CIM

Something inside me was immensely drawn to CIM; a mere 69 (nice) days apart from BBM. Friends bet I'd roll into it; it's a thrill when people bet in your favor, in favor of your antics, be it wild and not entirely smart, but full of passion. I don't like to be told I shouldn't do something. Actually, I thoroughly enjoy it, because...reverse psychology.

I've chased the big marathons, but not championships, and with the US Marathon Champs in conjunction with CIM, the course that held my PR, I felt like, if recovery went well after BBM, and I got the go-ahead from the elite director, it would only be a good experience. A chance for Red and I to break up the Washington winter, to race against better, stronger women, to be encouraged to step up, to compete.

Nikki had been and continues to be a major factor in the evolution of my training. There's great potential to get too enmeshed in your own ideas, to get stuck in a holding pattern and wait entirely too long in a position of stagnancy before shaking things up. It's a great idea to have someone (if you don't have a coach), to have council with - someone you trust, who can look at what you're doing or plan to do with separation from the immediate intimacy of doing. I definitely wanted to do more and didn't think all the fartleks in the beginning of the second, abbreviated or continued marathon build were in my best interest, but, it was, and I'm extremely thankful for her guidance. I believe she did the very thing that we need most in a coach - hold us back from ourselves.

I love Sacramento. I love that as soon as we got off the short flight, got into our choice of a rental car out of a fleet of varying styles & colors, went immediately to Jimboy's tacos for parmesan and oil encrusted beef tacos, that on top of all that good, I could also get dropped off at a thrift shop, and finger through the donated fabrics of a city mostly unknown to me, in order to get a better idea on the internal culture of it. The architecture has a Louisiana-Cal mix of flavor, gorgeous fronts of homes, streets lined in bulbous orange trees with the heavier of its fruit flattened against the street in ocherous flame, thick green nw trees and palms.

I'm careless when it comes to hotels, or cheap, and because of such Red & I have stayed at the worst places: foot of freeways, window views of drug deals, chased by dogs, beds that crunch when you stir. In full acknowledgement of my idiosyncrasies, and, being more of the sort who chooses comfort over stubborn shortcutting, Red chose the hotel for CIM. The Kimpton Sawyer Hotel in downtown Sac was a factor towards the total calm I felt heading into the race. It "merges past with future, indoor with outdoor, and urban with rural." The staff were all models, impeccably dressed, there were bikes with baskets for free use, valet, free happy wine hour every night. Our corner suite had floor to ceiling windows, 180 deg. view of the city, a balcony, and the most plush, all white bed. After tacos & thrifting, Red picked up a couple bottles of red wine, and we checked in. We opted out of dinner out, our room too comfortable - and as I tossed between feet up the wall, reading You are a Badass, and watching TLC, Red walked to a local pizza place for takeout. The Kimpton is next door to the Golden1 Center, where on Friday night, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra was playing, the music of which wafted in in progressive rock undulations through the balcony door. We shared margarita pizza and salads over red wine in bed until, heavy-lidded, we drifted.

Saturday morning was blanketed in a light, low hanging fog which burned off into blue. Cold pizza for breakfast. Red grabbed a basket bike and kept me company in my shakeout; we fell in love with gated homes & the fruit tree lined streets. Cold pizza for lunch. Later that afternoon I dropped off my bottles at the elite hospitality suite and headed to the mandatory elite meeting of race rules, prize purse, bib pickup. It was really cool to sit in this packed room, among some of the best men, women & famed coaches, to feel the tittering energetic air. I met up with Red post, at a wine bar called Downtown and Vine, where, over an olive mix, red wine & moscato, we riddled the wine buyer with questions about living in Sac. After, we walked to Coin Op, played classic arcade games and shot hoops against one another in a feverish sweat. We regrouped at the hotel before meeting up with family, Amanda, and her friend, Phuong (both of whom were seeking BQ's), at Lucca, downtown. Baskets of bread, another bowl of olives marinated in fennel seed, arbol chili & citrus, then: pappardelle with housemade sausage, mushrooms, chili flakes & parm and crispy duck confit with braised lentils, roasted squash, arugula, walnuts & pomegranate vinaigrette over Justin cab, ending in profiteroles (warm cream puffs with vanilla bean ice cream & dark chocolate sauce). It was really nice to share a pre-race meal and nerd out with the two of them.

At 4:45 am on Sunday I had a breakfast of oatmeal, banana and coffee before we got our car and headed out for Folsom. Red could drive me as far as a mile out from the start, where buses would pick us up and take us the rest of the way. The sun didn't rise till 7:30 am, and on the bus you could see the super moon between the trees. Due to the generosity & compliance of an apartment complex, the elite tents and portos are set to the side of the start line, and came equipped in mass coffee, creamer, bananas and water. It was pitch black in the portos; you had to hope for the best as you felt your way down. I took the advice of a friend to do a shorter warm-up, to allow for some warming up in the first few miles of the race. Noticed a knot in my left calf that wouldn't budge after vigorous pre race self massage, but thankfully it was never an issue. By 6:45 am we were ushered to the start line, where Vince DiFiore of Cake played the anthem on trumpet. Sophia from Seattle, and a few other lovely faces of women I follow were all there, a group of us with eyes on the 2:45 pacer. The gun sounded.

Miles 1-5
Before the race I had a hard time deciding whether I'd start out at pace, or if I'd stay behind the pack and try to negative split. I thought that the smarter of the two would be the latter, but I'm also the kind of person that can't not, so...I stayed with the pack, jockeyed for a full stride (to little success), and jockeyed to the right between elite fluid reachers. The pacer indicated that he'd follow a more fluid pacing plan, of pulling back the reigns on the ups and free-falling on the downs. Our first 5 miles were: 6:16, 6:17, 6:06, 6:15, 6:16.

Miles 6-11
The pack of 2:45 chasers was still thick in size, as we moved to the right for fluids, passing off drinks & water if some in the group missed or didn't have any. Though I was thankful that there was a pacer at all, that because of a pacer, all these women felt comfortable & secure in the pursuit, it was a little too stimulating for me. I figured the talking would cease as the fatigue set in, but the pacer was energetic the whole way through. He did a great job, and kept checking in if we'd like more stories, but I felt myself get the kind of stimulated where you're like in a library and someone takes a phone call. Despite this feeling, I can't be sure that his stories didn't completely distract me from any sort of pain or negative feelings in and of itself. Though I wish I could say I'm this totally positive person, I remember the annoyances well. I couldn't claim space, couldn't elongate my stride, couldn't fully extend my arm swing, as all was abbreviated by the size of the group, and the general height range of the women beside. Again, despite general annoyance, I can't be sure these weren't the very things that released within me an unyielding desire to compete. Every once in a while I'd visualize holding back, think of the words hold back, which helped at least trick my mind that there was a beast within, just waiting for the word. The miles ticked off: 6:17, 6:16, 6:14, 6:20, 6:09, 6:14.

Miles 12-17
What I really enjoyed about the pacer was his quick math. He possessed the knowledge, and all I had to do was go mind numb to the task. Being a fan of money-in-the-bank, despite knowing that a negative split is more productive to a positive end, I thoroughly appreciated when he'd say, "We're such-and-such seconds ahead of our goal!" It was near mile 17 when I started to separate from the pacer group, probably after I saw that 6:20 - 6:16, 6:11, 6:14, 6:16, 6:10, 6:20.

Miles 18-24
With Sophia up ahead I had this beacon of an instigated notion, an inspiration to move. Though I didn't know her well, I knew her better than the others, and I took her lead. It was this interesting sensation of being at complete peace with my own journey as well as femininely inspired, pack inspired. We danced back and forth, our surges our own, and I caught up with and danced with a couple other women who had separated from the 2:45 pack as well.

At BBM I wore the Hoka Tracers, but my feet were on fire by mile 13, so I opted out of these. For CIM I splurged on a pair of the Nike 4%'s little bro, the Nike Zoom Fly. I'd hardly trained in them (30 miles?), and the hard ankle structure had cut up my heels, but with all the positive feedback I wanted to try them. Even if just placebo. I've never had another gear on the back half of a marathon. Except for this day. I don't believe it was the shoes alone, but they were a factor, along with good intake of nutrition, no GI distress, no period, pliant adductors (thanks Rad Bones!) and smart(er) training, all of which aided in a strength I'd never felt before from mile 18 on - 6:15, 6:15, 6:09, 6:03, 6:06, 6:02, 6:06

Miles 25-26.2
I saw Red on the right, and he started to run hard, racing alongside. I remember thinking, "Oh man, I'm not sure if this is ok, he better knock it off, but fuck he's hauling!" He veered to catch me at the finish. I worked my way up to two women ahead, caught one right before the line, finishing in 2:42:44, with Sophia following closely behind. The final miles + were 6:04, 6:03, 5:42. After we crossed the finish line, Sophia gave me an incredible hug, sobbing, her petite frame so small against my hunched hulking stature. Red hugged me across the fencing, crying, as I stood there in disbelief. I wasn't pooping.

They placed a finisher's medal around my neck, and let Red sneak a little peekaboo into a finisher's photograph. A short while later Amanda crossed the finish line with a PR & a BQ, there followed Phuong. Red and I went to the Sutter Club, where they had this incredible set up for the elites and their plus ones, of silver panned hot breakfast foods, a fruit & yogurt bar, coffee, juices, massages, and a bar. We shared breakfast on a sunny veranda overlooking the finish line, witness to the sweat-filled glory of other companions in pain.

In the end 54 women ran an OTQ, with Sara Hall as the US Marathon Champ, just weeks removed from her PR at Frankfurt, finishing in a time of 2:28:10. The weather perfect, the size of the group of women seeking immense, the course fun, and the support from CIM outstanding - I've been processing the experience, soaking in. I've begun to understand the true value of goal setting, of perserverance. And, for the first time since racing marathons, I'm completely open to all, welcome to anything, with no immediate goals. A practice in presence.

After a hot shower at the hotel, we checked out, headed for Jimboy's and wolfed down parmesan powdery tacos in the car on the way to the airport. Flew to Seattle, drove home, calmed the sad wailing of our lonesome whisker biscuit and went to sleep, both of us back to work Monday morning.