Water = bad / Trails = good

Saturday morning, a day that began with such promise under clear blue skies and calm waters, with a flurry of excitement and energy buzzing about the SFOCC lot as we readied the OC-1 canoes, turned into one of the more intensely and emotionally frustrating experiences I can recall in my adult athletic life. I went so far back as grade school when a horse I was riding swallowed a bee and went galloping wildly through the woods to remember a time when I felt so completely gripped and without any control.

It was a time trial day, a day where everyone races in one-man outriggers from the SFOCC lot to the north tower of the Bay Bridge and back. The water felt great on the way out save for some bumpier conditions near the piers. The temperatures were perfect, I had a wonderfully stable canoe, and I grew more confident digging in with my stroke as we continued on. It was maybe 1/4 of the way back when the waters changed. It wasn't just that the tide was coming in and the current was working against us now, it was water whipped up into washing machine cyle frenzy. And the sense that you weren't moving no matter how hard you paddled. I flipped off my boat once and jumped right back on, shocked to see how quickly I'd been pushed back towards the cement pier in the 20-30 seconds it took. And then I flipped off my boat again in a nanosecond and held on for a minute trying to regroup mentally. All around me, the water swished back and forth, to and fro, up and down. People passed and I suddenly had the sense I was alone but then I saw 2 girls up ahead who were checking to see if I was okay.

I jumped back on my boat, no time to attach my leash again or fidget and just started paddling out and away from the pier as hard as I could. I had to go backwards in order to turn forwards but it seemed safer than turning with the ama into the wind. My entire body was clenched trying to hold its position on the boat, my hands like vises on the paddle. Eventually, I caught up to the girls ahead and asked if this was how it was all the way back. Yes, they said. I honestly thought I might not make it back at that moment. It had been exhausting falling out of the boat and trying to get back on course. Now, just trying to fight through the water and moving mere inches (seemingly) with each stroke had nearly exhausted me. Mentally and physically. I put my head down and continued to paddle moving ever so slowly towards the finish. My whole body was gripped, every muscle tightened. I couldn't deal with falling out again. I was barely holding it together as it was.

Eventually I made it back. And the minute my body hit land it was as if every pore released the tension I'd carried for the last hour or so and I could feel tears welling up inside me. All someone had to do was ask how it went and I could barely get the words out without losing it. I drove home in tears, stood in the shower in tears, and finally lay down on my bed where I fell asleep.

What happened exactly? I'm not sure. The utter sense of no control, the panic that I might not make it back? Maybe it's being on water and lacking that deep down confidence I have on the slopes, the roads, the trails? Maybe it was just my time to have a girlie breakdown. Whatever it was it left me emotionally spent and vowing that I would never do another OC-1 time trial again.

Safely back on terra firma - I met my friend Rick around 10pm that night to pace him for the last 25 miles of the Headland Hundred trail run, a challenging (over 20k feet of elevation gain) race just over the Golden Gate bridge. He rolled in closer to 11 and off we went to start the last loop in a shroud of fog, waving good-bye to Jessica, who was crewing, and who, incidentally, had no problems with the OC-1 time trials earlier in the day, coming in hot on the heels of the open women.

(Jessica and Rick at Conzulman aid station)

Run, walk, run, walk, we meandered up and over the ridge, back down to the valley, back up and over into Tennessee Valley and on to Muir Beach. We ran above the fog line and right back under it, past the city lights and along the ocean. Running in the other direction we saw Luis and Ken Michal. Most of the runners seemed to have pacers, I felt bad for those that didn't.

(Rick around Mile 77)

Rick was feeling good - some minor aches but his nutrition was on and his gait seemed lively when we ran. I pushed when I felt I could but didn't fight it when Rick said "not yet." To pace isn't necessarily to set a pace for a runner to follow. In this instance I was acting as support, keeping him engaged, his mind off his fatigue and pain, encouraging, pushing, keeping an eye out for runners behind him. When I finally did spot some lights in the distance, Rick went into competitive overdrive and found a gear I didn't know he had. The fear gear. The fear of being passed. While complacent on the Bobcat trail (despite my best efforts to get going), we stormed down Marincello and up Miwok, running most of the way and down into Muir Beach for a small out and back before heading home via Pirates Cove. As we drew closer to the finish Rick eyed his watch contemplating his finish time possibilities. With 22 hours in shooting range, he amped it up one more time, fresh on the heels of his umpteenth frapuccino and nearly dropped me cruising up Old Springs. But I would not be dropped so easily and managed to stay close behind while feeling utterly inferior struggling in my 23rd mile to keep up with someone on their 98th mile.

(Rick at finish with crew, Carrie and Jessica)

With the last downhill, Rick lead off at a strong clip until we could see the lights of the finish line below and hear Jessica and Carrie (also crewing) shouting. He finished just 6 minutes past 22 hours, nabbing a top ten finish. It was 5:06am. I was exhausted.

(Rick and me at the finish. Those are some tired looking eyes.)

Fortunately, the success of my first pacing experience trumped my earlier paddling meltdown and I fell happily asleep at Jessica's house for a few blissful hours until it was morning. Maybe it gave me the right attitude adjustment to go back out on the water in a stupid OC-1. We'll see.

Congratulations, Rick! And congrats to my Crossfit buddy, Luis on his finish! And big congratulations to fellow Endurables runner, Nathan Yanko, who absolutely crushed the course with a sub-19, 11:14/mile pace. In his first 100. Amazing.