Three Tarantulas and a Bear Enter a Race... Part 1

Back at it... It's only been a year. Hello, hello? Is anyone out there? Is this thing on?

Sorry I left you all. I know you have missed me greatly. There are just only so many seconds in a day yet so many workouts to fit in, patients to teach and clients to correct. But I'm here! I'm here. Don't go away!

For my 28th birthday yesterday, I decided I needed to do more of what makes me happy. Writing this blog was definitely an endorphine releaser for me. So here I am!

And not only am I back on the blog, I am back on the race scene, too.

This last weekend, the boyfriend and I drove down to California... aw, home. I took four days off of work and packed my camping gear for the best vacation ever!!!... or so I thought. Turned out we didn't camp... In fact, it turned out we didn't really vacation. We sat. And sat. Raced a little. Then sat some more. Ugh. We didn't drive the coast at all. We didn't see the Redwoods like we planned or camp along the sand as I hoped. But at least I was with Nick and he is not an eyesore.

We drove into Pismo Beach Friday afternoon and, after checking in at our friend's hotel (shout out to The Oxford! You should definitely stay there! Great hotel!), we drove (some more) out to Lopez Lake where the Scott Tinley Tri Series were to take place over the next two days.

Funny thing about Lopez Lake: There is a $10 charge per day just to get into the marina. Say what? I remembered this tidbit of information from three years ago when I last competed, so Nick and I parked outside of the gate... we thought we had them fooled. Apparently, you have to pay to park outside of the gate as well. So not worth it. Next time, I'm skydiving into the marina (we will get to that later!).

Anyway, as we turned the corner to cross over the lake, I noticed the water level was low. We all know California is going through a drought, but this looked like Wildflower 2014 all over again! The place where I usually do my practice swim is literally sand now. Just sand, not even a puddle of water! Not even a drop! They even moved part of the mountain bike course to go through that sand... worst idea ever (again, we will go over that later)!

Nick and I parked the car and rode our bikes to the packet pickup. After grabbing my two bags (oh, did I mention I did two races back-to-back. Yeah. That was something), we biked over to the sand that was once water and hiked our way to the muck and mud where dead fish were strewn across the sides. Hastily, I put on my wetsuit and looked at Nick with my squinty brown eyes. "You look huge," he said. Let's just say he will never see me in a wetsuit again!

I did my little ten minute routine, speeding up then slowing the pace. Every once in awhile, I could see my hand in the water and it looked like a catfish ready to eat me for dinner. Then the water would suddenly get warm (no, I did not wet myself) and I would flee to the shore for safety. "It's only been 7 minutes," Nick would say. Reluctantly, I would go back out again wondering if he really would be able to save me if that catfish took me under.

When my Garmin beeped ten minutes into the swim, I hustled back to the muddy bank and climbed my way through the muck and back to Nick. With eyes wide, he choked back a laugh.

"Do I have muck on my face," I inquired.

"Just a little," he stifled the giggle.

We grabbed my race packs and rode our bikes back outside the gate to the car. Gnats gnawed at our bare skin under the heat of the midday sun. Nick's patience was wearing thin. I promised him we would make the bike ride short, but that promise was unfulfilled when we were given the wrong directions for the mountain bike route. We were lost and dehydrated by the time we found the road. I told Nick I needed 30 more minutes on the trail, but I would meet him back at the car. An hour later, I found him swatting at invisible flying objects.

Not wanting to irritate him even more, I agreed to run alone from our hotel. With that, we loaded the car and cruised back to Pismo Beach.

My legs never felt the run, but my belly sure felt that delicious Italian dinner we had with Nick's friends in San Lois Obispo!

To be continued...

The Saga Continues AKA Part 2 of the Rest of My Life AKA Victory Never Tasted So Bubbly

Swim 2.4 miles.  
Check.
 Bike 112 miles.  
Check.

Only one more activity and I would be finished... except that one more activity was a marathon. No big deal, right? At that moment, it felt like a very big deal. I had just finished 112 miles in almost 100 degree heat with no shade. My legs had cramped to the point of no return. My hope was crushed and my ego was busted. I had no desire to go on, no drive to be an Ironman.

"Ashlee, RUN!!!!! GET YOUR FEET UP! RUUUUUUUUN!" When I had first heard Sloan's voice, my mind did not comprehend that the man was shouting at me. Once I saw that my friend had driven all the way out just to cheer me on, I knew I had to get my butt in action. Running to the transition tent, I handed The Thunder to a volunteer, flashed a weary smile at Amanda and Kaylee and lifted my arm to acknowledge my mom as I entered the tent.

I made one mistake in that tent: I took my sorry behind and I sat it down on a plastic folding chair. The cold material welcomed my weary legs and cradled me like a mother cradles her baby during a cold winter night... except it wasn't cold... it was scorching outside that tent. The sun was shining bright and the sweat sitting on my forehead and eating away at the material of my bike kit proved that.

One of the female volunteers noticed that I had not moved since I entered the tent. "Would you like some help?" She offered, cautiously. At least she was not forcing her help upon me like the swim volunteer.

No, I would like a doctor. 

I am not a woman who asks for help. Independent, stubborn, fearful of appearing weak or needy... ask my boyfriend, ask my dad, ask any man... I am my own gentleman. Asking for a doctor's help was my first sign that this race was coming to an early end.

While I waited, I peeled my tri kit off and stood naked in the middle of the tent, ignoring the two male doctors standing behind me. Taking my red racing tights and green Patagonia top out of my bag, I hastily worked to cover my rear end before the doctor's arrival. When he came over and I told him about my cramping, he told me I had two options: I could go sit in the medical tent and have my legs massaged and nursed back to life or I could ignore the pain and grab straight Coke from the aid station when I passed it. The rest of my belongings were tossed back into their bag and I looked at him, shrugged my shoulders and said, Alright. Thanks.

He responded by lifting a spray bottle and squirting my legs. Not sure if I appreciated the mist or was upset that he just got my thighs wet and I might chaff, I walked out of the tent and out to my family with a forced smile. I'm done, guys. Dad, please stop videotaping this. I'm seriously done, guys. I don't want to finish. Dad, seriously. Please turn the video camera off. Okay, fine... I'll walk a little. 

Walking was not an option though when I came around the bend and people began cheering my name. "Yeah, Ashlee! Great form! Looking strong!" Great... thanks for printing my name on my race bib, Ironman. I'm just SOOOOO glad that everyone knows the name of the girl who is about to collapse on that grassy spot over there. 

I had no option but to run... until I came to a spot where people weren't watching. As soon as the crowds died down, so did my pace. Instead of maintaining the run, I walked two minutes, ran one minute. My pace stayed below fifteen minutes per mile, super quick, I know, but at least I would finish before the cut off time.

The run course was brutal. It was three out and backs repeated twice on concrete. The only change of scenery were the fading smiles of the runners coming back from their second lap.

"Ashlee! Ashlee! Ashlee! Looking so good! Check her fly!" Yeah, I'll fool you by running until you can't see me! What up!?

My buddy ZackZack Bertges ran toward me on his last lap and I was glad I was in my running portion of my walk-2-run-1 plan. He looked strong as an ox and nimble as a gazelle. "AshleeAshlee!" Hey you! Yay you! Okay, he's gone... now I can walk. 
  

Outhouses waited at the aid station and I realized I hadn't peed since 5am. I waited in line for five minutes then walked into the fragrant hut. As I started wrapping toilet paper around every edge of the seat to protect my rear from the germs, I felt my crotch get wet... Yup, I just wet myself a little bit. Murphy's Law kicked in when I finally did pull my tights down to go and nothing came out. Checking the damage to my leggings, I wondered if I should wait in the porta potty until I was dry or if I should run and hope no one noticed. Oh, people noticed all right. I went with the latter option and heard several, "Oh, poor girl"s as I ran by.

C'est la vie! It's a race... pros do it all the time. 

One woman named Michelle and I had played leapfrog so much during the run/walk/jog/trot that we started cheering each other on until we decided to walk together and exchange life stories. Michelle decided to continue walking, but I wanted to pick up the pace, so I said goodbye and made my way toward the final out and back. As I passed two men in their 40's, they congratulated me on my pace. That's when my minute came to an end and I started to walk. They passed me and right when they began the walk, I ran past them again. They had the same walk-run plan as I did. We pushed each other along with our game of cat and mouse. With 800 meters left in the run, I charged past them and sprinted toward the finish line.

Cheers and screams sprung my feet along the red carpet as I approached the finish line. With each prance closer to the end, the shorter the distance between me and victory and the louder the shouts of pride from the crowd. My smile widened and I ran past the clock only 15 hours and 27 minutes after starting my morning. I jogged up to a woman who wrapped me in a heat blanket and placed a medal on my neck. "How are you so awake?" She asked. "The others look so defeated, but not you!"

I went slow and saved it for the end, I confessed. She had me pose for the finishers photo and I did some modeling poses for the man behind the camera. Yeah, I'm a bad ass and I still look cute after 15 hours. What now, Mr. Photographer?

My dad called my name from the other side of the gate and I could see the pride in his eyes. I had made my daddy proud. He didn't think I would finish. My mom, Kaylee and Amanda ran up to the gate and gave me a hug. A bouquet of flowers was exchanged from my sister's hands to mine as a bottle of champagne emerged and Amanda drenched me in a cool, refreshing explosion of alcohol.

With a plate of untouched food in one hand and my flowers in the other, I ran to the finish line and looked for Michelle. When we found each other, we hugged and introduced each other to the families of which we had spoken.

End scene with my family and Amanda walking into an empty Pearl Street in downtown Colorado. Camera pans out on a day well spent and a very bubbly victory.

First Date aka I Found The One aka Part 1 of the Rest of my Life

Everyone remembers his or her first love. Some people claim to find love at first sight, while other insist it takes hard work and time to differentiate true love and lust. My first love was a little different than most. My first love kicked my butt, left me out of breath and made me question if I had lost my sanity. Despite my nervousness, I knew after the first date that I was hooked. I guess it's true what they say: When you know, you just know.

The date started with the sun rising over the reservoir in Boulder, Colorado. The glow from the sun was a hue of yellow, red and orange; vibrant colors that seemed to dance over the water's edge. I hid behind my bag as my sister made remarks about cats, crazy people and The Lord of the Rings. My heartbeat was calm, but I was still excited to make eye contact with my date. Mom, Amanda, Kaylee and I stepped off of the yellow school bus in which we had traveled to the Boulder Resevoir. They helped me prepare for the date by holding my belongings while numbers were painted on my muscular calves and arms. I put on my nicest wetsuit and braided my hair back out of my face. My sister's arms wrapped around my neck and tears formed in her eyes. I think she knew this would be love before I even knew. Amanda snapped a photo and my mom looked at me with eyes that said, "You've got this, but if you don't, I'm still your biggest fan."

Like a headless chicken, I wandered through the crowds trying to find my one and only. My neoprene-clad arms pushed their way through the crowds to the sign that read "1:15-1:30". The woman on my right anxiously played with her pink breast cancer bracelet. I started conversation and we spoke of life, love and butt-kickings while we shuffled our feet forward. When my toes collided with the water, I knew the moment had come. I positioned my goggles and dove into the liquid, feeling my body become buoyant.

The start was slow as every time I tried to sped up, I found myself getting kicked in the chest or grabbing onto someone's foot. Pink, green and white caps bobbed all around me. Mouths gasping for breath, eyes shaded by tinted goggles, arms splashing the surface. I was so distracted by the multitudes of people surrounding me that I barely even noticed when the swim was over. People around me were trudging up the boat ramp while I was still using my arms to pull my way through the material. When my hand hit the concrete, I pulled myself to an upright position and ran toward the grass. A hand pulled my strap from behind, causing me to choke back like a dog on a leash. "Just undoing your wetsuit," he informed me.

A cute blond women who looked like Kristen Bell's long lost cousin jumped in front of me and told me to sit down on the ground. What? Why would I sit? "I'm going to strip you. Sit down." I plopped my butt down with a thud onto the muddy grass while she peeled the suit off of me like a banana peel. When I stood, my butt was brown with thick mud.

I ran into the changing tent and an older woman came hobbling down to my corner of the tent. "I can help you change," she told me. I'm okay. Thank you. She insisted. My body seemed to be moving at light speed compared to her calm, slow movements. She handed me a pair of shorts. I actually don't need those. I've decided to wear these. I stuffed them back in the bag. She pulled them back out. I tried to get to my bag, but she would not let me lay hand to it; her frail hands pulled out my sunscreen. Thanks! I reached for the sun repellent but she pulled it away. "I can spray you," she spoke. You can't fight the system. I allowed her to spray, noting the spots she missed so I could go back over them. She handed me my shorts a second time. I don't need those; I'm going to wear these. My tone was polite, but more firm. I just wanted to get to The Thunder, my Felt DA4.

Finally, I shook the woman off and handed my bag off to a volunteer. A tunnel of cheers greeted me as I ran to my bike and mounted, immediately riding off into the day. I knew I would be on The Thunder for at least 7 hours, so I tried to start slowly, but the pace still felt like I was in the danger zone of drafting the rider in front of me. At mile 17, my legs picked up pace and I hammered my way to the halfway mark feeling strong and pretty. At mile 56, the halfway point, I hopped off my bike and found my emergency bag. In it, I had packed a banana and sunscreen. I painted my face, found room for the banana in my back pocket and resumed the ride.

Mile 73.1 approached and I bonked hard. At mile 72 I felt fresh as a daisy, though I did note I had not eaten in 2 hours. I tried to take a Honey Stinger gel to my lips, but I felt nauseous. Regret hit when my hamstrings cramped at the 73rd mile. I found a dirt pull out and parked my bike. As I tried to loosen my cycle shoes and savor each bite of the banana, a dark-haired man on a shiny red motorcycle pulled off next to me. "You good to go?" He asked. Just cramping. "Good thing you have a banana." He rode away and I watched as other cyclists passed me, all asking if they could do anything for me.

I thought I would find my energy after the pit stop, but it refused to come back. My legs felt like they were filled with lead paperweights. My teeth were grinding together as my feet continued to grind the pedals. I looked at a group of people standing at a stop sign with signs and cowbells. It took all the energy I had left not to stop and ask them for a ride back into town. And if I called my dad for a ride, he would get stuck in the race traffic. I might as well just finish the bike then I can call it quits. These were the only thoughts that kept me going through the heat as I watched others drop off like drunken flies.

"We must dance on the pedals again," an Australian voice came from the man next to me. He was young, in his early-thirties, a blue kit clothed his perfectly toned booty and whisps of golder brown locks peered out from under his helmet. Yeah, you go do your dance. I'm gonna huff and puff back here, Mr. Ironman.

I stopped at mile 95 to throw out my empty water bottle and replace it with a mix of thick, sugar-filled Powerade. My throat opened up as the sugar coated the walls and energized my tired legs. The open road continued on and I with it. Momentum began to return to my deprived body and I found comfort knowing that the ride was coming to an end. Only 17 miles to go... and we will start with a big A hill.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull. 

All I saw were athletes falling to the ground, dry heaving in the shade and struggling to get to the top. At least I wasn't alone... or was I just in the first-timers' group with all the newbies? I reached the top of the hill and my legs cramped to the point of being unable to move. I stopped my bike and painfully clipped out. Resting my head on my bars, I tried to hide tears of pain and disappointment. Was this the end? Would I be able to move my legs again? A man asked if I would like to walk around and get the cramp out while he held my bike. I couldn't even imagine lifting my leg off of the bike though. Choking down some water and eating half of a Picky Bar seemed to minimize the cramping, so I got back on and pedaled toward the next elevation changing hill. Dance on those pedals, I did. I danced like Alex Owens earning her spot in the Pittsburgh Conservatory of Dance and Repertory. My heart was on my sleeve, along with my drool and snot.

With three miles to go, I could taste the victory. My bike started passing people on their bikes and it felt like smooth sailing... until I reached the last teeny, tiny hill and my legs cramped for the last time. This was the worst time. I stopped and barely could unclip. People passed chanting, "Only three miles!" I know it's only 3 miles! I can't do it. I literally cannot. 

A kind gentleman came and put his hand on my back. "You doing alright?" He stayed with me while I waited for a medic. While I waited, I asked him about his life and forced water down my throat. After 15 minutes, no medic came and my legs were feeling a little better. I decided to give it my all and find that finish line. Smashing the pedals like there was no tomorrow, I passed everyone in front of me and made my way to the finish line. I watched as people who were dazed, confused and sunburned were helped off of their bikes. A woman came to help me, but I was already off, limping to T2.

"Ashlee, RUN!!!!! GET YOUR FEET UP! RUUUUUUUUN!" I knew that voice. That drive and encouragement was undeniably Sloan Campi. Pointing at him, my heart started jumping up and down, but I'm not sure that my feet followed. "YOU'VE GOT THIS!!!! RUNNN! GO!!!!!" Still limping and really wishing I could deny his urging me on, I picked up my speed and ran toward the track, where Amanda, Kaylee, my mom and my dad were waiting to take pictures and root for me.

To be continued...

Let the Pain Begin

After Wildflower, I thought I would give myself a week to recover. You know what recovery is, right? Laying on the couch, painting, playing with the dogs, reading a book... all fantastic ideas! But after 3 days of "recovery", which looked more like taking my friends on a hike, teaching Pilates and driving back to Oregon, I decided to stop letting time slip by and begin training for Ironman Boulder.

Coaching yourself in triathlon is hard work. When I hired a coach two years ago, it was fantastic because he would look at my ten hours of training per day and say, "Ashlee, what are you thinking?! I want you to take an entire day off." I would do an easy bike ride instead. Coach would see me and say, "Ashlee... I mean it! No working out today!" It is so much easier to recover when you are forced into it.

So today, I looked at my schedule and saw a huge gap of time between teaching yoga and meeting with Leah. What better way to fill that time than to go crank out a 23 mile bike test then brick it with a five mile trail run? Great idea!

So the IMBoulder training has begun.

STATS AS OF MAY 8, 2014

BIKE               23.1 MILES
RUN                5.0 MILES
SWIM             0 MILES
WEIGHTS      0:15
YOGA             1:00
PILATES        0:00        

Starting photos with three months to go:

Progress Report

Best Part: My scar looks like the intersection where I was hit!

It is so cool to look at the picture of my original injury and see how much it has improved in just 9 months! Wow... I can't believe it has been 9 months since I was hit.

Though I am still in a state of constant pain and my foot has a lot of problems with nerve damage, tight bones, numbness and aching, I am super excited to say that I am back in the routine of things. I am nowhere near where I was before the accident and I'm not sure I will ever be able to train at the same extent that I used to, but I do feel like my form has improved and I have a lot of hope for this upcoming year.

Thank you for all of the prayers, encouragement and support. I will be updating you all on my training when the new year comes! Look out, IM Boulder! Santa Barbara Iron Team is coming for you!

You're Invited!

"Talking to you is like being at a slumber party," my friend said as our conversation neared its end. I couldn't help but laugh. "Seriously! You live such an incredible life! You are constantly pursuing things you are passionate about and you make every task an adventure!"

If I had a theme song that played every time I entered a room, it would be the Indiana Jones theme song because I love adventure. I firmly believe that every day, even the ones filled with mundane errands and uncomfortable situations, should be exciting, memorable and filled with new lessons. Some people get so caught up in each task that they forget to have fun and focus on the simple pleasures of life.

Five of my simplest pleasures in life are as follows: Flannel, a great cup of coffee, conquering a new challenge, being outdoors and staying healthy and active. So what makes me tick while climbing a rock face, training for an Ironman or running up an undiscovered trail? It's a drive to do better, push harder, go further; a desire to discover what I am capable of and inspire others to conquer their goals as well.

So pack your love of adventure, your competitive spirit, your optimistic outlook on life and your favorite flannel shirt because those are the key things that make me tick in this slumber party I call life.