Recovery (Sneak Peek)

With CIM training under full swing and the race just around the corner, I thought I would share the first scene out of book number two, Recovery.  Some of you may recognize this from the back of Transitions — sharing it again here since CIM training has it on my mind.

Transitions - Available on Amazon

Backstory: Tara got a dose of reality in Transitions when she set her sights on the IRONMAN World Championship in Kona, Hawaii. In book two, she signs up for her first stand-alone marathon, the California International Marathon. On the bus ride up to Folsom, she learns about another "big" race with a qualification standard she just might be able to attain someday. 

I've done CIM ten times and qualified a few of those times for Boston with one result fast enough to stick. (IYKYK)

Me during my first CIM. Miss a BQ by :04 seconds!
CIM 2013 Race Report

Funny how a qualifying time becomes an obsession once you know it exists. Tara's about to find out.

RECOVERY

I craned my neck to try and see around the corner. The line of yellow school buses seemed to stretch forever. Each time a group of buses would pull away from the curb, another batch took their spot. Nervous runners hurried to line up in front of the unopened doors, bodies pressing together, like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. 

I glanced at my Garmin. It was ten minutes to five on this early December morning and I was definitely feeling the cold. I had spent the last two weeks trying to decide on an outfit to wear. My criteria came down to two things: would I eventually over heat and would it look good in a picture. Other than that, and finishing, I really had no goals in mind. Which for me, was quite strange.

Truthfully, I had looked at the previous year’s results, and unlike Vineman, I promptly decided that there was no chance at me even getting close to a podium. Last year’s winner in my age group ran a seven minute per mile pace. For twenty six miles. I couldn’t run that pace for one mile. Second and third place weren’t too far behind. So with that dose of reality in my head, I decided that holding a finisher medal in my hand would be enough. Besides, how bad could it be, right? I had survived a marathon after swimming and riding for seven and a half hours. This was just a marathon. I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” my husband, Mark, asked, as he sipped his coffee. A wisp of steam escaped from the thin drinking slot on the lid. Nothing like a quick cup brewed in a hotel room. I was sure he was heading to breakfast as soon as I disappeared.

“Nothing,” I answered as I eyed the coffee.

Mark held the paper cup out to me. “You want a sip?”

I shook my head and rubbed my stomach. It was hard enough getting my breakfast down — a plain bagel with peanut butter and half a banana. I didn’t want to chance it by upsetting my gut with coffee. I also didn’t want to have to go to the bathroom. After Vineman, I had had my fill of porta-potty grossness.

Another group of buses departed and we moved forward. We now stood at the corner. The line behind continued to grow. I was amazed at the ease at which some people approached a race and the instructions provided. When I read that we had to be in line no later than 4:30am, I took it as gospel. Little did I know that it would be much later to actually board a bus. Apparently the late arrivals had been in this line before.

An empty group of buses pulled up to the curb. It was time for me to pick a bus and line up. I turned to look at Mark and gave him a weak smile with no teeth. He bent forward and placed a quick kiss on my lips and read my mind.

“You’ll be fine,” he said with a real smile.

I nodded. Maybe if I quit listening to people like my boss, Ricky, I wouldn’t find myself in situations like this. It wasn’t even five in the morning and barely forty degrees outside and here we were on the sidewalk outside the Sacramento Convention Center. I had never been in an event of this size. IRONMAN Vineman probably had about two thousand people and that seemed like a lot. From what I read online, after Ricky convinced me to sign up, the California International Marathon probably had four times that amount and it appeared that they were all here waiting for a bus ride to the start.

Mark backed out of the way of the jostling runners. I inched forward until I placed my foot on the first step of the bus. I turned one last time to look for Mark, but he had already vanished. Swallowed by the crowd.

Walking down the aisle of the bus took me right back to sixth grade. Last in line. Everyone paired up. The ones sitting by themselves seemingly unwilling to share a seat. They wouldn’t even make eye contact. Eventually I found an empty spot next to a young man with his nose in his phone, white ear buds dangling. Good, I didn’t feel like talking anyway. I sat down and watched the last few people try to find a seat. 

Before I knew it, the bus was rumbling away from the curb and a tear was running out of the corner of my eye. “Come on, Tara.” I pleaded with myself. “You just did an IRONMAN race, quit being scared.” I turned and looked out the window as the downtown turned to midtown and eventually we headed up the on ramp on our way to Folsom.

I sniffed and tried to count the number of times I had raced in Folsom over the last two years. My anxiety made it impossible for me to count. I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was, what was going to happen next. What happens when we get to the start? Should I try and go to the bathroom? My mind spun as the ride stretched on and on. The school bus groaned.

I leaned over to try and read one of the large green highway signs. We were nearing an exit for Sunrise Blvd. The sign said Folsom was still several miles away. It seemed like I had been on the bus forever and we still had a ways to go. All of a sudden, running a marathon seemed like a very bad idea. I cursed Ricky for talking me into it. Unfortunately, I’d probably never even find him in the mass of people. I slumped in my seat. My seat mate happily crushing candy, unfazed by the distance of this ride.

I turned my focus to a pair of women in front of me. They looked like serious runners, which to me means they were skinny and had cool clothes on. I leaned forward slightly imagining that I had a friend on the bus with me. Someone to talk about past races and worries about the upcoming start. 

On second glance, the women appeared to have just met and struck up a conversation. The woman sitting near the aisle seemed a bit older than me and was wearing a blue running cap with some kind of unicorn on the logo. The woman next to the window seemed very impressed by it. I leaned a bit more.

“How many times have you run Boston?” Window Woman asked.

“I’ve qualified four times, but I’ve only run it twice,” Aisle Lady answered.

The word qualified pricked my ears. I had once thought I wanted to qualify for the IRONMAN World Championship in Kona, Hawaii. It took a while, but the reality soon settled in that it was a goal that was a bit out of reach for this almost forty six year old rookie. However, a race with a unicorn as a mascot, how hard could it be to qualify for that. I tucked the idea of qualifying for Boston in the back of my mind and went back to worrying about the day ahead.

Eventually, the longest twenty-six mile bus ride ended and my bus took its spot with all of the other buses from the convention center. The buses were parked four wide and stretched back an incredible distance along Folsom Dam Crossing Rd. I had never seen so many school buses in one place in my entire life. It looked like a bus traffic jam.

My seat mate excused himself and exited the bus as soon as the bus shuddered to a stop. I glanced at my watch. There was still well over an hour until the start. I had no intention of leaving my seat until the start was imminent.

I scooched over and claimed the window seat. I rested my head on the glass which was now covered in wet fog from the warmth of the sixty bodies jammed in seats meant for children. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the finish line. Would it feel the same as Vineman? Could anything short of another IRONMAN finish ever feel as good?