The Catch Up

Oh, where to start? 

Yeah, I abandoned my blog a bit post-Kona, which is a shame because I actually do enjoy writing and need to make more time for it.  My absence has nothing to do with a lack of material -- there's been a lot going on -- but to be honest, the lot left me slightly overwhelmed and blogging fell by the wayside.  So here's a little catch up...

Triathlon-wise, after Hawaii I took my forced down time like a big girl,  but I didn't like it one little bit.  Maybe I'm alone in this (I can't think that I am, but it's possible), but I struggle with off-seasons.  Sure, I don't mind catching up on my wine consumption, having the time to see friends, staying up a little later, all that stuff.  But I also need the endorphins and the routine that triathlon training brings to feel like a properly functioning, bearable human being. 

I did/ do enjoy these kinds of nights, however,

Still, after pretty much an entire year of hitting the training hard, my body (and maaaybe mind) needed the rest, that was obvious, so I took a few weeks of doing very little, activity-wise, spent a little bit of time with my foot in a walking cast (all better now!), wined and dined and brunched and occasionally ate Skittles for lunch.  I kept that up for a few weeks, growing grumpier and grumpier by the day, until it was time to get back on a schedule. 

Post-Skittle Lunch sentiments.  HT: Karin.

But on the plus side, I also used that down-time to work on some weaknesses. I moved back into my condo in May.  Between May and October, the extent of my use of the appliances in my kitchen was fairly heavy microwave utilization, and a teeny-tiny bit of use of my stove, mostly for scrambling eggs.   Here's my confession.....I eat (ate) horribly.  I mostly eat (ate) out, especially when the training load picked up.    Last summer, I think I kept the Chicagoland Chipotle restaurants in business.  Let's not talk about Arby's.  I don't (didn't) make the best choices with food selection and my training and recovery often suffered as a result.  Jelly beans are not the fuel of champions!  I'd try to clean things up, diet-wise, for the weeks before big races, and I was somewhat successful with that, but overall, food and eating was my big weakness last year.

So I took the last couple months to learn how to eat and how to cook.  I consulted with a dietician.  I bought a Vitamix that I became obsessed with.  I began cooking big, healthy meals on Sunday evenings that lasted me through the week (and then some).  I started eating vegetables and actually liking them. Who knew eggplant was so flippin' delicious??

The Precious

 And with the help of my Super Baker/ Cook/ Food Blogger/ Kick Ass Cyclist friend Andrea, I baked a pretty ornate and delicious (if I do say so myself) apple pie for our office's Bake-Off.  I did not win, and I'm not bitter, but I think it was rigged.  Just sayin'.  

Baking AND wine = proper off-season

My apple pie and a ridiculous sweater vest I bought when I was taper crazy

 Aside from that, there's been a progressive increase in training.  Once I got back at it, I spent a month feeling horrible and slow and weak, convincing myself that I was washed up, had no fitness at all and would never be fast again.  I was quite the pain in the ass! 

Great mug from my sister and pretty accurate representation of my enthusiasm for training that first month

But then, after about a month of getting back into a consistent schedule and building a base (and panicking) I did some baseline testing and surprised myself.  First up... a 5K/ run test.  I was supposed to race a Turkey Trot while I was home in Ohio, but I slept through the race.  To atone for my sin, I signed up for a local 5K the next weekend.  But then it got cold.  Really cold.  Like, 7 degrees, feels like -8 degrees cold.  

I've spent winters running in Providence, Boston, and obviously Chicago, so while I can't remember actually doing so, I am sure I have run in colder weather at some point.  I can guarantee, however, that I have never raced in such frigid temperatures.  It hurt, so very badly.  My fingers were numb.  My nose felt like it was going to fall off.  I was breathing incredibly loud, even for me, because the cold, dry air really bugged my lungs.  

But I ran as hard as I could (which, wow, really hurt after a month of only slow, aerobic jogging) and was pretty shocked to win the race in a time that was pretty darn good for me, and actually, as fast as I've run a 5K in eight years.  

When they asked me to spell my name at the end of the race, my frozen mouth had trouble forming the letters, but we got through that, they snapped this lovely picture (could I look any colder?) and I hustled inside to warm up.  My sinuses felt like they were going to explode for the next 15 minutes. 

 

A few days later I did a bike test, which I was 100% fully convinced was going to be a disaster, but....it wasn't.  In fact, it was pretty good (for me), so I chilled out a bit on the ole' I'm totally out of shape panic and trudged forward.

That was all early December.  Since then, life's been a bit....messy.  I spent the holidays with my family, which was a wonderful respite and so very necessary, but aside from that, December's a month I'd be OK with forgetting.  The one thing that's kept me sane-ish has been the swim/ bike/ run.  I don't think it's necessarily good to use exercise to escape from feelings, blah blah blah, but I did a lot of that in December and it is what it is.  On the plus side, there have been some awesome workouts (including an extra special swim I did today that I think is worth a blog entry of its own, not because I like blogging about my workouts but because it was a big deal to me). 

Brother / Family Time, trying to get a decent pic

And now it's 2014.  I'm kind of excited about a new calendar year and new beginnings.  2013, on whole, was a pretty amazing year for me with a slight down-tick there at the end.  I don't know how 2014 is going to take shape, but I know it's going to be way, way different.  There are some big changes in store and that's invigorating in its own way.  But for now, I'm just plugging along, trying to do the little things right and make each day count.  And staying warm!  Sorta. 

This nonsense has been going on for like 9 weeks now

High of NEGATIVE 12?  Wha, wha?

Kona 2013 Race Report

Oh, yeah, Kona.   Should probably write a little something about that one, eh?

The race happened over two weeks ago and I’m just now sitting down to write about it.  I’m a master procrastinator!  But I got a bit overwhelmed with vacation and then work and wine and…. well, I’ll talk more about it later.  

I’ve been back to work for a bit over a week now, and I’ve been faced several times with the terribly open-ended question: “well, how was it?”   I tried a lot of answers:  Good, but not perfect.  Amazing, such a privilege just be there.  It was hard, but beautiful and inspiring.  Decent.  But what I’ve settled on, and I think is the right answer:  it was an amazing experience.  That’s what it was.  An experience.  Not a perfect one, not a horrible one -- somewhere in the middle.  Just….an experience that I’m not likely to forget.

Here’s the story:

Pre-Race

I woke up race morning feeling excited, ready, and nowhere near as nervous as I’ve felt before other Ironmans.  On the night before the race, I wrote here that I’d pretty much thrown out all of my place and time goals, knowing that the conditions in Hawaii make all the difference and that I was racing in an extremely competitive age group.  What I wrote was true.  But, I’d maintained some more process-oriented goals in my mind.  I wanted to handle the day with grace and composure.  I wanted to make good decisions, be smart, and enjoy the day as much as I could.  I wanted to run well, for the whole marathon, something I’ve yet to do.  If conditions cooperated, I would have been thrilled with a personal record for the distance, and given my training, I didn’t think that was too lofty a goal, at all.  But taking the ambitious time and place goals I’d once had off the table truly decreased the pressure I felt.  

I arrived down at transition not long after it opened, a bit before 5 AM, and then hopped into line.  It was quite the ordeal in transition --  I was tattoo’d, weighed, I pumped up my tires, loaded my bike up with nutrition, checked my tires, turned on my bike computer, checked my tires again, adjusted my bike shoes, triple checked my tires, and then got the heck out of there, meeting my parents inside the King K hotel.  There, I sat in a hallway, listening to music and trying to stay calm.  In a great turn of events, I looked up at one point and saw Jennifer Harrison sitting nearby.  Jennifer’s been a great role model and very supportive of me over the past couple years as I’ve tried to figure this triathlon thing out.  Jennifer kindly took me under her wing, allowed me to tag along with her to the swim start, offered up advice and, just through her calm and relaxed demeanor, helping me to stay loose in those last tense minutes before the race.  Having her there made the start of the day so much better.

Pre-Race with Jen

Swim

At 6:20 or so, Jennifer and I headed over to the start, entering the water as soon after the professionals start as we could.  I had a general sense that I wanted to start on the left side of the crowd, having heard that this was the spot to be to avoid some of the extreme contact that happens in this race.  We found a spot that wasn’t too packed, and importantly, had fewer aggressive looking men.  As packs of guys filtered in, I kept moving around, trying to find open water.  I wasn’t interested in pre-race jostling for the best start spot--- I wanted space.  That meant starting back a few more rows than I ordinarily would, but it was worth it.

View of the Swim Course from transition

The cannon fired, we took off, and I braced for the worst.  I’ve heard so many people talk over the last several months about how rough the swim is at Kona—how you’re punched and grabbed and dunked the entire time.  I built the swim up in my head to be a big, scary thing, and given my propensity for panic attacks in the water this year, I was really, really nervous.

Well, I declare shenanigans on all those “scary swim” stories.   My swim in Kona was amazingly contact-free.   At the beginning, there was a little bumping and jostling, one guy kinda sorta grabbed my lower leg (it was easy enough to kick him off), my goggles got slightly bumped by an errant hand, but it was minor….and then, nothing.  It was smooth sailing for me for almost the entire swim.  At one point, I even adjusted my line and swam towards people because I was sailing solo and wanted a draft.  Yes, I probably got lucky, and if I’m fortunate enough to make a return trip to Hawaii at some point, I’m sure my next swim will be extra horrible just to make up for this easy-peasy one, but really, of all the races I did this summer, this was the least brutal.

Throughout the whole swim, I felt strong, relaxed, and happy.  All week, I thoroughly enjoyed my swims in the Pacific, and this race was no different.  The salt water made me feel buoyant, the water temperature was perfect.  I just felt so good and the time flew by.  As we approached the shore and I started to be able to hear Mike Reilly’s voice over the loudspeaker and the crowd cheering, I was almost a bit sad to have the swim ending so quickly.   But all good things must end, so on I went.    

I climbed out of the water and was pleasantly surprised to see 1:01 on my watch as I crossed the timing mat.  Based on a practice swim I’d done on Wednesday and general knowledge of swim splits in Kona, I was shooting for somewhere around 1:05, so to come in ahead of schedule gave me a nice confidence bump.

Stoked with the time and loving my new ROKA speedsuit (and wetsuit)

T1

After a long run around the entire transition area and through showers, I grabbed my bag and ran into the changing tent, which was fortunately fairly empty at that point, slathered on the sunscreen (I am such a fan of the Sun Bum brand, which kept this practically-albino girl from suffering any sunburn after a day of riding and running through the lava fields, quite an accomplishment, indeed), pulled on arm coolers (good call) and hustled on out, ready to ride. 

Bike

The bike starts with a quick little 10-mile-ish out-and-back on Kuakini Highway.  I’d heard that this stretch is notoriously quick, crowded, and impossible to ride legally.  I decided to take it really easy, using the Langer “treat it like a parade” approach.  It was, as predicted, extremely crowded, with dudes jockeying for position all around me.  I had no problem staying legal -- everyone I encountered was passing me with authority-- so I just pedaled easily along, didn’t look at power, and tried to stay out of the way.  Chris passed early on, seeming a bit surprised to see me (“oh, hey Amanda,”) which was funny since, y’know, he knew I was going to be in the race and all, but from the early timing of the pass, I knew he’d blown his swim time goal out of the water, and that made me happy. 

Non-aero, pulling a train

Once we’d climbed up Palani and started the trip out to Hawi along the Queen K, things started to calm down and I settled in for a long, quiet, easy (effort-wise) ride.  Given my inexperience with the course, the typical Hawaii winds, the hot, humid conditions (summer in Chicago just never really happened) and the fact that I’ve blown up fairly spectacularly in the two Ironmans I’d done before, the goal today was to ride as conservatively as possible, especially in the first half of the race.   After a lot of analysis and weighing of opinions, I had set some power ranges that I figured I’d use largely to reign myself in.  

But, Ironman’s unpredictable, and it turned out that on this day, there was no need for reigning in—my legs just did not have any power.  I had to really strain to hit watts that are always easy in training, and I knew that straining, this early in an Ironman ride, was a really, really bad idea, so I took it down a notch and acknowledged that today, I was going to have to go by feel, no matter how weak the power output.  Mentally, I struggled with this a little, wondering if I was just “off,”  but I figured it did no good worrying about it, and tried to do whatever I could to stay cool, calm, and collected.  

The staying cool part meant grabbing water at every single aid station (they come every 7 miles or so in Hawaii), sometimes two bottles, one to drink and one to spray all over myself.  I never had an “oh my God, I’m so hot” feeling -- it really didn’t feel that bad out there -- but I noticed that my face felt like it was burning and every person who passed me seemed to have salt caked all over them, so I knew I needed to keep managing the conditions even if they didn’t feel bad.  I drank and drank and drank (and, TMI, eventually peed and peed and peed, including once almost all over my friend Maggie, sorrrry), popped salt tabs twice an hour, and just kept on keeping on until we’d made the turn to head up to Hawi. 

The staying calm and collected part was easier.  I don’t recall having a whole lot of emotion or, really, thought, during the ride.  There was a lot of drafting going on around me, I fully anticipated and expected that and did everything I could to stay out of it, without getting emotionally charged up about it.   I didn’t have any epiphanies, I didn’t have any moments of utter joy or thrill.  At times, I’d look out at the ocean, or the lava fields, and think, “this is pretty cool, really,” but that was the extent of my emotion. 

We got really lucky with the wind this year, with a tailwind aiding us all the way out and, compared to what I’ve heard is normally the case, hardly any crosswinds during the climb up to and down from Hawi.  In a way, I was a bit sad that I wasn’t getting to experience the “epic” Kona winds….but I got over that pretty quickly.  The last couple hours of the ride were into a fairly substantial headwind, I knew that was coming, but a summer of riding out-and-backs in the windy cornfields outside Chicago prepared me pretty well for it. 

I don’t have a whole lot more to say about the bike ride.  Without the worst of the winds, I didn’t find the course that difficult.  I had a couple low moments—those are unavoidable in a race this long—but mostly I felt controlled and stronger as the day went on.  I ratcheted the effort down in the last 12 miles to prepare for the run, rolled into town, and hopped off my bike 5 hours and 18 minutes after I’d started—a split that I was very happy with at the time, particularly given the mostly easy effort. 

T2

A volunteer grabbed my bike as I hit the dismount line and I stepped off, as always, a little nervous to find out how those first few steps on land are going to feel.  This time, I got off, started jogging all the way around the transition area (oof), and my legs felt quite good.  That’s never been the case in an Ironman for me, so I was optimistic about the little marathon thing that was still ahead.

I sat down on a chair in the transition tent and was tended to by about three volunteers (such service!), one spraying me with sunscreen, one helping me get my Garmin turned on and onto my wrist, one clipping my race number belt around my waist as I wrestled my feet into my running shoes.  I managed a quick, “thank you,” as they hustled me on out of there, and it was back outside for a quick little 26.2 mile jaunt.

As I was heading out, I glanced at the watch I’d started at the beginning of the swim, which showed my overall time for the day.  I realized that even with an epic blowup during the run, I’d still be looking at a pretty substantial PR.  That was both a good feeling and a very dangerous thought to be having at the beginning of your run.  When you’re not even a quarter mile into a race and assessing just how bad it can be to still be happy with your overall time, you may be looking at things a tad pessimistically, and (spoiler alert), I think it became a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy for me.   

Run

As they had in transition, my legs felt fantastic in the first stretch of the run, and once my Garmin had latched on to satellites, I realized quickly that, easy perceived effort aside,  I was clipping along a little too quickly, so I ratcheted down the effort.  The first ten miles, an out-and-back along Ali’i, are beautiful, packed with spectators, and easy to overdo.  I really, really tried to keep it easy and I soaked in the experience, waving at my family and friends when I saw them, smiling a lot, high-fiving little kids.

This made me laugh at Mile 2.5

My new strategy for this race was to take a 10 to 20 second walk break at every aid station, starting with the first.  I’d done research into this strategy, talked to others who had used it, and tested it in training, finding that the short breaks did not hurt my overall speed and made taking down the substantial amount of water I needed a lot easier (I sweat like a freakin’ pig).  This worked great that first ten miles—I was being a great gatherer at those aid stations, getting water, more water, ice, more ice.  I wasn’t feeling hot, but knew it would hit me eventually, so I just kept trying to keep the core cool.

Still feeling great on Ali'i

Those first 10 miles or so really flew by and I was on a high, feeling the magic of Kona and getting more and more happy that I was having a good day.  Then came Mount Palani (not officially a mountain, but it might as well be).  The hill is steep and long enough that lots of people walk up it, not out of necessity but instead in the interest of not getting the heart rate up too high.  Making the turn to start up the climb, I still wasn’t sure what tactic I was going to take. But then I saw Liz cheering on the side of the road, and the last thing I was going to do was have my coach see me walking up the damn hill, so the decision was made and I trudged on up, smiling a little even though that hill is nothing to smile about.

Running up a mountain notwithstanding, I still was feeling quite good for the first few miles out on the Queen K Highway, dealing with just two small issues—really sore feet (I wore new-ish shoes, rookie move, that ended up being a size too small, and had some pretty nasty blood blisters forming underneath my big toenails on both feet), and (long story that involves a big blonde moment) no salt. 

Looking back, it’s a bit hard to pinpoint when, exactly, things went sour.  It’s all a bit blurry and hard to remember (and it’s not my procrastination making it so, an hour after the race I could not really describe what happened in the last 1.5 hours).  I know I hit halfway on pace for a marathon in the low to mid 3:30s, which was a very reasonable pace given my training and other races this year, and I felt fantastic.  The second half of the run was almost 20 minutes slower.  Ooof.  Somewhere, something went very wrong.  What, I’m not sure.   I know my pace started slipping at mile 14, when I turned my Garmin off because I didn’t like what it was showing me.  I know I struggled on the way down into the Energy Lab, walked a bit, and observed that my stomach was sloshy.  I remember taking a lengthy break at Special Needs at Mile 18, downing a 5-hour Energy, Maalox, a Gas-X -- basically everything I packed – but I was not able to find extra salt in my bag.  I know I packed it, but I just couldn’t find it.  I know I was moaning a lot at that point, so much that the volunteers offered to call the medic (I declined). 

Energy Lab OUCH

I know I had good stretches, still -- I remember feeling quite good climbing out of the Energy Lab and feeling like I’d “saved” my day, a sentiment that didn’t last.  I remember being extremely, extremely hungry, fantasizing about pizza.  But mostly, I remember getting slower and slower and slower, walking more and more and more, and not caring even a lick.  It’s an apathy that is very strange for me—I’ve melted down in races and in workouts plenty of times, but my physical meltdowns have always been dwarfed by the mental beating I was giving myself for not being able to hold it together.  During other meltdowns, I’ve been dramatic….I’ve yelled at myself, I’ve cried, I’ve stepped over to the side of the road and stopped.   Kona was different.  Physically, I just couldn’t go anymore.  I’m not sure why.  I have my theories.  No matter the reason, it was the biggest race of my life to date, and I was just watching it slip away and not reacting, not sad, not pissed, not fighting….just nothing.  It sounds melodramatic to call it an out-of-body experience, but it almost was.  And not in a good way. 

I struggled my way through those last several miles.  I wish I could say once I hit that last mile I was able to pull it together and run it in, that my heart took over, but that’d be a lie.  I still walked a good chunk of that last mile.  I remember one lady spectating, a complete stranger, standing by herself on the side of road.  She looked at me walking in that last half mile, and said, sounding truly disappointed, “Walking? Here?  In the homestretch?”  I looked at her, shrugged, said, “I know, right?” and kept on walking.  That’s the one spectator comment I really remember because her apparent disappointment in me echoed my own.  I wanted to be a fighter but I just had nothing left. 

Once I hit Ali’i, I did run it in….no way was I walking on Ali’i.  I want to say the crowd pushed me in, that I got the chills from the greatest finish line in all of triathlon, all that stuff, but to be honest, I just wanted to be done and I hardly noticed any cheering or noise.  It was “eyes on the finish line,” all the way in, I’m not sure I even smiled as I crossed the line, and then I just tried not to let my legs collapse under me as my “catcher” supported my weight and chatted with me for the next several minutes until he was sufficiently convinced that I was OK on my own.

Please, please, make it end

I crossed at 10 hours and 16 minutes…a personal record by almost a half-hour and faster than my best-case scenario for the day.  Yes, it was a really fast day for a lot of people, but when I finished, I was content.  How can you not be happy with a big personal record like that?  I hung out in the finishers’ area for a while, finding my friend Todd and commiserating about how both of us had great days until the run, gorging (seriously, gorging!) on pizza and ice cream, assessing the damage (substantial) to my feet, and then hobbled on out towards the King K hotel to find my family and friends.  There were a lot of smiles, a lot of hugs, much celebration that night….it was a good day.  I acknowledged that I’d melted down a bit in that last 10 miles, but at the time, I kept saying, “it was all physical.  I can’t be mad at myself.  I just have to figure out what, nutrition or what, went wrong.  I’ll fix it.”   

So thrilled to have my family there

But as I let the race marinate, as sometimes happens, I have to admit that I became less and less positive about the outcome.  That’s why I didn’t write this report for a while—I struggled with how my disappointment would come across.   Realistically, I know I was so lucky to be at Kona this year, that it was a privilege, that I’ve come a LONG way in a short time as a triathlete.  And, how can I be upset by a half-hour PR in Hawaii, which is not typically a “fast” course?  Place-wise—top 20 in a very competitive age group: that’s great!

But on the flip-side, I’ve been a little disappointed because I know I could have done better and I’ve been at a bit of a loss trying to figure out what went wrong.  I’m now 0-for-3 when it comes to Ironman runs, and for whatever reason -- maybe it’s because running is my first love--  when the run doesn’t go well, I take it a little harder.  I wish I could have fought harder—the apathy I experienced in the last 10 miles, while I’m starting to see through reading and advice I’ve received, might have been just as much a true, physical symptom of something that wasn’t quite right, felt a little like just giving up or not caring….and that’s never been my style and it’s not OK.

Since getting back home, I’ve given myself some downtime.  I consumed several bottles glasses of wine, I got away from triathlon for a bit, I reacquainted myself with friends and a life outside of swim-bike-run.  With time, the silver lining is becoming more and more apparent.  Racing in Hawaii was so hard, and so emotional, and for my first time there, there was so much good to take away from it.  I had my family there, I had some of my best friends there supporting me through a day when I got to do all the things I loved.  I learned some lessons—about cooling, about pacing, about hydration and nutrition and handling of emotions—that I’ll take forward for the next time.  There WILL be a next time.  Finishing on a good but not perfect note leaves me motivated for more, ready to tackle my weaknesses head-on and be a stronger and more well-rounded athlete for next year.  And like I said before the race, it’s been a hell of a journey, and I cannot discount that. 

There are so many people to thank here.  Thanks to my family, for being there every step of the way and including on race day….that meant so much.  The friends—in Naperville, Chicago, in California and Washington and other states and even abroad, some of whom were there with me in Hawaii—you’ve been so patient and supportive every step of the way.  My law firm – for, first of all, taking me back in after I left to travel the world; second, affording me great flexibility and giving me a day off a week to go ride my bike through the cornfields; third, for so many supportive words before and after this event.  Thanks to Gina Pongetti, part physical therapist, part regular therapist, who has kept me moving and injury-free and happy all summer…I drive all the way out to flippin’ Burr Ridge to see this girl and she’s so worth it. To Heather Fink, for the nutrition counseling.  And thanks to TriSports.com, the bestest triathlon store in all the biz—so proud to be able to represent!

Last but not least, thanks to Liz for everything—I’m so glad you were there in Kona to share the experience.  I’ve yammered on a lot on this blog about how great Liz is and how she has been absolutely key in helping me make huge leaps forward as an athlete and person, so I won’t repeat myself too much.  But just in case there was any doubt as to how special she is, I present this video (turn up your volume):

Yes, my coach donned a banana costume, re-created the “Peanut Butter Jelly Time” song in the middle of a Target, and sent me the video in an attempt to keep me calm during my pre-Kona taper.  It really doesn’t get much better than that.

Mahalo, and thanks for reading!

The Night Before

Aloha!

Well, it's the night before the big day and I'm typing this as I eat an entirely over-salted yet bland dinner at the Early Bird time of 5:00 PM.

Dig Me Beach

I've been in Kona since Monday evening, staying with my family in a big ole house with a beautiful pool and a view of the ocean.  This week has flown by and while I'm more than ready to just get the show on the road, in a way, I'm going to be sad that the pre-race festivities are over.  I've grown to love my early morning swims in the ocean  (practice swims that often feel more like snorkeling adventures than workouts), wandering around the town that is packed to the brim with triathletes, collecting free swag from all the industry reps, spotting, and in sometimes almost running into, the pros I've read all about.  (No texting while walking in Kona, you just must narrowly miss a head-on collision with Chris McCormack).   It's humid, it's hot, it's windy, it's beautiful.  I'm just so happy to be here.  Happier even more that I'm able to experience it with my family and some good friends.

So happy to have so much family here, including my grandma

As for the race itself, I'm excited!  This is perhaps the least nervous I've been for an Ironman.  Don't get me wrong, I fully understand and expect that this WILL be the toughest race of my life.  But I'm ready.  I've put in the work-- lots and lots of work.  Have I done everything perfectly?  No....but I've come a whole lot closer than I ever have before, about as close as I am able, and I am thoroughly satisfied with my prep.   Mentally,  I'm in a good place.  This has been a season of growth and breakthroughs, and that self-sabotaging, super-anxious athlete of past is gone, replaced by someone who is excited, calm and ready to see what the day brings.

Where the road ends after Hawi

Most of all, I'm not putting a ton of pressure on myself here. I've always known that Kona is like no other Ironman.  I've seen the NBC broadcasts....favorites collapsing within a quarter mile of the finish or crawling across the line, bikes being blown across the the road, all those scary moments.  As such, I'm looking at this as a learning experience.  I set rough goals for myself a long time ago and they helped motivate me through training, but I've pretty much thrown out any time/ place expectations, instead hoping just for a strong, smart and tough race that I can be proud of.  I like it enough here that I know making a return trip will be a goal, so for this one, I just want to take it all in and enjoy it as much as possible.

Applejack the Magical Bike (new name)

Bikes all racked and ready

To everyone that has shown me so much support, I've been overwhelmed and I can't thank you enough.  I cried a little at work when I arrived on the Friday before I departed to an office decorated with good luck signs, a card signed by the whole firm, and a hugely generous gift.  Friends that surprised me with send-off parties, people that've sent message and well-wishes, those who are here and have been enormously helpful-- I can't tell you how much it means to me.  To have so many people in my corner brings me so much strength and I know it will tomorrow.  Whatever happens, I hope I handle the day in a way that makes you all proud.

And with that, I am off to triple check my gear bags and hit the hay early.  Tomorrow is a big day!

Parade of Nations- Brazil had the most spirit

My name on the banner of participants

Scoping the bike course-  Queen K

With Erin, Taylor, Todd

Getting ready to check in

The Journey

I’m doing the Ironman World Champs in Hawaii in a couple weeks. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, as tends to happen before big events in my life, and in that thinking, I figured I ought to write a little bit about my triathlon journey, the pinnacle of which (so far) will be in Kona.  

Well.  That looks fun.

If there’s one things I’ve learned about myself as an athlete over the years, it’s that assigning undue importance to any one race doesn’t work for me.  You know that scene in the movie Rudy where Rudy says, “I’ve been ready for this moment all my life?”  Inspiring, sure.  But when I try that stuff, when I look at a particular race as THE SINGLE DAY I’ve worked for for years, when I blast “Eye of the Tiger”  or Van Halen’s “Right Now” (I think I'm dating myself), when I pull the Rudy quotes ….that’s when I get too nervous, when I tense up, when I choke and when I fail.  It works for others, but not for me, and really, It’s best for me to treat each race, even the super big ones, as just another race.

However, It’s not always easy to do that.  Let’s be honest.  Kona is NOT just another race.  Qualifying has been my goal for a long, long time.  Once I qualified, it became my “A” race.  It’s Kona.  It IS a big deal.

But that makes me scared.  So here’s what I’m doing (and yes, this whole post is mostly an attempt to write myself into a greater state of calmness)--- I’m going into Kona and mentally treating it as the pinnacle of what’s been a really, really amazing and transformative journey over the past three years.  No, it’s not just another race….it’s a much, much bigger one.  But not because ohmygod I NEED to perform amazingly or all the sacrifices will have been for naught and my training will have been a waste and no one will love me and blah blah blah, but because to me, it represents a celebration of a pretty rockin’ trip that’s changed me as a person.  And if I do well, or I do poorly, or I don’t finish, or I don’t even make it to the line…..you cannot take away the journey and progression.

So....

The Journey

I was going to say something about how my journey to Kona began a little over a year ago, the day after Ironman Wisconsin, when a solid but not amazing race left me fairly close-but-no-cigar to qualifying and motivated me to say out loud, for the first time ever, that Hawaii was actually a goal.  But really, that’s not honest.

In reality, the journey secretly began in August of 2010, late one nght when I was laying flat on my back on the living room floor, wide awake at 3AM, strapped into a machine that I can only describe as a torture device that slowly bent and unbent my newly surgically-repaired knee for 8 hours at a time.  I’d been to see my orthopedic surgeon that day, my first post-operative visit, and he’d said words that truly knocked the wind out of me:  “you can’t run anymore.  Ever.  You cannot run on this knee.”  I’d let that marinate a bit and I’d shed a tear or two, but late that night, my stubborn side prevailed, and I had an epiphany of sorts.  It went something like: Eff that.  I will run again.  I’m going to do triathlons, I’m going to do everything I can to get good, and someday, I’m going to Hawaii.

At the time, that was not a realistic goal and certainly not one that I’d ever speak out loud.  It wasn’t just that I was lying on the floor with a bum knee that made it so far-fetched, but I had little experience in triathlon or indication that I could be any good.  I’d dabbled in the sport a little pre-surgery, having joined a group program at Well-Fit earlier that summer (2010) to escape my sedentary, overworked life, and trained for the Steelhead Half Ironman. While I enjoyed the training and racing, I didn’t take things all that seriously and was participating largely for the social aspect.

Co-worker was sick of fetching me Diet Cokes, got me a drink helmet

That late-night Hawaii thought became even less realistic as months went by post-surgery.  For 8 weeks, I remained on crutches, completely non-weight bearing.  It took another several months before I could walk, and then (hesitantly) jog.  In the mean time, I was in the midst of the craziest stretch of work I’ve had, sleeping not much more than 3 to 4 hours a night for months on end, and filling my waking hours with stress, stress, more stress, and FOOD.  I gained weight…. a ton of weight…and while I could have been swimming and lightly cycling, even with the injury, I just didn’t.  When spring came around and I started feeling like I was healed enough to think about triathlon, it was no longer just the knee that was holding me back.  It was months of inactivity.  I was truly starting from scratch in a sport that I hardly knew.

I signed up for Steelhead again in 2011, as well as the group training program at Well-Fit.  I’ll be honest, that summer was hard.  I was (relatively) slow, I was (relatively) heavy, my knee was still not strong, in fact, my entire body lack strength.  I kept falling off my bike.  I got dropped in group rides.  I often resorted to walking when run training got hard.  I put my head down and I did the best I could, but it was humbling and frustrating when I’d see other girls in our training group be pulled aside by coaches and told they had great potential, or be asked to join the training center’s “elite” team, while I remained somewhat of an anonymous participant who didn’t really look the part.   But every time I ended up riding by myself or walking when I should have been running, I’d give myself a little pep talk: just keep working.  Someday, I’m going to be good at this.  I might have been the only one who believed that, but I did. 

It's not all about weight, BUT...Left- Pleasant Prairie 2013; Right- Pleasant Prairie 2011

By just trudging onwards, consistently albeit slowly, things started to come together.  Some of the weight came off.  My knee started to feel better.  I got fitter and stronger and I started keeping up in workouts.  I entered races and got faster and faster—not fast, per se (after a summer of building up, on a good day, I was THRILLED with 11th place in my age group at Steelhead)—but faster.   

Steelhead with Anne, one of my first and bestest tri-friends

 And that fall, I signed up for an Ironman for 2012 and hired myself a fancy schmancy coach—Liz Waterstraat.  The journey to Kona really took off when I started working with Liz.  I was now on a structured, well-thought out plan that took my strengths, weaknesses and background into account, and I thrived.  For those first several months, it was like a joyride.  I was learning so much about triathlon—how to eat, how to train, how to ride a bike, how to pace – and I soaked it in like a sponge, getting faster and more excited every week.  Liz gave me constant feedback, I listened, and I just kept improving.  I tried new things:  my first swim meet in 15 years, a Monster Swim (100x100), a cycling time trial race.  I was a good little soldier, I did what I was told, I worked hard, and it paid off.   

 

Tri-Dorks at a TT

Just for fun, I signed up for the San Juan 70.3 in March of 2012, I got to the race and followed the plan I’d put together with Liz’s help to the ‘T,’ and then shocked the hell out of myself (and I think Liz, too) when I emerged 2nd in my age group and 3rd overall amateur.  Suddenly, that little dream I’d had on my living room floor didn’t seem so inconceivable.

First Ever Podium at San Juan 70.3

And what a hell of a journey it has been.  On a physical level, I’ve transformed myself as an athlete, adding more and more work (smartly) and learning how to do the little things (mostly sometimes) right.  It’s paid off in results….consistency and a smart plan has it’s benefits! Here’s just a couple little measures that may mean nothing to anyone other than the tri-geeks: My FTP in March of 2011:  approximately 90 -100 watts lower than it is now.  My pace in a 5K (3.1 mile) run in June of 2011: almost a minute and a half per mile slower than that pace I held for the half marathon at the end of the Racine 70.3.  I’ve cut more than a half hour of my half-Ironman PR, I’ve gone from shooting to finish in the Top 20 in my age group in bigger races to shooting to win the whole thing,  I’ve managed the get onto the podium and Nationals and placed within the top 10 of my age group at Worlds.  I say none of this to brag (although it feels a lot like bragging to write it out like that) but just to remind myself how far I’ve progressed from the sorta chubby girl who dreamt big dreams even as she was soundly dropped on the bike.

But more importantly, on a personal level, triathlon’s given me a passion in my life that was lacking when I was just a lawyer, billing hours and returning home to mundanity.  I’ve fallen in love with cycling, and I’ve literally seen some of the most beautiful parts of the world on my bike—Spain, New Zealand, Colorado, San Diego, IOWA. I’ve re-kindled my love of running, a passion when I was younger, and I’ve learned to re-tolerate swimming, every once in a while finishing a workout and saying, “hey, that wasn’t so bad.”   I traveled and raced all over the county and abroad.  I’ve had breakthrough days and races; I’ve learned that I’m tougher and more resilient than I ever thought; and I’ve seen glimpses of greatness within.  I’ve made so many great friends, starting with that very first class at Well-Fit in 2010, who I never would have met but for this sport, but who at this point, I can’t imagine not having in my life.  Most of all, I’ve just had so damn much fun. 

Which is not to say it’s all been ponies and rainbows and happiness. It hasn’t.  I’ve worked really, really hard, and sometimes, it’s hurt.  A lot.  While those first several months were like a joyride with constant improvement and breakthrough, things got much tougher as I continued.  There were speedbumps and backslides.  I’ve melted down many, many times, in races and in training and in life.  I’ve made many mistakes.  I’ve missed my old life at times -- the freedom to stay out late and sleep in late and put whatever horrible things into my body that I wanted. I’ve had to tackle some serious demons, fears, and anxieties, and it’s been hard. At times, I’ve been incredibly stubborn, I’ve been insecure about my abilities, I’ve lacked trust and I’ve really tried patience.  But I’ve also surrounded myself with amazing people who have helped me (sometimes with words and actions that were hard to swallow at the time) to get myself back on track.   To them, I am so appreciative. 

Can't Forget the Cornfields of Plainifield

The good times, the bad times, I wouldn’t change any of them.  They were all part of the journey, and they’ve all gotten me to where I am now—a girl who is, on whole, happier and more confident than she’s been in her adult life, and who in two weeks, will be lining up with the best triathletes in the world to spend a day in paradise doing what she loves.  And that’s pretty awesome.

And honestly, the journey would have meant nothing without all the people who’ve joined in it. While this sounds a little Oscar-speech-y—I do have a ton of people to thank for getting me this far:  Liz, who has transformed me as an athlete, taught me pretty much everything I know about triathlon, provided so much guidance and support all along the way, truly invested herself in helping me to find the greatness within, and, coach-hat aside, been an awesome training buddy and friend….I can’t say enough.  My family has been so supportive of my silly little dreams, tolerating my long trainer rides in the middle of the living room during the holiday season, always offering perspective and love-- that they’ll be in Hawaii makes me so, so happy.   And to the friends who have been there through good times and bad, offering encouragement and motivation and advice and sometimes tough love, you know who you are and you’re all the best.  More time for playing when this little race is over!

So yeah, I’m getting a little emotional.  It’s the taper, I think.

But come October 12, there’s going to be a lot of emotions flowing and I’m going to be thinking of a lot of people and memories.  Yeah, I’ll be focusing on my watts and my hydration plan and my running form and all that good stuff too…but I’m also going to look around, enjoy the view, and most of all, enjoy this latest chapter in the journey.  Thanks to all of you for making it so amazing!