Ultra. Take 2.

In the last decade, since reinventing myself as a kind-of-athlete, I have undertaken some big challenges. That first half marathon. That first marathon. A half Ironman. Ironman. And oh that swim. The first time is always the hardest. A jumble of nerves, self doubt, and a little fear. After that, there is a little deposit in the memory bank that reminds you: you can do this. You’ve done it before. Oh don’t get me wrong, there are still nerves & self-doubt - my familiar pre-race house guests - but the second time is easier. Except sometimes, it turns out, it isn’t.

My first race of 2018 was in February when I set out to tackle my first 50K. I made it not quite halfway when I was pulled, having missed an aid station cut-off by 4 minutes. I was devastated. I felt shame. This foolish undertaking of a 50K by someone like me. I cried. A lot.

Scenes from a training run on-course at Deception Pass

This weekend is my last race of 2018 and as you might have figured out by now, it’s my second attempt at a 50K. And this time doesn’t feel easier than the first time. I’m peeking in that memory bank and all I see is evidence that this is beyond me. Beyond my fitness. Beyond my capabilities. Beyond my crunchy, beleaguered knees. Another foolish undertaking. I am trying to work on my mental game but man, I am having to dig deep.

Speaking of that swim… if you’re wondering how it went. I got my money’s worth. With less than 40 seconds left to spare on the official cut-off and an extra km swum - because, why not - I finished it. Here’s the post-race ugly cry as I hug my paddler and super hero friend Shelly, who guided me down the lake and listened to me whine about how hard it was. It always seems impossible until it’s done. 

Note to self.

Hold my beer...

So, tomorrow I’m doing this thing. It seems kind of crazy, even to me, and especially FOR me because well… who signs up for an ultra swim when they’re not a swimmer? Well, me, it seems. Chalk it up to a chain-reaction of crazy ideas beginning with my 2019 Ultra520K application, followed by a little post-Hyack hot-tub encouragement peer-pressure from super swimmer Ann. And hey, it was so far away, surely I could become a better swimmer by then, right? 

Well, then is now, and despite spending hours and hours of time in the pool and the lake, and Sunday after Sunday (after Sunday) of early morning swim coaching, I’m no faster than I was before. Le sigh.

Speed matters because here because this race has a cut-off. If I swim straight enough, and conditions are favourable, I should be OK. Should be.

Ten years ago, I embarked on a journey to transform my body, my health, and my life. In those early years, when I was well at the back of the pack of running races and triathlons, I feared being last. And in those early years, I came close a few times. Very, very close. Like… I think I was 3rd from last once at an AIK race but although spectators warn us with signs that race results last forever, I can’t find it to confirm!  Over the years, I’ve worked my way up to the middle of the pack, and every once in a while, I’m closer to the front than the middle. It’s been a long time since I feared being the last athlete across the line.  Well, tomorrow, I expect to be the last athlete across the line. And that’s 100% OK with me. It will mean this non-swimmer who can’t seem to work her way out of the slow lane will have made all the cut-offs and hauled herself through the water over 11.8 km. Crazy, right?

No matter the outcome, I want some people to know how much I appreciate them when it comes to tomorrow’s crazy. Shelly, who took kayaking lessons to prepare for this and will paddle all day and manage my snacks… Andrew, who may tell me I’m crazy when I get these ideas, but supports me all the way anyway… my Coach Liz, who has never said a single negative thing about my swimming (and chastises me when I do) despite the fact that I am sure she must look at some of my swim workouts and wonder how the hell someone can go so.damn.slow …she always makes me feel like she believes in my ability to be successful, even when sometimes I’m not so sure myself… and my swim coach Ryan, who has yet to declare me hopeless. 

At my last session with Ryan coaching, he kayaked alongside me and shouted (he’s good at the shouting):

“Karin! Karin!! You can swim all day…” (I mmm-hmm’d my agreement) “…you need to swim faster.”

I’ll try Ryan, I’ll try.

See you at the finish line.

Race Report: Seattle Marathon

In 2010, I ran my first marathon. It was the Seattle Rock & Roll Marathon. I ran it just 11 days after my 40th birthday and when I was done, I declared that I would never run another marathon… in Seattle. That’s right, I didn’t swear off the marathon as a one-and-done adventure - quite the opposite in fact. I decided I’d run a marathon every year after, for as long as my knees would let me. But Seattle… the hill factory that it is… well thank you, but no, I’ll count my miles and earn my medal somewhere else.

Yet somehow, 2011 saw me eating those words as I returned to Seattle in November to run the Amica Seattle Marathon. On a wet and windy day befitting November in the Pacific Northwest, on a much hillier (but also more scenic) course than the RnR event, I cranked out my second marathon. Shivering cold and mentally apologizing to my knees, I said it again, this time with feeling: I will never run another marathon in Seattle.

So how is it that I came to find myself yesterday, at the start line of the Amica Seattle Marathon, on another typical PNW November day, ready to roll through 26.2 miles of a new and improved, 25-30% hillier, Seattle marathon course? Well, recall that declaration that I’d run a marathon a year every year from my 40th onward? At the start of the year, I had decided that for my 47th year, I’d run the Honolulu Marathon, but then subsequent to that I made the decision to race Challenge Aruba with my TRS Racing - Baucco Squad teammates and well, I couldn’t justify Aruba and Honolulu trips in the same year, and so …hello Seattle.

I knew going in to the race that there was no PB on the line. I’m only about 6 months out of an 18 month period that featured 7 calf strains, the last one occurring in the Spring of this year, and so I have been slowly, cautiously, (nervously) building the distance that I can run through mostly flat, easy paced runs. I added a bit of rolling hills and a couple of track sessions in the early Fall, but I have a long way to go to regain my previous version of fast, let alone aim for faster. So with the pressure off to be fast, I was feeling pretty relaxed for race day.

My chill attitude about the day had me not trying to control everything quite so much as I normally would. The night before the race, we had dinner with a couple of friends, at a cool downtown Seattle restaurant that has no set menu but just asks what you like and what you don’t, and then serves up a multi-course meal to suit your tastes and dietary needs - wine included! Happy vegan, right here. Check out Pasta Freska next time you’re in Seattle and looking for a tasty Italian meal.

The weather forecast was calling for non-stop rain and so I found myself at the Oiselle store, yes, cue the angels singing, looking for a rain jacket that would breathe, but trying on [almost] all the items I’ve ever eyed online but wondered about fit. Everything new on race day? Not quite, but almost. No, I’m not kidding - I raced #flystyle in brand new Oiselle pocket jogger tights, wazzie wool base layer and vim jacket.

Yes, I was breaking all the pre-race rules, and feeling no pressure for time. I was a little concerned about my unconventional build for this. I did most of my build in August & September, before tapering for Aruba. The weekend after we got back from Aruba, 2 weeks after the half ironman, and 5 weeks after my previous distance building long run (29K) I did my longest training run for Seattle (32K), and then began to taper. So, I knew this marathon wouldn’t be fast, and that it was going to be a tough day, but I felt like I had enough miles in me to go the distance, as long as my calves held up through the up & down of Seattle’s hills. Honestly, I hit that start line just feeling so grateful to be able to tackle a long run like this again. With no need for speed, my goal was to follow Devon Yanko’s lead from Leadville and be the happiest person out there, running with joy and a spirit of gratitude. 

And what do you know… it worked! When it was rainy & windy at the start and through the first few

miles, I reminded myself how lucky I was to be able to do this (again). When the rain stopped and the sun came out, and I got to really enjoy the beautiful sights of Seattle, the gratitude came easy. When runners cut me off at aid stations or threw their half full cups of water behind them towards trash cans without looking to see if anyone was there, I had to work a little harder at it. When the skies opened up and the rain came bucketing down so hard that the cops manning the road closures scrambled for their cars, and I struggled to get my jacket back on while the wind was whipping it and threatening to blow it right out of my hands, I laughed and reminded myself that racing in ideal weather conditions hasn’t really been my “thing” the last couple of years. Ironman Canada 2015, I’m looking at you. When the hills before and in the Arboretum were kicking my ass, I thought of a very good friend who is sidelined from 2 planned marathons next month as she recovers from a serious illness, and appreciated how lucky I was to be there, no matter what my glutes and hips were telling me.

And so 4 hours and 51 minutes after starting, I cruised across that finish line, feeling joyful, grateful and more than a little bit soggy. Not my fastest (by a long shot), not my slowest (by an even longer shot) but still one to smile about. Isn’t every finish line? OK, maybe not those sub-2-half quests that I kept missing by seconds (seconds!), but we don’t talk about those. In the warm indoor finish area after (yes Seattle, you do that right!), they were selling finisher gear and "vintage" race shirts. I always wondered who would buy a race shirt from a previous year, no matter how good the bargain? Wondered until yesterday when I saw the 2011 finisher shirts for $2. When I ran this race in 2011, I had to squeeze into an XL. It's um, maybe a little too big now?  I still wear it, as pyjamas (hella sexy no?) but yesterday I thought it was a good opportunity to "downgrade" to the S. And hey look, my boobs magically got bigger!

Thanks for marathon #6 Seattle. Now don’t stop me if you’ve heard this before, because I really mean it this time: I will NEVER run another marathon in Seattle! It’s not me, it’s you. You’re just so damn hilly! And does every step need to be on pavement?

Next marathon? The run at IMC in 2018. Next open marathon? I signed up for Portland less than 24 hours after hitting the Seattle start line. Hoping to find a little more speed for that one, but just as much gratitude.

And then this happened...

Liquid courage is a thing. (Just go to any karaoke bar.) And liquid courage following on the heels of some exercise endorphins is a potent, perhaps dangerous thing. Before I tell you why, let me take you back in time.

It was the August long weekend in 2014. Do you remember what you did that weekend? I do. I was training for Challenge Penticton. It would be my first iron distance race and I was on a training weekend with some of my best girl friends. It was my first time riding the bike course in its entirety. And it was also Ultraman Canada race weekend. 

For those who are wondering what Ultraman Canada is, it's a 3-day multisport stage race:

• Day 1: 10 km swim + 150 km bike
• Day 2: 275 km bike
• Day 3: 84.4 km run 

On Day 1 of the 2014 race, we would be sharing a part of the Ultraman bike course with athletes while we were on our training ride, though I don’t think we realized that when we set out. I remember stopping in Oliver for water and the clerk at the store asking if I was doing the race… “ha ha no… but thanks for thinking I could be!” 

Later, when the Ultraman course branched off from the Challenge/old Ironman Canada course, one of the volunteers was signaling to me to turn on to the Ultraman course. Again, I remember feeling flattered that someone thought I could actually be competing in that race.

That weekend got my Ultraman curiosity piqued. I spent a bit of time perusing the race website and discovered that to race Ultraman, you had to race a qualifying iron distance time, and then apply for entry to a small field of athletes. A qualifying iron distance time is 14:30 or better. Heading into my first iron distance race, I was worrying over making that 17 hour cut-off. The idea of getting under 14:30 was laughable. Well, no need to spend any more cycles thinking about Ultraman anymore! That’s a level of racing well beyond me!

And then a few weeks later, I raced my first iron distance event. And finished in 14:15.

Challenge Penticton Finish Line. 3 years ago today.

Suddenly, the idea of racing Ultraman “one day” wheedled its way back into my brain. So then what happened?

Well I was in no rush - I thought I’d work on getting faster, buy a tri-bike, save some money (this race isn’t cheap!) but it was on my list of things I wanted to do “one day”. Firmly on my Bucket List. In the years that followed, Ultraman became Ultra520K Canada and then last year, they announced that 2018 would be the last year for the event. The qualifying ironman needed to be in the previous calendar year and mine wasn’t.  So I took the Ultra520K Canada logo (paired with my believe/fierce ambigram), off of my vision board and thought “well, it was a long shot anyway”.

So then what happened?

Fast forward to this year. The August long weekend. Ultra520K Canada race weekend. During the race, the organizers posted to social media that they had decided they would do a 2019 event, and that they’d “relax” the qualifying standard, and that those interested should get their application in ASAP. Now, this might have gone unnoticed except a friend tagged me on the post... Shelly, I'm looking at you.

I posted on their Facebook…

So then what happened? 

I went for a swim. Then a run. Then a ride. Had a few post-ride drinks with the hub and one of my best bitches (who did nothing to discourage me... Diane, I'm looking at you). The next thing I knew, I was at home, filling out an application form and hitting submit.

I’m not gonna lie, the next day, I was freaking out… What have I done?! But, I’d thought with the Ultra520K Canada window opening, it really was now or never, and that I shouldn’t let the opportunity pass. As I waited for the official word on my application, I wondered if I’d be relieved or disappointed if they declined my application. As it turned out, the official word was that those who had expressed interest race weekend, should officially submit (or in my case, resubmit) their application. An opportunity for a sober second thought! So what did I do? Of course I applied. Bucket List, remember?

And then this happened:

O.M.G!!

I'm not kidding. Let that sink in. If you're going to call my crazy, get in line. I've already heard it a couple of times today! 

Today, the race organizers issued a press release that the race will continue for the foreseeable future and I briefly wondered whether I should have waited but then... waited for what? I'm not getting any younger. In 2019, when I toe that start line, I'll be 49 years old. What a fabulous & fitting start to the last year of my 40s given that I started them by running my first marathon, 11 days after my 40th birthday, not even halfway through my weight loss journey. Can I do this? In the words of the inspirational Chad Bentley: You will only know if you try. So I'm going to try.

Left: summer 2006. Right: summer 2017

The woman on the right tackles challenges that the woman on the left never would have contemplated for herself... not in her wildest dreams. Applying for Ultra520K represents more of that dreaming big, leap of faith, embrace the journey thinking that has been so transformative over the last decade - transformative in so many ways, all positive! 

Huge thanks to friend and phenomenal athlete Ann Barnes for reaching out and being such a voice of encouragement and support these last few weeks. She has me believing! 

I'm not exactly sure what the next 2 years of preparation are going to look like (and by not exactly, I mean I have no clue) but I do know that they begin with a cork popping tonight.

Happy new year! The Goal Post. 2017 Edition.

I’ve written before about my goals. So when I sat down tonight to articulate in black and white the goals for 2017 that had been forming in my mind as 2016 came to a close, I took a moment to revisit my previous goal declarations. Some of them are still out there waiting for me… like swimming 2000m “unassisted” in the pool in 50 minutes. Some are goals I’ve achieved and set year-in and year-out …like that marathon-a-year thing. And some I look back on fondly as I remember how hard-fought they were… like that sub-2 hour half. Oh yes, I finally crushed that goal. It was in the 18-month blog silence, after missing three times by seconds… yes, SECONDS…  I knocked that monkey off my back with a 1:57:39 at the Vancouver Rock’n’Roll Half in October 2015. I should have posted about it… about the emotional turmoil race morning where I ducked between two buildings on the way to the start, to cry, sobbing to the hub “I keep telling myself that my worth as a person isn’t dependent on whether I can run this under 2 hours but… but… but I just don’t believe it!” Oh yeah… I was in fine form. Anyhoo…

The 2017 List

1.      Post on the blog at least once a week, every week. An intention declared in my last post, when I turned the lights back on here. I’m going to stop writing them in my head. I’m not promising that they’ll be interesting, funny, or insightful… but there will be something!

2.      #17in17.  17 new experiences in 2017. I’ve set a similar goal before, focused on new experiences in the year, but never this many. Last year, a good friend was pursuing a goal of 50 new experiences before her 50^th birthday. I joined her for many of these… some terrifying & crazy… like trapeze school. Yes, I’m serious.

3.      Ride >= 8000 km

No, not in one go! Normally I set a run mileage goal but after an injury plagued last year, I’m inclined to set myself up for success by focusing on bike mileage instead… something maybe a little less likely to land me on the injured list right out of the gate. Last year I rode 6144 km, which was a big jump over 2015 (4530 km). Well, this girl’s got a new bike and she’s not afraid to get out on the road with it! Just kidding… that was tough talk. It’s snowy and cold outside. But between the road and my Kickr, 8000 km is the goal.

4.      Read 25 books. According to Goodreads, I read 11 books in 2014, 17 in 2015 and 22 books last year (short of my 30-book goal). You can follow what I’m reading on Goodreads… currently Siri Lindley’s book “Surfacing”. If you’ve got any must-read recommendations, I’d love to hear them. My favourite read of 2016: The Choices we Make (Karma Brown).

5.      Continue my streak of running a marathon at each age of my post-40 life. If this is going to be a 2017 goal, then I’ll need to run that baby between June and December of 2017. I’ve got my eyes on the Honolulu Marathon in December. (On an unrelated note, I’m also hoping for a visit from the money fairy.)

6.      100 hours of yoga. 55 hours of yoga in 2015. 82 in 2016. I think 100 hours is totally doable, especially without the time burden of Ironman training this year. Shout out to Believe, my epically fantastic yoga studio. A beautiful space and wonderful teachers with enough yoga variety to host you on your mat, no matter what you’re needing.

7.      Master crow pose. I’ve been wanting this for a while. Not enough to actually do the work and be intentional. But that’s probably just because it was waiting to help round out my 2017 list at 10 goals, right? #Believe.

8.      Crack 25 minutes in a 5K. I wanted to avoid focusing on outcome goals (and yes I know mastering crow pose is an outcome goal) because man, they can really eat at me. I don’t want to find myself crying before every start line because I think I’m going to fail and make my own “people who suck” list, but… I also want to push myself. To feel hungry for something. And this something means I have to get back to the run shape I was in before the 5-calf-injury-year (yeah I didn’t write about that either) and find 12 seconds over 5K. I’m up for it. And I’ve got 6 5K races already signed up and waiting. Oh, and just in case you’re on the edge of your seat, this is more likely to happen at the 6^th than the 1^st race. You might want to get a snack.

9.      Really, actually train, with focus and see where that takes me. I’m not sure I’m articulating this very well. I’m really good at following my training plan and checking the boxes next to the workouts. Yup, did it all. I have not been so awesome at listening to my body. If it tells me it doesn’t want to do something, I will usually tell it to stop trying to be a slacker, and I do the workout anyway. Even if it means running on a calf that was torn that morning. Hashtag stupid. And I have shied away from sessions where I feel “less than”… like coached swim workouts, where I felt self-conscious for being the slowest person in the pool, electing to swim on my own, without the watchful eye and needed instruction of a swim-coach on deck. This year, I will listen to my body and try to train smart (I’m experimenting with an app called HRV Training which I’ll post about another time), to avail myself of opportunities that can make me a better athlete (no matter how scary), and to make the hard workouts HARD and the easy workouts easy. And then there’s the whole sport fueling thing. I’m going to pay attention to that too.

10.   Give meditation a go: at least once/week for 20 minutes. I’ve tried meditation a time or two and honestly have joked that for me, it’s facilitated napping. But there’s so much out there espousing the benefits of meditation that I’m going to be approach it this year with an open mind and a willing heart. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Another 17 hours of sleep this year? Not a terrible thing.

Well there they are. I’ll check in throughout the year to update you on my progress. And with this post, I’ve got #1 well in hand. 51 to go. I hope you’ll still be here!

Are you talking to ME?

I think the Universe has been trying to tell me something. For a while now. It started as a bit of a whisper. Some time in late summer I discovered podcasts. I know. I’m a bit of a late adopter. Whatever. I’m not sure how I got turned on to the Running on Om podcasts but somehow I found my way there, working my way backwards through episodes. Early in that discovery, I listened to one of the regular recurring episodes: Ask Lauren Fleshman. And I’m not gonna lie, it was the birth of a girl crush. I then became selective in my walk backwards through ROO podcasts, listening in reverse order to all of the Ask Lauren Fleshman episodes. And I thought I heard the Universe whisper: you should start writing again Karin.

Did I? No. Of course not.

I had a bunch of conversations with myself about why I’d stopped. Why I hadn’t resumed. And it really didn’t have anything to do with not having things to say. I’ve written many, many blog posts (in my head). No, I wasn’t writing for deeper, more uncomfortable reasons. Reasons with louder voices than those whispers from the Universe.

Here’s the ugly truth of it:

1. I'm embarrassed.
2. I feel like a fraud.

Yup, it’s not writer’s block or a fear that people won’t like my writing - or even that no one will read it. It’s about those two feelings in the context of this blog about …about what? Weight loss? Fitness? Health? Transformation?  Let me attempt to explain.

What am I embarrassed about? Well having lost the significant amount of weight that I have, I feel – at least to some extent - like that has defined me. Who I am. The most important thing about me. I’m Karin, who lost 120 lbs. Karin, who used to weigh 255 lbs. Sometimes I’m OK with that and I contribute to using that as my label - as my defining characteristic. When you sign up for an Ironman race, there’s a box where you’re supposed to say something about yourself. “I’ve lost 120 lbs” is what I usually type. And you know what? The crowd freaking LOVES that at an Ironman finish line. And I love the finish line rah-rah. 

But sometimes I feel burdened under the weight of who I used to be. I was at a party a friend threw 

Worst Photo Ever Taken. Ever. Like, ever.

where I knew very few people. I knew with certainty when my host was having a conversation with someone across the room, nodding in my direction, that it was about my weight loss. Do you remember the Bridget Jones movie, where she introduces people with an interesting tidbit about them? "This is so & so, he’s a top lawyer in his field." And "This is so & so, they climbed Mount Everest!" "This is Karin, who lost 120 lbs." Like it is the single most interesting or notable thing about me. Maybe it is. But so often, when that’s the first thing people know, I feel like I’m that woman again. That that is how people are seeing me. As that 255 lb woman. That woman whose skin I still inhabit. And I’m just so embarrassed. Embarrassed to have ever let my weight get to that stage in the first place. I mean, who does that? And if YOU did that, I don’t judge you. But I do judge me. Does that make sense? It doesn’t have to. It just is.

So that brings me to the fraud thing. That’s multifaceted. One aspect: well that 255 lb woman? I’m still wearing her skin. And so you know what… no matter how hard I train, or how little I eat, or how clean my diet is, I am never, ever going to have a great body. I will never be comfortable in a bikini on a beach. I will never achieve that mental picture I had of what I was working towards. I will always have a muffin top. Gaining that much weight leaves a mark; a friend once asked me if I had loose skin and said she wondered what the point was in trying to lose the weight, since she’d just have loose skin. [Sigh] I understand. But do I regret the weight loss? No. I regret the weight gain. Big difference.

And so if I’m trying to think a little less shallow - and point out that there is more to life than having a great body, and that this new life – all this training and racing – that’s where it’s at. That there’s value and meaning and reward in all of that, that is so much better than the number on the scale or the size of your jeans… Well, yeah! Woohooo.... Get on board! 

But here’s the thing: Yes, I’m still training, Yes, I’m still racing. But... each Ironman is slower than the last. And I don’t understand that. And if I’m not waxing poetic here about racing and challenging myself, and getting better (because I’m not getting better), then I come back to all this eating well and exercising stuff as the means to an end: how big (or small) I am, and how I look and damn if I am not STILL battling my weight. Yup. Currently about 10 lbs heavier than my typical off-season weight. Maybe more. This never-ending f&*ing merry-go-round. How can I write this blog when I’m only 110 lbs lighter than I used to be? When I’m racing slower? When I don’t have that triathlete/fit chick/super awesome body of my dreams?

But the Universe kept whispering. Often through the podcast Tea with a Titan, where host Mary-Jo Dionne interviews people who are masters of transformation, inspiration, authenticity, and bravery. I listened to her interview her husband, ultraman athlete and friend Chad Bentley, who spoke of his own physical transformation. I didn’t hear embarrassment about where he had come from – and what’s more, I didn’t see any reason why he should be – but I was encouraged and inspired by the possibility that his transformation demonstrated.

I listened to the interview with Danielle Krysa, the Jealous Curator. Who talked about her passion for art and her need to be in that space (I’m paraphrasing) and who she began writing, and continued writing, even when no one was reading. And this time when the Universe whispered to write, I had an a-ha moment about the need to write being about the need to write. Not necessarily to be read. But if you’re reading, I’m glad you’re here!

I listened to the interview with Susanne Biro and her admission that she’s afraid in almost everything she does… I’m totally paraphrasing. I should have written down the quote because she made the comment while discussing a face to face conversation with Richard Branson, and being brave enough to ask a question, and I was stunned. I thought it was just me who felt that way! How she said it was perfect. How I said it is not. If I wasn’t on a self-imposed deadline to get this posted today, I’d go replay the podcast. Instead, I’ll suggest you just go listen to it yourself. It’s worth your time.

Then Oprah whispered to me. Kind of. I saw a commercial for Weight Watchers and could not believe she’s their new spokesperson. I mean really. She is arguably the most successful woman in the world. And she’s still battling her weight. This woman who could pay someone to slap the food out of her hand! I’m in good company I guess. Weight struggles: the great equalizer.

And then – since I still wasn’t writing – the Universe got a bit more direct. Out of the blue this past Thursday, in the middle of a workout, my trainer Scott asked me if I was still blogging. And he said I should be. That I had a voice. And things to share that could help people on their journey.

So I’m back. My 2017 goal: one post a week.

If you’re still here: thanks for reading.

And thank you to the ladies who let the Universe whisper through them: Julia Hanlon, Lauren Fleshman, Mary-Jo Dionne, Danielle Krysa, Susanne Biro, and Oprah!

And thank you Scott for the nudge of encouragement. And for your commitment to getting me #laf. Seriously, make it happen bro.

Marathon Number 6 & Olympic Dreams

OK settle down. It’s not what you think. Before you consider an intervention, or perhaps recommend some medication, hear me out…

Probably the best of the medals. Coffee cup & glitter.

Back when I was a young lass of 39, I had this crazy idea that I would push back against turning 40 by running a marathon. Because really, there is no better way to feel young and sprightly than by subjecting yourself to a physically and mentally punishing ordeal that will leave you shuffling like an octogenarian for days afterward. (So just in case you are again thinking about interventions and medication, let me just mention that I now celebrate my birthday with a day at the spa with two women I covet as sisters.) But crazy ideas are a specialty of mine and so the Seattle Rock’n’Roll Marathon (2010), falling within a couple of weeks of my 40th birthday, became the Bucket List & Birthday Big Idea. I talked my bestie into doing it with me and after months of training together, off we went, and ta da: a few hours (way too many) later, we were marathon finishers. I took an eternity to finish (6:56), finishing just ahead (barely) of the sweeper vehicle, and really getting my money’s worth out of that race fee. Actually not really, because by the time I finished, all the bands had gone home and they were packing up the water and other finish line stuff. Rock-and-roll, not so much. And I swore I’d never run another marathon... in Seattle. And high on endorphins and post-race-afterglow (probably dehydration), I declared I would run a marathon every year thereafter.

Despite my hate-on for Seattle marathons, for “41”, in 2011, I went back to Seattle and ran the “regular” Seattle Marathon. Because if you don’t love Seattle hills, interstates, and 40-million out & backs on a sunny June day, you’re probably going to feel much better running a hillier Seattle route on a rainy, windy, November day. I know. Rain. In November. In Seattle. Who could have predicted that? I had manipulated convinced my bestie to run this one too, waiting for the right time (read: emotionally vulnerable) to pop the question: Wanna run another marathon? We both ran big PBs (6:11 this time for me) and declared our Seattle Marathon days were over.

For “42”, I stayed home and ran the BMO Vancouver Marathon in 2013 (4:31). For “43”, it was Whidbey Island (4:21), my favourite (so far). And of course for “44”, if you’re not new here and have been paying attention… Napa Valley (4:11). But that was like weeks ago and within a few days of finishing, I started trying to pick #6. Something between June of 2015 and June of 2016. And something that would work timing-wise with IMC this year and whatever IM I might be thinking about next year. Because Coach says recovery is important. Sure.

So after working out a Plan A, B and C that all hinged on race lotteries, I ran these by my Coach and then scrapped all of them and went with Plan D: LA in March. Only guess what? LA moves to February next year. Why? Something to do with allowing time for recovery between the marathon and the Olympic 10K trials… yeah I think that’s it. I didn’t pay too much attention because (obviously), I’m not looking for a spot, lol. And speaking of the Olympics, LA is hosting the Olympic marathon trials the day before the LA Marathon.

So registration opened today – for 2 days only – and then it re-opens in September with a higher price tag. And I might have accidentally signed up. So number 6: LA Marathon, February 14, 2016. Sub 4 is the goal.

And speaking of the Olympics… Recall in my last post, I mentioned that my swims were sucky. Suckier than usual. So today, I was repeating one of last week’s workouts and feeling pretty good about it. This was my workout:

• 200 swim, 100 kicks 
• Main – on 15s rest: 
• 4x200 @ 70% 
• 4x100 @ 80% 
• 4x50 @ 90% 
• 4x25 @ 100% 
• 4x100 with pull buoy & paddles, on 10s rest. 
• 100 easy 

So I’m feeling good. Lane to myself, no rage, and I’m pretty sure I’m swimming it faster than the previous week (which I did, 2 minutes faster FWIW). And then I’m doing my 4x50s and I’m just finishing my 15s rest when an elderly Asian lady in the next lane, doing breast stroke and keeping her hair dry, comes swimming up. I head off for my next 50 and am just finishing my 15s rest at the wall when she comes swimming in again. WTF? Suddenly I’m not feeling so much like Ariel. As I head off, I think I catch a glimpse of flipper and I think “riiiight, of course… this is why her leisurely breast stroke is not much slower than my 50m @ 90%”. After I’m done my main set, before I head off with paddles, I duck my head under and have a look: no flippers. Damn it!

It’s so obvious what’s going on here. Clearly this woman is a former Olympic medalist. Next time I’m there, I might ask her to sign my swim cap.

Race Report: Abbotsford Hypothermic Half

So, a couple of weeks ago, I took another shot at a sub-2 hr half marathon. And you don't have to read the whole post to know that I didn't make it (if you're reading this within a few months of my posting it anyway)... you just have to glance over to my PBs listed on the right to see that this was a swing and a miss. This run was my 13th half marathon and my 5th attempt to get under 2 hours. Oh, I've taken as long as 3:01:52 to complete a half (Feb 2010, Historic Half) but as I continued to shed the weight, my times started dropping as well. Then in 2013, I ran the First Half in what was a crazy fast time for me (2:07) and started thinking maybe... maybe... I could get under 2 hrs one day.

1st attempt: Victoria Half, Oct 2013, 2:04:31 (brief thoughts on that here)
2nd attempt: Boundary Bay Half, Nov 2013, 2:04:05
3rd attempt: First Half, Feb 2014, 2:05:20
4th attempt: MEC Race 4, June 2014, 2:00:33 (I know!!)

Which brings us to attempt #5, and lucky half-mary #13. I don't want to brag, but pre-race self-doubt and negative thinking are a couple of my super powers. So it was a pretty curious thing for me, the night before, to be feeling pretty darn confident. I was stockpiling evidence to boost my confidence:

• I ran the MEC Race course long (21.3 km), and Strava marked my time at the 21.1 km mark as 1:59:36 Post-race, that was adding insult to injury but now... now, it was evidence that I had it in me to go under 2 hrs for this distance.
• I took my most recent race, (New Year's Day Generation Run 5K, 25:11) and entered it into the Running Room's race equivalency calculators. The Reigel prediction was 1:55:52. Performance Factor 1:57:21.
• At 132, I was toeing the start line lighter than I had been at any previous race.

I've got this. Race morning, I was nervous. I kept reminding myself of the points above - and maintaining that mantra: I've got this. Except I didn't.

We got there early... volunteers hadn't even organized themselves yet. I made a nervous trip to the washroom, did my warm up run, made another trip to the washroom, sucked back a gel, and got ready to start... but we were delayed. Race morning was warm and dry - and turned into a beautiful day - but the rains in the days beforehand had left the course flooded in places, prompting a sudden change in route due to an impassable section. After a slight delay, and a little confusion among organizers about which way they were routing us, we were off... beginning by funneling us over a narrow foot bridge. Go first? Don't mind if I do!

Now, leading up to the race, this event had not seemed that well organized. The course map didn't even make it on to the website until a few days beforehand. And when it did make an appearance, it was a little tough to decipher. I knew it was a couple of loops... and that we ran through 3 parks. Well, the route was lovely: very scenic, with very little neighbourhood or road running, and it had a variety of terrain... some flats, a couple of decent climbs... paved trail, gravel trail.. and one dicey section where you came down a short steep hill straight into a slippery mucky section, followed by a flooded section of trail that required tip-toeing around on the grass and through the muck back to the trail. Twice. "There's your 25 seconds..." a fellow competitor remarked to me after the race.

And while pre-race, there seemed to be a lack of organization, the race itself was excellent. The course marking was good and the volunteers controlling traffic were fantastic. I started out on pace, following the pacing plan I'd discussed a couple of days prior with my coach, but then somewhere in the race, I did the math, decided I'd lost it... and then I did.

When we debriefed post-race, with benefit of heart-rate and pace data, it looked like I eased up on the effort level between kms 9 and 15. Failure to execute. Inability to suffer. Whatever it was. I let that sub-2 slip through my fingers. I had decided I was going to end up running somewhere between 2:02 and 2:04 and when I crossed the finish line at 2:00:24, I was so disappointed in myself, that I teared up a bit and took a moment. 9 second PB and 25 seconds too slow to meet my goal. Too close.

Despite my disappointment, I have to say, this was a lovely race... I enjoyed the course and we were treated to amazing weather. Look at my fellow racers in the background... in tank tops and short sleeves. Hypothermic indeed! It was sunny and 13-15 degrees.

The race organization though... if I could take a moment... (of course I can, it's my blog). No course map until the last minute (and never an elevation profile), no indication whether/where there would be aid stations. I'd called the store after picking up my race package, noticing there was no timing chip, and was told that although it was timed, there were no chips. I was also told there would be age-group awards in 5-year groupings, and that the awards would be at the race, after the race, not at the brunch location. With this in mind, even though I wasn't making my time goal, I had pushed in the later part of the race to pick off women ahead of me. Because of the way the course looped, I knew there were at least 7 women ahead of me... but perhaps not many more. After the race, we were told the awards would be at the brunch so we headed over there... waited for more than hour (and a good 30 minutes past when the awards were supposed to be)... "oh we don't know, we're still waiting for everyone to finish" was the response... So we left.

Although the race website says results will be posted following the event, none have been. I sent an e-mail inquiring the week after the race and was told that they would be posted. But we are now two weeks post-race and there's still nothing there. I'm a little surprised at the disorganization and messaging given this is a Running Room event in multiple cities.

But... now that I've got that off my chest, I have to say, this was a nice little race. Your race entry gets you some gloves and a neck warmer/toque thingie which makes a nice change for those of us with drawers full of race shirts, and also gets you a buffet brunch of pancakes, eggs, sausages, bacon... yeah, so not particularly vegan friendly but the Hub ate his fill while I drank black coffee. The course was lovely, the volunteers were fantastic. If you're getting tired of running the same race courses around the Lower Mainland, give this one a try... I'd definitely give it a repeat.

As for my next attempt at sub-2... gah! I don't know, but I'm looking for a pacer who won't let me slow down!

Race Report: Challenge Penticton Full

So, here’s something unexpected. I’m posting my Challenge Penticton race report. Yes, it’s been three and a half months. And one might wonder why bother? Well, because. Because that day was so significant for me. For many reasons. It was about more than “just” the distance. Yes, more than “just” those 225.95 kms traveled. In the same way that the training was about more than the effort in those 580 hours of swimming, biking, running, lifting, and yogaing that lead me to the start line. And while revisiting the blog this last week, and looking back at my Facebook posts from race day, I realize the memories of race day are still pretty vivid. I don’t want to lose that day, so I’m going to try and capture it all here – 3 and a half months late, but here just the same.

When I read my training recap for the week before race day, it brings me right back to that nervous night before. Being withdrawn, in my own head, trying to imagine the day, how it would feel, whether I would rise to meet the challenge. The race morning photos capture well the nervousness I was feeling.

The walk to the start was dark.  I looked out at the lake to try and get a sense of how calm it was, but it was too dark to tell for sure. As we came near the entrance to the transition area, a volunteer told my family they couldn’t continue with me. As it turned out, we weren’t yet in an athletes-only section, and they could have stayed near. I was unprepared to be alone at that point, in the dark, and trying to find my way to the drop point for our special needs bags. But I found the drop off and made my way to my bike where I connected with friends, pumped up my tires, while trying to read the tire pressure in the dark, crossing my fingers that they were just right. After mounting my water bottles, stuffing my bento with Mars Bars and pumping my tires, there was plenty of time to stand around and be nervous. I made nervous chit-chat with friends who were competing, and those who were there supporting… my family nowhere in sight after having been shooed away earlier.  While waiting just outside transition we heard the announcement: non wetsuit swim for the pros.

I had a brief warm-up swim as instructed by my coach, and then stood around waiting for the start, a mass of nervous energy. I was most worried about the swim. But like all races, I just wanted it to start. The worst part of the day is before that start gun goes off, when the negative voices and the self doubt is overwhelming – and there’s nothing you can do. When the gun goes off, and you cross the line, it’s familiar territory. All those training hours. It’s time to get to work.

Challenge was a mass-start and fortunately the field was pretty small so it wasn’t really chaotic. I stayed near the buoy line as instructed by my coach, and settled into a rhythm. I got kicked a few times, had my legs grabbed a few times, but I didn’t let it alter my stroke or my rhythm. Celebrated that there were people swimming around me… even people behind me, and kept swimming. As it turned out, this was the swim of my life. I came out of the water in 1:38:51. I had been targeting 1:45. Thinking 2:00 was more likely. But still worried about the 2:15 cut-off. I swam faster than ever, and straighter than ever before… thinking maybe the course was a little on the long side, since my arguably straight swim came in at 4.23 km.

The only downside to the swim: my inability to multitask. Many times out there, I tried to coax myself to pee! But I couldn’t do it… couldn’t swim and empty my bladder at the same time. I wasn’t about to stop and tread water for the sake of getting this taken care of, finally accepting as I got closer to shore that I was going to have to waste time in transition. And waste time I did. There were only 2 porta-potties between the swim exit and the change tent, and the volunteer manning these johns was warning athletes not to use one of them. Someone’s nervous energy had um, overflowed, or something but the message was clear: you don’t want to go in there. So I waited in line, burning through transition minutes… not knowing how many… just waiting for my turn.

The change tent volunteers were fabulous. As I was taking items one at a time from my T1 bag and deciding what to do with them, a volunteer came and sat with me, grabbed the bag, dumped the contents in front of me, and asked what I need, trying to work through the bag in a logical order, and asking helpful questions like: “Do you need your swim cap?” [yes, it was still on my head] “I don’t think you do.” The run from the change tent to the bike racks seemed frustratingly long… running it in bike shoes anyway! As I rolled my bike across the mount line and prepared to ride, I could hear the announcer: “and here we have one of the last athletes to head out on the bike…” Uh thanks… Again, I didn’t know how much time I had spent in transition with that porta-potty wait, but I was feeling grateful to have the swim behind me, and ready to start the bike.

I loved the ride… well, most of it anyway. I remember feeling pretty great as I made my way along Skaha Lake, climbed up McLean, and road through my favourite section of the course, heading towards OK Falls. I made small talk with other racers as I passed them, thanked the volunteers, and enjoyed the day, the weather, and that I was actually doing it! All those weeks of training, and here it was, race day. And I was doing it! I’d made it past the swim. And the bike was awesome!

That feeling continued through Oliver and as I made my way up Richter Pass. There was a noticeable thinning of the “crowd” after leaving Oliver, as the Half athletes parted ways. Climbing Richter felt effortless. I felt like I was owning the climb, passing several riders, but not feeling like I was pushing too hard. Richter was the first place I would come across a genetically blessed family of 4 whose presence out there was a highlight of the day. I don’t even remember their names except that their oldest daughter’s name was Tessa! As I rode by on Richter, I called out “I love this hill!” and one of them called back “It looks good on you!”

I would see them again several times throughout the day… along the rollers, nearing the top of the Yellow Lake climb, on the run course, and then again at the finish line. A beautiful family from Kelowna, radiating positive energy, coming out to cheer on strangers through a very, very long day.

After Richter came the rollers, and I found myself riding at a great pace along them. I spent a lot of time in aero during the race – something I’d done precious little of during training – and enjoying the speed boost it gave me. And this is where I think I made one of my race day errors. My nutrition plan for the day called for a mix of Carbopro, Clif bars, and a Mars bar on the out and back. I had planned them so that I wouldn’t be eating solids right before climbs, and would alternate water and carbopro as a result. I was riding faster than anticipated and had made adjustments when I got to Oliver. Eating a Clif bar earlier than planned, drinking water instead of Carbopro. My Garmin was set to chirp at me every 10 minutes on the bike to remind me to drink. Unfortunately, when I was on the rollers, I continually ignored the chirp, not wanting to lose momentum by coming out of aero to reach for a bottle. I kept telling myself I’d drink on the next climb when I’d be coming out of aero anyway. And then the climb would come, and there’d be someone riding it slower than me, and I’d use the opportunity to pass them instead.

As I approached the Cawston out and back, the wind picked up and it started to rain. This was perhaps the only portion of the bike course that I didn’t love. I was beginning to tire, I knew I still had a lot of riding to do, and the weather was lousy! I was also beginning to do the math on my calories and water and knew I was in trouble. When I got to my special needs bag at the turnaround, I drank the Red Bull in it, left everything else, and continued on. I grabbed a bottle of water at the water station Gina was working, and started making my way to Yellow Lake. Other riders were beginning to slow down at this point, and there was a lot of riders to pass, the mood of everyone seeming a little less jubilant than earlier in the day.

My race plan had called for a pit stop at the Cawston turnaround (if I needed it), otherwise at the top of Yellow Lake. In my long training rides, this was usually the point mileage wise, were my body demanded it. But not today. This was probably when it dawned on me that I had screwed up my nutrition plan. I had intended to take in 1500-1700 calories by the time I got off the bike, and consume about 3 litres of fluids. When I got off the bike, I’d taken in 800-900 calories and just 1.5 litres of fluids, with a good third or more of the fluids taken on after Yellow Lake.

I had been worried about the ride down the switchbacks to Penticton… because I suck on the downhills but with a lane closed to traffic, I just relaxed and tried to enjoy the ride down. It was nothing short of fabulous. And perhaps a little terrifying with the cross wind. At least that was the remark of a rider who caught up to me at the bottom!

I can honestly say that when I got off the bike, I have never wanted to run a marathon less.  I was happy to get off the bike, but the prospect of a marathon? I felt pretty awful. Not awful in the spent muscles, low energy sense, but awful in a nausea-think-I’m-going-to-throw-up-maybe-I-could-just-lie-down-for-a-while sense. No time for that though… there was a marathon to run.

I ran out the first km, then stopped to use a porta-potty. One of the volunteers at the aid station said I looked like I needed a gel so I grabbed one, and kept running. My sweet Tessa was waiting on the course as I ran back past our hotel, and I went in for a hug, grateful to see her, soak up some love, try and draw some positive energy. I didn’t want to run this marathon. I wasn’t about to quit, but I had just over 40 kms left to run, and I didn’t know how I was going to pull it off. Andrew approached with a smile of encouragement and I remember saying: “I don’t feel good”. But I continued on, focusing on finding my stride and settling in, knowing a slow shuffle was better than a walk.

About 20 minutes or so after grabbing the gel, I thought I’d better take it in. I knew I was underfueled getting off the bike and that I couldn’t run the marathon on empty. I took the gel and my stomach cramped almost immediately. I kept running. I was carrying a hand-held water bottle with GU Brew in it, and tried to sip from it, but found I couldn’t tolerate the sweet liquid. As I ran, it felt like it weighed 40 lbs. I tossed the bottle at an aid station, tucking the bottle holder into my tri-top pocket… and kept running.

While I tried to get my GI issues under control, I tried to get in as much water as I could, and not attempt to take in any calories. I walked through every aid station and took a cup of water, and a baggy of ice cubes, filling the bra of my tri-top with ice… by now it was HOT, with no reprieve from the sun as we ran along Skaha. I still wrestled with stomach cramps, visiting several porta-potties, but I was able to keep going. A shuffle of a run, walking the aid stations, and eventually the hill leading out towards OK Falls. It was through this section that I saw Dan and then Taimi, feeling encouraged to see them both.

At OK Falls, what a blessing to have Gina’s friendly face and words of encouragement, delivering me my special needs bag. Truly running on empty at this point, I knew if I could even walk the rest of the way back, I’d finish, I’d make the cut-off, but it wouldn’t be the race I wanted. I choked back a Red Bull… disgusting but I have to admit, good advice from my coach… and grabbed the Ziploc bag of dried fruit I’d put in there as a treat, and I started to make my way back to Penticton.

I think at this point I had taken in enough water at the aid stations to recover from the nausea and gastro-issues I’d suffered through on the first part of the run, and I was able to tolerate the dried fruit. I nibbled at it from time to time, and picked up my pace… remembering a shuffle is better than a walk, not wanting to be a part of the “death march”. The second half of the run was much better than the first… better hydrated, some calories, and a reprieve from the heat, I found a pace and was able to settle in.

When I got to the 39 km aid station, I was offered beer… yes, beer! I’d been having a talk with myself at various points on the run, thinking about what I wanted when I finished… coffee, no a beer, no coffee, no a beer. I’ll tell you, that beer at the aid station, few things have gone down as easy!

Through the last few kms, it gets pretty lonely. It seems like most of the athletes that you’re going to pass, you already have, and there weren’t a lot of spectators. It was dark, quiet... lots of time to think… reflect on the training, the day, the challenges.  When I set out on this journey, I’d been focused on the 17-hour cut-off. I worried about not making it in time. About still being out on course when the fireworks went off at midnight… like my own personal Hunger Games! When I hired my coach, he said quite confidently that I would finish in under 15 hours. I knew how long my swim had taken, how long my bike had taken, how long the run was taking but I had no idea how long my transitions were. Still, I was pretty sure I was under 15 hours. Not sure how much under… but under.

At the beginning of the day while chatting with friends pre-race, I had confessed that I had tucked a lip gloss inside the pocket of my water bottle holder so that I could apply lip gloss before coming in to the finish. One of my friends laughed and assured me that I would not remember that I had it, nor would I care what I looked like. Au contraire! As I approached the finish, and spectators started to line the street, I grabbed my lip gloss from my pocket and tried to put it on while running… a lost cause. So I stopped, applied my lip gloss, tucked it in my pocket, straightened my outfit and my race number, and ran in to the finish. Andrew saw me stop short of the red carpet and believed I was overwhelmed and having a cry… nope, just getting ready for that finish photo!

Running down the red carpet towards the finish is a moment I’ll never forget. I remember hearing a thunderous banging noise as I ran toward the tape. It took me a moment to realize what it was… spectators, learning over the fencing, banging their arms against the signs. It was amazing. I looked up and saw the time on the clock: 14:15. I was elated. Can you tell?

After the race, we stuck around for an hour or so, waiting to see how friends were doing, chatting about the race. The finish line spread offered little for vegans… “I can get you a white bun with condiments” Andrew offered. Pass. After an hour or so, we headed back to the hotel… climbing the stairs to our room – a painful obstacle! Back in the room, I celebrated with a beer, leftover pasta from two nights earlier, and a bag of Snapeas, then went to bed listening to the fireworks. I do regret not heading out to sit on the beach in front of our hotel, watching the fireworks, and toasting the experience with some champagne. At the time though, there was no way I was going to go down and up a flight of stairs!

I slept for about an hour, then woke up, in a world of hurt. I’d have traded my finisher’s medal for an Advil at that point! Adrenaline kept me from getting back to sleep, so I tried to lay absolutely still – because every time I moved, multiple things hurt – and spent some time on Facebook, reliving the day through Andrew’s pictures and comments from friends. Imagine my surprise to read that a friend had watched my pre-finish lip gloss application on the live stream! LOL

When I watched my finish line video, I can hear the announcer say something along the lines of: “Congratulations Karin. You met the Challenge today. And folks, not only did Karin meet the challenge but she has lost more than 120 lbs” [little cheer goes up from the crowd] “Karin, you are an inspiration.” But you know what he doesn’t say? He doesn’t say “you ARE an Ironman”. Now logically, I think what was said should mean a heck of a lot more than what wasn’t said but… I still need to hear it.

So 2015… IMC. Yes, it needs to be done. When I told my coach, he said sub-13 was possible. I corrected him… “you mean sub-14”. “No, sub-13.” Well… we’ll see.  31 weeks and 5 days…