CIM

It was a challenge to wait till the end of September to start training for CIM (once back from New Zealand), but with it came lessons in patience & faith. I figured summer was the buffer, plus, for years Ber & I would train ourselves into the ground, and the best way to not do that if you're not smart enough (me), is to do an "abbreviated" training block, as opposed to the classic 12-16 weeker's. I ran when I felt like it on the North Island, which was a lot, though not of epic distance, because you can't not run there. It's an advantageous way to see the grandeur, the significance, the weight of New Zealand.

The fall was nothing if not eventful. I raced cross, because I love team events, and it had worked for me leading into CIM '17. I had a couple weeks over 100 miles, my longest LR was near 23. Some of the bigger workouts leading to CIM included:

- Steddy 22 miler with fast(er) finish in 2:25
- 3E, 7MP, 1T, 3MP, 1T, 1MP, 4E in Portland along the Willamette which destroyed my calves for like 2 weeks
- 15MP at 5:57's

We had been fortunate with winter thus far, the only adversity in there being few windless days - rivaling Chicago for the new proclamation. I was happy to leave Bellingham, which felt like a magnet vibrating in all this loss. Flew to Sacramento with Ber & Red on Friday before the race. A new city with palms and eateries and In'N'Out could shake me from despondency, perhaps. We stayed at the Hilton Garden Inn, a few miles away from the finish at the Capitol, where you could buy a nail file for $4 and a continental hot breakfast for $20, meaning perks are no longer free.

After getting in we headed towards Folsom, stopping at the grocery store for breakfast items, breads, bananas, bottles of wine. Before, in the parking lot, a woman was carrying out a couple bottles of Piney Ridge with its classic green & red label and Red ran up to her, asked her how many were left and sprinted into the grocery store. It was above me until I became educated. Then, when savored in a short glass before and after the race, it became unforgettable.

To In'N'Out to pop Ber's burger cherry for burgers, fries and milkshakes. With all that grease on our laps and as chapstick on our lips we drove the course so she could see it.

For dinner Friday night we went to Tapa the World;open since '94, serving traditional Spanish dishes. Packed, dark wood, dim light, tight, live Spanish music. We ordered Tortilla Española, the Spanish poor man's potato cake cooked in olive oil with onion and egg, the Queso Español del Día of imported Spanish cheeses with crostinis, Marcona almonds, Piquillo peppers & fig preserves, Aceitunas (selection of olives from Spain and around the world), and some Empanadas del Día. Red ordered a special bottle of red - the Clio 2006 Mourvedre - a single bottle left on the large wine list and an order which impressed the owner, who shared it with us over dinner. It was a treat, albeit slightly unusual two days before the race, but the risk was worth the salivary sensations. Back at the hotel we shared some wine & fell to rest.

SATURDAY

To the expo & elite hospitality suite for bibs and water bottle drops. The elite suite as its been for years - semi-crowded in men and women decorating bottles with platters of nice sandwiches, snack bars, fruit. Everyone maybe slightly confused or anxious. It's always kind of hard to know how to begin in there unless you're assertive or practiced. Personally, I don't like to be around nervous energy if I can help it; a likely empath. Lauren Totten, a pro who had placed in the top few at CIM '17 acted as elite coordinator/volunteer and she was quite wonderful at it. After dropping bottles we headed to the pre-race USATF Marathon Championships meeting - the champs field deeeep.

Saturday after the meeting I went thrifting and picked up like a lot of onesies. A thematic haul, totally gravitational. As Friday's dinner was so exotically tempermental and bowelly unknown, we opted for takeout pizza from a place down the street. Ate slices on Ber's bed watching some romance, relaxed and at peace with the pain that prevailed.

SUNDAY AM

Rise and grind at 4:45, hotel coffee, bagel, pb, banana, water. Out the door by 5. Red drove us to the buses at the end of the line in Folsom. We were the first to board, which was a gift, as we were the first to enter the tents. Filled up a large cup of coffee (urethra's demise) and chatted with the volunteers who were extremely kind. The warm-up consisted of 15 minutes of easy cyclical yogging in the condo complex, stretching, strides. With under 10 minutes till the start, they ushered us out and to the line. I felt like a behemoth there, standing near a foot taller than all those similarly-heighted female athletes, grabbing their discarded clothing from above there heads to send to the sides.

MILES 1-5

It felt so gloriously within limits, so natural, a flow. Speaking of, from the start I had to pee. I've only had the fortune of having GI distress starting at about mid-race - what had become of me? In a weird way, it potentially distracted me from the effort at hand because I was obsessively thinking of relieving myself - perhaps the disengagement aided in protecting valuable mental resources. I mean, thinking about peeing is pretty one-dimensional. So, I figured it would go away. It didn't.

MILES 6-14

I found myself pretty alone most of the time. I'd absorb an amoeba, then would pass or get passed. There wasn't that perfect match. I ran a bit with some talented women I follow, who I knew in that technologically intimate, but not personal way, and they were chatty and I was irritable about my sensational bladder, so I left them. I have a most vivid memory of a small girl extending a box of tissue paper from the side of the course. I grabbed a tissue with effervescent gratitude, because I thought if I could will myself to pee myself this tissue could save me from some chafing. I am photographed with this special tissue. From the start of the race I tried willing myself to pee myself. I could not! As my teammate said, "Courtney, you've spent your whole life trained not to pee yerself." Which is true.

MILES 15-19

Somewhere around here after holding it in for-ev-er, and after passing M. Van Beek, and as I was running with Georgia and we were working together, I couldn't take it anymore and rushed into a porto. I peed with anger as quickly as I could and dove back out. It rejuvenated me. A revived woman. I had lost Van Beek & Porter, so I spent the next several miles trying to real them back in safely.

MILES 20-26.2

In years past I've really loved the final 10k at CIM. The flat is welcomed, but it's more about the trees. I find the mix of trees downtown really evocative. This year, however, the last 10k felt long. I was wearing those asshole 4% hype shoes, and in doing so figured my feet would be slightly more cushioned and comfortable by race's end, as the little brother's had done for me the year before. Not the case. My feet were really sore for the last 10 miles. It likely felt long, as well, because I ran to my fullest potential. There was nothing left. I had no final gear, I was just steddy. Even. Surviving. God that day was beautiful. Blue. Crisp. The most annoying thing to happen to me was that I couldn't pee myself, and yet, with a porto stop, I still managed the A-standard for the Olympic Trials, finishing in 2:36:17.

THE FINISH

As soon as I crossed the finish I had that subdued pride. It's something I'm trying to figure out - to work for months and years on gray-made goals, to achieve them, but in doing so there is no wild spark of elation, no shouts to the sky, no tears, no biggly felt embraces. It's just there, and its done, and I'm proud and I move on. Quickly. Perhaps I'm placing the notion of what happiness in accomplishment looks like on what I've seen on tv, and to be real, in person, right there on that line. It's nothing of concern to myself, just something I noticed and keep noticing.

So, I cross that line, and I find Red, and he's elated with that true finish line accomplishment elation, and I make Steve Magness shake my hand, and he says Nice Job, and then I'm locked on that finish line waiting for Ber. It's the most exciting finish line I've ever witnessed. The announcer is counting down the seconds to the 2:45 (B standard cut off), and women are pouring every last ounce of themselves to get to that line, and the announcer calls 57-58-59-2:45 and a woman collapses just at the line and crawls over. I heard she bid to be accepted and was. It was the coolest thing I've ever had the privilege to watch - that finish. And that's why 100 women earned the standard that day - the guts.
Though inspired, I was deeply pained when those seconds fell, because Ber hadn't come in yet. Just 45 seconds later, in 2:45:45 she crossed, dropping to her knees, and although annoyingly short of the goal, it was a PR, and provided the confidence that it's there.

As we tend to do these days, we flew out day of. I barely made it on the plane. In a now recurring, dramatic fashion, I had ischemic bowel, and pooped blood for hours. We tried going to a bar to watch football before our flight; I spent my time in the bathroom. I got just enough of a handle on it to board, and we're boarded and the flight attendant announces, "the bathroom at the front of the plane is out of order," and Ber looks at me from her seat and laughs. Dear god we both think.