The one thing you can not be going into or during an Ironman is complacent. An Ironman finish is never assured no matter how many times you’ve done the race. It’s never going to be easy no matter how hard you’ve trained. And it’s never going to turn out the way you expect no matter how much you plan. Ironman is fire. Always changing, hard to predict, it can lull you into a false sense of security thinking you have it under control until it escapes and you get burned. I went into IMCDA ready to hammer out the best Ironman of my life. My training was as near to perfect as it could be. I was performing better than I ever had. My nutrition was dialed down to the kilometer. I was injury free and felt strong. My plan was down pat, or so I thought. With 20 kms left in my race Ironman hit me with a punch so hard it knocked me on my ass. I didn’t expect it, I didn’t see it coming, and I had no way to defend against it.
Ironman CDA started throwing its punches right from the start; a ripped wetsuit just before race start, a cold swim that included repeated elbows to the head, choppy water that left me dizzy and slightly nauseous, and a calf cramp that forced me to swim the last 1000ms with one leg. All of this I’ve dealt with before so I was able to deflect the blows and carry on without much disruption.
The bike was good to me but not without its challenges. Comprised of lots of turns, short fast climbs, long slow climbs, and dizzying descents the course kept you on your toes. The lack of flat stretches and multitude of athletes made it hard to find time to take in nutrition. No mental ‘zone out’ breaks on this course. Most of this was expected so it wasn’t a big deal. At this point I was slightly behind where I wanted to be, however I was feeling strong, and was happy with the nutrition I had taken in. I felt I was more than holding my own and was ready to launch an attack on the run.
Never, ever, underestimate Ironman. I was mildly surprised my run started slow and jerky but not concerned. I was running uphill and my training runs always started slow. I was confident my muscles would relax and the pace would come. I can’t remember when I took my first gel, or tried to. It was liquid ooze that stuck in my throat and made me gag. I threw it aside and thought nothing more of it. I thought nothing more of it. I continued to try to push pace taking in water and coke, the aid stations getting shorter and farther apart. I took my run to a walk up the big climb, thinking to myself this was going to be harder than I thought. I started to get concerned that my run wasn’t coming around, I didn’t want to feel this bad this early in the run. At this point I was the frog in the pot of water slowly being heated to a boil unaware of the danger it’s in until it’s too late to jump out.
By the time I hit the 20km turnaround not even the crowds could get me to move faster. All their cheers and positive energy bounced off me like pebbles against an armored truck. I was angry. I was tired. I was losing control. Starting uphill onto my second lap I veered towards Scott and Joz who were cheering for me. They were on the other side of the road. I stopped in front of them put both hands on top of my head and started to collapse into a ball despite the roar of a thousands of voices urging me to keep going. Ironman was hammering me to the ground. I was about to fall. I expected Scott and Joz to offer me hugs, and comfort me with soothing, placating words but they didn’t. They just shouted at me to keep going and dig, dig, dig - dig as deep as I could. I felt hurt and alone in my misery, I would get no comfort from them but I did start running (Thanks guys!).
Scott and Joz’s words sustained me for a short time. I was lost and didn’t know what to do. Physical elements I can battle but how do you prepare and fight against yourself? I had never experienced anything like this before. It wasn’t even on my radar that this could happen because I’ve always been able to keep myself going through sheer force of will. Ironman had delivered a powerful blow and I was blindsided. Joz was right, I did need to dig deep but not in the manner one would expect by exerting more energy, and pushing through the pain. I needed to dig deep and let myself go to a place I didn’t want to go. When I have an internal struggle there are two voices in my head; one is driven by emotion and one by logic. At around the 23km mark these two voices were at war. Here’s how it played out:
EMO: I hate this! I HATE IT HATE IT HATE IT. You’re always pushing! PUSH! PUSH! PUSH! Why do we always have to push? I’m tired of pushing! This is supposed to be fun! It’s not fun! I want to walk! What difference does it make if we finish in 4 hours or 5? It’s just a bunch of numbers we’re going to forget when we’re old anyway. I didn’t spend the last few months too tired to do anything with my girls to chase a bunch a numbers and finish miserable. NOBODY CARES! Take a look around, everyone thinks your doing awesome, you’re a superstar, do you think they care when you finish? No, they don’t. All they see is that you’re taking on the race and they’re happy for you, let’s just be happy! I want to feel what we had in our first Ironman. The awe of what we were doing. The joy of just being in the race. The honour of racing among so many inspirational athletes. I don’t want another Arizona where we finish miserable and crying. We had a PR in Arizona; it didn’t make us happy, it was supposed to make us happy! If you want PRs so bad take all your finisher plaques remove the years from them then hang them up in descending order – voila! Instant PR in every race, that’s how meaningless numbers are. I don’t want a meaningless race. Why do you want a PR anyway? It’s only good until the next race because then you have to beat it again, and again, and again, which means pushing more, and more, and more, WHEN DOES IT END?! If we don’t turn this race around into something enjoyable this could be our LAST Ironman, because I’m not doing this again, I’M NOT!!
LOG: What do you need to be happy?
EMO: I need to walk! I need to relax! I need to take a breather, see what’s going on around me, meet some athletes, enjoy my Coke!
LOG: Okay.
EMO: Okay what?
LOG: We can walk.
EMO: Oh my god! This is worse than I thought. We’re having a seizure aren’t we?! Maybe it’s a stroke? I don’t smell any burnt toast. Check heart rate maybe we’re going into cardiac arrest.
LOG: We’re not having a heart attack.
EMO: Then why? Why are you saying we can walk? This is a race, and not just any race; this is Ironman. An Ironman that we’ve trained the best we ever have for and you’re saying we can walk, just like that without a fight Ms. Who Cares if We’re Sick and Have to Puke We’re Going to Finish This 140km Training Ride?
LOG: You’re having some kind of fit. I don’t know why, and I’m not pleased that it’s happening, especially now, but it has to be addressed if we’re going to salvage this race. If walking will make you happy then we’ll walk.
EMO: Good. It will. Thank you.
LOG: Are you sure this is want you want?
EMO: Positive.
LOG: You aren’t going to beat yourself up with post race regrets?
EMO: Nope. Decisions made during a race are always the right ones at the time.
LOG: Then walk. But not the entire race. And not until the next aid station. Or into an aid station. Or downhill. Or on the flats.
EMO: You are so anal! Why do you have to have so many rules, why can’t you just relax?
LOG: Because if I did we’d be sitting on a couch right now with flabby muscle tone.
EMO: Pphlltt!
(27km)
LOG: Look that guy is running in bare feet.
EMO: Good for him.
LOG: There’s nothing wrong with our feet.
EMO: Nope, there isn’t.
LOG: That old guy is passing us up this hill - walking.
EMO: Yep. Go, old guy, go.
LOG: We need fuel.
EMO: Good idea. I’ll grab some grapes and chips at the next aid station.
LOG: A few grapes and chip crumbs are not adequate fuel for an Ironman run.
EMO: Then it’s a good thing we’re walking.
LOG: Smart ass.
(Run turnaround 32km)
LOG: We have to run to the turnaround. It’s only 200ms.
EMO: No it’s not. They moved it.
LOG: They didn’t move it. And you can’t stop at this aid station again.
EMO: Why not? The deal was I walked the aid stations. It’s not my fault they put it right beside the turnaround.
LOG: We just left it! What could you possibly need?
EMO: More coke and ice. And grapes. The grapes are good.
(Last 7km)
LOG: Are you in a happy place?
EMO: Yes.
LOG: Do you feel strong?
EMO: Yes.
LOG: Are you ready to finish this race?
EMO: YES! And thank you. Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for bending enough to turn this race into something positive. I know it wasn’t easy for you to let go. I know this wasn’t the race you wanted. I’m sorry if you regret your decision after the race but I think we did well today, don’t you think?
LOG: We’re happy and feel strong, this IS the race I wanted. I won’t regret my decision. Don’t you know? Decisions made during a race are always the right ones at the time. And we didn’t just do well, we did great. Now let’s run this baby in like it’s the Olympic 100m sprint and bask in all the glory an Ironman finish has to offer!
Sprint I did. I can now truthfully lay claim to the fact that I finished an Ironman race at a 4:30 m/km pace and it felt awesome. I slapped hands with the crowd and let their cheers wash over me cleansing away any lingering negativity I had felt during the race. I heard my name announced and did a little dance. The only thing I didn’t do was look at my finishing time but then it wasn’t very important.
This was the only Ironman finish my mom has ever been to. She refused to come to other ones because she didn’t want to see me ‘wrecked’ (she was a ‘catcher’ at IMC finish line). As chance would have it she was standing at the gate of the finisher chute and was the first family member I saw. She didn’t see her daughter ‘wrecked’ she saw me happy, excited, and moving easily. My daughters were also there. I am so thankful and proud that I finished the way I did. This is the Ironman I remember. This is the Ironman I love.
I underestimated Ironman. I grew so complacent during this race, confident in my ability to overcome any obstacle that I didn’t realize how much I had let my fuel intake decline until days after the race. I let down my guard and took a hit that sent me crawling to the corner for a time out. However, I did what I needed to do to regroup, get back up and deliver a blow of my own.
So thanks for the day Ironman! I enjoyed your challenges, I enjoyed your rewards, I enjoyed the lessons you taught me; you tried your best to defeat me but it wasn’t your day – it was mine! I look forward to meeting you again in 2014 for a rematch (some place with warmer water).
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