Moroccan slippers.  Love both of these sets from Morocco-gate.com.

Walking home late at night all by myself, outside of town, over the river and past the last restaurant, past the overgrown properties that are now derelict, but still somehow grand in their silence and stature – albeit a little eerie in the shadows. Past the jungle creeping onto the old cobblestone streets. Up the dark hills, where the only sounds are the cicadas, my footsteps and the breaking of the waves on the sand below, just through the palm grove and the old burned out house that seems to bear the graffiti scars of years of decay and disarray. The only light is the moon on the ocean. No one around. Not a soul.  Heading quickly up the last steep hill – as quickly as my Morticia Adams-narrow long dress will allow my strides to go – until I reach our home, and the sound of the kids’ voices. Such joy and relief. But in those 25 minutes, it was a grand adventure.

The Aftermath – owieee!

Well – the triathlon is complete and we are still on such an emotional high.  Though our bodies are not in as much of a celebratory mood.  As of this moment, here is my laundry list of post triathlon ailments:

1.  First and foremost – severe withdrawal from T2 family
2.  Cold sore on left corner of my mouth.  Nice.
3.  Canker sores in left side of mouth and back of tongue.  Really nice.
4.  Swollen everywhere – particularly my feet.  Think paddles.  No, planks.
5.  Low-grade fever & swollen glands.
6.  Sting on left toe from some critter that was in the ocean.  Not sure and don’t want to know.
7.  Eyes sore and gritty from salt water and sand.
8.  Right forearm swollen and stinging from celebratory new tattoo, which means “brave”.  Could not find the arabic for “denial”.  PS – double checked to make sure translation was “brave” and not, like, “tortoise”, to respond to all those who have felt the need to profess their natural (fantastical?) ability to read and write Arabic and comments of “Hmmm,  are you sure this is right?” Yes!  Although not 100% sure on Cooper’s birth coordinates on my right shoulder, which, given Santa Monica hospital’s close proximity to the Bagel Nosh, well, you get the picture.
9.  Back hot and sore in two places from tattoo touch up and new tattoo. (with coordinates of Stuie’s and my 10th year vow renewal in Darling Point).
10.  Feeling chubby and lazy after not working out since the race. (I know I know).

The Race – being present and savoring the experience

Wetsuit front

My first priority was to enjoy the experience.  To be present.  Not caught in my head beating myself up or pushing myself so hard that I couldn’t revel in the joy of the culmination of my training (of course, I use the term training loosely).  My second priority was to do the race my way.  According to my own style.  Not that I didn’t want to excel or wanted to make light of the event.  No no no.  I had very specific, thought-out timing goals to meet, which I did, but I wanted to give the experience my twist.  Which I did. Beginning with the wetsuit, which I was determined would be my watertight homage to AIDS awareness.  At minimum, I figured that having a colorful wetsuit would get me noticed by the lifeguards in the unlikely event things didn’t go well in the swim.  When I found out my swim cap was to be neon yellow – well – I couldn’t have been more delighted!  And thus, much to the amused and slightly nervous stares of my fellow racers, and with Coop by my side as the gun went off, did I slowly wade into the race as far as I could before that moment – to me – the worst moment of the whole triathlon – when you have to actually do your first swim stroke.

Note: I am a great swimmer in the pool.  Strong crawl stroke.  Bilateral breathing.  Very comfortable in the water.  In the open water however, compounded by the pressure of the race, as well as arms and bodies flapping and flailing all around you like salmon in heat flying out of a stream, I revert to my swimming safe place.  And so, as I rounded the first buoy, I swiftly, Esther Williams style, turned onto my back and swam the entire race – 1.5K – on my back doing something Cooper and I call the “Modified Jellyfish”.  Steady and strong leg-kicking accompanied with arms and wrists fluttering myself forward.  Think of the wrist movements in the hula.  There ya go.

Imagine my head and a neon swim cap

Wetsuit back

Actually, this worked fairly well for me.  My time was not embarrassingly bad.  On the contrary – there were many in my tentacled wake – and except for the buoy that I accidentally ran into (hard to see when you’re swimming on your back) and the jerking zig-zag path, caused when one of the lifeguards (lining the swim lane and with whom I could chat more freely from my modified jellyfish position) gestured for me to change my trajectory, which was headed at a 90-degree angle towards shore (like a torpedo) rather than parallel to shore, at which point I would completely over-correct and flutter my way out to sea, only to over-correct in the opposite direction about 10 minutes later.  Hence the zig-zag.

Of course, at the last buoy when it was time to make my way to the beach, there was no modified jellyfish in sight, but a straight and strong crawl stroke, greeted by an equally strong,”great strong finish” from the lifeguard at the buoy.  As if!  Once I could touch the bottom, I looked back and like Gidget, bodysurfed the next wave in.  The crowd cheered, and I casually shuffled out of the water – no running for me – thru the chute and past my coach, who, God bless him, just shakes his head in confusion.  He has no idea what to make of me, but he’s pretty sure I’m not great for business.

Good transition.

There are good transitions and there are bad transitions.
And then there are MY transitions.

As you come off the beach, you are meant to be running while pulling off your wetsuit as you go, thus saving valuable time while you make your first transition – T1 – that being from swim to bike.  This is where I went oh-so-wrong, yet oh-so-right.  First – as some of you will know – I like to call it a tailgate, not a transition.  I grew up tailgating and socializing at USC games.  It is part of my DNA.  And sometimes you just revert to type.  Even though everyone tells me the triathlon transitions are supposed to be fast – in and out – I seem to spontaneously reject the notion.  Moreover, I consider it a great sacrifice that I don’t light candles, set up folding chairs and throw some coals into a small and discreet Hibachi grill.  But before I even got to the transition area, I got stuck in the showers – no one mentioned there would be showers to run thru – like at a car wash -  (operative term run thru) to rinse off the salt water.  I was so enamored of this spa-like feature, I simply stayed.  I was just about to ask where the shampoo and conditioner were when the volunteers shouted me through and into the transition area, otherwise I might have stayed even longer.  I sashayed over to my bike and began my process of pulling off the wetsuit, getting the sand off of me, and throwing on my bike gear (including – gasp – sneakers not clip-in bike shoes – the ultimate mark of an amateur).

Bad transition.

Now, you are supposed to take about 4 mins or less for your transition.  And for the life of me, I don’t know what happened.  But somehow, my transition took over 9 minutes!!!!  HOW did this happen, I wondered?  Cooper, who watched in astonishment from the sidelines, said I didn’t stop chatting.  To everyone. To anyone!  Sometimes, just to myself.  Did not stop.

Anyway, it didn’t FEEL like I was there so long, and as I raced off to do the 40K bike ride, I felt on fire.  Lightening speed.  Indeed, I passed many.  And as I passed them – ever enjoying the experience – I would chat, or say, “Gingerly passing on the left” or “I’m passing you now, but you’ll probably be passing me next”, or silly comments like, “Don’t you HATE this hill?”, as I would smile and blow past them.  Never let it be said I am an unfriendly competitor.  I greeted and thanked every single cop stopping traffic.  Every volunteer cheering us on.  And as I buzzed by, I remember singing.  “If…they…could…SEE ME NOW that little gang of mine…I’m eating fancy chow and drinking fancy wine.”  I felt great, though.  Fast and fearless.  Indeed, I came into the transition so fast that the volunteers had to scream for me to stop the bike lest I ride past the official stop line and get a disqualification.

The Finish Line

The transition from bike to run was, not surprisingly, much better, though had to change from one pair of running sneakers (that I use for the bike) to my other runners, which in retrospect, seems beyond ridiculous, as I suspect my poor coach concurs.  Grabbed my water bottle and whoosh, off for the 10K run, with my legs feeling like cardboard moving boxes full of books.  Oh well.  And the chatting began again.  Every time I passed a fellow Team 2 End AIDS team member heading towards the finish as I was heading away from the finish and starting my run – I would hi-five them and be so proud.  I chatted to fellow runners, “Atta way – you go, girl.”  Chatted with spectators, “I thought this was supposed to be a SPA HOLIDAY!!” yuck yuck.  Or my other standard comment, “I thought the run would be more fun than it is.”  Which was true.   I hoped to pass Stuie on his way to the finish, but we must have missed each other on that monotonous, curley-q course.  And by the time I hit mile 5, I had grown slightly more quiet and significantly more annoyed.  The fun was starting to wane.  The shame of walking in front of fellow teammates made that a no-go option, so I sort of shuffled along that last mile, thinking “last mile last mile last mile.”  I  took that time to chat with Bill, dear old Queenie Bill, for whom I was putting myself through all of this, and who, I am sure, was watching the whole thing with great amusement, indeed, peels of laughter, from whatever cool gay bar in Heaven that was running a Cosmo shots promotion.  He was shaking his head, laughing, saying to me “YOU ARE COMPLETELY CRAZY!  Why in the world are you doing all of this for me?  I know how much I mean to you because I see Cooper, who is named after ME, for God’s sake, every day.  Where do you think he gets his sense of humor?  Who do you think is the one who tells him to hide in the dark garage when you pull in late from work so he can jump out and scare the beejeezus out of you? See, you don’t have to do this to show me you love me or to keep me relevant in your life.  I know.  I’m right here.  And I’m not going anywhere.  Ever.  But I would like to watch you do that swim technique again.”

Stuie, Me, Our Medals & a Bad Camera

Finally I came to the finish, and to the cheers of my coaches and teammates, all wearing red, lining the finish barrier.  Frankly, I think they were clapping and cheering so enthusiastically out of relief that I hadn’t died on the course, but never mind that.  And there alongside them, were Coop and Stuie.  So proud and so emotional.  The hugs  – I can’t describe the hugs other than to say that they were extra long and so strong – like a lifeforce.   And of course, the tears are flowing and I am somehow co-existing between being blissful and proud, so grateful to have turned such a devastating loss in my life into such a series of positive events, yet missing Bill with every fiber of my body and knowing that I would trade all of this to have had him for just a few days/months/years longer.  And then that incandescent endorphin high kicks in – the buzz of all buzzes.  And just as I have said – vowed – shouted to the heavens, that I will never ever ever do this again, inside, I feel a recognizable spasm of delight mixed with anticipation because I know I will.  And I can’t wait.

So, April 22nd – New Orleans 70.3.  Double the distance, half the fun.  I am thinking of bringing a smoker to the transition area.

Triathlon & APLA medals

Post-Tri Party with Stu, Raz & Kathryn

Final times for Malibu Nautica Olympic Triathlon

1.5K Swim: 44 mins
40K Bike: 1 hr 36 mins
10K Run: 70 mins
Tailgate 1: 9 mins 11 secs
Tailgate 2:  2 mins

Total time: 3 hrs 43 mins

Saturday, September 10, our APLA T2 training group did the dress rehearsal for the Malibu Triathlon taking place next weekend, Sat September 17.

HOORAY! Did full swim – 0.93 mile in 27 MINUTES!!! Thank God for strong currents. Regardless of the outcome of the race next weekend, this will be the day I remember. This is the day I stopped being afraid of swimming beyond the waves. This is the day I gained my confidence.

We are only $500 away from our fundraising goal, benefiting APLA.  But we need you to donate now!

CLICK HERE TO DONATE TODAY

The Michelin Crew

Fundraising Update – Only $1340 More Needed!!

Please donate so our efforts to squeeze into tight bike shorts and unflattering wetsuits won’t be in vain!

CLICK HERE TO DONATE

Stuart and I have been training our hearts out for our triathlon coming up September 17, which we are participating in to raise money for AIDS Project Los Angeles.

Looking spiffy (feeling pooped)

The last 4 months have been grueling!  As if participating in this intense physical challenge of the Olympic distance Nautica Malibu triathlon isn’t bad enough, we’ve had to squeeze ourselves into all manner of unflattering athletic garments (WETSUITS and BIKE SHORTS), an experience that is worthy of your donation in and of itself.  I thought the race would kill me, but that’s nothing compared to the horror of trying on bike shorts in a brightly lit dressing room.

To prepare for the triathlon, we have been training 6 days a week.  We have biked over 1000 miles, swam the equivalent of half-way to Catalina, and run over countless miles of pavement, dirt and sand.  As much as I would love to say its all been a walk in the park, I can’t.  Its been intense and scary.  We doubt ourselves every single day, and every single day we lament that there’s no conceivable way we can do this thing.  And yet, we keep going.

Honoring Bill – and so many others

"Bill is why we're doing this."

As challenging and time consuming as this process is, we made the commitment to participate in honor of my friend Bill de Lury, who died 18 years ago of AIDS and who, as many of you know, Cooper is named after.  I know in my heart that being with Bill, taking care of him and easing his fears through those last few months helped him to pass on. So, APLA and all the work they are doing to support people living with HIV is extremely important to me.

The race is 2 weekends away but the fundraising deadline is NOW!

Turquoise Shut up and TRI bracelet

We are so close to reaching our fundraising goal, and need all of you to please

Pink Shut up and TRI bracelet

help us reach our minimum.  We only need $1340 and we’re there. Remember that donations are tax-deductible!  And we have a nifty SHUT UP AND TRI rubber bracelet we’ll give you for donating, too!

So if you wanted to support us and haven’t yet -  please please do so now.  And special thanks to those that support us every time we reach out.  Thank you to all!!

CLICK HERE TO DONATE

Swim Course - 1.5K

Bike Course - 40K

Run Course - 10K

"Honey, remind me why we're doing this?"

Enthusiastic thumbs-up!

First triathlon under our belt.  And boy are we glad its over!

The weather for The Santa Barbara Triathlon Sunday could not have been more beautiful.  Gorgeous and sunny – perfect temperature to spend an hour (or so) at the beach.

For our first triathlon, we figured we better take it easy and do a sprint.  Santa Barbara seemed to be an idyllic destination to combine a dirty weekend with a little good clean fun.

View of the Riviera

The Sprint Course translated to:

500 meter swim
6 mile bike
2 mile run

followed later with a…
1 hour nap

Friday

We decided to make a weekend of it, and went up on Friday checking into The Canary – such a great hotel!  Hung out with Katarina, who just started back up at SBCC.  Had a fabulous dinner Friday night at Cafe Luck and told scary murder stories. Enjoyed post

Kat enjoying a cocktail

dinner champagne with Zach, bartender extraordinaire and soon-to-be-ex employee of the Canary as he embarks on his new career in New York.  I know the Canary will miss him dearly.

Saturday

Saturday, we went down to support those brave athletes doing the long course, shouting words of encouragement as they finished up the last mile of the run.  Note – if you ever happen to be near a course where people are racing, take a moment to cheer them on.  It means the world to them!

Stu at the pool

Hung out at the tri expo  – I think we are becoming expo groupies – and chatted with some very cool people, one being Kelly from Tridivas – a new favorite business – imagine – tri training and merchandise catering to women – girly women.  Kelly is gorgeous, bright, serious about training women to be triathletes – wait – tri divas – and she was doing this way before women started having any clout or numbers in the sport.  Her business includes training women and merchandise.  Think Fred Segal style – compression tights in patterns, like a cool leopard print.  Rhinestone boy briefs for women.  Seems like she’s captured a real niche, and I for one, support her vision completely.  We don’t need to look like Maria Navratilova, just because we are athletes, ladies!

Sat day spent relaxing around the Canary rooftop pool with Kat, enjoying the warm, sunny weather and eye candy at the pool.  Sat night, Stu and I tried a restaurant we’d heard about called Roy on Carrillo.  Highly recommend it.  Their shtick is that every entree is $10 – which it is – and it is fantastic.  Cool place.  Great art.  Check it out next time.

Back to the hotel early to pack and re-pack (and re-pack) our transition bags before dropping off to sleep.

Sunday AM – Race Day

Triathlon love!

Up and out by 5:30 AM.  Biked down to East Beach for the race.  First thing is to get our number marked on our arms and right hand, and our age (as of the end of Dec) on the right calf.  Then, into the transition area to get our kit laid out in those small spaces!  As much as I tried, I couldn’t get the hang of the transition area.  By definition, the transition is supposed to be when you change from one discipline to the next – where you unpeel your wetsuit and jump into your bike gear.  And then dump the bike and helmet and exchange the bike cletes for the running shoes.  It is supposed to be lightening fast.  This transition thing, for me, is a major disconnect, having been raised in a family of enthusiastic tailgaters.  Its all I can do not to bring candles, a welcome mat, a couple of folding chairs and a hibachi.  What?  No music?  Seems all very uncivilized, which is probably why my transition area looked like a bomb went off.  Just didn’t connect with the idea at all, as the snail-like time it took for me to change out of my wetsuit and into my biking gear cruelly demonstrated.

As we got on our wetsuits and filed out to the beach to wait or our group to start, I was interested to see how Stuart and I handled the nerves.  True to form, he observes, processing everything.  I, on the other hand, go inside my head, almost as though shutting down.  I maintain a calm and don’t over think the task at hand too much.  And then, of course, the conversation begins – the blathering in your head that starts taking over.  I don’t remember much of the race – at all – but I remember the swim monologue in my head.  It went something like this.

All marked up.

Stu marked up

Ready ready ready

“OK stay on the left outside the left outside.  Take your time.  Wade into the water.  Keep your position.  Should I go over this wave or dive in?  OK, I’m swimming now.  Wait, my left goggle is filled with water.  Shit, gotta stop and dump it.  Arrrrghhh!  Stuart used that new goggle clearer stuff and it didn’t work.  I cannot do this race like a cyclops – I need both eyes to be functioning!  Arrrrrghhh!  OK focus…right turn at yellow buoy and now you’re swimming in a line.  OK get to the first red buoy – thats all ya gotta do – get to the first red buoy.  Hey, who is that swimming right next to me?  Her strokes are exactly timed to mine.  Great, she’ll probably get past me and kick me.  And if she doesn’t, I’m going to have the pleasure of her on my ass the entire time.  So, cant let up cant let up.  OK, now to the second buoy – almost half way almost half way almost half way.  And not dead not dead not dead.  Quick backstroke to see how that feels, nope, not good, back to swimming.  Should be at the buoy in a couple of minutes.  Seems longer though.  Shit.  OK focus – you’ll get there.  There’s no way I could be drifting, though, right?  Am I swimming against the current?  Oh Shit!  Shit! OK I’m at the second red buoy – where is everyone else?  Did I pass anyone?  More importantly, did anyone pass me?  Now I gotta get to the yellow buoy.  OHMYGOD, the yellow buoy is sooo far away.  Shit.  I am so out of my depth here… I can’t even imagine doing the Malibu race and having to swim 3 times this distance. CANNOT  IMAGINE!   I will die.  I will not make it.  There is just no way.  Shit!  Where is that goddamned yellow buoy?”  And then, “My lonlieness is killing me.  I must confess, I do believe.  Do believe.  Yup – my mind,  clearly suffering from oxygen depravation, breaks into Britney Spears’ classic anthem, “Hit me baby one more time.”  Have no idea where that came from.  Very unsettling, really.

Have no recollection of getting out of the water.  Ran to transition and could not get wetsuit off -

My transition area - a mess!

even with glide.  Did not stop to dry feet – threw on shoes, bike jersey and tied bandana around my neck (no need to sacrifice style, after all), and off – without my number.  Shit!  Back to get number.  Random bike thoughts…

First thought - “like the bike like the bike like the bike.”  Second thought, “Ouch.  My quads are on fire.  Thank God we only have to do 6 miles, cuz there’s no way I could do 26.  No way.  NO way!”

Made time on the bike – passed Stuart coming the other direction with his hard to miss white and yellow jersey.  Note: Our Team Shut Up and TRI jerseys were quite the attention getting item of clothing.  We had several people stop us to take our pic and comment.  I admit, I felt a little dorky wearing matching jerseys, but oh well.

Stu's transition area

Transitioning from bike to run is pretty easy for me as I don’t wear bike cletes, so its just a matter of taking off my helmet and putting the bike on the rack.  Which makes me wonder why it took me nearly a minute to do that.  But, off I went to do the last two miles.  Totally on auto pilot.  “Get thru get thru get thru.” Two miles felt forever.  There was no one running with me to chat with – another bummer about this.  So, I had to talk to myself.  No shock.  When I finally made it to the finish, I was more off-put than enthusiastic.  Certainly not as emotional as when I crossed the finish line of a marathon.  Not sure what that’s all about.

Anyway – finished the race with Stu waiting for me.  And the icing on the cake?  This race does not give out medals.  What kind of a race DOES NOT give out medals?  Arrrrrrghhhh!

Overall Time

LMF – 61 mins 1 sec
STU – 57 mins 23 sec

Swim (500 meters)

LMF – 13 mins 14 sec
SCF – 11 mins 7 sec

Transition 1 (swim to bike)

LMF – 4 mins 36 secs (yikes)
SCF – 3 mins 37 secs

Bike (6 miles)

LMF – 21 mins 43 secs
SCF – 21 mins 29 secs

Transition 2 (bike to run)

LMF – 59 secs
SCF – 1 min 55 secs

Run (2.18 miles)

LMF – 20 mins 29 secs
SCF – 19 mins 15 secs

Stu and me taking it in stride

Saturday, August 20 @ Zuma Beach

1 mile swim (3 circuits around the buoys)
25 mile bike ride
3 mile run

Bill & Lesley 1992

I HATE asking for money – hate hate hate it. But for me, there are few causes that hit as close to home as AIDS, and so I push through the discomfort of asking because of what I have lost through this disease, and because I know that through support, we can make a difference in the lives of people living with HIV.

I lost my dear friend, Bill de Lury, to AIDS way back when – when there was no prescription “cocktail” to stem the symptoms and when the stigma associated with being HIV-positive prevented so many people from coming forward and seeking help. Which breaks my heart to this day. The thought of people suffering and dying alone because of shame is something that none of us can allow. It is totally contrary to our humanity. Which is why we are raising money for AIDS Project LA – so that support is available so no one has to suffer with this alone. And ultimately, so that we can eradicate HIV and AIDS altogether.

Which is why Stuart and I are training for the Malibu Nautica Triathlon with T2 Team to End AIDS and on behalf of AIDS Project LA and in honor of William de Lury. This is an International Distance tri, meaning 1.5K swim (from Zuma), 26 mile bike ride (PCH) and 6 mile run (beach – yuck). Stuart and I are doing this as a team, and our name is “Shut Up and TRI” (as in triathlon!). Training is intense and we are definitely in over our heads, but we’re doing this because we want to help make a difference in the lives of people that are living with HIV.

William (Bill) passed away from AIDS almost 18 years ago now. I remember the anniversary of his death like it was yesterday, and because not even two months after Bill died, I got pregnant. Cooper William was born exactly 4 days before what would have been Bill’s 30th birthday.

Back when Bill was sick, finding support was difficult. His dad – a widow and staunch conservative – couldn’t handle the whole thing. So, Bill moved in with us in the last few months of his life, rattling around our house with his IV pole which our dog would routinely attack. In the midst of the tragedy, there were moments that were pure comedy, and Bill and I would howl with laughter, as we did through our entire friendship. When it came time for him to go to the hospital, we just changed our base of operations to his hospital room, bringing in food from restaurants all over LA to coax him to eat. I remember on many occasions we would lock ourselves in his hospital bathroom so Bill could smoke a joint. Of course, we would double over in hysterics at the whole thing, which provided a much-needed stress release in addition to giving Bill (and me, unfortunately) a raging appetite. And finally, as he began to lapse in and out of consciousness, I would crawl into his hospital bed with him and just hold him, as I know his own mother would have done.

I know in my heart that being with Bill, taking care of him and easing his fears through those last few months helped him to pass on. So, APLA and all the work they are doing to support people living with HIV is extremely important to me. Stuart and I are asking you to please show your support to APLA and sponsor Team Shut Up and Tri! All donations go to APLA and are tax-deductible. We have committed to raising $3800, and are only 20% there. We need your support – $10, $20, $50 – whatever your budget will allow – will go straight back to APLA to provide support – meals, assistance for family members – to people within the community living with HIV.

CLICK HERE TO DONATE NOW!

Thank you!!!

Happy, sweaty girls

SF Marathon Redoux

Stuart, Katarina and I ran the SF Marathon last weekend.  Stuart, God bless him, ran the full marathon.  Kat and I, on the other hand, did not.  We did half – the front half – undoubtedly the most beautiful 13 miles of any marathon I can think of.

The Starting Line is at the Embarcadero.  You run along the piers, past Fishermans Wharf, Fort Mason and the Marina (some nice homes!), past Crissy Field and up into the Presidio (past the abandon and notoriously haunted Officers Club), over the Golden Gate Bridge (which arcs, so you are running up hill for half of it).  Once over the bridge, you turn around at the Scenic Lookout and head back over the Bridge, down thru Baker Beach, then up thru the Richmond, finishing up in Golden Gate Park.

Magnificent!

This is also my first marathon with two glaring changes in strategy:

1.  No walking

T2 with AIDS Project LA, kindly, taught us to run distance through the run/walk method, 5 min run/1 min walk.  Which generally turned to the walk/run method about mile 14, (5 min walk/1 min run) but it got us through relatively unscathed.

This time, I ran the entire time – with the exception of two potty stops, one taking so long I thought I would burst.

2.  No drugs

I confess that a key factor to my surviving two marathons was drugs.  I hold no shame (and no memories, alas) of the experiences.  To qualify – when I ran SF in 2006, my take-it-to-the-bank, pre-race strategy was to take a half of a Vicodin as I ran my first steps out the gate.  Just in case.  Then, half way through, I popped the other half.  In the grand scheme of things, I think it did bupkis, but it gave me confidence.

In the Florence marathon, no Vicodin (though, how I wish I had – a hateful course and even worse day), but ibuprofen a-plenty.  By mile 17, I think I’d popped 8.  Probably another 8 more before the finish.  I am amazed I didn’t sustain internal bleeding.

So – this time, no drugs.  Not one.  No Vicodin.  No ibuprofen.  Just good old fashioned multi-vitamin followed with a generous helping of Glucosamine.  Like pushing a baby out without drugs, this purist strategy would never have been an option in the past.  No way.

Restroom Horrors (warning: not for the weak of stomach)

1.7 miles each way

I would like to lodge a formal complaint against the county of Marin for closing one of their two Ladies restrooms, located at the Scenic Lookout just as you’ve crossed the bridge, during the marathon.  I mean, didn’t they understand that 50,000 runners might – just might – require them to keep both Ladies rooms open? As every runner knows (graphic alert), sometimes things, um, brew with the intake of all that oxygen pumping through your, um, intestines.  I had felt this burst of activity for about 2 miles when I turned into the lookout to use the restroom, (not given to port-a-potties).  This was a grave mistake.  Apparently every other female runner had gotten the same idea, so that the wait was akin to the lines in the ladies room at a concert.  Combined with the fact that one of the restrooms was closed and this one only had about 8 working stalls. Katarina waited outside as I ran in, expecting to run out (no pun, given my colonic state of affairs) in short order.

Post restroom stop

After a 10 minute wait, which is seriously taxing my ability to remain dignified, I rushed the next open stall, closed the door, lifted up the running belt and down the trou.  But wait…the door doesn’t close.  Fabulous!  I am way too far committed at this point.  So, as I am sitting there, one hand holding the door, the other my running belt, getting my business done.  (Is this too graphic?  Sorry!)  Upon completion, I determine I have to now grow another arm in order to grab toilet paper.  Not seeing this happen anytime soon, I decide to bend as far forward as I can to replace the arm that was holding the door shut (against the angry poop-filled mob of women runners) with my head.  The angle is like a swimmer on the block, about to jump into the pool.  I then reach over with my free arm to grab the toilet paper, while trying to keep the door shut and hold my running belt.  This leads to the final insult.  While there are two brand new rolls of toilet paper in the holder, they are in so tightly that I defy anyone to be able to get any sheets off the roll.

You get the idea

So, to recap, I am hunched over like an Olympic swimmer on the blocks, trying to hold the door closed with my head, and getting more frantic as I am losing valuable time.  I start to claw at the toilet rolls out of desperation.  Shreds are coming off onto the floor – it looks like a hamster has made its bed from my roll.  I have now been in the restroom so long, I assume Kat has thought somehow that she missed me and has continued with the run.  Which causes me to claw more desperately at the paper.  And then, it happens.  My phone rings.  Loudly.  Echoing through the restroom.

Mom's CD

And the very best part – the piece de resistance?  The ringtone is my Mom belting out one of her songs (off her CD Footprints in the Sand, available at www.pattycoquillard.com).  All of a sudden, blasting through the restroom at uncomfortably high volume (yet perfect pitch), and to the delight of every woman in that room,

“Holding hands at midnight, ‘neath the Starry Sky.  Nice work if you can get it, and you can get it if you try.”

Of course, I have no more arms to reach into my running bag and grab the phone.  I can only let the lyrics cycle and cycle for what feels like an eternity. I like to think that I can laugh in these situations.  Not the case here.  It was just a horrible, horrible experience. Not such nice work, for sure.

Thankfully, after God knows how long, I finally made it out of the restroom and found Kat, who was entranced listening to the Led Zeppelin cover band’s cover band playing at the lookout.  (This is the SF Marathon, after all!) We took off back over the bridge, now amongst all the chubbies, oldies and otherwise – gasp – slower runners – we had some catching up to do.  And as we made it over and headed into the tunnel taking us into Baker Beach, I heard just the slightest, most faint toot emitting from Katarina, suggesting that it might now be time for her restroom stop.  What can we say?  We’re runners.

Gallery

Used Bras from Nigeria.

Photo:  Timipre Willis Amah – Nigeria