someone there in a dark top my brain assumed it was Patrick, right up till they passed me! Turns out it throws off other racers when you call them babe as they pass you.  
Towards the end of the bike I stopped at the porta potty (you knew it was going to happen sooner or later).  This would be one of the funniest porta potty experiences, and no I did not get stuck.  I was parked and in the little house when Patrick came by on his bike, yelling out my name to double check it was me stopped.  I yelled back and he kept on going, "See ya soon."  I was already laughing that our teamwork was to the porta potty check-in level!!!  Then as both myself and the guy next to me came out of our individual porta potties, he laughed at me and said, "I guess you have some catching up to do." Yep he got a laugh out of the check-in too.  
As I was exiting the bathroom there was a lady screaming.  As I got onto my bike I saw her pull off and just scream at the top of her lungs.  She was having bad cramping, limiting her ability to move.  Myself and another gentleman flagged down volunteers from the nearby water station who were sending medical support.  The other guy gave her some salt tabs to try to help.  This would not be the last person on the bike course or in this race who we would pass cramping, the heat was taking its toll.  
I hit the transition area just ahead of Patrick.  Together we left out onto the run course.  Shortly after starting out on the course we came across a friend of ours on the sidelines cheering.  There is truly nothing better than a friendly face, especially when this friendly face is willing to give you a hug as you run by, even though you are sweaty and nasty!!!!!   
A few stomach issues for Patrick had us slow at the start of the run, but we started to make up time and started to pass those who had passed us.  The heat was really kicking in at this point and the lack of shade on the course, which ran next to the lake, was noticeable for every step.  In the brief moments where a tree offered shade it felt like Autumn, even the breeze was cooler; unfortunately these spots were less that 10 yards in length and stopping underneath was not an option.  The turn around would offer some comfort, just knowing only six more miles to go.
As we began to quickly near the finish area our friend again jumped up and down at the street's edge.  It was just the extra boost we needed to pass a few more people and then cross the finish line, together. 

Hand in Hand

The bonus to racing a lot is the announcers at the finish line get to know you.  As we crossed the finish line, me in my Gavel gear, Patrick in his TGC gear, to the announcement of Pea Ridge crossing the line, we were hand in hand- it was a perfect mix of our racing community and our part in it.  A moment I would have never expected to experience; one I will never forget.  In that moment I remembered the feeling of finishing this race the first time- knowing it could be done and that I was able to do it-, it was intensified by us being there together.  I didn't have to wait to hug Patrick, I didn't have to wonder where he was on the course or how he was doing, instead I got to hug him right then and to know he was safe.  
Patrick said after the race that I sacrificed my race goal, to be faster than the last time on this course.  I don't see it that way at all.  I simply changed my goal.  There will be other races and other days but that moment when my heart knew I was where I needed to be, that moment would only happen then. 
We waited till the last racer finished.  The race officials allowed for all racers on the course to finish.  As we watched story after story cross the finish line it was an amazing feeling.  we watched the finish of the woman whose husband passed away while riding the course prerace last year.  We watched as the running nun finished her race. We watched as people pushed their bodies to a brink they never though they would reach. We watched them all cross that line- a smile and full heart.  All of us did 70.3 miles, all of us did it our own way, and all of us were welcomed at the finish line to smiles, and music, and the sound of our name being yelled out! 
Will we return? One day.  Will we race it together? Maybe.  Will we forever have this moment to remember that together with a little pushing, and laughing, and pulling we can overcome any challenge? Always, we will always have this moment!    

Did it again!!!  TOGETHER!!!

Opening Tri Season- HITS Ocala

The 2015 season started with a 140.6... why not?  

The HITS Ocala race is a small race for the full iron distance but a big race weekend, as they run multiple races both days.  The full distance was a small grouping, only about 40 of us going big.  However, we were going to start off in a mass start with the half distance people.  I'll get to that in a minute, let's talk about the build up to this race.
I had been going back and forth between home and Tallahassee, for work, over the last two weeks.  I was feeling tired, especially tired of sleeping in a bed that isn't mine.  But this is the hand we were dealt, so we made the best of things. I had prepacked gear for the trip, and given some weather changes, I sent Patrick a list for "extras".  Patrick picked me up in Tallahassee and we headed down to Ocala.  
Ocala is nice and quite, but for some reason our hotel was always short of parking spaces, something we would face each night- but ultimately not a big deal. 

On Friday, a rainy and windy Friday, we took our bikes down to the race site to drop them off and to pick up packets. We also went to the prerace meeting.  It was during packet pick as I overheard someone talking about the "trail" run that I realized the definition of trail that I had in my mind was not the reality of the situation.  Turns out the race is run on a trail, yep a real trail, in the woods type trail with semi packed sand.  Here's where we started taking some deep breaths.  I was assured it was packed sand, I think their definition of "packed' and mine is different.  The rain was suppose to make it harder sand so I am going to blame the fast people for turning it up loop after loop and that's why it was no longer packed down for me (ha ha ha).  At the prerace meeting I was very focused on getting the full allotted 17 hours, this came up when the race director mentioned the start time may be delayed due to sunrise.  I have been down this "time changing path" before and was going to make sure if start was at 0715 then I had till 0015 to finish the race.  Thank goodness he's an understanding guy and assured me more than once that this event really is about the athletes and he wants everyone to have the time they need to finish.  Another athlete came up afterwards and assured me of the same thing.  Granted I ended up not needing 17 hours but my mind was at ease knowing it was there. 
Before leaving we studied the swim course, the water was cold and I wasn't going in for a 2.4 mile swim without my wetsuit.  For others it is about the buoyancy and speed from the wetsuit, for me it is about warmth.  
We also dropped off bikes. 

I need to mention the AWESOME transition area.  Little benches with our names and numbers on them and trough type boxes to put our things!  I loved it; this was easy for any athlete which means that I should not have a bike racked in my spot or a wetsuit thrown on my running shoes!!!! This was my dance bubble!
We were up at 0400 and at the race site by 0500.  Gear set into place, including placing bike clothing in the wash house outside of the swim and before transition.  Unlike IM they didn't have a changing tent or people to help you change.  This ended up not being a deal breaker by any means.  With gear set I decided on the full wetsuit, I maybe should have toughed out the sleeveless.  We headed out to the water's edge for one more briefing and then the start. 

The sun was breaking over the water.  Since the water was warmer than the air a lite steam rose up about 2 feet off the water.  There were 225 people taking to the water this morning.  This was the largest group I have ever had start at one time.  In wave starts there are normally 20 to 30.  The race sort of started without much warning.  It was 5...4...3...2...1...GO!!! All 225 of us took off into the water, elbows, knees, heads, and toes colliding.  It was a little crazy.  I was in the front middle of the pack, where there was a lot of touching at the start.  It took about the first half of that length to get out from people pushing back and forth and to find a calm rhythm.  One thing I began to notice, and would play in my head through out the race, was the half people starting to get out of the water.  Given that I was already towards the front of the field, as the half iron people exited the water and the fulls made the buoy turn to go back out it was clear today I would be alone!  The pack didn't narrow, it disappeared.  I could see in front of me a few breaks in the water, illuminated by the sun light.   
One guy joined me for most of the second lap.  While I was glad to not be alone; my buddy continued for the first leg of the loop to swoop towards the middle and then back at me.  I came close to making him stop and look at me so I could tell him to stay three feet off my side and I will spot!  But I didn't, I simply kept him and the buoy in site and sped up when I saw him coming at me; after the buoy turn he seemed to learn and stayed just off my side.  (He would go on to fly on the bike and run.) 

I made it to shore to the race director announcing the first female in from the swim.  As he was standing there yelling this I was looking around to try to see her before realizing it was in fact me who was the first female out of the water.  I was proud of myself in that moment.  Shoulder tight, hip aching, I was still in front.  
I quickly headed to the bath house to change clothes.  While in there a lady came in with her daughter.  The daughter proclaimed she really needed "to go".  The mother was telling her to hurry up because "daddy would be coming out of the water soon" and they didn't want to miss him.  About the third hurry up the little girl said, "Mommy don't rush me!!"  I couldn't help but laugh at that moment. 
After changing clothes and gathering my wet items I ran into the official transition area.  Again the transition announcer noted me as the first woman out of the water.  I heard other ladies yelling "whoo who" and clapping from the side lines.  I dropped my things in the nice cubbys (love these); I packed my tri top with food supplies; and I left my ibuprofen- a mistake that would make the struggle of 112 miles that much more difficult.  

On my bike it was cold and the winds were picking up.  The course was marked every 5 miles which was great until I started questioning how I wasn't to the next marker yet. The course was hillier than I had expected- elevation gain of 2651.  The problem was not the factor that there were hills, it was that they were mostly slow never ending inclines, then a little drop, then climb again.  The winds added another challenge, as they often twisted around us, then gusted at us head on.  I was glad after talking to some of the faster guys the following day, to hear they struggled in the wind and with feeling like it was a constant head wind even on the out and back loops. 
The course being two loops was fine until the first loop came all the way back to the transition area.  There it was, it lit up welcoming you, but no I was destined to head out again.  I could also see the half iron competitors running in the woods.  Knowing those would not be my footsteps for a few more hours was a little heart breaking.  
The other challenge on the course was the traffic.  Cars, trucks, trailers, 18-wheelers, and motorcycles all flew past us, many not giving up much space.  With the shoulder a no go for most of the course, it made it very scary when the trucks darted back over not far off the front tire.  On one occasion a truck with extended mirrors passed so close to me I could feel the air deflected from his mirrors.  A few yelled some not so nice things.  
Thankfully also on the course was a great volunteer support.  They were set up at miles 14, 28, 42, 56 (and repeat). They all were smiling, all day long; not easy as the sun began to bake.  They helped cyclist on or off the bikes at "pit stops".  When I reached the turn around at 56 miles, I jumped off my bike to use the porta potty.  While in there they pulled my race bag for me, and starting asking what I needed refilled on my bike.  When I came out of the bathroom I had my water refilled, my bag opened, and was quickly headed back out.  As I pushed off they cheered!!! On my final turn around the support staff was happy and helpful once again, cheering and giving words of encouragement.  My mistake of leaving the ibuprofen would cause my hips to tighten even more; there was limited relief form standing to pedals but it was just enough to push through.  My bike took longer than I had hoped, but given conditions and (my choices) on limited winter training, I was happy to just get it done.   
There was one moment on the bike that I totally misread.  Patrick was headed out on his first loop as I was headed back from the first turn around.  He yelled at me that we needed to talk.  I took this to mean we needed to talk later- either about my packing for him or items he needed.  I didn't think this meant to talk now and I didn't stop to notice that he was stopping to talk.  We passed again as I headed back out and he headed to the 56 mile turn around.  What I didn't know was he was calling his race day at the 56 miles.  As I made the turn around on mile 84 I looked at my watch, knowing I should see Patrick in roughly 30 to 45 minutes, headed back out the other direction.  He didn't come back by.  At mile 102 I asked if the ambulance had been called to the course, nothing recent.  I pedaled on worried about what had happened.  My mind thought of every bad outcome.  I pulled in to transition my heart heavy and saw him standing there near the Run Out.  I have never in my life been happier to see him.  He walked over to the fence as I was yelling to ask if he was ok; he responded that physically and mentally he was ok.  What I hadn't known was, pretty much from the word GO, Patrick was in pain from cramping.  He had cramped up on the swim and felt the wetsuit had made things worse, pushing and pulling on his body in unplanned ways.  Then when they helped to pull the wetsuit off the rest of his leg and abs cramped.  He got out on to the bike thinking this would get better but that failed to happen.  His body continued to lock up and to lock him out. 
Adding to his physical stat, he also fought the traffic problems and felt the safety threat.  He finished the swim and 56 miles on the bike and called it a day.  He rested and hydrated and was there with a smile as I came into the transition area.  
And don't worry Patrick and I had a long discussion on the meaning and confusion over the "we need to talk" statement. 

When I was in transition (changing clothes) I realized how much I LOVED this little bench!!!  I could have sat there all afternoon, if Patrick wasn't yelling at me to hurry up and get going!!  I once again forgot to grab my ibuprofen.  I came off the bike longing for this and in the mix of emotions had again forgotten.  My hips were tight and causing my lower back to tighten up.  I "ran" out of transition- after a bathroom stop- and up the hill.  This would be the last of the pavement, except for a small 50 yards on the back side.  I entered the woods a little confused with the directions, runners were going and coming and coming and going.  I was quickly directed off to the left and the race was on.  Well... the fastish paced walk was on.  My legs continued to have fits, I walked for about the first 1.5 miles, then I started to run what I could.  Sometimes this run would last a few 100 yards other times a 100 steps.  The only thing consistent was that I was making forward motion, however inconsistently.  
The course was four loops, but the loops could be broken into two sections; therefore it was eight sections.  I counted them down- 1 left, 1 right, 2 left, 2 right, and so on.  The best part of this race course was each time I got to where the sections met there was Patrick.  As an athlete he was offering help to others as they came by, as my husband athlete he knew just what I needed and when.  He guessed my needs and he was good at this guessing game.  I got half way into the marathon before it started to get dark.  It was literately like watching a cartoon, one minute it was light out, the next dark.  Sune up, moon up.  The moon was out which you would think would be nice, and it was, until it caused shadows in the moss that was already blowing in the wind. CREEPY!
The athletes still on the course were fewer and fewer.  I ran with a buddy for a loop here or there but nothing consistent. I talked to a guy from Atlanta for nearly the whole second loop.  He is married, has a kid, parents live in Ft. Lauderdale, mother in law was there for the event, missing the father daughter dance, uncle is going, has three nephews, had several car accidents, nearly died doing triathlon; this is what we talk about after miles on the course to get us through a few more miles.   On the second section of my third loop there was a guy hurting as bad as me and just as scared to be out in the dark- there were some very big things in those woods. He stayed with me for my head lamp and wasn't much for chatting but he was a nice buddy.  He got his own head lamp at the turn around and aid station and then dropped back.  I already knew I would spend my finial lap alone and in the dark.  I also would be spending it cold- not too cold as Patrick got my long sleeve thermal run shirt out for me!!!
It was a different and very positive experience to have Patrick there.  While he was helping others, with lights and some extra protein shakes, he was helping me by simply being there.  He was always smiling and would run a few steps with me, sending me off on my next loop.  He gave me encouragement, told me how many miles to go, and patted me on the back.  It was what I needed, especially as my hips locked a little more and my mind started to flood with thoughts of what it would mean to finish this race, this distance, again.  
The hardest portion was the last four miles.  I was tight and hurting, really hurting.  I was headed out on my last second section.  This was it, I was soon to be done.  And what happens, had to pee!!  I had been watching this bath house for the entire marathon, it looked nice, clean, in the middle of no where, moss blowing in the wind creating moon lit shadows all around, and a creepy sign eeekkkking outside- yep perfect stop.  It was actually a really nice facility.  The problem was not the quality of the restroom, it was the factor that my legs would not bend and when they did I wasn't sure they would support me to stand up again.  Here I was 3 miles from the finish line stuck in the bathroom.  I wasn't even sure if my voice could yell loud enough, then I wasn't sure who would show up if I did, then I simply didn't want to be found on a bathroom floor in the middle of the woods during a race.  I guess that was enough to motivate me to push my legs and body up.  Back on my feet there was little time for victory, only time to get going again.  I made it to the aid station again and then back pass the bathroom- I wasn't going in there again.  
At this point I could hear a few people in front of me and a few behind me.  My mind kept saying go, keep going.  Then my mantra started: Be Positive, Stay Strong, Press On.  One of the volunteers yelled down the path, "Is that you Teresa?"  I yelled back that it was.  She reminded me to take off the over shirt for the perfect finish photo.  I laughed as I had already followed Patrick's directions and taken it off a few yards earlier.  She took the shirt and cheered me on.  She was the last push I needed, a few kind words of encouragement from a stranger.  

The finish line was not packed with people, but in that moment I only needed one person and he was there.  Patrick was standing just past the finish line, smiling.  Oh how I had missed him.  The past few weeks had been long, this day has been long, this moment was amazing.  Patrick hugged me, maybe he was having to hold me up, but either way his arms were wrapped around me.  Patrick put my medal over my head and wrapped me in his arms again.  My heart and sould could not have been happier.  In that moment my body no longer hurt.  I could only feel him, no pain,  no cold, no nothing, just him.  To share that moment was amazing.  I talk a lot about Patrick being my rock and my support but this was more ture in this moment, I could physical and emotional feel the support and love.  

Even though this was the second time I would cross the line at this distance it was an emotional moment more so because Patrick was there in that moment. 
It continues to take time to process this entire event.  From seeing Patrick end is day early to finishing my second iron distance race, the emotional state has been a lot to decipher.  To top it off to place as the second overall female was beyond belief.  Looking back on the whole experience I am still not sure I fully understand how I feel about it.  I still want to just cry when thoughts of this race fill my head.  I find myself thinking about it through training runs or times sitting on the couch. I find that while my body knows I did it my head is still trying to understand the what and how and why; while my heart is trying to understand how someone could love me through it all. 

 
       

               
 

Changing the Buddy System Plan- A Running Apology

Today we ran the Rock N' Fly Half Marathon.  Last year I struggled through this race due to heat, humidity, sloped sidewalks, and lack of water. It was at times a defeating race; the only good thing was to be running with Jennifer, my sister-in-law. 
I was not sure how today was going to go.  My running lately has been slow and steady at best, with ups and downs.  Recently to help push me or pull me Patrick has been running with me, even though he could have on several occasions run off without me. This has helped me to pace and build. 

Going into this race our plan was to run together as we had been doing for the last few long races.  Given this understanding it is also understanding that my victory of a PR (at least within the last few years) was quickly deflated by the realization that I broke the buddy plan.  
In the first mile we were together, Patrick on my heels, as we weaved in and out of people. Just as the 5K group began to breakout of the half marathon pack and make their turn back to the finish line, I realized Patrick was talking to someone else and his voice was dropping further back.  I figured he would catch back up to me.  Jennifer was still with me.  
Then suddenly I heard no familiar voices, there were no familiar strides coming up behind me.  I pulled to the side and turned to look back.  I saw neither of them, but the group was still large and I was honestly not sure if I had missed them passing by.  I figured if Patrick didn't catch me by the turn around at 5.5 then I would walk then, at least that way I could see him. I ran on and through the turn.  I flipped back on the crowd. There was about 3/4 of a mile between us.  I yelled, he waved, I told asked if he wanted me to walk, he said "no".  I should have walked.  At this point it was already hot and the road's tilt was taking its toll.  This wasn't a fair question to put on my running buddy.  
In the next few miles I slowed considerably, this was a matter of just not being able to push any harder.  It took till about mile 10 for me to feel back on track.  In those last three miles, there was plenty of water and even Popsicle, but there was no buddy next to me.  For that I was sad.  Just before mile 12 I saw Patrick as he was taking the turn for the last outer loop before being on the way back to the finish line.  He smiled, and waved.  I could tell he was tired and hurting.  But I failed to stop or slow for my running buddy.  
I finished my race, happy to be done.  Then the waiting began and all the feelings of my race choice came over me.  I was angry at myself.  I should have been more courteous; I should have been the bigger person as he had been for me several times before.

My hand should have been in his. 

I know for some this will seem like a little thing and in the scheme of life this will pass and it will be remembered as a little moment.  However, right now, it hurts my heart that I was that person, that runner.  Even more it hurts my heart that I left Patrick out there to push through the race with no one to help motive him, to hand him extra waters, to share a huma with, or to understand that this race will be beat one step at a time as other before were beat.  
Today I know that my goal of "being better" was not met out there.  But moment like this give us the ability to grow.  That is what I will do it grow.  Grow to be a better running partner.  Grow to be a more aware running buddy.  Grow to be the person my husband has shown me he is, strong, giving, patient, encouraging, and supportive, even when he knows being this person may hold him back briefly in this moment.    

Such wonderful people in our lives.

Thank you Patrick for loving me beyond my flaws.    
      

A Touch of Inspiration from My Grandma

When I started baking more a few years ago my mother mentioned my grandma's cook book.  Then recently she gave me the cook book to bake from.  I have used it a few times for cookie options, but recently my mother asked me to find a recipe in it; German Chocolate Cake.
I looked, Patrick looked, no luck.  I called my mother this morning on my way to work to tell her it could not be found.  She told me she remembered it being on a chocolate wrapper, green and red.  I recalled the wrapper in the book. Sure enough when I got home it was there the wrapper, the recipe, the memories.  When my mother talked about this piece of paper it was like she was transported back in time.  My mother in the course of natural aging has at times been forgetful about little details (mama, admit it), but to hear her talk about this piece of paper and her watching my grandma bake was like being there in my grandma's kitchen, so real the smell of chocolate cake filled my car. 
It reminded me too that I had noticed a few words in the beginning of the book, "Take 2 or more children".  Why would a recipe call for children?  Thoughts swirled in my head- after all my grandma is from Nebraska and these recipes had a few interesting items anyway so curiosity began turning the wheels in my head. 

This special recipe is in the pages of her cookbook that are not really pages, they are the inside book cover.  Here is what it says: 

Lover's Wedding Cake
1/2 lb. sweet temper, 1/2 lb. good looks, 1/2 lb. of self forgetfulness, 1/2 lb. blindness to faults, 1/2 lb. pondered wits, 1/2 lb. dry humor, 12 lb buttered youth, 2 tablespoons gentle arguments, 1/2 pint rippling laughter, 1/2 glass of common sense, 4 lbs flour of love. 
Put flour of love, good looks, and sweet temper into a well furnished house.  Mix together the blindness to faults, self forgetfulness, dry humor, and gentle arguments and add to love.  Pour in rippling laughter and common sense.  Work until well mixed, then bake gently in the warm over of the heart forever.  (H.M.S.)
Take 2 or more children wash well in warm water and tuck into bed early. Leave for 10 or 12 hours with windows open wide. Dress them lightly and set at cherished place at the breakfast table.  To each child add juice of 1 orange, one soft boiled egg mixed with 2 T cream and salt to taste, several slices of whole wheat toast and a glass of milk. Remove to the yard add some garden seeds, toys, and a sand pile and mix thoroughly.  Leave in the sun until brown.

My cup runneth over.  
It is moments like this which help me to feel close to someone so long gone from me.  I only remember small glimpses of moments with my grandma.  I remember her growing a garden in our front yard, just out the front door.  I remember green beans, snap peas.  I remember her sitting at the dinning table with the beans in her aporn, snapping off the ends and placing them into a caldron.  My brother and I would run around the kitchen laughing and my grandmother would tell us to go outside or to help.  By helping we would steal the beans and eat them.  I can remember the taste of those beans to this day, fresh, crisp, and like no beans I remember since. Eventually my grandmother would send us out of the house to play.  
I was very young when my grandma lived with us, under the age of 5.  My grandmother passed away when I was about 8.  I am sure like all people she had her good and bad sides, and good and bad days, but for me she was my grandmother and I only remember her with fondness in my heart.

We should always remember where we get strength from.  

Three in One Weekend- Up the Tower, Through the Woods, and Over the Bridge

This past weekend was a busy race weekend for us.  We have on a few occasions raced twice in a weekend or twice in a day even but it seemed as though this weekend was going to have new challenges.  We were not running three normal running races- no Goofy Challenge this time!  No this weekend would be filled with stairs, sandy trails, and pavement.

We started off with a 31 flight stair climb.  This was our second year completing this event.  The event is in partnership with the Half Marathon we ran on Sunday.  The proceeds go to benefit the Special Olympics of Alabama.   Originally this event was for first responders and was held during the day time.  For the past few years it has been open to the general public and this year it was moved to Friday evening.  After work we packed up, went a picked up our race packets for Saturday, and then headed out to the tower. 

The Race to the Top of the Tower is a fun and daunting event.  The whole thing is over in about 25 minutes and as is our course we stayed steady in the upper middle pack.  The first 8 flights go by quick.  You feel good and then not so good.  Yes your legs burn but you can take that.  Yes your feet hurt but you have been there before.  These are not the things that stop me in these climbs- nope- instead it is the TURNING, and TURNING, and TURNING.  We joked with others before the race about needing sea sickness medications in order to make it!!  Once the dizziness kicks in, I start to warm up and get clammy.  It takes a few flights of stairs to get things back under control- deep breathing.  The good thing for me is at flight 8 all the people in my pack have the same issue.  The other good thing for me is I am a fast walker and this seems to translate to being a fast stair walker too.  After calming back down a little but not losing momentum I picked up my pace again, round and round we went.  Patrick was on my heels but I could not look back to check on him; if I did my dizziness would surely cause me to go over the railing and find myself back on the first floor.  I passed a few people in the climb and hit the cold wind of the top at about 6:40.  I quickly moved out of the way of the others stumbling up behind me.  The first, First Responder made it to the top, a fire fighter.  This sight of seeing him in full gear (helmet, jacket, pants, tanks, all of it) reach the top mixed with the cold air was breathtaking.  Patrick was up shortly behind him.    

Patrick had a struggle at the top, the cold air at the start mixed to warm air in the stair well, and then hit with cold air at the top caused his lungs to want to throw themselves from his chest and over the side of the building.  He held it together and walked it off, to go see the sunset and the city lights brighten.  Sadly I don’t have photos of that sunset but from 31 flights up we could watch the final light sink below the horizon.  The sky lit up with a vibrant pink and the sea answered back a final wave as the sun was gone and night had arrived. 

The next morning we rose early to get out to the Lagoon for our 8K trail run.  Patrick likes to beat the race director to the race site on this one and we did!  We curled up in the car for about 15 minutes before he showed up (he wasn’t late).  We hauled pancake batter, logs, bacon, grill, plates, and maple syrup; all the while wondering why we didn’t just stay and eat instead of running.  The wind was still blowing and causing a nip in the air, so after Patrick got the fire going we huddled there, more and more racers showing up to gather.

We had to leave the warmth and move to the start line.  As we gathered to block the wind from ourselves at the sacrifice others, the sun began to add a little warmth.  I always forget how much sand there is on this race course.  The first half mile is on pavement, but then we break out in to the woods.  Once we made that turn onto the sand I remembered why this race was hard last year.  It was also not long till the middle of the pack was turning around due to a dead end, in the wrong direction.  We were supposed to have turned at the cone but the arrow was not visible so we ran right on past- some ran further than others.  We turned again and righted our course.  I was in a chase to catch Patrick’s sister, Jennifer, she was just in front of me.  Patrick was also hot on my heels, after righting the sign for others; he joined back to the course. 

We twisted and turned and dug deep in the soft sand.  The day was beautiful.  As we entered in to a “freshly tilled bog area”, I took out in front of Jennifer.  There was only one problem, I was leading us deeper into tilled moss and dirt and sticks.  Jennifer yelled to me about how much this sucked and about how we needed her 6 year old to be there to help lead us; he really is great at calling out the trail challenges.  As we pushed up a few more hills Jennifer dropped back slightly.  I put in my sight a new rabbit to chase.  She was in bright neon yellow making her easy to find in the trees.  I gained little by little, mostly on sandy uphills.  I passed her with about a mile or ¾ of a mile left.  The problem was now I was in the lead of our little group and we were still in the woods with paths darting left and right.  This is a course known for lost runners and given the earlier wrong way I was a little nervous.  I think I may have run a little faster just wanting people to not be following me in case I made this a 6 mile run.  I hit the finish line with a wide stride on the pavement.  I felt good and could not help but notice that there were not many cards turned in for my age group, but I wasn’t really sure.  Patrick was a few minutes behind me- he was the smarter one saving his legs for the following day, as he reminded me to do before the race, at the start line, and noted after we finished. 

With the whole family across the finish line we watched a few more finish, and then changed clothes to get warm and off to eat pancakes and bacon.  The factor that this race ends in pancakes and bacon will keep us coming back.  I placed third in my age group and I got to enjoy the victory with a few of my Gavel Girlz teammates.    

After the race we got some errands done and then headed home, with the best on intentions to stretch.  Yeah…. That didn’t happen.  The next morning we were up with the moon and stars to drive about 45 minutes for the Gulf Coast Series: Gulf Shores Half Marathon.  I enjoy this race.  The group who hosts the race is very friendly and supportive.  Also this racing series is packed with our PRRC group, wonderful people to run with and just to hang around. 

The day was cool and misty.  My foot was hurting (maybe from the sand yesterday), I tried to put some extra padding between the top of my foot and my shoe (by mile 6 this would be more problematic).  I started the race with one of Patrick’s old shirts on but I had not discussed with him my plans of throwing this shirt aside at a water station.  He was not thrilled with my choice since he “needed” it for a garage shirt, but my plan remained- trust me it is not a flattering shirt.

We took to the road, by the time I reached the bridge at mile 1 I was feeling over it.  My legs were tight and my foot hurt, and it was cold and misty, and I was going to have a pouting event.  The only problem was that Patrick was quickly leaving me in his dust.  I pushed up the bridge; even though I had to look down to make sure my feet were actually touching the ground ahead of me and not in the same place.  Thankfully Patrick slowed for me at the first turn and let me catch up to him.

We ran on with little talking for the first 5 miles.  I am not sure why I was so silent, maybe my foot hurt more than I wanted to admit or maybe I was worried about my foot and little more than I was willing to admit.  At about mile 6 my emotional breakdown started.  My foot was hurting. When Patrick asked me about moving the cushioning patch I had on and I told him it was already on the top of my foot and he got frustrated with me, I just stopped. Literally the first time ever I just stopped in the middle of a race course.  It was only for a second (the proof is on my Garmin), I didn’t even walk, just stopped.  I felt overwhelmed with emotion.  Patrick yelled for me to start running and I did.  Even then I knew he wasn’t being mean he was simply trying to get me going again.  And it worked.  Unfortunately I am pretty sure the girl who ran with us for the final 7 miles, who could have witnessed this interaction, ran with us to be sure Patrick wasn’t being mean or yelling at me out of anger.  Thankfully not she nor I and Patrick talked about that moment.    

About a half a mile up I was done with the patch- we don’t need no stink’en patches.  I stopped again to take it off as the other two ran on, at my urging.  I sprinted to catch them and in that moment the emotions of the last half a mile and the frustrations melted away.  I was good again, the way that only pushing the pavement makes you good again.

Our new friend was very nice, a semi-local who returned to her home town with her family.  She is an adoptive parent so we had lots to talk about.  The funny thing about this particular even is I always end up finding members of our “child welfare family”. 

Patrick and were back to good and our “No-Show” friend joined us for a few miles. The banter back and forth helped to pass the time and miles.  In fact, the miles passed till we were staring down the bridge again.  Before we met the bridge I picked up Patrick's beloved shirt at the final water station where I had left it previously, he was happy.  One more time, one more little blip, up the bridge.  “No-Show” dropped off the hang back for his wife who was completing her first half; our new friend got snagged on the uphill; we pushed on.  I wasn’t going to be dropped this time.  Left, right, left, right, there beside Patrick up and over the damn bridge.  After that it was a smooth downhill and a light half a mile push to the finish.  I didn’t have it in me to sprint; I had already determined something was wrong enough with my foot to make a doctor’s appointment, so this was not my time to push.  Patrick would be there for me this time pushing me a little faster and a little further.  

Patrick grabbed my hand this time, and with a few more steps and a few final breaths we were over the finish line.

Our time was not our best, even on this course, but this weekend’s journey was long and steady. Well, that’s how we spent our weekend.