"Failure is not an option." Oh, Wait! Yes, I guess it was.

Boston Bound?

Since I began running with my friends last September, a.k.a. the fastest girls in town, a.k.a. the No Drama Mamas, I expected to qualify for the Boston Marathon on March 2nd at the Albany Marathon.  We were all planning to run the Boston Marathon together; but for those smart readers who haven't concerned themselves with such things, you have to qualify for the Boston Marathon by running another certified marathon at a particularly fast pace.  I did everything I believed I should do to achieve this goal: track work, strength training, half marathons run at race pace, yoga and injury prevention exercises (all in addition to my usual swimming and cycling).  

At the finish line of a half marathon
trail race with fast girl, Amy.

Race pace 15K finish.  Feeling great.

My training culminated two weeks prior to race day with a Saturday that included: a ten mile race pace run, an hour of torturous Crossfit, a 50 mile ride with my cycling club in which I pushed the pace hard (to the annoyance of the ride leader), and then a 15K road race the following morning in which I held race pace.  I thought for sure I was ready.  I began the rest and recovery phase of training.  I loved having a goal in front of me that I felt confident I could achieve.  I visualized.  I practiced race day mantras.  I read motivational books.  When race day finally arrived, I felt ready.

The race began so well!

The No Drama Mamas at the Albany Marathon starting line.

Like most marathons, the Albany Marathon offered pace groups.  I decided to begin with a pace group just a bit faster than what I needed to qualify.  I thought I might surprise myself.  This is a lifelong tendency I have-- overestimating my abilities.  

The first few miles were wonderful.  They were astonishingly easy.  My legs were springs.  I was running 15--30 seconds faster per mile than I needed for my BQ (Boston Qualifier).  However, by mile six, I began to struggle a bit.  My stomach didn't feel well.  My legs were getting heavy.  Had I gone out too fast?  I decided to slow down to race pace and assess.  I was still well ahead of my BQ pace group.

Mile Ten was my last decent mile.  At Mile Eleven, it all went to Hell (Sorry, Mom).  I had purposely chosen to carry all my own fuel to avoid the very thing that happened: nausea, diarrhea, even a little vomiting.  The only blessing was that I made it to the porta potty-- every single time.

By the halfway mark, I was well behind my BQ pace, and I knew my Boston Qualifier wasn't going to happen.  To my horror, I watched pace group after pace group pass me between miles eleven and twenty.  I couldn't bring myself to talk much to the friendly back of the packers as they passed me.  Every well intentioned "Good Job!" they threw my way felt like a taunt.

At Mile 16, I stopped at an aid station where a kind volunteer texted my one man support crew-- John Degonia, a.k.a. the hubby, a.k.a. the Loyal Marine-- and asked that he find me on the course and rescue me like a lost puppy.  At every turn, I looked for his bright orange shirt.  The tracker app he relied on was giving him crazy information.  He wasn't able to find me until mile twenty.  My loyal Marine ran four miles trying to find me!  Relief, not shame, filled me at the moment he appeared.  I simply wanted to disappear; to click my heels and be home.

I wasn't the only dropout.  We gave another guy a ride back to the start.  He had also been hoping to run a BQ.  Unlike me, he was already talking about the Publix Marathon in Atlanta the following month.  I still wanted to throw away my running shoes.

My running partners were quietly supportive when they heard the news.  Unlike me, they had run the half marathon.  Also unlike me, they had a good time; and one had won her age group.  This is normal for her, so no need for an exclamation point there. ;-) They began immediately searching for my next marathon while I was still wiping away tears.  

My husband drove us home.  He never complained.  He made us laugh.  He likewise did not act ashamed of my performance, but focused on how strong I looked in the first few miles.  I appreciated this.  As usual, I didn't tell him.

On the long drive home, my No Drama Mamas began talking about other marathons I could aim for.  I pretended to ignore them for a while. 

But I have a score to settle now.  Something I thought I could do is actually more challenging than anticipated.  I began researching marathon training plans.  I committed to laying off other training while I dedicate myself to this challenge.  Then yesterday, this happened:

Let the challenge commence.

New Year. New Friends. New Goals.

Cary, Kristi, Barbara, and I at a local 10K

 Life at age 50 is interesting.  No longer young, but not yet old.  Strong and healthy, but anticipating decline.  It is a wonderful time to decide which challenges are still within reach and set your priorities accordingly.  It's even better when you have company on your journey.

My long suffering husband (the Hubs) is always happy to work out with me-- whether it's running a few miles, cycling, or swimming.  However, we have different goals (his are far more sensible); and sadly, he is often away from home for something called W-O-R-K.  I never leave Covington for any of my three jobs, and I shudder at the thought of being gone 7-10 days at a time; something poor Hubs is familiar with.  So although I love training alone and with the Hubs, it is wonderful to have another option.

After having a wonderful time at Ironman Chattanooga, I turned my attention to two new friends-- Cary and Barbara-- and their goal to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  Those ladies and their friends are so much fun and full of such positive, happy energy, that whatever they want to do will undoubtedly be wonderful.  And so the training has begun.

Cary showing off her stylish hat!

I would not have undertaken this goal without these new friends.  First of all, I have minimal hope of actually achieving my goal of running under 3 hours and 55 minutes (sub-9:00 miles for 26.2 miles).  Second, running faster requires speed and tempo work-- not my favorite things.  I prefer toodling along through the woods with my dogs and barely acknowledging my pace at all.  It is a challenge to teach my body to run faster and hold that pace over 10, 15, or 20 miles.  It is uncomfortable.  I simply cannot do it alone.  

Cary, other Kim, and I after
the Columbus half marathon.

Cary and Barbara help me face this challenge; and I am doing the same for them.  We are a team, though sometimes at different paces.  We encourage, inspire, and cheer one another.  We have begun a weekly yoga practice to reduce risk of injury; and when Barbara injured her ankle while away on business, we swam together as part of her recovery.

As a cyclist, I learned the joy of riding with others.  It initially surprised me how group rides were such joyful, happy experiences, and how speed and endurance increased effortlessly.  The same is now happening with running.  This girl, who always thought of herself as a natural introvert thriving on alone time now looks with anticipation toward group runs and rides.  Who knew?

2019 New Year's Day ride with C4 folks.
Note the Hubs waving in the back.

It turns out that community is important.  As I get older, I want a group of wise and happy friends with me on my journey.  Alone is fine, but together is better.  

First 2019 Winter base ride with C4.

A fun run and Christmas gathering with
Covington's She Runs this Town ladies.

SUFFERFEST 2018: IRONMAN CHATTANOOGA

Finish Line Bliss.

Before launching into this race report, let me say the important things first: I couldn't have done this without the love and support of my darling husband, John Degonia.  He would much prefer that I make a hobby of being thrifty and cleaning house.  Alas, he married the wrong woman!

As I've mentioned before, Heraclitus said that we can't step in the same river twice.  This was especially true this year in Chattanooga since the Tennessee river was flooded and treacherous.  Our usual running route was five feet underwater.  The river was swift, and filled with debris and dangerous bacteria.  Just three days before Ironman Chattanooga began, the swim portion was cancelled.  No swimming in that river.  This year's event was bike and run only.  

Many competitors were disappointed.  I didn't mind.  I loved the swim last year, and had been thrilled with my time.  However, the change in plans allowed us to have a time trial bike start that was exciting.  

Photo by Carol Howie Cherry

The race began well.  The sky cloudy.  The air cool.  I love the beauty of the surrounding Chattanooga mountains, particularly in the morning as the mist rises.

I pushed as hard as I could, and wore no watch.  The question of the day was, Can I go a little faster?  And the answer for the first 60 miles was Yes.  I discovered later that I averaged 19 mph-- a triumph of biblical proportions for me!

The second half of the 116 mile ride was less triumphant as I slowed a bit and couldn't seem to rally.  The hills seemed higher and the sun came out.  I no longer cared about the beautiful scenery.  My fellow racers and I became silent and determined, speaking or pointing only to alert others to road hazards.  

At mile 100, a cyclist sat in the ditch near his bike.  "Need medical?" I asked.  
"Dislocated shoulder," he replied.
Soon after, an ambulance passed on its way to assist.  Later, I saw the same man on the run.  He had his dislocated arm in a makeshift sling and was walking the 26.2 miles to the finish.  I still don't know whether to be amazed or horrified by that level of commitment.  

As I approached transition to begin the marathon, I knew my legs were experiencing a new level of suffering.  My thighs felt like they were being squeezed with a vise.  I hoped for the best as I changed into my running shoes, and began a hot, sunny run.

The worst part of knowing the course is knowing the pain to come.  The Chattanooga run course has one short (two mile?) flat section.  The rest is rolling hills with two or three steep uphills that are nothing if not disheartening.

Cindy and I were all smiles at the finish line.

Unlike last year, however, this year I made a friend who helped get me through the run.  Cindy is in the 55-59 age group, and has been on the Ironman podium more than once now.  She was chasing a Kona slot, and undoubtedly would have found it at this race if not for the excruciating thigh cramps that plagued her throughout the day.  As we ran together, she would say, "You go ahead.  I've got to stop."  A mile or two later, she would say, "Your shadow's back!" And we would run together until her legs cramped again.  Without her company, I undoubtedly would have lost heart and walked.  As it was, we finished within two minutes of one another.  

The finish line in an Ironman is a lifetime away.  As the miles slogged by, I had a revelation.  I realized that pain and fatigue were of no concern and should be ignored.  This is where my Crossfit training and coach Jimmy Birdsong came in.  

The pain and fatigue of Crossfit had taught me well.  As long as the pain is not an injury, you can continue.  Comfort is optional.  Progress is not.  In the second half of the marathon, there is no way to make the pain go away.  Even if I walked, the pain and fatigue would still be present, and walking only prolonged the effort.  So I ran.  

I passed hundreds of walkers, many of them still on their first loop of the 26.2 mile course.  When I felt tired, I ran harder.  Feel sorry for myself?  Heck, No.  I'm going to finish this race.  And though my time looks slow, I averaged one minute per mile faster than last year after having beaten last year's bike time by a full hour.

The Finish Line was Heaven.



























Immediately after the race, I promised my husband not to engage in this crazy behavior ever again.  I'm probably lying.  Already the pain is fading, and I'm wondering what would happen if I added more Crossfit to my schedule.  Maybe my form would hold together a little longer.  Maybe more power in my legs would translate to more speed on race day.  Sorry, Sweetie.  I'm not thrifty.  But you knew that going in.

Messing with Success-- adding Trail Running and a liberal dose of CrossFit to the Traditional Ironman Recipe

I read all the books.  I took notes.  I watched all the YouTube videos.  I studied and trained by the book for years before competing in my first Ironman.  It was a success.  I wanted immediately to do another one, and my dear, long suffering hubby bought my entry to Ironman Chattanooga 2018 as my Christmas gift.  

And then about April, I tired of the training.  Whenever I tried to push myself, I fell short of my best effort.  Some of my motivation could be remedied with a rest day or two, but then it never fully came back.  I was slacking off as my training should have been heating up, and I couldn't seem to do anything about it. 


So what did I do?  I stopped road running and began to do long, slow trail runs with the dogs and with my trail running friend, Amy Benton.  I forgot about pace and started enjoying the scenery.  My theory was/is that trail running strengthens the legs, ankles, and feet in a way that road running does not.  Also, I like it better.  This may or may not be a great idea.

My two happy running pals.

Even more questionable, what do I do only 8 weeks away from Ironman Number Two?  When by all accounts I am supposed to be logging my longest miles, I experiment with CrossFit.  In the past month, I've put in 15+ hours of CrossFit and have been too sore and fatigued to put in even half the mileage that would be normal during peak Ironman training.  This may not end well.  And I'll have a mountain of I Told You So to dig my way out of.
Can I blame Tanya Linger for issuing the CrossFit invitation?

The intensity of a Crossfit class can only be experienced, not explained.  The soreness after my first class was crippling.  My coach, Jimmy Birdsong, immediately identified my weaknesses and began to focus on them.  Tight left shoulder.  Weak core.  Weak upper body.  "Leave your ego at the door," he said.  

The location of my greatest suffering.

I spend some portion of every class splayed on the concrete floor in a pool of my own sweat before a large fan trying to remember why I came to this torture chamber.  But I have realized this: CrossFit increases my tolerance for discomfort, and I can achieve more than I ever thought I could.  Thank you, Jimmy.

Surely all of this weight lifting, squatting, jumping, pull ups, and burpees must result in some benefit to triathlon training?  Surely, I will have greater endurance as I run and a stronger climb as I bike the hills?  

There is hope: Yesterday, only 27 days from Ironman, I managed a 100 mile bike ride just below race pace.  I felt fine afterward.  This morning, I went for a ten mile trail run.  I am a little stiff around my knees, but feel no other fatigue.  Tomorrow I'll swim, but not far.  My shoulders are still sore from last week's CrossFit class.  The good news?  My motivation is high.  I am energized by the intensity of CrossFit, and I've already seen it carry over into my mile times in the run.

So I'm messing with last year's winning recipe.  Okay, not winning recipe, but a GOOD one.  This year, I'm trying something different.  We'll see . . . maybe it will be a delicious surprise.

50K Birthday . . . The Mobile Celebration!

Thank you for the balloon and flowers,
Mom and Dad!
You're the BEST!

Is there anything more important than good health, great friends, and a loving (and tolerant!) family?  I think not!  

Today, on my 50th birthday, I had the chance to celebrate all those things as I ran 50 kilometers (31 miles).  It was supposed to be 50 miles; but Hey, I'm not crazy! ;-)

Friend Amy ran me in for the finish!
Okay, No.  We walked. :-)

As the hours passed, friends came out to run and walk beside me.  My husband and son Spencer decorated my van with balloons and signs.  They ran and walked with me, too.  They loaded my van with a cooler filled with icy drinks and tasty snacks-- I'm thinking of you, miraculous candied pecans at mile 20!

My first round of traveling companions:
What an awesome way to start a run!

It was a wonderful day.  I've had a lot of them.  Half a century's worth now.  But I hope not to be done for a long time.  I don't want to be over the hill.  I love climbing up the hills.  Of course, zooming down them is fun, too.

Much love to all of you who sent me sweet Happy Birthday messages, cards, balloons, and flowers!

John and longtime Bestie, Tod (and Gigi)

And WHO is taking me out for dinner and drinks after
spending the ENTIRE day being my run sherpa
and running/walking beside me ALL day?
THIS guy.  I love you, honey.  I'm sorry I'm crazy. ;-)

   

Working on my Transitions

Transition: 
The process of changing from one condition to another.

Triathlon has two transitions: from swim to bike and bike to run.  

John and I sharing snacks on our
most recent bike ride together.

But the Degonia family has many more transitions occurring simultaneously: John is leaving one job for another.  He is super excited about the opportunity, but that doesn't mean there aren't tense moments.  

Spencer and Denver are transitioning from homeschool to public and private school.  They are not super excited, but they are ready, willing, curious, and more than a bit nervous.  

John Robert is transitioning between time zones as he travels to Europe this summer with fellow classmates and his first girlfriend.  

Jibby pausing for a picture
in Madrid, Spain.

And I . . . I am transitioning from being a 40-something to celebrating my 50th birthday.  I am going from homeschool teacher to P.E. teacher at Denver's private school.  I am coaching beginner triathletes, and I am preparing for Ironman Chattanooga.

That's a lot of transitioning.

According to Google, the word Transition has several synonyms, including Metamorphosis.  I like that one.  The Degonia family is undergoing Metamorphosis. 

Welcome to the Butterfly House!

 

Preparing to Swim in the same River Twice

Accidental selfie--
taken on every bump in the road 
on yesterday's ride!

I wanted a repeat of last spring.  I wanted long rides with my husband and cycling club.  I wanted the excitement of anticipating race day; and let me admit it, I wanted the weight loss I experienced last year.

Few of these experiences have come to pass.  I am enjoying long rides with my club, and I love it; but my husband rarely gets to join us.  My race training is slightly less thrilling than last year, and I'm up ten pounds.  I'd like to claim it's all muscle, but I'd be lying.

A Sunday Novice ride with my son, Denver.

Heracleitus said we "can't step in the same river twice" (Of course, he said it in Greek).  I realize I've been trying to do just that-- repeat last year.  This year's training experiences are different.  Still good, but different.

One change is my focus: I've begun thinking how fun it would be to share the triathlon experience with others.  I've been offered the opportunity to coach, and I'm going to take it.

Riders seeking sustenance at Rest Stop No. 4
at the Tony Serrano Ride. 
It was a joy to meet every one of them!

Another surprise, I became president of my cycling club this year.  An even bigger surprise is that I love being more involved with our riders and supporting the growth of the club.  Working as a volunteer at the Tony Serrano Century was incredible!

Baking Pumpkin cookies for
the Tony Serrano Ride.

Another unexpected change is that I've fallen out of love with running (temporarily, I hope.  We're in counseling ;-).  And my nemesis and I are more than just friends--I'm passionate about swimming-- some would say obsessed (Amy Benton).  

I'm happily training and looking forward to race day, but it's less mysterious now.  I know if I have a good day, I'll be faster than last year.

Sneaking a kiss from my son after our ride.

Dominic and Eddie on our last ride together before
Dominic's move to Philadelphia.

A rare opportunity to ride with (almost) the whole family.

What I don't know is what this quiet, rainy day will bring, or the days that follow it.  This admission is hard for an organized, goal driven control freak like me to admit.  Today will be a rest day.  A be grateful day.  But maybe . . . if it stops pouring . . . a long run day.