It was just a short easy run. Our big race was over and we were enjoying a few weeks of easy. My friends and I, having just finished a swim, set off on a 5 mile run. We ran together, joking and reliving all the fun moments of the Ironman 70.3 we had all completed just two weeks earlier. On a long flat section of sidewalk, I stepped on a rock and slipped off of the sidewalk which was raised about three inches off of the ground. My ankle twisted off the sidewalk and I fell, seemingly in slow motion, down. All the way down. And in that quick few seconds, my life changed.
This is a much longer post than normal, but I wanted to record my thoughts. I also spent a lot of time reading blogs about other people’s experiences leading up to this race, so I hope this might motivate someone or help them feel less nervous about their first race.
After months of training the day was finally here; I was about to do my first half triathlon.
My nerves were high as I walked the few blocks from my hotel room to the transition area of the race. When I arrived the whole scene had an otherworldly feel to it. At 5am, it was still very dark, so temporary lights had been set up to illuminate the entire transition area which held 2700+ bikes. A man with a megaphone announced over and over “you must be marked before you can enter transition”, while a seemingly never-ending line of people quietly boarded buses that would fill and pull away. It all had the feel of something much more sinister than a race!
I got my race number and age (my birthday’s in November so I always appear a year older at these races) marked on my arms and legs and went to set up transition. Once set up I chatted with a couple other girls near me who were doing the tri for the first time as well while I waited for someone in our group to come pump my tires. This was just the beginning of the amazing support I would receive all day from my group, Music That Moves, and my amazing coach Nicole. (I write about our group here if you want to check that out.)
Once all transitions were set and tires pumped, our group gathered together and boarded a bus. There were 50-60 buses that ran non-stop for hours, shuttling athletes and spectators to the start of the swim on the other side of the river. My husband Jeff came with me which was a comfort because the nerves were still high.
At the swim start we slowly made our way up to the place in line where we wanted to start the swim. Volunteers held signs showing swimming times and you just lined up near the time in which you expected to finish the swim. We found our number and then all headed off to the porta johns together (friends that go together, stay together?…something like that)
Night was now fading into a beautiful sunrise. I glanced out at the river. A man in a kayak glided along the water which now reflected orange from the sky, as a full moon, now low on the horizon and huge in size, set over the river. The scene was beautiful and so peaceful. Soon I would be in that water.
We all struggled into our wetsuits and soon heard the first gun go off to signal the start of the race for the professional athletes. The swim was upstream against the current for a bit and then downstream the rest of the way. A little while later word began to spread throughout the crowd that they were eliminating the upstream portion of the swim for the age group swimmers (anyone who isn’t a pro); the current was just too strong to swim against. I cheered out loud when I heard that.
After that news the mood changed. Nerves left and we all spent the remaining time in line joking around. It was a long wait but we made the best of it, dancing to the music, taking seemingly 100s of group photos, and making friends with the people around us. Soon it was time to say goodbye to our coaches and spouses and friends, so they could go get in place to see us get out of the water.
And then, finally, my race began!
I made my way down the ramp to the water, we were single file now, and once we reached the dock we jumped into the water two at a time. After waiting so long and knowing the swim would be easy, it was actually a relief to finally get in the water. It was my calmest start to a triathlon swim ever.
I jumped in and immediately got into a groove. The morning was beautiful and the water temperature felt great with my wetsuit on. I swam and let my friend the current carried me along. There were so many kayaks in the water that it was relatively easy to see where I needed to go. I managed to swim on my own most of the time. Only twice did I get tangled up in a group of people, which always creates a chaos of kicking each other and intertwined limbs, but luckily I quickly got out each time. Then there they were, the last two red buoys that signaled where to exit the swim. I had done it, the swim was over!
I was pulled out of the water by volunteers and stumbled up the shore. I heard my name screamed out, but didn’t see who was shouting it because I was too focused on getting out of the top of my wetsuit. I managed to pull it down to my waist just in time to come to the peelers. Now this is a brand new thing to me with getting into half triathlons, but they actually have volunteers who pull the wetsuit off of you. It was the best thing! I ran up to a woman, laid back on my elbows, and with one quick pull she had the entire suit off of me. The entire exchange took probably 20 seconds. “Wow, thank you so much”, I cried as I ran off into transition. She was amazing!
I ran into the transition area and there were volunteers waiting with gloved hands covered in sunscreen. I got a good thick coat all over my arms, legs, and back because the sun was now out in full force. The rest of transition was quick and soon I was hoping on my bike to the cheers of my Music That Moves (MTM) group.
The first 5 miles out of town were slow and bumpy. There are a number of pot holes, bumps, train tracks to cross, and sharp turns. My favorite part of those first 5 or so miles was passing a house where a group of people were cheering with a huge sign that said “Yay! You didn’t drown!” “Yeesss!”, I yelled to them as I passed.
Once we got through the town of St. Elmo and into Georgia the course settled down as the road turned into a highway. It was smooth and flat and fast and we were all able to spread out some. It was at this point that I began to have fun! The weather was beautiful (last time I rode this course it was 40 and raining) and the ride was just so much fun. I never went all out because I knew I had a run still in front of me, but I felt good the entire ride.
The highway turned into a section of rolling hills which caused everyone to bunch up again as people began to pass each other. There was a section for miles where I would pass this guy, Red-Man as I began to call him (red bike and kit), as we climbed each hill and then he would fly by me going down it. Sometimes the passing of bikes uphill would be three deep as the differences in ability to climb hills played out. For the most part, though, everyone seemed very conscientious and took care to alert each other as they passed.
We rode through the country with beautiful views of the valley and Lookout Mountain to our right. Then through farmland dotted with cows and barns and green fields. Soon I reach the dreaded hill. You have to make a left turn so sharp that you have to really break and then immediately go into a steep hill climb. I made the turn, dropped my gears, and climbed to the top. Everyone I was around on the hill was well spread out and making it up quickly. We all reached the top and enjoyed the ride down the other side; no issues!
My only issue on the ride came at the first aid station. I grabbed a water bottle from a volunteer and went to put it in my torpedo water bottle holder and the torpedo came out of the holder, stuck to the water bottle. After a few panicked moments of attempting to separate the two, I realized I wasn’t coordinated enough to do so on a bike and pulled over. After that I was much more careful.
Towards the end of the ride, one of my MTM teammates and I caught up to each other and rode back into town together. We talked about how fun that ride had been. It was a great ride. He then took off past me toward transition and I soon followed, ready to get off the bike and begin my final stage of the race.
Transition 2 was quick as well and, as I was leaving the transition area, my coach Nicole was there screaming at me that I’ve got this. I again stopped at the volunteers to get lathered with sunscreen (what a great service!) and wound my way out of transition.
The first mile is always the worst; legs are just not happy to be moving. And this mile was especially bad because within a few hundred yards I was out of the shade going uphill and, for the first time, realized just how hot this run was going to be. It was sunny and in the mid-80s and I felt every degree. Luckily a few of my MTM group were there to cheer me on, which definitely helped. When one asked how I was, I yelled back “This sucks!”.
That hill in the full sun was bad. I wondered if I could finish. But then, just like that, I reached the top and had a nice long downhill run, passing the 1 mile marker. The course turned uphill again and, at the top of this hill like a beautiful mirage, the first aid station appeared. I did just what my coach told me to do- I walked through the aid station and first used my base salt, grabbed a water, then a coke, then water again to dump on my head. They had wet sponges and ice which I dumped down my shirt. I began to run again past the aid station feeling much cooler, munching on ice from my sports bra, and thought to myself, I’ve got this!
I repeated this pattern at each aid station (there was one every mile-ish) and it worked really really well. I had no issues nutrition or hydration-wise and felt good. In fact, despite the heat, I think this was my best hydrated race ever.
The first 4 or so miles were rough as my body adjusted to the run, but after that I got into a good groove. I dropped my speed to right under a 10 minute mile and just plodded along. I usually go all out when I race, so it was actually nice to just kind of jog with no goal but to finish. Soon I was at mile 6 and told myself, “wow, I’m half way done!” (close enough!). You have to make a second loop around this point, but at least I knew this was the final loop.
The heat was definitely a factor though, probably more of a mental game than anything else. I tried to keep my mind occupied so I wouldn’t think about it. People had written lots of motivational and funny sayings with chalk on the ground along the greenway which a good portion of the race was along. It was fun to read all of those. I also talked to a lot of people. You would just kind of find yourself running alongside someone and have a little conversation- “this heat sucks, right?, is this your first half?, where are you from?, how was your bike ride?”, etc, etc. I met so many people and, for a huge portion of them, this was their first half as well.
But the best part, by far, of motivating myself through the run was our MTM group. They spread themselves out all over the run course so every couple miles I would run by one of them. They would scream my name, ask how I was doing, ask if I needed anything, and really encourage me. There were so many of them that other runners started coming up to me saying, “so you’re Heather, you have a lot of fans” or “I sure wish I had as many cheerleaders as you do”. They were the best!
Each loop of the run included crossing two separate bridges over the Tennessee River. It was in full sun, but every so often a breeze would blow up from the water and you would hear a collective “awww” from the runners. When I started my fourth crossing of the river I began to get really excited because I was almost finished. I had seen my husband at the third crossing of the river and knew the next time I’d see him now was at the finish line.
Coming off the bridge I turned a corner and there were two the the MTM coaches yelling at me that I was almost there, just a half mile left all downhill. They pointed to a sign with an arrow that said Finish Line and I took off down that hill, all smiles.
The finish line was so much fun; so many people cheering including my whole group. I crossed the line with a huge smile, really enjoying the moment. My coach Nicole was there at the finish line and was the one to put the finishers medal around my neck. What a special moment to have the person that had first encouraged me to even attempt this and had then trained me so I could finish, be the one to place the medal on me! Nicole gave me a hug, told me that I did great, and then said, “now you need to do a full Ironman,”. Too soon, I told her, too soon!
All ten of us finished the race. There were no major issues and everyone did better, I think, than they ever thought they would do. One of my favorite parts of the day was screaming at and high-fiving people as they ran towards the finish line. To see the joy in people’s faces as they completed the Ironman was just the best! Everyone can accomplish so much more than they realize.
As our Music That Moves coaches say, do something that scares you!
“Is this your first time? Oh, you’ll always remember your first one!”
I have received questions and comments like this quite often over the past few weeks. People are very excited when they realize I am about to do my first half Ironman. This first Ironman, the Chattanooga 70.3, is coming up – this Sunday in fact. I’m excited and nervous and scared and really, just ready to get it over with!
Last August I was running with my trainer Nicole and she encouraged me to sign up for a half Ironman. “I know you can do it”, she said. The swimming portion scared me to death, but I was in. My heart pounded and I felt sick to my stomach as I registered for the Ironman 70.3 in Chattanooga, but I was excited to have a real challenge. With the right training I was pretty sure I would survive it…hopefully.
The cave we were exploring made a sharp turn to the left and narrowed so that we had to crawl through this new passage. We continued down it, my son going first. Soon we came to a room large enough to stand up in. My son went in and, just as I was about to enter, he turned around and began crawling out crying, ” Quick! Turn around!”
Earlier that day my oldest son and I met in the kitchen, each looking for something eat. We realized that we were both home for the rest of the day; me with a day off from work and he had finished a final at school and was home early. The December day, which had started off with bright blue skies, was now gray but fairly warm. We decided then and there that it was time for a mini adventure, so we did a quick wardrobe change and 10 minutes later we were off in search of a couple caves we had heard about.
I step out of the car, ready for a short hike. Immediately soft, warm air wraps itself around me; a silky hug as if to say “welcome back”. I take a deep breath of cedar-scented air and smile. This is home. This feels right.
This is my first hike since returning from a vacation out west in the Sierra Nevada mountains. It’s beautiful there and we had such a great time. Every turn as we drove and hiked those mountains was awe-inspiring. We used words like “dramatic”, “breathtaking”, and “majestic” to describe what we saw. I think of those mountains as I begin my hike.
The other day I found myself on a hike different from any other I’ve ever taken; I went on a hike with just my two boys. We are a family of six with two boys and two girls, alternating boy-girl-boy-girl, so it’s just not a combination that has happened in the past.
I’m used to hiking with our entire family, the kids running ahead while my husband and I lag behind until our youngest usually ends up joining us. Or sometimes it’s just the kids and me, off on some adventure. On these hikes, my oldest daughter often hikes with me and we have civilized girl-type conversations or, often with her, just walk along in silence enjoying the day and scenery. But, hiking with just boys is…well…let’s just say different!
I stood on a narrow strip of ground and looked at the ice beneath my feet. The ravine was deep here. On one side of me was the creek, snow and ice covered cliffs on the other. I gingerly stepped forward and began to slip. Inhaling sharply, I grabbed at the rock next to me only to get a handful of icicle. “Mom!”, came a yell from behind me and I realized that the kids had followed even though I had told them to wait while I checked things out first. “Well, were all in this together now”, I thought and continued to gingerly make my way forward.
Early American hunters and traders traveling ancient, well-trodden paths in what is now Middle Tennessee, came upon a stone structure built on a peninsula created by the confluence of two rivers. Rock and earthen 4-6 foot high walls boarded the entire peninsula. This “old stone fort”, as they believed it to be, sat high on bluffs carved out by fast moving rivers and was protected by a moat on one side. They wondered who had built the impressive structure; thinking perhaps it was Buccaneers or Vikings or some other group of early Europeans, but no one knew for sure. The answer, when it was learned, shocked everyone.
January 1st, 2018. Everything always seems so new and fresh and hopeful on January first, as though anything’s possible. I like to start the year with an adventure, hoping it will set the tone for the rest of the year. So, each year, our family does a First Day Hike. State Parks across the country offer these ranger-led hikes as a way to get out, explore, and start the new year right. This year we chose Old Stone Fort State Park.
The day was bitterly cold; wind-chills hovering in the single digits. Usually our entire family goes, but this year because of some sick kids and husband, only my 16 year old son and I ventured out. I bundled up- long underwear, multiple layers of clothes, wool socks, hat, two pair of gloves, face mask, boots, and hand warmers- so that when I was finished, only my nose was showing. My son threw on a fleece, hat, and gloves because he “doesn’t get cold”, and we were off.
I had often passed the brown signs on the highway for Old Stone Fort State Park, but this was our first time at the park. We arrived and went into the museum where I was surprised to see so many people waiting to go on the hike on such a cold day. We all signed in, finished putting on hats and gloves and scarfs and boots, met the ranger, and were off, back into the cold. There ended up being 41 people and 1 dog on the hike which made me happy to see that so many others liked the tradition as much as we did, cold and all!
The hike was a 3 mile loop that followed the rivers. The peninsula that the park is created around is formed by the confluence of the Duck River and Little Duck River. This river system spills over a shelf in the Cumberland Plateau known as the Highland Rim and rapidly drops in elevation as they approach their convergence. This has led to deep gorges cut in the limestone around the peninsula. There are a series many rapids and waterfalls, one of which was our first stop. This was the site of one of a few mills and factories that were built along the river in the 1800s, harnessing the Duck River’s power. We all took picture as the biting wind blew off the water, and then quickly moved along.
The hike continued, heading down now out of the wind, to the fork of the Duck and Little Duck River. We turned to now follow the Little Duck River whose banks were edged with ice as were rocks protruding from the middle of the river. Yet it was a beautiful location. High bluffs behind the river gave privacy to the boulder and tree lined river. It was the perfect spot to wile away a warm summer day- hammock strung between two trees, fishing, napping, and enjoying the peaceful sounds of the river and forest. But not on January 1st! My son and I vowed to come back in the summer!
The Little Duck turns sharply here, forming a horseshoe. We followed it until we came to the base of a narrow ridge. The trail turned and we began to climb away from the river up the spine of the ridge. We could now see why the trail we were on is named Backbone Trail. We hiked along the narrow ridge, the river far below us on both sides. Then it was back down the spine.
Back in the bottom of the forest again, we reached the Moat Trail; a narrow flat open section. This was where early settlers thought the ancient moat that protected the fort was located. But it never was a moat at all! Our ranger told us that they actually think the Little Duck River once flowed here before, at some point, it rerouted to where it is now. We followed the moat/riverbed for awhile and then the trail turned and climbed sharply. This is the steepest section of the trail, heading up and out back to the Old Stone Fort high on the peninsula. The trail continued with the open grassy area that was the supposed fort on our left and the river flowing through rapids and more waterfalls far below us on the right.
And then we learned the truth! This was not an old stone fort as was once thought, but rather an ancient ceremonial site dating back to 30-430AD. Native Americans, not Europeans, had built this gradually over several hundred years. This was before the tribes of Native Americans that we know today even existed. It is thought that no one ever lived here, but would journey to the location for ceremonies. They have found that the sun rises perfectly down the center of the path into the site during the Summer Solstice. A very sophisticated design well before it was thought there were sophisticated people in the United States! Now a great state park with a completely misleading name!
You can learn more about the park here. Go and visit it, you won’t be disappointed!
To anyone who has gone on a road trip or longs to do so:
It’s dark out as you pull your car onto your street. You pass by neighbor’s blackened windows wishing, for a second, that you too are still in bed fast asleep. But then you think of what lies ahead. You remember the road trip and all thoughts of sleep vanish. You reach for your coffee and punch the gas. Continue reading “To all who love a road trip”
The cool, rainy morning was a relief after a number of brutally hot and humid days. Not that the heat and humidity should have surprised us, this was Arkansas after all.
We had come to the Ozark Mountains for a long weekend of hiking and exploring. Crossing the Mississippi River in Memphis, we immediately hit the flat, fertile flood planes of Arkansas. Rice paddies (who knew?!!) stretched out in front of us for miles and it was a long time before we entered the hills of the Ozark Mountains. Fields gave way to pines and the small towns grew further apart. The road curved sharply, climbing higher as we passed vacation homes clinging to the sides of the mountains.
We stopped for gas at a station with an amazing view and a dog blocking the entrance of the store. He raised his head and looked at us with half open eyes as we entered, but did not move. The two women behind the counter, excited, it seemed, to have a customer, told us of a hidden waterfall nearby that they had just explored. The waterfall sounded great, but we had to keep moving. We reached our hotel just as storms rolled in and watched the rain fall in sheets from the dry safety of our room.
The rain stopped mid-morning the next day as we drove through rolling farmland. A misty fog clung to the hills as we passed dirt roads leading to small farms set among fields filled with cows. It seemed hard to believe that there was a hike set among the farms, but soon we entered a lush hollow and saw the sign for the trailhead named, appropriately, Lost Valley Trail.
Lost Valley Trail, located within Lost Valley State Park, is a great hike that at just 2.2 miles R/T is accessible to anyone. It’s a popular hike, so the trail is often crowded. But the great thing about the hike, the reason we decided it was our favorite, is that it is so varied. There is just so much to explore on this short hike.
The first half mile or so of the trail is flat and handicap accessible. There are even a few benches to sit and rest and enjoy the cool quiet of a hardwood forest and the Clark Creek. After that the trail becomes less level and starts to climb some.
The entire hike is through a box canyon which might have once all been underground. High bluffs surrounded us on both sides. Many of the feature on the trail point to this, such as our first stop to look at massive stone blocks that fell long ago from the surrounding bluffs.
We hiked some more and soon came to a natural bridge. Here the creek has carved through limestone to create an arch. The water was low enough that we were able to climb through the “tunnel”. The sun came out, rapidly burning off the remaining fog and the day started to heat up, so we stopped to rock hop and play in the creek.
Our next stop on the hike was Cob Cave. It’s not actually a cave, but rather a giant bluff shelter once used by Native Americans that gets its name from corn cobbs found on site. We spent some time exploring the cave and marveling at the sheer size of it. It was easy to imagine this being used as a shelter and place to stop and rest for the night.
Stop number four on the hike was Eden Falls. It’s a series of four waterfalls that plummets 170 feet down the bluffs. The hike brought us to the base of the falls and then turned to steeply climb out, providing good views of the entire waterfall.
The trail climbed some more, up a set of mossy stone stairs. They twisted around large boulders and disappeared into the green forest. Water from last night’s storm still dripped down on us as we stared up at the canyon walls. They surrounded us and made us feel very small.
Lost Valley. Here, you could feel how the area got its name. Standing quietly in the forest, you had a sense of timelessness. Of the ancient hitting against the present; unchanged by time. It was comforting to know a place like this still existed!
We hiked on, still climbing some until we reached the last stop of the hike; Eden Falls Cave. Water from Clark Creek flowed out of the entrance to a small underground cave. We crossed the creek and climbed up a ledge which the water flowed over, creating a small waterfall. Peering inside the murkiness of the cave, we were excited. It was time to go explore!
The cave has been carved by the stream but there is still a good deal of dry land to walk on. We strapped on our headlights and began to walk back into the darkness. You definitely need a flashlight to explore the cave as it is very dark once inside. We decided to head to the left and soon were on our hands and knees crawling because the ceiling of the cave was so low.
After a couple minutes of crawling we reached a large room in which we could easily stand. This is the waterfall room which is about 200 feet back from the entrance of the cave. We could just make out the 35 foot falls through our headlights. It was really neat to see a waterfall so deep in a wild cave. (I included a picture of it but it was difficult to get a good one with an iPhone in a dark cave!)
We turned to head out of the cave and realized that there was a narrow passage to our left that we could take that did not require us to crawl. It was so much easier! So, if you don’t want to crawl, take the passage to the right when you first enter the cave. You might need to stoop here and there, but will stay on your feet.
We exited the cave, blinking against the shock of bright sunlight after the darkness of the cave, and crossed back over the creek to the trail. Eden Falls Cave is the end of the trail, so we headed back; a quick one mile hike out through the forest. The cool solitude of the forest was enjoyable and before we knew it, we had reached our car.
This was a great little hike! Definitely a must do if you’re ever in Arkansas. I’ve included a link to the trail information and location below. Have fun exploring!