We headed to the race expo and packet pickup on Thursday, and we walked through in about 10 minutes. The beauty of arriving a day early is that there is generally no line!
Steve, Taylor, and I spent Friday picking up a few last minute items, packing up my race gears bags, taking my bike to T1 at Wrightsville Beach, and then attending the evening race meeting and athlete dinner. My good friends Eleanor and Stephanie were racing the half iron distance, so we all caught up at the race meeting to grab a bite and discuss any last minute jitters. We are all endurance race veterans, so the evening ended up feeling relaxed and low key. It was great to see and hang out with these ladies.
Steve and Taylor were at the meeting and dinner too and shared in the race festivities.
Friday evening was otherwise uneventful. After the dinner, Steve, Taylor, and I went back to our hotel to settle down for the evening. I gathered my morning race gear, got myself straight on wake up time and breakfast, and got into bed around 9p. I pretty much fell right to sleep and slept nearly 7 solid hours, possibly the best I've ever slept prior to a big race. I'd been fighting a bit of a cold for a couple days and could tell my body was looking for a little extra rest. It got it.
On race morning I woke just after 4a and sprung into action. I felt good: relaxed and ready to race. The forecast, which I'd been watching like a hawk for several days, was calling for mid-30s at daybreak. Cold. It was going to be a chilly wait on the beach before the swim start, and a frigid start to a long bike ride. I wasn't particularly looking forward to any of that, but cool temps during the day were promising for a comfortable marathon. The water temperature was supposed to be around 70 degrees, which would feel much warmer than the air temperature. I was looking forward to the swim, aside from Mary Lee...
We drove to T1 where I checked my bike one last time and dropped off my swim-to-bike gear bag. A last minute decision was to include my cycling jacket in anticipation of cold temps and wind at least during the first hour or two of the bike, so I opted not to drop it off the night before when I dropped off all my other race gear bags so I could add the jacket. Taylor and I walked together to get to the transition area.
After making sure my bike was ready to roll, I dropped trou to get my race number and age written all over my body.
For entertainment purposes, I had the volunteer write 'oz' below '40' (my race age) on my leg. I got a few laughs from that throughout the race. As evidenced by the goosebumps covering my body, body marking was a cold process, even if it only lasted a couple minutes.
A couple days before the race I read a facebook post about Mary Lee...a tagged great white shark that had just made an appearance off the NC coast a couple days before and seemed to be just hanging around. A. Great. White. Shark. The thought of getting into the intracoastal waterway with a 16-foot, 3500 pound shark hovering anywhere nearby was terrifying. I wasn't sure I would be able to do it. I am terrified by the thought of swimming with sharks or anywhere near them. It's generally a deal breaker for me. There are races I won't do because of the possibility of sharks. The fact that there are very likely sharks in and around the NC intracoastal waterway does not escape me. But when you are talking about a tagged, known, GREAT WHITE that is in the generally vicinity, I begin to stress.
In the end, I somehow convinced myself that Mary Lee wouldn't come into the channel, despite the smorgasboard of triathletes that would be moving through the water there. A friend who also did the full distance race told me days later that dawn/daybreak is the most likely time to encounter a shark in the channel. Ignorance was basically bliss, or at least made this swim tolerable for me.
On race day, I was all smiles as I waited in the line to board the trolley from T1 to the swim start.
Once I got to the swim start, I caught up with several friends. My friend, Adam, was looking calm and relaxed as always. This was his third iron distance race, and he didn't looked nervous at all. My friend Mark, who was embarking on his first iron distance triathlon, looked a little more wound up. He mentioned he was cold (we all were), and he honestly looked a little nervous. He would later go on to have a fantastic first ironman race. With the performance that he put forth, I doubt very much that it will be his last.
We listened to the national anthem, lined up to start, and then the gun went off. This full distance race is a mass start from the beach. I let some of the faster swimmers rush past me before I waded into the water.
As the swim started, I slowly began to warm up. Since the water temperature was
considerably higher than the air temperature, the water felt pretty good. The full distance racers were a mass of
bodies in the water. As is typical
in a mass swim start, I was kicked, swum over, and run into many times. I’ve learned to mark my territory with
an extra hard kick or wide stroke.
It does the trick.
The current from the incoming tide was noticeably less than
during this race last year, when it felt like we were flying. I wasn’t worried; with salt water and a
wetsuit, I already had some help. The
swim is the weakest of the three legs of the race for me, so really I just wanted
to get through it. As soon as the
swim began, I found my thoughts drifting to Mary Lee, the great white. Surely she was nowhere near us…but what
if she were? I had to keep
redirecting myself to the task at hand.
Stroke, stroke, breathe.
Stroke, stroke, breathe. As
the swim progressed, the swimmers became more and more spread out throughout
the channel. When it comes to
sharks, I believe in safety in numbers.
A time or two I suddenly felt very alone but realized when I looked up
to sight that that wasn’t, in fact, the case. There were still swimmers all around me, a comforting thought.
Nearly always when swimming in any body of water other than
a pool, I keep my eyes closed when my face is in the water and open them when I
turn my head to breathe or lift my head up to sight. On this day, however, my eyes were wide open in the water. I didn’t even realize this until about
midway through the swim, when I noticed a flash of white that seemed to move
beneath me in the water. My
thoughts went like this: 1) Huh! My eyes are open in the water…cool. 2) It’s Mary Lee. 3) IT’S MARY
LEE. I jerked my head up to look
around and saw that there was no dorsal fin that had broken the surface (yet),
and there were other swimmers within her striking distance. I was instantly terrified and quickly
realized my options were very limited (stop swimming or keep swimming), so I
just kept swimming. After seeing
this flash of white a few more times, I concluded that it was likely a more
shallow part of the channel and what I was noticing was the just-risen sun
breaking through the surface of the water and reflecting off the sand below
me. No other explanation made
sense AND allowed me not to freak out, so I decided to stick with that one.
As the swim went on, I noticed my hands and feet were sort
of numb, but I didn’t feel cold. For this I was grateful, because I knew that
the moment I exited the swim I was going to freeze my butt off. I passed the time thinking about Mary
Lee and then finding ways to distract myself from thinking about Mary Lee. I thought about Steven and Taylor and
wondered what they were doing. I
thought about places I’d like to visit, and dishes I’d like to learn to
cook. I thought about my other
friends in the race and wondered how their swim was going for them. I thought about my dad and wondered
what he would’ve thought of all my endurance racing had he lived long enough to
have known about it. I thought
about my life: my marriage and recent divorce, new friends and new beginnings,
places I want to go, things I want to do, the person I want to become. An ironman race affords much time to
ponder; that’s what I did while I swam.
The changing tent was packed with women, all of whom were
talking about the cold. I peeled
off my wetsuit and clothes underneath so I could put on all dry clothes. Completely naked, I attempted to
quickly dry myself. As I pulled on
my bike shorts, I realized I wasn’t fully dry and had to sort of shimmy my way
into the spandex shorts. My very
tight-fitting sports bra was another story. After four attempts at pulling this thing onto my sticky,
damp body by myself, I asked a woman changing next to me to please help me pull
it down. She happily helped me,
telling me that she’d wanted to ask someone to help her with hers, too. After what seemed like an eternity, I
was dressed and ready to roll. I
was wearing bike shorts, a short sleeve bike jersey, my cycling jacket, full-fingered
gloves under my cycling gloves, and an ear warmer headband under my cycling
helmet. I was ready to battle the
cold.
I saw Steve and Taylor again as I headed out on my bike from
T1 and gave them a quick shout and wave good-bye. The cold was painful. It took my breath away as I tried to
pedal harder to get warm. I was so
grateful I’d decided to wear my jacket on the bike portion. I knew I would shed it and stuff it
into one of my jersey pockets later in the afternoon but was really happy to
have its warmth early on.
As we made our way out of town, I saw my friend, Craig
Gilbert along the bike route. Just
a few days before, Craig had helped me with an emergency repair for my wetsuit
when I realized while packing that it was torn in a couple places. I hollered hello as he waved and
cheered me on. During a long day
of racing like this, it’s always so uplifting for me to see family and friends
along the course.
Cyclists were in packs along the route. I did what I could not to ride within
the 3 bike length draft zone that will incur a time penalty if seen by a USAT
official, but it wasn’t easy, especially early on. So many triathletes were getting on the course at the same
time; it was difficult to be sufficiently spread out. In the early bike miles, I felt pretty good aside from the biting
cold. By this point the
temperature had probably climbed to the upper 30’s or right around 40 degrees
and was supposed to top out in the low 60’s at the warmest part of the
afternoon. I was cold but slowly
beginning to get into my groove, settle into my pace, and warm up. Eating was tricky, since the cold makes
the power bars I eat basically hard as a rock. I began by keeping them in a pocket of my jersey, but they
were difficult to get to with the jacket on over the jersey, and they were
staying hard all the same. I’d
hoped that being closer to my body might warm them some, but no luck. So I moved them to the tank bag I keep
on my bike where I typically keep my nutrition.
The first 30 miles or so of the bike route were mostly
uneventful. I was holding about a
17.5-18 mph pace, right on target for what I wanted to do. My feet were completely numb from the
cold (at one point I realized I couldn’t feel the toes on my right foot at all),
but I otherwise felt okay. I was
eating, drinking, and pedaling.
Then the route had us make a turn onto 421, and it was like turning into
a brick wall, thanks to the wind.
This would be the story for me for the next 50 miles. I knew that this was coming, but you
have an entirely new appreciation for it once it happens. The wind was brutal. It was
punishing and demoralizing. It
wore me out. I looked down at one
point, and I was barely holding 15 mph, a crushing realization after having
worked really hard all summer to improve my bike strength and knowing that I
should be able to maintain a 17 mph average for 112 miles on a flat
course. I wanted to scream. I wanted to stop. I wanted to get off the bike and just
take a nap, because I was starting to feel really tired. I did none of these things. I just kept pedaling and fighting. As I came to mile 56 and the special
needs part of the course, where athletes are offered a bag they packed pre-race
(mine contained more power bars, snickers bars, goldfish crackers, and
M&Ms), I happily stopped to grab my bag. Looking back, I spent too much time at special needs, but I
needed both the physical and mental break from the wind. I ate two mini Snickers bars (a perfect
food for me during an ironman race, I came to realize), crammed some goldfish
crackers into my mouth, refilled water bottles, and unzipped the sleeves from
my cycling jacket, put the sleeves back on (it’s one piece that goes across my
shoulders, like a bolero), and stuffed the rolled-up jacket into a pocket. Finally, I shoved the power bars into
my tank bag and got on my way.
It took no more than ten minutes to realize that the wind
was catching underneath my bolero-like jacket sleeves, which had become more
like a kite attached to me. I was
fighting the wind in a whole new way and knew the sleeves had to go. I pulled to the side of the road,
removed the sleeves, shoved them into a jersey pocket (all of which were now
bulging with my gear), and started up again. I momentarily felt chilled but warmed up quickly.
Right about this time (around mile 60), it occurred to me
that I was bored. I still had 50+
miles to go on the bike, and I needed something to occupy my mind. I began to play an alphabet game I use
often on long bike rides. I pick a
topic - in this case adjectives to describe me right then as an athlete in an
ironman race – and go through the alphabet from A to Z coming up with
adjectives that will fit the bill: athletic, bad-ass (it’s an all-goes game),
cute, determined, and so on. I
continued to play this game several times, changing the topic each time. This carried me through another 20
miles or so. Shortly after that, I
started passing folks I caught up to on the course. The pedaling felt easier, and I realized the wind seemed
less. I began to work harder and
was again maintaining 17-18mph. I
carried this pace through the end of the bike course, another 30 miles. As I neared the convention center in
downtown Wilmington, I began to feel really excited to see Steven and Taylor
and to get off the bike. I was
tired of eating the power bars and switched to a snack pack of M&Ms as my
last nutrition on the bike. They
were too sweet and seemed unsubstantial. The Snickers bars earlier in the
afternoon were great. I vowed to myself not to use M&Ms on the bike again.
I climbed the bridge into downtown with all I had left. At mile 111, to climb feels insulting
and hard, but I wanted to own that hill.
I hammered across it and began to see spectators sprinkled on both sides
of the road. As I wound my way
through the route and closer to the convention center, I felt pure joy knowing
I would soon dismount my bike and begin the third and last leg of the race: the
marathon.
A volunteer took my bike from me as I jogged into the
convention center. I grabbed my
run gear bag and headed into the women’s changing area. I was changing with some of the very
same women I’d seen in the changing tent after the swim. Everyone
was talking (read: complaining) about the wind on the bike. We all felt battered and kind of pissed
off by it. A kind-hearted
volunteer offered up Tylenol to anyone who might need it; I exuberantly
accepted. I’d asked volunteers on
the bike course for some Tylenol, but no one had any. Not bringing any with me with a huge oversight on my part; I
was grateful to take some before the run. I’d been enduring a tremendous
headache for the second half of the bike, and I was hoping for some
relief. I changed my clothes, took
the Tylenol, stopped in the bathroom to pee, and got on my way.
Most people who know me and follow my progress on endurance
events know that I always have GI upset when I run distance. It is a rare and glorious day when I do
not. This day would end up being a
nearly perfect rare and glorious day (save the last hour of the marathon). I began my run and felt fantastic. There is no other way to describe
it. I had no stomach or intestinal
pain. The weather was gorgeous –
sunny and cool. I was ecstatic to
be off the bike and out of that wicked wind.
**Note: It is now 5 months after the race (end of March,
2014) as I finish this blog post.
What can I say? Life
happened, and I got busy. My
memories of the marathon are somewhat scattered, but the highlights remain
vivid.
As I began to run, I felt fantastic. Dismounting the bike after 112 miles and embarking on the marathon is always a relief. As I made my way through the first mile of the marathon, I saw Steve, Taylor, and my good friend, Stephanie, who had completed the half ironman race earlier that afternoon. They were all cheering and whistling for me, and it was AWESOME.
I could not believe how great my body felt – legs were good and stomach was calm. I ran past them and into downtown Wilmington, all smiles.
The course is set up so that you run past the finish line at
the beginning of the race and again halfway through. As I ran past the finish chute in the early miles, I passed
my friend, Adam, who was at that point halfway through the marathon. We said nothing to each other but
high-fived as we passed. He looked
strong and would go on to earn a sub-12-hour finish time. There were lots of spectators lining
either side of the street, and everyone was cheering. I felt great racing.
As I made my way through the marathon course, Taylor and Steve grabbed my bike from T1 and took it back to the hotel. It is so great to have this kind of help!
I continued on the marathon course toward and around
Greenfield Lake. Along the way I
saw my Mark and Adam again. The three of us had spent time together training for this race, and
it was good to see them on the course, looking strong. Mark was looking fantastic in his first full ironman race - strong and determined. As I made
my way around Greenfield Lake and back towards downtown, the sun was setting
and it was starting to get a little bit cooler. I’d anticipated this and had packed a long sleeve running
top in my run special needs bag.
As I entered downtown, crowds were cheering like crazy for all the
athletes who were filing into the finish chute. I pretended they were all cheering for me. I ran past the chute and on to where
the special needs bags were being offered (I think this was around mile 14?
15?). For the first time, my
stomach turned a little. I’d been
running pretty much the entire time, stopping only to walk briskly through aid
stations to allow volunteers to quickly refill my handheld water bottle. When I actually stopped at special
needs to take off my short sleeve top and put on my long sleeve one, however,
the blood must have rushed to my gut, inspiring an acrobatic flip flop. I ignored it. I changed my shirts and kept on my way.
By this point, it was dark and cool. I was still feeling good, especially
knowing that I was on the second half of the marathon and that the end was in
sight. As I headed down towards
Greenfield Lake for a second time, my stomach continued to ramp up its cramping
in protest to the day’s effort. I
still felt okay, though, and just kept running.
The path around Greenfield Lake was very dark. The race staff had put large, generator
powered lights on the course, which helped but in between lights it was
difficult to see much in front of me.
As the owner of two strong headlamps, I was regretting not having
brought one with me. I hadn’t
remembered needing one the previous year, though, so it hadn’t seemed like a
necessity. As I trucked onward and
my stomach continued to complain, I knew I would have to make a stop at the
next portajohn. Right around the
time that thought was entering my mind, which was around mile 19, I fell on the
lake path. Between my tired, shuffling
steps and what I presume was an elevated spot in the path thanks to tree roots
that had grown under it, I tripped and landed sprawled on the path. My water bottle and energy gels I’d
been holding went flying as I hit the deck. Hard. A couple
of kind athletes who were behind me stopped to help me get up and gather my
stuff. My right knee was instantly
throbbing, and I had decent scrapes on the palms of both hands and my right
elbow and hip. We all said a
few words in complaint about how dark it was right there and then began moving
again. I gingerly took a few steps
to check all systems (soreness prevailed and I forgot about my stomach) and
then started to run slowly. For
the next mile or so I was focused on my new achy spots; I didn’t seem to be injured,
just banged up. The legs were
still moving in the right ways, and despite a little blood, I was otherwise
okay. I’d been on track for a new
PR before I fell, and as long as I could keep jogging forward, that wouldn’t
change. AND THEN IT HAPPENED.
There is a particular feeling I get in my gut when my body
needs to unload. Immediately. And around mile 20, I had that
feeling. Falling on the trail had
given brief respite from the stomach cramping, but after I got up and started
moving again, the cramps came back with a vengeance. There would be no waiting until the next portajohn (where IS
that damn thing, anyway?). I
quickly surveyed my options. I
could duck into the bushes near the lake, but there is an alligator that lives
in that lake, and I didn’t want to become a late night snack. On the other side of the road there
were houses, houses with large bushes in their front yards. It was really dark that night,
too…perhaps no one would notice.
I’m not particularly proud of what happened next, but I did
what I had to do. After all, I was chasing a PR! I ran across the
street, into someone’s front yard, and dropped my shorts behind a bush that
sheltered me from the runners across the street. Let’s just say, I made my move not a moment too soon. When I saw the amount of what came out
of me, I marveled at the body’s ability to carry that for so many miles. As I was cleaning myself up with a
couple leaves as best as I could, I heard what I thought to be a deadbolt being
unlocked on the front door of the house.
I quickly covered up my mess with some leaves, yanked my shorts back up,
and took off feeling a thousand times better. My body was still aching from the fall, but I felt loads
lighter.
I got to the final turnaround point of the marathon (where I
thought/hoped I’d remembered seeing a portajohn and was WRONG) and headed back
towards downtown. Once again,
around mile 21 or 22, my gut gave me THE signal. Seriously?
Again?? There's more in there??? My options were
again the same: poop near the lake and run the risk of becoming alligator
snack, or duck behind a bush in someone’s front yard. I’d like to take this opportunity right
now to apologize to the two different homeowners in Wilmington, NC who awoke
the next morning to find my processed breakfast and power bars in their front
yards. I’m sincerely sorry. After taking care of business for a
second time within a couple or so miles, I was ready to be done with this race.
I took it easy heading back into downtown, keeping one eye
on my GI status and on the clock as I held a PR in mind. Just before I hit downtown, I rounded a
corner to see and hear Steven, Taylor, Stephanie, and a couple other crazies
yelling their heads off for me. I
was within about a mile of the finish line, and their cheers really bolstered
my spirits. I picked up my pace
and headed for home. My GI tract would remain calm until after I finished the race.
I have a very vivid memory of running across the
cobblestones in downtown Wilmington at the end of the race. Those of you who know this course or
know Wilmington will know where I mean.
The footing is unsure at best, but my spirits were so high I flew over
those cobblestones. The cheers from spectators
were immense and loud. I was
soaring, knowing my race was nearly over and I’d earned a new PR. I crossed the finish line, and my
family and friends made their way to me to hug and congratulate me. Another full ironman race was in the
books.
Stephanie insisted on a celebratory swig from her tequila bottle. I complied.
This little spectator gave me smiles and cheers throughout the day. I'm so happy she was there with her daddy to cheer me on.
Eleanor, Stephanie, and I after finishing our races that day. I love these ladies!
An ironman racer could not ask for a better support crew. Taylor and Steve were AWESOME and kept me going throughout this long and tiring day. I was so happy to see their smiling faces when I finished.
And finally, well deserved rest for the kiddo.
My finish time was 14:37:03, bettering last year's time by 26.5 minutes. The breakdown of all parts of the race look like this:
swim: 1:19:13
T1: 18:57
bike: 7:09:04 (basically identical to last year...grrrr)
T2: 16:35
run: 5:33:50 (best marathon time in an ironman race)
I'm registered for Ironman Chattanooga on September 28, 2014; it is likely to be my last ironman race for the foreseeable future. Here's to a safe and healthy training season.
