Meanwhile, since I was finally healed of my running ailments and was once again able to run relatively well, I wanted to do the half marathon. I hadn’t run a standalone half marathon since Eugene in May 2010, and since I had only been running strong for 2 1/2 months, I didn’t really have many expectations going into the Seattle half. It’s a tough, hilly course that isn’t typically PR-friendly, so although I was hoping to run 1:45 or better (my previous best was a 1:46:46), I figured I’d be satisfied with a sub-1:50.

Jason, meanwhile, was hoping to finally have a “good” marathon (his words), as he usually ends up cramping towards the end and has to compromise speed for the last few miles due to his size. This time he’d be racing 40 lbs lighter and with a ton of mileage under his belt, plus he figured the cooler temperatures would mean he’d be less likely to cramp, so he was excited and nervous for Sunday to roll around.

On Saturday we did our customary “Ugh, I’m feeling so tired ahhhh why does my foot hurt oh god I’m getting sick aren’t I man this race is not going to go well” freak outs and lazed around the house hydrating and acting like hypochondriacs. We also agonized over what to wear for the race. Naturally, since the weather had been relatively mild for the past few years, weather forecasts called for supremely shitty weather on race day because we were unlucky enough to sign up for the race this year (no joke, I was watching the news and the meteorologist actually said Sunday was going to be “sucky”). It was projected to be warmer than usual temperature-wise, but it looked like we’d have to battle rain and wind, so Jason and I were scratching our heads and putting way too much effort into what to wear:

• Underarmour shirt and a long-sleeved shirt with tights and gloves!
• Wait, no, just an underarmour shirt and a t-shirt with a pair of shorts
• Well hold on a second, what about a long-sleeved shirt and shorts
• No, tights and a t-shirt!
• Or I could do tights, pants, underarmour, long-sleeved, gloves, a hat, a parka, a hazmat suit, ski pants…

This went on for about an hour before I ultimately muttered “Fuck it, I’ll just figure it out tomorrow when I’m half-awake” and we went to bed.

The next morning we woke up at 5:45 and ate breakfast (I got my “race day” coffee, something I haven’t ingested since July’s Rev 3 triathlon). I went with the uber-dweeb getup of tights, run shorts, an underarmour shirt, and a TN Multisports t-shirt and also packed a cheap pair of gloves to wear. I grabbed my fuel and some dry clothes to put on after I was done because the genius organizers decided to start the half marathoners at 7:30 and the marathoners at 8:15, so I’d have to wait around for 2+ hours after my race for Jason to be done and didn’t want to freeze my now-smaller ass off while waiting.

We left the house at about 6:45, and I made it about twelve blocks from our place before uttering “Fuck me, I forgot my watch.”

Jason: “What?”

Me: “I forgot my watch!” I had just bought a Garmin Forerunner 305 from one of my teammates and had planned to race with it, but naturally I left it at home because I’m a dumb-ass.

Jason: “So you have the heart rate strap on but not your watch?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Jason:

Sorry, Jas

Me: “I have to turn around and get it.”

Jas: “You’re going to be late to the race!”

Me: “No way, I can make it!”

Jason: “You don’t really need your watch for the race, do you?”

I just glared at him. Okay, maybe I was getting a bit too dependent on heart rate zones and whatnot, but seeing as how Teresa actually gave me a target heart rate to run at for the entire race, I figured I was being a good athlete and following coach’s orders rather than acting like a spazzy control freak. Also, I was being a spazzy control freak. But screw you, I wanted my watch.

Jason, sighing: “Okay, you better make it quick.”

And so I busted a U-wee and sped back to our place. Jason hopped out and grabbed the watch for me while I sat behind the wheel like a getaway driver. After that little misstep, we proceeded to get as close to the race as possible. Once we got stuck in traffic on Denny, I pulled into a pay lot and figured that five bucks for all-day parking would be fine considering I only had 20 minutes before the half marathon started, so I couldn’t exactly be picky with parking options.

Unfortunately, Problem #2 took the opportunity to rear its inconsiderate little head: the pay stall credit card kiosk wasn’t working. I only had a dollar on me and didn’t have time to run somewhere and get cash, so I scrawled the most ghetto apology note imaginable and placed it on my dashboard, prayed to the Parking Gods that I wouldn’t get a ticket, and took off for the race start.

When we got close enough to the start line, Jason gave me a hug and a kiss like a parent seeing his child off to her first day of school. I not-remotely-gracefully hopped the barricade between the spectators and the runners so I wouldn’t have to go all the way around and fight my way towards the front. As luck would have it, the first person I ran into was Kirsten, one of my teammates. I was happy to see a familiar face and chatted with her as the minutes ticked down.

When the gun went off I woefully realized Problem #3: I had to go #1. It was probably a “Nervous Race Day Pee for the 352nd Time” pee, but still, the bladder felt full and I was uncomfortable. Of course, I didn’t want to stop at the first portapotty a sad five minutes into the race, so I gritted my teeth and kept telling myself that the full bladder sensation would fuel me to run faster. “You’ll get to pee when you finish!”, I kept mentally barking at myself.

The weather was awfully muggy, so I ditched my cheapo gloves after the first mile and rolled up my sleeves, lamenting my choice of attire. I gradually built myself up to my target heart rate zone and was surprised to find that, unlike my training runs where it felt like I had to work pretty hard to maintain zone 4, on race day I was able to hit it relatively easily and maintained it well. I took my splits every mile and gawked at how fast each one was. Should I slow down? This wasn’t sustainable, right? But I was feeling fine. Good, in fact. So should I just keep running in this zone and see where it takes me?

I ultimately decided to stay in the zone Teresa originally assigned me and hoped for the best. By mile 5 my full bladder sensation subsided into a dull whimper, and once I hit the Leschi part of the course I felt confident because I had run this stretch of the race so many times while training so it felt familiar and comfortable. I saw a bunch of my teammates spectating and cheering for me and our other teammates who were racing, which made me grin like a dope and wave like a giddy child. (Best team ever. Seriously. End of discussion.)

The hills came and went and I maneuvered through them comfortably. They didn’t feel too bad–chalk it up to living in Capitol Hill and running on hilly terrain multiple times a week. My climbing pace wasn’t fast but it was steady, leaving me some energy to descend faster than the folks around me. I puttered up the heart rate-spiking Galer hill and onto Madison, where I spotted Teresa ahead of me. Her energy levels were starting to dip due to an adverse reaction from one of her treatment shots, so I was able to catch up to her and smack her on her skinny butt. She glanced up and beamed when she saw it was me, exclaiming, “Great job!” What an awesome coach–she’s not feeling well but still cares enough about her athletes to muster up a smile and some encouraging words for us. My heart soared and I pushed on, going from feeling great to feeling super-duper great.

I powered through the Arboretum, up Interlaken, and down through Eastlake. The weather had started to turn and it was raining and getting windy now. I uncursed myself for my choice of race attire and soldiered on, gawking at my mile splits.

The look on my face when I'd check my splits

How was I running this fast? I don’t run this fast! I’m the mediocre runner! I’m the cheese at track! I’ve been injured all season! I’ve only been running for a couple months! What is going on here?!

At mile 11 I came up to a female who noticed me and kept doing the dickheaded “edge you out so you can’t run alongside me or pass me” move. It was annoying, and so was her squeaky shoe. I ran right behind her for a mile before dropping her on a descent, when she couldn’t keep up with my powerful Asian stubs. Take that, chick who arbitrarily started a rivalry with me even though I don’t know her at all and don’t care if she beats me because I’m just trying to run my best race without worrying about what anyone else is doing!

The weather was getting pretty damn ugly by this point, but I was close to the finish so I buried my head, kept wiping the rain off my face, and powered through as best I can. I ran into Mark at one corner and he said, “A quarter mile to go, attack that descent!” I got super excited. Only a quarter mile left? I could finish in 1:40! Holy crap! So I ran and ran and ran and ran…but when I hit the “26 mile” sign, I mentally cursed Mark for being off with his distance estimate. I still had .2 miles to go! Quarter mile, my ass! Oh well, so I wasn’t going to finish in 1:40, but I was still going to post a hefty PR.

I rounded the last bend and began to enter the stadium. Jason’s dad spotted me and started shouting excitedly. I grinned and waved and approached the finish…and then I heard super fast, heavy footsteps behind me and saw Random Rival, who rallied to try and edge me out one last time. It’s called a chip time, lady–we ended up finishing at the exact same time on the clock, but her chip time was half a minute better so she would have beat me even if she didn’t sprint like a doosh at the end. I didn’t care though because I had just PR’d on a hard course on an ugly day, after a season of injury, hardships, and doubt.

Final time: 1:41:15. I couldn’t believe it. Sure, I was slimmer, healthier, and had been running stronger as of late, but I had long written off my 2011 season as being a craptacular disappointment, so to end the year with such a marked improvement felt a bit foreign and strange. I shook off the initial shock and embraced my hard-earned finish time. It felt good to be back in action.

I snapped some unattractive photos with my teammates who were pouring in (I never noticed how bulbous my forehead looked until I posed with people who were all wearing hats while my fat melon remained exposed and shiny in all its Charlie Brown-shaped glory), then made my way to a portapotty to reward my bladder for its patience with a much-earned evacuation. I then wrapped myself up in a space blanket like a giant sweaty burrito and shivered my way back to the car so I could change into dry clothes.

My string of good luck continued when I realized I hadn’t received a parking ticket, so after the most awkward wardrobe change ever (picture a sweaty athlete struggling to conservatively change her pants in the backseat of a Subaru as the car shakes and fills with steam–to anyone walking past the pay lot on the corner of Denny and Aurora, no, that was not a couple getting it on, it was just a fidgeting female who was struggling to yank on dry socks while simultaneously shaking off a foot cramp), I ran to a nearby Walgreens, got some cash, and paid for my parking spot. Success! This must be what the Ocean’s 11 crew felt like.

After chugging a chocolate milk, I made my way back to the race to wait for Jason to finish. I caught up with Mark and Teresa and hung out inside a warm cafe until we forced ourselves to go back outside. The weather had gotten ridiculous by this point–when it wasn’t pouring, winds were gusting so hard that umbrellas were getting turned inside out and the spectators were becoming frozen blocks.

Eventually we saw Jason powering down the street approaching the finish. I was super excited to see him–he looked strong, albeit wet and cold. Teresa and I started cheering like maniacs and he lit up when he saw us. He asked how my race went and Teresa chirped, “She did great!,” then was all “Awwww, how sweet, he asked how you did before he was even done with his race!” Yeah, that’s right, my boyfriend is a stud who’s all caring and cool and whatnot. You know you’re jelly.

He finished in 3:20:16, a whopping 16 minutes faster than his previous best. Yaay, finally Jason gets his “good” marathon!

Me (and my bitchin' shark mittens) with a 3:20 runnin' Jas and his proud papa

We waited for his sister to finish before getting the eff out of the cold and back to the warm confines of the still-steamy-from-Becca’s-wardrobe-change Subaru. The rest of our day consisted of hot showers, a fireplace, homemade pumpkin pie courtesy of Alley and our “Pie of the Month” agreement, and gooey, calorie-licious pizza. We’re both nursing sore legs today but are very happy with our finish times.

My next goal is to do a sub-1:40 (which I might have done if I were on a flatter course), but I’m not sure when my next half marathon will be since I’ll be fully committed to Ironman training now that the race is over. I wanted to do a marathon this winter but Coach T would rather I focus on my Ironman training, so my elusive sub-4 will have to wait a while longer. If she can coach me to a PR marathon for Ironman Canada, I’ll find some way to forgive her… ;) Until then, I’m content to enjoy my half marathon PR for another day before the training picks up again and I’m whimpering for mercy. There’s always another race around the corner, right folks?

I checked my workout schedule and saw that Teresa assigned me a 2,000 yd swim or the option of swimming with the group at Greenlake. I wasn’t thrilled with either choice, but no matter how many times I closed my eyes and opened them, expecting the workout to change to “Eat a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake — hard effort!”, the stupid swim workout never went away.

Jason, being the annoying training partner that he is, was all “Herp derp let’s go to the group swim!” I wasn’t crapping myself with glee at the thought of yanking on my wetsuit and trudging into water that was marginally warmer (56 degrees) than the air temperature (54 degrees), but I figured I’d have to get in the lake eventually, and since I want to improve my swimming, it’s a necessary evil.

It was raining when we arrived at Greenlake, and my teammates and I made futile attempts to shield our dry clothes from the precipitation. I pulled on my wetsuit and, anticipating how cold the water was, yanked on a thermal swimcap in addition to a regular cap. The water didn’t feel quite as cold as I thought it would be, but it was still a bit of a shock to the system.

Jas and I took off with our friends Brent and Jes. I made my way to the second orange buoy from the shore, huffing and puffing the entire way and stopping a couple times to catch my breath. By the time I made it to the buoy, it felt like I had been swimming forever. I looked at my watch. Three minutes and nine seconds. Son of a bitch.

Jason and Brent opted to swim across the lake and do the full mile, but since my first open water swim of the season is always spectacularly awful, I headed back to shore with Jes. It felt hard to breathe, like the chin strap from the thermal cap was restricting me. We went out to the buoy again, and when I got there I flagged down Thomas and his son, who were in a canoe keeping an eye on those of us who were foolish enough to be swimming that day.

Me: “Can I give you my thermal cap?”

Thomas, joking: “Man, you’re that warm?”

I yanked off my goggles, then my regular swim cap, then my thermal cap and handed it over to him. His son, meanwhile, offered some tough love to Jes.

Declan: “Want a swim noodle?”

Jes, politely: “Uh, sure!”

Declan handed her the noodle, then said in a grave tone, “You have to give it back,” as if Jes figured he was gifting it to her permanently. We all laughed and they paddled away. I felt better not having the too-tight thermal cap choking me (although, weirdly enough, I swam with it fine when I raced Boise last year; I know I’ve gained weight since last season, but I didn’t think it was all chin weight).

Then I realized something: it’s pretty damn difficult to put on a swim cap when treading in deep water. I was kicking my legs to stay afloat and attempting to yank the cap on with two hands, but my frantic efforts were unsuccessful. I looked so pathetic and useless that Jes, having taken pity on the sorry, sad sight before her, asked, “Want me to hold you?” I nodded like a little kid who had just been offered a lollipop if he’ll stop crying. She got behind me and stabilized me by holding my hips with each hand.

Then poor Jes realized that she was having problems staying afloat because now both of her arms were occupied. She warned me that I had about “ten seconds” before she was going to drop me and I’d plunge down the murky, pee-filled depths of Greenlake. Feeling the 24-like urgency, I yanked down once, twice, thrice before my fourth spazzy attempt was successful. Sure, most of my hair was hanging out the back like some sort of unfortunate swimmer’s mullet, but at least my cap was back in its rightful place.

We swam back to shore, my swim confidence officially obliterated. I checked my watch to see how long my epic return to open water swimming had lasted. A whopping fifteen minutes, during which I successfully managed to swallow a hearty mouthful of Greenlake’s finest. As I got out to try and salvage my once-dry clothes that were now soggy and rain-soaked, the wind picked up and it started pouring. The rain turned to hail, and we all waddle-ran to our cars, our wetsuits half-undone and our wet clothes bundled up in our arms. This swim, like all of my first open water swims of the year, was a big fat failure. Here’s hoping the next one isn’t quite so gloriously terrible.

No running, unfortunately, means that Teresa has taken this opportunity to remind me that I haven’t swam (swum? Swum looks weird) since Ironman Canada, so that fast little bastard has started adding swim workouts to my training schedule. Boooooo. Just when I was starting to begrudgingly psyche myself up and promise myself that I was going to work hard on my swimming this season by hitting all my pool workouts and not skipping any open water swims, my friend Mr. Oatmeal posted a link to this charming piece of news on my Facebook wall:

“More than one million gallons of raw sewage backed up into Lake Washington over the weekend.

The sewer system in Medina was unable to handle all the rainfall from the storm, causing raw sewage to back up into peoples’ homes and into the lake.”

Oh, great. That should really get me excited to dive into the lake for some long swim workouts this spring. There’s nothing like practicing bilateral breathing while some kid’s pet goldfish rides a turd right past you.

R.I.P. Leslie!

Nonetheless, it’s Seattle, and you gotta put up with some shitty weather if you want to stick to your running regime and are absolutely useless on a treadmill (sentiments I’ll reserve for another post). On Friday I HTFU’d and yanked on the running tights + long-sleeved shirt to trudge through a quick 3 1/2 mile run through Capitol Hill. Not only was it raining, as usual, but the temperature had dropped to balls freezingly cold (if I had any, that is).

As I was running up the shoulderless and sidewalk-challenged Interlaken hill in my black running clothes, I cursed the Pacific Northwest for turning apocalypticly dark at 4 pm in the fall and winter. The last thing a driver heading up the windy road will see is my minorly crooked white teeth as my mouth pulls back into a horrific grimace while my stubby body bounces off the windshield. With my dying breath I’d utter “Damn you…Seattle…Nirvana…is…overrated…uaghhhhh.”

When I was about two blocks from home, my right foot slipped on a wet, pulpy pile of soggy decaying leaves, and my ankle promptly rolled while I windmill arm’d and jazz-handed myself back upright. Naturally, this display of grace occurred at a busy 4-way intersection that not only contained a line of cars, but happened to have a bus stop full of people who caught my America’s Got Talent live audition tape. Now I get to nurse tendinitis, Achilles tightness, and a stiff ankle.

On Sunday, I was lured to the morning group run with promises of a post-workout brunch that was kind of crappy due to Surly Goth Waitress and a sub-par biscuits and gravy with an order of poached eggs that somehow translated to “hard boiled” back in the kitchen. When I woke up that morning and checked the weather to see how I was supposed to dress for my 8 mile run, I saw “37″ sneering back at me from my iPhone. Since I don’t own a snowsuit or a Bubble Boy-esque insulated hamster wheel, I resorted to wearing two long-sleeved shirts, a jacket, running tights, a pair of shorts, and a cheapy pair of gloves. By the time I finished my workout and attempted to inconspicuously peel my freezing sweat-soaked sports bra off without flashing my chesticles to everyone in Leschi, it had already started to snow.

Today it’s 30 degrees and still snowing, and tomorrow’s forecast calls for a low of 16, a number I previously attributed to the “and Pregnant” variety, not an actual temperature. However, most of us don’t have the pleasure of living in sunny California or humid Florida (and even if we did, we’d have to deal with training in choking heat and the chance of sunstroke/dehydration). Despite its wonky and oftentimes depressing weather, I love living in Seattle. Training here is just another one of the many mental challenges associated with preparing for endurance events. If I can put up with freezing mountain conditions, searing desert heat, slick leafy roads, multiple windstorms, and pouring rain, I’ll be a more confident, headstrong, stronger athlete…even if I do look like a sausage in running tights.

I woke up at 5:30 am and de-groggied as best I could before meeting my swim group at Madison beach at 6:15. The previous several days had been very warm and sunny in Seattle, so naturally the morning of the swim was gray, windy, and chilly. The Weather Gods seriously hate me. When we drove across 520 towards the swim start, we could see the wind whipping the water up against the floating bridge. Of course. The first time I do this stupid race, Lake Washington decides to release the Kraken and try to drown me. This is why I hate swimming.

We arrived at Medina and picked up our packets, then watched the wind swirl the chop up so it was nice and terrifying. Docks were swinging, swimmers were chattering and shivering, and I stared across the lake convinced that the shoreline across from me was getting further and further away.

Me looking like a paunchy old Asian man asking Sara if we really need to do this

There were four waves of swimmers distinguished by their swim caps: Fast, Less Fast, Respectable, and You Swim Like a Toddler with Raptor Arms (also known as the Pink wave). Naturally, Teresa stuck me in the slow wave because she wasn’t certain I’d even be out of the water by the time Ironman Canada started.

Slow in the water, but fast and fierce eaters

The event itself started at 7:30, but since I was going last I got to watch a multitude of athletes crawl into the water and promptly get bitch-slapped by the waves. I killed time by trying to look bad-ass in my wetsuit that gives me the illusion of having muscle definition:

It didn't work

Eventually it was our turn to climb into Lake Washingmachine. I lucked out since I breathe to my right and the chop was coming from the left, but that was the extent of my good fortune. The first half hour or so went decently — I swam fairly well with my group and sighted off our kayaker since I couldn’t see anything remotely sightable on the other side of the lake.

Soon enough, however, I stopped thinking, “Hey, this isn’t so bad” and returned to my regularly scheduled “I hate this shit, this sucks so hard” mindset. I thought about how warm and cozy Jason was still sleeping in bed (all you have to do to get out of Swim for Life is launch yourself 30 feet off your bike) and cursed Teresa for encouraging me to do this. (I tend to curse her a lot when it comes to swimming-related activities. When will the day come where I curse her for buying me a giant delicious cake?)

To make matters worse, the chop kicked up and I’d often find myself plunging my left hand into air as a wave would pick me up and toss me around like a rag doll. Even breathing to the right didn’t help much after a while — there’d be rotations where I’d try to breathe and end up catching a flood of water. Even worse than that was the fact that the kayak seemed to instantly disappear, leaving me with nothing to sight off. I’d look up and see the kayak, swim three strokes, and then look up again and see that the stupid thing had drifted like a mile away. I was still too far away from the shore to be able to see the condos prominently, so I just gave up and swam in a general direction, hoping for the best.

At one point I popped up to see where I was at, and while I was dutifully estimating how much further I needed to go, some kayaker from another group ran right into me. He apologized a million times while I tried not to get pulled underneath him. I just sighed, shoved away from the kayak, and resumed swimming. This swim was the suck.

After what seemed like several hours, two things happened: first, I finally spotted shore and was able to make out both the condo landmark and a bunch of people on the beach. Secondly, out of nowhere I started craving an English muffin with peanut butter on it. Fueled by ravenous hunger and the overwhelming desire to get the hell out of the water, I pushed on.

Unfortunately, simply spotting the beach didn’t insta-warp me to shore. I swear that from the time I spotted the crowd of swimmers who had finished the swim to the time I actually got there, I mysteriously swam an extra 4 miles despite the fact that the distance was only 2.5. It took FOREVER. I was so frustrated that I wouldn’t exhale in the water so much as force the air out of my lungs with a guttural scream.

I never felt so happy to hit the milfoil that grows close to shore. That tangly feathered nastiness was such a relief, and I dragged my frustrated, half-drowned ass onto the sandy beach. I took roughly two steps ashore before someone sneak-took my photo, paparazzi-style. I have no recollection of this whatsoever:

What Batman would look like if he were more Asian and could barely swim

I ran into Kirsten, my swimming buddy, who had also just finished. As I followed her to retrieve our gear bags from the kayak, I stopped to hoark a giant phlemmy loog in a horrifically un-feminine way. Kirsten smiled politely as I bashfully muttered something about how swimming makes me mucousy. I hung around long enough to steal a giant apple, then ducked out so I could go home and tell Jason how he missed such a joyous swim.

After the race, I received an email from the Swim for Life organizer that started off with this gem:

“In the middle of the night, five hours before the start of this year’s swim, the floating dock at Medina was rocking so violently in 40 mph wind that its two ends alternated being completely and loudly submerged. Not surprisingly, even though the wind had abated a bit by 7:30 AM, we still had our choppiest swim in 13 years and had more swimmers than usual requesting to get pulled from the water.”

My swim time was about 10 minutes slower than where I wanted it to be, but considering the conditions, I guess I didn’t do too bad. Hopefully things will go more smoothly in Canada — I guess if I can swim 2 1/2 miles in rough, ugly chop, I should be able to bust out 2.4 in a much calmer lake while drafting behind hundreds of athletes.

Traveling to the Race
As per usual, Jas and I loaded an obscene amount of gear and fuel into the Subaru and trekked across I-90 at a glacial pace thanks to various construction areas and generally crappy traffic. We stopped in Yakima (the self-proclaimed “Palm Springs of Eastern Washington,” which means that either Palm Springs is a total dump or the entire town of Yakima is severely delusional) for lunch, and when I checked my email I noticed a message from someone who reads the Mediocre Athlete blog and had signed up to race Boise this year. Hooray, another fan! Pretty soon I’ll be autographing people’s gu packets and reading celebrity gossip about myself (“Rebecca Kelley Caught Skipping Workouts, Pigs Out Instead”).

We continued on for a while before stopping to get gas. When I got out of the car, I was nearly blown over by strong gusts of wind. It was at this point where I thought, “Hey, this sucks…I hope this wind dies down before the race.” [Insert ominous foreshadowing here]

Pre-Race Preparations
We rolled into town and checked into our hotel. The next day we stopped at a bike shop so Jason could get his front brake wire replaced (he noticed it was out of commission during our drive over and had a momentary freakout until we got it fixed), then headed over to the Expo Hall to pick up our packets. We got ushered from section to section until I got corralled over to a volunteer to confirm medical details. When I looked at the printout of my information, I started laughing. A couple months ago, when I had signed up for the race through Active.com, I quickly grew irritated by the incessant onslaught of required questions I had to answer before submitting my race entry. As a result, I filled out some silly and stupid answers that I had forgotten about until I was asked to review my race information:

I like how my jokey answer is juxtaposed with the serious response to the “medical allergies” question. The best part is that the volunteer who reviewed my sign up sheet didn’t even notice.

Finally I got ushered over to pick up my race packet and was given my participant’s t-shirt. The upside was that this year we got an actual performance shirt, whereas last year we were simply given a cotton tee. Unfortunately, the race organizers must have ordered this year’s shirts in child sizes. My size small shirt would have comfortably fit a ten-year old but looked decidedly less flattering on someone with my adult stature.

A bit tight for my taste (notice the full-on cling in the jelly roll midsection area)

My "fat guy in a little coat" impression

After we picked up our stuff, we headed to T1 to drop off our bikes and to meet our teammates for a swim. Race officials wouldn’t let us swim in the reservoir, so we resorted to practicing in the park area below the race start. It was cold, but I rocked the thermal cap and was able to get in a decent pre-race swim.

Yes, I'm the only one with my eyes closed. Go figure.

After meeting with the group, we headed back to the hotel, grabbed dinner, and prepped for the big race by organizing everything we were going to need.

Sugary goodness for the race

Race Day
I got a good night’s sleep and felt pretty confident about the race. We grabbed breakfast and I was able to eat more than I did last year. I had some stomach issues but didn’t hoark up any foamy vomit, so that’s an improvement over last year. We headed over to T2 and set up our run gear, then hopped on a bus to get shuttled over to T1, having learned from last year that it’s better to take the shuttle bus (even though they shamelessly charge athletes $8 to ride it) instead of relying on Jason’s dad to try and navigate through multiple closed streets and drop us off at the race start seven minutes before transition closes, as we had done last year.

We arrived at the race start with plenty of time to spare, so we set up our transition area and hung around in what little shade we could find. It was a warm, sunny day with a slight wind (notice how I say “slight” at this point since it’s only 11 am and the race doesn’t start until 2).

Seeking refuge in the shade of a giant truck. (Don't ask me why one of my pant legs is rolled up -- I'm guessing it's a pathetic gang sign or I was just being dumb)

My bike at T1. I managed to score a sweet end spot on the rack.

This year we had to put up with a “clean” transition, meaning we weren’t allowed to have anything laid out of our assigned transition bags. This was a considerable change from last year, where we were allowed to lay out our shoes and other items and just had to make sure that we didn’t leave anything out before taking off from T1. The modification meant that athletes were going to have to dig in their bags for their shoes, helmet, and glasses, and would then have to shove all of their swim gear inside before leaving. It was going to slow people down a little bit for sure.

Another big change was a new USAT rule stating that you couldn’t have your bike shoes already clipped into your cleats at transition — now you have to run out of transition already wearing your cycling shoes. One of the athletes racked near me complained to several volunteers and anyone else with ears standing near her about this rule change. I later checked her finish time and saw that she took first in our age group, so clearly it didn’t slow her down that much.

It’s Go Time
As with last year, I was in one of the later waves. The race started at 2:00 but I wasn’t scheduled to go until 2:30ish, and Jason was once again in the last wave at 2:45. I stood around baking in my wetsuit, my feet burning on the hot pavement, watching wave after wave take off and start the race. As I waited, the wind started to get stronger and stronger. Much like last year, I had the distinct pleasure of watching helplessly as the weather slowly but surely turned to shit, only this year it wasn’t a rain and hailstorm and frigid temperatures that we athletes would have to endure, but goddamn wind gusts. Joy!

Swim Summary
By the time my wave got into the water, I was so hot from waiting around in a neoprene sausage casing that the cold water felt pretty good. We started swimming and I felt pretty strong swimming to the first turn buoy. My group was pretty rough, but I followed the advice of my teammate Connie and fought back whenever I got bumped or kicked (some douchette who was kicking like an epileptic frog nailed me in the ribs at one point, but I shook it off and swam over her).

When I got to the first turn, the water got considerably choppy and it became harder to navigate in a straight line. I was blown off course from the wind and the chop and didn’t take the straightest route to the final turn. I eventually rounded the bend and swam to shore at a decent pace before emerging to finally peek at my watch and see how I fared.

Goal time: Anything that started with a “4″
Actual time: 47 minutes. I was pretty stoked by my time. Loyal readers (all four of you!) know that I’m a craptacular swimmer. In three years of triathlons I hadn’t broken 50 minutes in a half Ironman swim until now — my previous best was 52 minutes for 1.18 miles at Victoria, and last year’s Boise swim was 57 minutes thanks to the stupid storm. I think I could have swam a 43 or a 44, but since the wind churned the water a bit and threw me off course, I was a bit slower than I think I could have gone. Regardless, it felt damn good to finally escape the 50’s. I’m still a painfully slow swimmer, but I’m happy to have graduated from “tragic” to truly “mediocre.” Huzzah!

T1
I tried out the wetsuit strippers for the first time in a race, figuring I’d give them a test run before Ironman Canada. It felt weird to run up to someone and lay down at his feet expecting to be disrobed, but the process was relatively quick and painless. T1 felt slow due to the “closed” transition rule. Last year I blew through T1 in 2:34, but this year I had to rummage through my bag and dig out all of the random crap I’d need for the ride, so that slowed me down a bit.

Goal time: Mid-2’s
Actual time: 3:07. Oh well.

Bike Summary
I’ve been putting in more bike time this year to prep for Canada, so I was prepared to bust out a much-improved time over last year. Unfortunately, the wind blew a major wrench into my plans. As soon as I started riding, I could feel the gusts man-handling me all over the road. The worst thing is that the bulk of the ride was spent battling a side wind — I could have probably dealt with a head wind since it would have been frustrating but safer. The side wind, on the other hand, was absolutely brutal.

Within ten minutes of the ride, my left hip flexor cramped up and I had to stand up to stretch it out. By mile 30 the top of my hamstrings and my butt were aching and screaming for mercy. My forearms were getting sore from the constant death-gripping of my handlebars whenever a gust blew me four feet to the left. The wind never relented — we got a tail wind for probably about five minutes of the race, but that was about it. Even the descents were pretty pathetic due to the gusts — when you’re only going 18 mph down a steady decline with a cadence of 73, you know something is seriously wrong.

This was the second year in a row where I felt like an idiot for getting race wheels. A couple pros with disc wheels actually got blown off their bikes because the wind was so strong, and one guy even got blown off a freakin’ bridge (it was a bridge that crossed over a pedestrian footpath so he only fell about 7-10 feet, but still…). I would later find out that Chris Lieto, arguably one of the best cyclists among the pro triathletes, stated that this was the toughest bike leg he’s ever raced, and that it was worse than any year he’s raced Kona (the World Championship bike course is known to be very windy). Of course, I didn’t know all this at the time; all I was thinking about was how horrible my race was going and getting more and more discouraged about Ironman Canada. If I felt this miserable riding 56 miles, how was I going to survive 112 and a marathon?

When I was nearing town (right around the spot where I almost creamed a squirrel last year), feeling shitty and wanting this stupid race to be over, I saw another racer pull up beside me. The guy looked at me and said, “You wouldn’t happen to be the bloody shoes girl, would you?” I laughed, surprised that he was able to recognize me, and said “That’s me!” Wouldn’t you know it, I ran into another reader of my blog. He told me he loved Mediocre Athlete and that I was part of the reason he was racing today. Then he paused and joked, “I hate you” (presumably because he felt as great about the wind as I did at this point), and we both laughed and pulled into town. He found me at precisely the right moment in the race — just when I didn’t think I could hate life any more, this guy came along and perked me up when I needed it the most.

Goal time: 3 hours or less
Actual time: 3:27. I was eight minutes slower than last year’s bike time, despite the fact that overall I’m a stronger cyclist this year. My teammates (along with most of the other athletes racing, I presume) also biked much slower than expected, with many people finishing a half hour slower than usual, so I guess 8 minutes isn’t too bad in comparison.

T2
T2 went pretty well — I was in and out in 2:01. This time, I made sure to pull on some socks so I wouldn’t have torn up feet this time around (although since it wasn’t pouring rain this year, it probably wouldn’t have been an issue but I didn’t want to take any chances).

Run Summary
Most of the time when I race, I don’t typically run into nutrition problems unless the weather is exceptionally abnormal (like in Cancun when I battled 98 degree temperatures, obscene humidity, and unrelenting sun). During the bike I battled both the wind and the heat, so as a result I don’t think I fueled properly while cycling. When I got to the run, I had the dreaded bloat belly. I was also uncomfortably hot — it was in the 80s and sunny, and I tend to run warm even when the weather’s mild, so the heat combined with my little Somalian stomach made for a less than ideal run.

I came up with a relatively good strategy to deal with the heat. At every aid station I’d grab a sponge and shove it in my top, then take a cup of ice and pour that down my shirt. The ice/sponge combo would last me a couple miles until I’d eventually replace them with a new sponge and some more ice. I’d also dump water on my head and guzzle Gatorade and water every so often (in hindsight, the guzzling probably didn’t help the belly bloat — I think I have to reassess my drinking habits for Canada).

At the end of loop one, I rummaged for my Endurolytes and looked up to see my non-racing teammates cheering and yelling at me, which made me grin like an idiot:

I'm such a dork

One of my teammmates/friends shouted out, “Show us yer boobs!”, which snapped me out of my race lull and made me laugh and go, “What?” I don’t think my sweaty, nasty chesticles were something anyone wanted to see at that point.

Speaking of nasty, I’ve never seen so much carnage on a run before. The ride really must have taken its toll on the athletes, because I saw people puking, hunched over, walking with dazed looks on their faces, you name it. I saw people on stretchers, people lying on the ground waiting for medical assistance, people shaking — it was a rough day. Craig Alexander, who won the race two years in a row, ran 11 minutes slower than last year. That big of a gap for a pro indicates how tough things were this year.

Jason caught up to me halfway through loop 2 and we ran together for about 4 miles before he took off in the last mile so he could unchivalrously (yes, that’s a made up word) cross the finish line before me (kidding — he was ahead of me in time, anyway, since he started about 14 minutes behind me).

Nearing the finish and getting high fives from my team

Goal time: 2 hours or under
Actual time: 2:08. My best half Ironman run to date, but I know I can do better. Damn that gut rot!

Goal race time: 6 hours or under
Actual race time: 6:29. Sigh. I really expected to PR by much, much more, but considering how difficult the race ended up being and how I was one of two people on my team who PR’d at all, I’m happy I at least managed to shave off 9 minutes from last year’s time despite the tough conditions. Still, it’s a hard pill to swallow when I think about how I won’t be able to do another half Ironman until next season. Oh well, I guess that means I have another year to train hard and finally achieve that sub-6.

After the Race
Jas and I headed back to the hotel to shower so we could meet our teammates for some late night pizza. I inspected my feet and saw that the only real damage done this year was a blood blister that ended up healing pretty quickly:

Gross, but still a marked improvement over last year's carnage

The worst souvenir I got from the race was a nasty chafe burn from my race belt. Here’s what it looked like when I finished:

And here’s what it looked like a couple days later:

The scab is gone now but I have a dark mark on my side that will probably end up leaving a scar. It looks like a doctor with questionable credentials removed my appendix. Blerg. Also, thanks to racing in the sun all day, my weird forearm tan I picked up in Penticton evened out a bit but, unfortunately, the watch tan continued to grow even stronger:

Final Thoughts
Okay, I gave Boise another try but honestly (and I mean it this time, damnit!), I’m not going to do the race again next year. Maybe one day I’ll do it again, but I really dislike the afternoon start time. It throws off your pre-race nutrition and, more importantly, it leaves too much time for the weather to turn. Both years, the weather was much better in the morning. If the race had started at 7 am (or even before 11 am), most athletes would have been off the bike by the time the wind got really bad. After talking to some locals, I found out that they often have strong wind gusts in Boise, and that the wind gets worst by mid-afternoon. Why the hell would race organizers plan a race to start at the worst part of the day? If they want it to be a challenge, why not just make the race in December so we athletes can battle snow and freezing temperatures?

I know that there’s really no such thing as a perfect race and that the weather is definitely something organizers can’t control. However, if you know that weather conditions tend to worsen as the day grows longer and you still opt to plan a race that starts at 2:00 pm, you’re often screwing athletes out of a decent race. Since I have no control over what time the race starts, my only option is to skip Boise next year and shoot for a different race instead. I’ll likely come back at some point just so I can try and end on a high note, Costanza style, but for now, Boise, I think we need to take a break.

Prologue
The half Ironman was on a Saturday and boasted a point-to-point bike course (meaning two transition areas instead of one) and a 2 pm start. On paper that sounded awesome — you got to sleep in instead of getting up at butt crack of dawn o’clock, and you could get a proper meal instead of choking down oatmeal. Huzzah! I put off signing up until the week of the race because I had been having knee problems lately and wanted to make sure my body felt healthy before shelling out a couple hundred dollars for the race. Unfortunately for me, they closed online registration the week of the race so I had to sign up in person.

Traveling to the Race
Jason and I loaded up the Subee, strapped our bikes onto the hitch and drove the 8 excruciatingly boring hour drive through eastern Washington, most of Oregon and into Boise. The drive pretty much consisted of the following:

• brown nothingness
• brown nothingness
• brown nothingness
• ridiculous thunderstorm
• brown nothingness

Pre-Race Preparations
We finally got to Boise, and the next day Jason and I headed to the Expo Center to pick up our registration packet. I had to sign up in person and was forced to bequeath my unborn child over to the Ironman brand (Jesus Christ, race-day sign up is so freakin’ expensive). I also decided to rent race day wheels to see what they were like. They were kind of pricey but still tons cheaper than buying a set of race wheels (which can cost $2,000 and up).

Check out those sexy race wheels

After Jason and I finished up at the Expo Hall, we drove over to the swim start so we could drop off our bikes at T1. After a test bike ride, we got in the water for a 10 minute swim, and holy hell was that water cold. I flailed around for a couple meters before running into a group of idiot kids who thought it was a good idea to take a dip in the sub-60 degree water in bikinis and swim trunks. I had the following conversation with one of them:

Him: “Are you still cold even in your scuba suit?”
Me: “Yeah, this water is pretty cold.”
Him: “I’m freezing! How much did your scuba suit cost?”
Me: “It’s not a scuba suit, it’s a wetsuit.”
Him: “Oh…how much did your wetsuit cost?”
Me: “$650.”
Him: “Really? I only have $5…how much does it cost to rent a wetsuit?”

At that point I was thinking, “Screw you, junior, I’m not lending you my suit,” so I swam off and finished my miserable workout.

Race Day
The next morning we woke up and went downstairs to eat breakfast in the hotel’s dining area. I grabbed a bowl of cereal but upon looking down at it, I felt a sudden wave of nausea overtake me so I only managed to poke at it with my spoon and not eat anything. When we got back to our room I promptly threw up. Twenty minutes later I yakked again, barfing up water and foamy stomachy goodness. Jason looked at me with a mixture of empathy and disgust, asking if I was feeling okay and if I should race. I called Teresa for advice.

Teresa: “Was it something you ate the night before? Do you think it’s food poisoning?”
Me: “I don’t think so. If it were, I would have been sick last night.”
Teresa: “Yeah…do you think it’s nerves?”
Me: “Maybe. I’ve never had this happen before.”
Teresa: “Hmmm…you’re not pregnant, are you?”
Me: “Dear God, I hope not.”

(I’m not.)

I eventually managed to stop barfing and was able to choke down a protein bar. We got our stuff packed up and Jason’s parents took us to the IHOP for a pre-race meal. I ordered whole wheat pancakes but had no appetite and couldn’t eat any of them. Feeling miserable, I looked over at Jason and saw him with his head in his hands, looking exactly how I felt at that moment. We were jittery, stressed, and unable to eat.

After lunch, Jason’s parents started driving us to T1. Ten minutes into our drive, I realized that I had taken the computer off my bike the night before and had accidentally left it in my hotel room. I started to panic, thinking about how I needed my computer to check my cadence and ensure that I was keeping between 85-100 rpms, and that if I didn’t know how fast I was going I was gonna go insane. Jason’s parents said they’d go back and grab it for me and would try to pass it off to me when I got out of the swim.

I was already stressed about having puked twice and forgetting my bike computer when we decided to add “getting lost on the way to the race” to the mix. Since a ton of roads were closed because of the race, we had to take this ridiculous detour to get to T1. We finally got there, only to get yelled at by race officials that we weren’t allowed to get dropped off at the top of the hill where T1 was. Jason’s parents had to drive us all the way down to the bottom of the hill and drop us off at a park that was about 3/4 of a mile away from where we needed to be. I started walking up the hill with two armloads of gear, my heart pounding from the nerves, when I heard a far-off voice announce, “The transition area will close in FIVE minutes.” At that point I thought I was going to pass out from the stress.

Thankfully, Jason’s sister caught up to me and offered to serve as my gear mule, helping me carry some of my stuff up the hill with me. I got to the start and got marked in record time, then ran over to my bike and frantically began setting up my transition area and shoving anything remotely edible into my bento box. The entire time I was rushing and getting yelled at to exit T1, I kept thinking over and over how bullshit a 2 pm race start and two separate transition areas were.

Swim Summary
The race started but my wave wasn’t going for another 45 minutes, so I sat around and had the distinct pleasure of watching the waves get choppier and choppier due to the increasing winds and ever-darkening sky. By the time my wave rolled around, the reservoir looked like a washing machine on spin cycle.

Before it got choppy as hell, the water didn't seem so bad

Finally, we were off. Waves were hitting me from the right, which is the side I breathe from, so I immediately cursed myself for not following Teresa’s training instructions and practicing bilateral breathing more often. The swim was by far the roughest I had ever done — not only were there ridiculous waves and wind to deal with, but people were running into each other and throwing elbows left and right.

I managed to get to the first turn buoy relatively “quickly,” but it seemed to take eons to get to the second turn point. I later found out that it was so windy that the turn buoys were drifting further and further out, and the race volunteers were telling some swimmers to just forgo the big buoys to save time (they didn’t tell me this — effers!). I swam and swam and swam, and finally I dragged my half-drowned ass out of the water, having swam probably about .2-.3 miles more than intended.

Goal time: under 50 minutes
Actual time: 57 minutes (wind + waves + drifting buoys = terrible swim time, though I’m pretty sure I actually swam closer to 1.5 miles instead of 1.2)

T1
My T1 wasn’t actually that bad — I managed to bust out a 2:34 even after waddling over to Jason’s sister with my speedplay cleats to grab my bike computer from her and tap dancing the length of the transition area to the bike mounting spot. (I really need to learn how to hop on and off the bike with my shoes already clipped in — these thick bike cleats are killing my mobility.) I hopped on my bike, put the atrocious swim behind me, and started pedaling.

Bike Summary
Less than three miles into the 56 mile bike it started to rain. Hard. Really hard. Then it turned into a thunderstorm. Then it started to hail. I was a shivering, snotty mess. Every ten minutes I had to wipe snot from my face onto my tri shorts. My bike was soaked and sticky, and I battled slick roads, pelting rain and hail, and unforgiving headwinds the entire miserable ride. By the end of it my crotch and back were screaming at me to stop and I was actually looking forward to seeing downtown Boise. (I never thought that would happen.)

I was probably about a half mile away from T2 and pedaling as hard as I could when I saw a tiny squirrel shoot across the street. It let out a ridiculous squealing noise right when I got to it as if it anticipated its inevitable demise, but somehow the little bastard managed to escape death by race wheel squishing and barely got out of the way as I barreled down the street. Stunned, I uttered a loud “HOLY SHIT” and the person biking behind me started laughing really hard. (This is not the first time I’ve encountered a creature while racing or training — one time a furry black critter ran across my feet during a half marathon, and during a training ride I almost got hit in the face by a bat. I must give off some sort of pheromone.)

I finally got to T2 and breathed a sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was finish the run and I’d be done with this bullshit race.

Goal time: 3:00 to 3:10
Actual time: 3:19 (Slower than I wanted, but what can you expect when you’re biking through a goddamn thunderstorm. The bike course itself was relatively flat, so I imagine I’d post a better time in less inclement weather.)

Dropping off my snot-coated bike at T2

T2 and Run Summary
I busted through T2 in 2:17 and started the run. I packed socks in case I wanted to wear them for the run, but I’ve raced sockless before and haven’t had any issues, plus everything in my transition area was soaking wet so I figured socks wouldn’t help, anyway, so I ran out with naked feet. The first couple miles felt pretty good, and I was keeping a steady pace through the giant puddles with my wet feet and shoes. At mile 3 my shoes started to rub my feet in certain areas and my feet started to sting a bit. Each mile after that got worse and worse. I knew I had formed blisters and that they had probably already popped from the constant rubbing. Every step started to hurt more and more, and my run deteriorated to a Hillary Biscay-like gait (only much, much slower).

At mile 5 I stopped at a tree and took my right shoe off to assess the damage. To my surprise, the outer rim of my shoe was covered in blood and my foot was rubbed completely raw in two spots. I sighed, put my shoe back on, and limp-ran to the end of lap one. A volunteer was standing between the split (where you either run ahead and finish the race or turn to the right and begin your second 6.5 mile lap), and he shouted at me, “Great job, keep it up!” I stopped when I got to him and said, “I need medical.”

His smile faded and he said, “Okay, okay, we can get you medical attention. What’s the problem?” I told him that my feet were bleeding. He looked down, saw my bloody shoes, and said, “Yeah…um, I have band-aids. Will those help?” I said sure and he started fishing them out of his pack. Then he looked at me and said, “Do you want to drop out of the race?”

I kind of blinked and looked at him like I didn’t quite comprehend what he was saying. I survived a near drowning, rode a miserable 56 miles in the pouring rain, and just hobble-ran halfway through the run. All I had left was one more lap. Why the fuck would I quit now? I muttered a “No, I should be fine thanks byeeeeeeeeee” and ran off to begin my second lap.

The band-aids actually did help immensely for a few miles, and I was able to temporarily forget about the stinging pain and focus on running. My optimism was short-lived, however, and I Robo-Cop’d the last couple miles with a single driving force: medical. Unlike Thomas the Tank Engine’s mantra of “I think I can, I think I can,” the only word that repeated in my mind over and over again was “Medical. Medical. Medical. Medical.”

I finally lurched across the finish line, got draped with a space blanket and was forced to pose for a stupid finisher’s photo before a volunteer guided me over to the medical area.

Goal time: 2:00 to 2:05
Actual time: 2:17 (I hobble-ran a 10:30 pace, which isn’t too bad considering the state of my feet)

Time for Medical Attention
Jason caught up with me and gave an encouraging “Good job!”, then grew concerned when I told him that I wanted to hit up the medical area ASAP. I assured him that I wasn’t suffering from cramping or dehydration and just pointed down at my feet, at which point his mom uttered an “Ohmygod.” (I felt pretty bad-ass for eliciting such a reaction.)

We headed into medical and a volunteer came up to me and asked if I’d been helped yet. I said “No,” and she asked what the problem was. I pointed down at my feet and she went “Ewwww…by the way, I’m not a doctor, but I’ll get one for you.” I laughed and told her that I figured that either she was just a volunteer or she was a doctor with the world’s worst bedside manner.

Jason's sister's rendition of the medical area (where it was "athletes only")

The doctor/medical dude cleaned my feet with saline solution, burned the hell out of them with some sort of devil’s liquid, smeared some ointment on them and wrapped them in blue bandages.

It's a good look for me

My bloody shoes (the inserts are pink Superfeet, not bloody soles)

Bloody right shoe (the worse of the two)

After the Race
The funny thing about the 2 pm start time is that the race organizers wanted the finish in downtown Boise so the athletes could enjoy a “post-race party” downtown and eat, drink and hang out. This is a good idea in theory, but since the weather was apocalyptically bad, everyone finished the race and immediately began packing up their stuff to get the hell out of there and change into some dry clothes. Jason and I were no exception. I returned my race wheels and we gathered up our gear and headed back to the hotel (after making a stop at Wendy’s, of course).

Once I finished inhaling my burger, I stepped into the shower and serenaded Jason with a lovely slew of expletives and “MOTHER OF GOD”s as the hot shower water hit my raw feet and stung the shit out of them. We changed and headed over to Teresa and Mark’s hotel to hang out with them, drink, and, of course, scarf down more food. Naturally, Teresa had a kick-ass race and not only took 1st in her age group but was the first amateur female. She’s a mighty good triathlete. Mark also PR’d and did a sub-5 hour race, and Jason PR’d by 40 minutes and finished in under 6 hours. I, of course, brought up the rear and posted the slowest time in our group.

Goal time: low 6 hours
Actual time: 6:38

I’m pretty disappointed with my finish time. I really wanted to get 6:00 to 6:15, with the ultimate goal of hitting under 6 hours. I still managed to PR by about 20 minutes, but I think I could have done up to 30 minutes better if the weather were less ridiculous and if my feet weren’t bleeding. Oh well.

Final Thoughts
All in all, I think that Boise is a potentially good race that turned out pretty shitty for the following reasons:

1. The 2 pm start time. Like I said, a later start time is good on paper, but 2 pm is too late. I wouldn’t mind a race with a 10 am or a noon start time at the absolute latest, but when you start at 2 you have too much time to sit around and get stressed out and worry about everything that can possibly go wrong.
2. The two transition areas. Two transition areas is a pain in the ass. You have to run around the day before and make sure all your bags are properly packed and drop them off in different areas, and when you’re racing you have to make sure you don’t leave anything out or it’ll end up getting left behind. Also, Teresa learned the hard way that you can’t trust the organizers with your various bags of gear when she realized that someone had stolen her ring out of her bag. That’s pretty shitty.
3. The freakin’ weather. The Boise website summarized the day as such: “Participating athletes saw light rain for a majority of the bike and run course, with temperatures hovering in the low 70s.” That’s the most ridiculous euphemism for “torrential thunderstorm and 60 degree temperatures” I’ve ever seen. Granted, apparently Boise averages an inch of rain the entire month of June so it seems like we just had bad luck this year, but still, don’t frickin’ lie about how terrible it was.

I’d probably still do Boise again in the future, but only if they move the start time back to the morning. I can probably put up with the separate transitions and there’s a strong chance the weather has to be better than it was this year, but in my opinion the late start time was a failed experiment. I can’t say I had fun doing the race this year, but at least I learned a lot and can show off my war wounds to everyone.

Cut #1

Cut #2

Cut #3

Cut #4

I’ll probably try and do another 70.3 later this summer as a redemption race. Hopefully it’ll go better than Boise did. :)

Artist's rendition of me and Jason at the finish since we didn't get a picture together (I loved medical attention more than my boyfriend that day)

Once we were both on the mend Jason and I were all “Time to get serious, yo.” I was all geared up to go to Tuesday’s evening track practice and make my triumphant return (cue the trumpets). Jason went in the morning and gave me the following feedback:

• It was freakin’ cold
• It was really freakin’ cold
• A stretch of the track was covered in ice, making running quite treacherous
• Seriously, it was cold. Jason had to borrow tiny Tracy’s gloves so his fingers wouldn’t freeze off. I’m pretty sure the gloves are now stretched beyond repair.

I had miserable expectations for the evening track, but I didn’t have a chance to experience how cold and icy it was going to be–the extremely low temperatures prompted Teresa to cancel track. (Postpone the trumpets.)

Attempt #2 at our Triumphant Return was on Thursday. Jason and I signed up for an early morning interval cycling class and dry land swim conditioning. We set our alarm for 6 am and got everything ready the night before. At 5:40 am we were both awakened to the loudest fricking clap of thunder imaginable. We both sprang out of bed and uttered a simultaneous “Whoa.” He got up and looked out the window but saw nothing. We figured it was going to start raining and would probably freeze and make the roads slick. After climbing back into bed we heard another huge clap of thunder and anticipated the sound of falling rain next…but instead it was silent. Hmm…

A minute later my phone vibrated. It was Teresa texting me to say that it was snowing like crazy over in West Seattle so she was canceling classes. I said, “That’s weird, how is it snowing in West Seattle but not here?” Jason’s response: “Holy crap!” I looked out the window and saw blurs of white. In the 5 minutes between our first glimpse out the window and checking my phone, it had started snowing buckets. It was as if the sky farted and started pooping out snow.

We got a crapload of snow on Thursday and couldn’t work out because the Y closed and because we couldn’t run anywhere without rolling an ankle or slipping and cracking our heads open (which I’ll fully admit is something I’m prone to doing even when the weather is perfect). Aside from a trip to the grocery store, Jason and I were pretty much snowed in. Of course, having a snow day in Seattle is a built-in excuse to not work at the office, so my coworkers canceled work and all stayed home. I happily did the same.

On Friday morning my neighborhood was quiet and blanketed in snow:

The streets were empty save for two buses abandoned on Madison. The office was canceled again, so I stayed home and totally rocked the fireplace/hot chocolate/pajama pants/slippers combo. In fact, I got so comfy that I forgot to get off my ass and exercise. Silly me…

Jason and I planned on going for a run on Saturday but had afternoon plans to to see Gonzaga play UConn at the Battle in Seattle. We assured ourselves that “after the game is over we’ll go for a run.” Our optimism for both Gonzaga and for exercising lasted until the end of overtime when both the Zags lost and we were greeted with more snow flurries upon exiting Key Arena. A gruelingly slow hour later, we were finally home, our plans to run crushed under several inches of snow. The Y was closed, so we couldn’t swim or do an indoor workout, either. We managed to drown our sorrows with Mexican food and a few bottles of wine. “Tomorrow we’ll work out…”

Well, Sunday came. Once again the workout weather was…less than favorable.

The bush next to our front porch:

The steps leading up to our garage:

This is about as far as I can get my patio door to open:

Our bamboo is smothered under the weight of the snow:

And yes, it’s still snowing:

Jason and I trudged to Safeway to get stuff for dinner. We decided that a prime rib roast sounded nice and wintry, so we bought one, prepped it, and popped it in the oven. Since we both felt like fat, lethargic turds, we pulled our bikes out and decided to do an indoor ride. Triumphant return successful!

Er, kinda. The cooking roast heated up the entire downstairs, and my whole ride was choked with hot, roasted meat smell. I ended up feeling queasy and stopped after 30 minutes. The fact that I hadn’t worked out in two weeks didn’t help with my stamina, either. My triumphant return was pretty craptastic, but at least 30 minutes is better than yet another evening sitting on my ass, right? (The roast was fantastic, by the way. Way to reward your triumphant return with delicious meat and red wine, Rebecca!)

Okay, tomorrow snow be damned — I’m going to strap some tennis rackets to my feet and walk over to the Y for some swimming and weight lifting. If they’re closed (again) I’ll force myself to do another indoor ride (minus cooked beef stench) and will do sit ups and strength training until my limbs feel like noodles. I will push it to the limit (lim-mit!) and get back on track, damn it.

Or maybe I’ll open some more wine, prop up my feet, and queue up a movie…could go either way. (Who am I kidding, I know which way it’ll go…)