“Laura Marshall, you are an IRONMAN!”
I didn’t actually hear those words. I think he may have said I was from Oakland, but I’m not sure. The haze of exhaustion, pain, and, above all, happiness, deafened me in those final moments of my 10-month journey.
But let me backtrack a bit, put things in perspective.
I didn’t actually hear those words. I think he may have said I was from Oakland, but I’m not sure. The haze of exhaustion, pain, and, above all, happiness, deafened me in those final moments of my 10-month journey.
But let me backtrack a bit, put things in perspective.
On Thursday, I drove up to Tahoe. The moment had arrived. It was Race Weekend. My emotions had been a little volatile over the past few weeks as my anticipation grew, but as I turned onto Hwy 89 toward Squaw Valley, excitement bubbled up, and I had a little car-dancing party for those final miles.
I checked in at the Expo, bought a bit of gear, and had lunch with some teammates. Then I learned I had lost my credit card getting gas that morning, and someone had stolen it and charged thousands of dollars. The credit company contacted me, erased all the charges and mailed out a replacement card. I considered freaking out, but decided everything was okay. My excitement level remained high.
On Friday, things took a turn for the worse. Most of the team was staying at a hotel right in Squaw Village, which was where all the race meetings, team meetings, Expo and finish line would be. I was not at the team hotel. A few of us were at a hotel 2 miles down the road, and scattered throughout it, so it was not easy to find one another or socialize. Race morning shuttles left from the Village, meaning I would need to get up even earlier to catch an initial shuttle from my hotel over there, and then I would need to figure out how to get back after the race. The sense of isolation and the complicated logistics threw the fragile emotional balance I had achieved into a tailspin. I was a wreck. Utterly.
On Saturday, even more complications arose. We had a short tune-up ride that morning, but my bike computer would not turn on. I thought perhaps I had used a bad plug while charging it, but when I got it back to the hotel, it became clear that it was completely dead, and no charging would revive it. Remember the part about being a wreck? Now double it.
I drove over to the Village and sent out a call for help. Some teammates took me into their hotel room for the day, giving me some needed soothing company, and a coach loaned me her bike computer to use during the race. (The reason a computer is so necessary is that I have a tendency to push too hard. I rely on comparing my speed to my perceived exertion to keep me in a good range. Without it, I could wear myself out on race day.)
I checked in at the Expo, bought a bit of gear, and had lunch with some teammates. Then I learned I had lost my credit card getting gas that morning, and someone had stolen it and charged thousands of dollars. The credit company contacted me, erased all the charges and mailed out a replacement card. I considered freaking out, but decided everything was okay. My excitement level remained high.
On Friday, things took a turn for the worse. Most of the team was staying at a hotel right in Squaw Village, which was where all the race meetings, team meetings, Expo and finish line would be. I was not at the team hotel. A few of us were at a hotel 2 miles down the road, and scattered throughout it, so it was not easy to find one another or socialize. Race morning shuttles left from the Village, meaning I would need to get up even earlier to catch an initial shuttle from my hotel over there, and then I would need to figure out how to get back after the race. The sense of isolation and the complicated logistics threw the fragile emotional balance I had achieved into a tailspin. I was a wreck. Utterly.
On Saturday, even more complications arose. We had a short tune-up ride that morning, but my bike computer would not turn on. I thought perhaps I had used a bad plug while charging it, but when I got it back to the hotel, it became clear that it was completely dead, and no charging would revive it. Remember the part about being a wreck? Now double it.
I drove over to the Village and sent out a call for help. Some teammates took me into their hotel room for the day, giving me some needed soothing company, and a coach loaned me her bike computer to use during the race. (The reason a computer is so necessary is that I have a tendency to push too hard. I rely on comparing my speed to my perceived exertion to keep me in a good range. Without it, I could wear myself out on race day.)
At the Inspiration Dinner put on by TNT the night before the race, there were yet more tears. With emotions already running high, speakers brought us all back to our purpose in joining the team: raising funds to cure cancer. The San Francisco and Silicon Valley teams combined raised over $560,000 this season. On Saturday, I finally reached my personal goal of raising $6,000 for patient services and research. I continue to be so touched by the generosity of my community. Thinking about what these funds do to support people going though so much more than an Ironman, I couldn’t help but cry.
In a last-minute change of plans, my wonderful teammate Betty, who didn’t have a roommate, allowed me to stay in her room at the team hotel the night before the race. This would cut down on those complicated shuttle logistics, and allow me to sleep a little longer on race morning.
Lights out at 8:30 pm, alarm set for 3:20 am. Meeting in the lobby at 4:00 am. Shuttle leaves for the start line at Kings Beach at 4:30 am.
In a last-minute change of plans, my wonderful teammate Betty, who didn’t have a roommate, allowed me to stay in her room at the team hotel the night before the race. This would cut down on those complicated shuttle logistics, and allow me to sleep a little longer on race morning.
Lights out at 8:30 pm, alarm set for 3:20 am. Meeting in the lobby at 4:00 am. Shuttle leaves for the start line at Kings Beach at 4:30 am.
Though it had rained throughout the day on Saturday, dumping snow on the mountaintops and scattering debris on the roads, race morning was clear and cold, and sweepers had been out to clean the roads. As we made last minute adjustments to our bikes and donned wetsuits, the thermometer stayed locked on 28 degrees. A dense mist on the water came into view as the sky lightened, an indicator that the water would be warmer than the air. I held onto that thought as I crunched ice-encrusted sand between my toes in the corral at the starting line.
I found teammates in the chute. We hugged and we cried a little. We wished each other good luck. I held hands with one teammate as we crossed the mat and waded into the lake. Time to begin.
The water was glorious. I loved that swim. I had fun and felt good. I was trying a rented sleeveless wetsuit, and loved the freedom of movement in my arms. The water was crystal clear, a perfect 60-something degrees, fresh and lovely. The rolling swim start meant I was swimming with people of a similar pace, so there was minimal jostling for space. Until Sunday morning, I had never swum 2.4 miles. On one occasion, I had swum about 2 miles, but Race Day would be my longest swim ever. I’m so glad this was the swim. I swam it in 1:25, which is almost exactly what I had expected, so I am very pleased with the result.
I found teammates in the chute. We hugged and we cried a little. We wished each other good luck. I held hands with one teammate as we crossed the mat and waded into the lake. Time to begin.
The water was glorious. I loved that swim. I had fun and felt good. I was trying a rented sleeveless wetsuit, and loved the freedom of movement in my arms. The water was crystal clear, a perfect 60-something degrees, fresh and lovely. The rolling swim start meant I was swimming with people of a similar pace, so there was minimal jostling for space. Until Sunday morning, I had never swum 2.4 miles. On one occasion, I had swum about 2 miles, but Race Day would be my longest swim ever. I’m so glad this was the swim. I swam it in 1:25, which is almost exactly what I had expected, so I am very pleased with the result.
I was sad to leave the water because it meant I had to re-enter the 30-degree air, and walk barefooted on frozen pavement to transition. But this wasn’t a swim, it was a triathlon, so out I came.
T1 was a nightmare. I grabbed my transition bag, sat down while a volunteer yanked my wetsuit off me (the bikini bottoms stayed on, luckily), and scurried into the women’s changing tent. Mayhem! There must have been 100 women in that tent, all shuddering with cold and clumsily attempting to disrobe and re-dress with speed. Volunteers were on hand to help. I pushed my way to the far back corner, and found an empty chair, and MIRACLE, a heating vent! I learned later that I had a 21-minute T1. All transitions were much longer at this race than normal because of the cold and the need to put on multiple layers, but 21 minutes is a little extreme. I just loved the heat so much!
Finally, I made my way out to collect my bike and begin the longest leg of the race. I was feeling good from the swim, and from seeing some familiar faces volunteering in the changing tent, another friend calling my name as I hopped on the bike, and teammates cheering all along the sidelines. Though I was also bitterly cold, couldn’t feel my fingers, and felt like my legs were too stiff to move through a smooth pedal stroke, the sky was clear, and I love riding my bike. Onward!
T1 was a nightmare. I grabbed my transition bag, sat down while a volunteer yanked my wetsuit off me (the bikini bottoms stayed on, luckily), and scurried into the women’s changing tent. Mayhem! There must have been 100 women in that tent, all shuddering with cold and clumsily attempting to disrobe and re-dress with speed. Volunteers were on hand to help. I pushed my way to the far back corner, and found an empty chair, and MIRACLE, a heating vent! I learned later that I had a 21-minute T1. All transitions were much longer at this race than normal because of the cold and the need to put on multiple layers, but 21 minutes is a little extreme. I just loved the heat so much!
Finally, I made my way out to collect my bike and begin the longest leg of the race. I was feeling good from the swim, and from seeing some familiar faces volunteering in the changing tent, another friend calling my name as I hopped on the bike, and teammates cheering all along the sidelines. Though I was also bitterly cold, couldn’t feel my fingers, and felt like my legs were too stiff to move through a smooth pedal stroke, the sky was clear, and I love riding my bike. Onward!
The bike course looped from Kings Beach through Tahoe City, up 89 past Squaw Valley and into Truckee, then cutting south into a gated community behind Northstar before connecting with Hwy 267 over Brockway Pass and back down to Kings Beach. We would do that loop twice, and continue along it a third time to finish at Squaw Valley. I felt strong on the first loop, but became worried when I rode the one section of the course we were never able to preview. The gated community behind Northstar, Martis Camp, was hilly. Very hilly. There were lots of ups and downs, but overall, it was ups. I climbed, climbed, climbed, all the while thinking about Brockway Summit, a 2.5-mile climb with 8-9% grades at the peak. The final descent out of Martis Camp was bittersweet, because at the base, the course made a sharp right turn onto 267, and the climbing began all over again. It was hard.
But here was the good – at the top of Brockway, Trish, April and Anne (who had earlier seen me mostly naked while volunteering in the changing tent at T1) were screaming my name, waving signs and making me smile. The adrenaline rush of cresting that hill spiked higher when I saw the lake spread out below me. Then I laughed out loud when I saw the freshly, beautifully, amazingly paved road descending ahead of me. We had the lane, so I took it. I averaged 34 mph over the 4-mile descent, but I was cruising at 42 for fair bit of it. Best ever.
But here was the good – at the top of Brockway, Trish, April and Anne (who had earlier seen me mostly naked while volunteering in the changing tent at T1) were screaming my name, waving signs and making me smile. The adrenaline rush of cresting that hill spiked higher when I saw the lake spread out below me. Then I laughed out loud when I saw the freshly, beautifully, amazingly paved road descending ahead of me. We had the lane, so I took it. I averaged 34 mph over the 4-mile descent, but I was cruising at 42 for fair bit of it. Best ever.
I had friends cheering for me, Alison and Matt in Tahoe City, and teammates scattered at several points on the course. On the second loop, I sought them out, needing the comfort of their cheers. My legs were getting tired. Martis Camp took much more out of me than I could have expected, and I would have to do it again, plus Brockway. Luckily, the long stretch of Hwy 89 between Tahoe City and Truckee is net-downhill. I got into a moderate gear, tucked into my aerobars, and cruised. I made sure I wasn’t going too fast, averaging about 21 mph on that stretch, saving my legs for the climbing to come.
I needed every bit of strength the second time around. It wasn’t until later when I examined the data on my Strava upload that I realized why Martis Camp felt so much harder than Brockway.
Martis Camp: over 8 miles, we climbed over 1,100 feet.
Brockway: over 2.5 miles, we climbed 833 feet.
Though Brockway is much steeper, the extended climbing of Martis Camp felt much harder, and was much more draining. The second time around, I was riding close to a teammate, and we stopped at the top of the final Martis Camp climb to rest. I stopped again at the top of Brockway, gasping, wasted. Some people were walking their bikes. I thought about it, because I was so tired. Here’s what stopped me.
I summitted that bitch, and then took the descent even harder than the first loop, PR’ing the drop to lake-level.
When I saw Alison and Matt at Tahoe City for the 3rd time, I almost cried. My legs were hurting pretty bad, I had some weird cramping in my thigh, I was so tired. I had been waiting to see my familiar faces for a few miles, and finally seeing them was a relief and also scary. The run was coming.
For much of the bike, I felt an odd sense of displacement, of unreality. It seemed so strange to me that I would be running a marathon at the end of the day. I honestly didn’t know how I would do it. I thought to myself, “I didn’t train enough for this.”
But trained or not, I came in off the bike after 7 hours 45 minutes of riding, and it was time to run. I spent 16 minutes in T2. I struggled to get my legs under me. My brain felt tired. I changed completely from my cycle gear into run gear (everything except the sports bra), and the process felt fumbling and slow. This time, there were only about 8-10 other women in the tent, plenty of volunteers to help and chairs to sit on, but I didn’t have the brain power to zip through.
I needed every bit of strength the second time around. It wasn’t until later when I examined the data on my Strava upload that I realized why Martis Camp felt so much harder than Brockway.
Martis Camp: over 8 miles, we climbed over 1,100 feet.
Brockway: over 2.5 miles, we climbed 833 feet.
Though Brockway is much steeper, the extended climbing of Martis Camp felt much harder, and was much more draining. The second time around, I was riding close to a teammate, and we stopped at the top of the final Martis Camp climb to rest. I stopped again at the top of Brockway, gasping, wasted. Some people were walking their bikes. I thought about it, because I was so tired. Here’s what stopped me.
- Embo, Zara and Jasmine, dressed in full IronFairy regalia, screaming their lungs out and pacing me from the other side of the road, telling me they loved me, giving me IronTeam strength.
- Drew screaming my name from the skylight of a car heading down the hill.
- April, Anne and Trish screaming my name from their car, also heading down the hill.
- A rider behind me, commenting about how awesome all my support was, clearly jealous.
- The deep understanding of myself as a person who doesn’t quit, who doesn’t walk her bike up hills, who pushes through pain, and takes the support of others’ cheers and turns it into the energy needed to crank out a few more pedal strokes.
I summitted that bitch, and then took the descent even harder than the first loop, PR’ing the drop to lake-level.
When I saw Alison and Matt at Tahoe City for the 3rd time, I almost cried. My legs were hurting pretty bad, I had some weird cramping in my thigh, I was so tired. I had been waiting to see my familiar faces for a few miles, and finally seeing them was a relief and also scary. The run was coming.
For much of the bike, I felt an odd sense of displacement, of unreality. It seemed so strange to me that I would be running a marathon at the end of the day. I honestly didn’t know how I would do it. I thought to myself, “I didn’t train enough for this.”
But trained or not, I came in off the bike after 7 hours 45 minutes of riding, and it was time to run. I spent 16 minutes in T2. I struggled to get my legs under me. My brain felt tired. I changed completely from my cycle gear into run gear (everything except the sports bra), and the process felt fumbling and slow. This time, there were only about 8-10 other women in the tent, plenty of volunteers to help and chairs to sit on, but I didn’t have the brain power to zip through.
I headed out, high-fiving Phil just before crossing the mat, and waving to my teammates lined up along the finishing chute. Yes, we exited through along the same path that finishers would take. We would loop back through another time at the 17-mile mark, as well. What a tease! Brutal.
Running was no fun. My butt muscles felt worn out from all the climbing I had done on the bike, and the jolting and pounding from feet on pavement caused me quite a bit of pain until I got used to the rhythm. Or perhaps I just got used to the pain. At this point, everything hurt. This would persist throughout the 26.2 miles of the run.
About 3 miles out, I saw Embo, Zara and Jasmine again. This time, there were hugs. Wonderful, wonderful hugs. I hugged them each time I passed. The run course started in Squaw Village and followed a trail along the road, cutting in for a loop around the back of the hotel I was staying at before heading back toward the trail and down to Hwy 89 and the Truckee River Bike Path to Tahoe City. The return skipped the spur to my hotel, heading straight back to the Village, past the finish line, and back out on the second loop, which followed the same course, but turned around earlier, just after reaching the Truckee River Bike Path.
I chatted with my teammate, Ben, for a bit, who I had been leapfrogging with all day. I saw teammates coming in as I was going out, and forced several of them to hug me. I ran into an old TriTeam teammate and chatted with him a little. I talked with some other competitors in passing. I looked at the beautiful Truckee River. I tried to eat. I thought about how surreal everything felt, and how weird it was that I was running a marathon and would be completing an Ironman in the next few hours. I thought and worried about the teammates I wasn’t seeing on that path.
The Ironman has several time cut-offs. The bike course had 3. When I realized that my bike time would be 7:45, putting me at about 9:30 in total race time, I knew that some of my teammates would not make the 10:30 final cut-off for finishing the bike leg. As I was running out on my first loop along the road, I scanned every incoming cyclist, and saw several teammates arrive, and I saw others running along the path on my return trip, but it wasn’t until I saw some of my competing teammates cheering alongside the road that I knew for sure that they had been pulled off the course.
This made me so very sad. There was so much heart on my team, so much drive and will and strength and spirit. I think that on any other course on the Ironman circuit, every single one of them would have completed the event. But Ironman Lake Tahoe had 7,300 feet of elevation gain on the bike, more than any other Ironman course. The pros competing at this event put up times that were over an hour slower than the average professional finishing times. The race as a whole had a 25% DNF rate, when most Ironmans have about 5% of the field not finishing. The majority of the DNFs occurred on the bike loop. One of my teammates missed the final bike cut-off by 3 minutes, another by 6. Others were pulled earlier in the ride, one of them after spending 40 minutes in the medical tent after the swim from the cold. We had extreme weather conditions, we had extreme hills. Reviews of the race mark it as the hardest Ironman event. My teammates who were pulled from the course put everything they had out there, and I’m so impressed by all of them. As one teammate said, Did Not Finish (DNF) > Did Not Start (DNS). They toed the line, gave it their all, and then came out an cheered for their teammates. This is TEAM.
I saw Alison and Matt at the Tahoe City turn-around. There was much hugging. This was good. I had started the run running 4:1 intervals, but by this point, mile 9, I had devolved to 4:2 or 4:4 or whatever I could do. My primary thought during this leg was to run whenever I could, because I knew a time would come when I wouldn’t be able to. I was thinking about my knee pain flaring up, about my achilles, about the constant cramping I get in my calves. There would be a point when running would not work, so I would try to run as much as I could early on to bank time for later walking.
I did experience cramping. I also had some knee pain. My ankle and foot started hurting, which was new and exciting. But these were all part of the overall sense of pain and exhaustion, so I didn’t worry too much. I just mall-walked up the hills, ran down them, ran as much of the flats as I could before I needed a break, and kept moving forward.
The sun went down at 7:00 pm. It was DARK. I had a headlamp on my visor brim, but I was very aware of reports of bear sightings that weekend. On that path. I swung my arms hard to keep my momentum up and my energy high during my walk intervals. I drank hot chicken broth from water stops to put salt and heat and liquid back into my body. I put on arm warmers. Then I added gloves pulled from my Special Needs bag at mile 13. Later, I put on a long-sleeved shirt. Temperatures dropped quickly, and my breath was steaming. I passed the meadow at Squaw Valley where the 3/4-moon lit up the mountains and a low-lying fog draped the field. Just as beautiful, I passed the 25-mile marker. This was the home stretch. My pace quickened.
Running was no fun. My butt muscles felt worn out from all the climbing I had done on the bike, and the jolting and pounding from feet on pavement caused me quite a bit of pain until I got used to the rhythm. Or perhaps I just got used to the pain. At this point, everything hurt. This would persist throughout the 26.2 miles of the run.
About 3 miles out, I saw Embo, Zara and Jasmine again. This time, there were hugs. Wonderful, wonderful hugs. I hugged them each time I passed. The run course started in Squaw Village and followed a trail along the road, cutting in for a loop around the back of the hotel I was staying at before heading back toward the trail and down to Hwy 89 and the Truckee River Bike Path to Tahoe City. The return skipped the spur to my hotel, heading straight back to the Village, past the finish line, and back out on the second loop, which followed the same course, but turned around earlier, just after reaching the Truckee River Bike Path.
I chatted with my teammate, Ben, for a bit, who I had been leapfrogging with all day. I saw teammates coming in as I was going out, and forced several of them to hug me. I ran into an old TriTeam teammate and chatted with him a little. I talked with some other competitors in passing. I looked at the beautiful Truckee River. I tried to eat. I thought about how surreal everything felt, and how weird it was that I was running a marathon and would be completing an Ironman in the next few hours. I thought and worried about the teammates I wasn’t seeing on that path.
The Ironman has several time cut-offs. The bike course had 3. When I realized that my bike time would be 7:45, putting me at about 9:30 in total race time, I knew that some of my teammates would not make the 10:30 final cut-off for finishing the bike leg. As I was running out on my first loop along the road, I scanned every incoming cyclist, and saw several teammates arrive, and I saw others running along the path on my return trip, but it wasn’t until I saw some of my competing teammates cheering alongside the road that I knew for sure that they had been pulled off the course.
This made me so very sad. There was so much heart on my team, so much drive and will and strength and spirit. I think that on any other course on the Ironman circuit, every single one of them would have completed the event. But Ironman Lake Tahoe had 7,300 feet of elevation gain on the bike, more than any other Ironman course. The pros competing at this event put up times that were over an hour slower than the average professional finishing times. The race as a whole had a 25% DNF rate, when most Ironmans have about 5% of the field not finishing. The majority of the DNFs occurred on the bike loop. One of my teammates missed the final bike cut-off by 3 minutes, another by 6. Others were pulled earlier in the ride, one of them after spending 40 minutes in the medical tent after the swim from the cold. We had extreme weather conditions, we had extreme hills. Reviews of the race mark it as the hardest Ironman event. My teammates who were pulled from the course put everything they had out there, and I’m so impressed by all of them. As one teammate said, Did Not Finish (DNF) > Did Not Start (DNS). They toed the line, gave it their all, and then came out an cheered for their teammates. This is TEAM.
I saw Alison and Matt at the Tahoe City turn-around. There was much hugging. This was good. I had started the run running 4:1 intervals, but by this point, mile 9, I had devolved to 4:2 or 4:4 or whatever I could do. My primary thought during this leg was to run whenever I could, because I knew a time would come when I wouldn’t be able to. I was thinking about my knee pain flaring up, about my achilles, about the constant cramping I get in my calves. There would be a point when running would not work, so I would try to run as much as I could early on to bank time for later walking.
I did experience cramping. I also had some knee pain. My ankle and foot started hurting, which was new and exciting. But these were all part of the overall sense of pain and exhaustion, so I didn’t worry too much. I just mall-walked up the hills, ran down them, ran as much of the flats as I could before I needed a break, and kept moving forward.
The sun went down at 7:00 pm. It was DARK. I had a headlamp on my visor brim, but I was very aware of reports of bear sightings that weekend. On that path. I swung my arms hard to keep my momentum up and my energy high during my walk intervals. I drank hot chicken broth from water stops to put salt and heat and liquid back into my body. I put on arm warmers. Then I added gloves pulled from my Special Needs bag at mile 13. Later, I put on a long-sleeved shirt. Temperatures dropped quickly, and my breath was steaming. I passed the meadow at Squaw Valley where the 3/4-moon lit up the mountains and a low-lying fog draped the field. Just as beautiful, I passed the 25-mile marker. This was the home stretch. My pace quickened.
I wound my way around the parking lot and up into the village, slapping hands of the crowds lining the finisher’s chute. I saw the green flames of my team just before the blazing lights at the archway drew my full attention. I smiled uncontrollably. My heart was pounding, my ears were ringing, my whole body was straining toward that line. I threw my arms up in the air and smiled, smiled, smiled as they called my name.
I am an Ironman.
That run/walk took me 5:45 to complete, and my Ironman overall took 15:35. Wow, wow, wow. I kept laughing and smiling. There were volunteer “catchers” at the end who are there to guide finishers through the chute, getting the medal, the t-shirt, food, medical tent if needed, etc. My catcher put her arm around my shoulders, and was so gentle and kind. I wanted to hug her, but didn’t. I wanted to hug the person who gave me my medal, and also the one who gave me the t-shirt. I didn’t. But then I saw Alison and Matt, and I did hug them a few times, and that was when I teared up, just a little. I normally cry like crazy at the end of big races, but this time I just smiled. Maybe I cried it all out during my anxiety freak-outs pre-race, and all that was left was joy.
I am an Ironman.
That run/walk took me 5:45 to complete, and my Ironman overall took 15:35. Wow, wow, wow. I kept laughing and smiling. There were volunteer “catchers” at the end who are there to guide finishers through the chute, getting the medal, the t-shirt, food, medical tent if needed, etc. My catcher put her arm around my shoulders, and was so gentle and kind. I wanted to hug her, but didn’t. I wanted to hug the person who gave me my medal, and also the one who gave me the t-shirt. I didn’t. But then I saw Alison and Matt, and I did hug them a few times, and that was when I teared up, just a little. I normally cry like crazy at the end of big races, but this time I just smiled. Maybe I cried it all out during my anxiety freak-outs pre-race, and all that was left was joy.
I ate a little bit, then went and joined my teammates to cheer the rest of our friends across the line. I was shuddering with cold, draped in blankets and other people’s coats, and everything on my body, every single thing, hurt. But this was my team, and I wanted and needed to witness their success. It was hugs all around.
Then, on Monday morning, I bought finisher gear and ate 3 breakfasts. (Also, lunch was entirely French fries, bacon-cheese tater tots and wine. Dinner was lasagna.)
On deck:
Then, on Monday morning, I bought finisher gear and ate 3 breakfasts. (Also, lunch was entirely French fries, bacon-cheese tater tots and wine. Dinner was lasagna.)
On deck:
- 10K in October
- Half Marathon in November
- Hiking Patagonia in December
- And in January, I’ll begin training for Ironman #2: Boulder 2014!