I cannot believe it has been a whole year that I have managed to keep somewhat of a blog. Not as regular as I would like, but I have maintained a few entries and gained some insight on training as a result, which is a beautiful thing. Somehow seeing it on the computer screen in front of me sorts through the varied emotions I tend to feel about my training and racing. I think I have more respect for people who race as professionals (the pressure!) and those who race with disadvantages (the physically challenged). Today was no different when it comes to the emotional gammet I rode on "race" day.
Jen and her husband, Todd, picked me up and he shuttled us to the start. The event was sold out this year and all of my friends were left with 2 options: run as bandits or try to get a coveted race number. I heard when I picked up my number yesterday that people were begging for entries, offering up to $200 for a number from someone else, or some asking to donate as much as $1,000 to the Kiwanis for entry. Anyway, Jen was lucky enough to have John on her side, as he scored 3 numbers from injured racers, one for himself, one for Mike and one for Jen. They felt it was evil to run as mere bandits and couldn't wear that title.
There we all were, together at the start. I just was not feeling it today. I was remembering my 1:39 from last year and how much it hurt at the end and somehow I just could not get my mind around wanting to push (and hurt)like that again. But, there I was under the "start" sign with the usual suspects. Jen and I are so petty, laughing at the people in garbage bags, snickering at the people who wore today's race shirt (rookies), and busting a gut over some of the outfits we witnessed in general.
Anyhoo, the gun went off and we were on our way. I ran on John and Mike's heels through the first 4 miles. I pace felt a little fast, about 7:15s, I think, and I felt a bit dizzy. I am not sure, but my belly was kind of off and my head was just not in the right place. All that kept plaguing me was that I better suck it up, since this was a training run for a distance TWICE as far in a mere 6 weeks.
So, we climbed the hill up Fourth Street in Del Mar and I pulled out in front, I guess, since Mike came trotting along after me into the dreaded Torrey Pines State Reserve. THE hill. THE climb. I really wasn't that worried, until I began the ascent. It was hard today, more so than it has been for the last 6 weeks when I ran it with Jen. Whatever. Mile 7 was at the top and I felt like the hard part was (mostly) over. I saw her husband there with one of their boys and I felt good to be moving on. John came up next to me at that point and said, "That was the tough part. Now we settle into a pace." He popped a Motivator or two. I swear that guy is addicted to those little pills. He fell back a little, or maybe I picked it up. I remember looking at the clock at mile 8 thinking I was still faster than 7:30 pace, though I cannot think of what it said now.
Mile 9 was uneventful and 10 was a grind down, down, down the more dreaded hill, as far as I am concerned. We lost hundreds of feet in elevation and my quads were feeling it, for sure. My friend Theresa jumped in with me and tried to pull me along. My legs did not want to go any faster. Along the beach and some guy yelled that I was top 20 women. "Keep it there," he said. I was losing steam fast and barely managed a pathetic smile for him. Down the boardwalk to mile 11 and then the WORST part of it all, mile 12. The climb up Spindrift to Prospect Street, and more of a climb into town. It was hell. I ate some Jelly Belly Beans, looking for a miracle. It didn't come. I choked on what I was eating and tried to take in some water at mile 12, but felt like I aspirated it. John passed me on that hill, while I walked and tried to regain some composure. It was a losing battle.
Up to Prospect and then down the brick street into the finish. I looked at my watch and realized that I was not going to match last year's time. It already read 1:39 and I knew the finish was too far away. I crossed the line in 1:40 and change and was truly disappointed in myself for giving it up that last mile. I just did not have it in me. I wish I knew how to dig deeper and gut it out and hold onto it. I just never seem to want it bad enough. I think I finished 15th in my age group and like 47th woman overall. So, either the guy down at the beach was off in his counting or I gave it up to 20 woman the last mile. The latter is very possible, based on how I felt. Why have I not figued out how to hone that competitive drive? Why can I not dig deeper and go for it when it really hurts? Why have I not learned how to be a true competetor after all of this time? Why am I such a quitter?
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Thursday, April 05, 2007
April Fools
That was Sunday, right? Yes, its has taken me this long to sit down at the computer and write about the tragedy I witnessed. Perhaps it had not all sunken in yet. I was still in disbelief until now. I could not really come to terms with it. My husband is mortal. He is mere human in the water. He wears a Speedo like the rest of us. He was defeated by his longtime rival and the rematch that was 16 years in the making was over in 2 minutes and 6 seconds. Marc lost??? April Fools, right? Nope. Read on.
From the moment we stepped onto that pool deck, Marc kept telling me, "Pea, I am not the world's fastest swimmer. You think I am, but I am not that fast compared to some of the people here." I still didn't believe it. Marc is very fast and I am sure he is top something percentile in the swimming world, I just don't know the stats, of course. I was just so happy to be there to see him, and even happier that all of my family was coming to witness the big event, too. Surely, defintely, Marc would beat Brian out of the water. He would catch him in the breaststroke and defeat him by a small but comfortable margin in the free.
Don't get me wrong. Brian is an amazing swimmer. He is super sleek and fast and determined in the water. He even wore that super cute speedsuit the real geeks wear to be faster. But Marc is, well, Marc. He is always the winner. Marc never loses at anything he does. He trains hard and he trains to be fabulous...not just to compete, but to go for the win. I am not used to anything but a podeum finish from that guy I sleep with. The outcome was totally unexpected for me.
The rematch was the 200 IM. He and Brian tied in high school and since there was only one medal, Brian took it with the idea they would someday come back to the rematch. The day had arrived and it was a bright beautiful one in Mission Viejo. The meet was much larger than I anticipated and the facility was super cool. The kids were loving the small pool they were allowed to swim in while waiting in between dad's events. I was grateful for the distraction, especially after the little one walked into the bleachers and put a hole in the top of his head. That was fun. Anyway....
Marc swam the 200 free first. By my standards, he is an Olympian, of course, going 1:57. He said he "took it easy". The unfortunate thing was that he pulled a rhomboid off the blocks. I think because he has not climbed up on a starting block in over a decade, he was simply out of practice, and he really injured something in his upper back and neck. This handicap secured the win, I was sure. Marc is so like that. If he is the underdog, if he has the disadvantage, if he is not the likely hero, he will win. He will dig and claw his way to the top and come out the winner. I knew he was in pain when he climbed out after that 200 free, but I thought little of it, knowing the big event was next. Surely he would smoke Brian. Our 6 year old told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to come home without that medal.
Guess what? She let him come home. It was his birthday, after all. The beep sounded and they were out. I wish I could give you the swim talk for the play by play, but I am not educated. It is a different dialect...one I am not verse in at all. This is how is was from my vantage point: both Brian and Marc came out in the fly very strong, but Marc looked like he was struggling shortly into it. Brian put some serious distance between them and didn't stop when it came to the backstroke. Marc closed a good portion of that gap in his favored stroke, the breast. But, Brian and he were equally matched in the free and that is where Marc gave it up. 2:10 to Brian's 2:06. I knew Marc was surprised. Not so much that Brian won, but more that his time read 2 seconds slower than what he thought he might go on a bad day.
Here is the thing...I am more inspired and awestruck by him now than ever before. To me, Marc is superhuman in the water. He smokes most of his competition and does it with confidence and ease. To see him swimming scared and looking for Brian in the lanes down from him during that breaststroke was to see my husband in a new vane. He is never uncertain. He never wavers in the pool. He is never rattled. But this day, he was.
At first it scared me. Then it shocked me. Then it transformed me. Marc lost with such humility and grace, we should all look that good when we come out second. Our daughter was in disbelief, too, but she learned a very valueable lesson...it was priceless. Winning is not everything. He worked very hard for a very long time to compete and be in the best shape possible for this meet. He dedicated the time and energy and gave everything he had. He simply did not have that extra gear in the pool that day. I think the reason I enjoyed the day so very much is that I finally had that little window into a world of his I never knew. For as long as we had dated and have been married, I have never seen him swim in a meet. I felt as though I was finally a small part of something that was such a huge part of who he was for so many years. Swimming defined his character for years, since he was a small child. When I came along, he was long since burned out and over competing. Here was my opportunity to catch a little glimpse of what that looked like. He looked like a hero to me. All he needed was the cape and he could be Speedoman.
So, it wasn't really a tragedy afterall. It was more of a comedy, or maybe even poetry. It was an amazingly fun weekend, with non-stop laughter with my family in town. The poetry came from the dose of humility and grace Marc provided. Nicely done, Pea. Brian, not bad for a swim geek in all your glory!
From the moment we stepped onto that pool deck, Marc kept telling me, "Pea, I am not the world's fastest swimmer. You think I am, but I am not that fast compared to some of the people here." I still didn't believe it. Marc is very fast and I am sure he is top something percentile in the swimming world, I just don't know the stats, of course. I was just so happy to be there to see him, and even happier that all of my family was coming to witness the big event, too. Surely, defintely, Marc would beat Brian out of the water. He would catch him in the breaststroke and defeat him by a small but comfortable margin in the free.
Don't get me wrong. Brian is an amazing swimmer. He is super sleek and fast and determined in the water. He even wore that super cute speedsuit the real geeks wear to be faster. But Marc is, well, Marc. He is always the winner. Marc never loses at anything he does. He trains hard and he trains to be fabulous...not just to compete, but to go for the win. I am not used to anything but a podeum finish from that guy I sleep with. The outcome was totally unexpected for me.
The rematch was the 200 IM. He and Brian tied in high school and since there was only one medal, Brian took it with the idea they would someday come back to the rematch. The day had arrived and it was a bright beautiful one in Mission Viejo. The meet was much larger than I anticipated and the facility was super cool. The kids were loving the small pool they were allowed to swim in while waiting in between dad's events. I was grateful for the distraction, especially after the little one walked into the bleachers and put a hole in the top of his head. That was fun. Anyway....
Marc swam the 200 free first. By my standards, he is an Olympian, of course, going 1:57. He said he "took it easy". The unfortunate thing was that he pulled a rhomboid off the blocks. I think because he has not climbed up on a starting block in over a decade, he was simply out of practice, and he really injured something in his upper back and neck. This handicap secured the win, I was sure. Marc is so like that. If he is the underdog, if he has the disadvantage, if he is not the likely hero, he will win. He will dig and claw his way to the top and come out the winner. I knew he was in pain when he climbed out after that 200 free, but I thought little of it, knowing the big event was next. Surely he would smoke Brian. Our 6 year old told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to come home without that medal.
Guess what? She let him come home. It was his birthday, after all. The beep sounded and they were out. I wish I could give you the swim talk for the play by play, but I am not educated. It is a different dialect...one I am not verse in at all. This is how is was from my vantage point: both Brian and Marc came out in the fly very strong, but Marc looked like he was struggling shortly into it. Brian put some serious distance between them and didn't stop when it came to the backstroke. Marc closed a good portion of that gap in his favored stroke, the breast. But, Brian and he were equally matched in the free and that is where Marc gave it up. 2:10 to Brian's 2:06. I knew Marc was surprised. Not so much that Brian won, but more that his time read 2 seconds slower than what he thought he might go on a bad day.
Here is the thing...I am more inspired and awestruck by him now than ever before. To me, Marc is superhuman in the water. He smokes most of his competition and does it with confidence and ease. To see him swimming scared and looking for Brian in the lanes down from him during that breaststroke was to see my husband in a new vane. He is never uncertain. He never wavers in the pool. He is never rattled. But this day, he was.
At first it scared me. Then it shocked me. Then it transformed me. Marc lost with such humility and grace, we should all look that good when we come out second. Our daughter was in disbelief, too, but she learned a very valueable lesson...it was priceless. Winning is not everything. He worked very hard for a very long time to compete and be in the best shape possible for this meet. He dedicated the time and energy and gave everything he had. He simply did not have that extra gear in the pool that day. I think the reason I enjoyed the day so very much is that I finally had that little window into a world of his I never knew. For as long as we had dated and have been married, I have never seen him swim in a meet. I felt as though I was finally a small part of something that was such a huge part of who he was for so many years. Swimming defined his character for years, since he was a small child. When I came along, he was long since burned out and over competing. Here was my opportunity to catch a little glimpse of what that looked like. He looked like a hero to me. All he needed was the cape and he could be Speedoman.
So, it wasn't really a tragedy afterall. It was more of a comedy, or maybe even poetry. It was an amazingly fun weekend, with non-stop laughter with my family in town. The poetry came from the dose of humility and grace Marc provided. Nicely done, Pea. Brian, not bad for a swim geek in all your glory!
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