Sharkbait and the Voyage Up Mt. Soledad

The La Jolla Pier to Cove swim was scheduled to start this morning at 0900, which would mean if I started my 1 mile swim in the cove at 0700, I would miss the crowd. I hoped a few people would still be swimming the cove so that I didn't have to swim in the ocean alone.

Now before you go getting bent out of shape that I would consider that in the first place, let me assure you that I'm not entirely ignorant and have some safety measures in place in the event that I have to go solo. I read that a white or yellow swim cap is easier to see in the ocean than a black or silver one, so on open water days, I switch my regular silver cap for a yellow cap. La Jolla Cove has buoys up that mark the swimming lane on either side. I also swim in a wetsuit, which makes me very buoyant. If I get tired, I can just stop and hang out for awhile. My chances of drowning are slim. There is also a lifeguard tower at the cove and I'm assuming they watch the swimmers in the swim lane. I don't know what time they staff the tower though. Oops.

So the question really becomes, am I more likely to get eaten by a sea creature if I'm alone than if I'm with other people? I really don't know the answer to that, although I do know that when I'm alone I'm far more likely to freak out when something touches my leg or splashes close to me. When you're out in a big, dark ocean, maybe a quarter mile from shore, everything seems more scary than it probably needs to be.

When I got to the cove, a few people were getting ready to get in, including one young, smug whippersnapper who was apparently filming himself for a YouTube video or something. Not many people were there, so they were either doing the Pier to Cove swim, or not coming in that day because of the Pier to Cove swim (or avoiding the large surf).

The surf was indeed larger than the last time I swam (last weekend) but there were lulls in the swells long enough to make it out safely. I donned my wetsuit and meandered down the steps. My friends from last week were not there, so I'd be going it alone which I was not thrilled about.

I put my toes in the water and watched the surf come in. I questioned my ability to avoid getting thrown into the rocks. When I noticed a break in the set, I waded in. Then another set came in. My goggles fogged up. The sky was gray, the ocean was dark. I let the set come in and watched to be sure I wasn't getting pushed towards the rocks. A new group waited on shore to get in.

Suddenly they were swimming past me. Using them as a courage booster, I followed them out. I stuck behind them for awhile, grateful for the company, even if they didn't really know I was there. I stayed a respectful distance back, since I didn't know them. Then when I was out of the murky water and into the calm, I stopped, wiped the fog off the inside of my goggles, and looked around. I picked a dip in the mountain on the other side of Scripps Pier to use as my sight line. I noticed the group in front of me was staying on the left side of the large swim lane. I wondered if they were going to the pier. I veered slightly right and aimed for the quarter mile buoy. I wonder if falling off the back of this group makes me look like the injured or weaker animal of the pack. I'm surely going to be eaten now.

I saw something to my left when I took a breath. I stopped and looked around. There was nothing there. I continued swimming. I saw it again. I stopped and looked around again. The goggles I wore today allowed a little more peripheral vision than the pair I wore last week. I must be seeing the splash from my kick, that's all. I continued swimming. Stay calm, don't let your thoughts get the best of you.

I looked up and sighted the buoy again. It was scary out there alone. I wondered if I should turn around at the quarter mile buoy instead of the half mile buoy like I had planned. Just keep swimming....

I made it to the quarter mile buoy and stopped to look around again. There really was no one out there. The gray was ominous. Just your imagination. Your mind is your worst enemy. Anyway, what are the chances that you'll be attacked by anything?

I continued swimming, trying not to pay attention to the shadows below me. I considered what it would be like to suddenly be mauled by a shark... or anything else for that matter. I imagined the fear and helplessness. Really Carrie... I shook off the thought and focused on smoothing out my stroke and practicing my sighting (which sucks by the way). 

Pretty sure something is really swimming around me. It's following me. I sat up again, took off my goggles and looked around. See, there's nothing there. I sat and let the waves bob me up and down. Everything was still and quiet. And then something definitely surfaced and went back under about 20 feet from me. Oh my god! That was definitely a sea creature! It knows I'm here! It's following me!

I tried to keep myself from panicking. I mean really, what can you do out there? You can't just get out of the water. And would it really help if you could see what was coming after you? Maybe. I saw a documentary where these guys were in the water with a great white shark and as long as they didn't turn their backs on it, the shark kept its distance.... circling of course. Waiting for them to turn around. I'm going to be eaten for sure!

I looked towards the half mile buoy and wondered if I should turn around. Really? You're fine. Knock it off. You're paranoid. Nobody else is getting eaten out here. ... That's because no one else is swimming alone. 

That's not entirely true. Plenty of people swim alone out here. I've seen them. I'm guessing they aren't as paranoid as I am.

I put my face back in the water and focused on long smooth strokes. I looked forward occasionally to see if I was still swimming in a straight line (probably not).

I reached the half mile buoy, thankful for having yet to be blindsided by a vicious sea creature. I still had a half mile return trip to go.

Panic really is a hard thing not to give in to. It probably helps that I've got a healthy dose of logic coupled with resignation. I know I'm stuck out there until I swim back, and when there's really nothing you can do to avoid getting eaten, there's really no sense in panicking. I've taught myself to resign to the suffering that comes with training and racing, and I think it has moved over into my psychological well-being. Panicking was not going to save me or keep me from being mauled. I just had to resign to the fact that I was a visitor in someone else's home, and if it was my day to get eaten, well, there was nothing I could do about it.

I aimed for the quarter mile buoy, put my head in, and focused on smooth strokes. Breathing on both sides. Sighting ahead.

Ooh! People!! Other people!!

I spotted a group treading water near the quarter mile buoy. As I got closer, I sat up and took my goggles off. One of the guys stared over at me, probably wondering what my deal was. I just wanted to be near these people, soak in the comfort that a group brings into uncertain situations. They were going the opposite way I was, sighting their line to the buoy. The guy continued to stare at me. He thinks you're weird. He's wondering if you're injured or about to drown. Better move on. 

I put my goggles back on and sighted to shore. I put my face in.

Oh god there's stuff down there!!!

Of course there is, John told you it was shallow here and that you can see the bottom. 

Suddenly I passed way too close to a long strand of kelp rising up from the bottom. My heart seized. I pushed away the panic.

Don't sharks sense the electrical pulses of your heart? Can't they tell when you're panicked or scared or hurt? Calm down. Cool your jets.

I tried to calm myself as much as possible. As I neared the cove, the water got murkier, stirred up by the waves and the surge. Chunks of kelp were everywhere.

Well now that a shark can't tell the difference between you and one of these sea lions swimming around...

I was getting close enough that I needed to start watching the surf. My goggles were so fogged up it was hard to see the waves coming. I wiped off the fog and noticed a group of people had gathered on shore.

Please don't die right now, that would be embarrassing.

I put my face back in, smoothed out my stroke, and started breathing more often to the right in order to watch the surf. As I approached the surf break, I noticed a lifeguard in the water with his red life buoy. Is he coming after me? This is embarrassing.

I turned and faced the surf. I dove under the waves as they towered over me, letting them flow down my back. When there was a break in the swell, I hauled butt back to shore, looking behind me every few seconds to be certain I wasn't about to get crushed.

After getting inside of the wave break, I noticed the lifeguards had hauled out two guys. I'm pretty sure one was the smug selfie dude that I saw earlier. I wonder what their problem was. Probably the surge. People who can't swim well can get pulled out into the cove and then you have to move with the surge to get back out. I'm guessing they panic instead of moving with it.

I relaxed with my legs up and let the surge push me to shore. When I felt a push, I worked towards shore. When I felt a pull, I just waited. My feet touched bottom and the surge pushed again. I staggered out onto the sand.

People stared as I emerged from the water. I don't know, maybe I had kelp on my cap. I pulled off my wetsuit and showered off, changed into my bike clothes and pulled my bike off the jeep. I took one last bathroom break, clipped in, then headed along the shoreline for a short but hilly ride.

I was happy to pass a few people on the way up the hill, though I had been out of gears for awhile. I noticed that when I tilted my pelvis back just slightly, I was able to provide more force to the pedals.

Finally, I pulled into the lot at the top of Mount Soledad.

The marine layer was still hanging on a little, so the view of La Jolla isn't entirely clear, but you can see Scripps Pier, barely. Somewhere to the left of the photo is La Jolla Cove.

The trip back down was steep and fast. I took a little different route on the way down than I had on the way up. It wasn't long before I was pulling back into the cove behind my jeep. It was nice to be done.

Fathers

Sometimes we just need our dads.

My dad was always great with advice: thoughtful, usually as unbiased as possible, and always recommending the path with the most integrity, honesty, and compassion. When he disagreed with a choice I made, he usually kept his opinions to himself. But I could tell by his facial expression, his tone when he asked me questions, his body language.

As I grew older, I watched the way he watched me when I made a decision. When I refused to speak with my mother. When I was out late with a male friend. When I made a certain career choice. I watched his facial expression, listened for his sigh.

Subconsciously or not, I was always seeking my father's approval. I always cared what my dad thought, even if I acted like I didn't. I could tell whether or not I had earned his approval.

I have my own self-doubts just like everyone else in this world. Sometimes I feel I look too masculine, I'm not curvy enough, my face is too hairy, my jaw too square. I have a lower abdominal pooch (like most women). I'm independent, stubborn, cranky.

After a couple of conversations tonight, I drove home thinking that my independence and strength (both physical and emotional) is a turn-off to men, which may be why I'm single. I need to be softer, more needy. I need to not be able to do things by myself. Fix things, carry things, make things. And I began to wonder what sort of change in me I would need to make to become more attractive to men. I began to wonder how I could become less of myself in order for someone else to feel more comfortable. To like me more. To approve of me.

But I like myself. I like being independent. I like being able to carry heavy things: physically and emotionally. I like being able to fix things. I like knowing that I am aggressive enough to hold my own when a grown man comes after me when I'm walking alone. I like knowing that even if there is no one else around, I will be able to take care of myself.

I like being comfortable with traveling alone. I like that I charge forward into unfamiliar things, even when I'm scared. I like that I'm brave.

I like that I'm smart.

I like that my body is healthy. It does great things. Amazing things. And every time I do something new, or do something better than I've done before, I love the feeling of accomplishment. Of being able to surprise myself even after all these years I've spent with me.

I will never be perfect, as much as I battle with that. I will never be able to meet everyone's expectations. And when it really comes down to it, I would rather be alone than try to change myself so that someone else might like me.

I like me. I think I often forget that that's what's important. That I never have to say that I shrank to fit inside someone else's box.

And I came home searching for advice, wondering who to talk to who would tell me what I wanted to hear.

It occurred to me, that I don't need to hear anything from anyone else. I have my own opinions for me. My own advice for me. As tough as it is to follow sometimes.

And so I pulled up a quote that fit my opinion the best, and I read it to myself a few times, to let it really sink in.

 (Michael E. Reid)

When I read it, I saw my dad's hands. The image of my dad's hands is so vivid in my mind, I will never forget them. His callouses, dry knuckles, the bright white spots on his fingernails.

My dad did not have a problem with me playing football on the boy's freshman team. He did not think I should be less independent. As a matter of fact, he would not stand for me driving a car without knowing how to change a tire, change a radiator hose, he even made me help rebuild the engine of my Plymouth Laser. Twice. I learned how to change the brakes, drain and change the oil. I learned how to paint, spackle, sand, build. I learned how to re-roof the house, trim roses, re-varnish a hard wood floor.

I learned how to drive a manual transmission, pitch a tent, start a fire, carry a heavy backpack for camping. I learned how to shoot a bow, fire a gun. I did everything the boys did, not because I asked to, but because he made no distinction between what boys do and what girls do. I would not own a vehicle without learning to fix it. I would not live under his roof without helping with house repairs and yard work.

My dad taught me that if I don't know how to do something, I look it up and figure it out. I don't wait around for someone else to do it for me. My dad did not teach me how to be a man, my dad taught me how to be independent. Maybe that's viewed as manliness by some. But I'm also well aware that my dad always saw me as his little girl. He worried. He cried over me a couple times. More than I know, I'm sure.

My dad had no problem carrying the weight of his little girl. I'm pretty sure I felt weightless to my dad, like he could carry me forever without growing tired. I was never too much woman for my dad, I was never too strong or too independent for my dad. Maybe some times my dad worried about me one day not needing him (like most parents do), but I don't think he ever worried about his position in my life. He never needed to. He would always be the most important person in my life regardless of how strong and independent I became.

And if ever a man comes into my life that has a problem with my independence and strength- my muscular stature, my square jaw, my stubbornness; he will either need to grow bigger hands or get his walking shoes on. Because I've seen it done. I am not too heavy to handle. I am not that hard to love. My strength does not limit my capacity to love or be loved. As a matter of fact, it enhances it.

I do not ever need to become less of anything, to make someone else more comfortable.

The Aftermath

Sigh. This is how it all starts. I don't even know if I have words for this, but I'm going to try.

I'm in the aftermath of my first triathlon. In the aftermath of big events (marathons, weddings, final exams, etc) we often have a period of elation, let down, and mourning. There's this big to-do, and then suddenly everything just goes back to normal.

The day of the triathlon, after it was over of course, I felt an amazing elation. That was awesome! However, after having run a few marathons, and still remembering the pain from the first one, I can approach this a little more objectively. That actually kinda sucked.

Let's go back to my very first marathon. Back in 2003. I got injured training, on my longest run of 15 miles. A month or so later, Debbie (curse her) called me and asked if I wanted to run it anyway. Sure, why not. We managed an 8 mile run a couple weeks before the marathon.

A marathon is 26.2 miles. An 8 mile run is a mere smudge on the course map.

Needless to say, it was awful. It truly sucked. But we finished, and we didn't die. I vowed to never run another mile for as long as I lived.

Two days later I was doing a search for my next marathon.

Why? I really can't be sure. I've never been able to figure that out. So I've done 5 marathons and I've gotten a bit faster.

I was a swimmer for years, a runner for years, I can pedal a bike for some time before being engulfed in despair. So why not a triathlon?

Two days ago I did my first triathlon. A sprint triathlon. I'm wondering if two days is a magic number here. It's a drug. Except during, you're thinking, oh my god this is miserable, why am I doing this? And after, That was amazing, I totally didn't suck (because I actually didn't this time, unlike my first marathon). 

Then you analyze the results and realize that the girl who pummeled you going into the swim finish, was first in the swim, and you were behind her by only 4 seconds! And she probably pummeled you on purpose because she's used to winning and somehow had the wherewithal to notice that you were wearing the same color cap and were ahead of her.

And it turns out you rocked the run, even though you couldn't feel your legs.

Ok,so your bike kinda sucked, but hey, you didn't crash.

And that's how it starts.

I went for a swim today (in a heated pool) to calm my nerves. I'm in San Diego awaiting resolution of some contract issues with my internship, so I've got some time on my hands (and have been slacking on my thesis).

First of all.... the water was soooo warm!!! There were no icebergs. It was awesome. I wore no wetsuit. And I didn't die.

But as I swam my laps, I considered what it would take to improve my triathlon. First, I would need to learn to swim in the ocean. Which actually might only take getting in and doing a warm-up ahead of time to adjust. After the first 100 meters or so in the race, I calmed down and did a little better. My bike needs improvement. It's also my least favorite and the one I least want to work on. My run is just going to have to take care of itself (it was actually my strongest leg, rank-wise).

So I decided if I just continue my half marathon and marathon training (half in November, full in January), and then work on my swimming and cycling, I could make big improvements in my triathlon. Oh yeah, and the transitions. Whatever.

Hmmm, so basically you're going to do triathlon training now.... Ugh. No! No, I do not want to do triathlon training. I want to do fast runs. And maybe swim. Somehow the bike is less exciting than it used to be. Maybe I'm still recovering mentally from my century ride that turned into something more like 120 miles. Just over a year ago.

But if my bike got better, I could do some awesome triathlons.

The guy in the lane next to me said I really should do something longer like the Olympic distance or Half distance.

For the past 48 hours, I've been looking into the available triathlons going on around me. First of all, lets take a little look at the available distances.

Olympic is doable.

There's a half at the end of July here. So I would run a half marathon... after swimming 1.2 miles and biking 56 miles. Umm..... holy goodness.

There's an Olympic distance in Santa Cruz in September. Maybe I'll focus on that.

So... swimming. I was basically born fish. Little did I know I was born to be a fish in a fish tank. I've got mixed feelings about this whole ocean swim thing. I did just order the "Open Water Swimming Manual" by Lynne Cox (author and athlete of "Swimming to Antarctica" a HIGHLY recommended read, for anyone).

I did well on the swim. But I cannot tell you how badly that swim sucked. I almost died. I almost drowned. I almost vomited whilst swimming. It was scary, uncomfortable, cold, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, there were legs and arms and kelp. And lifeguards, so there's that. So how well I did on the swim did not reflect how awful it was. Kinda weird. Kinda fascinating. Kinda mysterious.

The ocean is mysterious. It's frightening and large and powerful. It's got creatures and cold and darkness. It's beautiful and horrifying at the same time.

But I swam in it. (And didn't die) And I swam well in it. Which is weird considering I almost died.

I don't even know why I'm talking about the swim other than it scares the bejeezus out of me. My bike is what I need to work on. Hrm.

But I think the swim allowed me to visit my roots. To swim without signing up for the swim meet, where I would be far behind the age-groupers. My body remembered what to do. When I finally stopped hyperventilating, my stroke became smooth and fluid.

Maybe triathlons aren't so bad after all....

This is just trouble.

My First Tri!

There it is folks. After spending the first half of my life as a swimmer, the second half (so far) as a runner, and having dabbled in riding my bike great distances, I have finally put them all together into one event. I did a triathlon.

Not all triathlons are Ironmans. People confuse those a lot. Much like running a marathon. Marathons are always the same distance. Ironmans are always the same distance. If they aren't, they're called something else. Like half marathons.

This event was in Pacific Grove down by Monterey. It was cold and drizzly. The announcer said the water was 58 degrees. It felt like 40.

I can't say I did a ton of prep for this race. This was a sprint triathlon: 1/4 mile swim, 12.4 mile bike, and 2 mile run. I love how people say "oh a two mile run for a marathoner is nothing". Ha ha ha. Frowny face.

But I have been maintaining my running. I even ran 3 miles the other day without socks to make sure it could be done. I did not practice my transitions, and other than taking it off at the sporting goods store, I did not practice getting out of my wetsuit. I visualized it though. I even messed around with the zipper while waiting for the swim to start so that I knew how to quickly unzip as I ran up the stairs from the cove.

I did not practice a flying mount or dismount on my bike.

I did not take note of the course or how many laps of what needed to be done.

I read some articles, visited some tri forums, bought a decent but cheap outfit that could be worn for all three parts, including under my wetsuit. I knew how to set up my bike and running shoes to make for a quick entry and exit. For the shoes anyway.

I showed up at the triathlon super early, got good parking, collected my race packet, and wandered into the transition area. I racked my bike where I found my number, then looked around at entry and exit points. Thankfully they were clearly marked. Although that would shortly not matter after confusion took hold.

I walked around and checked out the sights. There was a good drizzle coming down and the water looked cold. I saw a sea otter which was a good sign that there was not a great white shark in the vicinity.

I set up my transition area as cleverly as possible while scrutinizing everyone else's to make sure I was doing it right. I pulled over a referee and asked about bike dismount rules. I met my friend Amy and her husband Joe and we shared our nervousness. Well not Joe. He didn't seem nervous. And it was Amy's second time.

We went down to the start area by the water. People were in the water "warming up". I stuck my feet in and immediately backed out. The water was so cold it hurt my feet. Amy was sitting in it up to her chest.

"Does that help?" I asked.

"I think so?" She looked doubtful. She also looked cold. Other people were swimming around. Logically I knew a warm-up would help but I was pretty sure getting in would invoke hypothermia and I wanted to put that off as long as possible.

We were in wave 5. As we watched the other waves go, I realized I had to pee really bad. I tried jumping in the water and going right before my wave start, but the water was so cold that my bladder just shut down. I jumped back out and we got in line. My goggles fogged up. I decided to just watch the girl in front of me.

The announcer counted down. We were off. We ran awkwardly to the water and when the girl in front of me dove in, so did I.

My chest seized up immediately. I was trying to breathe every other stroke and only half a lungful of air would come in. I swallowed water. I gasped for air. I tried to watch where I was going. I swam frantically. I needed air. It was so cold. I swallowed air in a desperate attempt to breathe without water getting in. I tried to relax, smooth out my stroke. I swallowed more water, then more air. I wasn't feeling good.

By the time I turned at the first buoy, I was starting to calm down a little. I felt seaweed get caught up on my ankle. I tried to ignore the kelp forest I was swimming in and over. A girl tickled my toes. As we rounded the second buoy, the girl started running me over. Of all the room in the ocean, this girl had to swim on top of me.

I sighted to shore and saw I was headed toward the rocks. With the girl on my left, I tried pushing her over. She swam right over my head. I veered left of the rocks to steer clear of the pier. I still hadn't peed. There was no way I'd make it the rest of the race if I didn't go. I stopped kicking and tried to relax. Finally I was able to go. Just as I reached shore, I started to heave badly. All that water and air I had swallowed was going to make me vomit, and here I was just trying to suck air out of a mouthful of water.

Just keep swimming....

I wondered if I could vomit without stopping. I heaved a few more times. Lifeguards shouted directions I couldn't understand. I swam until the girl in front of me stood up. We wobbled towards the stairs. I fumbled for my zipper.

I was so disoriented that I couldn't wrap my head around what I was trying to do. How much of this suit should I get off as I try to run to the transition zone? Running itself was difficult as I was pretty wobbly and couldn't run a straight line.

I got an arm out, then another. I found my transition area and peeled off the wetsuit. As I bent my head down to get the suit off my legs, I got really dizzy and started to fall backwards. In order to keep myself from falling, I staggered back. And back. And back. I ended up ten feet from my area with my wetsuit still around my ankles. I could hardly stand.

I shuffled back to my stuff and managed to get my suit off. I tossed it in a pile, pulled on my helmet and sunglasses, slipped my wet, sandy feet into my bike shoes, buckled them up, grabbed my bike, and ran off toward the big sign that said "Bike Out". A guy shouted and pointed and waved a flag at where we were supposed to mount. Being a complete newbie, I had to stop completely to clip in. But then I was off.

The drizzle made it nearly impossible to see through my glasses, the wind made it nearly impossible to go without. I wondered if it was safe for me to be on a bike. I still felt nauseous and dizzy. I occasionally saw crash victims, and one fast looking guy fall over on the turn around. I tried to sip water without upsetting my stomach further.

As I came back on another crash victim, I wondered what we were crashing about. Should I be paying attention to something? I couldn't see anything, I was completely disoriented, and all I could do was follow the trail of bikes.

I found myself back at transition with an option for "Bike Finish" or..., I don't know...not bike finish. I asked the guy as I rolled in to the "not bike finish" how many laps I had to do. I thought he said three. This was a super long bike ride. Like 50 miles or something. With drizzle and a head wind and all I was wearing was a pair of wet bike shorts and a wet tank top.

I had been told that the bike route was gorgeous. On lap two, I started looking around through the water and fog on my glasses. Yeah, I can see that. It would probably be really pretty if I could actually see something.

My stomach felt better, I tried for some more water. I already had to pee again. I rode up to a girl who looked like she knew what she was doing.

"Hey, excuse me. Do we have to do two laps or three?"

She laughed. "Just two. Don't worry, you're almost done."

"Ok thanks" I said and passed her by. I managed a GU, and realized my hands were totally numb. I tucked the trash back into my shirt pocket and pushed for the "Bike Finish". I saw a girl in front of me start to pull her feet out of her shoes. I had read about this. Your shoes are clipped into the pedals. The deal is you want to get off the bike and running through transition as quickly as possible. So if you pull your feet out of your shoes and keep pedaling on top of them, it's faster and easier dismount. It's also easier to run.

I considered trying it. I thought about my options. There was a large number of spectators by the bike dismount area. I would totally crash if I messed that up. And in my current state, I would most likely mess that up. I decided to dismount as normal. Which meant coming to a complete stop in front of everyone. At least I remained mostly upright. I was running crooked as I entered transition, but still up.

I racked my bike, stripped off my bike shoes, removed my helmet and glasses (couldn't see a damn thing by this point anyway) and slipped my feet into my running shoes. I cinched the new lace lock system (no tying) and strapped my race number belt around my waist. I was off again.

In the wrong direction. Maybe. I started to circle back, changed my mind, headed toward "Run Out". Nice people were there with flags waving me in the direction I needed to go.

I couldn't feel my legs. I couldn't feel my feet. I think I felt a cramp in my side. The girl in front of me shouted to her spectator friend "Hey! Do you have a hair tie?!" She pulled over to grab it. I passed her. Behind me I heard her shout "I can't feel my legs!". Oh good, this is normal.

What is 2 miles to a marathoner? It's like the last two miles of a damn marathon is what it is.

The only reason I knew my feet were still somewhat working was because they were thumping loudly on the path. I felt I had no control over them. My back ached. I passed up the first water stop. I charged on.

A mile is a long way. It really is.

I came upon the finish line stretching off to the left, and "Lap 1" off to the right. I followed the path to right, persistently wondering if I was doing the right thing. The entire race I felt dazed and confused. The entire race I kept wondering if I was completely messing up.

One more mile to go.

I took the water this time.

I totally forgot how to drink water and run. As a matter of fact, I forgot how to grab water from a volunteer holding it out in front of you. I almost stopped. The coordination and thought process wasn't there. He seemed baffled. I felt baffled. I managed to grab the cup, pinch the top shut, snort some up my nose, get a couple drinks, and toss it in the trash can. I passed Joe and he shouted encouragement. I yelled something back. I was on auto pilot.

Up and around the corner. I approached the Y again. Left to Finish, right to "Lap 1". I was not Lap 1. I was Finish. I ran over blue mats. I heard my name called over the loud speaker. I crossed the finish line.

A little girl greeted me with a medal. I didn't know how to take it. I finally bent over and let her put it around my neck. I thanked her. A guy with a little stool crouched waiting for me. He was going to take the tag from my ankle. I imagined I was supposed to put my foot up on that stool (it was like 4 inches high). I imagined the trauma that was going to cause. I laughed. I don't know what I said but I somehow let him take my tag without falling over.

A kid approached me with a cup of gatorade and a cup of water. "Gatorade or water?" He asked.

"Um, how about both?"

He gave me a funny look and handed them over. I wobbled off out of the finish area.

I cheered people on until I got cold and had to get back to Transition to get my sweatshirt. I found food on the way back and cheered on Joe and Amy with their family. We took photos, took hot showers, and had a nice lunch.

For as rough as my swim was, it was actually a really decent time. Maybe because it was so cold that I was swimming faster, who knows. The bike results are up, and mine are ok. The run and second transition are not up yet. My first transition was not as terrible as I thought it would be given the trouble I had. Still not great. The second transition had to have been better. I'm curious about the run time. I had no reference point.


Amy asks if I'll do another. Thinking about that swim makes me cringe. Actually, thinking about any of it makes me cringe. Kinda how my first marathon was.

No rest for the wicked

It's about 5 days until I head down to San Diego for a two month internship and I'm fairly certain I'm not prepared. I just woke up from a two hour nap and may not make it out of bed again today.

I ran a half marathon on Sunday and dropped 6 minutes off my best time. It was a tough run but well worth the pain. I was looking forward to a relaxing Monday.

Then I got a text message Monday morning that we were being ordered up for a fire and how soon could I be on campus? I made some phone calls, packed up my stuff, and we arrived at Los Padres National Forest just in time for the overhead briefing. Apparently someone thought we were overhead because we were hustled into it seconds before they started.

We checked in at camp, then headed out to the fire. It was dark before we made it to our spot, we launched a weather balloon and set the LiDAR to run through the night. After meeting with Division and Night Ops, we leaned back in our seats and tried to catch a couple hours of sleep. In the morning, we launched another balloon, fished through our sack lunches, then followed the engines out towards camp.

Day was when we were supposed to be sleeping. But we were not sleeping. We didn't do much of anything except meet with people and drive around, but the fire was out so we started demob at 7pm. It was suggested that we head over to Fort Hunter Liggett for a fire they just broke that could go 4,000 acres. We were due in San Jose for a training fire briefing at 0700 but figured we could swing into the next fire before making the two hour drive home.

We hung out a bit long at the FHL fire and didn't leave until 10 pm. We got into San Jose just after midnight and tossed everything from the back of the truck into the back seat. We weren't dealing with anything that night. We were operating on only a few hours sleep and we weren't done yet.

In the shower, I glanced down at my watch. It said it was Wednesday.

Wednesday?!! It can't be Wednesday!! That means tomorrow is Thursday and I've got stuff to do on Thursday! Where did Wednesday go?!

It occurred to me that the numbers on the time started with zero... which meant it was midnight and change...which was why it was Wednesday. Tomorrow was Wednesday and now we've moved into tomorrow. So right now was Wednesday and tomorrow was Wednesday and it would be Wednesday for the next 24 hours.

I needed to go to bed.

At 0600, my alarm went off. I crawled out of bed and forced a cup of coffee down. I ate a bowl of oatmeal, got dressed, and rushed off to campus to head out to the training fire.

No one was there.

I opened up my phone to text Chris and realized he had texted me.

"Did you get the email about Grant Ranch?"

Ugh.

"No."

I pulled up my email. They had broken a fire yesterday, the training fire was canceled, could we make it to the real fire? Briefing was at 7.

I texted Chris back to ask if we were going to the fire. He didn't respond. After sitting for 5 minutes, I sent my advisor a text. He didn't respond. I tried calling Chris, it went straight to voicemail. I gave it a few minutes and tried calling my advisor. It also went straight to voicemail. What the hell are those guys doing? I was too tired for this nonsense. Two cups of coffee had done nothing to clear the cobwebs and my agitation was increasing.

Chris called back. His phone hadn't rung. The fire was only 120 acres and was 30% contained. The current RH was 81%. We decided not to head to the fire, but Chris was on his way to help unload the truck.

I made it back home by 11 am. After having only 7-8 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours, I knocked out easily. And woke up two hours later. I dreamed my friend tried to comfort me by loaning me her kitten.

I have a triathlon on Sunday and have to work in San Diego on Wednesday. I'll head down there either on Monday or Tuesday, depending on how prepared I am Sunday night. I'm too tired at the moment to figure out what all needs to be accomplished.... and I'm also too tired to accomplish anything. I just finished my second cup of coffee since waking up from my nap and I'm not sure if it has helped at all. I'm still sitting up in bed. The thought of getting dressed, getting my contacts back in, and "doing stuff" is still a bit much to bear.

Family

Many years ago, I cut a number of my relatives out of my life. When people asked about my family and learned what I had done, I got a lot of grief about it. Many people admonished me and told me how important family was. Those people generally did not know what those family members had put me through.

"It doesn't matter, they're still family".

For years I wondered. And for years I built up a new family around me. Some family I had been born into, some I had been (not legally-- or illegally for that matter) adopted into, some were friends that became more than friends (family), some were unofficial "step-family". But all family.

And as the years went on, I realized how incredibly important family really is. But I think a lot of people don't realize that family is not necessarily those that share a bloodline or genetic traits. Family consists of those who build you up, support you, love you, teach you, learn from you, and deserve your love, support, and attention in return. Family does not tear you down, poison your soul, nor feed on you like wolves.

Yes, you do choose your family. And your health and well being depend on you making very wise choices with who you decide are your family. Even in the most recent years, my family has grown. Even in the past couple of days, my family has grown. Every day I am more and more aware of the truly beautiful people I have in my life. It is honestly stunning and breathtaking.

It can also be heartbreaking.

Maybe it's my age. Maybe it's my life experiences. Maybe it's the wisdom of people around me. But I am more and more aware of the very finite nature of life. Even as I enjoy the company and laughter of my loved ones, I consider how quickly that can all be taken away. And I am instantly grateful that I am there, sharing that moment, trying to hold on to every second of the experience.

My family has taught me this. My family has taught me that the things we view as "little things" are not so little at all. Showing up to a birthday, wedding, graduation; meeting for coffee or lunch, a phone call, a letter. Those are big things. Those are important things.

Do I have any regrets or remorse about cutting out certain family members from my life? Absolutely not. Clearing out that wasted space made room for some incredibly beautiful relationships that I will cherish for as long as I live. Because they are family.

Take the time to be with your family, whatever that family may be. And do not feel obligated to hold on to "family" that does not brighten your soul.