California International Marathon Race Report: Brave or Stupid?

As usual, I've started and deleted several posts about the California International Marathon, the race that I trained for all year in 2019. A few posts started with "I tried and failed, but at least I was brave enough to try." I couldn't complete those because I'm still questioning whether I was brave or stupid, or maybe both.

I started 2019 with the goal of running a Boston-qualifying time at CIM. CIM is a point-to-point race from Folsom, CA to Sacramento. It's known for producing PRs, BQs, and OTQs. Last February, I ran a "test race" marathon in Mesa, AZ, on a downhill, "easy to qualify" course. I went out at my BQ pace of 8:50 and blew up around 13 miles. I knew I had my work cut out for me for CIM in December. 

Over the next 9 months, I trained hard. I ran more miles last year than I've ever run in my life. I got stronger and faster. I earned new PRs at the 10K and half marathon distances. I prepared as well as I could. But my times on my training runs weren't fast enough to go into CIM confident about a BQ and I knew it would take a perfect day to achieve running 26.2 miles at BQ pace. But it was just so tempting. My previous best marathon time was 3:51 and my age group's BQ time is 3:50. If I got just a one minute marathon PR, I'd also get a BQ. It was sooooo tempting.

Kudos to my coach, Nell Rojas, for being very patient with me when I claimed that that was what I was going to try to do. She told me that if I ran conservatively in the first part of the race I could definitely run sub-4. But that's not what I wanted: I wanted 3:50. Because I tried for 3:50, I ended up with a 4:14. I ran strong for 12ish miles, started to try to hang on from 12 to mile 19, where I knew the hills would end. I expected it to be downhill from there, which might help me pick up the pace again...but it wasn't downhill. It was flat. I lost all momentum and fell off my pace. If my amazing friend Shelly hadn't caught up with me at mile 24 and dragged me to the finish, I would probably have run 10 minutes slower! 

Pre-race with Orissa and Shelly. This race was very well organized, including the buses to the start and the many many porta-potties available before and during the race (porta potties! Porta potties everywhere!).

Feeling happy before mile 13.

I wasn't unhappy with my time. I had a lot of fun running the first half of the race with Shelly and I felt like I could fight until mile 19, which is an improvement over my performance in Arizona in February. I missed my time goal by nearly half an hour, but I ran faster than the race in Phoenix, which means I'm getting stronger. 

So I still don't know if I was brave or stupid to race for a goal that is currently outside of my limits. After the race, Nell and I debriefed and she talked to me about the importance of patience: I'm improving, I'll get there, it will take time. We talked about how you should never hope for a miracle on race day - you should never hope to have a breakout race to get a goal. You should prepare and be ready and confident about what you can do.

Of course I know this is true. Every coach I've had has told me this. But after 15 years and 20 marathons, I still needed this reminder from Nell. How many times have I had to hear that I should be focused on the process and not on a specific time goal? Focus on the process and improvement will come.

Having a specific time to race for makes this difficult. It's not like triathlon, where it's understood that times at different races will vary because of the terrain and conditions. At an Ironman, there is no set time for each age group for a Kona qualification - you race against your competitors on that day and that's how it goes. In some ways I know that makes it mentally harder, but it also takes off some of the pressure. You can say "I'm going to do my best today" and then you do it.

So, what's next? Winning a slot to Ironman St. George through my awesome triathlon team, Big Sexy Racing, is probably the best thing that could have happened to me right now. I have no choice but to focus on the process and see what I can do with the bike/triathlon fitness that I can build between now and May. 

For the first time ever, I'm going into a season where I'm doing an ironman but it's not my "A" race. I decided that in order to focus on process and improve my skill at racing a marathon, I need to stop signing up for "easy BQ" races. My next stand alone road marathon race will be the Kansas City Marathon in October. Between now and then, I'll "race" two more marathons - one at the end of Ironman St. George in May, and one on the trails around Leadville in June. Let's see if I learn anything along the way.

It was so much fun to look forward to a girls' trip to Sacramento all year. Racing with friends and having friends on the course for support was priceless! Thank you to Aixa and Sanaa for being awesome Sherpas!

Mesa-PHX Marathon Race Report 2019: The Importance of Having a Good Time

The Mesa-PHX Marathon was meant to be a test race on the way to my next attempt to qualify for the Boston Marathon later this year. In September, in the world of Boston qualifying standards, I'll age up. This means I'll need to run a 3:50 or better (8:50 pace) to get a BQ. I planned to sign up for the California International Marathon (CIM), held in in Sacramento in December, when general registration opened in March, but first I'd run this race in Arizona and get a baseline for what my legs could do.

I trained hard for this marathon with many lung-busting track sessions and short fast practice races, more miles per week than I've ever run (even training for Leadville), 3 solid 20 mile long runs and a ton of successful tempo sessions. I hit my paces and heart rate zones on nearly every run. I was prepared. The only thing on my plan that I didn't get to do was a confidence-building half marathon at marathon race pace. I unfortunately picked a half in late January that was held mostly on snow and ice covered trails, and my 8:50 practice pace turned into a shuffle for survival in slippery shoes. Of course hindsight is 20-20 and I'm certain I would have felt more confident in Arizona with a successful practice race under my belt. 

When I signed up for the race in late October, Trent and I planned on a fantastic winter getaway from the arctic tundra of Colorado to warm sunny Arizona where I could run and he could play golf. The reality was that by the time the race rolled around, Trent had just moved to Kansas City for work and wouldn't be able to get away for the weekend. I was carrying around the heaviness of missing him and the uncertainty that comes along with this kind of change. Yes, I know we are only temporarily apart and I should be able to stand up on my own for a little while and be a strong independent woman but in early February I was really struggling with the change.

I looked forward to race weekend because in addition to the wonderful warm weather, my incredible friend Orissa had decided to jump onto this marathon journey and we were going to race together and have a great time! The last time Orissa and I raced a marathon together, we ended up literally racing to the finish line at the Austin marathon and getting breakthrough PRs!

Austin Marathon 2014

We arrived late Thursday and enjoyed ourselves in the day or so leading up to the race, eating Whataburger (Hooray, Whataburger made its way to Tempe!) and accidentally staying in the same (roach) motel that we stayed at a few years ago when we volunteered at Ironman Arizona. Packet pickup was a breeze. We were thrilled to find an early entry coupon code to CIM in our packets, and for the first time in my life, I signed up for the next marathon the day before racing a marathon. We ate and hydrated and went to bed early. This was important because for this point-to-point race, we'd have to be up by 4:30 to catch a bus to the start line.

There were a couple of race-morning issues like late buses and lengthy porta-potty lines, and Orissa and I didn't actually start the race until at least 10 minutes after the gun went off. This was fine because it meant we'd be passing people all day if we did things right. The race started in the desert of Mesa and went downhill into the town. We'd driven the course the day before so we knew what to expect. Basically downhill until 13.1 miles and then flat to the finish line. We had beautiful scenery in the first half of the race to look forward to and then a million turns on city streets for the rest of it.

Orissa's goal pace was different from mine so although we started together, we didn't expect to stay together for long and that was okay. I wore a headlamp even though it wasn't really necessary. I carried my backpack with all the water I'd need for the day and that turned out great. The first few miles were gorgeous with the sun coming up through the Saguaro-covered hills. My music was making me dance and I felt joyful for the first six miles even though my pace was inconsistent and slower that I'd like. 

When 10 miles came around and I was having to work more than necessary to hold the already-too-slow pace, I knew my day was not going to go as I'd hoped. The last 16 miles were harder than they should have been and I was frustrated to see my pace slowing. I couldn't turn over my legs even though my lungs were celebrating the amazing oxygen that lower altitude brings! I was pumping my arms to try to get my legs to move and nothing was happening. I'd passed a bunch of pace groups and when they started to pass me back, I felt defeated. 

The last time Orissa and I raced a marathon together in 2014, I'd gone out too fast and she'd run a conservative pace, which meant at mile 25 she caught up with me. I found a way to race with her to the finish line that day. We both squeaked in at 4:30 which was my fastest marathon by 15 minutes at the time. It was an incredible day! I knew that if she caught me today that I wouldn't be able to run with her. The only thing that kept me running as fast as I could was the fear of Orissa running up behind me and shouting "come on!" like she did 5 years ago.

I finally reached the finish line with a time of 4:25. That's 35 minutes slower than the time I'll need to BQ. Oof.

So relieved to reach the finish line.

A few minutes later, Orissa crossed the finish line, beaming and high fiving everyone. She had a great time. She didn't just meet her goal pace - she had a GREAT TIME - she had fun running the race. And of course there's the lesson for the day: it's not about having a good pace. It's about having a good time - enjoying it! You're always going to do better when you're smiling and having fun, racing with joy instead of heaviness. I know this. I just somehow have to keep relearning it! Thank you Orissa.

Having a great time!

Not having even a little bit of a great time.

When I got home and met with Nell, my amazing coach, she assured me that I'd had a bad day and didn't run to the potential that all my training runs had pointed to. We agreed that the lack of a solid practice race was an issue. She asked me if I felt motivated to train and I said YES OF COURSE and I meant it. Together, we made a plan for CIM that includes running a bunch of shorter faster races to pick up some speed. That 8:50 pace needs to feel easy in December. I have my work cut out for me.

In the last two weeks, as part of that plan, I ran 2 5K races. One happened to be in San Antonio when Trent and I traveled down last weekend to visit family. I was thrilled to get to race with Orissa again, and with Shelly, and we smiled and laughed our way through that race, plus the warmup before the race and the cooldown and tacos afterwards. I'm really excited that both of them are going to be racing in California in December too!

You can tell that this race went better than the marathon, right? Hooray for running with Shelly!

Today I raced a little 5K in Golden and was thrilled to pace myself properly and run my way to 3rd place in my age group. My times are not as fast as they used to be, but the speed is coming back. And maybe more importantly, today I ran at marathon race pace and a fair amount of it felt "easy." Trent's not here this weekend but he encouraged me on the phone before the race and I ran light. Here we go again, moving towards a new normal. I'm excited about December and the journey to get there. Thanks as always for reading, for your encouragement, and for coming along on this journey with me!

I'm all kinds of proud of this age group award from the race today.

Did I mention there was Whataburger in Arizona?

We attended a Sun Devils game in Tempe after the marathon! It was so much fun even though we could barely walk to our seats.

Love racing with these two. I'm California Dreaming already.

What Matters Most

In early December, at the same time as the "race prep/speed" portion of my Houston Marathon training was getting started, another appealing challenge began. My masters group, the Lakewood Dawgs, started their annual Dawg Days of Winter challenge: 12 days of swimming over a 2-week period. There was no question about whether I would take part in it. This was my biggest year of swimming so far, and I was up for the challenge!

I just love swimming, swimming's my favorite! Awesome silly selfie taken by Whiting. 

The swim challenge was fun. Each day had a different theme, sort of like the 12 days of Christmas. For example, day one was "an endless set of 50s, free" (yes, sing along to the tune of "a Partridge in a Pear Tree"). I learned immediately that the actual challenge of Dawg Days was to get up and swim at 5:30 a.m. masters for 6 days a week for 2 weeks. 

With 4 days left in the challenge, I felt smug about being disciplined enough to get up so early in the morning every day to swim. But I was also feeling a little tickle in the back of my throat. As the day progressed, a cough developed, and I called Dawn to ask for her advice about whether to do my scheduled run that day or to skip it.

Dawn asked me, "well, what matters most to you? The swim challenge or the marathon?" I answered without hesitation: the swim challenge, of course! And I skipped the run. I felt worse the next day, but still showed up to swim, commiserating with other swimmers who confessed that they weren't feeling great either. I showed up to swim the next day, and skipped that day's run as well.

Eventually I couldn't argue that I was "getting sick" anymore. I had a really bad cold that was moving into my chest. I finished the swim challenge and earned my Dawg Days T-shirt, slept for 3 days, and skipped a total of 9 days of running. It took more than 3 weeks to completely get rid of the cold.

Marathon weekend rolled around a few weeks later. I wasn't feeling confident about the race, but I figured I would see what I could do. Houston is a special race for me, especially this year living far away from my family. I was so excited to get to meet up with them in Texas and run this race for a third year.

The Expo displayed shirts from every year of the race's long history.
Here's Dad with the shirt from his race 1989: he still has his shirts from both of his Houston marathons at home.

My awesome nephews and niece - these kids actually enjoy spectating marathons. I'm assuming one (or more) of them will keep up the family tradition and run this race someday. 

On race day, I tried to hold a "moderate" pace at the beginning of the race, but even that felt too hard. I backed off the pace, and as the wheels fell off around mile 14, I thought about that conversation with Dawn. I had picked swimming over running; I had made my bed and now I was lying in it! If I had quit the swim challenge and given myself a chance to rest, I probably wouldn't have gotten so sick, and my performance at the marathon would have been much better. As I plodded along, my pace slowing, I grimly remembered my answer to Dawn's question.

I ended up with one of my slowest marathon times in recent years, a 4:32, and although my legs were hating it, I enjoyed the day. I loved seeing my family on the course and all the volunteers and spectators who had come out to experience the day. After Houston's difficult year, the city was displaying strength and resilience in celebrating their marathon, and I was grateful to be a part of it.

Faking happiness for the sake of Mom's camera.

That being said, until today, I've been feeling uncomfortable about my fitness based on that marathon time. Am I just getting old? Am I slow now? Do I just need to make peace with that? Today, I went for a swim with Whiting and Maggie, my two super-swimmer Boulder friends, and I was so happy to hit my paces on a challenging 4000 meter set. I beamed when Maggie and Whiting complimented me afterwards about how much my swimming has improved. The weeks and months of high volume swimming that I've been doing since September and the 12-day challenge in December have paid off. I gained a little bit of confidence today.

My amazing swimmy friends Maggie and Whiting at our New Year's Eve 100x100 swim.

Happy swim today with matchy matchy paddles, Whiting and I are training for our first SwimRun race.

I'm always excited to see what the lesson is, even if I don't like how it feels at the time. This year's marathon provided a lesson in making decisions and living with the consequences. My goal wasn't really to have a fast marathon, it was to keep up my swim and run volume through the winter to get ready for the next season of swim/run races and trail runs. Even though it would have been really cool to have a fast marathon too, I couldn't have it both ways. I'm grateful to have a mentor who asked me the right question and forced me to be honest. What matters most? Answer that question honestly and you're halfway there.

On the schedule for 2018 (so far):

• SwimRun Lake James (Nebo, NC, April)
• Leadville Trail Marathon (Leadville, CO, June)
• Silver Rush 50 (Leadville, CO, July) (!!!!!)

Houston Marathon Race Report 2016: You Have To Want It

For a couple of years, I've been saying, "Wouldn't it be cool if I could qualify for Boston at the Houston marathon at age 40, like my Dad did?" Well yes, it would be cool. But saying "wouldn't it be cool if" isn't enough. You have to say "I Want This" to be able to make big things happen.

I've been struggling with this for a week, because I didn't have a bad race in Houston last weekend. I ran 3:51:06, which is a minute and a half faster than last year, a new PR. But I didn't reach the goal of running a Boston qualifying time of 3:45. My body was in shape to run a 3:45, but my brain wasn't.

Standing in the corral before the race, I talked to a guy in front of me, whose cotton "throw away" shirt had a Boston Marathon logo on the shoulder. I asked him if I could touch the logo for luck and he smiled, said yes, and told me "good luck." To verbalize "I'm going for a BQ today" to a stranger made me feel like an impostor; clearly, I'm still struggling with the "I'm not a runner" thing.

When the gun went off and the crowd surged towards the start line, I got teary and thought, "here we go," and asked myself, "how badly do you want it?" which is pre-race habit now (thank you Bree). The answer was, "probably not bad enough." That was my honest truth to myself on the start line of this race.

You know how in the first few steps of a running race, you kind of know how it's going to go? Well, I took the first few steps and thought, "oh man, this is going to be a battle today" because it didn't feel easy like it was supposed to. Sure enough, the first mile was an 8:47 - I needed 8:30s to meet the goal for the day.

I was wearing a borrowed Big Sexy Racing tri top (thank you Trent) and felt a boost of energy when I saw a couple of guys in the same gear ahead of me. I sped up to catch my new teammates and introduced myself. And then things started to look up! These guys (Greg and Matt) confessed to being undertrained and were running the full marathon as a "training run." This means they were actually running at the pace I needed to hold. I was thrilled to jump in with them and their friends and run with them for the next 10 miles. We held the pace and some fantastic conversation and I was thinking, this is pretty easy!

Then, they said they were stopping for a bathroom break and instructed me to run ahead. They told me not to let them catch me. I agreed and kept running, but as soon as I was alone, I started to fall off the pace. The next 15 miles were a constant battle of looking at my Garmin, seeing a number I didn't want, and picking up the pace, only to lose it a moment later.

I felt a boost of energy seeing my awesome family at mile 15 and again at 23. They were all dressed in pink and cheering and it was wonderful to see them. A big shout out to my brother Adam who has spent his last 2 birthdays standing on the Houston Marathon course!

These kids! My awesome niece and nephews - how could you not smile when you run up and see this!?

I've posted this photo of me and Henry a thousand times, but has anyone noticed the man in the cat shirt over my shoulder? You should have heard people cheering for him!

You know it's bad when you're counting down the kilometers because they're smaller than miles. By mile 23 my pace was slower than 9:00 and I had long lost all hope of a BQ.  But then I realized that I might not even get a PR, and that was unacceptable. I didn't do all that running this fall to not even run a new personal best on a beautiful, perfect day. So I pushed through the hills (yes, there are hills) and when I reached mile 25, I decided to run as fast as I could to the finish line. I ran that last mile at a 7:45 pace.

Dad saving my life with a Coke at mile 23. Practicing our handups for Norseman. ;)

What did I learn from this experience? Well, I learned that I'm a stronger runner than I've ever been, which is good, but that I need to push myself further into the pain zone if I want to reach that BQ goal. If I'd run as fast as possible in the last 6 miles, I wouldn't have been capable of 7:45 at the end, so I know I can run faster at the next one.

The next one will be at the end of Norseman in August, and I'll be fully motivated to run as fast as I can, chasing that black T-shirt. There's no "wouldn't it be cool if" about that goal.

And I've signed up for the Houston Marathon again for next year. Third time's a charm.

In Dad's Footsteps (Houston Marathon Race Report 2015)

In 1989, at age 40, my Dad ran a 2:48 at the Houston marathon to qualify for Boston. I was 13 years old at the time, and I remember spectating the race with Mom and Adam. Mom dragged two reluctant kids all over downtown Houston to provide cheers and support for Dad along the course. I was unimpressed with the entire situation, typical for my age, but I remember how Mom rushed us from mile marker to mile marker, offering relentless support to Dad as he went flying by. I also remember Dad's spectacular collapse at the finish line - the first time I ever saw him as anything other than strong and tough; my usually stoic father showed such emotion as he greeted Mom after reaching his goal.

Those are pretty big shoes to fill. To be honest, for years I never even considered the possibility of a BQ. I've been a 10-minute-mile runner forever.

Then, last winter, something happened. A question snuck into my mind and eventually I became brave enough to say it out loud to Dawn. "Do you think I can improve my running enough in two years to qualify for Boston at age 40? Because it would be really cool to do that at the Houston marathon and (literally) follow in my Dad's footsteps."

At the time, I had completed 5 marathons. My PR was a 4:46. I'd need to take an hour off my best time to get the 3:45 I'd need to qualify for Boston. Was I being ridiculous? Here's why I love Dawn - she immediately and confidently replied, "YES, OF COURSE YOU CAN." And I started to really consider it.

A year went by and some confidence was built and I raced in San Antonio in December 2014 and went sub-4 for the first time. I'd need 12 more minutes to make that BQ time. The Houston marathon was coming up in just 6 weeks. I started to believe that I could do it, although I didn't really "have to" until next year, to make the magic "BQ at 40 in Houston" goal.

When I lined up to race last Sunday, my entire family was there to support me. Mom and Dad were there. Adam and Jen and their adorable children had driven in from Louisiana and were going to be on the course cheering. Because this was Dad's race course and a part of our family's history, this was a big deal for me. It was emotional. And I was going to go for it.

Hazel, Jen, William, and Henry waiting at Mile 15.

 It was weird to stand in the corral at a start line by myself. No Shelly or the girls. Just me and my goal, and a note written on my hand with a Sharpie, "How bad do you want it?" (Thank you Bree). As teammate Trent passed me in the first mile of the race in pursuit of his own BQ, I looked at my hand for the hundredth time, picked up my shoulders, and went for it. I raced my heart out, I ran at the intended pace for 17 miles, and then began the inevitable fade. I'd find myself falling off the pace and then struggling to turn my feet over faster to pick it up again. Even with the bottle of Coke that my amazing friend Rene provided at mile 21, I couldn't keep up the pace, but I tried my very best. I am so proud of this race.

I didn't qualify for Boston. With a 3:52 finish, I did chip 5 minutes off my time. I'll make a Smart Plan to make the whole dream come true next January in Houston when I'm 40 - I've already signed up for the race. I need to find 7 minutes to make that BQ time. I know that I can do it.

Although I didn't reach my goal, the race was incredible. A gorgeous course with hundreds of thousands of screaming spectators, ridiculously well organized and supported, with perfect weather. I'll recommend this race to everyone; it was so much fun. Even with thick crowds and the relentless pounding of a flat course that ends with 3 miles of punishing hills (yes, there are hills in downtown Houston, I didn't believe it either).

The joy at this race was in sharing it with my family. At multiple points along the way, they were there yelling support and providing "Pinky 5's," a salute invented on race day by my ridiculously cute nephews. When I saw them for the first time at mile 15, I lost my composure for a few minutes afterwards and had to gasp for breath as I tried to stop crying. I was following in my Dad's footsteps while chasing my own dream and they were all there sharing it with me - it was overwhelming.

Saw the family, smiled, and then melted down for a quarter of a mile. :)

It was similarly emotional to have Dad run alongside me as they caught me again at mile 23. Our conversation went like this: "You're doing great." "I'm not going to make my goal, but it's okay, I'm going to PR." "You're not far off your goal." "I know. I just need to learn how to be in pain for 10 miles. I'll get it." (That's an example of a ridiculous change in mindset - I'm beginning to crave that pain, as Dawn says). And then I ran off to finish the race.

Running with Dad on the Houston Marathon course. Pretty amazing (He's far right, in Pink, on purpose). 

My Dad has always been the Real Runner in the family. He's been in my corner for as long as I've been doing this, but now something has changed. He's coaching me, giving me advice; he really believes I can qualify for Boston, which means he thinks I'm a Real Runner too. Somewhere along the way, I'm going to believe it as well. Houston 2016 is a year away, and I'll be ready.

San Antonio Rock n Roll Marathon Race Report 2014

There's a THREE at the front of my marathon PR. Last Sunday, under perfect conditions, I ran a perfect race and grabbed a new marathon PR of 3:57. I can't even describe how amazing that feels. Really, I can't. I've tried and deleted at least 7 attempts at this post over the last week.

There's not very much for me to say about the race itself. I described the course in last year's report, and it hasn't changed (neither have the crowds). I'd rather talk about the reason that I had the kind of day that results in a 33-minute PR at a distance that I haven't been able to understand in 6 tries, until now, lucky number 7.

Except that I'm not going to credit luck. I wasn't lucky last Sunday. Yes, it's lucky that the weather was great: mid 50s and overcast. (And I did wish on a star that fell right behind the porta potties at the park n ride before the race!) But otherwise, luck is not the reason that I achieved something that constantly eluded me before. I was successful because I changed my mindset approaching the race.

When I'm talking about marathon or ironman, I tend to go on and on about having "respect for the distance." Clearly, that's important. There are some things that you just can't fake or muscle through, and marathon and ironman are two of them. Both take preparation, consistent training, dedication, and heart. However, as far as marathon is concerned (and maybe ironman too) I've been disguising fear as respect, and there's a difference.

Respect: This is a tough distance and I've set a hard goal, but I've trained, I'm ready, and I'm going to do my best to accomplish something and have some fun today.

Fear: Marathons are hard, so it's ok if you don't reach your goal.

In the week leading up to the race, I solicited the advice of everyone I could think of who would help me to get into the right mental place. People that I really look up to: Dad; Dawn, my coach; Trent and Rene, my super fast training buddies; and finally, in a desperate, late-night plea the day before the race: Bree, my Worlds-crushing travel buddy. They all said the same thing. Of course you can do it. Then, more importantly, they proved it to me: you ran that pace at Buffalo Springs and Norseman, off the bike. You ran faster than that pace on multiple long training runs. You can do it. You have it in you. It'll probably be easy. Try. Have fun. Go get it.

I cried over this. What if I fail? I've told tons of people my goal of going sub-4: what if I end up having a terrible day out there? I'll disappoint people, I'll look stupid. Looking back, it seems ridiculous to have struggled so much over something that doesn't really matter in the whole scheme of things. But oh my goodness, I struggled.

On race morning, under perfect conditions, I still think it could have gone either way. I consciously decided as I crossed the start line to put fear away and to have fun chasing a goal. And sure enough, mile after mile, my Garmin proved to me that I was doing it: one 9-minute mile after the next. For someone who has considered herself a 10-minute-mile runner for 15+ years, this was just huge.

Super happy to not be cramping at mile 18.

Even after my iPod crapped out at mile 8 and Shelly took off to crush the half, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I kept on running steady. Seeing Mom and Dad at mile 13, 18, and 24, out on the lonely back half of the course, gave me a boost. Using positive thoughts and singing a little to myself, taking strength from passing people, smiling as spectators called me "Pinky" like they've done at races all year, pretending that I was running in Norway, channeling that joy, I made my way to the finish line. My feet were burning and my legs threatened to cramp with every step after mile 24, but I didn't slow down. With half a mile to go, I checked my Garmin and knew that I was going to make it. I started smiling then. I beat my goal by 3 minutes and smiled so much as I crossed the finish line that the announcer even said "Now there's a smile, Kristina Cordova, Smash!" (Then I burst into tears.)

Photo by Dad at mile 24. I had so much I wanted to say, but all I could get out was a four-letter word. (Sorry Mom.)

I'm really proud of myself for reaching my goal, for putting fear away and going for it. It was hard, it hurt, but I didn't let myself stop or slow down or settle for something less than my best. As always, this is the stuff that will help going forwards, in racing and in life. Make new goals. Get comfortable being uncomfortable, and you'll reap the benefits. Hard work works, and so does believing in yourself. I proved it last Sunday. The future is wide open, and I'm so excited to see what happens next. I know I just keep saying this, but it's true.

In fact, what happens next is the Houston marathon in January. And I'll put the goal out there: I want to qualify for Boston. I'm 12 minutes away. Every marathon I run after this, that's what I'll be aiming at. Mindset = changed. And I refuse to be afraid.

San Antonio Rock n Roll Marathon Race Report 2013 ("Fun Run" with the Girls)

It all started with a coupon code last December. First, the marathon date changed from mid-November to December 8, which would mitigate the risk of miserably hot temperatures that have happened nearly every race day since the race's inception in 2008. "Come join us for cooler temps!" they said, "And here's a coupon to sweeten the deal!" Even after suffering through the marathon with Shelly in 2011 and shrieking "I'm never doing a stand-alone marathon again!" to everyone who would listen, I admit that I'm the one who rallied my friends and talked them all into signing up (sorry, girls). Then, a few weeks later, it was determined that the new date conflicted with the Dallas White Rock Marathon, and Competitor Group moved the date back to November 17. In their defense, they offered a refund for folks who had already registered. We opted not to take it.

I had two conversations with Dawn about this race. One was back in early fall. With the hamstring issues I'd been having and my A race 3 weeks prior to the marathon, I questioned training for and racing the marathon. Should I switch to the half? At that time we determined that I'd train for Longhorn and do a quick little ramp up for the marathon afterwards with the understanding that I would be training for a "fun run" and should not expect to get a new marathon PR. With Longhorn on my mind, this was fine with me.

The second conversation was the night before the race. "What's your goal?" Dawn asked. Well, it's a fun run with the girls. "OK, but what's your actual goal?" Honestly Coachie, I am terrified of The Marathon. I have run 4 of them. The first one was a disaster. The next 3 all resulted in the same time (4:46). I am stuck with this terrible marathon PR and I really don't want to get that time again. Not to mention the forecast for the day was for brutal heat. She listened and we put together a plan: Run by feel, take off the heart rate strap. Go easy at first, pick it up after a few miles, find a pace group to chase, don't fade, crush the last 6 miles. And stay positive the whole time. No negative thoughts allowed. Got it?

Race day came and as promised, the morning was 70 degrees and dripping with humidity. Aixa picked me up at 5:45 and we drove to the very well organized shuttle at the AT&T center. Rode the bus to the Alamodome and headed straight for the porta potties. These occupied our time for the next hour or so. Pee, get back in line. Pee again. Met up with Linda, Brian, and Orissa in our corral (13) and we were ready to begin. As we inched towards the start line with the thousands of other people around us, I was filled with pride over how cute we looked in our Smash kits and did not feel nervous about the day.

I ducked into a porta potty right before we got to the start line. This proved a smart move because this was the first marathon where I didn't have to stop in the middle of the race! The girls and Brian waited for me and we crossed the start line. Immediately, Aixa and Orissa were off to the races. I knew that if I followed them, I'd suffer later, so I stuck to the plan of going easy the first few miles. Linda and Brian stayed behind with me.

With 26,000 entrants in this race, if you start in a later corral like we did, the first 12 miles of the race is really hard to navigate and get into a rhythm. The water stops are chaos and there are people everywhere, walking, run-walking, running, stopping dead in their tracks in front of you. Every corner is like a turn buoy on the swim in a triathlon - everyone gets bunched up and you have to avoid smacking into people, getting squashed into a curb, or having someone step on you. Trying to negotiate all of this is tiring. If I did this race again, I would be very tempted to lie about my pace so that I could get a spot in one of the first corrals. I had brought a small bottle of water with me so that I wouldn't have to try to maneuver into the first few water stops, and I think this really helped.

They changed the course this year. The race started at the Alamodome and wound up St. Mary's street to the zoo. Then, to my delight, we ran up and over Stadium Drive past the main entrance of Trinity University and down the other side along the access road of 281. I spent all my time through this section enjoying the huge crowds of students who had shown up to wave signs and cheer, and yelling to Linda "I used to live in that building!" and laughing. We ran past the lacrosse field and the tennis courts and the gym and I recalled so many snippets of happy memories from college. Up Ledge Lane and past Prassel Hall where the kids were hanging off their balconies watching and cheering. What a rush. And, all of it was nicely shaded. With all this distraction, I almost didn't notice that we were running up some pretty tough little hills.

We ran back into downtown on Main, and at mile 7 I got to see Robert, Andre, Gina, and Rebecca, who were spectating (Gina snapped this photo). At this point, Brian had run up to catch Aixa and Orissa, and Linda and I were running together. We were chatting a little bit, and I was listening with the other ear to a fabulous new mix on my iPod that Shelly and Valerie had helped me create last week.

The course divided between half and full marathon at mile 12. After running off to the right towards the missions, finally we had some breathing room. Mile 13.1 came and went. I looked at my watch and observed that if I ran even splits (hahahahaha) I would be able to get a 4:30. I picked up the pace a little. By this point, Linda and I had stopped talking and had our game faces on. It was then that I started to notice that we were passing people. We were passing everyone. I began counting. Between miles 13.1 and 15, we passed 150 people.

Both of us were sticking to our nutrition plan of a gu every half hour and a saltstick every hour. Gatorade every time we passed an aid station that had it (note: there are 20 aid stations advertised on this course. Every other one has Gatorade. As someone who is used to a buffet of sports drink, gu, ice, and other treats at every mile in WTC triathlon races, I do not like this, especially on a hot and humid day).

Up until mile 16, we had followed Coachie's rules. We never stopped running, even through the aid stations. I kept the happiest, most positive attitude I've ever had, singing along to my iPod, chattering to Linda when she seemed to need it. She did the same for me. And then at mile 16, we stopped to walk through a water stop and eat a gu, and kept walking for a little longer than we needed to. Looked at each other and smiled, ashamed. And then started to run again.

At mile 17, the course veered off into a somewhat hilly 2 mile out-and-back. I looked at my watch and noted an 11:07 pace. I said to Linda, "Ok, every mile after this at 11:07 or better is a victory." She said ok and told me that her heart rate was getting high. I was thankful to have left my heartrate strap at home. One less thing to worry about. Now was the time to see if I could stay positive.

I was tested almost right away. I felt a twinge in my right quad, then a twinge in the calf of the same leg. Cramps. Nooooooooo! It's only mile 17! Ok, what to do. Take another saltstick, even though it isn't time. Stay positive. So I did. The cramp subsided.

We saw Aixa and Brian heading back on the out-and-back while we were still on our way out. We never saw Orissa, although apparently at some point, we passed her. At an aid station around mile 18, I lost track of Linda and continued the rest of the race on my own. Saw my co-worker Vincent on his way out while I was approaching mile 19, and waved at him. Ok, he's a rookie, I can't let him catch me.

As the wheels fell off at mile 19, I stuck to the plan. Although I couldn't help falling off the pace, and I had to walk to shake out cramps that were taking over both calves, shins, and hammys at the same time, I kept moving forward in the most positive fashion. The mantra "pain is inevitable, suffering is optional" was rolling around in my head as I sang Three Day's Grace's "Pain" (thank you Shelly for the song suggestion - it is a GREAT one!). I ran out of my own saltsticks and took salt packets from the medical tents to try to make the cramps subside, but it didn't really help.

I'd have the same opinion of miles 19-24 if I was having a great day - that part of the course sucked big time. It was all within the Mission Trail park, along a concrete sidewalk that is just like the greenbelt that Coachie is always telling me not to run on. Hot, exposed concrete. No breeze, no shade, and sparse aid stations. Everyone was walking. But I thought to myself that this run course looked like the run course of Ironman Arizona, the race that I DNF'd without making it to the run exactly one year ago today. Today was the day I was getting to run a marathon instead of sitting in an urgent care in Phoenix with road rash. So I tried to imagine that I was running at Ironman Arizona, and with that, I maintained focus and positive energy.

Around mile 25, I realized that I wouldn't be getting a new PR, and that in fact, I wasn't even going to match my dreaded 4:46 3x marathon time. Turns out there is something worse than 4:46 - it's running slower than 4:46. As I ran back onto city streets and made that final turn onto Cherry Street towards the Alamodome, I saw the time slipping away, but I kept moving forward toward the finish line.

The finishers chute was surrounded by cheering spectators telling the runners what a great job we were doing. I took it in and smiled. My final time: 4:51:10. My second worst marathon time ever. But you know what? I am prouder of this race than all the rest, because I was able to stay relentlessly positive. I also feel like my running is the strongest it's ever been, and that on a nice day, I would have had a wonderful race.

Brian and Aixa had crossed the finish line 25+ minutes earlier, new PRs for both of them on a brutal day - amazing! I wandered through the finisher's area sort of floating and grabbing every beverage that was handed to me - chocolate milk, frozen amazing Jamba Juice smoothies, Gatorade, water. Was able to find Robert and Andre and stand around for a minute talking. Found Orissa, whose hip flexor was seizing up. Orissa told us that she'd caught up with Linda and forced her to get medical attention, and that Linda had had to DNF due to heat exhaustion.

We went into the medical tent and talked with my friend Tim who was working there. He told us that the course had been closed just 30 minutes before due to the heat - the out-and-back at mile 17 had been closed and people were being sent straight past it to the finish - anyone who hadn't reached mile 17 yet would only be permitted to run 22 miles that day. The temperature had matched the record for that day - 87 degrees.

Found Linda at another medical tent and then we went and caught the shuttle back to the park and ride. We were able to laugh as we recounted tales of the day. On the way to the race, we had talked of doing the San Antonio/Las Vegas double-double, which is actually a thing because both races are on the same day - you run here and then fly to Vegas and run again. On the way home we made a pact to never let each other sign up for another full marathon again, unless it has a swim and bike before it.

I've made this promise before at the end of every marathon that I run, and this time is no different. And every time I said it, I've had to retract it the next day when I say, "I know I can do better. I want to try again."

I know I can do better. I want to try again. Austin Marathon, February 2014? Maybe we can find a coupon code.