What's That Ahead? Ah, The Back of the Pack

If you've checked out my "race" results on the sidebar you'll have noticed that when I say I'm slow, I mean slow in the objective sense - not in the relative "I'm slower than I was when I was an All-American college champion" sense that a lot of people seem to mean. My half marathon "run" time was at a pace slower than I can usually walk. (My pace was just over 15 min/mi.)

I'd have been slow no matter what - but I had a few issues in the two weeks before the race and then, was pretty freaked out during the race by the squillions of spectators. The spectators were awesome - cheering for everyone, positive, encouraging - the best you could imagine. Except it sent my already over-achieving adrenaline system into the stratosphere to have strangers yelling at me. I wasn't prepared to fight my own panic reaction on top of the challenge of just running 13.1 miles. Good lessons! And hey, the bright side is I have an EXCELLENT chance of setting a PR on my next half-marathon. It will still be slow, just not that slow.

That's what I'm about. I'm not particularly competitive with other people. I do like getting better than I used to be. I LOVE being a part of events. I'm all about being on the participant and finisher lists. I love the medals and the t-shirts. I love the social part and will try to rope everyone I know into doing the training/race with me. I'm a share the love kind of gal. So it's a little hard to talk about things that hit me down deep - things that aren't so pretty or polite. It's so hard, in fact, that this here post has sat on my desktop for the better part of the day without getting finished. What I need to say is that the idea of triathlon, running races, training and physical challenges - all of that motivates me. But the PG tri represents more than that for me.

I almost died in Pacific Grove in 1987. (Actually it may have been closer to Salinas.) I thought I was going to die, was sure of it for a few hours. And then I didn't - but wanted to - and couldn't imagine why I hadn't. My shipmates at the time became and have stayed some of my dearest friends. They called me back from hell. The Pacific, mother/monster ocean that she is, absorbed what grief I couldn't suppress or hide. She took me in, shared her darkness and teeming life with me, and then threw me back on shore. Time and again. Until I was strong enough not to need a place to dive deep and scream. She kept me safe - as safe as it was possible for me to be then. I made the journey back out to Monterey a couple of years ago - to face down what haunted me and to make peace and give thanks for what sustained me. I'm past that crux.

That task was a little bit like locating an ancient, unmarked grave; unearthing the pitiful contents; and reverently laying them to rest in hallowed and protected ground. The task ahead of me - the triathlon at Pacific Grove - is more like the next step: commissioning the perfect head stone and finally having a glorious, celebratory wake. [<--I come from an Irish family (redheads by the dozen!); we know how to do that kind of thing.]

I'm sure other races will mean a lot to me. It's a safe bet that I'll always have something to overcome to get myself to the starting line and I sure as hell will have lots to celebrate at any finish line. But this race - this set of starting and finishing lines? They're the ones that mark the completion of that long journey; they're the ones that signify surviving and thriving. It's reclamation time. I'm going to celebrate being on this planet, being connected to fantastic friends, being stronger than I imagined I could be. Slow, but still here! (I seriously doubt anyone else will have a completion time of 21 years, 7 months, two days and four hours.) Back of the pack, but absolutely joyful for being even hindmost of such a fantastic pack. That's me.