Bellingham Bay Half Marathon

Bellingham Bay Half Marathon

September 27, 2009

Crisp with the smell of fall, the air was alive with excitement. People were milling around the start area trying to ward off the chill of the early September morning. The cloudless sky brought on the promise of warmer temperatures. Although chilly, I knew my best bet was a tank top and running skirt. I hadn’t run a race yet this year without battling the sun’s heat and was grateful for this welcome change. I’d take the chill any day.

My sister Marcy was toeing the line of her first half marathon. She decided early in the year she would take the challenge and train to walk the 13.1 miles that now lay ahead of her. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. At all. But that was ok, I was nervous for her. Since I was the one who planted the seed in her brain, there was a chance she would walk the course, hate it, blame me and then never speak to me again. Or she would walk the 13.1 miles and realize the huge accomplishment she succeeded in, giving her a whole new insight to her strength and determination lending her heart to swell with pride. I knew the latter would happen but could in no way explain it to her. She had to experience it. Amidst well wishes, we hugged each other and took our places in the starting corral according to our pace. The horn blared and the journey began.

The first mile being a gentle downhill gave me an excellent “warm up” mile and I clocked an 8:38. My excitement was uncontainable as I realized this was going to be a good race for me. My second mile came in at an 8:33 cementing the realization that I felt I wasn’t working that hard and all the speed work I had done was paying off. Leaving the city and winding our way past the ocean we began a two mile ascent slowing my times to 8:43 and 9:08. At the top of the hill we turned back toward town and through the old neighborhood I lived in. I consistently ran in the 8:30s until mile 9. Here we made our way back downtown up a long hill taking us away from the ocean’s edge. Downtown was alive with people cheering words of encouragement while making noise with whatever lended them to be louder than the person next to them. One college student stood on the side of the road banging pots and pans together. I gave him an A+ for creativity. Bellingham had shown up in force to support the 1600 or so of us running the course. It helped tremendously in spurring me up and over that hill.

We weaved our way down a trail taking us back to the ocean where we ran over the water on the boardwalk. Boats peppered the water watching us making our way down the board walk. It was a perfect day. Maintaining an average 8:40 pace for 9 miles was taking its toll and mile 10 I had slowed down to a 9:28 pace. Of course, the hill could’ve played some part in that too. Mile 11 took us to Taylor Dock which is a short, but very steep dock leading off the boardwalk and onto dry land. My Garmin chirped the 11 mile lap and then went crazy. There were beeps flying all over the place. My watch was swearing at me. I had to slow to a shuffle and then a walk to figure out what was going on. Apparently my lap counter was full and I had to delete old laps. Great. Trying to do this amidst all the beeping, my watch was getting irritated with me and refused to accept any of the button presses I was making. Now it was my turn to use my very own human beeps. I hit the stop button and had to kiss my instantaneous knowledge goodbye. I was now running by how I felt and not by the comfort of the numbers I could look at on my wrist. I questioned my survival.

The next 2 miles was one hill after another. I was tired. I really, really wanted to walk. Each time the urge got too great I could hear the words of my friend Beth echo in my mind “A shuffle is better than a walk, a shuffle is better than a walk”. So I shuffled the uphills and ran strong on the downhills. Looking down I saw the 4k marker for the 5k that was run earlier on the course. That was all I needed and I began my final 1k sprint. Well, it felt like a sprint but I really don’t know since my Garmin threw a temper tantrum and walked off the course at mile 11. Rounding the corner we were taken back onto the trail. Here I knew there was a chance I could meet my sister. Every walker heading toward me I studied for the familiar face I wanted to see. I didn’t see her.

Leaving the trail I made the way back onto the city streets leading me to the final uphill and the finish line. I knew I had lost time around mile 11 but was hoping to hit a sub-2 hour anyway. Running strong I crossed the finish line with a clock time of 2:00:24.

With my finisher’s medal around my neck, I left the finisher’s shoot on a quest for some cold water. Drinking it down, I searched for my husband and boys. People were everywhere and I had a hard time finding a familiar face at all. About 10 minutes later I found them running toward the finish line. Traffic was crazy and they had missed my finish.

Knowing if we hurried, we could catch Marcy coming up the road to make her way to the trail. We hustled to the end of the block with one minute to spare. Marcy was making her way up the road. I yelled as loud as I could to get her attention and made my way through the throngs of people to get to her. Here I walked with her until the trail head. She was doing great and looked strong. Once we got to the 9 mile marker and I told her I would see her in 4 short miles and sent her on her way.

Knowing, from the marathon I’d run 2 weeks prior, just how dark and lonesome and evil those final couple miles can be I couldn’t leave her to finish them alone. After waiting for what I guessed to be the time when she’d hit the final mile, I left my family at the finish line and made my way backwards on the course to meet her and walk her through the Victory Mile. About a half mile down the trail I met her and started screaming for joy. She was almost there. Exhaustion was etched onto her face. Knowing the feeling all too well, I took the lead, set the pace and talked about the excitement the finish line held.

Rounding the corner I exclaimed in glee “There it is!” and pointed to her very first finish line. My pride bubbled over to tears and I left her to cross into the finisher’s shoot on her own. I raced down the sidelines to give her a big congratulations hug. She had done it. She embarked on the journey and successfully finished it.

The day is over, the wine is chilled and the pride is still welling below the surface. The results have been posted and my sister did a fantastic 3:21:13. My hopes of a sub-2 hour half happened as my time is posted as 1:59:38 placing me in the top24% of my age division and the top 36% overall.

The real joy comes from seeing goals accomplished. There is nothing like a race that tests you, challenges you and delivers you a different person on the other side of the finish line. Today was such a day. And in that, I celebrate. I think I’ll have another glass of wine.

Seattle Rock N Roll Marathon

Seattle Rock N Roll Marathon became a marathon of learning. Most runners on the course would probably state this inaugural marathon is race of running, but for this single runner it was more than a marathon it was a run of learning.



Beth, Sharlene and I were three Nervous Nellys sitting in the backseat of the truck trying to talk ourselves out of pre-race jitters. We each came to this race with our own story and our own hopes. Beth was running her first marathon after taking a few years off from marathoning and Sharlene was running her third half marathon in three months celebrating her 33rd birthday. This was to be my 3rd marathon in 42 days qualifying me to become a Marathon Maniac. I learned a goal needs to be set to know how high to reach.


The Start Village was alive with people. The freeway leading up to the start was backed up for miles with cars making their way to the start. In a sight you do not see every day, runners were getting out of cars on the freeway and making the 2+ mile trek on foot to the start. As our hotel was close to the start we avoided most of the road congestion and we made it to the start with moments to spare. Beth, starting in corral 3, made it to the start as her corral was crossing the starting line. I made my way into Corral #9 and was crossing the starting line about 15 minutes later. Sharlene, who was definitely assigned the wrong corral, made her way to Corral 36 and began her journey approximately an hour after the official start. I learned what it is like to start a race with 25,000 runners.


Almost immediately we hit the first hill, and I made it up and over easily. Despite the nerves, I felt good and I felt strong. The Pacific Northwest is known for being a mountainous region and this course did not disappoint in proving why that is such a descriptive fact. The hills on the course were often long and with some being steep tested every mental stronghold I had. The course had 5,498 feet of elevation gain and 5,509 descending feet. This course was built to test endurance. I learned sometimes the only way to relieve leg cramps is to walk them off.


The sun shone brightly in the sky twinkling it’s summertime rays off of the waters of Lake Washington and the ocean waters of the Puget Sound. It was a cloudless sky giving little mercy from the sun. As I made my way down the course I lost count of how many runners I saw that had succumbed to the heat and were receiving medical aid. My heart broke for them. Runners were taken off the course by ambulance proving the heat was nothing to mess around with. I learned the balance of hydration can be a fine line.


Along the course the water was plentiful and CytoMax was the electrolyte replacement drink offered. At mile 2 I took my first swigs of CytoMax and quickly realized the mixture was wrong as the drink was incredibly strong and should have been diluted even further. This was my demise. Although I was quick to drink from my water bottle in hopes to dilute what I had drank, the damage was done. Nausea hit and hit me hard. I learned nausea is haunting as it followed me for the remainder of the race.


Around mile 11 I first spotted Mitch. With his white beanie hat and his brightly colored Marathon Maniac shirt he was easy for me to spot regardless of the sea of people. It was the first time we’d seen each other in person as most of our correspondence has been on-line. As the course had several loops of out and back in it, Mitch and I spotted each other several times along the course as had Beth and I. She had the eagle eye and was able to spot me every time our paths would cross. I learned a perfectly timed hello and word of encouragement from a familiar face delivers incredible amounts of motivation.


Mile 25 ½ was the crest of the last hill. From the course we could see down the final leg of the race which was all downhill. My quads grimaced at the thought of the downhill and I wondered if I would be able to run the entire distance through the finisher’s shoot. Leaving the Alaska Way Viaduct, the off ramp delivered us right outside of Qwest Field. The shoot was lined with people screaming and cheering for us as we finished. I turned the corner and heard my husband Dennis, Sharlene, Palmer, Beth and John screaming their shouts of encouragement. The tears I held back from mile 10 on found their way to the surface and spilled over. The strongest test of my will was near it’s end and I was still standing. I crossed the finish line completely spent. Although every square inch of my body was screaming at me, I finished. Mitch was waiting in the finisher’s shoot to give me my first Maniac hug. Despite it being my worst marathon time of 5:14:42, I learned I am stronger than I ever thought possible.

Earlier this year I turned 40, a milestone to be celebrated. While quite typical for women to celebrate this with vacations or jewelry or new cars, I knew I had to do something that spoke only of me and my character. After much contemplating and research, I began my quest to join the Marathon Maniacs. With the toughest course and the worst race time I’ve run, I gained the final criteria needed to become a member. As of Sunday, June 28, 2009 my birthday goal came true and I was welcomed as Marathon Maniac #1657. As I write this, the membership stands at 1,658 worldwide with only 623 members being women, and I am one of them. I learned with hard work and dedication, dreams do come true.

North Olympic Discovery Marathon

A runner’s dream. The sky was overcast with no threat of rain. The temperature was hovering in low 50s. After taking the shuttle to the start, I find myself sitting in the community room waiting for 9:00. I looked around at the people I was about to embark on a 26.2 mile journey with. Energies were high and laughter wafted above the nervous chatter. I was definitely nervous. After running Capital City 3 Sundays ago I was not sure how my legs were going to do. But here I was ready to make the trek all over again.



Walking out to the start, I dropped my extra clothes off at the clothes drop and headed to the start. Hearing someone yell my name, I thought surely it was for someone else as I knew no one at this race. Looking in the direction it came from I found my friends Sharlene and Palmer waving. What a great surprise! Hugs were given and after the shock came off my face, I made my way to the starting shoot. “Eye of The Tiger” was blaring from the loudspeakers, causing me to smile - the 80s were just awesome. No national anthem here, just Survivor singing loudly. The horn blared and we were off.


The first half a mile was relatively flat and I was making excellent time. Most of the elevation gain is in the first 1/3rd of the race. Each hill I hit I felt strong and good. Soon after the start, I found myself in-step with a guy named Joe. It didn’t take me long to figure out Joe really liked himself. By mile 5 I had mentally dubbed him Jabber Joe. A few miles later I took the opportunity to fall back a short ways as I was needing to be alone inside my head. Jabber Joe had begun a conversation with an Army XO and they were discussing all the data their watches were giving. Seems at mile 10 I was well on my way to a 4:15 marathon.


We finished weaving our way through Sequim and began the portion of the marathon on the Olympic Discovery Trail. The vistas were breathtaking. The trail wound it’s way through the Olympic National Forest, where we would spend the remainder of the marathon. The birds chirped as the water made it’s way down the Olympic mountains through gorgeous creeks crossed by old train trestles. The steepest part of the course came at each of the 3 water crossings, it was steep going down to the water and steep coming up out of the ravine. This is where I first decided to walk. My pace was good and strong up until the point my legs yelled “Excuse me!?!?!? I remember this from the other week and I’m not happy about it”. So I let them be unhappy and walked it off. The rolling hills were a little bit of a surprise to me and I realized I needed to do whatever it was going to take to complete the run.


There comes a point when no matter how beautiful the scenery or how crowded the course, you are alone with yourself. Alone with each thought, with each pain, with each moment. Here in lies the discovery. You either quit or excel. Your pace does not necessarily increase or magically get stronger, but your mind rises above. This is exactly where I needed to be. This is the moment in time where the race is made or broken, regardless of the finishing time. Today my race would be made. My hopes of a PR dissipated when I had to walk, but I knew it would be a stronger race than my last one. Looking deep within, my body felt stronger and my mind propelled me forward.


Several times along the course Sharlene and Palmer met me with shouts of encouragement and picture taking, included being perched at the top of a not-so-nice hill around mile 16. I’m sure that picture snapped has an evil look in it. I’m sure. Along the route I managed to adopted a brother. His girlfriend was a ways behind me and he moved along the course waiting for her. It didn’t take long before he was yelling “Go Sister!” to which I replied “Thanks brother!” and we would trade high fives. I wonder what his name is.


The last couple of miles are along the ocean’s front with the trail winding our way toward the finish. A party was in full swing at the finish line and I was heading home. Approaching the shoot my boys were waiting waving bright orange pom poms and jumping up and down. I heard Sharlene yell my name and I, as predicted, began to get emotional. So much so, I couldn’t speak to the race officials at the end of the shoot waiting for me to walk me to the marathoner’s finish area. The tears flowed and I smiled. “Thank you” were the only words I could repeat as they placed the medal around my neck, removed my timing chip for me and walked me to the food tents. The tears spoke louder than my words.


With climbing 3,239 feet and descending 3,382 feet, I finished my race in 4:44:23. But there is no way you can reduce the marathon to a statistic. It is more than a number to be celebrated, it is a journey. Lessons are learned that can only be taught by pain, agony and the rising above. It is a journey that each marathoner goes on, regardless if it’s a first time marathoner or one celebrating their 101st, and the journey is the same, it is one of self discovery. It humbles you. It transforms you. It makes you rise above delivering you stronger and better on the other side of each finish line.