Rev3 Williamsburg Half Tri

I violated the "never do an inaugural event" rule, and while there were some hiccups, overall the day was a success. There are always things learned during any race, but inaugural ones can be quite challenging for participants and race directors alike.

The Road Trip

Our drive from Indianapolis was uneventful until we tried to get out of Charlston, WV. We made it two exits past our hotel before being caught in a major traffic jam. There had just been some sort of accident that looked like a simple fender-bender when we finally drove by it almost an hour later. It was a nice morning, though, so we got out and wandered the highway, making friends with the locals who were using their smart phones to find out what was going on. One was originally from L.A., and we laughed at the lack of road rage.

The detour along part of the Blue Ridge Parkway was a nice break from interstates. We took the time to stop and look around, and enjoy the beautiful afternoon.

Pre-Race

This was a two-transition race, which always complicates things. What this means is that you get out of the water and start the bike at one location, then come back to a totally different location to rack the bike and start the run. Logistically, the set-up is a pain. You have to check the bike into T1 (transition 1) the day before the race, then go back to it race morning to put your fluids and nutrition on it, and set up with the helmet/bike shoes/towel/etc. Saturday, we checked our bikes, then spent the rest of the day at Colonial Williamsburg.

Race morning we got to the finish area/T2 and got parked. Paula was doing the Olympic distance tri that was happening simultaneously, and we both got our run stuff set up and ready to go. Then we got in line for the shuttles to T1...and encountered the first "new race" issue: not nearly enough buses. They were allowing both the half and olympic participants to board, along with spectators and family, which would have been great had there been enough buses. (My race started 30 minutes before Paula's.) The longer we stood in line, the higher everyone's stress level got. Transition was supposed to close in less than half an hour, and the line was around the corner and down the block. Finally they moved all of us doing the half to another line and got us on the next couple of buses, then brought everyone else.

As it turned out, Paula and Shirley got there right behind me. I had just finished getting set up with my fluids on the bike, shoes, helmet, and race belt. My race was about to start, and I was relieved to hear they were delaying the start a few minutes, so I had time to hit a port-a-john. Thank goodness. I still haven't mastered the art of peeing while swimming, so waiting wasn't an option.

The Swim

I've done 60+ triathlons, and this was by far the most frustrating swim I have ever experienced.

The swim was in the James River, which is a tidal river. Apparently it can get very squirrely when weather comes through, and we had a rainstorm come through overnight Saturday. The course was a giant triangle, making two right turns around two red buoys. Paula's swim was a smaller triangle inside of mine, with two orange/yellow buoys marking her turns. There were yellow buoys guiding the way to the turns. Seemed clear enough from the shore.

The swim start was in waves, with the pros starting first, then younger folks, then older folks. I watched the first few waves start, and immediately was confused. People were WALKING most of the way to the first yellow buoy. Whaaaaa? A few were dolphin-diving, trying to make some headway, but the vast majority were walking. Very odd. My wave started, and a few people tried to swim/dolphin dive, but there were too many people walking to get any swimming space. I trudged out along with the rest of them.

The swim was ok for the first two or three yellow buoys, but we clearly were getting pushed around. I couldn't really see the red buoy, but was in a crowd of swimmers, so was hopeful some of them could see it. However, as we approached the orange/yellow buoy for the Olympic turn, it became clear that we were off course. Um, ok, now to figure out where we were supposed to be. A kayaker came through and pointed out the red buoy, waaaaaaay over there, about 90 degrees from our swim direction. Oh great. I couldn't figure out how the yellow buoys were in any way guiding people over there...maybe some had drifted? I don't know. There were probably at least 50 of us in that group. Sigh. Ok, I'll start heading out to the red buoy.

Only I didn't get anywhere. I swam and swam and swam, and every time I looked up, that damned orange/yellow buoy was the same distance off my shoulder. WTF. I was hit with a serious bout of frustration, and struggled to shake it off. A woman swam over to a nearby kayak and appeared to be quitting (she took off her swim cap and goggles and hung on). That's when I made the conscious decision to cut the course and simply try to get back to the line of swimmers that were on course. Apparently that's what most of us did, judging by the number of violet-colored swim caps I saw right there with me.

I swam for what felt like forever, finally spotted the second red buoy, and thought perhaps this hell was almost over. I made decent, if slow, progress, but at least I wasn't looking at that effing orange buoy anymore. I felt another intense wave of frustration, as I realized how pitifully slow my progress really was, then got pissed, then decided, "Oh what the hell, this'll be good endurance practice for Ironman. And besides, I paid $250 for this punishment, and drove 750 miles to get here. And I really want to ride my new bike. Suck it up."

Swam and swam and swam and...finally made it within maybe 50 yards of the second red buoy, then totally stalled out. Wasn't getting anywhere. After another few minutes of swimming, I confirmed this by looking at my Garmin. Finally, I checked the distance again, and had gone .84 miles. Hmmm. Ok. If I cut the course again (along with lots of fellow swimmers), I'll end up doing the full 1.2 miles anyway, and I'll get out of here sometime before noon. I've never ever cut a course before, but this time it really had become a matter of survival. The fact that not one of the kayakers was trying to herd us back on course was significant. Clearly the swim had devolved into such a cluster that they really just wanted people out of the water.

Imagine my surprise when I finally had the finish in sight, still a good 100 yards away, and I saw the backsides of people standing! How odd. Normally you swim until your hands are brushing the bottom, as that is much faster than walking in waist-deep water. Wow. Looks like everyone else was as beat up and tired of swimming as I was! Ok, I'll start walking too. It gave me time to pull the wetsuit down to my waist, and I can pee while walking, just not while swimming. Hooray! I joined the mass of walking, peeing swimmers, and happily made my way to shore.

Paula's swim started 30 minutes after mine, so I expected her to finish maybe 15 minutes after I did. I was concerned about her the entire swim, because these were unusually horrid conditions, and she's not used to that kind of challenge. Shirley met me at the shore, and I mentioned to her that I was worried. It was a quarter of a mile to transition, and once again it was clear this had been a tough one, not part of my imagination. Ordinarily in a race, people are running to get to their bikes and get out on the road. Not this time. Almost no one was bothering to run; they were walking and taking their time. One woman said, "I've done an Ironman, and that was the hardest thing I've ever done." Another normally swam that distance in 36 minutes, yet here she was getting out of the water with me after an hour and four minutes. Yikes. I normally take about 45 minutes.

Swim time: 1:04:14 [15-20 minutes slower than usual]

T1

Just as I was about to leave on the bike, Paula came up and told me she had been pulled. She was in good company. There were two people with her on the boat who had completed multiple Ironmans, and they were calling it a day. While disappointed for her, I wasn't surprised (it was THAT bad), and was able to relax, knowing she was ok. [She later told me that between the late start and the currents, people were out there longer than expected - no surprise. However, the ferry was coming, and they were worried people might get pulled under, so they hauled swimmers out of the water until it passed. They were given the option to get back in the water and continue, but most packed it in for the day.] Between the very long trek back to the bike and chatting with Paula to make sure she was ok, I had the world's longest T1 time, over ten minutes. Oh well, really not going to matter when I hit the finish line. Time to enjoy the bike.

The Bike

This was the third time I had ridden my new bike, but I felt comfortable that it would be fine, since I'd done 64 miles on it the previous weekend. Still, I wasn't completely sure how I'd feel in a race situation by mile 56. As it happened, I thoroughly enjoyed the bike course. It was beautiful, green, mostly good roads, some nice winding sections, and rollers that were just enough to make it challenging but not particularly hard. While not especially fast, I fell in love with the bike as I was passing people going up hills...and wasn't exhausting myself. Since the day had already started with a slow swim and slow transition, I decided to experiment and see how I felt if I didn't stop until the last aid station at mile 38. At that point I stopped long enough to stand up, take some water, and transfer the last of my protein/carb drink to the front bottle on the bike, where it's easy to access. Felt ok, but probably should stop and stand up every 20 miles or so. I think I wouldn't slow down quite as much near the end and would make up for any rest time.

The best part of the bike was around mile 50, when I passed some younger guy (wearing an uber-expensive aero helmet and using expensive wheels), going up a hill. And didn't see him again. Hehehe all that expensive gear didn't prevent him from being chicked by someone close to 20 years older. That made the last six miles fly by. Happily got off the bike after 56 miles, and left for the run.

Bike time: 3:26:24 [about the same as usual, maybe +10 minutes]

The Run

Ah, the joy of being a BOP-er (back of the packer)...start the run in the heat of the day. Nothing new there, I'm used to that. The run was hillier than advertised, but was fine. Thankfully there weren't too many stretches without shade, and the support was phenomenal. Wet sponges at some stations, ice and gels at most, and very supportive and enthusiastic volunteers at all of them. It was a two-loop course that made it easy to find your peeps near the end, and it was nice to see Paula and Shirley as I came through both times. I stopped and chatted with Paula for a minute, making sure she was ok with how her day had ended. She was disappointed but ok, so I could relax again for the second loop. It was very spectator-friendly, and the finish was noisy and supportive. I did my usual walk/trudge combo, and was definitely slower due to the heat, but still managed to pass quite a few people along the way. One woman and I kept leap-frogging each other and laughing about it. I knew I liked her when she passed me at an aid station around mile 12, shook her head, and said, "Oh holy shit!", referring to the heat. My sentiments exactly.

Paula joined me at the entrance to the finisher chute, and ran with me to the finish. Was handed a nice cold wet towel and an enormous medal. What a nice way to finish a long hot day!

Run time: 2:38:37 [~10 minutes slower than usual]

Total race time: 7:22:18 [anything under 7:00 is a gift, so not bad]

Post-Race

Got cleaned up, had a lamb burger and a beer, then relaxed for a couple of hours. We did an evening "ghost walk" at Colonial Williamsburg that night and thoroughly enjoyed it. Monday we walked ourselves silly at Busch Gardens, and managed to ride almost every coaster there before the heat/stomachs made us stop. This was an excellent venue for a destination race, and I truly hope they can get the swim issues worked out. This has the potential to be a truly kick-butt event.

The Race That Almost Wasn't, Toughman Indiana 2013

My first half-iron of the season happened to fall the day after a massive line of tornadoes stormed across Oklahoma and Missouri. This same system was expected to hit Indiana right about race start-time. Driving to the race site that day, lightning was visible on the horizon at 5:30am. At 6:15am, radar was still showing a scary red line approaching. The race was due to start at 7am, and it was NOT looking promising. The best anyone was hoping for was that it would become a duathlon, with a short run replacing the swim leg. What most were expecting was complete cancellation.

At 6:30am, after everyone was set up in transition, a ten-minute torrential downpour had many of us thinking we likely weren't going to be doing the race at all. All night, the weather pattern had been torrential rain followed by truly nasty weather, including hail, lightning, and yes, tornadoes. Several of us were beginning to think we really were being stupid for contemplating being outside at all, simply for our own safety's sake.

The rain passed quickly, after leaving large puddles in the transition area, and the sky actually appeared to be...can it be...lighter! The scary dark clouds broke apart and moved away quickly, and it looked like it was just going to be a typical rainy day. The race was on! And we were going to swim!

The swim was in a small reservoir, basically down to one end and back. The water temp was 73, so wetsuit-legal but not numbingly cold. It turned out to be quite pleasant. The really fast people (who actually have a chance at winning this thing) went out in a mass start at 7:00am, then the rest of us lined up to go in one-by-one. It was self-seeding, so I put myself near the back in the "swim like a rock" group. I don't mind being last out of the water -- it means I don't get kicked or punched as much. And besides, someone's gotta be last.

I actually wasn't the last out, but pretty close. Given that I have been following the Happel-hardly-ever-do-a-serious-swim-workout plan, I did ok. I made it about halfway before the bum shoulder started complaining. It was tweaking, and explicitly letting me know that if I continued to reach and didn't remember to keep my elbow high, it would quite likely dislocate. This isn't a fun thing to have happen in water, and has the potential to really slow down the swim. Ok ok, I get it. Shorten the stroke on that side, pay more attention to the elbow. Got it. 1.2 miles in 47 minutes is typical, so I was satisfied with that.

It was easy to find my bike, since there were only three or four bikes left in transition. Took my time, wrung out my socks, and got ready for the next three hours. Was pleased to later find that my T1 time was 3:00. Felt like 5:00. I'll take it!

The bike course was very nice, not nearly has hilly as advertised. There were nice rollers that were just hard enough to make it challenging, but not a suckfest. The course was two loops, and around mile 45 (on the second loop), I discovered that bonus that often awaits us slower competitors: a ferocious headwind. This part of the course had not been windy the first time through, but this time...wow. It really slowed me down, even more than my world's-longest-ever-pee-stop in loop 1 (have you ever peed so long you got bored?). However, I was encouraged by the fact that I was actually able to catch and pass three people in the worst of the headwinds, and just kept plugging along. I finally passed #57 for the last time and managed to finish just slightly ahead of her. (We played leapfrog for the entire bike and run.) Finished the bike in 3:25:08, slower than I had hoped, but feeling strong.

T2 was uneventful but leisurely. Chatted with Paula while I changed (she had finished her sprint tri earlier that day), and headed out for the run. Once again I was surprised that I was only in there for 2:28. A long time, but not bad when you're not paying any particular attention to how fast you're moving! By now the streets had totally dried off, and the sun was starting to peek out. Quite a change from the dire predictions of a few hours earlier.

The run was also a two-loop course, and most of it was quite pretty. I did my usual walk/jog combo, played leapfrog with #57 again until the final pass around mile 10 or 11, and managed to pass quite a few other people...always good for the confidence. Ran through the finish at 2:28:28, a decent time for me even without riding 56 miles first. Total race time was 6:46:17, which is quite good for me. I'm thrilled with anything under 7 hours. This was half-iron number 8-and-a-half (Muncie last year was shortened due to heat), and this was my third time to beat 7 hours -- a successful day!

Won my age group. Helps when I'm the only one in my age group. In the photo above, I'm asking why they gave me an empty pint glass...they forgot the beer.

Nutrition

This was an experiment in nutrition, and it worked.

• Breakfast was a 20g protein bar. I had brought some Greek yogurt/honey, but in the downpour/lightning/are-we-swimming? confusion, I forgot to eat it at the race site. I did eat a banana in the car while we were watching it rain.
• Sucked down a gel after the swim. It was nasty. I think it was Gu Roctane. Yuck.
• On the bike I had two water bottles with Infinit Go Far, a ready-made carb/protein mix that has more protein than the usual race fuel. I drank both bottles, and didn't take anything else at the aid stations.
• Had a gel before leaving on the run, and three more on the course. Took mostly Gatorade and poured the water over my head/shoulders.

Conclusion: I have successfully weaned myself off of being so dependent on the carb fuels, and can do ok even when I screw up and forget to eat something. Good information to know. I remembered the yogurt while I was on the bike. If I had eaten it pre-race, I probably would not have had quite so many gels on the run, but I didn't want to get behind on my fuel and bonk. Better safe than sorry. Overall I felt fine, and didn't feel anything other than the usual tiredness. Had gas in the tank, had a strong finish, felt fine afterwards, absolutely no soreness the next day. Works for me!

Prologue

Sunday we went for a fundraising bike ride, the Junebug Ride. My bike totally self-destructed at mile 15.87, thankfully while I was going fairly slow (~15mph) and on a quiet road with no traffic. I was going up a small incline, tried to shift up, and heard an awful grinding noise. Heard another grinding noise, and was stopped dead, struggling to get my feet free. Paula was in front of me and was completely confused at what she was hearing behind her (there were some choice words in addition to the grinding noises). Was fully prepared to fall over when I finally got one foot free...almost fell over before getting the other free, but managed to remain standing. Turned around to see what the heck was going on and was stunned. The rear derailleur sheared completely off the bike, massively fouled the chain, and jammed itself into my rear wheel, locking it up. It was quite impressive.

I was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude that this hadn't happened a mere 20 miles earlier, during Saturday's race. There were a couple of hills that I really bombed down, probably around 35mph, and if that had happened then, it could have been catastrophic. No helmet in the world would have helped me. I was incredibly fortunate it happened when and where it did.

Dropped the bike off at a local shop, where the mechanics gathered around to ooh and aaah at it. Apparently this happens, but not frequently. While I hadn't snapped any spokes, it did ruin the wheel for anything but for use on a trainer. It may still snap spokes, but at least I won't fall. Since the bike had other issues that I was living with, this was a perfect excuse to give up on it and replace it with a new one. Monday I went for a nice ride on the new one, and am anxious to ride it in a race!

One-Third of the Indiana Trail 50

I hate quitting. It makes me cringe to see "DNF" next to my name. But sometimes things get the better of me, and I have to quit. This time it was the epically bad conditions that proved to be tougher than I was.

The Indiana Trail 50/100 was both a 50- and 100-mile race, consisting of a 16.67-mile loop. Us 50-milers were to do it three times, the 100-milers six times. This was my first attempt at a 50-miler, and was advertised as a fast, relatively easy course. Perfect! My running partner, Jayne, had called several months ago, asking if I would run this with her. It was her first attempt as well. We are really good at pacing each other over longer distances, so this was an ideal way to tackle our first 50. She's good company too, and that really helps the time and miles pass quickly.

The race was on a Saturday. Wednesday, I was still feeling positive and optimistic about it, and was looking forward to finishing my first 50, despite several days' worth of rain. After all, it had been dry for a couple of days, the water was draining, and the race directors were still reporting reasonably decent course conditions. It was forecast to be sunny and cool-ish, with highs in the 40's. Some mud, but that's to be expected, especially in early spring in Indiana. Good conditions for an ultra.

Then Thursday came...with another several inches of rain, bringing the week's total to six inches. Uh oh. This could be an issue. At least it's going to be reasonably nice on Saturday, right?

Friday night we learned that the race directors had been out on the course all day, frantically trying to find detours around the worst of the flooding and filling in the smaller ponds and mud troughs with mulch. They had been doing this all week, after each rain. Their intent was to have a good trail run, not a mud fest. They did everything possible to try to mitigate truly awful conditions.

Saturday morning, we checked out of the motel and walked to our cars at 4:30am...in the middle of a snow storm. On April 20th. Are you serious?? And it was a lovely 33 degrees, with a stiff northerly wind. Got some coffee and oatmeal from McDonalds and headed to the race start, about 45 minutes away. We were both struggling to remain optimistic about completing the entire 50 miles, and acknowledged that we might only complete one 16.67-mile loop. This had definitely deteriorated into a long training run, just to see how far we could go. We were late to the start anyway, and crossed the timing mats at 13:15 after everyone else had already started. Oh well, it's a chip time, so it didn't matter.

Our strategy was to go slower than we thought we really needed to, to conserve energy. The only way to make it such a long distance is to back off from the start, and walk up any hills. We figured we could speed up later if we felt like we had the energy. Besides, we wanted to check out the course.

We both were able to laugh when we hit the first mid-shin-deep large body of water around mile two. Oh joy. Slogged through it, thought, "This isn't as bad as I expected," and continued. We had a break for several miles, and in some spots the trail was actually quite nice. Enjoyed a nice sunrise and were grateful for shelter from the very bitter wind, until we came to a section that was higher up on a hill. Yikes that wind was cold! (I found out later that the wind chill was 20 degrees.) Got to the first aid station around mile 4.3 in 58 minutes, and were pleased with how things were going. The feet had dried out and were happy.

After discussing how far we might get before the fastest runners lapped us, we were shocked to actually catch up to some people. We'd both figured we'd be mostly alone all day, given our late start and our relatively slow pace. We steadily caught up to and passed folks for the rest of the loop, which helped boost morale (ours, anyway).

Things were tolerable until after mile 9 or so, after the second aid station. Even the mud hadn't been too awful...yet. For the next 5.5 miles we alternated between wading through frigid water, slogging through ankle-deep mud, and bushwhacking around yet more large bodies of water. We had been making good time until we hit a patch of several miles where it simply wasn't possible to run: the mud was sucking my shoes off my heels, the water was muddy and you couldn't see the bottom to know if it was flat or not, and there were thorny branches in the bushwhack detours. At times it was easier to just go through the water than to deal with the mud. As soon as the feet started to dry and warm up, there was another patch of water. Each ice bath made the toes hurt with cold, then they'd warm up after a few steps. The 10-yard long ponds weren't too bad, but the longer ones were downright painful. Got to the third aid station at mile 14, quickly grabbed some fig newtons and a mini-peanut-butter sandwich, and got going again.

Despite all this, we both still felt pretty good at mile 15, and I think we were both entertaining thoughts that we might actually complete this thing. Almost one loop done, two more to go. And we were on pace to finish it in daylight, averaging about 4-4.15 miles an hour. Great!

As we were going up another hill around mile 16, the cold finally caught up to both of us. The legs started feeling like lead, and it wasn't due to lack of food, it was from the cold. Jayne said what I was thinking, "Wonder how many people have already bailed?" Hmmmm. We were exposed to the cold wind again, our feet were wet (and would never be dry again until we finished), and we had to face that mess two more times.

After four hours and 15 minutes, we completed loop one and immediately headed for the aid tent and tried to warm up and decide what to do. We both agreed that we could do one more loop, but I just couldn't wrap my head around doing it twice more. I was able to fool myself that I wasn't really that cold while we were moving, but the instant I stopped, the chill set in. I was still willing to do a second loop until I made the mistake of standing in front of a high-powered heater. That's when I realized exactly how cold I really was. People were dropping out fairly regularly, and I overheard a few 100-mile runners talking about dropping down to the 50.

We debated some more. The first loop had taken us 4:15. We had burned another 30 minutes warming up...we were only going to slow down, not get faster. We agreed that if we could do two loops then we might as well try for the third, and each one would likely take us five hours. Then the medic said, "Well, you know, you lose your bodyheat 25% faster when you're wet." That nailed it. I just couldn't face the thought of being THAT cold for another ten hours. It also hit home when I saw a clearly very experienced 100-mile runner quit after two laps, with no regret.

So both of us are still looking to complete our first 50, preferably in better conditions. Would I try this race again? Absolutely. The weather was more freaky than anyone could have predicted. The race directors and the volunteers did everything they could to make it tolerable. They had to be miserable standing around in the cold waiting for runners to come through, but were always pleasant, smiling, and helpful. The course was beautiful, and on a normal April 20th would have been quite pleasant.

Some numbers:

• 77/90 50-mile finishers (unknown how many are 100-milers that dropped down to the 50)
• 57/152 100-mile finishers
• Air temp: 33
• Wind chill: 20
• Water: lots of it, deep, very cold
• Snow: yes
• Our time to complete 16.67 miles: 4 hours 15 minutes

Not Ready (or Interested) in Crossfit?

Do the warmup instead. It'll get your heart pumping and only takes 10 minutes or so.

• 50x mountain climbers
• 25x jumping jacks
• 10x burpees
• high knee hugs
• heel to butt
• inverted toe touch
• world's greatest
• 5x walkouts
• figure 4's
• side lunge pivot
• straight leg march
• sprint/back pedal

Workout area is 30 yards long. Do each drill half the distance, then trot the remaining 15 yards (except for the mountain climbers, jumping jacks, and burpees, of course).

mountain climbers	Start in plank position, with one foot up by hands. Switch feet by "running" in plank position.
burpees	Bend over and put hands on floor in front of feet. Kick feet back to plank position. Do a pushup. Kick feet back up to hands and stand.
high knee hugs	Bring knee up to chest and hug it, then release to take a step.
heel to butt	Jog and bring heel up high behind you, trying to touch your butt with your foot.
inverted toe touch	Stand on one leg. Pivot other leg straight back and bend to touch toes with opposite arm.
world's greatest	Combo move. High knee hug into a forward lunge, reach opposite hand to floor, extend other hand to ceiling. Stand up and repeat with other leg.
walkouts	Bend down and place hands on floor in front of toes. Walk hands out into plank position, do a pushup, then walk feet up to meet hands.
figure 4's	Standing on one leg, bring other foot up to cross your knee. With arms extended in front of you, do a partial squat with leg bent over the standing leg.
side lunge pivot	Do a side lunge. While still in the lunge, pivot to face forward and reach for ceiling. Stand up, take a step, repeat.
straight leg march	Walk bringing straight leg up to chest height, touch toes with opposite hand, then bring leg down and take a step.
sprint/back pedal	Sprint 30 yards, return running backwards.

Goofy Challenge 2013

Still need to write up a race report...meanwhile, here's a couple of videos about the experience. By far the worst part was the 3am bus ride to the start, two days in a row!

Day 1, the half marathon

Day 2, the full marathon

Gradations of Sadness

My father is dying.

There, I said it. I'm not saying this to make anyone feel bad or elicit sympathy. I'm just stating a fact. It's the crappy, but expected, part of life. We lose those we love, or they lose us. My father is 90 years old, and his heart is finally failing. I, for one, am incredibly grateful to have had him this long. Given his history of heart problems, the last 35 years have been a gift.

I spent some time with him this past weekend, saying goodbye, enjoying his company and being inspired by his grace. Selfishly, it had not occurred to me that the opportunity to say goodbye would mean as much to him as it did to me. There was lots of smiling and laughing.

On day 2 of my visit, I was shaken out my own emotional drama by some completely unexpected news. The closest friend of one of my dearest, oldest friends had suddenly died, at 54. He apparently suffered a massive heart attack, and was found lying at a bus stop in Chicago. I had met him once, and been completely charmed and won over. He was a very special man, and an integral part of my friend's life.

Any sadness I felt was obliterated by the pain I must imagine my friend experiencing. She is devastated by the sudden, unexpected, untimely loss of her closest friend on the planet. Any sense of pain I feel pales in comparison to what she must be going through. I am truly heartbroken for her.

I'm feeling a gentle tug of sadness, a very slow pulling away of the life force known as my father. It feels right; the impending loss is appropriate. My father has lived a long and happy life, seeing joy all along the way and sharing it with his family. We've been blessed to have him for 90 years, far more than I ever expected. This Daddy's Girl is never going to be ready to lose the love of my life, but it's part of the human existence. While sad, it's very manageable.

In contrast, Romy has had her closest, dearest friend yanked suddenly away from her, with no warning, no time to prepare. His life ended prematurely, before he was done. She has incurred a gaping wound of pain and grief, and is trying to find her way through it. Her sadness is sharp and violent, a swift wrenching loss. I can't begin to imagine the turmoil she is experiencing. I wish I could do something to make it better for her, but I can't. All I can do is let her know I'm here.

I guess the lesson here is that there is perspective in everything. And I am feeling incredibly lucky.

Race Inventory 2012

After surviving my first Ironman last year, I wasn't sure how I was going to top it for this year...so I didn't really try. However, it was still a very good year for racing and improving as a mediocre age-grouper athlete!

Here's the short version.

• 8 half-marathons
• 4 marathons
• 3.5 half-iron triathlons (one was shortened due to weather)
• 1 30-mile trail run
• 4 triathlons of assorted distances (two winter indoor tris not listed below)
• 1 olympic-distance duathlon
• 3 assorted running races

I used one half-marathon as a long recovery walk/jog, and took advantage of the opportunity to walk it with someone dear to me. That was a nice break and a welcome chance to relax.

This year saw my first "double" -- two longer races in two states in one weekend. I survived, and actually had a good time. Saturday was the Mississippi Blues Marathon in Jackson, MS, which turned out to be quite hilly. After the race, I drove to Mobile, AL, and mingled over dinner with a lot of other crazy people who were also doing both races. Sunday morning was the First Light Half/Full Marathon. I opted for the half, but many people were doing another marathon. It was an interesting experience, and I learned a little bit more about pacing and recovery. Much to my relief, AL was also flat.

An enjoyable 15K trail run in March became a bittersweet reminder of how precious life truly is, and how important it is to live in the moment.

My second ultra, a 30-mile trail run in April, resulted in a new friend and running partner. We have plans to try our first 50-miler together next April.

I became more comfortable with the half-iron distance, doing three-and-a-half this year (one, Muncie, was shortened due to extreme heat). Kansas saw winds like I've never experienced combined with some impressive hills. Steelhead felt more like a reunion between old friends, and was a perfect day, if tinged with a hint of sadness. Augusta was a mini-vacation that ended in a personal best and a thoroughly enjoyable visit to a little town in Georgia.

Instead of a full Ironman this year, I tested my ability to recover. In the span of six weeks, I did two half-marathons, a half-iron tri, and a marathon (in that order), took a week off, then did another marathon. I survived unscathed, save for a few hours of aching feet and legs. I consider that a "pass".

Perhaps the most unique marathon of all was the Harpeth Hills Flying Monkey in Nashville, TN. This is a small race (300 or so), completely irreverent, and highly sarcastic. In short, it was loads of fun. It was also quite challenging, with 7500 feet of elevation change crammed into those 26.2 miles. I highly recommend it.

Next up: Starting 2013 with a marathon on New Year's Day. Doesn't get much better!

Below is a more detailed list of the year's events.

Santa Hustle Half Marathon	Dec 16	2:19:47	Indianapolis
Harpeth Hills Flying Monkey Marathon	Nov 18	5:17:01	Nashville TN
Detroit Free Press Marathon	Oct 21	5:10:31	MI
Chicago Marathon	Oct 7	5:07:23	IL
Ironman 70.3 Augusta	Sep 30	6:32:39	Augusta GA
Quad Cities Half Marathon (walked with Paula)	Sep 23	3:45:07	Moline IL/ Davenport IA
USAF Half Marathon	Sep 15	2:14:04	Dayton OH
Ironman 70.3 Steelhead	Aug 19	6:45:59	St. Joseph MI
Eagle Creek Sprint Triathlon	Jul 21	1:26:03	Indianapolis
Buckhead Border Challenge	Jul 15	3:34:24	Jeffersonville IN
Ironman 70.3 Muncie (shortened due to heat)	Jul 7	3:48:01	IN
iChallenge Indy Tri	Jun 24	2:11:11	Indianapolis
TNT Trail Run 10K	Jun 19	1:08:41	Indianapolis
Eagle Creek Sprint Triathlon	Jun 16	1:27:40	Indianapolis
Ironman 70.3 Kansas	Jun 10	7:57:40	Lawrence
Geist Half Marathon	May 19	2:19:03	Fishers IN
Muncie May Duathlon	May 12	3:17:09	IN
Wisconsin Half Marathon	May 6	2:17:37	Kenosha
PA Winona Lake Trail 30 Mile	Apr 14	6:48:53	Warsaw IN
Opossum Creek 10K	Apr 7	1:04:24	Granger TX
North Carolina Half Marathon	Mar 25	2:18:21	Charlotte
DINO trail run 15K	Mar 10	1:39:01	Indianapolis
Rhythm & Blues Half Marathon	Feb 19	2:16:00	Houston TX
Bop to the Top 36-floor Stair Climb (Triple Challenge)	Jan 21	31:28	Indianapolis
First Light Half Marathon	Jan 8	2:28:21	Mobile AL
Mississippi Blues Marathon	Jan 7	5:13:14	Jackson MS