Surfing, the return.

Well, I am back from another surfing expedition, and I made it alive, though with one or two new bruises to show off. Let me start off by saying that I am a terrible surfer, and I will likely always be a terrible surfer. But I'm okay with that.

We arrived in Tofino this long weekend to rain and cold. It was just getting dark so we put up a tarp to hide under, pitched our tent and went to bed. It poured all night, even when I had to get up to go to the bathroom. The morning came and I finally convinced Glen to try and start a fire with the soggy wood from the campground. It wasn't easy, but he managed to get it going and we dried out a good amount of wood for burning later in the day and hid it under our picnic table so it would stay dry. After finally warming up by the fire, I decided that I hadn't driven for 4 hours down those windy roads for nothing, I was going surfing, raining or not. Glen opted not to, he was a little tired and I think laziness may have played a small role too.

So we went into town and I rented a wetsuit and board. We got to the beach and I arrived at my first challenge. Putting on the wetsuit. This particular wetsuit had an attatched hood, to keep my head warm, or annoy me, I can't decide which. The zipper for the ridiculous thing was in the most bizzare spot-right across the collarbone and down both biceps at the top of the suit. This means that there was even more wetsuit that had to be yanked on before the zipper would go anywhere near closed. The thing was damp to start, so it was cold as I started, but they warm up quite quickly. Well, after you get this thing past your knees, it gets difficult. Most people know I'm not the strongest person around. I almost needed Glen to help me pull this device over myself. I decided the best way to go about it was to get it straightened out and then pull it up similar to the way most women would pull up their nylons. Pull a little up around the leg, then work it the rest of the way up 'til the top moved. This continued for about 20 minutes until I finally had the thing in the right spot at my neck. Then came the hood.

It was built with 2 collars, an inside one and an outside one with the hood attatched. The inside one slipped on easily over the top of my head from the front. The one with the hood squashed my face into an unrecognizeable mash as I was attempting to yank it over my hair. It actually hurt to put it on. But I managed to squeeze all of me in the wetsuit, and off I went to the ocean.

The actual surfing itself was still as difficult as it was before, and to my surprise, I hadn't gotten any better with the complete lack of practice I've had since the last time I tried. It is very tiring, though. I only managed to last 2 1/2 hours before I was so tired I almost couldn't carry my board back to the car. But I did have an idiot grin on my face the whole time, and for several hours afterward.

The next day wasn't much better, weather-wise. Still cold and rainy, so we packed up camp and headed to the beach so I could tire myself out for the ride home. Trust me when I say wetsuits are even harder to put on when they're wet than when they're just damp. You pull on the material to get your leg in, and nothing happens. It doesn't move an inch. So I ened up doing this delightful little shimmy for about 1/2 and hour to try and get into this silly piece of clothing in the parking lot of the beach.

And all in full view of the delightful, rippling biceps, muscley guy surfers. If anything, the weekend was worth it just for that particular eye candy. April, I know you enjoy a man with well-built shoulders...well you should visit Tofino sometime. Just sit in the parking lot and watch these guys change. And they do. Right in the parking lot. I even witnessed a full monty. From the back, anyways. And they like to walk around with their wetsuits half off, so they're shirtless. Give me a second to wipe the drool off my keyboard...

So I must describe also the process of removing the wetsuit, because it is nearly as amusing as the getting into the wetsuit. I decided the easiest way would be to peel it off, banana style. Again I'd like to bring up my aversion to bananas, but I digress. So after mashing my face yet again trying to get the silly hood off (my lips actually hurt for several hours afterward), I tried pullling it off. Well, it's really hard to get our of a wetsuit when you can't really move your arms, 'cause they're pinned to your sides from trying to get out. I actually needed Glen to help me get my arms out. Keep in mind that the suit is now wet, thus making it impossible to slide at all. So you get it to about your knees, at which point it gets so thick around your legs the banana doesn't peel anymore. So you wriggle for a long time until finally you can free one leg, at which point getting the other leg out is comparatively easy.

I've decided getting the wetsuit on and off is nearly as difficult as ths sport itself. They should have wetsuit changing olympics. The first person to get a wet wetsuit on and off first wins. It could even be a spectator sport. As Glen will attest to, it's quite funny to watch. I will give the wetsuit credit, though. It kept me nice and warm the whole time, and wasn't completely uncomfortable once you're actually in the water. I also noticed it's relatively hard to look bad in a wetsuit. It smooths out all the lumpy bumpies and holds everything in quite nicely.

Despite the rain and cold, I did enjoy the weekend. Though next time I think I need to drag Glen into the water with me whether he likes it or not. Mostly so he's too busy trying to get his own wetsuit on that he doesn't have time to laugh at me struggling with mine.
PS-Kristi-I think I've almost got that beach bum look down.

42 km is, like, far!

Just a note before you start reading. This blog is going to be very long, so make sure you have enough time to read it all before you start.

This past weekend I ran the Vancouver marathon. A marathon, for those who don't know, is 26.2 miles, or about 42 km for those of us who grew up with the metric system. And let's just say that that distance is, well, really freakin' long! It doesn't really look so bad when you plot it out on a map. But if you were to get in your car and drive 42 km at 100 km/h, it would take you just over 25 minutes to go that far. That's bloody far, man! But back in January when I signed up for the full marathon clinic, it seemed like a good idea. Don't get me wrong, I was ready for the race. I had done most of my long runs, the farthest being 34 km three weeks before the race. But there's still 8 km left after you pass 34 before it becomes a full marathon.

We checked into our very swanky resort hotel, right on the waterfront in downtown Vancouver. It was the official host hotel for the race, so it had the whole expo and registration right at the hotel, and a shuttle to and from the race, so it worked out quite nicely. We ended up getting a room with two double beds, and Glen's parents stayed in the same room as us. I checked us in and as Glen and his parents were getting parked and organized, I picked up my timing chip, race number and wandered around the expo for a few minutes. It was then that I remembered how much I love free stuff. They were handing out everything from McDonald's fruit & yogurt parfaits to fancy hair elastics. And you can bet I took everything that was handed to me. Never before have I felt quite so in my element. I was surrounded by runners. My people. People who understood what it was like to get up and feel the need to hit the sidewalk with a good pair of Mizuno's on. It was awesome.

The next day was race day. The race started at 7:30, so we planned to be downstairs waiting for the shuttle by 6:30, to avoid the rush. It was a cold, dreary day in Vancouver, but it wasn't raining. Everyone decided they were going to come and see me off, which was nice since then I could bring my sweater and just give it to Glen before the race started, and I wouldn't freeze to death. I lined up between the 4:15 and the 4:30 pace bunnies. Apparently in most marathons they have pace bunnies to tell you how fast you're going. They're just runners with a lot of experience that have watches and know how long they take to finish a marathon. The bunny part comes in because they have foam rabbit ears sewn to their hats, that stick up and have their expected finish time written on them. It's quite hilarious, actually.

About 3 minutes to start time, and it starts to sprinkle. Not rain, just lightly sprinkle. I ordered no rain that day, but as previously mentioned, apparently I have angered the weather gods. The starting gun went and we were off. Sort of. After slowly walking for about 4 minutes, I finally reached the actual start line. But it wasn't so bad, because they give us each timing chips that we zip tie to our shoes. So our time doesn't start until we actually cross the start line. I crossed the start line and started with a very slow jog. About 1/2 way down the block I saw Glen and his mom wave as I went by. There were a lot of crowds cheering for the first few km, and it started to dwindle after that. It also continued to sprinkle.

The first part of the race went well, and about 17 km in, I passed Glen and his parents again, right near our hotel, waving and cheering. Then the race headed into Stanley park, where I was meeting my coach, who was switching me for a full set of fuel bottles at the halfway point. He was right were I expected. He even said I looked "fresh" still. And I'm sure at that point I did. But it was a quick deterioration after that. After the little tour of Stanley park, the route headed back through downtown Vancouver, where I saw my cheer team again. And much to my surprise, Glen actually came out onto the course to offer me chapstick, a dry pair of socks, and some water. I quickly remembered why I married him, and took the socks. My hands had been cold since the fifth kilometer, and socks make excellent mittens when your hands are cold and wet. It was still raining. That's right after this picture was taken.
It gets a little fuzzy after that point. All I really remember is feeling very tired and very sore, and praying for the finish line. Oh, and thinking, when it this road going to turn around so we can go back towards the finish line? All I could really think was, don't stop don't stop don't stop. The road seemed to go on forever. Then as I rounded one corner, a glimmer of hope...1 mile to go. But let me tell you, that was the longest mile I have ever run. It just wouldn't end. Both my knees were burning, and I was almost limping from the pain. I was so thirsty. And then I saw it. The finish line. The best sight I have ever witnessed. I nearly burst into tears I was so happy. And when I finally crossed it and my timing chip beeped I was done. I have never been so happy to be finished something in my entire life. Some wonderful volunteer hung a medal around my neck, another was handing out water, and a third clipped the timing chip off my shoe. Then we headed into BC Place for food and warmth.

They gave us plastic sheets to wrap around ourselves to stay warm, and kept us moving so we wouldn't pass out. And then we got to eat. Yay for food! Milk has never really tasted so good. I got my finisher's t-shirt and met up with my cheer team, who were all very proud of me.

Now I'll break it down into numbers for you:
Total time: 4:30:51
First half: 2:17:26
Second half: 2:13:25 (that's right, I ran the second half faster than the first)
In the 25-29 year old female division, I was 779 out of 1304
Out of all the women in the full marathon I was 2162 out of 3114
(To check the numbers yourself or to see the pictures taken of me by the official marathon photographers, Google "Vancouver marathon"-I plan on ordering one or two official pictures, so if you want one let me know and I'll get them all together)
That's me crossing the finish line. And you can't see it, but I have a smile on my face.

Now comes all the good little tidbits I remember.

The water stations. At first I just passed them by, since I had my own drinks. But near the end of the race I was so thirsty for straight water that I took a cup here and there. Trying to run and drink water out of a cup is not the easiest thing in the world to do. The cups are waxed paper, and they have cold water in them. So they're squishy. You grab it and it squishes half the water out of the cup. Then you try to bring it to your mouth to drink, but you're moving, and it splashes all over your face and shirt. I'm sure it was quite funny to watch me trying to drink water from a cup as I was running for the first time.

The relay teams. I was cursing the relay teams for almost the entire race. They would switch off every 10 km or so, thus peppering the crowd with people who, at 30 km, were fresh and just starting to run. And there's nothing more depressing at 30 km than having some perky little twit girl passing you with her dry shirt and bobbing ponytail. Especially when you're soaked, tired, smelly and half dead from exhaustion.

The walk/runners. A good chunk of people had the strategy where they would run for a few km, then walk for a bit, then start running again. This was very irritating to me, since I managed to finish the entire race without stopping to walk. To be fair, a good number of these people probably had far better times than me. And had I done the same thing, I would have likely finished with a better time. But then it begs the question, can you really say you "ran" a marathon if you had to stop and walk every couple kilometers?

The pain. I have never been so sore in my entire life. Many of you are familiar with what's known as hiker's walk. Well, marathoner's walk is very similar, just with more groaning and intensified about 15 times. For the day and a half after the run, I had trouble bending my knees without some accompanying yelp of pain. And I hobbled everywhere instead of walking. Sitting down has truly never felt so good. But here I am, 2 days post-race, feeling pretty good. And almost walking normally.

The chafing. Many are familiar with this problem. You do something for long enough, and your skin will break, blister or rash at a certain contact point. Body Glide was invented just for this reason. You smear it in the chafe-prone areas and it theoretically prevents the chafing. This would be great, except that it rained all bloody day! So after about 10 km, the stuff had managed to all wash away and my planning was for nothing. 15 km in, my thighs were chafing. At the end of the race, I could not walk normally. Not because of my muscles or joints, but because if my thighs touched anything a burning, almost unbearable pain would result.
This is a picture of my chest, taken today (2 days after the race). Apparently my sports bra was chafing around the neck, and I didn't notice until after the race. This is similar to what my inner thighs look like right now. But for obvious reasons, I didn't post a picture of them.

The signs. My race number had my first name on it. At first I wasn't sure why. But at 38 km when you're really tired and sore and it would be so easy to just stop and walk for a little while, someone, even a stranger, yelling "keep going Sara", is the best motivation in the world. 'Cause that's you they're cheering for. You don't know them, and you'll never see them again, but just having someone cheer for you is the best feeling you can get at that moment. And it kept me running. It's the same way with the signs. One guy was standing about 2 km from the finish line holding a sign that said "Nobody quits today". He wasn't cheering or yelling, just quietly standing there holding his sign. But I will never forget that sign. One sign I remember had someone's name, and underneath it said "eye of the tiger". And even though it had someone else's name, it still helped.

So in the end, it's going to be a long while before I run another full marathon. But like one of the signs said, the pain is temporary, the glory is forever.