AN IRONMAN!
I've spent a year day dreaming about the moment I would hear Mike Reilly say those words. Swimming laps, out on runs, on the bike, I'd picture myself in that finish chute. I'd be finishing with friends I'd made out on the course, all of us politely insisting "oh no, YOU cross the line first"...I'd be waving to my family, blowing kisses...I'd be energetically giving high fives to the spectators who enthusiastically line the chute and cheer for hours each year...I'd savor every second of that finish.
In reality, I thought I was dying. I vaguely remember Mike Reilly saying my name. I don't remember a single spectator lining the chute, I may as well have been finishing in a completely empty space and not the Lake Placid Olympic oval surrounded by hundreds, thousands possibly, of screaming ironfans. I remember one blonde woman wearing blue rubber gloves grabbing my arm and asking if I was okay. That's it. Months of beautiful day dreams replaced by one sweet girl and her blue rubber gloves. Not what I'd imagined, but as it turned out she was one of the most glorious and welcomed visions of my whole life.
Fortunately the fourteen hours and seventeen minutes it took to get to that finish chute weren't collectively as horrific as those last moments. Feel free to stop reading whenever you'd like, as I'm about to share the long and gory details.
After a 3:39am wake up call (random, but Mike couldn't sleep until the 3:45 alarm and I was sleeping pretty lightly anyway), I put on my tri kit, ate a bowl of oatmeal with berries and honey and guzzled a big mug of hot coffee. This is no doubt TMI for the internet, but ironman makes no room for modesty, so I'll just share that this breakfast should be the fixings for a guaranteed bathroom experience within the hour, two at most. As of 6:30am, standing in my wetsuit beside Mirror Lake, nothing. And I was freaking out. I've never EVER raced under that condition, not a 5K, much less a day long event. I did my best to push the worry out of my mind, kissed and hugged my family good bye (my mom, father-in-law, sister and brother-in-law, and five nieces and nephews all clad in "Rachel and Mike's ironman support crew" tees), and headed into the lake.
I made my way into the water with Julie and Mike by my side, said good bye to Mike right away (he's a very strong swimmer and headed to the front) and Julie shortly after (she's also a strong swimmer). I slowly breast stroked over to the area I thought was best for me to start in. And I cried for the first of many times for the day. I cried for a lot of reasons. Because my heart ached for the missing member of our ironfan crew...the member who would have no doubt been captain. Because I was proud of myself for simply having the courage to be there. Because a really sweet woman I passed in the street at 6am (who obviously saw how nervous I was) took the time to stop me, grab me by the arms and give me the pep talk of my life. And because I was scared. Terrified. Thank goodness for goggles:)
I pulled myself together and talked to a few people in my area of the swim start about swim time expectations and realized quickly I was exactly where I belonged. With U2's "Beautiful Day" blaring, Mike Reilly wished us well, and with the cannon we were off. All two thousand and eight hundred of us.
Even where I started, it was rough and crazy from start to finish. Kicking feet in my face, elbows coming down on my back and coming back up into my face, shoving my goggles into my eye socket, and all before I even got to the official start of the swim course. All I could do was giggle. It was such wonderful insanity. None of it hurt, and I knew that everyone was in the exact same boat as me.
My goal was to come out of the first loop under 50 min, even though my trial swim in the lake on Wednesday had been 52 minutes. I didn't wear a watch in the swim and when I came out of lap one the clock said 57:xx. Freaking out that the swim had taken me that long, I frantically asked the girl next to me what she had for time. They still had the clock running for the pros who started 10 minutes before us, so my first loop was really 47:xx. I was ecstatic. So ecstatic that as I began my second lap, I cried for the second time that day.
My total swim time was 1:37:xx, a full 8 minutes faster than my expectation of 1:45. I had my wet suit stripped and ran down to the oval to transition. The volunteers were amazing. I grabbed my bike bag, and ran into the womens' change tent where I had my own personal helper. She dumped my bag, put my socks and shoes on my feet while I put my helmet on, and stuffed honey stingers and fig newtons I'd packed into my back pockets while I took care of anti-chaffing needs. It was amazing. I grabbed my bike from the nice boy who had un-racked it for me, and was on my way. Well, almost anyway. I'm not embarrassed to admit that I stood in the mount zone for a few seconds to shove half of a peanut butter jelly sandwich in my mouth. I knew the course started with a really sharp downhill and that I'd have trouble eating a pbj and riding downhill, and also that I'd need the calories. No regrets.
I took my first pedal stroke at 8:44am, elated that the swim and T1 combined had taken me one minute less than I had expected the swim alone to take!
The bike portion of the race was quiet. There are very few spectators on the course (or there may be a lot, but spread out over 56 miles they seem pretty sparse), and no one talked, just pedaled. I was happy though that it felt almost effortless and that I was doing more passing than being passed. The miles and time flew by, and it seemed like I'd been on the bike for 10 minutes when I came to 30 miles and the out and back section where I got to see Mike who was 10 miles ahead of me. I spent my time focusing on staying comfortable and eating and drinking. I got in a bottle of ironman perform, three water bottles, four fig newtons, half a pbj, a banana, and a bonk bar (that I swiped at an aid station to replace the clif bar that popped out of its wrapper and into a ditch). The last 10 miles of the loop are climb, climb, climb, but the last doozy of a climb into Lake Placid is lined with great cycling fans and was definitely the most entertaining part of the course. People sitting right out on the road in camp chairs cheering, running along side of you, holding fun signs. It felt like my own little 50 meters of tour de france.
I decided at the bike special needs station that I'm not hard core enough to wet my pants on the bike, so I dropped my bike with a friendly volunteer while I stopped in a port a jon. Then I took a few things out of my special needs bag, and started on loop two. I saw our ironfan crew just as I was starting the second loop. I still felt fresh and good and not at all daunted by the idea of having another 56 mile loop to ride, which I figured was a good sign.
The second loop was chattier. I munched on my potato chips that I tucked into my tri top and got in another bottle of ironman perform and another three full bottles of water. I made small talk with a few people as I passed or was passed. There was a lot of "how are you feeling?"..."how are you holding up?"...."doing okay?, almost there!"... on the second loop. Again the first 30 miles flew by, I couldn't believe I was at mile 90 when I saw the sign. That was the last time anything on the bike flew by. The last 22 miles were loooooonnnnnnggggg. I literally vowed to never EVER ride a bike again. My butt was inconsolably sore and the hills felt like mountains. A couple of British ironfans at mile 100 told me that Mark Cavendish had won the last stage of the tour on the Champs de elysee, so that lifted my spirits a little.
It wasn't until I was sitting in a folding chair in transition that it really hit me that I now had to run a marathon. I was hot, sunburnt, salty, dirty, thirsty, and tired. But I was excited to get out there too. The thing about swimming and cycling is how solitary they had been. I'd been out there for nine hours with very little human interaction...I was ready to get my run and mingle on. Another wonderful volunteer helped me with my shoes and socks and compression calf sleeves and sent me on my way.
The first few miles felt great, and I found it really easy to focus on the moment and the mile and not the whole big, ugly, scary, picture. It was an out and back that you did twice, so I got a chance to see our cheering squad just a quarter mile into the run, and Julie and Mike out on the course who both looked great. There was an aid station at just about every mile and I decided from the beginning to walk through each one, but from the very beginning of the run it was hard to take anything but ice. In the first loop I did manage to get down an entire package of honey stingers and a couple of swigs of coke.
At mile 8(ish) I came across a girl finishing her second loop. I was so excited for her, and we chatted for a while and ran together. I was in awe that she was going to finish in well under 12 hours. She told me that her goal was going to be to run with me for as long as she could. I was so inspired that I ran through the next two aid stations with her (she wasn't stopping). We passed Mike at our mile 10, his 13.5ish, and he yelled to me "if you can keep running, you're going to catch me!", and the girl I was running with said "oh, you can keep running - go get him!". I lost that girl not long after, but have no doubt she finished strong in her phenomenal debut ironman, finishing well under twelve hours. Whoever you are, huge congrats and thanks for the company!
There is a super steep climb coming back into town, and fans on the course line the hill yelling "we want a runner, we want a runner". My run had slowed to a brisk walk at that point, but being a runner at heart I couldn't let them down, so I picked it back up to a run and they cheered and screamed like I was scoring a touchdown for their favorite team in the superbowl. And out from the screaming running fans popped Emily Piza Taylor! I gave her a big, sweaty, salty hug, as she yelled some words of encouragement. More tears as I turned the corner - I just feel so thankful to be surrounded by people who are also crazy enough to find great pleasure in extreme endurance events. Emily and I have run a LOT of miles together, and she and the rest of the TCRC crazies are a big part of why I was able to be out there.
By mile 12 and the special needs station I decided I really needed to walk through if I was going to make it another 14 miles. I couldn't take anything at special needs. I didn't want to take the time to go through my bag and I'd felt so "good" (all things being relative) on the first loop I was just itching to get onto loop two and know I was finishing. My first half marathon was 2:07 by my watch, and I was thinking I could definitely pull out a 4:30 for the whole marathon giving me a 13:30ish finish time. I was excited to see it all coming together, and really excited to know that I had six hours to cover a half marathon if I needed it. I realized that barring something really extreme like a broken limb or cardiac arrest, I was going to cross the finish line.
I ran back down the main street through town, gave high fives to the nieces/nephews, and told my mom to expect me to slow down a little bit the second half, but not to worry. Little did I know just how much I would slooooooowwwww dooooooowwwwwnnnnn.
I got out of town okay, but was starting to really struggle to keep up my run between aid stations. I saw Emily again and she yelled that I looked great, and I remember thinking that I wished I also felt great. I made it to mile 14 and that's where the wheels really came off. I'm always preaching endurance events to be 99% mental, and miles 14 - 23 were definitely mental for me. Miles 23 - 26.2 were that rare 1% of true physical, but I'll get to that in a minute.
I fell into a walk (well before an aid station) just past mile 14. The two men I walked with were lovely humans no doubt, but we were all only as good company to each other as the hell we were in would allow us to be. I talked with them for a bit, and then decided that while the course was downhill, I should do my best to run, but running downhill hurt horribly. I made it to the next aid station and then again, took to a walk.
On this (long) walk break, I talked to a guy from Rochester who asked me what other triathlons I had done. I told him Syracuse 70.3 back in September and he asked what else. Umm.... Here I was, closing in on mile 16, and admitting to someone that this ironman was my second triathlon....EVER. The second time in my life I've ever swam and then biked and then ran. I didn't know whether to feel proud of myself or like a complete idiot for getting myself into my situation.
I passed Julie who was closing in on mile 21 just around then and she looked PHENOMENAL and yelled "this is the part where we're supposed to be having fun, right?!" I love that girl:) She went on to rock out a 12:49:xx....awesome!
Just before the out and back turn around I saw Mike and realized that if I did just suck it up and run steadily for a bit I could catch him. He looked really good and healthy, he just didn't have legs left for much running. I worked as hard as I could (I may have put out the most well earned 10 minute mile of my life) and came up to him just as we were both hitting mile 19.
"Running" with Mike was wonderful. We picked points to run to, made it to that point, and took breaks. What I was starting to notice most was how out of breath I was, and I couldn't catch my breath on the walk breaks anymore. I also felt like I had to pee (pardon the term - sorry mom!) terribly, but after three porta jon stops before meeting up with Mike I hadn't been able to go. Mike told me to try again at mile 23 (I was really in pain) and so I did and it was successful! As silly as it seems, I think its just because I was rushing myself before not wanting to miss a Julie or Mike siting, but knowing Mike was waiting for me I could relax. And then I got up. Whoa.
Cue the real hell of the event for me. We'd been running every other set of telephone poles up to that point, but stopping in that porta jon made me dizzy on top of unable to catch my breath. Sure my feet ached, my legs were screaming, and I had a hitch in my right hip I'd picked up somewhere along the day that was singing loudly, but that pain is the name of the game and pain I've learned to deal with in the past. Dizzy and unable to breathe with 3.2 miles to go?...this was new to me.
We still got a few runs stretches in, but they were agony. I knew when we crested the hill into town that Mike was feeling MUCH better than me by the way he responded to the "we want a runner" chants with a little jog up the hill. All I could do was stare at the ground and hope my legs would keep moving forward.
The out and back by the brewery was cruel. It was on the way back by the aid station (closing in on mile 26) when an aid station volunteer came right up to me and asked what I needed. I figured I didn't look all too great. I don't think I took anything. The last few aid stations had been water or coke that I'd put in my mouth and spit out. I didn't feel thirsty or hungry, I just felt like I was going to pass out, and like I really just needed to get to the finish.
Coming into the Olympic oval we saw our brother in law Scott waving and cheering, no doubt there to alert the troops that we'd arrived. (I'm pretty sure they were ready to call the medical tents at this point looking for us). It had gotten dark. I felt like every step I took was going to be my last upright, I was so winded and dizzy. Once we hit the track in the oval Mike said "you ready?"...but I told him that I was afraid to run because I didn't think I'd make it. Mike was so sweet in those last few miles, and just said, "then we'll walk as long as you need". So I said "okay, let's go", and we headed off in a jog. I heard my name, heard Mike's name, remember Mike taking my hand and holding it up in the air....then blonde and blue rubber gloves.
It's amazing what an RN, a cup of hot chicken broth, company in your misery, and 45 minutes can do. Julie came back to see how we were, and Mike held my finisher shirt and hat and brought me a piece of pizza. That first piece of pizza was the worst thing I've ever eaten and I had to gag it down like medicine. The two after that - BEST PIZZA EVER.
By 10:30pm, Mike, Julie, my mom, sister in law Mara, oldest nephew Noah, and I were standing on the bleachers inside the oval finish line, dancing and cheering on finishers. We cheered in every last athlete right up until midnight, then said our family good byes, found our bikes and transition bags, and headed to the car. Part of me felt as though I must not have left enough out there if I had that energy left in me, but I've decided over these last few days that I have no doubt I gave every ounce I had to that run - there was nothing more that I could have done safely. The fact that adrenaline allowed me to stay on and cheer the finish? - just a bonus:)
Driving back to our rental house, we had to take the dreaded out and back road by the brewery (miles 24 - 26 for finishers), and at 12:39am, saw three athletes still out there running - they won't be deemed ironmen because they didn't make the 17 hour cut off, but I have as much, if not more, respect for them as I do Andy Potts who won that day in 8 hours and 25 minutes. I have so much respect for anyone with the mental fortitude to finish the ironman. It's an incredible feat, and really, even five days later, impossible to put into words.
My "never again" claims have never lasted outside of the finish chute of a marathon. It's usually just a promise I make to myself to get through the last couple of miles. "Never again" on the ironman lasted a good 24 hours. And then I started thinking...I could get a lot stronger on the bike....maybe I could join a master's swim program and get stronger in the water....if I was stronger on the bike, could I finish an ironman with a sub 4 hour marathon?...
Ironman Mont Tremblant 2013, anyone?
