Full Ironman #4 - Ironman Arizona April 2008
If you've read my other race reports, you know that I've always got some sort of issue threatening to keep me from the start and/or finish line. This race was no exception. I started training after 6 weeks off in November. Besides a brief bout with bronchitis in November, training went great up to February. While we were reading stories in bed one night, my much-too-strong-for-his-age 3-yr-old kicked me (trying to get the covers off) in the back & dislocated one of my ribs from my spine. I really only ended up having to take 4 days off of running & took it easy swimming for a week, but thought if this is the worst hang-up that I would have training, I was still in good shape. After doing the half-vineman last yr with a severely bruised or broken rib, a dislocated rib was nothing in comparison. It's a fixed joint, who cares. However, I wasn't done sabotaging my training. In mid-March I ended up running 36 miles in 3 days (trying to make up for missed training days earlier when my kids had the stomach flu). This was dumb. The next day I took off and my body got busy making all kinds of scar tissue which ended up adhering to my sciatic nerve (and branches thereof) and it took 22 days before the nerve was entirely free. The race was four days later. So, I didn't run at all (Ok, I did take a few steps down my hall and such to test, but there were no runs longer than a single minute) for the 26 days leading up to the race. I didn't know if I'd be able to run on race day, and had mentally prepared myself for walking well in advance of the race. I was hopeful, however, as my leg felt better (with the exception of a big fat bruise behind my knee from treatment) the day before the race than it had in 4 weeks. The suspense was killing me.
Mike and I stayed at Hotel Graeme on Thursday and Friday (thanks for being such an awesome host, Graeme) along with Stewart (first time Ironman participant who we used to go on training rides with until he abandoned us for Denver). Graeme shuttled us around everywhere, was our baggage handler, and then personal photographer on race day. You rock.
I had been stretching like a maniac in the days leading up to the race, and race morning started with more of the same plus lots of foam rolling. We headed down to transition and I put my foam roll, my massage ball, and a golf ball all in my T2 bag just in case. I also put an airborne container in my T1 bag so I could stick it in my pocket and use it to roll my IT band if needed on the bike. I didn't end up needing it on the bike, but it sure came in handy the third loop of the run. Listened to some tunes, put on the wetsuit, kissed Mike good-bye and good-luck and jumped into the cesspool that is Tempe Town Lake. I decided to start in the front row of the swim since I got stuck behind slower folks at IMWI starting in the 3rd row. I spotted Stewart, was yelling and waving – but he was in a nervous coma so I swam over to him and told him that nothing but a :48 would suffice (you knew I was kidding, right?). No countdown, just a one minute warning and then blammo! This time I planned on sprinting the first 100 meters, but I don't know if it made any difference since I probably have exactly one fast-twitch muscle fiber. The swim was weird. I'd be caught in a big bunch getting pushed from both sides, elbows in my neck, stomach, etc., and then all of a sudden there'd be open water. I'd gap up, and then the pattern would start all over again. The swim never opened up permanently like it has in past races. I was stuck in a big group of sloppy swimmers right up to the end. Unfortunately, with about 500 meters to go, someone sliced me with their fingernail on my neck and then I got jabbed with their elbow near my windpipe. I instinctively went up for air and got a mouthful of sewage instead. I felt it hit my stomach like a rock and immediately thought “I'm done for”. I then pushed that thought out, and went with the positive, but positive thinking doesn't neutralize motor oil, bacteria, and whatever other sh*t was in there. After all, you can't see your own hand in front of your face. In hind sight, I should've stuck my finger down my throat in the porto at T1. If I swallow *water* again in November, that will be my plan. I was briefly disappointed with my time, because I really wanted to go under 1:02, but I was close enough and just shook it off.
2.4 mile swim: 1:03:15 9/101 age group, 276/2027 overall
T1. After the wetsuit pullers had a short battle with my wetsuit, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was jogging! I had to pick up my own bag this time - next time I'm going to wrap colored electrical tape around the handles - it would've been much faster to find. My volunteer was metal - she wiped off my feet, untangled my helmet, cleaned off my sunglasses, and got me water all in record time. Got some sunscreen, and then had to get my bike off the rack myself, which was fine, especially considering that last year a volunteer handed me the wrong bike.
T1: 4:48
Got on my bike and started out in the small ring to warm my legs up. My stomach felt knotty so I decided to hold off on my nutrition for a half hour to see if it would settle. I saw my first butterfly about five miles into the bike, so that relaxed me and I settled into a good pace. The wind was reversed from last year, so there was a headwind on the way out going uphill, and an amazing tailwind going back to town on the downhill. Winds were probably 10 mph first loop, 15-20 on the second, and 15 on the third loop. So much for the weatherman's previous day's prediction of a 9mph max. Temperatures climbed into the 90s, but it felt much hotter out on the Beeline inbetween aid stations. On the first loop, I tried my nutrition (hammer gel & Gatorade mix) after 30 minutes, but my stomach didn't want it. I was able to drink just Gatorade on this loop, but it wasn't digesting. I looked down and saw a nice, distended abdomen & thought of an old Newby-Frasier commentary on a pro that ended up dropping out from IMAZ 2005. "Look at that stomach sticking out. This is not a good sign. She's in trouble." Soon Gatorade was no longer doable, and I at first tried watering it down at the aid stations. I ended up losing my hammer gel bottle near the end of the first loop on that horribly craggy section of McClintock Rd. It's like there are seams in the road, little miniature speed bumps. The woman who then passed me, informed me that it was "back there" as I went to reach for it. I replied "well, I'm not going back for it". Next thing I know, a butterfly floats by & I return to positive thinking. My stomach didn't want it anyways, so now I was lighter! Excellent. I completed the first loop in 1:48 - rock on!
And then the winds picked up and the sun started blazing. My stomach was still not cooperating, and by the middle of the second loop my front drink was all water. I was still able to take in my salt tabs and I was peeing, so at least I was able to stay hydrated. However, I was starting to worry about my lack of calorie intake. The second loop saw me slow down to a 1:57. I spent most of that loop on the way out trading places with Polly Crawford - another 35-39er looking to qualify. She rocketed off on the downhill section never to be seen again. By the third loop I had been doing water only for some time. I thought I'd better try some Gatorade or I'd really be doomed for the run. I know from experience that if I can't take in calories on the bike, it's only going to get worse on the run. I spit the rest of the water in my front drink onto myself (remember, it's hot) and filled it up with Gatorade at the next aid station. Stabbing pains. Not good. Now it was frying pan hot and the wind would immediately evaporate any attempts to cool myself off. I didn't care anymore (not a good sign) about Kona and dropped into what I refer to as "the world of me". This is where I am completely unaware of my surroundings and am just in survival mode. The last stretch of wind was only bearable because I knew it was the last stretch of wind and I would be able to do a little coasting back into town once it was behind me. Mike passed me around mile 80. We had a bet going that the first one of us into T2 gets a new bike. At the time I didn't care a lick about the bet. It was good to see him and I was glad that one of us was still feeling good. After this, there was about 4 miles to the turn around. It was such a long 4 miles. I looked up and saw that I wasn't past the big craggy (word of the day) rock yet. I searched for the mile markers on the opposite side of the high way. Just make it to the next mile marker. Okay, now to the next one. Alright, one more and then I'll be able to see the turn around. Sweet Jesus, I finally made it to the turn around! I briefly passed Mike at around mile 85 as he was spending lots of time hydrating and dumping water on himself at the aid stations, I had delusions about winning our bet. About a mile or two later he repassed me. Well, there goes my R3 for good. Crap. Tried the Gatorade again on the downhill, but no doing. It was a bit frustrating as I wasn't nauseated at all. So, it was all just stuck in there, sticking out, mocking me. Last loop was a 2:02. I also had "hot foot" which had started around mile 50, but I was able to control the intensity by dumping water in my shoes at the aid stations. I took my feet out of the shoes just before going up the wood ramp into T2. They were not happy feet. Hopped off my bike and a volunteer immediately took it. That is so cool.
112 mile bike: 5:47:11 8/101 age group, 334/2027 overall
Checked out my bike time - somehow I still got my Ironman bike PR by 8 minutes. The highlight of my day! When I started to jog in T2 it was ugly. Searing, stabbing pains racked my stomach. I hobbled to a porto and contemplated trying to throw-up, but I figured it was too late. My stomach wasn't happy at IMWI last year and I was able to jog & it recovered after four miles, so I thought I'd just give it a go. When I exited the porto a volunteer was standing there with my helmet and bag saying, "follow me". What service! I had stuck my massage ball in my shoe so I wouldn't forgot to stick it under my left hamstring while putting on my shoes (see, Dr. Steve, I listen) . I decided the golf ball would be a good idea to break up some of the crap in my feet from the hot foot. That worked great, then I got on my socks and shoes. I passed on the foam roll - no IT probs on the bike. I had wrapped up a Red Bull in ice knowing that it would melt and sweat, placing my hat under it. It was glorious to put a cold, wet hat on. I abandoned the Red Bull to watery grave.
T2: 3:40
Since I had been using the word "craggy" all day (thanks, Graeme) this is the word I'll use to describe my stomach. I started jogging anyways, and for the first 3 miles my legs were working well. I managed to gut out a 9:10 first mile and was still remaining hopeful for my finish time, when I tried to take a sip of Gatorade at the first run aid station. Mistake. Immediate, debilitating, large butcher-knife type stabbing pains seared through my stomach. Usually this type of thing happens when you've had too many calories on the bike, but I had had maybe 400 calories on the entire race course to this point. This was bad. Is it possible to finish a marathon on such a severe deficit of calories? I figure I burn close to 6000 calories during an Ironman with roughly half of those being on the run. I started to have visions of myself passing out or going delirious before getting to the finish line. Shake it off, I have plenty of fat stores to do this. I could still do water and salt, so at least I wasn't dehydrated. I decided to try coke at the next aid station. I used to take coca-cola syrup as a kid when my stomach was upset, so maybe it could work. By the second mile my pace slowed to 11:00. Coke didn't hurt as much as Gatorade, but it still made knots in my stomach, so I decided I was done with calories unless my stomach flattened out a bit. I decided to jog as long as I could.
My stomach got worse with the jostling - every mile got more difficult and slower. The heat wasn't an issue for me - I kept ice in my hat and hands and was able to stay cool enough - but my stomach just wouldn't let me go. By mile 6 my stomach was now rejecting even water, plus my left knee was sore & it was starting to make my hip and hamstring complain. At least 5 people from my age group had already passed me, and I knew that there were several women that were always in front of me. I accepted that Kona was not going to happen for me today and I let myself walk. Shortly after I started walking, I saw my final butterfly for the day. I was going to finish. I thought I would have to walk the rest of the marathon (I would've finished in 15 hrs) and was prepared to do so, but was pleasantly surprised later to be able to jog. As I started to walk, I briefly wanted to cry at my perceived loss, but then I mentally slapped myself. I thought of the guy out there on the hand cycle doing the whole race with just his arms. I could still walk – and my real goal at each Ironman is to finish. I could still do that & I could do it with a smile on my face, keeping a sense of humor. To everyone who told me “you look great” I answered back “Don't lie to me, I look like sh*t, but I'm still moving. It won't be pretty but I am going to finish.” I made sure to high five every kid out there holding up his/her hand and flashed a smile for anyone who encouraged me to continue. I remember telling someone who asked how I was doing that it was a long way between aid stations when you're walking. A woman pointed to me and told me that I was her Ironman hero for not quitting. I saw Mike along an out and back section by the lake & erroneously thought he was ahead of me instead of behind him. I had never see him pass me - but unbeknowest to me, he had spent a long time in the T2 change tent. I mentioned to him later that I should've changed our bet to "whoever starts the run first" instead of "whoever enters T2 first", but he told me that he would've dragged his ass out over the run mat and stopped at the first shade he encountered instead of resting in T2. Insanity. I had plenty of time to read signs while I was walking and was just thinking about how gol-dang sore my feet were when I read a sign that said, “your feet are so sore because you are kicking so much ass.” That made me laugh & I briefly lamented that the only ass I was kicking was my own.
Those who win Kona spots foster admiration not inspiration. Ironman inspiration is Julie Moss crawling to the finish line, it's Dick Hoyt pulling and pushing his son Ricky through the entire race, it's Paula-Newby Frasier lying on the ground announcing “I think I'm dying” 100 yards from the finish and then getting back up to walk and finish 4th when she had been in first, it's Chris Sadowski carrying his bike to T2 in his socks after being hit by a motorcycle and then going on to finish the race, and it's Sarah Reinersten returning to Kona after missing the bike cutoff the previous year & being the first female leg amputee to finish the Ironman. It's certainly not embodied in disappointed age-groupers dropping out after having to walk the first loop even though they have 8 more hours to finish the race. It's about discovering what you are made of because everyone experiences lows in Ironman. For me, quitting is not an option – medical will have to drag me off the course. For all of you reading this that plan to do an Ironman – I implore you to persevere no matter what the day brings. Be an inspiration & don't quit unless someone escorts you off of the course (ie you miss a cutoff or you are truly medically unable to continue). You will be a different kind of proud of yourself at the finish line.
I walked with a guy (can't remember his name as the swamp water must have also killed a few brain cells) from SF for about a mile and a half before I was informed that it was his first lap (my second) and I did the math & told him he'd better start moving faster if he wanted to finish before midnight. He was a total trooper and I didn't see him again. Apparently I did pass him on my third loop (although I didn't realize it in the dark) and he did finish the race as we were both on the same flight back home on Monday . That's what I'm talking about. When we were exchanging tales of misery during our walk, he simply said he hadn't trained enough. However, he still had the balls to toe the start line and finish the race. Unlike the guy that I walked with at the end of the first loop who was trying to qualify (I think in 50-55 ag) and just gave up because he wasn't able to run. At the time I had told this quitter that part of my motivation to finish was to get a finisher medal for my kids (I have 2 and we needed 2 medals to come home with). He said he didn't have a motivator like that to continue. I told him that he would regret not finishing tomorrow, but if he stuck with it and walked the whole marathon (or maybe was able to run later on) there was no way he'd regret finishing. He didn't go for it and dropped out once we hit the transition area.
A moth floated in front of me at mile 15.5 and about a quarter mile later my stomach suddenly felt better. I found it hysterical that I was getting moth fly-bys instead of butterflies since it was dusk. So, that made me laugh. I decided to try a jog & found that I could. 11-13 minute miles sure beats the pants off of 20 minute miles. About a third of a mile later I was able to stomach cola at an aid station & decided that I would keep jogging as long as I could. It was like Wild Kingdom out there for awhile. A baby sidewinder skittered in front of me at about mile 16 and then I almost stepped on a frog that was hopping across the path a mile later. Mike commented after the race that he saw a coyote a scant distance from the race course. At the time I started jogging, I still thought Mike was ahead of me – he was actually about 10 minutes behind me. If I had known that, I probably would have kept walking until he caught up with me & then encouraged him to jog to the finish with me, or just walked the rest of the race with him. Since I thought he was in front of me, part of my motivation to jog was to catch him so we could finish together. Bummer. I have even more respect for Mike's Ironman experiences after enduring a 6:20 marathon. I am sure that quitting never entered his mind, and walking part of the marathon (well, the aid stations at least) was actually a part of his plan. It is such a long day out there and it is so mentally difficult watching what seems like everyone that you passed on the bike repassing you on the run.
After jogging through miles 16 & 17 aid stations, I walked through the remaining ones as a treat to myself, but promised myself that I would start jogging again once I passed the last trash drop. That went well, and I was even able to add a few pretzel sticks to my nutrition – they tasted like the nectar of the gods. I only let myself eat 2 or 3 per aid station for fear that my stomach would decide to relock.
I want to add a big thank-you to Graeme, Megumi, and Jill for being out there all day cheering us on, suffering along side us in the heat. It's not easy to be an Ironman spectator – I've never done it, but I have spectated during a Wildflower half at 8+ months pregnant– and it was a tough day (in fact it sent me into labor later that day), so I can only imagine spending twice as much time out there. It was great to see everyone going through the park & Megumi, you have quite a set of lungs on you! If it wasn't for your shouting I would have missed you 50% more than I did.
After the swim start, I didn't see Stewart the rest of the day. Looks like I passed him while he was in T2 as well since he had to go back and find his timing chip (he took it off to put on compression socks and forgot to put it back on). Turns out he was battling stomach cramps all day too, from swallowing the same sewage I did during the swim. He toughed it out and finished in a respectable 12:20.
About half a mile from the finish I got this unexpected big adrenaline push & ended up doing the last mile in 9 minutes - where did that come from?! I wish I could bottle this feeling and sell it. It was fun slapping hands while actually running (vs walking) - it makes a much cooler sound. For the first time in my four Ironman experiences, I actually heard "Jeanette Mucha from San Carlos, California You are an Ironman!". It was appropriate, as I felt like I had really earned the title this time. I'm even considering going to get an Ironman tattoo on my ankle, whereas I had previously decided to wait until I qualify for Kona. All that extra suffering has really made the experience part of me.
26.2mi run: 6:19:21 62/101 age group, 1370/2023 overall (can you believe that over 650 people either "ran" slower or didn't finish?)
TOTAL FINISH TIME: 13:18:14 (two hours and ten minutes slower than a year ago)
24/101 age group, 756/2023 overall
Graeme and Megumi were there waiting and I gave a short tale of my woes until I realized that I might pass out if I didn't go sit down and eat immediately. They stayed to watch Mike's finish while I was able to engulf a couple pieces of pizza and some french fries (french fries are the perfect food after an Ironman). I was done and decided to get up and go get my cell phone so I could call my parents and also see if Mike had finished (hadn't heard his name yet though). I was dizzy and sat back down. A retired EMT from Texas told me that I looked pale even in the dark. He made me lie down and put my legs up on a chair. He got me a coke and didn't let me get up until there was color in my face (a good 30 minutes). At this point some of the food was finally getting into my system and I felt better. I then heard Mike finish and started looking for him in the food tent. At least no asthma problems this race, despite the wind, so I think I have that figured out.
Mike and I will be back in Tempe for the November race this year. This time our fearless photographer will be joining us to attempt his first Ironman. I can't wait.
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