As it turned out, I was taking WAY more gear than I was regular clothes, as evidenced by the two piles above: race-related gear is on the left, and my 'regular' clothes are on the right. I quickly realized I would be spending much of the weekend in gear. As it turned out, I didn't forget anything I needed. I also didn't need everything I brought, but that was sort of the point.
We packed up the Highlander with the bike and gear bags, including several bags of race nutrition/bike bottles, and other race odds and ends. We threw our 'regular' clothes bags in there as well, and we were then ready to hit the road.
We took a moment for me to pose for one last picture in our driveway, and then we were on our way. We drove about 5 hours on Thursday evening, spending the night near Hurricane, WV, and then finished the drive Friday, arriving to Louisville in early afternoon. I was generally feeling calm and good about my looming race. Thoughts and some fears about race day were swirling in my head, but I was doing pretty well. I slept well Thursday night and was excited to get to Kentucky. I remember from Wes's race last year that there is a vibe and energy in the air that is contagious. I was so excited to get there and be a part of that energy.
After we checked into our hotel (the Hyatt Regency Louisville, a block from the race finish) we walked the few blocks from where we were staying to the Galt Hotel (official race hotel) where all of the check-in activities were taking place on Friday afternoon. We were greeted by the race banners all along the street. There were dozens of them, and they really made the place feel festive and like something big was going to happen.
I sailed through the race check-in process, noting that this year they weren't weighing athletes like they did last year. This bummed me out since the scales they used last year also calculated how hydrated (in percentage) each athlete was. I'd made a point to drink lots of fluids and really wanted to know my hydration level. Alas, I had to settle for knowing I'd been following a good plan as evidenced by all the trips to the ladies room I'd taken that day. Wes agreed I must be well hydrated.
At check-in I received my race stickers, swim cap (the men had bright green caps and the ladies got hot pink), athlete wristband, and all of the gear bags to use on race day. There was little more to do than pack the race day gear bags and then race. Well, that and wait two days until Sunday. The waiting really is the hardest part. As I walked around the city the rest of the weekend, I found myself glancing at people's wrists, checking out who the racers were and who were their support crews. It was fun to catch others doing the same, and I swear a time or two I caught a surprised look when recognition dawned that I was going to do the race and not Wes. That's right, buddy...I'm planning to rock this race! I think Wes got a kick out of it, too.
After check-in on Friday afternoon, Wes and I went back to the hotel room to try to rest and take a nap. I slept just a bit but found myself still very twitchy with energy. I couldn't sleep. Wes seemed to have no problem sleeping. I needed to get in a 40-minute run, so late afternoon we threw on our running clothes and ran down to the transition area and then to the race start. Both were only partially set-up, but the energy and excitement were already floating through the air. We passed several other athletes who were either running or biking (remember, twitchy lot) and it was great to see so much excitement in the city. After our run we stopped by Qdoba across the street from our hotel for dinner (tortilla-less burritos and beers), and then I took a quick shower before heading to the mandatory race meeting. I took lots of notes on my phone during the meeting, none of which I ever really looked at again. So much energy to spare before the race.
Saturday morning we woke and ate breakfast in the hotel. From there we headed down to the swim finish, where the practice swim was taking place from 8a-10a. Athletes were strongly encouraged to hit the water for a brief swim of any duration to acclimate themselves to the Ohio River. Oh, Ohio River, how I have dreaded jumping into you for months and months. Since our arrival to Louisville, this was the first time I felt like I wanted to cry. Dang that river! Wes reassured me it would be okay, and we took a couple of pictures by the river to celebrate the occasion (and waste time).
It was already about 9am, so I stopped dilly-dallying and got to business. You can only take so many pictures by the water. I slipped on my swim cap, put on the new goggles I'd bought at the race expo (the ones I'd brought had been leaking, so what the hell), and headed into the water. It was, surprisingly, not bad. Not bad at all. There was a bit of clarity to the water that I certainly didn't expect, and I somehow wasn't scared at all. Who am I, and what have I done with Rebecca?! I really think that all of the lake swims Wes and I did with friends this summer really prepared me for the Ohio River. I'm so grateful to Dennis Geiser who hosted us every Wednesday night for Jordan Lake swims and really believe that those swims made all the difference in the world.
I swam for a quick 10 minutes and made my way out of the water, relieved that that was over with and that it was actually okay. Maybe the swim the next day would be tolerable afterall.
After the swim, we took a quick trip to the race expo to try to find a shirt in my size that I'd had my eye on the previous day. We ran into Cid Cardoso, Jr. of Inside Out Sports in Cary, NC. We had a quick photo op and wished each other luck and success the next day at the race. I was hoping to just finish the race, but I knew that Cid would really rock the race. Man, that guy is fast.
After we spent more money at the expo, we went back to the hotel and I changed into my biking shoes. Time to take my trusty steed for a quick 20-minute spin before taking it and my race gear bags to the transition area. I had a great ride down River Road (the only flat part of the race course going out of and then back into Louisville), and it felt good to stretch my legs out a bit. I saw many other athletes on their bikes, doing the same. At one point, I was passed by a motorcycle with its radio on, and the song on at the time was Journey's "Don't Stop Believing". I took this as a great sign. I planned to keep the faith.
After my ride I took a shower (the Ohio River was still all over me) and then we walked a block down to the Hard Rock Cafe for lunch. It's always tricky business for me to eat out the couple days before a big race, since I do what I can to minimize or fully eliminate all wheat, fiber, and dairy in an effort to minimize any GI issues, which I am very prone to, on race day. At Hard Rock I ate some grilled salmon, rice, and skipped the delicious looking broccoli that came with the entree. I washed it down with a big glass of water. Lunch of champions, I hoped.
We were eagerly awaiting the arrival of family that afternoon, so in the meantime we walked back to the hotel room and I began to pack up my race gear bags. It is more time consuming than one might think to divvy up the gear and race nutrition that needs to go into the swim-to-bike transition bag, the bike-to-run transition bag, and the 'special needs' bags they allow on the bike course and on the run course. The special needs bags can contain anything an athlete would like to have in the middle of both the bike and run, but in the Louisville race you don't get any of the leftover contents back after the race. Both of mine contained only food - more of the energy bars and gels I was using during the event as well as more solid, fun food, such as pretzels, cheez-its, and fig newtons. I really didn't know what I would feel like eating, so I included a buffet of choices.
After much figuring and refiguring, my bags were ready to go. I really dislike giving up my bike and gear bags the day before a race. At longer distance triathlons this is the typical way it's done. You have to check in all your stuff for the race the day before so the volunteers can get everything situated for race day. I do it, but I don't like it. I like being in control of my stuff.
In the meantime, Wes left to pick up my sister, Stephanie, at the airport. He'd surprised me by flying her out for the race, and I couldn't wait to see her. While Wes was gone, my brother Steven and his family (wife Michelle, daughter Taylor, and son Trevor) all arrived from their drive from near St. Louis. I was so happy and excited to see everyone! It was going to be a great weekend together regardless of the outcome of the race.
I needed an extra set of hands to help me walk my bike and gear bags the 15 minutes or so down to the transition area, and Steven volunteered. We left Michelle and the kids at the hotel, and we took off.
Only athletes were allowed into the transition area, so I schlepped in with all my gear and was 'assigned' to a volunteer to walk me through the process. I was so impressed by these volunteers!
I racked my bike and then took a moment to find my volunteer. I didn't know what to do with my gear bags, and I was pretty sure they had a specific place. (That's me in the middle of the photo below, holding my bags and looking a little confused about what to do next. I'm obviously new at this Ironman thing.)
My volunteer found me and guided me through the rest of the process.
After I dropped off my bike and gear, I struck a quick pose with the river and swim finish behind me.
The number of bikes already dropped off really made an impression. Nearly 3,000 athletes had registered for the race, and something close to 2,500 actually went through the check-in process on Friday (and would start the race). Sadly, not all of those who started the race would finish it. I very much hoped to be a finisher.
Likewise, the number of bike and run gear bags was pretty staggering. Thank goodness for the volunteers. They had everything organized and were on top of answering all the questions the athletes asked. I'd heard how great the volunteers were, and I was beginning to experience it firsthand.
Later that evening, Wes took this picture (from the car coming back from our pre-race dinner) from a different angle, capturing a view of the bikes and all the gear bags. This was going to be a big event.
For the pre-race dinner, we ended up at Buca di Beppo in Louisville, a restaurant that boasts family style dining (lots and lots of food). Last year, the night before Wes's race we'd made no reservation for dinner, and all the places within walking distance of our hotel had a several hour wait. This year I took a proactive approach and found a restaurant that took reservations (as it turned out, many of the Louisville restaurants weren't taking reservations due to the large number of people in town). We had to get in the car and drive, but we had some good Italian food (and tons of it, I might add), and I loaded up on carbs. It was good that it was relatively hassle free.
The entire Team Sisk crew! From front to back, left to right: Michelle (Steven's wife), Stephanie (my sister), me, Trevor (Steven and Michelle's son), Steven (my brother), Taylor (Steven and Michelle's daughter), and Wes (spectator team captain and the love of my life).
A few weeks before the race, my sister texted me pictures of the Team Sisk shirts she'd made for the crew to wear. She even made a keepsake shirt for me. I told her I would wear it in Madison a couple weeks after my race when we travel for Wes to compete in Ironman Wisconsin. I have an awesome sister.
After dinner we went back to the hotel and took a quick walk down to the finish line, a block from our hotel. The setup crew was still working to get the last touches completed before the race started the next morning. We took the opportunity to take a quick picture of me near what the next day would be the finish line. It's not official until you go under it!
I was all smiles, hopeful that the next day I would be running under that arch. I was feeling pretty relaxed and calm. I'd been waiting for race day all through taper and training and preparing for it for months. It was time to do this thing, and I really felt ready.
I posted a quick blog about my race fears (see previous blog entry), and then it was lights out. I slept for about an hour and a half before waking with thoughts of the race running through my head. I also could hear the setup guys at the finish line working on the loud speaker. And I was sleeping with ear plugs to block out all distractions! Man, I needed some rest. I finally fell back to sleep and got about another two and a half hours.
Four broken hours of sleep didn't seem like enough, especially considering I'd slept poorly the night before as well. Ah, well, it would have to suffice. The alarm went off at 3:30a, and it was time to rise and shine. My big day had finally, finally arrived.
I got out of bed and began my pre-race ritual of washing my face, brushing my teeth, and getting my swim gear on: heart rate monitor strap, running bra, tri shorts, tri top, and ankle strap with timing chip. I tucked my swim cap underneath my top and threw my goggles, energy bars for the first half of the bike ride, and other last minute items into a bag. At 4am I ate my breakfast of a white English muffin with peanut butter and strawberry jelly (not as good as it sounds at 4am) with a big glass of water. Breakfast of champions, I hoped. I filled my bike bottles with water and Perform (official electrolyte drink of the race, so that's what I trained with knowing that's what we'd be offered on the course) and put all my stuff in my bag. Wes was a great help, carrying the heavy water bottles and other things I might need before I started my race. We did a last second inventory and felt good about leaving the safety of the hotel room behind. I'd awakened feeling calm and confident, and I left the hotel room feeling calm and confident. I really was ready for this race. No real nerves...yet.
I opened the hotel room door only to find it and the opposite wall COVERED in Team Sisk signs. Stephanie, Steven, Michelle, and the kids took time the night before after dinner decorating signs to welcome me to my day the next morning. What an awesome cheering section I have! I welled up with tears at the sight of the encouragement but reminded myself I needed to save the energy and emotion for the race.
Wes and I walked down to the swim start around 4:30am. Transition was to open at 4:45am, and I wanted to be there as close to that time as I could. Steven and Stephanie had decided to sleep in a bit and meet up with us after I'd gotten in line for the swim start.
Ironman Louisville has the unique distinction of a time trial swim start. Other Ironman races have mass swim starts, where everyone gets in the water before the cannon goes off and begins the swim at the same time. Louisville, on the other hand, is different. The athletes line up (first come, first served...there is no preference for who gets to the front of the line) as soon as they can after going into transition for last minute checks of the bike and loading bike bottles and nutrition and then going through body marking. It was really important to me to try to get into the swim line as early as possible to allow me as much time to finish the race as possible. The race starts at 7am, but the last swimmer in line doesn't hit the water until around 7:40am. He or she will still have the typical 2 hours and 20 minutes to complete the swim, but regardless of when they enter the water, the race ends sharp at midnight. I knew I would need as much time as possible for the bike and the run, so getting in line early was of utmost importance.
In the pictures above and below, I am getting body marked. The volunteer wrote my age on my calf and my race number on my upper arms. I look pretty dazed...for crying out loud, it was 5am and I'd already been awake for an hour and a half. It was going to be such a long day.
We quickly found the end of the line for the swim start, and we planted me in it. There were strict instructions that family members were NOT allowed to hold a place in line for athletes. Apparently in past years, family and friends had been known to get in the swim line the night before to hold a place early in line for their athletes. This year there was none of that. We were told that if family was found in line, their athlete would be moved to the end of the line.
After I got myself in line, Wes asked another athlete to take a picture of us together. I couldn't have gotten through the long training season and race preparation without him. He was my coach and is my best friend.
As 7am drew near, I began to feel some butterflies in my stomach...here come the nerves. By this point, I'd eaten my PB&J breakfast in the hotel room and I'd downed a honey stinger bar around 5:30am. I'd gratefully been able to use the bathroom before we left the hotel, which is usually a good sign that GI issues may be kept to a minimum. I was cautiously hopeful. I continued to drink lots of water and sipped Perform throughout the morning. I had to hop out of the swim line twice to pee! If nothing else, I was definitely well hydrated.
As the long time in line progressed, my smiles became more nervous. I began chatting with the other athletes near me in line, and we realized we all had the same nervous jitters, regardless of our abilities or athletic prowess. There were two women directly behind me in line who were also attempting their first Ironman race. It was nice to share fears and concerns with others going through the very same thing. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I would see one of these ladies again later in the race.
As the light dawned, Steven and Stephanie found us in line. I was starting to feel really excited and nervous. We chit chatted for a bit, and the line started to move, with volunteers tightening up the athletes in line to make room for all the latecomers.
At 6:49am, the thousands of people who were gathered became quiet, and we heard a women singing the national anthem. It was nearly time. At 6:50am, the first cannon went off, and the professional triathletes began the race. It wouldn't be long now. With the pros out of the way, we age groupers would soon be starting our race.
I donned my swim cap and tried to remember to smile. In my nervousness, I kept chugging water. There's no harm in that, but I ended up peeing FOUR TIMES during my swim. Luckily, I have mastered the art of peeing while I'm swimming, so I don't lose any time. I just feel bad for the swimmers directly behind me in the water.
It was great to see women represented at Ironman Louisville (pink caps). Wes later told me that he heard that about 24% of the athletes who checked in on Friday were women. Typically about 30% of the athletes in the Ironman races are females. I felt so proud to represent.
At 7am, the second cannon went off, signaling the beginning of the race for the age groupers, the vast majority of the participants. I took an energy gel and one last swig of water. As we made our way through the line and down to the boat slips we would jump off, I felt focused but nervous. Please, PLEASE river gods, don't let my goggles fly off when I jump into the water. When we got down onto the sidewalk going down to the slips, I put my goggles on, made sure the seal was good, and knew I was as ready as I was going to be. Just before the boat slips, they separated us into the two lines that would file onto the two boat slips where we would make the jump into the Ohio. I jogged onto my boat slip and splash! Into the water I jumped. My goggles were still on my face with no apparent leaking. The water felt warm; I was ready to go. I began my swim stroke, and off I went.
Within a couple strokes, I was swimming into people. There were people everywhere. The first part of the swim was through a somewhat narrow channel in the river, and there were bodies everywhere. As it turned out, I entered the water around 7:12am. I'd been good and early in line, but still there were swimmers everywhere around me. One of my main fears with the swim in this race was being kicked and punched and elbowed by other swimmers trying to make their way. I really did not want anyone to swim over me, but I knew it was a distinct possibility. It didn't take long before I began to get beaten up. The first few times someone made contact with me, I tried to move to get out of their way. But then I realized that it would be a long swim if I kept trying to get out of others' way.
I made a quick decision to hold my ground, so to speak, and swim my own race. The end result was that if I got elbowed or inadvertently punched by another swimmer, I gave them the same back. If I felt someone's hand on my foot as they gained on me, I gave a kick and they had the option of getting kicked again or swimming around me. As I would later tell Wes, I entered the water an amateur fighter and exited that river a professional boxer. To be honest, I felt like I swam like an Ironman. A couple days after the race I noticed I had crescent-moon shaped scratches on my arms, legs, and even one on my butt. It took me a while to realize they were very likely from contact with swimmers' fingernails during the swim. Battle scars. I felt like a bad ass.
We swam about 3/4 mile up river, protected from the current by Towhead Island. There was just a bit of distance after the island before the turn buoy where we really felt the current, but I didn't feel I had to work much harder to get through the water. It took me about the first 20 minutes of the swim to feel like I'd finally calmed down and settled into my swim stroke. Once I got into my groove, I really began to enjoy the day. I felt good in the water and was pleased with my progress. I had no trouble sighting along the buoy line, and I felt like I was swimming a pretty straight line. At the turn buoy I checked my time and still had about 15 minutes before I planned to take an energy gel. Around 45 minutes into the swim (what I figured would be about half way for me), I flipped onto my back and effortlessly tore open my gel packet and had my snack. I tucked the gel wrapper into my tri shorts pocket and went on my way.
As I swam on the river side of Towhead Island, I noticed a barge that was parked in the river. I breathe unilaterally on my left side, so every time I came up for a breath I would see the barge. I saw that dang barge for what felt like a very, very long time and started to worry that I was suddenly making slow progress, until I popped my head up to take a good look and realized it was a really long barge. I was still okay. My confidence was restored, and I got back to work.
As we made our way down the Ohio, we swam under the first of two bridges, and I was feeling great. It crossed my mind that it would be so much nicer to just stay in the water and swim instead of getting out to bike. I was having such a great swim! But alas, that wouldn't make me an Ironman. Not long after I had that thought, I saw what appeared to be the finish line as I was sighting. I felt inspired.
I began to swim even faster, and I knew from watching myself sort of fly by a sighting buoy that I was making good time and that the bit of current in the river was helping to carry us along. The thought of seeing my cheering section (henceforth to be referred to as "Team Sisk") really bolstered my spirits. I couldn't wait to see them and feel rejuvenated by their cheers.
As I approached the swim exit, the water became really congested with swimmers trying to exit the water via the large metal staircase that went into the water. I once again became a prize fighter and made my way to the stairs. Wes had encouraged me to continue to swim until my fingers touched something solid (i.e., a volunteer's hand or the metal staircase), and I took his advice. As I got to the stairs, two volunteers, one on each side of the staircase, grabbed me by the armpits and planted me on the stairs. I wobbled a bit (Bambi legs after swimming for nearly an hour and a half) but quickly found my footing and took myself out of the river. I looked at my watch as I ran over the timing mat and saw that it showed 1:28 plus change. I swam 2.4 miles in less than an hour and a half. Woo hoo! I KNEW it had been a great swim. Man, was I feeling good about that swim. I'd nailed it! For months before the race, I'd been so worried about swimming in the river. I worked all summer on improving my technique and my swim time, and it had really paid off. I was on cloud nine.
I heard Team Sisk yelling my name and cheering for me and had just enough time to give them a quick wave as I jogged past them, and then I was off to grab my bike gear bag and go to the changing tent. I tend to have slow transition times, so I wanted to take care of business as quickly as possible. I took all my clothes off except my running bra, dried myself with my towel, and put on my bike clothes. I took a few moments to apply my anti-chafe cream (ever so important on a long bike ride), some deodorant (Wes thought that was hilarious), quickly swish the river out of my mouth with mouthwash while I changed, take an energy gel, and then was on my way.
I booked it to the rack my bike was on, grabbed my beloved bike, and ran it over the timing mat and to the mount line.
Once again, Team Sisk did not disappoint. They yelled their heads off for me as I started my way on my bike. They even had a temporary addition, our friend, Esther, who was in Louisville from D.C. for the weekend for a wedding. I felt lucky to have so many great folks cheering for me. Little did I know at that time that I had an entire legion of family and friends following my progress on Facebook and via text messages Wes was sending out. I most certainly did not get through this race alone.
I paused briefly to throw my right leg over my bike and then took off down the road. 112 miles, here I come.
The first 10 miles of the ride are flat, taking riders out of downtown Louisville on River Road. I remembered the advice from Jerry, a triathlon friend, to take it easy going out on the bike. My entire training season had been heart rate-based, and I was keenly aware of keeping my heart rate in the right range. It was going to be a very long day for me, and I knew that my success depended on keeping my heart rate in the right zone. Needless to say, I got passed by a lot of people in those first 10 miles, some of whom I would later pass but most of whom I would never see again that day. That was okay with me; I was racing my own race. I enjoyed easing into 112 miles with the flat bit on River Road.
Then we started to climb. We would continue to climb and descend until just after mile 100 on the bike course. I was faithful about my nutrition and hydration plan throughout the day. Every half hour on the bike I ate half of a smoothie PowerBar, and I alternated between taking large sips of water and Perform every 10-15 minutes. I tend to drink a lot on the bike, so I knew I would need to rely on the water and Perform they offered at the aid stations as my own bottles ran low.
The bike course for Louisville looks like a lollipop on a stick, with an out-and-back jaunt (the dog leg) as you go up the stick. Riders start up the stick, ride the dog leg out and back, finish going up the stick, ride two loops of the lollipop, and then ride 25 miles back down the stick and into downtown Louisville for a total of 112 miles. I'm not one of those riders who believes in driving (or riding, for crying out loud) the bike course ahead of time, especially if I suspect it is going to be a challenging course. Why put myself through that? I knew it was a hilly course, and that was really all I needed to know. Which specific hills were going to be killers was not knowledge I wanted to outwardly seek. I would get to them when I got to them.
As I got to the right turn for the dog leg, a guy came up beside me and mumbled that he'd really not been looking forward to this part. After about a half mile or so of relatively flat riding on the dog leg, we began to descend. Rapidly. Woo hoo! It felt great, and I was loving it. But, wait...oh, no. If we are going down like this, and there are riders on the other side of the road coming back, we were also going to have to climb up out of this descent. Ugh. Oh, man, this is going to be tough. And quickly enough, the glorious descent ended, and we began our climb up and up and up. It was hard, but I kept at it and kept my heart rate right where it needed to be. Doing so meant I was riding pretty slowly, and I got passed by so many fast cyclists as if I were standing still. It really made an impression to see how quickly man (and woman) could go on two wheels while climbing. I continued to churn out my slow burn.
I made it to the turn around point on the dog leg, and the reward was the back side of the climb we'd just completed: descent! I felt like a little kid again, flying down the road as if I had wings. Here and there some cyclists' nerves took over and they feathered their brakes. For a change, I did not. It was a crowded road, though, and at least a couple cyclists crashed on those descents. I passed one guy who was receiving medical help in the ditch. I noticed he had road rash all over the side of his body as well as his shaved head. Clearly, his helmet had come off when he contacted the road. I made a mental note to be extra careful. I really wanted to finish this long race.
As all good things must come to an end, so too did that descent on the way back to the lollipop stick. Soon enough, we began climbing and climbing and climbing our way back out. A small group of us who were slogging at the same pace made our way back up together. We passed two different guys carrying their bikes up those hills. Was it mechanical failure of the bike or just a need not to climb the relentless hill? I didn't stop to ask.
As I reached the lollipop stick and turned right to head for the lollipop loop, I had a mini celebration. We would not need to ride the dog leg again. I was a little closer to my goal.
The next several miles were much of the same: rolling hills, pedal, pedal, pedal, eat half a PowerBar, keep drinking water and Perform. Around mile 25 or 30, I was feeling a bit of a headache coming on. I noticed I was a little achy all over, and to be honest I was not having a good time. I felt dreadfully tired, so much so that I briefly contemplated taking a 10-minute cat nap on the side of the road. Now, NOW my body wants to sleep? For the past two weeks I've not been able to sleep, and NOW I want to sleep? I kept pedaling. I knew that once I hit the lollipop part of the course in LaGrange, KY, it wouldn't be long before I would see Team Sisk. I was looking forward to that. I needed to see Team Sisk. I was struggling, and I was nowhere near halfway through the bike portion. I felt like I was in trouble, and I sort of wanted to quit. I couldn't believe I was feeling this way so early in the bike course. I hung in there until we got to LaGrange, and I finally had a Team Sisk sighting at mile 38.
I gave my best effort at a fist pump and hoped that my face would not give away the internal struggle I was experiencing.
Team Sisk later told me that they thought I'd looked great that first time through LaGrange. Suckers! Actually, I was really glad they couldn't tell I was struggling. As I passed them, I suddenly wanted to cry (for the second time during that weekend). I wanted to stop and hang out with them, not see them for 10 seconds only to pass them and keep pedaling. It seemed like a cruel joke that my family came from far away to see me, but I wasn't able to spend much time with them. I wanted to go have an ice cream with them, watch the other cyclists and cheer with them. Instead, I kept pedaling. I wanted to cry. I didn't allow myself the luxury and wasted energy.
The best word I can think of to describe how I was feeling at this point, around mile 40 on the bike course, is despair. I was not in a good place. I still had a long, long way to go on a lot of hills, and feeling what I was feeling was not going to get me to the end. What could I do? My body was hurting (I kept thinking it's much too early to be hurting like this) and I wanted to be done. I wanted to be at the finish line. It was right around this time of despair that a well-intentioned spectator yelled, "Keep going! You're almost there! Soon you'll be an Ironman!" At mile 40, I was not almost there. I was nowhere near almost there. I thought something really rude in response and just kept going. I had a fleeting thought of my dad and asked for some strength from above. And then out of nowhere I remembered that I had the strength inside me. I could do this. I could do this. I decided to take some Tylenol to help with the headache and body aches. I knew I was following my nutrition and hydration plan, so that was still in check. I needed to adjust my attitude. Thinking about the finish line and spending time with Team Sisk was torturing me at this point. I needed to shorten my sights and narrow my focus. As I'd planned to do originally, I broke the ride into 10 mile chunks. I'd just passed mile 40, so my new focus was getting to mile 50. Every time I thought of something bigger, like getting to the halfway point at mile 56 or the special needs bags at mile 65, I forced myself to bring my focus back to mile 50. All the while, I continued to climb, pedal, eat, drink; climb, pedal, eat, drink. For every climb there was also a descent, so I did what I could to ride the descents, instead of just coasting down them. I knew I was climbing slowly, so I needed all the time I could possibly gain back on those descents. I did a great job of keeping my heart rate in the right zone, which would pay off later in the marathon.
In time, I made it to mile 50, and then to mile 56 (halfway!), and then to mile 65 where we were offered our special needs bags. At some point between mile 50 and special needs, I stopped at a rest stop to pee. I'd hoped I could hold it until the bike to run transition, but this Ironman hopeful was doing a bang-up job of keeping hydrated, so there would be no waiting. As I got off my bike at the rest stop to pee, a volunteer insisted I let him hold my bike instead of laying it on the ground. Wow, thanks! The volunteers continued to impress me with their assistance and positive attitudes. I did my business, refilled my water bottles, and was again on my way.
At mile 65, we were offered our special needs bags. In mine I had enough PowerBars for the second half of the ride. I also had some 'fun' food in case I was in the mood: cheez-its, pretzels, fig newtons, sport beans, and a chocolate protein bar to choose from. I opened the cheez-its, ate about three, and threw them away. I wanted none of it. Nothing sounded very appealing. I grabbed my PowerBars, opened them and tucked them into my tank bag, and offered the rest of the food to the volunteer. He laughed, and I told him I hated to waste it, but I couldn't eat it. He thanked me, and I was on my way. I bet I was one of hundreds who'd offered their leftovers to him and the others that day.
I noticed that my headache was gone, and honestly my spirits were much improved. I was at the beginning of the second loop of the lollipop, and I knew I would see Team Sisk again soon. I couldn't wait. My strategy of focusing only on 10 miles at a time seemed to be working. I was heartened to know that after I finished this second loop, I would ride the stick down into downtown Louisville, and then I could get off the bike. I was tired, but I felt good.
As I rode into LaGrange, I noticed there were fewer spectators there this time. So many of the faster cyclists had already come and gone twice that their spectators were back on their way to the transition area in Louisville for another glimpse of their athletes as they transitioned from the bike to the run. I didn't care. I knew Team Sisk would still be there waiting to cheer me onward. They didn't disappoint.
As I came through LaGrange that second time, my heart leapt when I saw the bright orange shirts of Team Sisk. I gave them another fist pump, and again the sighting was far too brief. I'd been looking forward to seeing them again ever since I saw them the last time through at mile 38, and now it was again over. I did what I could to keep my spirits up, knowing that when I saw Team Sisk yet again I would be getting off the bike.
I later learned from Team Sisk that they all thought I looked much worse coming through LaGrange that second time than I did when I came through initially. Ha! This surprised me, since I felt a lot better the second time around. At the same time, though, I had to face it: it was a tough bike ride for me, and it was likely all over my face.
After I saw Team Sisk for the second time, they eventually left LaGrange on the shuttle bus to head back to downtown Louisville. As evidenced by my sister sleeping while sitting up on the bus, spectating is hard work. No worries, Steph, I slept on the bus back from LaGrange last year, too. :)
While my sister snoozed on the bus, I continued the same strategy on the bike of a short-sighted focus with much attention to my heart rate on the second loop of the lollipop. I noticed, though, that my speed was slowing. I came through LaGrange the second time and hit mile 70 at nearly exactly 5 hours, which was pretty much a 14mph average. I certainly wasn't going fast, but I was going fast enough. If I could maintain a 14mph average, I would have an 8 hour bike time. There was a time earlier in my training season when that would've seemed like way too much time on the bike. After 5 hours so far, it was the most I could hope for. But as I continued to ride, my pace continued to slow. The hills were starting to wear on me, and I really didn't think I could maintain 14mph. So I shifted my energy from worrying about my overall time to getting up each hill in my heart rate zone. It became my sole focus, aside from nutrition and hydration. I completely disregarded my pace from mile 70 to about mile 90 and just continued to climb, pedal, eat, drink. Climb, pedal, eat, drink.
Around mile 90, I recalculated my pace and what I thought would now be my overall time on the bike. It was now looking more like an 8:30 ride. I already knew that the last 10 miles of the bike would be flat (heading back into Louisville on River Road) and the 15 miles before that were more descent than ascent. I really wanted to cap my ride as close to 8 hours as was possible at this point. I made a calculated decision to hammer it as best as I could. This is typically not advised on the bike during an Ironman, since you want to leave something in your legs for the marathon. At this point, though, I figured what the hell. I knew I'd be walking some of the marathon no matter what, and if I could get into transition more quickly I would have that much more time to complete the marathon. Done. I laid it down and thought of nothing but pedaling as hard and quickly as I could at the top of my heart rate zone.
And then something unbelievable happened. Within those last 20 miles or so, I began to pass people. I had been passed the entire race, and now I was passing others. Jerry's advice rung true: take it easy on the way out, and you will pass people in the end. Of course, I wasn't passing the fast cyclists - they were already long gone and in the middle of their marathons. I was passing my cycling peers, those who had likely blown their heart rate zones as well as their legs. I passed so many people at the end, and I felt great about. I passed women and men alike. I flew past mile 100 with a smile on my face. Only 12 more miles to go...the hardest 12 of the race.
As I came onto River Road, I ticked the miles off. Just as I completed mile 103, I passed a woman who looked like she was having a really hard time and was barely slogging through those last miles. "Only single digits to go," I encouraged her. "Uh huh," she mumbled. "You can do it," I continued. "Uh huh," she again responded. I was past her by this point and grateful that I had some gas left in my tank.
As I neared downtown Louisville, I came upon a clear view of the Ohio River. It was beautiful, and I still had such a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment knowing that I'd conquered my huge fear of swimming in it with a respectable overall time. I felt inspired by the river's movement and flow, and I pedaled even harder. I felt like I was flying home on wings of steel. I couldn't wait to see Team Sisk.
I saw Wes and Steven within a short distance from the transition area. They were cheering like crazy, and it made me so happy to see and hear them. I was tired, and I wanted to get off the bike. I honestly couldn't wait to begin the marathon.
There is about a 2 or 2.5 inch lift in the sidewalk as athletes end the bike course and turn to go to the dismount line. Last year when Wes did this race, I watched cyclist after cyclist hit this lift in the pavement going way too fast, sending water bottles flying and giving them quite a jolt. I slowed as I approached it, and lifted my body up off the bike saddle. Ouch. Running was going to hurt.
I got to the dismount line, unclipped my shoes, and very gingerly brought my right leg over my bike to a standing position. A volunteer took my bike from me (thank you!) and I began to hobble-jog to get my run gear bag. Wow. I'm supposed to run a marathon now? I made my way into the transition area and began to gather my thoughts. I opened the gear bag and got out my running shoes, shorts, shirt, and hat. I took off my bike shoes and socks, then my shorts and jersey. I realized I'd neglected to put a towel in the bag, and I was covered in sweat. Pulling up compression tri shorts onto my wet legs was going to be interesting. I managed to get myself dressed and took a couple of cups of water offered to me by a volunteer. I filled my hand-held water bottle I'd planned to run with and was on my way. Thanks to awesome execution of my hydration plan, I had to stop at the porta-john to pee again. I did so, then loaded my gels into my shorts pockets (they fall out when I pull my shorts down to pee, and I didn't need my gels taking a dive into the porta-john), and started on my way. After I crossed the timing mat, I asked a spectator for the time of day. He told me it was 5:07pm. Awesome! I had just under 7 hours to complete the marathon. I knew I could walk the entire thing in that time if I had to, so I felt really good about my chances of completing this race. I just had to keep going. Keep going. That was the story of the day.
Coming out of the transition area, I'd thought about walking. My legs were tired and tight after the bike ride, and walking would feel so much better than running. I'd done so many bricks throughout the course of the training season though - workouts of a bike ride directly followed by a run - to train for this very occasion. I knew that if I began by walking it would make it that much more difficult to ever start to run. So I ran out of the transition area, and just kept running.
The run course in Ironman Louisville consists of a couple miles in the beginning getting through transition and going part way over a bridge that leads into Indiana, turning back down the bridge, and then heading around 6 miles south through downtown Louisville, turning to come back north those 6 miles, and then doing the 12 mile loop again. As runners finish the first loop and prepare to head out on the second loop, they are routed directly towards the finish chute, turning right at basically the last possible moment before entering the finish chute to endure the second half of the race.
I didn't see Team Sisk where I'd expected to see them at the beginning of the marathon. I knew they were there somewhere, though, and I did not feel worried. Team Sisk does not disappoint. About a quarter mile or so into the marathon, just before I turned to head up a bridge over the river, I saw and heard my cheering section. They made me feel like I was in first place, and I was all smiles. I quickly ran over and gave Wes a kiss. A spectator on the other side of the street yelled, "Hey, no outside help allowed!" I gave the spectator a smile, and he smiled and waved back. All thoughts of walking were abandoned. As I left Team Sisk behind me and ascended the bridge, I could hear their whistles and cheers and specifically my sister's "woo hoo!" and gave them a fist pump with each yell. I was on my way.
I continued my jog up the bridge. It was the slightest bit of incline, but I could feel every bit of it. I still continued to run. I noticed my pace was in the 9-minute range, way too fast for the long marathon ahead of me. I made myself slow down and tried to keep my pace around a 12 minute mile. I felt like I was barely moving, but I knew I would appreciate this later on as my body began to tire.
I made it to the turn-around point on the bridge and then began to go back down, headed back toward Team Sisk. As I made it back to where I'd seen them before, I was surprised to realize they weren't there. I reminded myself that Team Sisk had not disappointed me all day, and I kept running, knowing I would see them again soon.
By this time, I'd taken my first Carb-Boom gel on the run, and my stomach had done a little flip flop right after I swallowed it. GI issues are always problematic for me on long runs, and I was pretty worried that today would be no exception. After nothing but energy bars, a few shot bloks at the end of the bike, and now gels for the entire day (aside from one PB&J English muffin at 4am) I felt like I was bound to have some GI trouble. I have prescription medication to help mitigate any difficulties I might experience, and I'd been faithfully taking my meds since the previous day. So far so good, but I knew better than to hope for no difficulties through the end of the marathon. When my stomach flip flopped after that first gel, I made a mental note of exactly how I was feeling but kept on trucking. I could feel some cramping going on, but I tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away. It actually did go away for the longest time.
I came off the bridge and made a turn or two within a couple blocks, running underneath the KICC, the convention center where the race meeting had been held on Friday night. It was something like running through a tunnel, with the only light coming from opposite ends of the convention center. As I came out of the darkness and into the light on the far side, Team Sisk erupted in cheers. Team Sisk! Hello! So good to see you all again! My heart felt light and happy to see my family again. They had been so great all day, cheering me on and bolstering my spirits when I was so low. I knew that the run course was great for spectating, and I looked forward to seeing them all multiple times on the run course.
As I ticked off those early miles in the marathon, I continued to run. I kept my pace between 12:30 and 13:30 minute miles. It was the slowest of paces, but it worked. After several miles, I allowed myself a brief walk break. All the while, I kept up with my nutrition plan of taking a gel every 45 minutes. As I do on the bike, I drink often on the run. At every aid station I would top off the water bottle I was running with and continue to sip from it throughout the next mile. By the time I reached the halfway point of the marathon (13.1 miles), I was still averaging around 13:30 minute miles. I would jog much of the mile and walk a bit of it to give myself a break. It was a good system.
The halfway point on the marathon put me near the turn around at the finish line. Just before I got there, I had another Team Sisk sighting. When I saw them I was taking a walk break, and Wes decided to join me. I handed him my sunglasses, which I no longer needed as the sun was beginning to set. He talked to me for a few minutes, asking me how I was feeling and whether I needed anything. I told him I just needed to keep seeing them along the course but that otherwise, I was doing okay. The effort of the day was starting to set in, and I knew that if I could maintain an average of a 15 minute/mile for the second half of the marathon, I would finish before midnight as an Ironman. I had some time cushion in case I needed to walk more than run those last 13.1 miles. My confidence was high, but this race wasn't over yet.
An acquaintance who has completed Ironman Louisville three times warned me about the section of the run that takes you so close to the finish chute on that first loop. He described what it's like to have all of the spectators cheering their heads off for you, thinking that you may be getting ready to finish the race, when in fact you have another half marathon to go. I was again running at this point, so the torture of coming so close to the finish line but having to turn away was at least shortened a bit. I knew what was about to happen as I neared the finish chute only to turn away at the last possible moment. I'm not sure that you can really be prepared for it, especially when you are so fatigued and ready to end your day. The crowd was loud. People were really excited and cheering us all on to the end, even though many of us weren't ready to end yet. At some point, a volunteer with a megaphone was saying, "First loop, stay to the right, turn right, and continue on; second loop, go through the finish chute." For a moment or two, I think I contemplated going straight through the finish chute. As soon as I thought it, I knew I had to turn right. I hadn't worked so hard all day and come so far only to quit after half the marathon. I yearned to become an Ironman that day. So I turned right, and I kept going.
It wasn't long after I began that second loop that I saw Team Sisk again, in basically the same spot I'd seen them at the end of the first loop. Hilariously, they were all sitting down, just waiting for me to arrive. They later told me that they hadn't expected me to come back around so quickly. Score one for the Ironman hopeful. She also does not disappoint.
I saw Team Sisk that time quite a while before they saw me. In fact, I wondered if they would notice me as I ran past them, but they did. From their seated positions, I heard a few cheers of encouragement. They weren't getting up! Then I noticed Steven start running beside me, keeping pace (which wasn't difficult). "Those guys are too lazy to even get up!" he said. Just as he said it, Wes ran up beside me on the other side. I had a veritable escort of two talented runners on either side of me...talk about feeling special! After a few moments, Steven peeled off, and it was just me and Wes for several minutes, jogging and talking. You aren't allowed to have anyone pace you during an Ironman race, but I gave no second thoughts to Wes running beside me. It was nice to have his company, and it was good to hear his voice. He reminded me that the sun was quickly setting and that it might feel harder to continue on in the dark. He asked if I were cold and needed anything at all, and I told him I was fine. I just needed to keep going and finish the race. I remember telling him that I welcomed the dark and the coolness. The day hadn't been too hot (a high temp of around 85 degrees) but all the same the sun made me sweat. I was looking forward to the cool darkness, and I embraced it as it fell upon me.
As I said good-bye to Wes that time, I realized I probably would not see Team Sisk again until the finish. I had another 12 miles or so to go, and I felt alone even though I was surrounded by other athletes. The quicker I could move myself through those last miles, the sooner I could finish this thing.
The most memorable things about those last 10 miles were 1) the amazing spirit and attitude of all the volunteers on the course, and 2) the unbelievable amount of physical pain I felt. Up until about mile 15, the pain was somewhere in the distant recesses of my consciousness. As I closed in upon single digit miles to go, however, the pain really crept into the forefront of my mind. I was walking more and running less, in part because it seemed more tolerable to go so far that way but also because my stomach would cramp up more when I was running. I'd kept myself quite hydrated and had had to stop a couple times on the run already to pee. I didn't want to have to spare any more time than that if I could help it, so keeping GI issues at bay was helpful. The more I walked, the more I noticed the tightness and oncoming soreness throughout my entire body. I was keeping up a decent walk pace, around 15 minute miles, and doing so meant really tensing and contracting my muscles. I wanted to stop but knew I was in no danger of doing so. I was so focused on finishing this race that quitting at this point really was not an option.
I was not alone. All around me were Ironman hopefuls who had relegated themselves to walking the last miles of the marathon. Every now and then I would see someone run for a bit, but most of us were in the same tired boat. We had enough time to walk, so we did.
As I made the turn to come back north the last 6 miles, I felt a surge of hope. It was dark and I was tired, but I knew I was going to finish. It would take me about another hour and a half, but I was going to do this. I chit chatted with other athletes along the way and we made small talk about who we brought with us to the race and where we were from. Everyone has a story, and we all told ours to each other that night. We sometimes introduced ourselves and sometimes we just walked and talked. Even though there were a couple lonely moments during that long, dark marathon, I was never alone. I thought of all the people who might be following my progress, and I was so grateful to know that I was going to finish this race. As long as I could keep walking and could keep my GI issues at bay, I was going to finish this race. I was going to finish this race.
Around mile 21 or 22, I decided to try to run again. I ran for a few minutes, and my stomach cramped up as did the toes of my left foot. What? I walked a few paces, and the toe cramping subsided. Hmm. I ran again, and the toes cramped up again. I walked, and the cramping again subsided. Really? Sidelined by toe cramps? It was at this point that I noticed the pain in my back and shins. I took a quick inventory and realized I was feeling pain from the base of my skull all the way down to my toes. Pretty much everything hurt. Okay, I can still walk. For about the fiftieth time that day, I recalculated my time and realized I could walk a much slower pace than I was doing and still finish before midnight. My prospects were looking good. Even though I was walking and not running, I continued on with my nutrition plan of taking a gel every 45 minutes and drinking often. As it turned out, I had to stop at a porta-john 4 times on the run to pee. I was nothing if not well hydrated that day.
I inched on, and the last miles of the race slowly moved behind me. A small group of us started closing in on the last mile of the race. It was then that I realized the woman who had been directly behind me in the swim line that morning had come up right beside me. We started the race together and were going to finish the race together. We finally introduced ourselves, and Marta and I continued on with a couple other athletes. We finally arrived at the last aid station on the course. As we approached, the volunteers and spectators at that station were clapping and cheering for us. They happily told us that we were .6 miles from the finish line. Of a race that totals 140.6 miles, we were .6 miles away from the end. One of them said, "Keep going, you are almost there! If you keep going, you WILL be an Ironman!" That was all I needed to hear. Finally, FINALLY, it was true. I was almost there, and if I kept going I would be an Ironman.
I started to run. I felt like a Kenyan but was probably still running a 13 minute mile. I didn't care. It was pitch dark but for a few street lights scattered throughout the road. I made a left turn and heard Wes whistling for me. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was there. As I got closer, he got louder. He was at the last turn before I would run straight down the block, through the finish chute, and across the finish line. "Come on, Becca, you've got this! Keep going! Keep going! Come on, Becca!" "I'm coming, I'm coming, this is all I've got" I weakly yelled, thinking he was egging me on to go faster. It then dawned on me that he wasn't encouraging me to go faster, he was simply encouraging me to go. Go I did.
I hollered to him to get himself to the finish line so he could see me cross it, and he sprinted ahead of me.
Weeks before the race, Wes asked me whether I thought I would cry when I crossed the finish line. I told him I thought I probably would. I cried when he crossed it last year, and I knew that all of the emotion of the day would likely catch up and come out in the form of tears. As I ran down that block, in the darkness, with the flood lights and loud music of the finish line and throngs of cheering spectators beckoning to me, crying was the last thing on my mind. I ran down the block and into the finish chute with the biggest of smiles on my face. As I entered the finish chute I heard the announcer say, "Rebecca Sisk, YOU are now an Ironman!" I'd dreamed for a year of hearing those words. It was finally real.
I found the rest of Team Sisk on the right side of the finish chute and gave them my highest fist pump of the day as I bolted toward the timing mat. They were cheering like fools, and I loved it. I loved them. I loved them for getting up early that day and following me all around the race course to help keep my spirits high. I loved them for getting blisters and sore feet and sore legs and hoarse voices. I loved them for making the trip to see me accomplish what I once thought would be impossible. I could also see Wes on the other side of the finish chute, running down the side of it as I ran through it. I loved him for all these same reasons and so, so many more. I loved him for believing all along that I would accomplish what I once thought was impossible. 16 hours, 15 minutes, and 56 seconds after I began my swim that morning, I officially became an Ironman.
In reflecting back on the race, I now realize that the pivotal point for me during the day was on the bike when I realized that I had it within myself to get through the bike and the rest of the race. I'd found myself in a state of despair that I'd not expected to feel, and somehow I'd found a way to get myself through it and keep moving onward. I believe that this was the real moment I became an Ironman. Crossing the finish line after I completed the marathon was the exclamation mark on the day.
Swim: 1:28:23
Bike: 8:00:45
Run: 6:18:58
Total: 16:15:56
Congratulations on a SUCCESSFUL FIRST ATTEMPT! You've gone so far since that first rainy cold Wilmington Duathlon and even further going back to your first five mile run. You are an Ironman. Welcome to the club. Tattoos and T-shirts fade but the experience and confidence will always be with you. Take that swagger and go be great!
ReplyDeleteYou are my hero! So proud of you!
ReplyDeleteLove,
Jennie
reading this brought tears to my eyes. Rebecca, you have accomplished something so huge and real. Congrats on working hard and having your dreams come true. That's what it's all about. so proud of you! Kerry Callahan Mandulak
ReplyDeleteSuch a powerful write up Beck. Reading this brought moments of laughter, tears, desire, and joy. We are SO proud to be a part of your experience. Very inspiring. Sincerely, your brother (and family) from another Mother!
ReplyDelete