First, let me just say, SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!! I’m going to Boston! (As a Yankees fan, not something I’m usually so excited about.)

On Sunday, May 29th, also known as the day before our first wedding anniversary, Scott and I ran the awesometastic Mountains 2 Beach Marathon in Ojai/Ventura California. This was my third full marathon and my first of two A races for 2016. And given the injures that have sidelined my last few autumns, it was also my first real go at a Boston qualification.

While Ironman looms large a few months away the last few months have been very run-focused to get me over that finish line with plenty of buffer below the 3:35 women 34 and under threshold. My goal was to come in under 3:30, and I am so freaking excited to report that beat that goal by several minutes. I wanted a healthy cushion between my time and the Boston Athletic Association (BAA) minimum qualifier, because every year varies on how fast you actually have to be to qualify.

This was my 3rd full 26.2, but also my 2nd time running this particular race. In 2013, my friend Kim (she is definitely a costar of this blog and my running journey!) convinced me to sign-up sort of on a whim for M2B 2014. Being a fabulous and fast event, it sells out in the fall so you have to pull the registration trigger early. Kim (who actually lives in California) had chosen this race to try for her own BQ (spoiler: she nailed it) and as I was going to be training for my first IM that season (spoiler: I failed it) I thought I oughtta do my own first ever full marathon before I tried to tackle one after swimming and biking 114.4 miles.

I spent the few months before M2B 2014 IM-training and not really marathon-focused. A few weeks before the race I realized I’d never in my life run more than a half marathon and started ramping up my weekend mileage. Not kidding, I just started doing longer Saturday runs to prepare. Eight days before my first marathon I did 17 miles up and down Lake Front in Chicago and declared myself “ready.” I went into that first marathon with zero idea what to expect or what I was capable of. I set a vague sub-4 goal but felt like I wouldn’t be unhappy with any finish time. I turned in a 3:41 and was ecstatic. It’s a fast course with an overall a decline in elevation and a very fast and small pool of runners. (No wasting energy jockeying for position or zig-zagging around slower runners here!)

Back in the fall of 2015 as I was figuring out what the 2016 race season would look like, I knew I wanted two things: to finally complete a full Ironman, and to qualify for the 2017 Boston Marathon. It was easy to choose the Sept. 25th Ironman Chattanooga: fast swim, close enough to drive, DC Tri Club would be going. So I knew I needed a spring marathon. M2B was my first thought, and when I looked up the 2016 schedule, I saw that it would take place one day before what would be Scott and my first wedding anniversary. Most people would probably see this as a negative and look for a different race. To me it was a sign that this was my race. I would just have to convince Scott…

Yeah I don’t actually have some great side-splitting story on how I convinced my husband that the best way to celebrate our first year of marriage would be to fly across the country on a holiday weekend to run 26.2 miles. He’s just a great combination of really supportive and really suggestive I guess. I got him on board in the short fall window before the race sells out and that was that!

Fast-forwarding, the last couple months of training have been swim-bike-RUN. Been getting in my multisport work but prioritizing the running. Training peaked two weeks before race day with some really painful two-a-days which left me drained, sore, and terrified that I was not ready. Over my two weeks of taper as I took stress off my body I let my mind run wild with it. And my gut. My pre-race tummy drama is pretty prolific on this blog (more on that to come. Obviously.) but it’s usually limited to morning-of issues. For a full ten days before M2B, every time I thought about the impending go at a BQ my stomach turned (sometimes audibly!) leaving me nauseous and worse. Bottom line: I was stupid worked up over this race (recognizing that this is ultimately just a hobby and oh my god calm the eff down, Liz. [In related news, poor Scott.])

We flew west bright and early Saturday morning, and thanks to the east to west time change, landed at LAX around 10am. We battled a monstrous Avis line and headed north to Ventura. Along the way we stopped at a Dick’s Sporting Goods to pick up an ungodly amount of Gu, shot bloks, beans, and Clif bars (and yes I had also packed several pounds of the stuff so no this was probably not necessary.) The only thing I forgot was salt tabs. Which were the only thing I really needed. We then ate surprisingly good Asian (no, the restaurant did not have a more specific denomination than that) in a strip mall next to Dick’s and got to Ventura a little before 3pm.

Since we were early for check-in, we tried driving to packet pick-up only to be totally confused (and a little frightened) by the set-up at the Ventura County Fairgrounds where the expo was supposed to be. At said Fairgrounds we found a creepy circus – complete with trailers with giant clown faces painted on them (aka my nightmare) –  in a parking lot outside a windowless casino*. There was zero signage about the race and we didn’t want to pay for parking at the sad creepy circus-casino when we could park for free at our hotel a half-mile away. Silver lining: we’d wasted enough time driving around the worst part of Ventura that we were able to check in, change, and head back out on foot in search of the expo.

*Actually it wasn’t even a casino – it was apparently a building where you can watch and bet on horse-racing live on big screens. I grew up working with horses who were rescued off the track (the lucky few who weren’t sent to slaughter houses) and I’m telling you right now that horse racing is disgusting and nothing short of animal abuse. If you watch it at all, you suck. And if you spend your days in a windowless bunker betting on abused animals being run to death hundreds of miles away, well, I hope I never meet you because you’re horrible. End. Scene.

So, running, right?

Turned out packet-pickup was in a bizarre old army base-looking set of (definitely haunted) buildings behind the casino/PETA travesty. After being totally skeeved out by our surroundings getting there, the expo was surprisingly great.  When I ran M2B in 2014 there wasn’t much of an expo, but this year there were lots of booths giving out free (delicious!) samples like acai berry froyo and clif products (my favorite.) And miracle of miracles, they had salt tabs! I bought a giant bottle! And I bought a couple pairs of lock laces. And face sun screen. And anti-blister cream. And an awesome tank top with the names of all my lady run crushes. And I bought all these things from the same booth in separate transactions. If you’ve ever seen The Jerk, my experience was basically this scene.

We walked back to the hotel along the beach on what would be the last push of the race. I opted to skip the 10 minute run Coach Josh had put in my schedule as my right hamstring was twanging a bit and I didn’t want to push it. My stomach was doing plyometrics, I guess getting ready what ever meltdown it was planning for the morning. In my gastro-panic I had a moment of clarity and told Scott I needed Imodium for the morning. I’ve used it a few times in races (and while backpacking through Southeast Asia) it’s always come through.

We spent the next couple hours searching the tiny and quaint (and equal parts charming and scarily-outdated) downtown Ventura for pasta and anti-diarrheal meds. And having successfully located both, we were back in our hotel and in bed by 8:30pm. (The time change really helped – normally I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep that early but our bodies thought it was 11:30 so  sleep actually came when beckoned.)

We got up at 3:45 and as soon as my alarm went off my stomach took it as its cue to pitch a new plyo fit. (Belly burpees!) I ate what I could get down through the nerves – most of a clif bar, half a banana and half a bottle of Nuun. We had signed up for the 5am shuttle to the start line and we had opted to forego gear check. Zipping nutrition into our race belts, I took 30mg of Imodium before we left the hotel at 4:30 – 90 minutes before the race would start.

The shuttle left right as scheduled at 5am . The first batch of Imodium helped but I knew I’d need more right before the gun went off. As soon as we arrived at the start area I raced off the bus and onto a porta potty line. It was 5:30 and I was in the john by 5:50. I took care of business and chugged another 45mg of the blue stuff before finding my corral and pace group.

M2B is a small and fast crowd. So small and fast that there are only three corrals: First is for folks going sub-3:20, second for 3:20-3:40, and the final  wave is anyone going slower than 3:40. I wove my way to the middle of corral two, trying  to locate the 3:28 pace group. I was aiming for 3:29 to be safely far enough below the 3:35 BQ time to actually qualify no matter how fast a year 2016 ends up being. At just a minute under my goal, my plan was to hang with the 3:28 group for as long as I could – hopefully to the last mile or two at which point I figured I could slow up a bit if I needed.

I found the 3:33 group but couldn’t find 3:28. Being a mini-human I had to ask a taller woman if she could see the 3:28 sign. She pointed ahead and said it was about 30 feet in front of us. I was about to get low to try and get there, but the gun went off and corral 1 headed out. Immediately corral 2 started surging forward and my way was blocked. Two minutes later the gun went off for our wave and we were off.

As people started moving and the crowd dispersed I could see the 3:28 sign bobbing along ahead of me – they had probably had a twenty second head-start. I was nervous about stepping on the gas right out the gate but I really didn’t want to abandon my pace group plan so I dashed ahead of the folks around me and fell in a few runners behind the pacer.

Conditions were absolutely perfect. Once I was safely ensconced amidst the group that would be my run-crew for the next few hours, I was able to take a mental step back and assess my picturesque surroundings. Perhaps the fastest thing about M2B is that it is a beautiful course.

M2B begins, as the name would suggest, in the mountains in Ojai. It’s wine country and pony country and it’s lush and the people who live there really care about maintaining their outdoor community. I took it all in and for maybe the 1000th time this year wondered why I had ever left California. (Shhhh. I love you DC!)

On top of the pretty, it was overcast with the perfect chill in the air. Over the first few miles it was even misting. The mist didn’t seem to be coming from the sky but rather just floating around us. It was like the California air wanted us to stay hydrated and cool and comfortable.

And there were animals! We passed horse farms where the alarmed equines trotted along the fence next to us. There was a pasture of bemused (kind of judge-y) donkeys, and even a llama at one point. I stuck my tongue out at him in imitation of the perma-pissy face llamas are always making, and the guy behind me definitely saw it. And yes y’all, (Chandler) I did see a Great Dane at one point and it did totally fluster me. I even yelled, “Great Dane!” over my headphones like a totally normal person.

The first 10k winds a large loop through Ojai and back over the start line before  the course takes us back out of the mountains to Ventura. I followed our pacer and looked at my Garmin just for heart rate and cadence, and when it buzzed at me to let me know another mile had passed. Mile 1 was a very comfortable 7:50 and I thought, damn we are right on track! Mile 2 is all uphill and we dropped to 8:10, at which point I had a little moment of panic (but the Imodium held strong!) Mile 3 took us back down that hill and we crushed a 7:39.

I realized our pacer had every mile pace written on his 3:28 board based on elevation and this made me calm down. At every mile marker I watched him check his Garmin, check his pace chart, and adjust. (Some of you may be reading this [hi mom!] thinking, ‘duh Liz, that’s how a pace group works,’ but I’d never run with one before and was so impressed and grateful to have someone doing the hard work [read: math!] for me.)

Josh had mapped out a race plan for me also – accounting for elevation and wind and with my goals based on heart rate. (Seriously amazing, right?) The first 10k, with its climbing, I was to aim for 160s and under. Even with the hill right off the bat, the perfect, chilly, misty air helped me stay right where I needed to be. There was a little bit more climbing as we ran back through the start line before hitting the first major decline around mile 6.

With the course beginning the descent from mountains to beach (you with me?) my Josh-assigned-goal was to keep it in the 150s. I was skeptical of whether I’d be able to get my BPM down after 6 miles of nerves and a good bit of climbing, but lo and behold he was right with my biometrics yet again. The pace group settled into several very consistent 7:45 miles and I watched as my heart rate ticked down into the low 150s – even dropping to the 140s at places.

At this point I had started my salt tabs regimen; I popped a tablet every 45 minutes or as close to that as the aid stations allowed. Between the salt and the Imodium I was sort of gambling with my stomach using nutrition I don’t train with consistently, but my belly stuck with me. I also carbed up every 30 minutes or so with either gu, beans, or the electrolytes being handed out every 4 miles. Aid stations were two miles apart, and every second one included liquid electrolytes in the form of Fluid Performance. Again, a new one to my tum-tum but it worked out.

I have a rule for myself that you do not pass up on aid station water in races and this was no exception. I could definitely be wrong (I am many times a day) but I think this every two mile frequency was more than at the race in 2014, and it was really welcome. I felt well-hydrated (and well-taken-care-of) the whole race. My only complaint is that, while there were plenty of stations, there were not plenty of volunteers.

In most races (that I’ve done anyway) there are far more volunteers than needed and no matter how many people run through an aid station at once there are always more than enough hands holding out water. Here there were only a handful of folks at each station, so on multiple occasions the folks in front of me grabbed up all the cups being offered. It meant you actually had to go to the aid table yourself and grab cups that way. To do this you have to navigate around the volunteers and either hand-eye coordinate your grab while running (uh-oh) or slow way down. At the second station the man in front of me attempted to employ for the former strategy and ended up plowing down and entire row of cups, which further mucked things up for me, so I opted to slow almost to a halt to grab what I needed. At one station, as I saw it approaching, I tried running ahead of the pace group so I could arrive while volunteers still hand water to hand-off, but this strategy jacked up my heart rate so much that I abandoned it the rest of the race, opting instead to fall back from the pace group, rehydrate and then catch up at a more measured pace.

Ahhhh the pace group! I can’t believe I’d never run with one before! I loved it so much. Even in the concentrated silence of marathoning I felt like I got to know and care about each of them. (Yeah that’s probably the endorphins talking but I was honestly amazed by how connected I felt to them.) Our pacer checked in with folks as we ran; it was clear he cared about everyone finishing and hitting whatever goals they’d set. At meaningful markers, like 13.1 (the halfway point,) 17 miles (when we only had single digits left,) and 20 and 23.1 miles (last 10 and 5k respectively) folks would call out the accomplishment and we would all cheer. This group of total strangers  kept my pace where it needed to be, but also my mind and my morale. I found myself cheering for their success as much (ok, almost as much?) as my own.

And quick body-positivity detour, I loved how different the people in our group were built. There was a pretty even split of men and women. On the male side especially all ages were represented. The women were all probably under 40, but such different and all-awesome bodies! There were some tall and leggy chicks, some of the very thin, wiry builds that are stereotypically expected of runners, there were two women on the heavier side, and there was even a hobbit! (Me. I’m the hobbit. 4’10” and a lil thick. [Prettier feet though.]) I know I don’t look like someone you would expect to be that fast with my itty legs and not-fucking-around thighs (thank you cycling and ponies!) so I love seeing other folks doing what you wouldn’t think they could just by looking at them.

Ok, out of the cheese and back to the race. Once we were down to single digit miles remaining and into the 4th 10k Josh had said I could start dropping the hammer. I was definitely feeling the milage adding up on my legs – especially my quads, but I was also feeling the best I ever have that many miles into a run. I had dropped a  bit behind the pace group while digging a salt tablet out of my race belt at an aid station around mile 19. I knew I could stay behind them and still hit my 3:29 goal, but I’d kept my heart rate low the whole morning and decided to step it up a little. It was a bit of a gamble but once I’d caught up and settled into what were now 7:50/55 miles my heart rate evened out and  I still felt strong for the final 10k.

After mile 20 or 21, the pace group began to thin out. Doing the math in my head I knew we were on course to beat 3:28 by a bit, so I wasn’t surprised that a few people decided to fall back. Many were probably doing the same as me trying to build a safe cushion under the 3:35 baseline BQ.  I hung in with our pacer thinking, I can keep this up for the last few miles and get a 3:28 instead of 3:29. Plus I figured our pacer was aiming to have room to slow down at the end if needed.

We arrived back in downtown Ventura around mile 23. Welcoming us back to the “city” was a homeless woman in a flowy dress and no undergarments. As I ran by she pulled up her skirt and I was treated to a very Game of Thrones full-frontal experience. (Think Red Lady-minus her necklace – not Red Lady adorned, or Cersei or someone like that if you get what I’m saying. [Oh see now I’ve stopped being body-positive. Sorry!])

My quads were so happy to be done with the downhill portion of the day. Miles 6-23 are not all downhill, there are a number of flat and uphill sections, but overall they are on a decline and there are a few places that are uncomfortably steep descents. The downhill is murder on the quads and scary for someone with rickety bones like me, but of course great for keeping heart rate under control. As we kicked it through downtown I got to recruit the backs of my legs to take over some, but I could feel the aerobic exertion crank up as I watched my numbers climb into the 170s and stay there.

I felt like I could hang in with what was left of the pace group, but I was pushing myself to the max and could feel my body breaking down under that max effort. Sustaining anaerobic threshold over a number of miles is of course uncomfortable, but I reminded myself that I’d held onto the 180s for the Congressional Cemetery 5k a few weeks prior, so I could hold 170 (172 really) a few miles longer.

I’d also been engaging in the mental bargaining we all go through in endurance sports. At mile 16 I had pretty successfully tried to mentally recalibrate, telling myself, ‘ok your run starts here and it’s just a ten mile run’ so now I followed up with, 7 miles down and 3 to go. And since I’d only been looking at my min/mile numbers when my Garmin buzzed for each mile down, I had begun compartmentalizing those mile times. I knew that an overall sub-8 average would get me where I needed  to be regarding a BQ, so I mentally logged every sub-8 mile with a smiley face, while keeping a tally of the miles that were coming in over 8 mins. In the end there were four 8+ miles and the rest were sub. Once I’d gotten to twenty miles and had logged 17 in the 7s and 3 in the 8s I tried to cut myself some emotional slack because I was pretty sure I had my Boston.

This mathlete back-and-forth carried me to about mile 25. At that point there were just two of us still running with our pacer. I felt a little bad to leave the guy who’d gotten me this far, but also, I felt really good! One mile to go! I’ve only got two other full marathons to compare it to, but holy crap this whole training properly thing must be for real because I’ve never felt anywhere near that good at mile 25. I had held back just enough, fueled right, and of course benefited from a great course on a perfect day. All the things came together and I was able to do the thing that runners much stronger and more practiced than I say you should be able to do: At mile 25 I stepped on the gas.

We had turned out of downtown and onto the boardwalk by the beach, so again I had gorgeous surroundings to urge me on. I also knew that I had done it. My BQ was about 7 minutes away from me and if I could keep this push up I would even come in well under my 3:29 goal. My heart was hammering as hard as my legs but there was no reason to hold back.

On the very final quarter mile or so the course started threading up a hill that got steeper as we ran up the shoot. In most races this would be torture but it meant I got to retire my quads and let my (pretty fresh) glutes take over. I glanced at my wrist to see my pace for the first time that day and saw that I was bounding the last .2 at 6:55.

I crossed the finish with a final time of 3:26:41. I slowed to a walk and I cried. After wanting it for years and so many injuries, being diagnosed with osteopenia and female triad syndrome, and sitting on the sidelines for races I’d trained for, I finally had my BQ. I feel pretty silly getting emotional about a hobby – and one that is admittedly mostly pursued by privileged people with time and money to burn – but the symbolic aspects of endurance races and the physical and mental obstacles are real and this really was so many years and miles in the making.

As I wiped my eyes and accepted my medal and a water, the 26.2 miles over which I’d felt so good came crashing into my muscles like a lactic acid flash flood. Our bodies are incredible and get us through what they need to and then once the pressure and adrenaline wane you have some serious shit to reckon with. I walked as normally as I could to the athlete food line and got some grub on while I stretched and waited for Scott.

Scott who did awesome! I wasn’t sure what to expect for him; he’s a really athletic guy but hadn’t gotten to train fully because he’s been trying to make our new house function in terms of things like, ya know, plumbing and electricity. While I selfishly worked out usually 2 times a day he got a couple runs in each week and had gotten just one really long run in the Sunday before. He threw down an impressive 3:44:31, lending even more weight to my belief that if he ever decides to really train for a race he’s just going to crush it.

We were both hurting, and by the time he finished I was violently shivering from the cold (it was probably 60 degrees but sweaty and calorie-depleted my teeth were chattering) but he patiently waited in line with me so I could strike the Boston qualifier gong!

We very slowly picked our way back to the hotel. On the way we stopped in a liquor store and purchased a tall boy of Tecate to share. (I’m not a big beer drinker but there’s not much better than a light beer after a serious cardio sweatfest.) We had about 90 minutes in the hotel to shower and to sit before we had to check out. We used every one of those minutes before slowly rolling our bags out to the rental car (the ramp down into the parking garage was one of the most painful 15 seconds of my life) and headed straight to In and Out.

From there it was down to our favorite hotel in Santa Monica, The Fairmont, where luckily someone had remembered it was our wedding anniversary! (Thanks Fairmont! We really almost forgot!)

See you April 17th, Boston!!!