Full Ironman #12 - Ironman Lake Tahoe 9-22-13

Mike and I signed up for this race (my 12^th Ironman) back in June of 2012, because it was a no-brainer. Let’s see…an Ironman in one of the most beautiful places in the world that we can get to in our car? – we’re there. The 7000ft of climbing on the bike sounded a bit daunting, but we’ve completed two century rides (albeit slowly) at higher altitudes: Heartbreak Century in the Grapevine and Angeles Crest Century in the San Gabriel Mountains. Neither one of us had ever swum or run at altitude, so that would be the big question mark. Although it never worked out to train at Tahoe, we did squeeze in an altitude training camp for our 20^th wedding anniversary at Big Bear Lake in So. Cal. On Saturday, we climbed over Onyx Pass (1000 feet higher than Brockway Pass in Tahoe) without issue. Swimming, on the other hand, is not an easily accomplished task at Big Bear. I was determined to swim, and the result was comical. Due to heavy weed growth around the perimeter of Big Bear in the summer, the only place you can safely swim without fear of being run over by a boat is at Swim Beach.   Amazingly, there are zero community pools. At Swim Beach, I had to take a swim test (About 20yds, 10 on your back, 10 on your front ) in order to receive a wrist band (otherwise you have to wear a life jacket). Only the lifeguards (who, I learned shortly, had questionable swim skills themselves) were allowed to swim along the back buoy. The “lap swim” area to the left of the floaties was covered in weeds, so my only choice was to swim along the lane line that divided the shallow and deep sections. This was roughly 50 meters in length. I thought there was no way I would be able to swim for an hour without getting constantly interrupted by kids swimming back and forth to the floaties. Lucky for me, out of the almost 100 people there at the beach, I was the only person that passed the swim test (and many lined up to take it). Who would’ve thought that a community spawned next to a lake wouldn’t prioritize learning how to swim. There were a few kids and adults in life jackets moving back and forth, but everyone else was jam packed in the shallow end and so it was just me, mallard ducks (one swam next to me for a better part of a length), and the occasional lifeguard. Mike sat on the shore (he conveniently left his wetsuit at the BandB), thoroughly amused while filming the escapade. Earlier that day we both did a 3 hour run at 7.2K feet. Although there are amazing trails at Big Bear that connect to the Pacific Coast Trail, we decided to run on a 5 mile section of paved trail along the north shore, as this would be the best mimic of terrain at IMLT. I set out conservatively and got in 18 miles, finishing stronger than I started. I didn’t notice the altitude other than being about a minute per mile slower than my runs at home. That said, I should mention that I drank way more liquids than usual – the air is very dry at altitude. In all, the trip was a real confidence booster. If you are thinking of competing at Tahoe, I strongly suggest that you see how your body responds to altitude well before the race. Although training at altitude for one weekend won’t acclimatize your body for the actual race, it will prep you on what to expect. Some people’s breathing patterns change, or they experience nausea, among other symptoms. If you know what to expect from your body, it will take away some of the anxiety that you’ll feel before the race start. Although it seems counterintuitive at first, I think having exercise and cold-induced asthma helps my body’s response at altitude. Having less oxygen available is “normal” for me, so as long as I’m properly medicated and the air is warm, my body doesn’t have any adverse reactions.

 

The Day Before

Yes, as long as the air is warm, my body doesn’t have any adverse reactions. The forecast for IMLT was cold. Predictions ranged from 25°F-45°F for race start temperatures. Friday the weather was beautiful and would have been perfect. Saturday, the weather turned completely foul and we ended up swimming in the hotel pool and riding and running briefly in the parking garage before turning in our equipment. It was raining, windy, and cold. I was glad I had brought my ski jacket. We turned in our T2 bags at Squaw and then drove our bikes and T1 bags down to King’s Beach where we had swum at 7am the day before to see how cold it would be. On Friday, the water was perfectly warm and calm (in a wetsuit with water temps at 65°F) away from shore. Today there were white caps and huge swells. With our bikes racked, we went to drive the Martis Camp part of the bike route which was only open for viewing 3:30-5:30 the day before the race. We got to see most of the route, but the gates were still closed along the first big climb that pitches up to towards North Star. As we drove back over Brockway it was snowing a crazy amount!  So glad that the race wasn’t on Saturday – I’m not sure what WTC would have decided regarding the swim and bike, but it would have been dangerous out there. It would have been epic, but in a very bad way. On our way to eat dinner, Mike took this shot.

Race Morning

Wake up call at 3:30, I woke up 2 minutes before. Mike made lattes, I made a smoothie, rolled out my knots, got dressed and walked down to the shuttle buses with coffee in hand. It was cold, but I was bundled up with hat, gloves, and two jackets. We left on the second 4:30am shuttle bus and arrived at the swim start about thirty minutes later. We went straight to drop our run special needs bag and then on to our bikes to put drinks on our bikes and pump up our tires. The first thing I noticed was the ice on my bike seat!  I scraped it off. Next, the pump we brought decided to break as I tried to pump up my tires. I borrowed someone else’s and 10 minutes later was worried my front tire was losing some air. The person next to me thought it was fine, so I briefly convinced myself that I was just being paranoid. I would come back later to check. I have a pretty good intuition (although not infallible) and it was nagging me loudly. I went to check on Mike and then walked back to my bike and my tire was definitely losing air. Crap. I use tubeless clinchers, and I only had one spare prepped which was zip-tied to my drink cage on the back of my bike. Well, at least riding spare-less would be less weight to carry J. There wasn’t anything else I could do (other than wait and change my tire after the swim – I immediately decided that this was not a good option), so I removed my front wheel and got to work. It was so cold (27°F) with my gloves off (trying to get leverage) that I couldn’t feel my fingers to get the bad tire off the rim. I went off to get Mike and he came to the rescue!  He pulled off the old tire and also got the new one over the rim. I took my time centering the tire and was able to borrow another pump to pump it up. Now all I could do was hope the air stayed in and that I wouldn’t get another flat. Oh please, oh please race gods, let this be the only thing that goes wrong today J. We were now running a bit late on time. I waited in line one last time for the loo. On to my transition bag to use my inhaler and open up the foot warmers (I put under my bike shoe insoles) and then I put hand warmers in my gloves. Now we were off to the warming tent (that thankfully not too many people knew about) to put on our wetsuits. I decided to wear a one piece bathing suit under my wetsuit as that would be the easiest thing to remove post-swim. Race organizers had strongly suggested changing out of our wet clothes post-swim, and I begrudgingly decided to heed their warning. After applying sunscreen, I put on my wetsuit and as I was zipping it up I heard the male pro start – uh oh, it was 6:30 and the age group rolling start begins at 6:40. We then had to jog a good third of a mile down to the end of the transition to drop off our morning clothes bags and then walk back along the beach to the start. I wanted to start in the 1:00-1:10 group. We made it there with two minutes to spare, but not without jogging during the national anthem. Sorry, America.  My feet were totally frozen on the ice-cold sand, but I knew the water would be warm once we got away from the shore so I assured my feet that this was just temporary. Booties were allowed due to the cold air temperatures, but I had worn them once before in Arizona and had my worst swim ever. Whether the booties were actually to blame for my poor performance was debatable, but I did not want to wear them again. This is anecdotally similar to the time in high school where I shaved my arms before a swim meet and had my worst meet ever. I never shaved my arms again, but I digress .

The Swim

Although I thought I would dislike the rolling start, it ended up being the best start I’ve ever had and it was super cool to start with an instant pack of swimmers that swim similar speeds. Because the water is so shallow at King’s Beach, there is about a 50 yard walk-jog after you pass over the timing mat before you can start to swim. Thankfully, people were sane and were not running or dolphin-diving on this section. Many of the pros warned against starting too fast at altitude. Also, there are a number of giant rocks under the water that are hard to see since the sun isn’t yet over the mountains and the water is turbulent from all the people. I’d bet my kids’ college fund (if they had one) that someone broke their toe along here. It was surreal starting a swim race surrounded by snow-topped mountains. Steam was coming off the water and made it difficult to sight buoys. I found myself wishing that the buoys had lights on them. The water is crystal clear and as the sun gets higher it’s possible to sight (at least other swimmers) under the water. This makes drafting pretty darn easy. This came back to bite me just before the first turn, as the group I was following inadvertently cut the first red turn buoy, the paddles boarders turned us all back towards the red buoy so I probably swam a good extra 100 meters. Oh well, hopefully nothing else will go wrong today J  The rest of the swim was a good cruise. The second lap stayed in the water – I was glad for this change over the original design of a beach run – both because of the cold air and the long shallow walk to the beach. On the way out on each lap you swim into a slight current and then you get an extra bit of speed on the way in. On the second lap I passed people on their first lap swimming various sorts of back stroke. These people are either very brave or very unprepared. I’m not sure which. I did swallow some water a couple times swimming back in towards shore, but I reassured myself that this was Tahoe, not Tempe Towne Lake – I might actually just be hydrating and not poisoning myself. My swim felt pretty fast. I was expecting a 1:10 or so due to altitude and ended up swimming about four minutes faster J  Thanks to Dave Scott for changing my swim stroke in April. I swam slightly faster here at altitude (including the long walk in and out + the extra yardage the first lap) than I did at IMAZ last November.

2.4 mile swim 1:06.17   6/146  starters in W40-44

 

T1

I had practiced my transitions in the hotel room thanks to Mike’s suggestion. I’m glad that I did this, because I’m not used to changing clothes or putting so many things on before getting on the bike. Once you run on to the beach, there is a ramp so that your feet don’t get too sandy (Mike mentions that when he exited 30 some minutes later, this walkway was a mess of mud). The walk was so long out of the water, that I had already unzipped my wetsuit and had my arms out before hitting the timing mat. Then, on to get my bag. Wetsuit strippers are in between the change tents and swim to bike bags. Wetsuit came off in a jiff and I was off to the tent. I was surprised to see how many women were in the change tent. Hmm, maybe I hadn’t had such a great swim (?)  As usual, the volunteers were awesome. I am not very gregarious while in transition. I am way too serious about making sure everything gets done quickly and correctly. My volunteer assured me that I was doing great as there was a pro still in the warming tent crying because she was too cold. Bathing suit came off and I took the time to dry off with a beach towel (which Mike & I decided to buy and put in our T1 bags on Friday). Then it seemed to take an eternity to put on my bike shorts (as expected) and tank top due to cold, damp skin. The volunteer helped me unroll my race top out from under my armpits. Criminy!  I hate when this happens!!  I’m sure it would have taken several extra minutes to unroll that stupid shelf bra without her help. I put on my jacket (fleece lined – so good) and the volunteer also helped with my gloves (I have no idea what her name was or even what she looked like since I was half delirious at the time). Helmet on next and then I decided to run barefoot (I do hate socks when racing) to my bike. It is a really long run from the change tent to your bike at Tahoe. Usually at Ironman, bikes are just outside the change tent followed by the exit.  Although the pros had this layout, the age groupers had to run a good quarter of a mile to the back of the bike racks and then around to your bike. This is a really long way to run with cleats – especially if you happen to have a giant shim on one of your shoes. Having noticed this exceptionally long run on Saturday, I decided to run barefoot (knowing it would be cold) to my bike. This was an excellent decision as I passed at least 5 people clip-clopping and hobbling along the walkway next to transition. Please note that here are a number of rock barricades (they are blocked with trash cans on race day) inside the transition so it is imperative to learn the path of least resistance to your bike (figure this out on Saturday). I did have trouble putting on my shoes at my bike because my feet were so cold. I ended up sitting down on the ground (although I briefly envisioned grabbing someone else’s racked bike for support, but quickly realized that might not end well) and then had the good fortune of a volunteer handing me my bike. Ack – there is still ice on my seat!  I quickly brushed it off. I was right near the exit, so it was a short run to the mount line and then off.

Transition 1  8:49  4/146 in my age group

The Bike

Within the first mile a male competitor pulled over with a flat. That so could have been me. I was reminded about my own tire and happily realized that it was still full of air J. From the get go, the bike was really well officiated. Officials were quickly and generously handing out drafting penalties. One guy complained to me that, “All I did was not complete my pass – they told me I was in a draft zone for 40 seconds. This is so unfair!”   I was unsympathetic and replied, “Actually, the rule is once you start a pass in the draft zone you have 20 seconds to complete it. Dropping back or failing to pass is an automatic time penalty. Otherwise, you could legally float in and out of drafts all day long never actually intending to pass anyone.”  Come on peeps, you might want to attend the pre race meeting or at least bother to read the rules in the athlete guide. Really, this isn’t the race to pick for your very first triathlon. You’ll never do one again because it’s just too dang hard. And too dang cold. I had mentally prepared myself to be too cold early on in the race and to just be okay with it. I told myself to hang on – I can start to warm up on dollar hill. This cold should just be temporary. The sun was out and I had my temperature sensors covered with heaters. Although the famous Stanford study’s purpose was to demonstrate whole body cooling with gloves, (humans’ main temperature sensors are in the hands and feet like most other mammals), I figure the reverse must also be true. The hand and foot warmers that I was wearing did an enormous amount to help me feel warmer, even without leggings or socks. That said, I was really glad that I had decided to wear a jacket. I also closed the vents in my helmet. Having an inherently low body temperature (97.6) is not an advantage for me in a cold race. If you are concerned that you might be too warm with a jacket, fear not. This race has a clothing drop on the bike at about mile 18, 60, and 110. I never took off my gloves or removed my jacket, but I could have. The only time I was too warm was the second climb up Brockway. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The roads are in really good shape with a couple of exceptions: the short out and back section of Carnelian Woods Avenue (extremely craggy) and a few bumpy sections of the bike trail on the north end of the course. The mostly downhill section to Tahoe City was fast and fun. I was excited to get to Truckee as I knew my friends Alicia and John would be there to cheer me on. They were camped out at a short uphill section just out of downtown. Blaring music (as requested – and, appropriately, Ready Steady Go happened to be playing as I rode by) and jumping up and down with their smile signs, I couldn’t help but give a giant smile of appreciation. It’s hard work spectating at Ironman. You spend all day to see your athlete for a couple of 30 second stretches J. Alicia told me that I was in 4^th place, which was great news for me. I looked forward to seeing them again on the second loop. One note – aid station 3 has a sharp left turn just after the last water offering. It took me off guard as I was trying to fit a water bottle in my rear water cage while making a left turn (not ideal). Otherwise, I was feeling really good and having a great time. The views were all amazing and I was proud of myself for keeping my head screwed on. Over my 8 years of Ironman experience I have learned these things (other than the list mentioned in my IMAZ 2012 report):

1. Roll with everything that goes wrong. Accept all your adversity graciously. Don’t panic, fume, or whine. Just deal with the situation calmly and get back to racing. It’s not a question of if something will go wrong during an Ironman race, it’s just a question of what and how many things will go wrong during your Ironman race. Luck favors the prepared, yes, but something will slide through the cracks. Maybe I still continue to compete in Ironman because I’m waiting for the perfect race where nothing goes wrong and I feel good the whole way. What?  A girl can dream. It could happen.
2. Losing interest and becoming apathetic about my pace means I need to EAT!  This is finally the first race where I didn’t ever hit that valley where I say to myself, “What was I was thinking signing up for this @#$! race; OR, who cares how long it takes me – I have ALL day.”
3. Back to #1. Keep smiling. You WANT to be here. This is FUN. You PAID to be here. You paid a LOT to be here. Enjoy every minute of this, even if you feel like crap. It’s the only day of the year where I can remember minute details days and months later. It’s a day that lasts longer than a day and imprints my memory forever. It’s a good day, no it’s a GREAT day. Keep a good attitude no matter what’s thrown at you. Relish the thought that your body is so awesome that you can even get to the start line of an Ironman. You might not get another chance. Carpe Diem. The crowd feeds off of your smile – give it to them. I promise it will be so worth it when you get to the finish line. J  No one regrets finishing the next day, but many have regretted quitting.
4. Encourage others (and yourself) on the race course that look like they are struggling. Don’t lie and tell them that they “look great,” just tell them that they are awesome and to keep moving forward, keep pushing through the pain. You can come back. Really, sometimes you dip into a valley that you think is permanent, but you end up coming out the other side before the finish. Or maybe you don’t, maybe you have to walk the whole marathon – but if you have time to finish don’t quit. You’ll be a better person for it. You’ll be so proud and so will everyone else worth mentioning. You might find that the race you really struggle in, the race you where you have your slowest time, is your best race ever. These are the times you face your inner demons and slay those bitches.

Back to the bike. My heart rate monitor wasn’t working (too cold?  Not in the right position?). It was too cold and I had too little dexterity in my gloved fingers to do anything about it. I just went on RPE at a pace hovering around a 6. Funny, all the sections we couldn’t drive were completely evil –certainly all uphill.  Mike and I were joking while riding the course on Friday that it seemed like the course was uphill, both ways and if we just reversed it, wouldn’t it be downhill in both directions?  Turned out the descent to Truckee really was a descent even though it seemed uphill in the car. As it was, the many short down hills came in handy. I was really well hydrated, too well hydrated. Although this is probably TMI, I was peeing on just about every downhill. It was warm and yes, I was courteous and looked around before showering. I almost wiped out somewhere in Martis Camp (actually right at the spot we got turned around on Saturday while trying to drive this section) because I had to take a sharp right turn and my brakes were, um, wet. Otherwise, I didn’t see any crashes or see anyone else fixing a flat along the rest of the course. Climbing up Brockway was slow. It’s a 6-10% grade for three miles. This is the section on the tracker where I was clocked at 5mph. Exactly the same speed I would do on the computrainer. The first time was cool. On the second loop, the faster cyclists started passing me and although I still felt relatively good, I wasn’t about to negative split. I bumbled while adjusting my sunglasses and lost a lens on the descent towards Squaw. I was going over 20mph, and was not going to stop to retrieve it. Well, that’s the end of those – they were then relegated to my back pocket Now I can see better – at least that’s what I told myself. Yay!! Back to Truckee where I got to see Alicia and John still blaring their music and jumping up and down J. Okay, it’s the last time through Martis Camp and up Brockway. The second time up Brockway I was traveling at both my minimum and maximum speed. Any slower and I fall over, any faster – well, that’s not possible. I had a 27 cog on the back and spun as fast as I could on every hill. Someone, thankfully, was reminding athletes at the top of the summit to zip up for the descent. Good advice. The big descent is not technical and gradually levels off. This sets up super fast speeds going down. I loved this rest, although it was a bit chilly on the first go around. Seemed to me on the last 20 miles of the ride the wind shifted and there was a bit of a headwind. This could have been imaginary or, more likely, just exaggerated in my mind. Dollar hill seemed a bit longer on the third go. I wanted to finish the bike, but I was still having fun and still smiling.

112 mile bike  6:56:32  16.13 mph  8/146

T2

Athletes ride all the way around to the far west end of the expo to finish the bike. Here, you turn left into a chute and quickly hand off your bike. The change tent is a short run away. I left my shoes on the bike. While I was running I took my gloves and jacket off and then removed my helmet as I sat down. Inside, a volunteer asked what she could do, I responded with a “I’m not sure” and next thing you know she abandoned me for the next person. No matter, I actually didn’t need help, my running sandals went on fast. I had prepared everything else that I needed for the run in one grab (water bottle with zym, extra zym and salt, lube, gels were all in my drink belt pockets and my visor was attached. Race number was pinned on one side with a MacGyvered attachment assembly ready on the other side. My visor was clipped in). I grabbed this and left all my bike paraphernalia in a heap on the ground – I didn’t bag it. (Yes, I got everything back). While I put on my visor and buckled the water belt, volunteers applied sunscreen. I attached the other side of my race number while I ran.

Transition 2  1:58   8/146

The Run

The run started out better than imagined. I saw my one and only butterfly (butterflies don’t like the cold, so I am shocked that even saw this one) at the mile one marker. Although my run splits (enter bib 856 and hit “search”) show differently, I was running pretty even 9:00-9:20 miles for the first 5. A fair amount of this was uphill including a steep section where you run under a ski lift, so I was super happy with my time. I had started conservatively with my heart rate at 130bpm. This was the best start that I’ve ever had in the first hour of an Ironman marathon. I started having visions of running my PR marathon time and then, it all came crashing down. Actually, Mike described it to me best, it was more like cooking a lobster. You put the lobster inside a pot of cold water and then gradually turn up the heat so it can’t tell what’s happening. I was staying ahead and even passing some other women, but then all of a sudden my times started increasing and LOTS of people started passing me. It took me a while to realize that I was breathing pretty darn hard for the heart rate I was running at (now 125bpm). I took a good 4 puffs off my inhaler and felt mildly better for about 2 minutes. It didn’t really seem to be working. I continued to take hits off my inhaler every 15 minutes or so, but my breathing didn’t improve. After the race, my allergist explained to me that in acute cases of asthma, the receptors in the airway become desensitized to albuterol and the only way to reverse it is with an inhaled steroid – preferably that you’ve already been taking the week prior. This hasn’t been in issue in previous races while I’ve been running, but I have experienced it after crossing the finish line. Running fast has always been difficult for me – on a good day, compared to the average person, I only have 67%  function in my small air ways. The cold air plus running was just too much for me. So, the last 20 miles as was “running” roughly 12 minute miles, anaerobically. I let myself walk the up hills (otherwise my hands vibrated violently from lack of oxygen) and I also walked the aid stations and tried to warm up my throat with chicken broth. That probably saved me from having a true medical emergency. I kept running partly because I knew I would be way too cold walking. My body never felt too cold while running, because even though I was moving slowly, I was working really hard. Although, I was happy to get my gloves and hand warmers at special needs.  Aid stations started to stretch out due to my decreasing pace.  Luckily, I was wearing a couple of conversation pieces to help distract me from the effort.  As usual, my legs had fair coverage in kinesiotape which helped people recognize me from the bike.  As promised in my last race report, I had finally worked up to wearing my running sandals for the race.  So, if spectators & athletes saw my tape and continued to look down, they would then notice I was wearing sandals. I had a blast running in my Lunas.  My feet felt great, they were never sore like they get in shoes and my toes were completely happy not hitting the top of a shoe with every step. It’s interesting, but not wholly unexpected, that if I’m walking or running slowly in my Lunas spectators and other athletes will blame my sandals. If another athlete is walking in standard running shoes, these same spectators won’t even think to blame the shoes. Mike (also wearing Lunas) heard a woman yell, “he brought the wrong shoes!” So, I also put in a fair amount of effort so as not to shame the Lunas. My most memorable conversation was with three guys (well, only two of them spoke) that caught up with me and then ran past. The first guy says, “My feet were hurting until I saw yours. Props for running in sandals. You’re crazy.”  I reply, “My feet feel great. They don’t hurt at all. I don’t know how you run in those foot binders, so props right back at you.” Guy #2 remarks, “My feet are running in pillows.”  I look down and see that he’s wearing shoes with a ridiculous amount of cushioning.  Apparently, there is a small movement where the pendulum has swung in the complete opposite direction of the minimalist shoe.  I say to him, “I think I would trip in those, I like to be able to feel the ground.” He retorts (as he runs away from me), “I know that is the theory, but I’m running on clouds.” LOL. It was shortly after this that I saw John for the first time (somewhere around mile 15-16).  Yay!! Distraction! He told me that Alicia was a mile ahead. She snapped my picture and lifted my spirits J. My favorite sign of the day was right around here that simply said, “Worst Parade Ever.” This was right up my alley, as in general I think of parades as vain wastes of money – basically a city chest-bumping and high fiving themselves about how great they are. It was perfect. Then, the course takes you right next to the finish chute which results in the cruelest turn around to the second lap, EVER. Seriously, it’s worse than IMWI. At least the second lap is 8 miles instead of 13. On my way back into complete darkness (so glad they were handing out head lamps), I got to see Mike!  He was spectating, so that meant he had dropped out (not a huge surprise as he almost didn’t start due to lack of consistent training), but it also meant he was safe and in good spirits. I stopped to give him a kiss and was very happy to see him J. This last 8 miles was the hardest thing I have ever done physically. I still had a good attitude and I was still happy about my race performance despite the realization that this would be my slowest race finish of my 12 Ironman races. There isn’t much I could have done about the cold air, and I was sure if I kept moving I would definitely finish.  It felt like hordes of people were passing me over the last 4 miles. With about 3 miles to go I quit using the inhaler as I was sick of it, and it wasn’t really doing any noticeable good. The last quarter to half a mile of the run is lined with people and I was lucky to catch sight of Alicia, John, and Mike before I entered the finish chute. The finish line is always a welcome sight and that great finish line (video finish @13:31:38) feeling never gets old.

26.2 mile run  5:17:03,  12:06/mile  20/146

Final Time = 13:30:39

Post Race

The volunteer that was helping me after I crossed the line took me straight to the med tent via my request. I was looking for something other than albuterol in the med tent, but unfortunately there were no nebulizers or steroids. There was also no communication between the guards in front of the med tent and the doctors/patients inside. Mike repeatedly tried to get a message to me that he was waiting for me outside, but I never got it. The guy next to me thought his friend had abandoned him. He said In a thick German accent, “My friend finished before me and qualified for Kona which was the goal. He is probably drinking beer and partying and has forgotten all about me.”  In reality, his friend was probably turned away by the med tent guards and was waiting outside. Once I had warmed up with lots of broth, my breathing returned to normal (early on the doctor was threatening to send me away in an ambulance) and I decided I could walk back to the hotel by myself. As soon as I walked out of the tent, Mike called to me, gave me his coat and walked me back to our room. I never made it to the food or massage tents. After the race, John remarked that he & Alicia never knew that I was struggling – that I always had a smile on my face and kept a steady running stride. I thought about this for a while. How is it that I was happy to be running 12-13 minute anaerobic miles?  Maybe it’s because I’ve learned negative thinking doesn’t pay in Ironman or maybe it’s because over the past few years I’ve slayed all those internal dragons. Perhaps I will find out the answer at Ironman Boulder next August.