I first realized my interest for long distance in high school. Even though I was involved in Track & Field and Cross Country, my passion for running came from the Students Run LA program that helped many middle school and high school students in the LAUSD district to train for the LA marathon. It was a great experience, so suffice it to say, I had a pretty good background in endurance running when I joined the Triathlon team my freshman fall.
I was never much of a swimmer (by much, meaning not at all), nor had ever really cycled apart from riding to and from the grocery store. The only actual experience I had before was running, but even in that, I was never the fastest.
I first reached out to Coach Jim about whether or not attempting the 70.3 miles was possible. When he said it was totally possible, I thought he must have not noticed how slow I was in practice. Despite my doubt, I trusted Jim’s opinion and decided if I was going to go through with training for such a big race, why not do it during my off term.
During winter break, I remember I would train twice a day – once in the morning and once in the afternoon. And I remember everyday trying to get my sister to come on a run with me or to the gym, but she was somehow always asleep when I was heading out – strange. Anyway, I did quickly realize the difficulty of training on your own. When you have no one beside you, encouraging you, talking to you, or even just sweating through the intensity, it becomes harder to motivate yourself. It was not until I got to campus, where I felt I was really improving.
Racing in Clermont reminded me of home: no snow in sight, heat pounding down on you, and best part of all, the resulting sunburn after having spent 6+ hours out in the sun.
The morning of race day, I was overwhelmed with nerves. My nerves never fully settled until the gun went off and we were off, dipping into the chocolate-colored water and trying to break free from the swarm of women all trying to avoid being hit by somebody’s elbow. As I started settling into a pace, I started to relax knowing I would reach land at some point.
As I transitioned to the second leg, biking, I felt alive. Alive and free, knowing I had survived the swim (the part my parents were fearful of me drowning), and was moving strongly. Overall, the biking went pretty smoothly, until the inevitable Sugarloaf Mountain (an excruciatingly painful incline). As I was making my way up the hill, attempting to keep a moderate pace, I started moving so slowly, I doubted whether or not I was actually moving. At that moment of doubt, I suddenly found myself tipping over. By the time I had walked my way up to the top of the hill, a fellow cyclist helped me back on (as I was still pretty new and inexperienced with clipping on), and I was off and away. I felt the last 10 miles go by so fast because now all that was on my mind was getting off my bike as soon as I can because, wow, sitting on your bike for more than three hours is not at all a pleasant feeling.
Two minutes into the run was when I started to feel the toll of the race. It was then when I started to see the finish line quickly fading away. I began thinking I was not going to be able to finish. As I hobbled onward with doubt clouding my mind, I came across some familiar tunes – “Atlantic City” by the Band. I looked up and saw Coach Jim holding up a speaker playing the song we heard endlessly five minutes before the end of a practice on the trainer at the “Pain Cave” (Jim’s basement). At that moment I knew, despite whatever pain or tiredness I was feeling, it was only temporary. I was not about to give in and let the past four months of training have been for nothing. So I pushed onward and before I knew it, I was rounding the corner with the finish line in sight and my teammates in the sideline cheering me on.
For me, my place or rank in a race does not matter. As I achingly lunged past the finish line, I teared up at the sight of my teammates. I realized then that the most surreal moment of this trip was the journey. The journey of having trained endless amount of hours with a team I love so much and with friends that lift my spirits each and every day. I gained something more valuable than a medal on this trip. I gained a family.
About the Author
Emily Martinez is a ‘21 from Los Angeles, California. She is interested in Engineering Sciences with a modified major in Environmental Science. Apart from triathlon, she loves playing soccer and eating as much of Coach Jim’s bread and cinnamon rolls as possible.
