A Happy Ending

The alarm clock rings at 4 am. The rain is steadily coming down outside and the sky is dark. Amazingly, she slept like a rock last night. The mood is somber. There is no more nervousness. No excitement. No fear. Just a job to be done. A last opportunity to reach a goal before the training season is put to rest. She gets out of bed and reaches for breakfast. Ensure. Milk chocolate, high protein. She jumps into the shower to warm up her muscles and puts on her Blue Paradise race outfit. "Boston Blue" she thinks in her mind. They pack up the gear bag and take the elevator down to the lobby. The first bus is already full. She grabs a couple of pieces of white toast and jam in the lobby as they wait for the second bus. It's a quiet ride to the start line 26 miles north. The rain is not letting up but the sky is lighter as they approach the sleepy town of Calistoga. 30 minutes to go before race start. She lines up for the port-o-potty and looks around. Runners are dressed in plastic garbage bags and rain ponchos. How can you run in that? she wonders. As long as the temps are pleasant her rule is to wear as little as possible while running in the rain so she won't have wet soggy clothes clinging to her skin, bringing her core temp down in the process. Today is in the 50's. Perfect running weather. She keeps her hat and gloves on and puts the rest of her warm up clothes in the souvineer duffel bag all the entrants received. He offers to check the bag for her so she can pee and then start her warm up. Time is ticking by. He kisses her goodbye and reminds her to keep it at 8's. No faster. OK, she thinks, 8's. She wonders if it will even be possible. There are so many doubts remaining. So many questions. But today, she has pushed all that out of her mind. She will not think about it. He boards the bus to head south again. He will wait for her at the 9 mile mark. 8:12 AM. The planned meeting time. The gun goes off. The race has begun. Within a half mile the crowd has thinned and she has space to move. She relaxes into a comfortable pace. The miles click by. 7:28, 7:53, 7:25, 7:43. The course gently rolls past vineyards, and mountains to the east. She skips the first water station. She has learned that lesson in the past. Drink when you are thirsty. There is a man pacing off her. She can feel him just off her left heel. She can't see him but every once in a while she gets a glimpse of his red jersey. Like the old style European wool biking jerseys. He has a European accent. He is older, maybe 50's. His footfalls are a comforting distraction. At the second water station, she thanks the volunteers. She is staying warm running, they must be cold standing out in the rain for 2 hours handing out ice cold water and Gatorade. She doesn't break stride, just slows slightly to sip the water. 7:47, 8:01, 8:04, 7:46. The miles are flying by, her mind focused. Subconsciously she is relieved that she made it this far with no trouble. She tries not to think about PF Chang's, where she was in pain by mile 5.


8:07. She approaches mile 9. Her watch reads 1:10:14, only a minute and half ahead of schedule. She is not worried about negative splits or even pacing. She only cares about what the clock reads overhead when she crosses the finish line. With 17 miles to go, she knows what it will take. She takes a vanilla Power Gel. Gatorade!, the volunteer yells, Water at the end! She sees a long line of people. Before she realizes what has happened, she is past the water stop. The line of people along the roadside are all spectators. Where is the water?, she says. Fearing what will happen if she is unable to dilute the gel that now sits in her stomach. She pauses a moment, and then keeps running. Here, the man with the accent says, you can have this. He hands her his cup of water. Thank you so much, she replies. She is greatful for his kindness and for narrowly avoiding disaster. She sees him amidst the crowd. She is thankful that he is here now. The miles have been kind to her, but it is now going to get tough. Mentally. Physically she knows she still has at least 5-6 more miles before fatigue threatens. 8:08, 8:14, 8:07, 8:04. They pass the half way point. 1:42:46. She knows that most of the big rollers are behind her, there is just one last hill at mile 19. She knows what awaits. 6 more miles she thinks. Then one. Then 6. I can do it. He paces slightly in front of her left shoulder. Just stick with me, he says, trust me. 8:25, 8:11, 8:38. The wall. Without realizing it, the wall has snuck up on her. She takes a gel and some water. She tries to regain some energy. She groans slightly with each step of incline. She is too tired now to try to avoid puddles and her shoes have gotten soaked. Oh my God, she thinks. Will this be the end? Is my dream fading? He encourages her. Just stay with me, he says. 8:41. She is afraid now but refuses to admit defeat. He does some quick math in his head. If we keep every mile from here on out under 9 minutes you will qualify, he tells her hoping to pull her out of the slump. She is starting to feel better again. She laughs to herself thinking that's the shortest wall she's ever hurdled, only lasting a mile. She sees the marker for 19. Ok, she tells him, this is it. We have one mile of climb and then it's smooth sailing to the finish line. No problem, he replies, this hill is nothing compared to Curry. Or Hawes. You are so ready. Let's get this bitch done! She smiles. They press forward into the hill. She can see that some are broken by the hill, walking on the shoulder of the road. Others, like her, keep running. This isn't so bad, she thinks. They crest the hill. 8:54. Still under 9, she reminds herself, just keep running. 8:49, 8:45, 8:45, 8:50. Her head is starting to feel foggy. You need to give me a little more, he says. She tries to pick her feet up faster. It is all surreal now. It doesn't feel like she's been running for 3 hours and 10 minutes, except for the fact that her legs are screaming with every step. She mentally detaches from the fatigue. She doesn't allow her mind to process her body's attempts to slow her down. 9:30. Oh shit, she says. She tries to run faster. She focuses on the back of his blue tank. She listens to his words: I need you to give me a little more now. You can't hold back. This is it. She is not looking at her watch now, only seeing him. I will trust him, she thinks, I will just stay with him. I will not give in. 9:02, 9:18. The crowds line the streets now. She vaguely hears them, her mind a blur. You have less than a minute to get across the finish line, he says, go! now! Unable to will her feet to move any faster, it is not until later that she will realize that she ran the last 0.4 miles in 8:09 pace. Her face shows the fatigue, the will, the determination, but mostly the exhaustion.

She crosses the finish line. 3:40:20 the clock reads. 39 seconds to spare. She has qualified. She feels her legs wobble. She reaches for him but he doesn't see her. A pair of arms quickly scoops her up before she has a chance to hit the ground. She wearily smiles at the medical volunteer. I need some Gatorade, she says. They help her walk through the finish line and she is handed a bottle of water and her finishers medal. She poses for some photos. She is walking more steadily now, and the volunteer lets her go. Every muscle in her body is aching. She wants to lay down. You can't, he says, you'll be freezing in less than a minute. He pulls the mylar blanket more snuggly around her shoulders. He sets her down in the cafeteria and gets her some vegetable broth and bread. She takes a few sips. Oooooh, she moans. She tries to get comfortable but can't. Keep sipping that, he says, it will help with the nausea. She keeps sipping the broth until the salt has had a chance to absorb into her system. He steps back into the rain to get the duffel bag from gear check. He helps her pull a jacket on and takes off her shoes and socks. He helps her pull her yoga pants on and her flip flops. It is a short walk to the shuttle bus but at that point it feels like miles. They board the bus and she puts her legs across his lap. Fighting off tears she smiles at him. Thanks, she says, I'm not sure I could have done it without you. Yes, he says, you would have. But it doesn't matter. The goal is accomplished. She can go back and get ready for Ironman training with a clean slate. No unfinished business. The concierge brings up 4 bags of ice borrowed from the restaurant. I don't know if I can do this, she says as she plunges into the freezing water. He hands her a mug of hot coffee. Within a couple of minutes the shivering has subsided. She soaks for 10 minutes, trying to will the inflammation out of her limbs. When the ice bath is done, she stands under the hot shower letting the water wash over her. She dries off and pulls on her compression tights. They stop at the front desk on the way out and borrow a laptop. She quickly emails her friends and family, with the heading "Boston Bound". They laugh together as they drive up the highway to the Silverado Brewing Company. She eats onion rings. And a hamburger. And beer, lots of beer. They stop at the Oakville Grocery on the way home for cookies and coffee. It feels good to put her feet up and lay down. They rest until dinner. They toast with a bottle of sparkling wine over dinner and reminisce about the day. It is finally done.