Michigan Coast to Coast 2021

 Well, it’s been a minute since I wrote a blog (five years, to be precise), but finally I had an experience that was so different and so unique, and I spent so much time during it telling myself, “make sure you write this thing down so you remember it for next time,” that I figured it was finally time to get typing again, if only so I have a record for later. 

Spoiler alert: I finished

Last Saturday, I completed the 208ish mile Coast to Coast Gravel Grinder, riding from Au Gres, Michigan, on the shore of Lake Huron to Ludington, Michigan, on the shore of Lake Michigan.  It was one of the more impulsive and it was crazy and I cannot wait for more.

Backing up -- for the past few months, I’ve been helping an athlete I coach, Jack, prepare for the Coast to Coast race, which he’s had his eye on since 2019.  At first, I admired Jack’s thirst for adventure and desire to enter these crazy ultra endurance events, but thought it was a little crazy.  But then, as I read more about the race, trying to figure out how best to help him prepare, I got more and more intrigued.  I’d recently (like, late April) purchased a gravel bike myself, and was really falling in love with off-road riding.  Still, I was a total rookie, hoping to jump into a gravel event at some point, but figuring that point was way down the line.

But I kept reading about Coast to Coast, and the intrigue grew.  I really don’t know why, but about 10 days out, I got an inkling of an urge to sign up myself.  I was in Ohio, staying with family, so it was possible from a logistics perspective, but who knew if it was possible from a physical perspective.  I gave myself a couple nights to sleep on it to see if it still seemed like a good idea, but as days passed I got more excited about the idea.  Coast to Coast requires riders to have SAG support, or at least someone within range to pick you up if you decide to stop, so I threw the idea out to my dad, who also seemed slightly intrigued if not perplexed as to where this idea was coming from.  One step closer.  Finally, not wanting to steal his thunder by making his event about me, I ran it by Jack.  He seemed pretty stoked by the idea.  So on Sunday, 6 days before the race, I pulled the trigger and entered. 

It’s hard to really explain how underprepared I was for this event.  I’d had my gravel bike for 2 months, but could still almost count on 2 hands the number of actual gravel rides I’d done.  My longest ride since last July was 5 hours (on roads), and I hadn’t gone longer than 40 miles at a time on gravel.  Plus, perhaps more worrisome, my ability to deal with my bike mechanically was limited.  Disc brakes and tubeless tires were new to me -- I had vague ideas of how to deal with a flat tire with a tubeless, but hadn’t actually done it, but really if something more significant happened to my bike (very, very possible over 200+ miles off-road), I wasn’t sure I’d be able to manage it. 

But at the same time, I had years of endurance training, coupled with knowledge of how to physically and emotionally manage long, long days.  This was going to be way longer than any Ironman I’d done, but the basics were the same -- keep eating, keep drinking, pace appropriately for fitness, accept and manage the highs and lows, and just keep going.  I was perhaps naively confident in my ability to complete the race, and was enough of a rookie that I was able to wrap my head around the idea that I wasn’t out there racing, I was just trying to finish.  It’s been a long while since I was able to do an event with the simple goal of finishing, and it was refreshing. 

After a lot of last minute shopping, both for gear AND food (we took SO much food), my dad and I took off for Michigan on Friday afternoon.   For almost the entire 5+ hour drive, it poured rain.   I occupied my time with repeatedly looking at every weather app I could find, and the conclusion was becoming pretty obvious -- after soaking rains across the whole course on Friday, we’d be riding in the rain for most of the race.   The course for Coast to Coast actually isn’t much gravel-- it’s sand-based dirt.  I got a little nervous.  I was confident that I could ride 200 miles on gravel, but on wet, sloppy sand?  I really had no idea what to expect. 

Food Prep - and this was only some

We arrived in Michigan around 5:00, and met up with Jack and his crew (his wife Allyson and her BFF, Cami) for dinner.  The nerves and excitement were pretty palpable -- Jack and I were both rookies at this sort of event, but so were our crews.  We discussed logistics, the weather, and all of the rumors we’d read on the race’s Facebook page.  Worried a little about how the bikes would hold up after riding through mud, my dad decided to stop in at Meijer and buy a fertilizer sprayer that we could fill with water and use at the Checkpoints to clean our drive trains.  I think that decision saved our races. 

The pre-race meeting was pretty short and informal -- the vibe much more chill than the typical pre-Ironman meetings I’ve sat through, with the athletes a lot more “normal”  looking than the “M-Dot head to toe” sorts that I see at triathlons.  I dug it -- I liked this crowd.  We all laughed early on when the RD stated the obvious --  that we’d better all adjust our expectations with the weather.  “Maybe double your planned finish time,” he joked.   But when he promised that they’d stay at the finish line until 5 AM if necessary, I had a feeling he wasn’t joking that much.  

I headed to bed early after plugging in my many devices, with a 3:30 AM alarm set.  Morning came quickly and it was absolutely delightful to wake up with a feeling of excited anticipation, instead of the crushing anxiety and fear I typically have before triathlons.  I loved the feeling of being a total rookie with absolutely no idea what I was in for.

The Race

The race started promptly at 6:00 A.M. under clear, but somewhat ominous skies.  I was really quite nervous about the mass start -- I don’t have much experience riding in groups of more than a few, and had heard that a lot of these gravel races are fast and furious at the beginning.  I started heading towards the middle of the pack, then fortunately ran into Jack and his friend Kevin.  The race started without much fanfare, and off we went -- a slow roll out for the first couple miles on a pretty beat up, technical road, then onto a bit of pavement where the race actually started and the pace got hot.

I told myself about a thousand times before the race that I needed to be smart and steady -- conserve energy, don’t burn any matches, ease into a very manageable pace.  But when the race started, I couldn’t control those competitive urges.  I saw a fairly large pack up the road, and I immediately switched into Zwift mode, hearing an urgent “close the gap!” in my mind and definitely wasting WAY too much energy trying to catch the group in front of me.  But, I did what I did, and that group was pretty solid, with a couple strong girls in the mix.  I hung with them for a while, doing some time on the front, some time on the back, through the early miles that were predominantly tarmac.  

But then we finally hit the dirt, and I was a bit more tentative, not wanting to be too close to anyone, and struggling to find good lines through the wet sand.  With the combination of stress from riding in the group and navigating the conditions, and the somewhat hot early effort, my heart rate was way higher than I wanted, so I dropped off a bit, and was shortly thereafter swallowed up by another, bigger pack of 15 or so, that I rode with for most of the first 50 miles. 

Typical early roads

I’m not sure we were even an hour into the race when the torrential rain started.  I’d made a rookie mistake of not bringing sunglasses with lighter colored lenses, so I’d taken my glasses off when it was still a bit dark and put them in my pocket.  Now, with the rain, then were soaked and I didn’t even try to put them on.  The terrain got super sloppy, wet sand kicking up from the riders in front into my face.  I accepted the mouthfuls of sand but was so worried about my eyes and my contact lenses.  I kept blinking as fast as I could, trying not to let anything stick in my eyes, and crossed my fingers that I’d make it through these sections.  Anxiety was high, as was my heart rate, but I just kept trying to follow the other riders, observing the lines they were taking and trying to follow suit. 

The first 54 miles to Checkpoint 1 were the least technical and had the most pavement.  I gradually grew a little more comfortable with the pack riding but still didn’t fully give in.  Every time we hit pavement, I went straight to the front of the line, into the aerobars, and pulled the group.  I knew I was riding like a total idiot, putting in way too much effort and burning matches unnecessarily (I could hear the voice of my coach Tim, who DSed a lot of our Zwift races last year, saying, “get off the front!”)  But it was my comfort place and what I knew, so I just kept burning those matches.  I got lots of thanks and kudos for the pulls, but one (extremely nice) girl asked me at one point if I was a triathlete, so I have a feeling my lack of pack riding skills were coming through loud and clear:) 

CHECKPOINT 1

Quicker than expected, we rolled into Checkpoint 1, having averaged almost 19 miles per hour, which was great in light of the conditions.   My dad had parked and set up shop.  The wet sand was absolutely decimating the bikes (the sounds coming from them were so alarming), and priority #1 at ALL the checkpoints was cleaning as much sand off the drivetrain and brakes as possible.  He went to work on the bike, using the sprayer to clear the cassette, while I bathroomed, inexplicably put on a new jersey and socks (I mean, it was raining and whatever I put on was going to get wet, but it seemed important at the time), switched hydration packs, and reloaded my bike with food.  All my plans to “not race” had kind of gone out the door when the race actually started, which was Mistake #1, and when my dad told me I was 3rd or 4th woman coming through, I felt a bit more urgency than I should have.  But we got the bike mostly cleaned, the chain re-lubed, and I headed back out for more. 

Segment 2

The next portion of the race, another 50 miles or so, was more of the same.  Wet, sloppy sand, plus a little more elevation change, minus the packs.  I felt a sense of relief no longer being with the pack, but as the field spread out and most were riding solo or with one or two other, the miles ticked by slower.  Every road was a different little puzzle - all were wet and sandy, but the line was different for each.  Some were more dry on the sides, some more dry in the middle, some would start relatively dry and smooth, and then there’d suddenly be a wet and extra slow section.  There were ruts from wheels and holes to dodge, so in addition to the physical difficulty of having all my watts getting sucked up by the sand, it was mentally exhausting constantly trying to figure out the line.  I almost bit it a few times but stayed up, but as I saw riders on fat bikes seemingly float on by, I spent a lot of time questioning my own gear choices.  Would wider tires have been better? (I was on 38s).  Was my tire pressure too high? (I have no clue).  Is that horrible metallic sound my brake is making bad?  (yes, it was).

Filthy!

But there wasn’t much I could do beyond carrying forward, so I did, singing songs and chanting mantras in my head, putting my feedings at specific times so that I could look forward to a Clif Blok in 7 minutes if I just kept pedaling, etc. etc.  I was generally catching people and not being caught by a lot, so I felt like I was riding decently, and rolled into CP 2 really wanting a fast transition to keep me in the race.

CP 2

When I rolled in to Checkpoint 2, my dad said I was in 2nd or 3rd, which surprised me a bit, and probably contributed to me rushing too much here.  Up to this point in the race, I’d been wearing my road shoes and road pedals -- I have gravel-specific shoes and SPD pedals, but the shoes weren’t well broken in and when I’d ridden in them on Friday, I had some odd ankle pain, so I’d opted to go with shoes that felt best for the first half of the race, knowing it wasn’t technical and I probably wouldn’t need to put my feet down or unclip.  The plan had been to change pedals and shoes at CP2, as I knew the next segment was very technical and I’d 100% be doing a fair bit of hike-a-bike.  But sand was everywhere.  We got the road pedals off, but the spindles were full of sand, and I couldn’t get the SPD pedals screwed in.  I kept trying, growing increasingly frustrated and very, very aware of the clock ticking, and eventually just said, “forget it,” put the road pedals back on and rolled out, overly rushed and also forgetting my sunglasses and gloves. Major Mistake #2.

Segment 3

At this point, we rolled into the Manistee National Forest.  The hills truly started in earnest, and the wide farm roads turned into narrow multi-use trails under a canopy of trees.  It was beautiful in there, but on the narrow double track, and then single track, I started to feel totally over my head, from a technical perspective.  That together with the increasingly rickety sounding bike, and I was growing more and more concerned that getting to the finish line might not be as easy as I thought.  Fortunately, I was going back and forth for a while with another gal.  She was definitely riding stronger than me at that point in the race and I was duly impressed -- the only reason she was staying in range was because she was having issues with her chain -- but I’d also figured out by this point that highs and lows would hit each of us at different times, so I tried to motivate myself to stay close and hope that my next high might correspond with her low and I’d catch back up. 

In the meantime, the wet sand got deeper, and I started to lose it.   The first very soft sand pit we hit, I tried to ride through, and I promptly toppled over and landed on a bush, slicing my hand up in the meantime (and kicking myself for forgetting the gloves that would have prevented that!).  I knew a few steps in that crap in my road shoes would mean that I wouldn’t be able to clip in any more, so I took my shoes off, carried my bike through the sand in my socks, put my shoes back on, and rode on.  So pro!  

Too much for me

One time of doing that would have been OK, but those sandy parts kept popping up, so I went through that whole rigamarole over and over and over, growing increasingly frustrated by my lack of skills, improper shoes, and hemorrhaging time. 

And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I rolled fast through a puddle for the sake of the photographer sitting right there, and a couple minutes later, realized my front tire was flat.  Ugh. 

The puddle that caused my flat

I’m no stranger to flats and the guy at the shop had promised me that with his fancy plug tool, I’d be able to repair a puncture in 30 seconds, so I started inspecting the tire, looking for the hole.  The tire was covered with sand, and my hand covered with blood, but I kept searching and could not figure out what had caused the puncture.  You’re not supposed to be able to pinch flat tubeless tires, so I was totally perplexed.  A kind guy stopped to ask if I needed help and I asked him if he could find the puncture.  He couldn’t find it either, so he suggested just putting CO2 in the tire and hoping it’d hold.  Either I botched that process or it was the wrong approach, but all the air quickly went out and I was minus 1 CO2 cartridge.   Option 2 was putting a tube in the tire, so I got started on that process, and he carried on when I assured him I knew what I was doing.  

And then, like a complete moron, I ended up blowing a second CO2 cartridge, and was now without any way to pump the tire.  The field had spread out quite a bit at this point, so I had to wait quite a while for the next rider to come through.  Thank goodness Jake was both very helpful and also carrying a hand pump.  He helped me get the tire pumped up, and I was on my way, so very, very thankful for the kindness of this community, but also frustrated with the turn of events. 

All in all, that ordeal took me about 28 minutes.  That’s horrible!  I saw at least 2 women roll by while I was on the side of the road, so at that point, I switched completely out of race mode, and just tried to get myself to the next checkpoint, at mile 173.  In a way, that was a blessing, because mentally I was a lot happier dealing with the technical stuff when I no longer felt the pressure to go fast.  I kept on keeping on, and after what felt like an eternity, rolled into the final Checkpoint at mile 173.

CHECKPOINT 3

I was a bit shelled by the last 69 miles, which had taken so much out of me mentally and physically, so I was much less rushed when I rolled into CP3.  I took time for the bathroom, realizing sand had really worked its way into places it never should have been, helped to clean the bike thoroughly, tried to clean myself up a bit, and had several sources of caffeine and a pop-tart.  I think I spent almost 15 minutes there, the longest of my stops (aside from the mechanical) We were well into evening by this point, and while I actually felt OK physically, I was just mentally tired and a bit stiff.   Hopping on the saddle again did not feel particularly good, but after 173, 34 miles felt very manageable.  The rain had stopped and there were actually moments of sunshine.  If the bike held up, I knew I’d make it. 

Final Segment

The last segment of the race started with some technical (to me) single-track, complete with climbing over logs and trees, and I grumbled a bit and took my time.  The sounds of brakes squealing echoed through the forest -- our brake pads were all on their very last legs.  I let faster people go ahead of me and just tried not to fall, and soon enough, we were back on wider farm roads.  I started checking my watch and realized I was racing the sun -- there was a special award if you finished before sunset.  I wasn’t sure exactly when the official sunset was, but figured it was around 9:30 P.M., and I was cutting it close.  I’m thankful for that little carrot as it definitely helped me to push through the last 90 minutes or so, when it just seemed like every mile was stretching for an eternity.  I never felt that bad, physically, but I just didn’t really have the ability to push anymore.  My power had gotten lower, my heart rate had dropped.  I was just pedaling it in, and willing myself to keep going.  

When we started getting close to 200 miles, I somehow had in my head that I only had 6 miles, and started promising myself that they’d be downhill!  And pavement!  They weren’t.  And it was actually 8 more miles, which is not an awesome realization at that point in the day, but that sunset was approaching so I kept forcing myself into the aerobars.  Eventually we did hit civilization, and pavement, and I counted down every last tenth of a mile, finally crossing at 9:23 p.m. with a huge smile and a very, very tired body.  

Post-Race

There wasn’t a huge crowd or anything at the finish line, but I didn’t need it.  I was so overwhelmed with what I’d just done.  On completely insufficient training, on a whim, I’d completed a race that was well over 4 hours longer than any Ironman I’d done…. My longest ride ever by a ton, my longest day of exercising ever, by a ton.  When I got off the bike, things immediately seized up, specifically my upper hamstrings, and I was totally unable to lift my legs or bend over.  Imagining if that had happened any earlier, I threw up a thanks to the muscle gods. 

We collected my stuff, cleaned the bike a bit, and participated in a little awards ceremony (I ended up 6th overall but 1st in my age group -- actually second but the 1st place girl was the overall winner).  While the others beat me in by a fair bit, I wasn’t too far behind 2th - 5th -- kind of leaving me wondering what would have happened minus that mechanical nonsense -- but I’m certain that EVERYONE out there dealt with their own adversity and issues.  Mostly, I was super impressed by the strength and kindness of the other women (and men!), and motivated to maybe actually train for this gravel stuff and see what I can do with a little more knowledge and skill.  

Many thanks to my dad for being an excellent support team with only a couple days to prepare; Epic Racing for putting on an awesome event;  Paradise Garage Bike Shop for selling me my bike and giving me tips on how to survive this event; VeloScience bike shop for repairing my bike after it went through the wringer;  Jack and his team for inspiring me to do this race and sharing the experience (and lending me aero bars); my coach, Tim, for not dropping me on the spot when I told him I was doing this the day before, and instead giving me some helpful hints; my friend Angela for inspiring me with her jaw-dropping performance at Unbound 200, sharing tips, and creating an awesome new venture, GirlsGetGritty, that I’m thrilled to be a part of; and my Zwifting besties for keeping my love for cycling going through a pandemic.   Excited for more! 

Nitty Gritty for Those Interested: 

Rode: Cervelo Aspero GRX Di2, 2X 31/48

Tires:  Panaracer Gravel King SK 38 

Nutrition: 

Total +/- 6800 calories over 15hrs

Most calories liquid - a mix of Gatorade Endurance, Skratch SuperFuel, Nuun Endurance

Also had about 6 sleeves of Clif Shot Blox and 10 - 12 Gatorade gels

Had Red Bull and Coke at all Checkpoints, and Starbucks canned Double Espresso at the last 2.  ½ a Pop-Tart at the last CP but didn’t really want any of the other food I brought 

The aftermath -- brake pads

Race Report- Ironman Mont-Tremblant

Whoa!  So, there went eight months.  And seven races.

When I started racing as a pro this year, there were a lot of things I wanted to do.  Buy recovery boots. (Fail)  Stop eating cherry sours so often. (Fail) Keep my apartment clean and become a master of time management. (Fail) Blog regularly. (Double fail).  But, we move on. 

Backing up a bit-- I raced my first pro race, the San Juan 70.3 in March.  Then I did five more 70.3s over the next four months - New Orleans, Chattanooga, Victoria, Coeur d'Alene, Budapest.  It was an exhausting whirlwind of travel, learning new lessons, making lots of mistakes, but generally exceeding my own expectations for the season.  Blogging just never happened.  But Ironman Mont Tremblant was just too much of an experience not to share, so I'm wiping the slate clean and starting anew. Maybe I'll go back and review those six 70.3s later, or at least drop some pictures.

It was after race #5, the Coeur d'Alene 70.3, and during one of the only good weeks of training I've had in the past eight months  (racing has gone decently, training not so much),  that I came up with the brilliant idea to throw an Ironman in the mix.  Ironman was never part of the whatever plan I had, the focus for this year was always going to be the 70.3 distance.  I don't really even like the Ironman distance, and I'm not entirely sure what motivated the impulse other than the feeling that as a pro, I should do one Ironman for the year.   But, once the seed was planted, I scanned through the list of pro races and settled on Ironman Mont-Tremblant, six weeks later.  And for good measure, I added on Budapest 70.3 right in the middle of that 6-week time frame because a family race-cation to Hungary was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

This is not Mont-Tremblant, this is Budapest, which was stunning

I wouldn't change anything because the experiences were amazing, but those six weeks of panic training were really not good  Turns out time-zone hopping and trying to train on the road isn't so optimal for building fitness, and I forgot to take this into account when I decided to do Mont-Tremblant. After getting back from Coeur d'Alene, I flitted all around the world, rarely home for much more than a day or two.  I headed to Ohio for my sister's wedding shower, then quickly to Boulder for a coaching conference, then straight to Budapest for an unbelievable (but tiring) week but a pretty average race.  Lots of workouts were missed, some due to circumstances I couldn't control, some due to circumstances I could control but didn't, some due to sheer exhaustion.  My bike always came with me but didn't always make my flights, unnecessarily adding to the stress.

By the time I got back from Budapest, I had about 10 days to really prepare for this Ironman before heading to Canada.  I did the best I could with that short timeline, but all the travel combined with the extreme dose of panic training meant that I arrived in Mont-Tremblant feeling pretty shelled, exhausted, unable to sleep, and very, very unsure of myself and my limited preparation.  Confidence has never been my strength, but I think I reached a low even for me before this race.

Beautiful Mont-Tremblant

After we got settled in Canada, I rested as much as I could and just tried to soak up the atmosphere.  No town loves triathlon the way Mont-Tremblant does, and the energy was palpable.  I was lucky to have my mother along as Super Sherpa and she tolerated my grumpiness, indulged my pre-race meal requirements (well, pizza's not that hard to go along with), and tried to stay as calm as she possibly could be expected to be about the sub-optimal coffee situation we were facing (did you know there's not currently a Starbucks in the Mont-Tremblant pedestrian village?  Did you also know that caffeine addiction is very much a hereditary condition??)  Gradually,  the fog lifted,  my mood improving bit by bit every day and my body starting to feel a little more normal with every hour.  By Saturday, I actually felt something like a full-fledged human being and ironically, the night before the race I had the best night of sleep I'd had in quite some time.

Pre-race pro picture. They treat the pros so well in Mont-Tremblant

We stayed at the Residence Inn right by the finish line and a mere five minute walk from transition (great call),  which meant for the very first time in my life, I arrived at transition before it had even opened.  With bike freakouts addressed quickly, and game-time costume decisions made after learning that for the pros, wetsuits would not be allowed (age groupers were allowed to wear them), I had plenty of time to chat, head back to the hotel for a real bathroom, make the long walk to the swim start, and warm up a bit before getting a serious case of the feels and tears-welling-up thing when a fighter jet did a fly over right after the Canadian national anthem started.

Definitely get a kick out of personalized bike spots

SWIM (1:05:51, 6th Pro)

My game plan for the swim was simple-- don't swim alone.  This is one big difference I've found between the pro and amateur race- the swim starts much faster and, with a smaller number of racers (only 10 female pros in this race) staying with a pack is pretty critical. 

The horn fired, we ran into the water, I promptly slipped, belly flopped and then just started swimming while the women around me executed graceful dolphin dives and pulled ahead (great start).

The first few minutes were frantic and I could tell by the sound of my own gasping that I was swimming WAY too hard for an Ironman, but I desperately wanted to stick with the pack so I carried on, hoping the pace would settle.  And when it finally did, I found myself right with 3 other women.  From then on, all I focused on was following feet, but as the new kid, trying not piss anyone off by following too closely and actually hitting those feet too many times.  And, one other thing I've learned about racing pro this year?  Sometimes if you accidentally hit the feet of the person in front of you, they'll flip over and start backstroking, making you take the lead and do all the work (didn't happen here, thankfully). 

For the next hour and 5 minutes (oof), Amber expertly led our little train through Lac Tremblant (thanks Amber!).   Jessica hung right on Amber's feet, and I followed Jessica, swimming at a pace that felt manageable but required concentration.  Any little lapse in focus and suddenly those feet started pulling away and I had to put in a little surge to catch back up.   The male age groupers, wearing wetsuits when we were not and starting only 3 minutes behind, started passing us early, which was a new experience for me, but by and large, they were respectful and didn't swim over or interfere with our little train, which was very much appreciated.

The water was really choppy, especially at the far end of the lake, and without wetsuits, I knew the swim would be slow, so I didn't even bother looking at the clock as we exited.  Turned out it was really slow-- a 1:05+, my worst Ironman swim ever despite feeling like I'd swum quite well.   I'm actually glad I didn't know my time, because I got on the bike feeling pretty proud of myself for a well-executed first leg that put me in a decent position.

Bike (5:13:21- 3rd Pro)
T-1 was long  and speedy, much, much faster paced than any transition I'd ever done as an amateur, but I didn't want to throw away all the work I'd done to stick with a pack in the swim by letting them leave me behind in transition (been there, done that) so I ran hard, transitioned fast, and was off on the bike right with Jessica, Amber, and Caroline.  

Of those three, I was really quite happy to be starting the bike at the same time as Amber.  We both raced the Chattanooga 70.3 earlier this year and had gone back and forth all day on the bike before she promptly dropped me like a bad habit in the first 200 meters of the run.  Given that, I felt like our cycling abilities matched well, and she's a very seasoned and experienced Ironman racer, so I figured that if I could stay near her on the bike like I'd done in Chattanooga, I'd be doing well.

But then, maybe one mile in, Amber flew by me like a freight train.  I tried to pick up the pace a bit to go with her but she was seriously hauling,  I couldn't do it, and she quickly disappeared up the road as I grew quickly discouraged.  Age group guys started passing regularly, more so than I remembered in other races.   (Thankfully, there were officials on motos everywhere keeping the racing clean and the men were generally very respectful of not interfering with womens' race, a pleasant surprise).  I was pretty sure that despite my power readings being right in line with what I'd planned, I was totally sucking.   I started freaking out that something on my bike was rubbing despite no actual evidence to support this theory.   That freakout lasted for about an hour.

And then, it started raining-- several hours earlier than we'd anticipated (forecasts called for a 100% chance of storms, starting at 11:00 AM or so).  In a way, the rain was a blessing-- it took my mind off of my perceived suckiness and put it more on trying to stay upright and ride safely.  As the rain became more torrential and the winds picked up, I oddly felt better and better on the bike.  At turn-arounds, I deduced that I was in 5th, and maybe not sucking all that bad after all.  It was hard to see my Garmin with the rain pelting down, but it seemed that I wasn't losing much time on the girls ahead (except Mary Beth Ellis, she was in a class of her own) and actually seemed to be chipping away at 3rd and 4th.  I felt strong on the climbs, nutrition was settling well, power and speed were on point, and all was OK in the world.

The last 12 miles is an out-and-back on Chemin Duplessis-- the punchiest and toughest part of the course.  As we turned on to the road, I looked ahead a bit and was surprised to see both Amber and Amanda Stevens right ahead, riding in 3rd in 4th.  I passed both of them and pushed the next few climbs-- ill-advised maybe, but I thought coming off the bike in 3rd would be pretty cool so I went with it.   I kept pressing that section, feeling actually quite good, until the very last hill when I made a rookie mistake in shifting and dropped my chain in the middle of the climb.  I hopped off, swearing under my breath, and then decided that trying to re-start on that hill in the rain wasn't going to work, so I walked  up that hill like a total pro, fully expecting Amanda and Amber to pass me right back in the most embarrassing of situations and being pleasantly surprised when they didn't.  (And, to my athletes who have resisted my suggestion to walk up the new 18% hill at Ironman Wisconsin because it'd be "way too embarrassing"--- I walked up a hill in an Ironman while in 3rd freaking place and survived the shame-- you can too!)

I rolled into transition in 3rd place, really, really pleased with a strong bike in challenging conditions and getting a little kick out of Mike Reilly announcing me in.

Run (3:41:39, 7th Pro)
The run was absolutely the leg of the race that I was the most uncertain about-- my running this year has been sub-par to say the least, both in racing and in training, and I knew coming in I just did not have the preparation to have a strong marathon.  But, I was intent on running as smart as I could and not making any stupid mistakes.

Starting in third, I got myself a bike escort and, nerve-wrackingly, a motorcycle with a camera filming me for the entire first 5K of the run.  This was both incredibly awesome and incredibly not awesome.   Last year, Ironman had live commentary going on all day for this race-- I recall watching the coverage while riding on the trainer.  They didn't have that this year, the filming was for an after-the-fact production, but I didn't know that, and in my mind I was imagining myself as the subject of discussion on the live coverage.  I imagined Lisa Bentley saying things like, "we're not sure who this is, but she doesn't look so good."   I didn't feel horrible running, I actually felt OK, but I wasn't running fast at all, at least not by pro standards, and I knew this.  I even apologized to my lead biker at one point when it seemed like he was having trouble going slow enough to stay upright:  "I'm sorry, I'm just not a very fast runner!"  For that first 5K, I felt like a total imposter, a shuffler who biked herself towards the front of the race, but didn't belong there.  (Yeah, still working on that confidence thing).

Heading out with a camera in the face, soon to be joined by another

After 5K, we got to an out-and-back on a bike path, and I started to settle the mind a bit, responding to cheers and telling myself to enjoy the moment instead of feeling intimidated by it.  At about mile 5, Amber ran by me as I fully expected she would, and as the cameraman turned his attention to her, I breathed a sigh of relief and got friendly with my new 4th place bike escort.

But then, a couple miles later, there was Amber in sight again, and I passed back into 3rd place.  Amber was in a terrible bike crash just a few weeks prior -- I knew she wasn't at her best and I think it's pretty amazing that she raced at all.  However, regardless of circumstances, I felt like I was actually competing in the race, and that gave me a little boost.  I trucked on forward, still not feeling very fast, but executing my plan quite well, weathering the highs and lows, and feeling cautiously optimistic that this was shaping up to be a good day.   The volunteers and other racers were incredibly supportive and having a lead biker netted me a lot of cheers, each and every one of which I appreciated, even if not always capable of responding with much more than a half-wave or smile.

Coming through town at the end of the first loop, I was stoked and shocked to still be in 3rd place, but still not expecting it to last.  I knew Amanda Stevens was right behind me and gaining, and while I felt OK and nothing was wrong, my pace was slipping a bit, so I started in on the Nectar of the Gods (Pepsi)  with a Red Bull every now and then. C'mon caffeine, keep me in this race.

Led through town by the 3rd Place bike

Amanda passed at mile 14 (oh, hi again 4th place biker), but then she slowed, appearing in pain, and I passed her back in the next mile (like Amber, Amanda is twice the runner I am, but she came into the race fresh off a broken foot....that's the thing with pro races, it seems like most everyone out there is dealing with something -- coming off injury, illness, racing tired or racing undertrained.. .it's just the nature of the beast). So in third I remained, somewhat shocked that with a very average run, I'd stayed in this position this long.

Then, things just went downhill.  Nothing went wrong, per se-- I just lost it. My legs hurt but I wasn't cramping, overheating, cold, or injured.  I didn't make any mistakes and kept the calories coming in.  I just got slow.  My heart rate dropped, my pace slowed, my cadence fell.  I puzzled over this after the race (why did I get so slow when I executed so well??)  but the answer is simple-  I just lacked run fitness.  I didn't have the durability to run a fast marathon, I hadn't trained well, there'd been too many skipped runs, no long runs, lagging paces.   I got what I trained for.

Jessica passed just after mile 20, and then Amber passed at mile 24.  I had no response.

The last 6 miles were ugly-- head down, just shuffling slower and slower forward.  I didn't walk a step, I may have been faster if I had!  I was just in slow motion, like a wind-up toy that just wound down.   My now-5th place bike escort was phenomenal, clearly recognizing that I was struggling and doing everything in his power to get me to that finish line.  Seriously, every person should have their own personal cheerleader for the last 2 miles of an Ironman!  He got the volunteers cheering for me, he himself urged me forward every 15 seconds, "hang with me Amanda, you've got this, just keep following my wheel, you're doing great."  He took me all the way to that last downhill turn with one last, "finish strong, enjoy it, you did it!" I waved a weak thank you as we parted, and then let myself fall down that final hill, crossing the line in 5th in a time of 10:06, happy, but so very, very tired.  

Finish-  10:06:50, 5th Pro

I was happy that night and the next day.  To finish 5th in the professional field at an Ironman was not something I would have envisioned at all this year, especially not for an Ironman that I hadn't really trained for.  Standing on that stage the next morning with some legends was pretty awesome.

But, in the days that followed, disappointment seeped in, too.  I feel like this sounds spoiled so it's hard to admit, but I found a million ways to minimize the result (small field, etc. etc) and felt worse and worse about it as time passed.  Mostly, I was very disappointed with my run, which I didn't feel was at all representative of my ability.  I was actually a little embarrassed-  a 3:41 is not a pro-like marathon and won't cut it at this level-- I know this. 

The disappointment was a rooted a bit in anger-- at myself and how I'd trained this summer.  Truth is, I just didn't prepare anywhere near as well as I could for this race, and hadn't really been training well since the spring.  I've made lots of effort to set myself up to go "all-in" with this triathlon venture, but in my day-to-day choices, I haven't gone "all-in" at all.  My execution of my training this summer was just not good-  skipped workouts, shortened workouts, backed-off workouts- these were all the norm.  Nor did I nail all the "extras" -- nutrition, sleep, recovery.  I made a lot of excuses for these shortfallings.  I said I was burnt out, tired from so much racing, a little depressed.  I blamed the weather, I blamed external stresses in my life and really, I cut myself way too much slack instead of just getting the work done.  In the end, it was  that lack of preparation and attention to detail that really showed up in the last 10K of the run, as I slipped from a position firmly on the podium into 5th.

The up-side:  this was kind of a kick in the butt that I've needed for a while.  After seven days of laying around, sleeping a lot, and moping a little,  I had almost an epiphany, finally accepting full responsibility for the outcome and setting in motion a game plan for the next part of my season.   I'm excited to finally have a nice big chunk of time to just train and get fit again and see what I can do if I do if I start acting like the professional I want to be.

Of course, I need to thank all those who who have helped me get through this first phase of Pro racing.  I'm so happy to be sponsored by Coeur Sports this year-- I truly believe not only in this company's products, but their entire vision and approach.  I'm honored to be a part of the team.  TriSports.com has supported me for years and I can't thank them enough.  Liz Waterstraat with Multisport Mastery has coached me from the very beginning and really deserves some sort of special award for still putting up with all my nonsense.  Thanks to my friends at Endure It! for getting the bike race-ready, Achieve Ortho for keeping me healthy, and Base Performance for introducing me to an electrolyte product that actually works for me.  And last but not least, thank you to my family, who have been been so incredibly supportive in every way, every step along this way.

And up next (I think)...I'm going to Miami!

2015 in Review

 2015 came and went, and with one exception, I forgot to blog.

But despite my silence, a lot went on that I don't want to forget, and I've enjoyed reading other's year-in-review posts, so I thought I'd put together my own "Best and Worst" of 2015 by AirDropping a bunch of random iPhone pictures to give a little snapshot of what went on this year, mostly in my training and racing life.   The ordering is random and flighty ...but then, so am I. 

Best Training Spot
Madison, Wisconsin.   Always.  The Wisconsin Love runs strong here.  I spent almost as many weekends in Madison this summer as I did in Illinois.  The memories are vivid - hill repeats in the rain with Nick.  Getting dropped like a bad habit by Bob, and texting him from the gas station to "forget about me, I'm having a moment here."  Suffering through the hottest and most humid day I can remember in Madison with Machee, Liz and Chris.  Stopping with Kristy for cheese curds that were desperately needed. Chatting with Erin and accidentally extending my ride to 7.5 hours because the conversation was so good.  Sliding out on freshly-chipped roads.  I put in many, many, many miles on my bike in this town.  My Kona race was made in Madison.

Many rides with Kristy, our bikes here at the Lion Water Fountain

 

Always (or, often) blue skies and puffy clouds in Madison

Best New "Life" Development
In January, I was given the opportunity to start coaching runners and triathletes through Multisport Mastery.  I've done some coaching in my past (track, cross country, swimming), so I knew this was an area I'd like to branch into, but I had no idea how much it would add to my own life.  It's been challenging, no doubt, but ultimately incredibly fulfilling.  My athletes' successes have, on many occasions, been more satisfying to me than my own, and going through the daily ups and downs with each individual has added all sorts of new dimensions to my life.  

Anne's first race post-baby!

The very first athlete to take a shot with me, Rachel

Best Ways to Enjoy Triathlon without Participating

Sherpa-ing and spectating!  Did you know being at an Ironman without actually participating in an Ironman is amazing fun?  True story.

Carrying triathlon bags is much like this

I went to two Ironmans I didn't race.  First, Ironman Texas in May.  Liz brought me to Texas as her sherpa.  In the days before the race, I tried to do my best to help her out and keep her company, and also fit in some of my own training.  I absolutely loved the Ironman Texas course and would do this one in a heart beat if it wasn't always a million degrees.

Got my swim mojo back in Conroe, TX, the best pool of 2015

 I am not sure I ever fully understood how thrilling, but exhausting and nerve-wracking, it is to spectate and support someone with big goals in a big race.   With a ground crew of multiple people, we tracked Liz's position all day, I rode my bike all over the course cheering and providing updates and occasionally stopping in at a bar to chug a beer and visit with the rest of the spectating team, before getting back on my bike to find Liz again.  Ultimately, she won her age group and punched her ticket to Kona.

Sherpa-ing is even more satisfying when Sherpa'd athlete kicks ass!

I think I was more exhausted than she was when the day was over, and had gained a serious appreciation for those who have served as sherpas and support crews for me in the past. 

Spectating on the run course, look closely, bike grease ALL OVER my legs.  Because I am me.

A couple months later, I spectated Racine 70.3 one week after injuring my leg at mile 2 of the Muncie 70.3.  I was in a lot of pain (even walking really hurt, I accidentally jogged for two steps while cheering for Kristy and almost screamed in pain) and I was pretty sure my season was over, so selfishly, seeing others racing a race that is very meaningful to me was emotionally difficult.  To cope, I sat under a tent and drank a lot of beers and that made it better.

And then, in September to my favorite race in the world, Ironman Wisconsin.  I've missed spectating this race for the past 3 years-  racing 70.3 Worlds in 2014 and 2013, and racing IMWI myself in 2012.  I had several athletes and friends racing, and it was good to be back on the sidelines acting like an idiot.

Taylor killing the swim

Chris, smiling through his first IM

Me and Scary Clown-  Left, 2015, Right, 2012

Best Gas Station

In response to all the triathletes out there posting pictures of their bikes propped in front of beautiful mountains and coastlines, we western suburban Chicagolanders had our own response-  the CITGO in Morris, Illinois, a dumpy little town 30 miles from Naperville.  Also known as the gas station that frequently saved my rides by selling me Five Hour Energy, Pop Tarts and/or Mountain Dew Code Red.  But never live bait.

Morris Cuisine

With Bob

With Kara

WTF, who stole our spot?

Worst New Normal

Flat tires! Before this year, I'd never had a flat tire in a race.  This year, I had SIX-  two simultaneously at a small race in Terre Haute (completely my fault, in the moment I looked down at my bike computer, I slammed into a massive pot hole at 28 miles per hour, immediately flatting both tires....badly); one in Kona; three in Cozumel (more on that later).  This is not a trend I wish to continue into 2016.

This ride in May should have been my warning of things to come: 

Liz's flat.  "Did I hit something?"

And 90 miles later, my own flat, which ended with a ride home from a random stranger

Best Race Result
In light of all the circumstances preceding, a third place at Kona was something I am tremendously proud of, but overall, I think the actual best race of my season was  Ironman Texas 70.3 in Galveston in April.

I am sorry, but Galveston is kind of a dump.

I trained like an animal in January, February, and March-- likely too much in light of things going on in my life at the time (I always need to throw in the disclaimer that I pushed myself well beyond what which was prescribed in my training schedule) -- but I was super fit in April and had a race to show for it.  4:23, a 10-minute PR, an age group and overall amateur win, the fastest female bike split (period, across all divisions, but to be fair, the winds shifted during the race and were much more favorable by the time my wave hit the bike course than they'd been for earlier waves).  Just a great success.

Brother came from San Antonio

 Why didn't I ever write about it?  Frankly, I'd been teetering on the edge for some time going into that race, carefully walking the line between peak fitness and meltdown, and Galveston drained the tank and left me a little broken and not really in the mood for writing for quite some time.   Lessons were learned:) 

 Most Meaningful Race

The Naperville Esprit de She Womens' Triathlon.  I swim Masters with one of the funniest and most energetic women I've ever met-- Beth.  Beth's daughter, Clari, tragically passed away last year at the age of 19.   Clari had previously been a part of a relay team that won this race.  The day before the race, Beth and I were talking at Masters and decided to enter a relay team to race in Clari's honor.  It a matter of hours, we pulled together an "All-Star" team-  Beth swimming, me cycling, and Amber, an Olympic Trials level runner --  and we raced in memory of Clari.  We won, by a lot (but shout out to local stud Jenny Garrison, who still had a faster time by herself than our relay), and the sentiment behind it made it all the more meaningful.

Best (or Worst?) Pre-Race Accomodation 

Muncie! 

I should never have done the Muncie 70.3 in early July.  I'd been fighting a knee injury for a few weeks, had just had an MRI that showed a lot of "stuff" going on, and every training run was like rolling the dice as to whether I'd be able to run or be doing the walk of shame home.    

But I was stubborn and I raced, swimming well, riding really well, was leading my age group and the overall race by a good chunk of time when, 2 miles into the run, I felt something in my knee tear and the leg gave way.....multiple times (because, stubborn, I kept trying until succumbing and ending up in the ambulance).  I was certain I needed surgery; luckily I didn't, but that race turned what was possibly a manageable injury into one that took me out for months.  

Text messages I should have listened to....with PT

Anyway.  I traveled to Muncie with Liz the day before the race and it took us almost five hours to get there from Chicago.  Turned out the only hotel we could get was another hour away, we were tired of the car, so when we heard about a church a mile from the start that, for $15 a person, was providing cots and Sunday school rooms in which athletes could sleep, we were in.  A quick trip to WalMart to get blankets and pillows and we were settled into our chosen room-  the Sunday School Snack Room.  

The room door had a sign reminding us to "Bee Your Best"

 The room was freezing, the cot was less than comfortable, and I slept approximately 20 minutes, kept awake by the cold, pain, and an impending sense of doom regarding the race the next day (I knew I shouldn't be racing).....but it was a memorable accommodation for sure!

Best Random Midwestern Town in Which to Race

Hard to tell.  In May and June, I raced several short course races, mostly in somewhat less than glamorous locations.  None of the races were super stellar and a couple were downright bad, but I saw some great places like....

Terre Haute, Indiana!  (I double flatted)

Apartments next to our hotel, someone hoarding vacuums

 Hammond, Indiana!  (It rained, the course was delayed and shortened to a Super Sprint, I just had a terrible race...but got to wait out the storm with friends!)

Waiting out the pre-race storm with Megan, Jennifer, Karen, Jenny and Chris

 Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin! (Actually went pretty well, 2nd overall to speedy Pro Jackie H., and taking home some dough)

A decent and free run picture!

With Chris.  And Chris.  And Chris

Best Food Place I Should Not Go To as Much as I Do

 Duh.

Best Month in Which to Race, if You're Midwestern

February!  It was still snowing in Chicago.  My Masters Swim Team did a training camp in Palm Desert, California, which happened to coincide with the Desert International Triathlon, a season kick-off race for the So Cal crowd.  I was so nervous -  big shots do this race, and I did not feel at all ready to be racing fast in February, but it went pretty well, second in the Elite division after a speedy Carly J. navigated the soft sand and ran me down like I was standing still.    It rained so they cancelled the awards ceremony, because that's apparently how it goes in California.

It's fun when you're friendly with your competitors.  Carly and Jen F.

Better scenery than Hammond, Indiana, for sure.

Most Fun Non-Triathlon Race 

Jennifer Harrison and I teamed up the Endure It Team Time Trial in January.  The "team" part of this time trial incorporates the "drafting" setting in Computrainer and we basically had no idea what we were doing or how to draft off each other.  It was comedy of errors, but despite less than smooth transitions of the lead, we powered through for the female win and more importantly, coordinated our outfits quite nicely.  

Runner- Up:  The Well-Fit Beer Mile.  This was more painful and uncomfortable than the TT for sure.  I thought I'd sail through the beer mile because I like beer and I like running.  In actuality, I kind of sucked.  I broke 10 minutes, but barely, I almost DNF'd during Lap #2,  and it was Beer #4 where I lost the race.  Much more practice needed here.

Podium pic- I'm in the skeleton suit

 Best Pictures Covertly Taken by Others to Prove the Point that I Have a Phone Addiction

 

At the Illinois State Masters Swim Meet

OK, actually staged.  We were pretending to be bored. We weren't- the Bulls went to Quadruple OT

Best Lucky Charm 
It was New Years' Eve and there was definitely alcohol involved when a tiny, plastic yellow hanger came into my life.  It became my good luck charm and I named it Baby Baby Hanger.

And then I lost it and things started to go downhill. 

So I searched the internet to find more Baby Baby Hangers.

Several of the replacement Baby Baby Hangers were on my dining room table when US Anti Doping Agency officials showed up to my place on an August Wednesday morning at 6:30 AM to do blood and urine testing, and I had to push the BBHs out of the way when we used the table for sample sorting.  I told the USADA folks the whole story I just told you about the Baby Baby Hangers, and they looked at me like I was bat shit crazy, because I probably am. 

And, yes, that was my back-handed way of saying that as an amateur, I was tested out-of-competition.  It was shocking (at the time, I'd never heard of amateurs being tested out-of-competition) but also encouraging, and I mention it here only because I think Ironman tested a small number of amateurs in part as a deterrent to clean up the sport, so it feels almost a bit like my duty to help create that deterrent effect.  Race fair, folks.

Most Discouraging Months
July and August.  I was out with an injury that was unpredictable and kept re-inventing itself.

I frantically texted my PT regularly to tell her where it hurt the most, today.

"Can you see the swelling?? Help!"

 And then I bought a waterproof iPod, a water running belt, and got to work water running while I couldn't run on land.  It was boring, but I worked really hard, and was shocked when I returned to land running and actually found that my paces hadn't fallen far off.  I'm a huge fan of water running now.

It sucked but it worked

Best Moment Overall
This one is pretty close:

Best, or Maybe Worst, Decision....We Shall Find Out

This:

I took my Pro Card in November.  I raced an Ironman as a Pro in December (or part of one, at least), I'll write more about that, but in short, Pro Debut was pretty much a failure.  Debut #2 will be in 2016.  So, that's where this train is going, and whether it was a smart decision, I can't yet say, but I am excited to find out. 

 Best Pictures Taken By Others

I have no selfie game.  No GoPro game.  But, I need to get better at this, I think.  Here's a start.

IM Coz practices swim with Maggie, Christine, and Cris

Selfs on bikes (with Maggie)

Showing off a kit from new 2016 sponsor, Coeur Sports!

Pre-race ride with Liz on the Queen K

Me and Mack in FermiLab

 Best End to 2015
Unseasonably warm temperatures and outdoor riding in December.  While home for Christmas, I made Rathbone, Ohio, my new Morris, Illinois, so of course, there was a picture of a bait sign.  Of course.

They have bait but not sure if Live