On Ironman day, I arrived downtown around 11:30 a.m. I walked to the corner of Kuakini and Palani, the big turn the racers make as they come in off the 112-mile bike ride. I got there with time to spare, which was what I had planned in order to get my bearings and figure out the best spot to spectate.
(Click the photos to see them full-size. All photos copyright Layla Bohm. You may use them, but please credit thesmudge.com.)
The first athlete to come in from the bike ride was Chris Lieto, who lives near me (though he doesn’t know or care). In what seems to be a common theme of “Layla finds people from her world,” I was chatting with a fellow spectator and discovered that she also lives near me, and that her husband trains with Lieto.
Chris Lieto, first place off the bike, though he fell apart during the run.
In second place off the bike, Luke McKenzie had just averaged 25.4 miles per hours for 112 miles:
Luke McKenzie, who finished 9th place out of 1,918 athletes.
Craig Alexander. In the triathlon world, I don’t need to say anything further, because everyone knows his name: nice guy, family-oriented guy, and super-fast guy. When I saw him, he was in fourth place off the bike. Then he proceeded to run a 2:44 marathon (fastest of the day) to win the whole race and break two records while he was at it.
Craig Alexander broke the world Ironman record by 12 seconds to finish in 8:03:56, and he became the oldest man to win (age 38).
This guy, Andreas Raelert, was 19th out of the water, moved up to eighth place after the bike, and then surprised many people by coming in third overall.
Andreas Raelert starting what would become a 2:47 marathon (6:24 pace).
Julie Dibens was the first female off the bike and had a huge lead. However, she injured her foot during an Ironman a couple months earlier, so the run did her in.
Julie Dibens, first woman off the bike, had to withdraw during the run.
Rachel Joyce, fourth-place female. See how she already has her feet out of her shoes? That’s how the fast people do it, to save time transitioning from the bike to the run.
Rachel Joyce, fourth place female.
Andy Potts, who had the fastest swim of the day, was grinning coming in from the bike ride:
Andy Potts, appreciating the race.
And here is Chrissie Wellington, who holds the women’s world record for fastest Ironman race — she’d also never lost one of the 11 full Ironman events she’d raced. She’s known as being a truly nice person, and for always smiling. On Sunday, she came off the bike 20 minutes behind the leader and in sixth place, and everyone knew her bike wreck two weeks earlier was playing a factor. But she hit the ground running and by mile 7 had passed every woman ahead of her.
Saturday marked the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii. Only the best and fastest triathletes are even allowed to compete, and they first had to prove themselves at a previous race. Those who qualified for Kona then had to swim 2.4 miles in the Pacific Ocean, bike 112 miles along a hot highway lined with black lava rock, then run 26.2 miles in unrelenting sun and heat.
In other words, it’s not something I will ever do. First of all, the heat and humidity are too oppressive. Second, I have no intentions of swimming with a crowd of people kicking me in the head. I’ll stick to running and recreational bicycling, thank you very much.
But getting the chance to see these incredible athletes? Being able to volunteer at such an event? Sign me up! I timed a visit to my grandparents with the Ironman, and I signed up as a race volunteer. The experience was inspiring, to say the least. So many people fought so many battles just to get to the starting line. They were such a powerful reminder that dreams can become reality if you truly work for it.
(Click the photos to see them full-size. All photos copyright Layla Bohm. You may use them, but please credit thesmudge.com.)
Ironman flags hung from streetlights in Kona.
I took close to 300 photos before, during and after the race. I spent nine hours on my feet, ignoring a grumbling tendon. Because it was such an powerful experience, I’m going to split it up into multiple blog posts. One post simply won’t do it justice. So, hang on and be patient. We’ll start with Friday, the day before the Ironman.
The whole focus in Kona was on the Ironman.The finishing area being constructed.
Everywhere I went, I saw athletes wearing their neon orange bracelets. I could actually feel the nerves in the air: In less than 24 hours, they would be on the world’s stage, competing against what I argue are the best athletes in the world.
The swim start, one day earlier.Orange buoys mark the swim route.The finish line. The next time I saw it, the ramp was covered and surrounded by Hawaiian flowers.Another view of the swim start.This shirt in the Ironman store cracked me up. Now I need a kid -- to dress it in a "mom" version of this shirt.
I got my volunteer packet, wandered along Ali’i Drive, and then headed to the beach.
First of all, it’s 11:11 on 10/11, which means it’s one month until 11/11/11. Yes, I almost posted this at 10:11 a.m. instead of 11:11. But I did not. OK, moving along to the 11:11 a.m. Tuesday Time-Waster.
Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock, you’ve heard of Angry Birds. It’s that game that started as a little iPhone app and suddenly became the biggest hit since, well, since something. (I was going to say since Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind” tribute to Princess Diana, but that doesn’t really have anything to do with Angry Birds.)
But did you know that you can play it on a browser? Now, you have to jump through a couple hoops to do it, but maybe you’ve already done it and didn’t realize it. First, you have to get a Google+ account. I’m not a fan, but I got one a while ago, let it sit around, and then one day I saw the “Games” link. Lo and behold, there was Angry Birds! The next hoop you may have to jump through is upgrading your browser. It refuses to work in Internet Explorer, so you’ll need either the most current version of Firefox or Google’s Chrome browser.
Once you do that, and after you’ve come up for air and realized that the 11:11 a.m. Tuesday time-waster turned into an all-Tuesday time-waster, you’ll see why I have made two versions of an Angry Birds sign to cheer at races:
Cheering with Audrey and Sandra at the 2011 San Francisco Marathon.
Some graffiti is art. Some graffiti is criminal. And some graffiti really needs to be photographed and preserved for all eternity. Since this is 2011, that’s already been done. Because of modern technology, this one is saved forever:
Days after first seeing the website called World’s Most Pointless Graffiti, I’m still laughing at the play on matters/mattress words. (The fact that “mattress” is spelled wrong just adds to the humor, if you ask me.) In my browser, I had to page down a couple times to get to the actual images, so if you see a bunch of text, just keep scrolling down. It’s worth wasting some time at 11:11 a.m. on a Tuesday.
After growing up in the mountains and then spending more than 13 years in a valley, it’s been pretty amazing to be back among some hills. However, though I now live just a 15-minute drive away from Mt. Diablo, I’ve only been there once — and that was by car a couple years ago before I moved.
On Sunday, I crossed that off my imaginary list of things to do. Along the way, I learned a good lesson that I need to remember during my next marathon: My head can play games with me and make me think I’m physically tired, when I’m not.
My dad came to visit this weekend, so I figured it was about time to explore Mt. Diablo on foot. On a clear day, it offers some of the most amazing views you can imagine, ranging from the Golden Gate bridge to the waters of the Delta to more mountains and valleys. It’s been very hot lately, but the weather cooled significantly on Sunday. The forecast called for rain until mid-day, so we took our time getting there (read: went to lunch, and to both REI and Sports Basement for the full nerdy fix). We drove partway up the mountain to the overlook where we were treated to this oh-so-spectacular view:
What a view ... of a sign.
Oh well. I’d found a website that outlined a 6.6-mile hike. My knee recently went nuts for no apparent reason, so I didn’t want to overdo it. (The knee had fully recovered a couple days earlier, but only after I took more than two weeks off from running.) This seemed like a good distance, and would include the summit, which has a building with some history.
We set off down a trail, where a bunny scampered ahead of us and the pine cones were as big as my shoe.
I should have compared this thing to my head.
The clouds were lifting, and it was rapidly becoming ideal hiking weather. We went up and down some rolling hills, and then I came across this creature in the middle of the path:
Ack, tarantula!
Yes, that is a tarantula. I held one when I was 10 years old, and the thing covered both of my hands then. This creature was no smaller. I couldn’t make actual words of warning come out of my mouth — it was more like, “Aaahh aaahhh aaahhhhmmmkkkkggg.” But I actually got closer to it and was about to bend down for a close photo when I had a thought: “Do tarantulas jump?!” Last summer I battled black widow spiders, and in the process I encountered a spider that Google informed me was a “jumping” spider. I hate and dread all spiders except daddy-long-legs, and the idea of a JUMPING spider gives me the shivers. So, yeah, I backed up from the tarantula. But I really wanted some perspective, so I quickly got this shot:
I wear a women's size 10 in trail/running shoes. This spider was no joke.
We went on our way, with me texting that picture while walking up a rather steep trail. (Yes, I had full internet/phone signal on the mountain, except the brief time when I actually needed it.) Then we turned onto a single-track trail that got even steeper. At a clearing, we were treated to this:
Clouds lifting to reveal a view from Mt. Diablo.
At some point, though, the trail began leading away from the summit. I’d followed the directions, I’d looked at the map on my phone, and I’d seen the summit as we circled around toward it. But I never saw a place to turn toward the Summit Trail leading to the top. That wasn’t necessarily bad, though, because the top looked pretty foggy and I think the clouds would have obstructed the view.
But then, as we took a couple pictures at that gorgeous spot, I looked at the time and realized it was 6:40 p.m. We figured the sun sets around 7:15 or 7:30. The park entrance had a sign that read, “Gates locked from sunset to 8 a.m.” At that point, I looked at my GPS watch and my phone and calculated that we had about 1.5 miles of hiking to go. Including the drive back to the gate, we’d be OK but cutting it close.
However, the 6.6-mile hike on that website hadn’t included the trail we were now hiking. And the clouds started to return, which meant things were getting darker. We hurried. At one point we ran, partly for fun and because it was downhill.
I hadn’t run on trails for a while and was just “jogging,” but then my running gait kicked in. It was such a feeling of magic — I still vividly recall the exact moment when everything suddenly became smooth and I began flying down the trail. THAT is why I run, to find that feeling of smooth euphoria where everything else slips away.
My last trail run became a death march that left a bad taste in my mouth, so this was a bit of a reminder that I do still love running trails.
But the trail seemed to go on forever, and the sky was getting darker. I looked at my phone and began counting down the tenths of a mile. And then, with 0.1 miles to go, I remembered I’d typed in an intersection that was not our endpoint. Our final destination didn’t have a good intersection that I could locate on my phone’s mapping program while I walked quickly. We actually had at least another mile left.
That realization came at the top of a hill that we’d powered up, knowing the hike was almost done. My lungs were dying, and I became completely depressed at the discovery that this hike was definitely not finished. Now I was really worrying that the park gates would be locked. I was defeated. I bent down for a minute to catch my breath and try to find my bearings. The only thing to do was to keep going and hope the rangers didn’t actually close the gates at sunset. We had water, food, a phone charger, a car and a blanket in the trunk, but no way could I handle being locked in a park until 8 a.m. I was not happy. This was definitely “the wall” of a marathon, when you want to stop and quit and call for a taxi.
I began thinking. If the gate was locked, what could I do to get out? I could jump over the gate and go look for a hacksaw, though lord knows where I’d find one. Who could I call? On a Sunday night, the park service would only be an answering machine. My first legitimate idea soon came: Earlier, when taking in the gorgeous views, I’d looked down on a town that my phone told me was Clayton. I could find their police department’s dispatch number, and they’d have a contact for the park rangers. Then my second idea came: We were in Contra Costa County; I could call a friend who works for the Contra Costa Times. He covers crime and county matters, so he’d have some phone numbers.
My spirits lifted. I had an action plan. It’s amazing how much better I suddenly felt. My lungs weren’t dying, and my legs had so much more pep in them. I even said something like, “This is what I need to do at mile 23 of my next marathon — occupy my mind by coming up with ideas of who to call to bail me out.” After 8 miles of hiking, we finally got back to the very welcome sight of my car, leaped in, and I careened gently down the winding road into the rather dark sky. (Yes, you can careen gently. It helps if you’re the only vehicle on a mountain: You can take 15 mph curves at 30 mph.)
We finally arrived at the gate. It was open. The feeling of relief that flooded through me was so strong and so sweet.
I soon realized that I’d had a couple other options, too. There are a few homes inside the park gates, and I really doubt they’d turn away a desparate, charming, slightly frazzled redheaded female. And an old friend of mine lives in Danville, another town at the foot of the mountain. I might not have his current phone number, but we’ve been emailing on facebook lately, so I could probably get hold of him.
And so my adventure on Mt. Diablo came to an end. It was a good hike and a fun time made up of gorgeous views, interesting creatures and a valuable lesson: I am usually stronger than I realize. When I came 22 seconds short of breaking four hours in a marathon this summer, that was because of my head, not my body. I still have no regrets about that amazing day, but I do know that my body could have performed a bit better if my head hadn’t said, “I’m tired; let’s give up.”
There are 14,359 seconds in a 3:59:59 marathon. The Alaska marathon took me 14,421 seconds. Rather than thinking about how tired I feel, next time the going gets tough, I need to focus on an action plan.
How good are you at parking? And using the arrow keys on your keyboard?
Today’s 11:11 a.m. Tuesday Time-Waster is a surprisingly addictive game in which you try to park a car without crashing into things. (Yes, there is music, but you can click the speaker icon to mute it.) I was skeptical when I saw this URL on one of my daily calendars the other day, but I figured I’d at least check it out. Several side-swipes later, I realized five minutes had suddenly gone by and I should probably go back to being productive.
I’ve had my name and photo in the local, national and even international press thousands of times due to my former job. (One time, a town car drove me to and from a live interview on a national morning news show at 5 a.m.; let me tell you, that was wild!) But when I left my job a year ago, the Google news hits stopped.
However, yesterday I was in a newspaper. Tonight I’m on national TV. And I will soon be in a national magazine (as of a few days ago, they wanted me in a photograph, though I’m trying to keep the focus off me). It’s strange to be on the interviewee side of things. In one case, I got pretty annoyed with the reporter. In another case, I was impressed by their thoroughness.
Tonight’s TV show will air at 10 p.m. on the Investigation Discovery channel. The show is called “Deadly Women,” and the episode is called “Love to Death.” NO, I am not the subject of the show! The only things I kill are spiders, unlike the murder case I talked about, in which the main killer was dubbed a “black widow.”
In mid-March, an Australia-based film crew came to my apartment. They set up big lights, ran cords across the floor, and rearranged my whole living room — including the bookshelves. They work on the show “Mythbusters,” so I figured that made them cool enough to move my furniture. Then they interviewed me for an hour, during which time I stammered my way through a bunch of answers about a case I’d covered years earlier. This is what the spectacle looked like:
Is my hair really that fluorescent?
Each hour-long episode of “Deadly Women” features several crime stories. Once you factor in commercials and the fact that I’m sure two other interviewees performed much better than I did, I’ll probably be on TV for about 30 seconds total. The show airs regularly in re-runs, and I’ve been a bit surprised to hear from many acquaintances who know the show. I have no idea how many people will watch the episode, but I know the case still gets a lot of interest when it’s re-run on another TV network and the Lifetime movie re-airs. My dormant website has a whole section on the case (which I wish I’d had time to update and fix the dead links), and I can always tell from the traffic that the case was on TV again. I’m off to a wedding this weekend, or else I’d spend part of Saturday updating that website.
I wasn’t paid for any of this publicity, and I even took time off work for the TV interview. But the crew did leave me with this little guy, who now hangs out at my desk:
I have no idea when I first came across this cute little animated game. I figured it was about a decade ago; the website’s copyright date says 2002, so that sounds about right. Somehow the bookmark made it through my various computers and browsers, and I recently unearthed it from the morass known as my old bookmarks.
The game started as “GROW,” and that was the only thing on the site. Well, now there are a bunch of other similar little games, which means they’ll add to your 11:11 a.m. Tuesday time-wasters! I think this one might be the best. (They all have a little speaker icon, so you can turn off the sound.)
It’s no small secret that I see patterns in numbers. I spent years trying to ignore it, and then decided I might as well find amusement in it — which meant I noticed numbers even more regularly. Then I took up running, and discovered that a lot of runners are also number nerds. In other words, most of my friends are enablers.
Saturday was no exception: I woke up at 6:07:08 a.m. on 9/10/11. Yes, that was planned. I did not, however, plan to look at the clock 6:07:08 p.m., when I happened to be out at happy hour with friends:
Pomegranate ginger martini with truffle fries
But the bigger numerical news is that, on 9/10/11, I cut 12 inches off my hair. It was actually more like 13+, because the ponytail the stylist lopped off for donation was 12 inches, and then the remaining hair was trimmed. Earlier in the day I tried (and failed) to take a couple last “before” shots:
The Instagram iPhone app helps make blurry bathroom self-portraits look like "art."
And here is the hairdo:
Yes, I would like another happy hour special.
On Sunday I went to my last Giants game of the season (sadness!), and took several of those enabler friends of mine:
Naomi, Alyssa, Courtney and a short-haired stranger
I think that’s actually where the number nerdiness ends, though Sunday was the 10th anniversary of 9/11, which is its own numerical matter.
Other weekend happenings not mentioned above: not much running (refusing to think about that), a little gyming, a couple other good beverages, lovely weather in San Francisco, nearly burning out my clutch on the notorious California Street hill, and seeing “Little Shop of Horrors,” which thoroughly entertained me.
After four bridge-crossings, several miles walked and 189 miles driven, my weekend was over. I wonder what I’ll do at 7:08:09 on 10/11/12.
