a long post for a long race

St. George 70.3 is often billed as the toughest half ironman course in North America. The bike has roughly 3500 feet of climbing with a 1000 feet in the signature 4 mile climb through Snow Canyon. If that wasn’t enough it is followed by 1300 feet of climbing on the run course with 5k straight uphill right out of transition. So you train for the hills, okay. But then there’s the weather factor. In 2015 temps soared near 100 degrees. In 2016 it was cold and rainy. One friend claims to have stopped and hung out in several portajohns just to stay warm during the bike leg. There are stories of people weaving back and forth on the road to get up the steepest climbs. And folks walking their bikes up the hill. But regardless of the climbing or the weather, everyone says they’d do it again for the scenery, or the rip roaring descents.

really lame scenery

So what possessed me to select this tough tough course for my return to the half iron distance this spring? Honestly I don’t remember how we settled on it. I think Tom and I had a romantic notion of traveling there in the Airstream and spending time before and after exploring Zion and Moab and the Grand Canyon. I figured it would force me to spend a lot of time in the saddle learning how to climb and growing not only some bike legs but also the mental strength to persevere on a hard ride. That November day when Mt. Lemmon brought me to tears was a turning point. I HAD to grow into a better cyclist. I wanted to climb the mountains and needed to figure out how, both physically and mentally.

All kinds of life happened between that first Lemmon ascent and March 20th when I finally registered for the race. The most important being I fell in love with riding my bike. Tucson may not be my forever home but it will always be a special place because of the cycling community. It is no wonder so many pros live and train here, it is the perfect setting to get fit and train outdoors when the rest of the country is stuck on their trainers. My naiveté helped because I tackled mountains I probably wasn’t ready for and grew into them on my way to the top. There were great rides and there were ugly rides. They balanced each other out and by the time I got to taper week I was ready to take on St. George at whatever pace my legs would go, power readings be damned. I wasn’t worried that I wouldn’t finish. I only wondered what I’d have left for the run and there was no way to know til I got to T2. All I could do was ride my heart out and trust my training.

I started my current job 30 days before the race. So my funemployment days were over and I was squeezing workouts in on lunch breaks and under the hot afternoon sun. It was exhausting but I barely missed any workouts – I love my green Training Peaks boxes 😀 As race weekend drew near, it was clear I was traveling alone, which stressed me out, but just one more thing to manage. I switched from the in town hotel to the Base team house next to the reservoir (swim locale) and buddied up with a Canadian teammate Saskia who had road tripped all the way from Calgary with her grandmother. It was nice to have someone to go over logistics with and do some practice swims and bike mechanic check rides.

making friends, as you do

Thursday was a long day. 8 hours of driving with the highlight being a work conference call. I went straight to the expo to check in and meet up with LauraLee and Saskia. Nothing out of the ordinary except that I didn’t shop at the merchandise tent. We caravanned back to the house to prep for a practice swim since I hadn’t been in open water since France – and we all remember what a fabulous swim that was… after a very sweaty wetsuit zipper debacle we waded into the 64 degree water. It was a short swim and the water felt great. It is a beautiful clear “lake” but I got a little dizzy exiting which made me nervous. I was demo-ing my brand new aero one piece tri suit and it is fabulous. Short drive back to the house and we hopped on our bikes. Saskia was having seat post issues and I was having brake rubbing issues. I couldn’t hear anything in my borrowed aero helmet with the ear covers so I had to take it off and ride up and down the street to figure out what was wrong. I also noticed my brand new-to-me di2 battery was low because I was stuck in my small chain ring. This is why you do shake out rides friends!

Pecan groves!

Quick trip to Wal-Mart for groceries led to the sad discovery that they don’t sell wine (welcome to Utah). No matter, dinner, a beer and Normatec boots and I was in bed. I let myself sleep in til 8am Friday then finished prepping my gear bags. Saskia, Gran, and I set out to drive the whole bike course. We wanted to check out Snow Canyon but also wanted to take in the scenery because we knew we’d be working hard and not enjoying it as much the next morning. The first 4 miles around the south side of the reservoir are probably my favorite, vista-wise. I’m committed to bringing the Airstream back and camping there – gorgeous red sand beaches. After a steep climb to mile 5 the course had its easiest stretch into the town of Hurricane before a long stretch on SR-9 which featured a long but not particularly challenging climb to mile 20. Turning left onto Washington Pkwy there were some super fun descents and some more climbs finishing at the second aid station on the far side of the bridge over the interstate. I was just so thrilled at the road conditions – very well maintained, a stark contrast to the whiplash inducing cracks in the Tucson roadways. More descending into St. George before climbing up Red Hills Parkway and riding right through the middle of the run course. The neighborhoods were beautiful, impeccable landscaping, prickly pears blooming everywhere. Once you hit the roundabout you start the odd little out and back with a VERY tight turnaround and then it’s time for Snow Canyon. We chatted with the ranger at the gate and he was very encouraging but said the second half of the climb did feature some double digit pitches. He also noted that the canyon didn’t get the wind like the rest of the area. I made Saskia hold the GoPro up out of the sunroof to video the drive. It really is stunning. And the road is freshly paved and total perfection. We were surprised at how not scary the climb seemed. It was a huge relief to have driven it and the descent back into town had us absolutely giddy.

keener!

We followed the course all the way back to transition then parked and dropped off our run gear bags. We did do a little shopping and I stocked up on my Base products. So now I really wanted to see the run course, and it was absolutely petrifying. The path just climbed and climbed and was totally exposed up on the ridgeline – full sun, and all the wind. Well, it’s a good thing I’ve been training on long climbs and in heat and sun and wind!

horse thought I was an alien

Back to the house for a last bike check ride – and some antics with the horses and climbing around on red rocks. Then it was time to drop off our bikes at the reservoir and take another practice swim. I was amazed at how many people had left all their gear and nutrition on their bikes to bake in the sun all day when we had hours to access them in the morning. We left nothing but the bikes. Everyone was swimming. And there were a lot of folks from the campground hanging out at the boat ramp too. Some of them jumped in the cold water sans wetsuit and declared themselves to be ironman. Yes, that’s all it takes really. I’m sure they would appreciate the 4am loudspeakers and stadium lighting wake up call. This swim went even worse than the day before when my zipper split wide open about 100m out. I kept going to see how bad it was, in case it happened again. It wasn’t fun but it was doable. Get all the kinks out before race morning right??

so much red sand in the cleats…

After eating and booting and eating and hydrating I finally fell asleep around midnight feeling a little nervous and when the alarm went off at 4:45 I was feeling more nervous. Just for the swim really. I don’t know why I struggle with it now when it didn’t bother me for my first two seasons of triathlon. Something happened in France and it almost happened again this time but fortunately I scared it off. LauraLee dropped us off to get on the short shuttle into transition around 6am. We both found bike pumps nearby (lucky for me bc I was racked on the total opposite side of transition from the provided pumps). After setting up all my gear I realized I forgot my trislide so I went hunting for some friends. Carley was still at her bike so I got lucky and borrowed hers. Still chafed a little on my neck – I’m just out of wetsuit open water swim practice. Stupid Arizona.

reunited with my Vanderkitten sister (and BASE teammate) I met at IM Boulder last summer!

I stumbled into Saskia again after my potty stop and we tried to go do a warm up swim. But apparently we couldn’t. So we just had to wait with the masses until go time. Now, the day before the Ironman powers that be made the decision to smush up the swim waves in order to get us onto (and off of) the bike faster bc of the crazy winds in the forecast. I would love to know if anyone actually did the math to see if this had the desired outcome. The swim is a deep water start and they held each wave on the beach until the previous wave started. So you had 2 minutes to wade in and swim out to the start buoys. This is not enough time to acclimate to 64 degree water and get your heart rate and mind ready to start the race – let alone take your obligatory wetsuit warming pee. I hadn’t even been able to get my goggles wet and had to dunk them several times to activate the anti-fog spray. My goal was to stay wide right to avoid the stampede but the kayaks were keeping the lane pretty narrow and I was running into people and knew the men in the wave behind us would be on top of me in no time. So between 200 and 400 meters into the swim I was starting to get those anxious feelings like I had in France. Even though I know it’s only half the distance, and I’m in a wetsuit, I was struggling to settle into my breathing and stop stressing out. Then it was time to make the first turn and sure enough I look up and see a kayak 6 feet from the turn buoy so everyone is climbing on top of one another to take the corner and multiple waves of men were upon me now. It was a cluster. By the time the buoys changed color to indicate I was half way I was feeling more in the groove but then more men would start swimming over me. I mean these guys were jerks. Grabbing my thigh and pushing me down. Slapping their arms right into me and not missing a beat. They weren’t even going much faster than me, they were just being inconsiderate. Around this time I saw a neon orange swim cap on what I assume was the bottom of the lake and I wondered to myself if I should tell a kayaker just in case there was a body down there with it. Bad morbid thoughts. Just keep swimming. As excited as I was to make the second/last turn, as soon as I did I felt a wake pushing me sideways out to the right. Again, I don’t mind swimming wide to get away from folks but I heard some kayakers fussing at people to stay left so I tried. And more jerks wanted to beat me up, particularly one in a silver wetsuit. Grr. Finally I was near the boat ramp but tried to stand up twice before I actually could which wasted some time. I started stripping myself but was struggling so I walked over to a volunteer who yelled at me to get down then yanked my wetsuit off my legs. My blue seventy thermal socks made running on the concrete rather pleasant so I jogged to my bike and loaded up my bike gear and nutrition before struggling to stuff the wetsuit in the stupid bag. I swear I used to be good at transition but now I guess I’m out of practice. (Racing only once a year and racing only full where they have volunteers that help you in transition can make a girl lazy.)

nasty headwinds ruining the first few miles of the bike course

So here I am mounting my bike thinking hey, I wasn’t the last one to T1, good job Hansen! Oh wait, what is this? Our first uphill and everyone is creeping along like snails. Did they not gear down appropriately? Oh, no, there’s wind. Hmm. People are pulling off to check their bikes. Men are commenting to each other about how badly they’re grinding their gears. So I peek to my left at the nice downhill around the corner and sure enough there is a line of triathletes just inching along, pedaling hard going nowhere fast. Great, this is how we start the ride? The first 4 miles should have been a nice downhill spin the legs out warm up before we hit the first real climb – a steep one. But no, I’m going 11mph downhill into the wind. Lord have mercy. Here goes nothing! That first climb was interesting. While I kept my legs spinning and passed a lot of folks, some guys rode by my in their big chain ring only to be caught back by the top. And that poor woman walking up the hill with her bike slung over her shoulder, derailleur hanging off the side… my heart broke for her. First category 4 climb done, 345ft in 1 mile, 8mph average. Sounds about right lol. The next 9 miles were nothing special, some cattle guards, country roads, first aid station, then the left onto SR-9. We were riding in the far left lane of a 4 lane (with center turn lane) highway. We had the shoulder too but there was a rumble strip that made passing complicated. And I was passing. A lot. There was some great descending in here and tucked in aero I felt unstoppable. There were a lot of road bikes that didn’t stand a chance on the downhills. Of course there were some speedy dudes passing me and a few leapfrogging but I averaged 29mph for a 3 mile downhill segment and nothing will give me more confidence than sustaining anything in the 20s. Then we get to the bottom of the 2 mile climb up SR9. And it wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it seemed from a car. Just spin and get some nutrition. Again some road bikes passed me, but not for long as the aero advantage on the downhill was just too much for them. A support vehicle hollered out the window asking if my rear water bottle was “supposed to be hanging off like that” which it obviously wasn’t. Thank you hippie man in the Subaru! I had frozen a bottle of Rocketfuel and put it on my rear cage before the swim so naturally as it melted the bottle morphed and [presumably riding over the cattleguards] it shook itself into a precarious position that no one else seemed obligated to inform me of. Muchos gracias señor. Love my BASE Rocketfuel. For whatever reason I convinced myself that once we got to mile 25 we had most of the climbing under our belt, minus Snow Canyon of course. The section from SR-9 to the second aid station was just plain fun. Maybe just passing people is fun. And hitting 47mph in aero is fun. Scary yes, but fun too.

from our last shake out ride, not the race

As we crossed the highway into the aid station a guy in front of me did the ol’ honk honk motion with his arm to the drivers down below and we got some feedback so that was fun. The motorcycle cop parked on the bridge seemed slightly less amused but we pedaled on by all the same. I was still passing people changing flat tires. Some were taking neutral support, some managing on their own. Why was everyone flatting?? I kept praying for a safe, non-mechanical ride. Thank you Jesus, because these tubulars have been enough drama. No flats, phew! There was one steep short down and up that Saskia and I decided we would most likely want to get out of aero for, and sure enough I did, as some girl on a pinked out road bike whizzed by me yelling “wee!” Yes I abso-effing-lutely passed her back pronto and no I didn’t yell “wee!” in the process. Sidebar – I did – for a moment – consider riding my road bike on this course because of the climbing, so I get it, I do. But with all the descending between the climbing, there is no way a road bike is a better choice on this course. No way, even with the insane winds. Thank you Theoden for confirming this for me. Aero, on a mostly closed course, on pristine asphalt and a FAST descent, is such a rush. I, like him, would do this race again, just for the descents. SO MUCH FUN.

Okay, so I kinda forgot about the Red Hills Parkway climb, but at least we got to ride through as the pros were on the run course and it was pretty awesome to see Holly Lawrence out there (in her swimsuit – Lord have mercy, not in my wildest dreams) just absolutely crushing it. And I think I saw all the way through the top 10 women before I shot down under the highway and out to the canyon. There’s just the short little out and back section where you can see other riders and I got lucky to see Saskia about 2 miles ahead of me and Carley about 2 miles behind me and then I was in the canyon. THE canyon. This was the THE climb. What everyone comes here for and dreads and trains for and fears. At the bottom was the last bike course aid station and it was legit. There was even a full on mechanic tent where I witnessed someone with their bike on a stand getting like a tune up – say wha?? So here we go. What is left in the legs you might ask? I’ve ridden 41 miles in just under 2 hours and 30 minutes. Because I’m a total badass, clearly. [Note: the Brownlee boy who won the damn thing rode a 2:01. Freaking Olympians!?!] So in order to not totally embarrass myself, I’d like to be done in 3:30. Let’s predict a 40 minute climb, 20 minute descent, and off to the run we go. I manage a 26 minute climb (4 miles at less than 9mph) and a 22 minute 10 mile descent (freaking winds man!) but truly, I loved the climb. The scenery was just as beautiful as the day before. Although it was pretty darn hot in there – the ranger was right about the lack of wind. Sure it was work and I was getting tired but I knew it was only 1 more mile to the gate once the pitch got steep and after all the mountains I’d climbed in Tucson, I was going to get there – and I wasn’t going to resort to walking like these dudes I was passing. For REALZ. I only got passed like twice. And the one guy that passed me whose jersey I remembered (because he didn’t go very far once he did) I passed back on the downhill, yep, a road bike. The other guy ,who I also remembered because he was black, and let’s be honest, the black men and women stand out in triathlon because there aren’t that many, especially out here in Utah… I passed him on the run and he gave me a shout out, and I gave him one back for passing me in the canyon!

gate house = Snow Canyon climb done!

So the climb is done, and it wasn’t as bad as everyone made it out to be, but darn it all, I was totally planning on just cruising downhill to transition at 30+mph for the last 10 miles. That was not to be the case. I imagine that when the pros hit the corner 2 hours earlier they didn’t have 40mph headwinds blasting them in the face. But this was the hand I was dealt. The wind was pushing us around big time. Fortunately I’ve trained in wind but a lot of folks hadn’t and I was nervous passing them because I didn’t trust that they knew how to handle their bikes in these conditions. So I didn’t hit the speeds I hoped for on the descent and had to keep pedaling to stay upright and in control. It wasn’t the leg refreshing spin out I anticipated, but I was ready to be off the bike so I pushed through. I had gotten a little nauseous the last hour and got a little off track with my gels but I kept salting and drinking and felt like I had to pee so I considered that a win even though the last thing I wanted was to stop in a potty.

My transition seems to have been fairly slow. I tried to jog my bike to the rack but that weird adductor thing stopped me so I put on my shoes and swapped my nutrition and jogged out putting on my bib and visor and by then my legs were cooperating. As I ran by the potties I considered stopping but really didn’t want to. Then I saw Saskia pop out of one. How in the world had I caught up to her? I thought she would have swam 20 minutes faster than me and biked 30 minutes faster at least, so this seemed super odd. But I just said hey and kept on going. Before the first aid station I saw Lauralee then Matt. Well that was exciting. Now I won’t see anyone I know cheering for the rest of the race. Womp womp. The first mile wasn’t as steep as I feared but by mile 2 it got pretty intense. I reluctantly decided it was time to pee so as I approached the second aid station’s potties I unzipped and pulled off my sleeves – determined to make this a fast one. And it probably was – I can’t tell from my garmin readings how long it took me, and I walked a few times up the hill in mile 3 so overall it was far and away my slowest mile at 11:20 but not just because I peed. But the exciting thing that happened in that disgusting potty (I mean how do people literally leave clumps of poop on the seat? what the eff are you doing in there folks?) – is I discovered that… men close your eyes for a second… I started my period. Yes, in the middle of my first half ironman in 2 and a half years, 5 days early according to my tracking app, the flow arrived. No wonder I felt nauseous the last hour on the bike. It’s happened once on the morning of a marathon and even a 50k but I think this was my first triathlon flow. Well what are you gonna do? Zip back up and run your little heart out. That’s all I knew to do.

So up the hill I go. I saw some friends zoom by on their way down the hill to the finish line – damn me for having such fast friends, they really make me feel like a huge loser a lot of the time. But this was the worst part, the first 5k up the hill, then it was rolling, then it was down. I was prepared for this. I would make up for these first slow miles. Until I hit the wall of wind. I mean, seriously. Like you couldn’t even run fast DOWN the hill because the wind was so bad. I started cussing. Just a little, but enough to get some sideways glances from some guys I was passing. So after a brief walk break I kept running. Channel the anger Hansen. Run, salt, hydrate, smile. Once I got to the strange double side by side out and back on the ridgeline I was in heaven. All the people watching totally distracted me, I just zipped right down the hill and straight back up it, through the tunnel and do it again. I slapped some guy with a mohawk on the butt because he was standing in the middle of the course chit chatting with his buddy about how the bike blew him up. Uh, hello? This is a race. We run now. Chat later. Move your ass son. I’m just a giddy little son of a gun on the run course. Everyone hates me. Or hopefully loves to hate me. Yes I walk through all the aid stations, I take my ice and my coke and dump my water on my person and thank the volunteers and then I run. Run run run, wee!

Until the stomach cramps arrive. I’m still learning my ideal coke to water to salt ratio. And when it’s hot like it always seems to be, I tend to go overboard on the coke. So I had been chipping away at my one packet of honey stinger chews but between the menstrual cramps and the caffeine my internal organs were starting to revolt in a way I feared would put me back in the portajohn. So I backed off the coke and water and walked a little uphill. The W section was my fave, because there were people everywhere. Once we left that, around mile 9, it was kind of desolate again. Men were walking and pouting and resigning themselves out loud to walking it in. Boo. Let me pass right on by your negative energy. Because let’s be honest, I’m trying not to crap my drawers and I need to run – but I can’t run too fast or GI things speed up and I’d like to get to the finish line before disaster strikes.

thank you LL for capturing my quad’s freakiness

At this point in the race it strikes me how quiet this race is. There’s not a lot of spectators and no cool aid stations blaring music. No bands, no cheerleaders, no distractions. With a mile to go I pass the one yard party with the icee pops and the kids squirting us with water guns. Maybe St. George is like Tuscon, full of snowbirds and folks who hate cyclists and couldn’t think of anything less fun than hanging out on a curb all Saturday afternoon cheering on a bunch of lunatics who felt like busting their butts in the hot wind and sun for 6 hours. At least the finish chute was lined with spectators hanging their hands over the rail for a snotty salty sweaty potentially poop smeared high fives. And the last few miles were a pretty glorious downhill. Not so steep that it hurt, but enough to push it, and pass right through the aid stations taking nothing, knowing that the end was near. And it would be a sub 2 hour run split. My only real goal (aside from not having a melt down in the lake or crashing my bike) was a sub 2 hour run split. Something to hang my hat on.

As I took my medal and relinquished my chip I quickly asked where the nearest restroom was, just in case. Then I looked down and noticed my shorts were rather discolored so I took that nice cold bottle of water and poured it down my front. We’re going to pretend that was coke I spilled on myself. Smile for the camera! We pay a lot of money to do this!

There is it. It’s done. I survived. I more than survived. I didn’t have a melt down in the lake, I didn’t crash my bike, or walk my bike, or crap my pants, or blow up my legs. The big scary hard race I thought I had no business signing up for, pretty much up until the minute I pulled on my goggles that morning, was over. It didn’t kill me. In fact, in retrospect, I probably didn’t leave enough out there. That’s not a totally fair statement because in the moment you don’t know what else is coming and I tend to be a little conservative just in case. And I hurt in the hours afterward. My cramping got really bad and I can only be grateful I finished before it did. I was messaging Kelly that I felt more beat up than from the Ironmans. But now that I’m a few days out I feel refreshed and springy and ready for action. So that’s weird right?

This was the first training block that really gave me any confidence on the bike. At the same time, I pretty much quit swimming. While it seems I maintained my run, in all actuality, it’s probably pretty strong, considering how hard that course was and I didn’t feel totally tapped at the end. Training for 3 sports simultaneously is complicated. Finding the time to get in the prescribed workouts is one thing. Finding the mental focus to really develop each area is another thing entirely. I can practice transitions, I can adjust my stroke, I can get more aero, I can run all the intervals. What I really need to level up now is beyond all that. It’s in my head. Pushing past the comfortably uncomfortable. Seeking the pain. That’s where my breakthrough lies. On the other side of endurance. More than executing a plan. No more saving something for the final mile.

60 days til Roth.

Time to get serious.

well, after I play around on these rocks for a minute

Scottsdale RV Ranch

The whole point of coming to Scottsdale/Tempe was to volunteer at the Ironman – otherwise why put ourselves through 3 long long days of driving to Memphis in time for turkey right? I asked Matt if there was room for me in the BASE team house but it seemed pretty full – so he said we could park the Airstream in the driveway and just hang out in the house, use the showers, etc. But after the situation in Tucson we played it safe and booked a spot at a proper RV Park. After another successful parking job by yours truly we hopped on our bikes (my triathlon bike actually) and headed out to ride the race course. The park was only a block or two off the course which worked out great, except the route didn’t have good bike lanes or even shoulders for some high traffic sections and the first 20 minutes were a little nerve wracking as jerk drivers honked at and buzzed us. Out on the Bee Line Highway we had a nice wide shoulder but we also had headwinds and a 10 mile false flat. We missed the markings for the U-turn and found ourselves out by a military base and caught in some traffic for a rodeo. After cutting across 4 lanes of divided highway we were headed back.
We missed the turn for the bridge across the river to the Ironman village and were again honked at and buzzed before pulling off onto a pedestrian walkway (maybe for bikes?). We said hi to the BASE folks then chased daylight back to the RV park – happily on a proper bike path thru a park. We were conveniently located 3 miles from the village on a good bike route.

There were a ton of athletes from Portland in town to race including several of Tom’s former teammates, the Ironheads, and Summit Coaching clients. They invited us to their hotel for dinner and we hit up a Hispanic grocery for a sad wine selection en route. I know it was nice for Tom to have some friends to hang with after we’d spent a few days with all my gal pals in Tucson. Karen and Bob RV too so lots to talk about – and if any of my Seattle friends got caught in a 4 hour interstate closure at SeaTac back in July I know why lol.

Saturday we had to swim, bike, run so we started off at a nice outdoor aquatic center nearby, bumping into Hillary, Alyssa, and a bunch of Smashfest girls.img_2870 Then we drove over to Hole in the Rock to run on pink paths around Papago park in the hot sun. img_2843We had to do another loop on the race course but with some TT efforts but first we rode to the village where I bought some new Hokas and chatted with my Base Salt peeps. I even forked over $10 to the mechanic tent staff because my headset was rattling around again and I didn’t have my multi-tool on me (hello lazy!). I thought I was feeling good and excited for a little workout on the P3 but I quickly realized that my Wahoo was paired with Tom’s power meter (my battery was apparently dead) so I had no meaningful data for my intervals and with the crazy winds I was beyond frustrated. Plus apparently Tom has been holding back on our rides and is way stronger than me when he actually tries so it was demoralizing to watch him ride off into the distance. He waited after #2 though so we could cross the highway together to head back towards town with the wind at our backs for #3. I got caught at the only stoplight though and started chatting with a 2 time IMAZ finisher who was volunteering too and out for an easy picture snapping ride.

After the ride we headed to the BASE house for team dinner and hot tubbing. Indeed the driveway would not have worked for the trailer seeing as how it was gated and had a decent pitch to it. The place was awesome however and we enjoyed hanging out until it started to get cliquey (as all triathlete gatherings eventually do) at which point we bowed out. The clique-i-ness continued the next day as we arrived, by bike, to help set up the salt party on the race course. It was still important to be there for the racers though.  Just before dark I decided we needed warmer clothes and I hadn’t gotten in my run for the day so I ran the 5k back to the trailer. Stuffed a few extra layers into my hydration pack and ran back to the aid station. Most of the racers I knew were finished and it was turning into a stream of exhausted walkers. Not long after, I got really tired myself so we packed up and rode back. We had a long day of driving ahead of us and needed to get a little rest.

Except for feeling like an outsider with the crowd that we actually came to hang out with and support, we really enjoyed Tempe/Scottsdale and hope to return soon. Of all the Ironman venues I’ve been to though, this one felt a little different, a little snottier. Maybe it was the hateful drivers, maybe it was the abundance of athletes set on punching their Kona tickets, maybe it was the wretched wind, maybe it’s just a west coast vibe, but it didn’t make me want to come race in Arizona, that’s for sure.

Iron Adventures in France Part Deux

as continued from Part Un

There was a noticeably lower level of race morning anxiety for this second go around. Kelly seemed more anxious but I was relatively calm. We did have to drive into town and park and transition opened later (5:30 for a 6:40 start) than most races which I think contributed to Kelly’s nervousness. But we were one of the first ones there so got good parking and found chairs right next to the transition entrance, also conveniently located by some of those fancy portable toilet trailers – which at least for the first visit were remarkably nicer than your standard port-o-pot. We were literally the first ones into transition when it opened and I beelined for my bike and the pumps before a queue formed only to confirm my fear that their pumps did not fit on my weird rear valve. So I went right to the mechanic tent and let a cute French fella pump my tires for me. After arranging bottles and setting up my garmin we went hunting for special needs bags drop location. Literally walking in circles around transition asking everyone to no avail. Finally we located Morning clothes bag drop so we went ahead and stripped down and I strongly regretted not having throw away flip flops for the rest of the pre-race walking around (and mainly the last port-o-pot stop – electing to block that from my memory). Apparently special needs drop site was right outside the door – we had honestly walked by it like 3 times but they must not have been set up yet. Maybe we were distracted by the naked man who decided to just change clothes right in front of God and everyone at the entrance to transition. It took a few frustrating laps to locate the entrance to the swim start where we did our good luck and goodbye hugs before Kelly jumped into the lake for the in water pro start and I weaved my way closer to the back of the self-seeded pack. I stood at the railing watching the pro packs swim their first loop as the sun rose over the rooftops of this cute little French town and all the Europeans chattered around me. I had a brief moment of overwhelming emotion and teared up and almost started freaking out but I stopped myself and said a prayer for a good calm confident swim for both of us and refocused on the day ahead. We kept inching forward to the dock and I was feeling good, ready, committed to a great race.

Then I’m diving in off the dock and all hell breaks loose. My brand new (open water and pool tested) goggles were fogging up within seconds. The time trial style start didn’t provide the thinned out field that I anticipated. The water was not clear, like couldn’t see my own arms in front of me. The sun was blindingly right in my eyes breathing left, which was the side the buoys were on. The water was reverberating off the seawall creating tons of chop. It just plain sucked. I couldn’t calm down or get into a rhythm. I actually hung onto a kayak for a bit to get my bearings. Every time I’d stop to sight or clear my goggles the guys in boats would ask if I was okay. It took me over 14 minutes to get to the 500m buoy and some quick math told me this could be a 2 hour swim. The outbound half of the first loop took FOREVER. I spent a lot of time debating with myself whether or not to quit on the dock at the end of that first loop. But by the 1000m buoy I was starting to feel better, manage the situation – it wasn’t pretty, but I was making progress. We had to exit the water and run a little ways then jump back in. Perfect opportunity to bail. Here was my chance! It had taken me 50 minutes to go 1900m. I was pissed. I am better than this! I’ve had some awesome open water swims this summer. Of course I’d never questioned whether or not it would be wetsuit legal so my 1:20 time goal was definitely under revision without it, but I just didn’t know how much it would wear me out to actually have to swim for 2 hours without one, and I had the whole rest of the day to consider. But I came all the way to France. I had prepared for this. I didn’t even have the car key so if I quit, I’d be sitting around for the next 9 hours waiting for Kelly to finish. So I jumped back in. And scraped the ever living $hit out of my right foot on the damn concrete boat ramp hiding in the murky water at the end of the dock. UGH. I couldn’t even figure out where to swim because the sun was so blinding. I was still pretty mad swimming the second loop but at least I wasn’t getting swum over constantly – now I was the one passing people. I had resigned to having a terrible swim split and I’d figured out I could go roughly 500m before the goggles got so clouded that I absolutely had to stop and clear them, so now it was just managing my attitude and getting to the next buoy, and the next, until finally I got to turn for the exit. The old man in front of me was struggling to stand up so I fell over running into him and scraped up my left knee. Perfect. Something over an hour and forty minutes, but it was over. Nothing like a terrible horrible frustrating slow swim to start what I had hoped would be a perfect day for a nice big PR.

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I never get excited for the bike leg for a triathlon. I mean it’s one step closer to running, but all the uncontrollables make me anxious for it. But today, I was sooo looking forward to getting on the bike. Anything but swimming, please God. I didn’t even sit in transition. Swim skin off, tri top on. Shoes, helmet, glasses, go. Worked on my cool wings as I hobbled to my bike and hustled the long way to the mount line. Next time I need to remember to have a nice big snot blowing session instead of doing it for the first 2 hours on the bike. The first few miles getting out of town was twisty and bumpy and I hit so many potholes that by the time I got to some decent asphalt I could tell my derailleur was all kinds of jacked up. Great. Always nice to look forward to 6 plus hours of riding with a noisy chain and sketchy shifting. It was overcast and cool (not the 97 degrees we were anticipating) but I was in a foul mood from the swim. Happy to be riding, but angry that the day had started off so badly. There are hardly any women on the course but the men keep zipping by me. This is not unusual, however, considering how bad my swim went, I was just a little confused why they were all starting the bike after me. It should have dawned on me that I wasn’t the only one who struggled with that swim and that might have helped my attitude, but I was in a yuck place and feeling sorry for myself so that didn’t occur to me at all. 112 miles is a long ways to go and it wasn’t thrilling but it really wasn’t bad at all. I ate, I drank, I dumped water on my wings, I enjoyed the beautiful countryside, the British fellas were friendly, my attitude improved. My favorite part of the course is the last 15 miles of the loop – ironically, the hilly section. I didn’t mind the false flats or the cute towns, but the hills were more interesting and very pretty. Made a quick stop at special needs for nice cold Rocketfuel refills and chamois cream and started the second loop with a little more push on the pedals. Instead of getting passed nonstop now I was doing the passing, and finally seeing some ladies. It drizzled a few times which was awesome – didn’t affect the roads, but kept things cool. The pro men started passing me around half way through and I kept wondering if Kelly would catch me and if she did, would I tell her what a terrible swim I had? I didn’t want to distract her from her race but wanted her to know how things had gone so she didn’t worry when I was taking so long to finish later. But it was a non-issue, I managed to not get lapped by the ladies. I made a point to work the hills and was bummed when I realized I wouldn’t make my 6:30 split goal (range had really been 6:15-30). Lucky me, my garmin was 3 miles short and all of a sudden I was rolling into transition for a 6:23 split which really lifted my spirits.

My hips did the thing where they don’t like to stand up straight coming off the bike, so the long walk to rack my bike was a good opportunity to stretch them out, even if it cost me time. I did sit down to put on my socks and shoes over my poor bloody (swim scraped) feet and was sad that somehow after all the bag packing and repacking I hadn’t put any lube in my t2 bag so there would probably be some blister action happening. Pulled all the extra crap out of my shirt pockets from the bike and threw in my planned run nutrition, took a second to fill up my handheld bottle with water from the table and almost ran into a fence turning the wrong way out of the tent. A volunteer yelled at me to put my bib on as I was trying to buckle my belt while running out the chute and I pulled up my arm sleeves as I turned onto the run path and through the shower station. Quads were feeling the push from the bike but of course I was jetting off at a 7:30 pace blazing by everyone and trying to catch my breath. The path was half runners, half spectators – picture scooters, bikes, strollers, dog leashes, and a stream of tired stinky racers gutting it out on uneven asphalt. It cleared up as we got away from the venue though and then the first aid station appeared. Coke in mouth, water on sleeves. I’d repeat that 5 times per lap but I wouldn’t remember to walk them until #3 on that first lap. I was just too excited to run and accidentally forgot that part of my race plan and ticked off some stupidly fast splits. Goal pace was 8:45, not 8:25 so I needed to walk and chill out. Then I started seeing more reasonable numbers. And I was feeling pretty great, considering. Taking salt licks every mile, staying cool, no desire to eat though, which might come back to haunt me later. At the end of each lap you ran through the finish line, like literally across the red carpet but right next to the actual arch, then back out of the little stadium to get a bracelet and start your next lap. Red, yellow, blue, finish. Oh how I coveted that blue bracelet. Second lap was much like the first, feeling strong, sticking to my plan, thinking I would probably have to stop and pee but the port-o-jons were sparse and I kept going even when I saw one. I had dreams of running a 3:40 which should have cued me to realize I was running too fast. I could tell my garmin mileage was getting off but I crossed the finish line the second time at 1:47. Uh yeah, a little fast. Hmm… okay third lap. The need to pee was getting strong, too strong, and there were no bathrooms for miles it seemed. So I did the unthinkable – I peed myself. I know people do it on the bike, but I don’t think people do it on the run. Dear God, I am disgusting! Was close to an aid station so dumped water down my shorts and hoped no one noticed (and that I didn’t smell! well, at least any worse than I already did). Alright that happened, time to get back to business. I had some enthusiastic French gentlemen fans under the first bridge who always brought a big smile to my face. And I was still running a great pace, so people cheered everywhere “bravo! allez Emily! on y va!” or something like that. All day long, on the bike and run, the French cheered like we were Olympians – they were fantastic. But it happened again! This time I grabbed a shower head from a volunteer at an aid station and doused my lower half. My soggy socks were the least of my problems now lol. Somewhere in the midst of my hydration problems I must have missed some salt doses because by the end of my third lap my stomach was growing uncooperative as well. I finally stopped in a potty just before running through the finish line area but after getting my blue bracelet I had to take up a run walk, and boy was I pissed mad. Upped my salt intake and after a mile or so I was back on track, not moving as quickly, but running between aid stations at least. It was a mental battle of managing my expectations, forcing myself to suffer, and trying to enjoy the final few miles in spite of it all. The tummy trouble had ruined my sub 12 goal but I could still PR, I was sure of it, if I just kept moving at a steady pace. Some of the more rowdy spectating groups were disbanding and it was getting a little quieter on course but the volunteers were still going strong and it felt awesome to be in the home stretch. Again, I was just awed by the competitors walking with only 1 or 2 bracelets, they would be out there for quite some time, what guts.

My final lap around the finish line stadium was such a relief. I didn’t see Kelly even though she was there, it was so crowded and loud, and there were a few people finishing just ahead of me but I think I heard my name. The emcees were insanely awesome – they were basically running a discotheque in the park for 12 hours.

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The finishers tent was nothing more than a bottle of water, a t-shirt, and a long line for a massage. Kelly came and found me in line and we lamented the swim and I told her my stomach kinda crapped out around mile 20 – I think she thought I was really unhappy and asked me if my run was like a 4:10 and was kind of shocked when I told her it was actually a 3:50 for a 5 minute PR overall. Of course it was like pulling teeth to get her to tell me she finished 3rd – for her first pro 140.6 podium! I made friends with a first timer also named Emily waiting next in line and we all chatted til it was our turn. The emcees asked Kelly to be at the finish for the last hour (10:30-11:30) so I got my morning clothes bag, cleaned up and changed and we sat on the patio having donuts and beer (okay, only I had beer) and discussing the day. We eventually checked out my gear and took it all to the car then headed back to the finish area for some soft serve and hung out watching the party. For the last hour we actually went down to the finish line and partied with the other winners and emcees. At 11:30 they set off fireworks then showed a really great video from the day and bid us all adieu. It had been a pretty epic day, no question. Thank you Ironman Vichy!

Takeaways:

things are different in France –

  1. volunteers are great but not as knowledgable as we needed them in several instances
  2. there was zero mechanical support on the bike course
  3. there were lots of officials on motorcycles and strict rules about drafting but I never saw a single black card given
  4. ice is not a thing
  5. there are no bike catchers or finish line catchers
  6. supposedly you aren’t allowed to run shirtless, so I didn’t, but I saw plenty of shirtless women running
  7. you have to wear your bib on the bike or you get DQ’d
  8. you can’t wear a tri kit under a swim skin if it isn’t wetsuit legal – they made a special exception for this day that you could wear ONE layer under a swim skin – and they DQ’d a bunch of people for wearing a sports bra, a tri top, and a swim skin, even Pros

things that affected my performance –

  1. not being able to practice swim at the actual venue is tough – I actually haven’t at any of my half or full venues, and I think it would really help in the future
  2. building my own bike and only getting a cursory check out by a mechanic might have left it in less than ideal shape for race day, that’s a tricky thing about flying to a race
  3. I wasted 2 hours on the bike being mad about the swim – that was just stupid
  4. I honestly just didn’t visualize or run through my race plan enough – and started off my run too fast and didn’t get in any nutrition, which may have contributed to my (honestly very mild) stomach issue. last year I at least got down like 1 gel and 1 pack of chews then some bananas towards the end – this time it was only coke and a few oranges

things I’m proud of –

  1. not quitting on the swim. it was a very real possibility
  2. pushing on the bike not knowing how it would affect my run
  3. much better transitions!
  4. overcoming a huge setback on the swim and not being defeated by a setback on the run

And I’m not feeling burned out or finished or anything – I have a fire in my belly for more – because I know I am capable of much better. I am more fit than the circumstances allowed me to perform. Yes I’m registered for Roth next July but I don’t think I can wait that long to go again. So we’ll see what I come up with in the meantime 😀

Again, it wouldn’t have been possible without the wisdom and support of my coach, my friends and training partners, and all my teammates spread across the country. I really wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t fun like 80% of the time. Running is my first love, it is in those moments that I feel confident, strong, smart, and talented. To misquote the movie line, it is there that I feel God’s pleasure. The sermon at church tonight was about the inseparable nature of grace and truth in Christ Jesus – and how through His Spirit, we receive grace and truth, are convicted of righteousness, and are made free. We are constantly becoming more of who we are – more you-ier. Sports have a beautiful way of refining us, tearing us down, exposing our weakness, and providing unlimited opportunities to learn and grow and be made strong under wise teaching. It’s a never-ending process and I look forward to becoming more of who I’m meant to be, as an athlete, a daughter, a sister, a friend, and a child of God.

Iron Adventures in France Part Un

The backstory:

Life in Seattle during tax season was stressful. Trying to learn a new job, make friends in a new city, date in a new culture, train in the dark, live within my means, it was a lot. I hardly slept, I gained a ton of weight, I drank daily, cried frequently, and doubted myself regularly. But April 18th came and went and I had the promise of a full time job, new friends and training partners, great weather, and a miracle weight loss pill. Seriously, things had really turned around – even if I was still having housing problems and night sweats.

 

I had been thinking about Ecuador 70.3 with my coach/friend Kelly the end of July but travel warnings were high and logistics tricky, so I shifted gears to Whistler 70.3, same timeframe. I headed east for almost 3 weeks of vacation with the family, training with Charlotte friends, and shipping my belongings back to Seattle. I returned to the PNW ready for summer fun and out of the blue Kelly suggested a trip to France for either a 70.3 or 140.6. I’m sure she thought I’d go for the 70.3 and we could just alternate sherpa-ing for one another. After some quick internet research we secured accommodations and were watching flights while she loaded up my training volume to see if I could realistically go for the full distance. And I searched for some race reports to scout the course. Learnings: wetsuit swim, “fast” bike, flat hot run. Bingo! This was my race.

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But hold on. This meant I had to swim. I can count on one hand how many times I swam between Ironman Chattanooga and tax day. (For the uninformed, that’s September 28, 2015, to April 18, 2016). Seriously, 5 swims. Naturally I ran right out and bought (luckily at a Timex team discount) the best wetsuit on the market – made especially for women w curves. Thank you Blue Seventy! And then there’s the whole I suck at climbing hills thing, so I swapped out my cassette and derailleur for some pansy sizes so I could actually ride places like Orcas Island and Whistler BC, even if I did still only average 13-14mph, at least I wasn’t walking up the hills. [Okay, I walked up a few, on Orcas. You just try it and see if you don’t.]

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Just in case you weren’t keeping up – I’m saying that I registered on June 27 for an Ironman on August 28. In the 8 weeks leading up to the actual registration I had been training 11-14 hours/week so I’m not a total moron – and you can be certain that my coach wouldn’t let me do anything completely idiotic. Last year I went from fat lazy Euro-tripping girl to Ironwoman in 100 days, but I was unemployed and road tripping and focused primarily on my training. This year I had to navigate an 8-5 job schedule, a ton of summer weekend travel plans, and a personal priority of building my social network in this city that I desperately wanted to call home. But it seemed to be working out alright – some solo workouts, some with friends, lots of early mornings at the hot outdoor pool in Kirkland, lots of sweaty lunch runs, a couple exasperating rides on Ironman courses in Coeur d’alene, Whistler, and Boulder, and some confidence boosting open water swims in the beautiful lakes that make Seattle such amazing training ground.

Green Lake, Whistler, BC

Then France:

Before I knew it, summer was winding down and it was time to catch my flight to Europe. A whole bunch of other stuff was going on and distracting me but I had pretty much nailed my training and was as fit as I could be given my limited lead time. Kelly and I were ready to crush this race and show all the Europeans what’s up. We had big goals and high hopes. Travels went flawlessly, bikes unpacked, jet lag averted (as best as possible), and French roads navigated. As soon as we arrived in Vichy we parked near a public swim area on the lake and tried to go for a swim. The adorable French lifeguards informed us that was not possible as the water was barely knee deep in the permissable “swim area.” So we started out to run a loop around the lake instead, stopping at the race venue to get some tickets to the local pool and scouting out the swim start/transition area. It was a nice area with tree lined paths along the water, but good Lord, it was hot. Like 97 degrees hot, not a cloud in the sky. At 5:30 in the afternoon we were dry mouthed and sweat soaked. Hmm… this was not good. It took some doing but we made it to the sweet outdoor pool and a cute French guy sweet talked a coach into letting us share a lane with his team practicing after public hours. Me and 50m pools do not really get along, but this one was pretty cool and I suffered thru about 1000m before Kelly decided to give me some pointers on my stroke which magically changed everything. Gee, great timing. A local woman chatted us up and informed us that it was highly likely the water temp would rise to non-wetsuit legal temps before the weekend. Not good news. Eventually we made it to the countryside Chateau that would be our home for 5 nights and the lovely Dutch couple that runs the B&B served us a fabulous dinner and we tucked in for the night.

 

Thursday. 3 more sleeps. All the carbs. Time to ride the bikes. 5 miles in I realize the reason I feel so shaky and anxious is because my headset is not screwed down correctly, like not even close. I’m lucky I didn’t kill myself. I managed to get back in one piece but while going in and out of the chateau in search of a tool to fix it, I fell hard down the steps in my cleats, severely bruising my left hip. So now I’m freaked out and want a mechanic to check the bike over and also in a lot of pain and wondering how that might affect my race as well. But for now, back to the pool we go. Coach does a lot of workouts during taper, so apparently now I do too. We have trouble navigating the weird European public pool locker room protocol and get smacked around a bit by aggressive men in tiny swimsuits. Then on to packet pickup where hardly anyone speaks English and we can’t figure out when athlete’s meeting is, where a mechanic is, or why there are no chips in our packets. I couldn’t even negotiate an appointment at the massage tent. It was hot as balls and we were getting cranky so we left to go drive the bike course. Beautiful French countryside and cute hay bale sculptures welcoming Ironman racers awaited us, as did hot sun, hot wind, and bumpy roads. Our favorite section was near the end of the loop on the nicely paved rolling hills thru the only tree covered area before the descent back into town. Couldn’t figure out where special needs would be located and begrudged being routed over speed bumps but overall, it looked nice and doable, just very open to the elements. We parked near the Opera house to run the only part of the course we’d missed the previous day, did a 30 minute shake out then enjoyed some quiche at an outdoor cafe in the park because we were too early for dinner which apparently starts at 7:30 lol. Then I took a unisom to make sure I got some rest.

Ironpeople swim practice

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Friday: 2 more sleeps. After official word from the race organizers that short a minor miracle, the water was indeed not going to be wetsuit legal, I decided to investigate skinsuit options from the vendors in the village. Ironically, most of them were still peddling wetsuits and were ill-prepared to make some quick cash off last minute too hot temps via skinsuit purchases. Introduce Skinfit. Not exorbitantly priced, helpful staff, and a fire engine red suit in just my size, so let’s just add that to my over-budget Ironman expenditures for the summer. Naturally, back to the pool we go. Admittedly it did feel pretty slick, and boosted my confidence a little. There were a ton of Iron-people getting in workouts and the energy was buzzing in the heat. Afterwards we stopped at the Decathlon sporting goods store to see about a bike mechanic and they swore there was a tent at the race venue but took pity on me and let me bring my bike inside for a quick check anyways. One twist on the cable adjuster and he said I was good – not super reassuring but oh well. Then we drove across the street and parked at the hippodrome (hippodrome ˈhɪpədrəʊm/noun: hippodrome; plural noun: hippodromes 1. a theatre or concert hall. “the Birmingham Hippodrome” 2. (in ancient Greece or Rome) a stadium for chariot or horse races.) and started running. Not long after, a little old French man in a golf cart chased us down and made it clear (in French) that we had to get out of the stable area – that there was no cut thru to the running path. On our way out several other gentlemen emphasized our trespassing and directed us to the exit – Message received! We ended up at the venue and were scouting out the swim buoys when a very nice English speaking race staffer appeared to show us the swim entry/first exit/re-entry/final exit situation and confirm that the water was already at not-wetsuit legal temps. Well shit. The uncontrollable. But hey, running at an 8:30 pace in 97 degrees doesn’t feel hard, so there’s that. Tried to go to the grocery but it was closed for siesta so we picked up some goodies at the bakery next door and had an only half-intelligible conversation with the baker about his bread and our race. We enjoyed yet another quiche on the lawn back at the chateau before a super short ride to make sure my bike felt okay. Showered up and headed back to town for the Pro Athlete meeting which turned out to be quite dramatic. Apparently WTC defers to French regulation rules which are different than the worldwide Ironman standards on some very key issues, namely in this non-wetsuit legal situation, what you can wear under a swimskin. I was wanting clarification on whether or not you can run shirtless but this conversation took a serious turn towards the ridiculous as people discussed getting naked in transition and what constitutes “underwear.” Final ruling as they started tearing down the Ironman banners adorning the meeting room: ONE LAYER ONLY – with the exception that women can wear sports bras. Hmpf. Heads spinning, nerves strung out, emotions running high. At least I finally found out where we can park lol. Stopped at a fancy grocery for dinner supplies and continued to stress out over a nice home cooked meal before starting on the gear bag organization. More unisom for sure.

last minute purchase

Saturday. Big day. Chill day. Because of the 70.3 taking place we couldn’t drop off our bikes til 4pm so we had all day to do our last shake out bike ride and prep our gear before heading into town again. I really loved our country ride this day and it gave me happy thoughts for the big ride ahead. Email from the race director saying miracles do happen, but not the one I was really hoping for. It still wasn’t wetsuit legal, BUT the French had acquiesced and were letting competitors were TWO layers for the swim – a trisuit under a swimskin was allowed. Big relief for Kelly, and saved me the embarrassment of getting naked in transition to put on shorts. So carry on then, phew. Eat, drink, organize bags, eat, drink, reorganize bags, eat, drink some more. Eventually we head into town to rack our bikes and drop transition bags. It’s not super clear how the run ins and outs will work but we get the general idea (I still screwed up run out from T2 on race day but there was a lovely metal fence to stop me in my tracks). The volunteers were great but it wasn’t the language barrier that hindered our comprehension – people just didn’t know where things were located – namely morning clothes drop off and specials needs bags drop off. Hopefully it would be obvious in the morning, you know, in the dark, with announcements in French, lol. I wasn’t thrilled with my rack position – far from the bike out and far from the pumps for race morning. After watching Kelly stand in line forEVER at Whistler I was really anxious about pumping my tires in the morning since my pump broke on the plane trip. Nothing to do about it though, so back to the chateau for more eating and hydrating and organizing. I braided my hair, got in the boots one last time, watched Inside Out and IM’d endlessly with Tom til the upstairs neighbors finally turned down their music enough for me to fall asleep.

the pro

I had spent remarkably little time mentally preparing for this race. I felt physically ready, aside from the bruised hip and sore arms from my very recently updated swim stroke technique. I slept decently, overcame jetlag, was sufficiently carbed and hydrated. I had goals naturally, that had been discussed with my coach, and there was concern about the heat wave, so adjustments for possible temps in the high 90s would have to be made. I have been distracted and since I have done this before I guess I wasn’t as anxious, but in retrospect I could have devoted more time to the mental run through and game plan.

shakeout fun

Sunday. Race Day. To be found in detail here 

on the road again!

I’ve found myself spending a lot of time alone lately, on the bike, on the trails, in the car – and wishing I had a way to record my thoughts. For whatever reason I find myself to be my most poetic (at least by my own accord) when I’m running, but as soon as the run is over, I’m caught back up in life and never take the time to write down (or even remember) what I came up with. Last Saturday I spent two sweat soaked hours on the trails at Lake Norman State Park and it was the perfect time to challenge myself and sort through some emotions. I didn’t sign up for an ironman because I thought it would be easy or fun or a great way to make new friends. I signed up because I knew it would be a huge challenge, physically and mentally. I wanted to (want to) discipline myself, face my deepest fears, overcome my demons, and find out what I’m really made of. In my first three weeks of real training, I’ve already had to recommit myself numerous times. Adjust expectations. Pull myself out of funks. Quit making excuses. I’ve made it harder on myself by taking the show on the road. Being away from all my running and cycling friends in Charlotte means a lot of solo workouts. A lot. And reaching out to strangers to find routes and rides (which so far have eluded me). So I can only hope that all this forced self-motivation will help me on race day. Race day seems really far away when I think about how far I have to go in my training to get ready for it, but it is frighteningly close from a calendar perspective. Then there are days when I just run for time and almost don’t even notice how far I went distance-wise. It is weird to surprise myself at the end of a 4 hour ride with such a great run off and then realize I just rode 70 miles all by myself – a distance i’ve only ever come close to twice, in groups. Part of me worries that if I don’t pause to recognize where I’m at this week, on September 27th I won’t be able to comprehend how I got from a pudgy out of shape world traveler to an ironman in 100 days. For the sake of really wanting to finish in a decent time for my personal gratification, I’m essentially praying to be the Fillnows’ biggest turn around project for 2015. But I have a long ways to go yet – physically and mentally. And I’m just getting started.

Leaving Charlotte was stressful and hectic and emotional for a lot of reasons I won’t go into here. Plus I was delayed because someone ran over my bike rack and I had to wait for a replacement. imageBut it gave me more time to visit with some friends and get organized for another 2 months on the road, this time domestically (well, staying on the continent anyways). I’ve had a good few days visiting with my sister and her babes in Cinci. Tomorrow I’m hoping to drop in on Greatfather for lunch before heading to Michigan to catch the IronCowboy for century ride #2!