An update about the race...
First off, let me just say, that your encouraging emails and all the tracking you did made such a difference to me! Thank you so much! I truly felt like I had a team with me the whole time. You really carried me through!
So needless to say, I didn't sleep very well the night before, having on and off dreams like the alarm didn't go off till 6:30 (gun time at 7:00), and I had to jump out of bed and race to the start. And others, involving a weird CIA plot, but I won't go into it. Any way, fast forward past putting air in my tires (you drop off your bike the day before), past dropping off my special needs bags (bags you have the option to access halfway through your bike and run), and past Mike rushing me to get my wetsuit on and hugging my parents goodbye, and I'm all of sudden in a pack of neoprened lemmings, waiting for their turn to jump into Tempe Lake. So surreal! Picture a bunch of bodies, all treading water next to you, wearing either a white (for women, about 20% of the athletes) or red cap, the sun is coming up over the horizon, you're under a bridge where hundreds of fans are above you cheering, and the mayor of Tempe addresses the crowd. They're playing some pump-up music on the speakers, and you're pretty excited, but waiting for the frenzy to begin. In case you're wondering, unlike most other-distance triathlons, they don't start Ironmans in waves; all the "age-groupers" (everyone who's not a pro) starts together. So, there were around 2500 of us, all floating in the water, waiting for an airhorn.They played the national anthem, which was pretty exciting; I choked up a bit here.
And then, the gun goes off.
So, in trying to describe the swim, I'll just say that it's sort of like if zombies were pretending they were salmon. I didn't get kicked in the face, but definitely climbed over. Not so bad, though, and it's totally impersonal. You basically just go with it, and literally count the strokes to the next buoy or bridge. It felt like a long long swim. At one point, while breathing, I started noticing migratory birds flying in v-shape, every few minutes. I thought about that a lot. That, and "where's that next buoy?" The swim took us a mile plus down to another bridge, we swam under that, and made a big rectangle to come up the other side of Tempe lake, which essentially feels like a wide, currentless river.
I finally made it back to the exit, which were steps up to the bank. These steps were fortunately lined with people ready to grab swimmers as they attempted to climb up; I nearly fell back in the river when I tried to stand up on my numb feet. After crossing the timing chip mat (1:26:xx), I encountered another set of volunteers: the beloved wet suit strippers (again, unique to Ironman-distance events). And no, it's not some Navy Seal burlesque show, it's actually volunteers that help you get that stubborn rubber off your bod so you can proceed. I could barely unzip mine, I was so disoriented. My friendly volunteer got it off, and I was running to the start, and luckily got to see Mike and Jackie right before I headed to the transition area.
Grabbed my gear bag, and headed to the women's changing area. I opted to switch out to some dry bike shorts, which was such a good plan. Stacy, whose name I remember ( I made it a point to remember as many of the volunteers names who personally helped me as possible!), literally became my personal assistant for the next 5 minutes, putting on my arm warmers, spraying me with sunscreen, so awesome! I had a 9 minute or so T1 time.
Off to the bike. Three loops, roughly 38 or so mile course, and by loops I mean out and back. Mean, angry headwind, so mean, I'm guessing 15-20mph, and it was really hard to get above 13mph on the light grade on the second half. I was bummed, until I turned around, and was averaging 24-25mph. That really pumped up my spirits, which was great, because after about 30 miles, my shoulders and neck start to kill, which is normal, but not fun. Another detail: I had planned on getting the majority of my calories from pre-mixed Carbo-pro (just what it sounds like, carbohydrate solution) and electrolytes, spread out over 4 bottles, and my water from my speedfill on the frame of my bike. When I hit the 63 mile mark, however, and I could retrieve my special needs bag, no bottles. Why they weren't there, I will never know, but I likely am the culprit: I think I accidentally put them in my run special needs bag, which I didn't recover on the course and was mysteriously missing when I went to pick up my bags the next day. Ah well; as I'd been told, something unexpected always happens, so I resorted to plan B, which was replenishing the additional 700 calories from my mini-Snickers, Gatorade, and attempting to eat a power bar. It's important to get in those calories, not just so you don't bonk on the bike, but so you don't bonk on the run (especially because you really don't want to eat on the run). It worked! I had no GI problems on the course, and for this I feel blessed!
I got to see my peops (Mike, my mom and dad, friends Meredith, Dave & Baby Soren, and Matt and Jackie) every time I looped around, and I did my best to look athletic for them as I passed. I finally came in from the bike, at about 6:26. I tried to rile up the athletes that came in around the same time, saying "we're 2/3 done!" Not everyone was excited as I was.
For good reason; the run is brutal. Just like I expected, but harder, in some ways. After a 4:06 transition time, I headed out on the run, getting a good luck kiss from Mike, and my legs felt like tree trunks. Again, a three loop course, which ended up being great, but that first loop was a bit tough. It was my fastest split, though, and I think that after the first few miles, I loosened up and got into it. Mind you, I walked every aid station, which was necessary, from a practical standpoint (drinking doable but not super easy to do while running), and from a pacing standpoint (I needed that little 15-30 second change of gait). This is where my support crew, with their signs, their high fives, jokes, and photos really stepped up. When I was out there, I knew I had people watching out for me, and part of me didn't want to let them down. The other thing is, everyone out there on Ironman day, whether it be athletes, race officials, volunteers, or spectators, wants everyone else to finish. So there's this communal cheering that goes on, and as you run through areas there's lots of crowds, they all cheer you on. They'll call out your race number (2312) or name, and they're cheering for you. It totally pumps you up, and I tried to have fun with it, and thank as many people as possible, because they literally fueled me on. I made the sub 5 hour marathon, coming in at 4:59:xx.
My knee held out till mile 23 (which is pretty darn good!), and I was ready for it. I stripped off my arm warmers and fashioned them into a brace like I did at Big Kahuna, and it kept me running until the finish. And the finish: I almost can't describe; I thought I'd get choked up, but I was just so excited! I crossed that sucker screaming "YES... I... CAN!!!" Now I'm getting choked up, thinking about it.
For anyone out there reading this, even if Ironman isn't for you (and I totally get why people pass... there's a lot that sucks that goes into it!), I would at least suggest spectating at one Ironman event. If there's one in your hometown, or if you know someone who's doing it, rally and come out; it's really an amazing day. And if you really want to see what courage and endurance is about, come to the finish line from like 11pm-midnight; you'll see it in the flesh. I got a bad case of muscles seizing up and the shivers, and had to go home shortly after my pizza and massage (again, unique to Ironman!), but I want to be there for those athletes some day, because they are the real Ironmen.
One more thing: all these months of training, of long solo bike rides, running with knee pain, early morning Masters workouts, was totally justified and then some. And, unlike the term "triathlon widow" you sometimes hear about, I think this experience brought Mike and I even closer. He was so supportive, and so cheerful during my race, that every step I took was with a smile on my face. I feel so lucky and so blessed.
And in case you weren't counting, my finish time was 13:05:17. I'm stoked, and well, sort of want to see if I could beat it??!! Going through my head for much of the day were two words: "bucket" and "list." And now... well... I guess I've drunk the Kool-Aid. (Or combination of gatorade, cola and chicken broth). We'll see... maybe in another 20 years...
