Game plan: Take it out with the strongest 500 I can manage, get rid of the riffraff and then settle into a strong, steady pace.
What actually happened:
Despite the fact that I am a decent swimmer, I do not love mass swim starts. I don't like chaos. I don't like drowning. I don't like being beaten and punched in the face by men who weigh twice as much as me. I just don't. And I'm not going to apologize for that. I don't think it makes me "less of an Ironman" that I prefer the rolling swim start.
As much as I wanted to get right up front and try to grab some good feet, I knew I would not be comfortable with this. I lined up to the far right, with a straight shot to the turn buoy. I thought I was far enough right... until the cannon went off. Then everyone who had been standing on the shoreline jumped in on top of me. Within 2 minutes I was in full blown panic mode. My first thought was "Oh my god! I am the riffraff!" And my next thought was "Get me the fuck out of here!" I made a 90 degree turn, swam over the top of everyone who were in full on washing machine mode, and got to the outside. The real outside this time. And I resumed my swim.
Once I had free water, I put my head down and went to work. Strong, steady pace. When needed, I would pick it up for a few minutes. Like when I had 2 guys zig-zagging across my space. Repeatedly. I needed to put them in my wake cause they were pissing me off. Mission accomplished.
About half way through the swim I noticed a pain in my stomach. I thought maybe it was because I was working at a higher effort level than I normally do in the swim. I hoped it would go away once I got out of the water and into a rhythm on the bike. I found myself feeling strong throughout the swim. As I approached the final few buoys, I remember thinking that I wasn't the least bit sore in my shoulders. All my paddle-buoy-band work in the pool was paying off!
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| View of the swim exit. Ironman Texas 2014. |
When I stood up out of the water my watch read 59:30. YES!!! I shouted. Out loud. And then I ran as fast as I could through transition because the timing mat is not at the swim exit and I wanted my first sub-hour swim in the record books!
Official swim time: 59:52
The Bike
Game plan: Ride comfortably uncomfortable in the first half, then take the effort level up in the second half. (There were several more instructions with regards to nutrition and pacing, but I have no intention to share all my secrets!)
What actually happened:
I dashed through transition and got out onto the bike course quickly (T1= 3:16). I didn't take anything in for the first 10 miles or so other than a few sips of water, but I realized pretty quickly that my stabbing gut pain was not going anywhere. In fact, tucked in my aero position, it was worse. My legs felt strong, but as the miles added up and my energy level went down, I gradually lost power and speed.
My husband and my TriScottsdale teammate, AF, passed me at about 30 miles into the bike. Even at that early stage I was in a world of hurt. Each one cheered me on as they passed me and tried to get me to stay with them (at legal distance), but it was to no avail. I simply had no ability to respond.
Over the course of 70 miles I tried everything in my bags of tricks, but nothing was absorbing from my stomach. I tried electrolyte drinks. I tried plain water. I tried salt capsules. I tried gels. I tried nothing at all. It didn't matter what I did, the pain didn't budge. ***TMI ALERT!!*** I was burping and farting so I kept thinking there was potential that this problem would resolve. No such luck.
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| Out for a pre-race tour of the run course. |
The final 40 miles were the most excruciating hours of my life. I just wanted to be off my bike. I really wanted to be lying on the side of the road taking a dirt nap. I could tell that between the wind and the warm temps, and my inability to absorb anything I was extremely dehydrated and hypoglycemic. How I was able to hold it together mentally I don't know, but my coach's words continued to run through my head and I tried to do all the things I was supposed to do. It was almost comical how hard I was working mentally in the game and how slow I was going physically.
I rolled into T2 and handed off my bike to a volunteer, and promptly started crying. I think the emotional release was a combination of relief to be safely off the bike, the enduring pain in my stomach, and the realization that I had a very long 26.2 miles ahead of me. I walked through transition, gathered my gear bag and headed into the change tent.
Official bike time: 5:45:54
My friend, MT, was volunteering in T2 and she helped me get all my bike stuff off and run stuff on. When I was ready to go I didn't stand up. Instead I began sobbing. Huge tears rolled down my cheeks as she tried to console me. She rubbed my legs and encouraged me to get out there and see what happened. She said that not many people had come through T2 yet, and a lot of people had similar issues. Another volunteer must have thought there was something physically wrong as she kept interrupting us. What's your name? What's wrong? What is your NAME? I ignored the inquiry and just kept listening to MT's soothing voice and eventually stood up and made my way out of transition. (T2= 7:26)
The Run
Game plan: Get off that bike and run your Ironman pace, one mile at a time.
What actually happened:
I am actually amazed that I held it together for as long as I did on the run. For some reason, I can handle gut issues better on the run, maybe because I'm in an upright position. Maybe because I can eat a bean burrito in training and then go out for a long run. Whatever, the reason, I was happy to be on my feet and off of the damn bike.
I knew I was dehydrated and low on sugar. At each aid station I walked to make sure I could maximize my intake potential. I drank cups of Perform and sipped on water and ice. I was carrying my Honey Stinger gels which were a lifesaver. Thankfully it was not hot out as I can only imagine the added strain this would have put on my already depleted body. I managed to run most of the first loop, approximately 9 miles, albeit slowly.
At the start of the second loop I was feeling dizzy and progressively weaker. I found myself needing to walk more and just not altogether mentally clear. Just after mile 11, I saw a friend in a TriScottsdale kit lying on the ground and a man was leaning over him. I walked over, recognized my teammate (AF) and asked him if he wanted to walk with me. He got up and we walked on. Relentless forward progress.
AF was having his own struggle, but I was thankful to have someone with me, talking to me. At some point I stopped being able to respond to his conversation. I was having a hard time coming up with words in my head and what did come out sounded a little bit slurred. I know that had I not been with AF at that moment, I would have eventually passed out on the course and the medical volunteers would have hauled me off the course with IV's in both arms, I was in that deep of a well physically. I remember somewhere around mile 13 or so, he very clearly ordered me to take an entire bottle of Perform from the aid station and drink the whole thing. I followed orders and within a mile my head was a little bit clearer. I grabbed another bottle of Perform and drank it down. By now we were nearing the end of loop 2.
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| The run course at night. IM Texas has the BEST run course! |
We formulated a run/ walk plan for the final loop. He set the pace running at a decent clip for 5 minutes, and then I set the pace power walking for 10 minutes. We covered ground quite quickly with this method averaging about 11 minutes per mile. With about 4 miles to go, AF needed a break from the power walk and I was ready to be done. I ran, this time at my own much slower running pace. I continued to walk through aid stations to drink Perform as I was no where near recovered, but moving at about a 10 minute pace I was able to keep running.
I have never been so happy to see a finish line in my life. At 12 hours, 26 minutes, and 13 seconds I raised my hands over my head in victory. I finished an amazing 13th in my age group, with a faster time than last year on the same course.
The Aftermath
DNF is not found in my coach's vocabulary. And after my failure at St. George in 2012, it was not an option for me. I knew that no matter how long it took me, I was going to get to that finish line. I was happy to be able to run as much as I did because I HATE walking at Ironman. (Absolutely no offense to anyone who chooses to walk the marathon, I prefer to run it.)
After finishing I sat down in a chair to wait for AF, who was about a mile behind me, hoping to have a photo taken together. After sitting for a few minutes I began having trouble catching my breath. My husband was nearby talking with some friends and they began to notice my distress. A medical volunteer came over and asked me if I wanted to go to medical. Initially I declined, but then my breathing worsened and I grabbed her elbow and asked for her help. I told her that I have had a very rare episode of asthma and I believed that was the problem. She offered to grab a wheelchair, but I explained that sometimes if I walk it gets better. She held onto my arm as my husband led the way, parting the sea of finishers and family members. Once into medical they sent me immediately to the treatment area bypassing dozens of athletes waiting to be evaluated. Apparently not being able to breathe takes priority over nausea and dehydration!
The medical volunteers were wonderful. Friendly, attentive, and reassuring. By the time I got into the medical tent my breathing was improved by my airways still felt tight. The administered albuterol via nebulizer to open my airways. After about 15 minutes of breathing the steroid-laced oxygen they released me to resume my post race ritual.
Since finishing a mere 4 days ago and returning to normal life, I've had time to reflect on the race and speak with my coach and another mentor. I believe I have identified the main source of my nutritional problem on race day and am actively taking measures to ensure that it does not happen again.
Gratitude
Ironman is not a solo endeavor and there is no way I could do what I do without the support and help of a huge team of people.
Huge thank you to my coach, Hillary Biscay. I am so thankful to be working with you and every single day I am reminded of how brilliant you are. I see the fruits of your genius daily, even in my recovery process. Thanks for taking a chance on me! Thank you to Team HPB for cyber-cheering all day! You inspire me every day with your hard work! Special thanks to CH and MR, my local counterparts who push me daily in training and check in with me to make sure I'm alive and thriving!
Thank you to my team, TriScottsdale. I love training and racing side by side with people who work hard, play hard, and love this sport as much as I do. Special thanks to AF, without whom my race would have ended at mile 128.2. I promise you that someday we will #FindKona! I am proud to wear the colors of TriScottsdale and bask in the tons of on-course support I receive on race day!
Thank you to Paraic McGlynn and his team at Cyclologic. Thanks to your knowledge and skill I am not only comfortable, but faster and stronger than ever on my bike. Even though you have entire teams of professional cyclists to look after, I know that you are invested in my success because you were the first one to call and ask the tough question: "What went wrong?" Your effort is appreciated!
Thank you to Nate Snell and his team at Endurance Rehab. Simply put, I would not be biking or running at all if it weren't for you. Your weekly attention to my musculoskeletal weaknesses has allowed me to continue to do the things that I love. You guys are the best!
Thank you to my husband. You have put up with a lot over the years, and even more since my work load increased on January 1. Your consistent belief in me and love means the world and #findingkona would mean half as much without you by my side.
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| Hard won medal. Ironman Texas 2014. |
Final thoughts
For those of you who are numbers people. This was my 13th Ironman. My bib was 481 (4+8+1= 13). I finished 13th in my age group. I'm not really superstitious, but there was no way I was quitting and having to repeat my battle against the number 13 again!! They say everything's bigger in Texas... including my epic race disaster. I could not be more proud of gutting it out. As AF reminded me, to walk away and quit because things get tough is stuck up. It's like saying "I'm too good for this." And that is definitely not me. No matter how bad things got, I knew I would be happy to have that medal and to have learned a great deal in the process. You can't buy that sort of education.
I keep reminding myself (and sometimes those around me) that this is a process. When I signed on with Hillary, I signed on with knowledge that I have the potential to reach my goal and an enormous amount of work ahead to accomplish it. I am not limiting myself in this process and understand that it may be years of consistency in training to get where I want to go. In the 5 months since we have been working together I have made huge gains and I am so excited to continue the process. This will not be an easy task but I am up for the challenge. The dream is alive and it's time to get back to work!
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