Sunday morning I woke up at 3:00 AM excited and nervous to start one of the bigger days in my life. I had set out all my required clothing for that morning, and I had delivered all my transition bags to the race site the day before. This was going to happen! I started making my peanut butter and oatmeal breakfast, as my mind went through the process of visualizing the race. Most of my nerves revolved around the swim. I am a strong swimmer, not exceptionally fast, but I can go the distance, and am very good at pacing myself for a 2.4 mile haul. I had done a 1/2 ironman in this lake 2 years prior though, and, even with the race having a staggered start with the men ahead of us, I was being kicked and clawed at the entire 1.2 miles. I simply wanted to survive the day.
It doesn't actually look as bad from out here
This memory fueled my anxiety. For good reason, I have a fear of drowning. I can remember being in the wave pool as a kid when it was crowded and being deathly afraid because of all the people in my general vicinity. People are crazy, and people afraid of drowning are even worse. Though I knew the people I would swim with would be athletes, and would not climb on me to save themselves from death, I also knew that they would be athletes who were getting kicked in the face and clawed by their fellow athletes while swallowing water that contains God only knows what kind of toxins.
I'm sure it's just the good kinds of bacteria
I ate my peanut butter and oatmeal breakfast; the same breakfast I had been enjoying all week (would hate to introduce some untested nutrient into my system). I took off for the race at 4:00AM, with time to stop at a convenience store for some extra sports drink, red bull, and protein bars in case the worst happened and I needed to use the "special needs" bags I was given. My stomach was in knots, still thinking about the swim. I had to get through it though, because they won't let you just opt for a duathlon on race day.
If I organized triathlons
I arrived at Tempe Town Lake before the transition area was open, wide eyed, and looking very much like the noob I'd been feeling like since dropping off my <$5,000 bike and non-aero helmet the day before. I was dressed to impress, wearing a pair of my husband's old workout pants (much too big for me) and my zip up fleece (they didn't match though they were both shades of blue; I have some mad fashion skills). I was wearing a tri-suit underneath, and that made me feel pretty professional. Everyone there looked like they'd been pulled from an REI catalogue. I have always been self-conscious about what I look like, and I couldn't help making the comparisons that morning. I really felt like a slob compared to this beautiful mob. I kept repeating to myself some words of inspiration I'd received in an email earlier that week, "I trained for this, I belong here."
Of course there are those who belong more than others
I got into the transition area, checked on my "sub-standard" bike, made sure the tires had air, and the water bottles were in place. Nothing was amiss. I took my special needs bags to their designated location, and realized I had nothing to do for the next hour and a half. I walked back to my bike, checked my tires, brakes, shifting, handlebars, and food that had been taped to my bike. I had no real idea what I should be doing during this time because I had never competed in this race before, and I just waited anxiously for people to start putting on their wetsuits so I would know it was time. I think this might have been the longest hour of the entire day.
It wasn't quite as bad as all that.
Soon, it was time to put on the wetsuit, and prepare to enter the cold water. It was still dark outside, and talk began around me about how cold it would be. I looked around at the full-sleeve wetsuits and wondered if these people were aware of what 60+ degree water actually felt like while wearing any kind of wetsuit. My suit is sleeveless (because I live in AZ, and do not swim in really cold water). I saw athletes wearing caps covering their ears as well. My wetsuit seemed inadequate as I waited to freeze to death on the swim portion of my first ironman. It was too late to make any changes now, and I nervously talked with the athletes next to me, and they reassured me that I would be just fine. My favorite thing that was said to me was to "think of the race as a long commute to a marathon." This was said after I expressed that my favorite portion of triathlons was the run. With that thought in my mind, I jumped into Tempe Town Lake.
Maybe with a little less enthusiasm
My heart was pounding as soon as I entered the water, and I felt like I could not breathe. Was it too cold? I began to swim toward the start, and felt like my chest was being compressed, my wetsuit felt tight around my neck, and I could not catch my breath. Would it be like this the whole 2.4 miles? As I was treading water, I tried to breathe deeply and relax. I realized now that what had been anxiety had turned to panic when I had hit the water and could not see my arm in front of me. I reminded myself that I just needed to swim, that is all. I felt myself relax, and when the gun went off to start the race, the panic was under control. That moment was short lived, however, and I soon began to feel the other swimmers feet and hands hitting me as I tried to get into some kind of rhythm. At one point, I felt someone grab my calf, and pull on my leg.
yeah, that's about how I felt
I decided to move toward the outside where the less competitive swimmers were hanging out, and that worked out better for me. I began to enjoy my swim as I found a rhythm, and started keeping an eye out for familiar landmarks. The swim finish was probably not as beautiful as it seemed at the time, but I can remember feeling like I was getting out of prison. I wanted to be graceful, of course, but I could not remember what had been said about the steps in the meeting the night before, and I just graciously accepted help from one of the volunteers, and let my pride have the day off. Wet suit came off, and I went into the transition. I did not set any records for my transition times to say the least. I was disoriented, and my fingers were too cold to zip up my jacket. I wandered toward my bike, which was brought to me by a volunteer. As I rode out onto the course, I saw my husband and a group of friends cheering for me. By far, this was the happiest moment of the day so far.
Not quite the happiest moment of my life, though
I realized a little too late that I had not seen the sunscreen application area. And, this committed me to my jacket for sun protection for the duration of the bike ride. I had some SPF chapstick which I applied to my face and hands to prevent sunburn as well. My legs would just have to move fast enough to dodge the uv-rays. My first lap, I recovered from the swim, had some Gatorade and tried to tell myself to relax. As cyclists passed me at 20+ mph, I could feel my shoulders growing tense. As the ride went on, I grew more comfortable, and began to appreciate the race environment. I had to take a bathroom break at the first turn around, and again, the volunteers were there to make everything easier by taking my bike and offering to supply me with any nutrients I might desire while I was in the port-o-potty.
The special today is chocolate energy gel
When I got back on my bike, I was on the down-hill. This was amazing. I was speeding down the Bee-line at 28 mph! I started to really enjoy being a part of this race. I began to pass other cyclists wearing aero helmet with shifters on their aerobars, and I allowed myself a little smile. The second lap, I was passed by one of my heroes, Lindsey Corbin. It was INCREDIBLE! She was so fast. I loved when the pros would ride past because a motorcycle would drive through and tell all of us amateur to move to the right so we could see what REAL athletes are capable of :-). The low point of my ride followed shortly after, when I reached the turn-around, and an overly-ambitious cyclist crashed into a bike at the bathroom line, and fell into the path of my bike. I almost missed him, but I ran over his right foot. I stopped, looked back, and saw him walking toward the line for the bathroom.
When you gotta go, you gotta go
With the reassurance that he was okay, I tended to my brakes which were now rubbing on my front wheel. After a quick adjustment, I was back on track, a little shaky, but ready to enjoy some down-hill riding. At this point, the winds had picked up, and I was now facing a headwind. My speed was reduced quite a bit from the first time around, but it was nice to have a tailwind when I started uphill again. I made it through the bike portion at a record pace, finishing 112 miles in 6:51:09. I transitioned into the run with my typical disorientation. This time, I could not miss the sunscreen appliers. A welcome sight, my "coach" and his wife were there to keep the sunburn at bay. I had so many things to say when Brian asked how the ride was, but I had completely forgotten how words and sentences work at this point, and just made a generic comment about how it was going well. I went off to run feeling a bit rude for not introducing myself to his wife or saying anything at all, really. "Enjoy the run!" I heard him say, and that was what I was determined to do. Only a marathon to go! The run was beautiful. As the sun set over Tempe town lake, there were sailboats on the water, and I felt like I was part of a screen saver photo. I looked at my garmin to see my pace, and it was slow, but it was steady. I don't really know what kept me from running any faster, but I would try to push myself and then fall back into an 11 min/mile pace. I decided to let it go, and enjoy the remaining hours of the race. My mother-in-law and my father-in-law were there to cheer me on for my first 2 laps, and it kept me smiling for at least 3 miles :-). My dad met me a few times on the run to snap some pictures of me.
I actually did feel as happy as I look
As I approached mile 20, I waited for the typical marathon pain to hit my hips and knees, but it never did. I walked at mile 19 because my stomach wasn't doing so good. But, I started up again at mile 20, and ran to the end. I think my last 6 miles were fueled by comments about how I looked like Chrissie Wellington, though I am pretty sure no one has seen her running with a glowstick. I am no champion. I finished 1483rd out of 2542 athletes that finished. I set out this year hoping to finish in under 12 hours, and managed to complete the race in 13:26. But my friends met me at the end, and with that greeting, I could not have felt happier if it had been a podium finish!
