This weekend, I made a little escape from the brutal winter of Chicago and headed down to Florida, eager for a good dose of Vitamin D and a few days without snow or ice.
My parents have a condo in Cape Canaveral and my mother has been staying down there for the past several weeks, so this trip doubled as family time and an opportunity to get in some quality training. I took my bike along with the intention of getting in a couple of days of good hard, outdoor riding topped off with a little half marathon on Sunday. My goal was to push myself physically right to the edge (but not over) and hopefully see some good fitness gains.
Unfortunately, wherever that “edge” was, I went right on over it and then fell some more and I write this while sipping hot tea, emerging from a Nyquil-induced hangover, on my third consecutive day of no exercise. This was not the plan.
Ran myself right on over the edge
I should know from past experience that the weather in Florida in January is quite the crapshoot, but I remained blissfully ignorant until right before I left Chicago, when I checked the weather forecast, saw temperatures in the mid-50s with rain, and threw a couple pieces of cold-weather cycling gear into my bag. When you’ve been dealing with sub-zero temperatures for months, 50s and rain doesn’t sound so bad.
What I forgot while hunkered down training inside for months…. riding your bike in the 50s and rain is actually pretty bad. And that’s what we got for the first two days I was in Florida—temperatures in the 50s and a constant, steady rain.
Beautiful day in Clermont
But I’m a stubborn sort, I came to ride, and I had no backup plan, so ride I did - about 160 miles over two days with a fair amount of intensity. Ride #1 was flat, on A1A along the coast, the highlight of which was flatting about a mile from my car just as it was getting dark and the temperature was plummeting. I opted to walk it back in instead of fumbling with a tire fix in the rain, but was shivering so hard by the time I got to the car that I was a little afraid my teeth would break from all the chattering. Ride #2 was in Clermont, a hilly little cycling mecca outside of Orlando, the highlights of which were not getting lost despite having a cue sheet two pages long and a couple climbs up Sugarloaf, Florida’s version of a mountain (they actually call it a mountain). In between these rides I did some swimming in the rain. Some running in the rain. And lots and lots and lots of shivering.
I do love swimming in the rain
What Floridians call a moutain
Between the travel, the bigger volume of training, and mostly, being outside in that weather for so long, it really should have come as no surprise that I ended up sick. I woke up on Saturday feeling horrible, with my whole body aching. At first I chalked it up to fatigue, put on my compression gear, and did whatever I could to speed up my recovery in hopes of having some spring in my step for the half marathon the next day. As the day went on, my head stuffed up, the headaches became more than nagging, and the aching got worse. At around 8, I spiked a fever and (theme of the weekend) started shivering. I wrapped myself in many blankets, accepted that the race was almost certainly not going to happen, and went to bed, still setting my alarm for 4AM just in case I somehow miraculously woke up feeling human enough to run.
Then in the middle of the night, my fever broke. I got up that morning and felt a little better. Not good, not at all....but better. I didn’t know if I was being a complete idiot for even considering racing that soon after having a fever, but for whatever reason, I decided to give it a go.
We arrived at the race site, I set out to do a little warm-up, and I stopped after four minutes, feeling worn out and fatigued with my heart racing. I knew then that the race could get really ugly, so I decided to run with my phone. The race was billed as “earphone friendly” and there was an app that you could install on your phone that would act as a GPS tracker on the course. I didn’t want my family to worry if ended up stopping or came in way slower than expected. I was clearly really, really confident about this race.
The race started, and almost immediately, my legs felt heavy and just not right. Oh boy, I thought, this is not good. I’ve certainly started triathlon runs feeling not great, but that’s a different animal. I’m not sure I’ve ever done a running race where I didn’t have at least a couple miles of feeling strong and easy.
Faking it
Over the next few miles, I had some short stretches of feeling OK and in a rhythm, but mostly felt a little worse with each mile. Oddly enough, despite the fatigued feeling, my pace wasn’t way off. I’d find myself feeling like I was just barely going to make it to the next mile mark, then I’d look at my watch, see the split, and say “hey moron, you’re not running that slow. Suck it up.” (It’s possible I need to be a bit nicer to myself during races).
We hit a big bridge in the 6th mile of so, and from that point on, things got dark. I spent several miles pulling out every mental trick I could think of just to keep myself from walking or stopping altogether. I repeated positive phrases and mantras. I sang my go-to “disassociate” songs (50 Nifty United States and 99 Bottle of Beer on the Wall). I thought back to Kona and how disappointed I was in myself for giving in to the pain and walking at times, and I told myself the tough miles today would be the ones that gave me the mental strength to make sure what happened in Kona doesn’t happen again. I pretended I was at home doing a training run along the Lake, and I tried to relax. I got a little cheesy--- I remember at one point saying over and over, “this is where champions are made.” Even with all that, it was really, really hard to keep moving forward.
Proof that the bridges we ran were no joke
In the 12th mile, there’s another huge bridge. I knew my family would be at the top, so I put my head down, put one foot in front of the other, and just trudged forward. I saw my family, I waved and handed off my phone, and as we crested the bridge, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that after a nice long downhill, we’d be to the last mile and my heart would pull me through. I opened up my stride, started picking it back up, and actually felt almost good.
Oh, that funky foot turning thing
It’d gotten really foggy and I couldn’t see far in front of me, so I just kept chasing figures in the distance (there was a marathon going at the same time that had started a half hour before us, so I was passing marathoners a lot in the last few miles). I turned it over, looked at my watch and calculated that despite feeling horrible, I was on track to finish at 1:30 or a little under—right around my PR. That made me happy and gave me the boost to pick it up a little more.
Finally, I saw the 13 mile mark. And, I neither saw nor heard anything remotely resembling a finish line. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized I had started on a second loop of the same course I’d already done. I ran up to the next woman ahead of me. “Are you doing the half?” “What? No!” she answered, “you missed the turn!”
Crap, crap, crap. I immediately turned around and started hightailing it back. I was going against the course all salmon-like, and kept asking people, “where was the turn? How far back?” Most of them looked at me like I was weird, couldn’t understand what I was doing or asking. One guy got it. “Oh no, girl,” he said, “that turn was like a mile back.”
The beauty of the internet. I googled "salmon running against crowd." And here you go.
I’m not sure I could have been more disheartened. After I’d pushed myself so hard just to get through the race on a day I felt way off, now I’d gone and screwed it all up. I felt so dumb—I’d been lazy. I hadn’t studied the course map or previewed it because I wasn’t taking the race seriously and I’d figured I’d always be around others. I’d zoned out and stopped paying attention. Yeah, it was really foggy, yeah, the turn could have been marked better, yeah, the volunteers might have been a little louder, but I’m the only one who made the dumb mistake.
I kept backtracking and backtracking, finally finding the damn turn. It had been at mile 12.4 or so. A bit delirious, and a lot exhausted, I hoped I’d make the turn and the finish line would be right there. No such luck. Another .7 miles or so. Crap.
So done.
Somehow, I staggered it in, with my Garmin showing that I’d run 14.8 miles total. It was disappointing, sure, especially when I’d been truly gutting it out on a rough day and was going to have a decent time (for me). I knew in the grand scheme of things, however, this race didn’t really matter and I laughed it off with a few “dumb blonde” jokes.
The silver lining- I learned (or, re-learned) a couple good lessons – first, know the course (how many times have I heard my coach say that one?); second, and perhaps more valuable for the future – you can do more than you think you can. At mile 12, and at mile 13, I truly believed getting to the finish line was going to take everything out of me. Yet somehow, due to my mistake, I managed to race another 1.7 miles without slowing down too much. Proof that the mind’s what puts the brakes on first, not the body. Good to remember.
Bonus silver lining? I somehow still managed to place second in my age group and collected the most unique award I have received to date: a bongo drum. Just a little random.
And lesson number 3: don’t be an idiot. In hindsight, running that race while sick was not smart at all, or at least, running that race hard was not smart at all. (Possibly all the bike riding in the cold rain wasn’t terribly smart either but, I digress). I had to dig way too deep for something that was never intended to be more than a training day, and my body has let me know it was not at all happy with that. For about 45 minutes after the race, I sat in the 80+ degree direct sun, freezing cold and (once again) shivering uncontrollably. That’s post- Ironman stuff, not post- fun half marathon in February stuff! Super Bowl Sunday for me was not a pleasant experience, as my fever and headaches returned and I alternated between hot and cold over and over and over.
And, when I got placed in Triathlon Time Out (the dreaded words: “I want you to take the next few days completely off”) I didn’t argue even a little. This break is my apology to my body for making it do something it never should have done in the first place. Plus, I don’t mind the extra nap time! But soon, hopefully, I’ll back to it….and definitely a little smarter this time around.
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
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 badit 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.
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 byand 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!
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