Ironman!

***Side note: I found this article by Lee Gruenfeld that I thought was SO good. Worth a read.

I better go ahead and write all this down before I forget all of the details I don't repeat every day to those I haven't seen since the race. Some of those details would include "hot, really hot, never again, 95 miles on the bike, never been so hot, and fun trip afterwards."

But let me start at the beginning. I was so excited to have Laura and Jonathan and Steve and Jeremy come with me for this adventure. Jeremy wasn't to get in town until Thursday evening, so he had to miss some of the morning festivities -- most importantly, the Underpants Run. It's hard to describe the sight of 200 adults running through town in various tighty whitey fashions. You may want to look up some YouTube videos to get the full effect. Since Elvises can be found just about anywhere you look, we Memphians had to get a picture with them. This is our most famous picture; it was featured on Slowtwitch. I guess it helps that Bob Babbit is an Elvis.

The rest of Thursday and Friday were spent drinking coffee, swimming, and watching people shop. There was a little race prep thrown in there and some time off my feet. The pineapple flavored Gu packet in my sportsbra below? That actually got taped to my bike and eaten during the race.

Next thing I knew it was race morning, I was ready to go, sunscreened, body glided, suited up, relaxed, and modeling the blueseventy pointzero3.

My personal Ironsherpas, who are experts at embarrassing sign-making, made these awesome posters, which helped me find them every time I emerged from transition. The signs plus Jeremy's height made them particularly easy to find.

The swim was the usual non-wetsuit swim for me. Besides someone's elbow to my jaw, which caused me to bite my tongue, there wasn't much physical contact involved. Thank goodness. I think I took it a little too easy on the way out, following some steady feet the whole way. At the second turn, the one going back home, I checked the watch to find 46 minutes had already ticked by. Liz had just told me that the second half is always slower, but I couldn't let that happen this time. I swam back in 39 minutes, passing dozens of people and feeling pretty good about it. Now I just need to swim like that the whole race... and do a 1:20.. well whatever. I'm sticking to wetsuit races.

The wind was really calm on the bike, even for those of us who got a late start. I was optimistic, even through Hawi, where the usual headwinds pound you as you weave up that endless hill at 8 mph. I think I started consciously noticing the heat about that time. I was riding in the shoulder whenever there was the smallest bit of shade. It totaled about 50 yards, but it was a heavenly 50 yards. Gary told me later that it was 95F in Hawi by 9:30 a.m. I'd never stopped at special needs there, but I did this time. Liz told me to. I ate a sandwich and poured some water over my head. The next 5 miles are the best 5 miles. Downhill, tailwind, over halfway through the bike. The crosswinds were starting to pick up, which makes downhill descents a little slower and a little less fun. I usually had at least one hand on my bars for stability, and I was extra careful at the edges of the huge rocks where you can get a surprise gust.

The "hot section" in my mind is just before you reach Kawaihae when you've got a windless uphill. I worked on passing that girl who kept passing me on the downhills. I overtook her just before the turn back onto the Queen K. It's the little successes that keep you going. More little successes came the last 35 miles back into town. For the (slow swimming) late starters/slow riders (i.e. me), the headwinds pick up a lot here. We were so lucky to have more of a cross-head and at times even a crosswind. I must've gotten into a little tailwind somewhere out there -- I saw my speedometer exceed 20 again at some point.

The aid stations were every 5 miles for most of the course. Each time I'd take a Gatorade to fill the profile bottle, plus a bottle of water to pour over my head and back. Half of the water would go into the cage for later. 'Later' came about 2 miles after the first pour. I was getting so hot it felt like my cheeks were on fire. At 95 miles I felt my temperature getting out of control, so I stopped at that aid station while I poured bottle after bottle either down my throat or over my head. The helpful volunteer lady tried to sympathize by saying, 'I guess you have a little headwind out there.' I snorted water out my nose and she followed up with, 'It probably feels like more than a little when you're riding your bike into it.' I finally got back to transition where the sherpas were worrying about me because I was so slow. Glad they didn't voice that at the time. I gave up my bike to the catchers and made a clumsy attempt at jogging. It was a failed attempt, so I walked the entire pier to the tent and changed. The cold towel they draped on me was almost shockingly cold, but helped cool me down some. The sweet young girl helping me out was making me chat with her and I must've mentioned that I really didn't feel like running. She said, "Like NObody can do this. But you're doing this!" And that did it. Fresh motivation.

I jogged out toward the chute where I saw Laura, Jonathan, and Jeremy. The picture makes it look like I'm smiling. Actually, I'm saying, "I don't want to do this anymore."
But I did it. A few minutes of running, then somebody would stomp on my chest and I'd have to walk. Somehow Liz would only catch me walking. I swore to her that I was actually running some! She told me to at least walk like I have somewhere to be. That was when I saw her the first time and stopped dead in my tracks to talk. Jeremy came to run with me for a few miles on Ali'i and we were later joined by Jonathan and Laura. They were the best running buddies. What seemed like an unsustainably fast pace to me was the most slow boring jog for them. I tried to joke to Liz that I figured out I could run as long as I didn't run "fast." Nobody laughed. If I got faster than a 10-11 min pace, I couldn't breathe or control my legs anymore. My patient ironsherpas went all the way out to the Energy Lab and waited until I re-emerged to run me back home. At first my poor brain thought I'd get in trouble for having 3 pacers on the course with me. Later it occurred to me that nobody cares when they're helping you break 14 hours. We ran, stopped, walked, ran, etc. through the beautiful sunset and into the very dark night.

The last mile they left me to "enjoy" by myself. I want to thank the Ironman people for placing a timing mat one mile out from the finish. Now I know that the blazing fast pace I recorded was a 10:10. I found the finishing stretch down Ali'i to be a little less enjoyable than the 3 previous ones. I think the excitement of getting to compete in the world championship has worn off. I feel a bit defeated. My past 3 races have improved quite a bit each time. I thought I was learning; I thought I would beat it some day.

My conclusion is that some people just don't have the right physiology (plus training has a bit to do with it -- thank you mild Memphis summer) to do hot races. I've done some reading on heatstroke and fatigue on The Science of Sport. Your body will do everything it can to stop you from exercise if you're heading toward injury or death. You simply have a failure of muscle activation. Did you know your pacing strategy (whether conscious or subconscious, or a mixture of the two) will adjust for this in advance? So on a hot day, when your heat storage is greater than your heat loss, your body slows you right down. Read about it here. My body's pretty smart. Not competitive, apparently, but smart.

So I'm glad I tried again. I'm not afraid of failure; I've failed many times. There's no winning without taking risks.

The crime is not to avoid failure, the crime is to not give triumph a chance. –H. Weldon

Ironman Louisville

Pictures are a lot more entertaining than words, right? So here's my race in pictures. With a bit of commentary.

Pre race checkin. Everybody's happy. Beautiful day.

Race morning. In case you can't see it, the clock says 4:40 or something. That's eastern time.

I'm smiling from the success I had with the bike pump and lack of the usual hair-pulling frustration that is my race tire.
Gary's giving the wide, open-mouthed Joy smile.


Nancy got stuck in an eternal porta potty line. Really, she spent like 40 minutes there.

I refused to run before I crossed the start line. I'll have plenty of running later, were my thoughts. That's me on the far right, taking my sweet time.
The jump. I really got some air, huh? I'm holding my goggles on just in case.

The "upstream" portion around Towhead Island. Unfortunately for us (or rather, me, the poor swimmer), the 2/3 of the swim that was "downstream" was currentless.
But I made it out of the river alive!

To my great horror, the spot I chose in T1 to change (the same one Nancy chose 5 minutes before me), was completely within view for any spectators who dared come around. Jeremy was just seconds too late to capture my bare bum.

I'm too speedy on the bike to be captured clearly on film!

The entire bike ride can be summed up with this fantastic TB poster.

I did actually manage to run, if you can call it that. I seem to have both feet on the ground.

At least you can see Nancy's heel kicking up. The drills worked for her!

Post race, obviously. I finished right behind Gary, but managed to beat him by about 20 seconds. Love the time trial start!

All in all, I feel it was a successful day in that I was able to run a decent marathon after the torture of the bike ride and deflation of the terrible swim. I haven't attempted any workouts since, unless you count the one flight of stair climbing to my apartment with 3 bags of groceries. It's almost time to get back at it; as Jonathan mentioned, five weeks from today is the underpants run.

Ironman #9

It's done. Whew. During the days leading up to the race, I just wanted it to be over with. I knew how much it was going to hurt and just wanted the nervous anticipation to be gone. But it was all worth it. Every meltdown I had, every early morning swim, every brick, that long ride in the rain... all worth it because I surpassed each of the goals I'd set for myself.

The day started off with the usual force-feeding of a PB and banana sandwich at 4:30 a.m. The ride to the start with the girls and Gary, the airing up of the new-as-of-the-day-before $120 tire, the BodyGliding of the neck, the slipping into the wetsuit; it all went by quickly and smoothly, and next thing I knew I was dipping my toes in the Gulf and jumping when the cannon went off earlier than I'd anticipated.

The Swim
The only time I panicked during the swim was at the first turn buoy when I was completely vertical, trying to paddle around the hundreds of bodies and avoid the arms of the men who were apparently trying to use me as a life preserver. I yelled at one guy to get off me as he tried to dunk me like a water polo opponent. What a nightmare. But I didn't drown and ended up swimming a 1:11, better than I'd expected for the amount of swimming I'd done. Plus, I was incredibly excited to find no chafing on my neck!

T1 and the Bike
T1 went well too, but really, what can go that wrong in four and a half minutes of changing clothes? (ok, lots, but I try not to think of those things) I was planning on going easy the first hour of the bike, and stuck to my plan despite the hoards of people flying by me. About one hour in, a nice pack came by, including a girl who was so close to the guy in front of her that she couldn't even ride in aero position. I was shocked at her blatant cheating and of course had to say something to her when I finally passed again. Apparently she'd been doing this the whole way according to a couple other guys, and thankfully someone informed me that she did indeed get a drafting penalty. I guess I was pretty vocal about my anger; they knew I'd be happy to know about her penalty. I have to say that many more deserved penalties, which is very frustrating when you make such an effort to not draft that you slow to 16 mph when packs go by before you can make the pass again. After turning a couple of corners, headed back to the barn, there was a nice tailwind and I picked up the pace as much as was reasonable. I was hoping to pull off a 5:20 bike and managed 5:17. Yay!

The Run
Another quick trip to the transition tent and the porta potty, and I headed out for the marathon. I was going to try to run "easy" the first 6.5 miles, out to the turnaround. Exciting as usual was mile one, which was populated by 15 or so of my incognito friends, with lots of dancing and music blaring. Several of them ran with me a few dozen yards until their flip-flopped feet tired of my blazing pace (ha ha).

This was one of their awesome signs they had out on the course. Thanks again Laura! There's nothing like seeing your enormous head on a poster to make you run away fast. :)

My first 6.5 miles was faster than I'd intended, but still at an easy pace that I tried to maintain through the second quarter of the run. I didn't quite keep that pace, I slowed down about 25 seconds per mile (ouch), but made it to the turnaround just under 1:43. Hmmm, at that point, with a sharp headache coming on, I realized I just might have run a little too fast for the first half. In 2006 on this course I ran the same first half split, only to slow about 10 minutes for the second half.

This is very obviously my first time in the park.

I passed the beer stop once again. At that point I probably smiled for the last time until the finish line. Normally bald Mike, in his long, blond, pony-tailed wig, followed close by on the Wolfman cruiser. He didn't have a lot to say, but the plumber crack he showed gave me some amusement. I kept looking for Gary, who was only a few minutes behind me, then first timers Deb, Nancy, and Damie. It was great seeing them so many times on the course.

This picture totally sums it up: everything is all askew. And there's no more smiling.

With about 3 miles to go I saw Nancy for the last time. She was walking and I assumed for some reason that she had given up. I mustered up all the strength that was left in me to tell her "DON'T GIVE UP NOW" and she cheerily said "I haven't!" I don't really remember much of the last few miles, but I remember telling myself to keep running to Laura. Then I'd have a mile to go. I kept reassessing my time, when my mathematically challenged brain would allow. "If I can just run 9 minute miles, I can finish under ___." My original A goal was to break 10:20. This helped me pick up the pace for the last 6.5 miles, even though at 20 the thought had occurred to me that I might not be able to keep running. Everything hurt, I was feeling incredibly nauseated, I felt like I couldn't get a deep breath, and I was at the point of drinking Coke only. Somewhere in those last few miles I calculated that I could break 10:15. I passed Damie with a mile and a half to go. "Go get your Kona slot!" was what she shouted to me. A man next to me said, "Yeah, go get it!" I mumbled "I don't think so," knowing there had to be several girls in their early 30s ahead of me. Two others were talking about finishing before dark. "You're going to finish before dark, aren't you?" the man asked. I gave him a thumbs up. I was planning on finishing in the bright sunlight, thanks to the end of Daylight Savings being moved back this year. At the last beer stop, just under 1.5 miles to go, I calculated that I could get in under 10:10. I last looked at my watch there, at 9:57. The longest mile of the day finally passed and I found myself at the finish line unable to contain my happiness when I crossed at 10:05. There was no jumping around or cartwheels on those dead legs. But I smiled really big!

Laura was there waiting on me, pulling ahead in the IronSherpa contest by helping me walk, ice my legs in the hotel's pool, towel-bathe the salt off, get my dry clothes before they were ready to release them, and completely taking care of my exhausted but elated self. I soon found out I was 4th in my age group, knowing there were most likely only 3 Kona slots. However, Liz called and emailed me right after the race to tell me 3rd place had already accepted her Kona slot at Ironman Wisconsin. It was mine, all mine! I happily wrote my check the next morning, and now I look forward to a few weeks of sitting on my couch and catching up on all the great TV I've missed.

I attribute most of my success to Liz, my Coach Extraordinaire, who made me be patient during recovery weeks, who told me it was ok to have meltdowns (they just make you stronger), and who planned everything just perfectly. I felt like after 8 Ironmans, I basically knew what to do; the problem is making myself do it. Having to report to someone who had thought through each workout and training cycle brought it all together and made it all work. Thanks so much Liz! You're amazing!

Definitely my biggest smile all day... all week, maybe.

A Tale of Last Season

I thought I'd start my new blog with a tale of last season. My last race of 2007 was on the Big Island of Hawaii, doing the big race: Ironman. It treated me better than it has in the past, and has left me with the desire to try, try again. Here's my story:

I traveled to Kona on the Wednesday before the race. The evening before, at work, my car had been broken into and my race top stolen. My bike had been in the car, but chained to the seat (I’ve gotten smarter). I was hoping my bad luck was over, and I would only have good things happen for the race. Wednesday I lugged my 150 pounds of, um, luggage around for so long (it took about 17 hours to get there) that I was STILL sore in the shoulders Saturday. (Mental note: more weight training.) The only benefit of that whole experience was the number of cute guys who felt sympathy for me and helped me out; I particularly liked the ones who spoke not a word of English!

Thursday included a short little run during the annual Underpants Run, where I had a spontaneous photo shoot with Greg Welch (thanks to my friend Christy and her Team Nice Ass underpants!), who posted a picture of me and Christy on ironmanlive.com. I was too shy to strike up a conversation with “the Bachelor” Andy Baldwin; that’s my only regret. I did a couple of swims on the course, but didn’t quite make it out to the floating espresso bar. Too bad that wasn't there during the race!


Thursday night's excitement involved learning just how strong I am. My bike pump got stuck on my valve extender as I was airing up for a tire check. I pulled on it so hard that I actually tore the valve off the tire (mental note: less weight training). Luckily there was a race bike shop located right in my hotel lobby, and for just $150 they gave me peace of mind and a freshly glued new tire. Lesson learned: clinchers for me from now on!

The weather in the days before the race felt nice and cool at 85 compared to what I’d tried to train in all summer, but they say it reaches >100 in the lava fields. I believe it. The wind is an entirely different story. It's hard to describe if you haven't experienced it. Nothing I've ever ridden my bike in really compares to it. I love the wind, I love the wind!

Race morning my excitement finally overcame my nervousness. I was staying 50 yards from the pier (the start, transitions, and finish), so I went down to get marked, came back up to the room to relax and finish my breakfast. I went back down about an hour before the start to meet Christy and hang out by the pool (obviously the place to be-- Macca was there too). I didn’t leave myself much time after zipping up my new speedsuit to get to the starting line, which is about 100m out from the beach (you have to tread water while waiting for the start) but did manage to hang on a kayak for a little bit before we were surprised by the cannon going off a few minutes early. I got a little beat up, a little chafed by the suit, and a little gulp of salt water in the hour and twnty-one minutes it took me to finish the very scenic ocean swim. I wasn’t thrilled with that time after all the work I’ve been doing on my swimming, but it wasn’t my worst there.

I had a quick stop under the fresh water hoses coming into T1. In the tent I changed into my tri shorts and substitute race top (purchased 2 days before), went through the sunscreen sprayers, car wash style, and I was off.

Within 15 miles of the bike, I was aching in the shoulders and back. By 30, both legs were killing me. By the turnaround at Hawi, I had to stop. My feet were numb, but not numb enough to eliminate the pain. The entire backside of both legs had shooting pains that were only relieved by getting off my bike. Did I put my seat on wrong? Forget a bolt or something? I still don't know. So I stood down for a few minutes about 4 different times. Why does this not happen in training!? There was a tailwind for about 5 miles after Hawi that quickly turned to a cross wind (almost knocking me off my bike about 3 times), then back to a headwind for the remainder (yes, the remainder-- like 40 more miles). That was hands down the most painful bike ride I’ve ever done, and I got to spend 6:40 doing it. Again, not my worst time on the course, but I wasn’t excited about it.

T2, on the other hand, was fantastic. Two volunteers immediately came to my service with my bag and an icy towel. Once I’d finished changing I just sat there, towel around the neck. I asked if I could stay, but they urged me on. The 9+ minutes didn’t last nearly long enough.

Sometimes you don’t realize how good you feel until you’ve experienced torturous pain. The run felt so good just because I was not riding my bike anymore. I left transition and got a nice cheer from Christy's mom and boyfriend, Jindy. It's always nice to see people you know after many tough hours in a race. She was just up the road from me, having had a similar swim and slightly better bike and T2. I decided to just start at a pace I could handle and see what happened. If all else failed, GaryIronmanHolmes (he’s done about 27 Ironmans) told me to run 2 mins, walk 1. I actually felt fine running, no need to walk, and there were incredible volunteers at the water stops. One guy at about mile 4 told me with complete sincerity, “I am so proud of you.” Once again, I asked if I could stay there.

At the first turnaround (5 miles) Christy was about 6 minutes ahead. She told me to catch her so we could run together. I was working on it. That kept me motivated. The sun was setting as I went into the energy lab (about miles 16-20), and it was gorgeous. Every few hundred yards there was another photographer lying on the ground getting footage of it. At 18.5 miles, the energy lab turnaround and last one of the day, Christy was 3 minutes ahead. Great, I’d gained 3 minutes in 13 miles. But I was newly motivated again, just seeing and cheering for her. That combined with the fact I only had about 7 miles to go made me pick it up. I believe it was my fastest pace of the day (including much of the bike!). So at 22 miles, I caught her. She’d been running with a disposable camera, so we took pictures of each other. I told her to run with me, but she let me go.

Finally, FINALLY, after a few more miles of running in complete darkness except for the occasional blinding headlights (I almost even ran right into a couple people who weren’t wearing their glowstick necklace), I got back to town. The crowds got bigger and more excited around every corner. Ali’i Drive is an amazing place to run. About 200 yards out there is an arch to run under, then the path becomes carpeted. You run toward the brightest light you’ve ever seen. Fans are going crazy (ok, they don’t know me, they’re not MY fans, but it doesn’t matter). A guy in a wheelchair flies by you at 30 mph. You slap one of the first of 1000 hands stretched out toward you and the force sends you backward 5 feet. You start running forward again, just trying to enjoy the culmination of this whole 11 months of training, but it goes too fast, like it always does. Run: 3:49 Total: 12:06