Ironman #14 - Ironman Lake Tahoe, I mean Ironman Florida 2014

 The theme for my 2014 triathlon season has been disappointment. For whatever reason, I’ve been handed one after another this year and through the journey I have learned to handle each unexpected result with grace and humor. The season started with the Wildflower double. My mistake was not tapering (C races), so I went into the race sore. On Saturday, I just did the half to finish without racing it, and then Sunday I was in the top five in my age group leading into the run. I decided (on the bike) to race it and ended up tearing both my upper and lower peroneals with about 2 miles to go on the run. I was able to finish, but not before being passed by 3 other women in my age group in the last very painful downhill mile of the race. This injury took me out of run training for 7 weeks, so I only got in 6 weeks worth of build before IM Boulder. The week of that race I had my own personal bad luck (see IM Boulder blog entry) and ended up having a slow, crappy race. I then signed up for Ironman Lake Tahoe to redeem myself. I was feeling great the couple days leading up to the race, but then winds turned out of our favor the evening before and brought the King fire smoke back on to the bike and run courses. WTC waited until a couple minutes before the pro start to cancel the entire race. During the announcement (which I assumed was to start the pro race), I was walking down to the start in my wetsuit. There was still music playing in the transition area, so I couldn’t quite hear the announcement as I was stuck between speakers. However, I did notice people ripping their caps off and storming off the beach. I immediately thought, “Oh crap, they just canceled the race.” There were a few people taking it really hard, falling to their knees and wailing. It was hard for many to understand why the race was canceled, because standing at the swim start on King’s Beach, there were clear skies. I was staying at Squaw and had worn a bandana that morning to filter out some larger smoke particles as I waited in line to board the bus. It was pretty easy for me to understand why the race was canceled. It was the right thing to do, but at the moment not a popular decision. I felt bad for everyone who had traveled long distances to be there. I had only driven four hours, but there were athletes I talked to after the cancelation from Denmark, Germany, and New Zealand that had spent a lot more money and time to get there, just to be disappointed at the last second. WTC opened some spots up for other fall races and I was lucky enough to get an entry for Ironman Florida. This would be an opportunity to use my fitness and also to visit some family friends that had moved away a couple years ago. A shout out to Cam & Kerri for your hospitality and copious amounts of time with my kids! My kids decided to stay with our friends instead of trudging around Iron-spectating. Being an iron-spectator is not an easy day. You spend most of your time waiting only to see your loved one a few moments every couple of hours. More thanks goes out to my husband, Mike, who did just this for a very long day.

Let me first say that the days leading up to the race were perfect weather. Here is photographic evidence (of my family at the beach) that 2 days before the race it was beautiful:

Mid-seventies, sunny, with relatively low humidity. We left the condo in Miramar Beach at 4:45am. It was frickin’ cold in Miramar Beach. The wind was crazy strong and swirly. It was NOT a nice Gulf breeze from the ocean, but instead was a northerly, cold, arctic wind. Forecast was a steady 20-23mph all day with up to 35mph gusts. Early morning temps were in the low forties, but it felt colder with the wind chill. We arrived at transition (great parking at Velo Club) at 5:30. Went through the motions and was going back and forth in my mind on whether to change into dry clothes during T1. Came out and met back up with Mike.

I wet-suited up and walked towards the start. The Gulf looked angry. The waves didn’t alarm me, but the current did. Red flags were up and I have never seen the water moving so quickly east before. From shore, it looks like if you could get out to the first turn buoy, you could probably just float to the next one. Getting back to the beach for the second loop would have been a completely different story. “Attention everyone, we have an important announcement to make.“ Uh, oh. Déjà vu – this can’t be good. This intro was followed by the official announcement which went something like this, “Our kayaker volunteers are unable to reach and maintain their positions. Your safety is our first priority therefore we regret to announce that the swim is canceled. The race will start with the bike using a time trial start by number beginning at 8:00. Please go back to transition to await your start.” Some people cheered, I did not. So, that just happened. Immediate goal rearrangement – Kona is out the window. Maybe, with some sections of tail wind, I can still go for a bike and run PR. At the very least I still had my main goal of not walking or stopping on the run. Since I had signed up late through WTC, my bib number was 3079. So, instead of starting with the other AWA athletes or my age group, I was at the end of the pack with the rest of the cursed Tahoe refugees and another group that was with Ken Glah (for some reason their entries were not processed on time). If there had been a swim, my number wouldn’t have mattered because I would have started at 7am with everyone else. In this case, it meant I wouldn’t start the bike until 9:55, a full hour and forty-five minutes later than my latest expected time to start the bike off a swim. One of the other IMFL athletes posted a sticker on FB that said: IMFL, 138.2, wait – bike – run. And wait I did. My bib:

Here I am getting the knot out of my pirformis while waiting around.

I would have to wait almost 3 hours to start during which time I became hungry enough to eat a second breakfast (my first was eaten at 3:30am).  I no longer had the changing conundrum, I would be dry. However, the weather was not warming up. At 9:30 it was still 42 degrees with a steady 20 mph wind even though the sun had been up for over two hours. I opted to wear the same cycling fleece I wore at IMLT in 2013 over my arm warmers. I also had a force flex kitchen trash bag under my jersey to block the wind - I was just going to leave it there until I got too warm, but the trash bag ended up being so comfortable that I accidently wore it for the entire race! I also made the not-so-awesome decision to wear wool socks because I was shivering any time I went outside.  On the bright side, I actually got to make sure my bike helmet was on straight – an Ironman first. Mike caught me on video with the other cursed Tahoe refugees just before we started the bike. Announcer, you are not funny (See first 3 videos below this post for TT start).

The first 20 miles of the bike was mostly a headwind. I knew that would be the case, so it wasn’t bothering me. I was hoping that on the way back I would get a tailwind, but I knew from experience at Arizona and Kona that  winds can shift during the race. Oh well, everybody is stuck in this. It’s epic. Just do it. It was cold, but I was warm enough, but looking forward to the right turn to get out of the headwind. Right turn – ugh. It was better, but there was still a hefty crosswind. The bike course at IMFL is pretty lonely – not much in the way of spectators. It was a different experience for me, continuously passing people while at the back of the pack. I’m used to a fast parade going by of slower swimmers and myself only passing a handful of women. I was irritated prerace about previous reports of drafting, and although there were some people drafting (I yelled at a couple people, “real men don’t draft”) as I went by, but I think the cross winds kept large packs from forming, or I was just too far back to have seen the big groups go by. For the most part, people trying to draft were going about it completely wrong in the cross wind – trying to stay directly behind the person’s wheel in front of them while wondering why it didn’t seem any easier. Woohoo! Right turn down on to 77. This section was positively spectacular!! This was about an 8-9 mile section with a direct tailwind (and unfortunately, the only section longer than a mile). I was hitting 30 mph and really enjoying the nice push. I knew it wasn’t going to last, but I enjoyed the begeezus out of it while it was happening. I was dreaming that the last 20 miles could be the same! Okay, there was still hope that I could get a bike PR. The left turn on to 388 came way too fast. Back to crosswind and 18mph. Phooey.

This stretch was not memorable until we crossed Blue Springs Rd to hit the out and back at about mile 50. This approximate ten mile section was THE WORST section of road I have ever raced on. For those in the bay area, it was like Old Page Mill Rd before they paved it a few years back. Cracks EVERYWHERE. No possible way to avoid them. Seriously, I needed suspension. I felt like my hands were going to blast off my wrists from constant impact. I couldn’t stay aero as there was still a wicked cross wind and I was worried about hitting one of those cracks at the wrong angle. I was wondering – is this really the only place the race director could put a ten mile out and back? Really?? The situation started to become bleakly humorous when smoke from a brush fire drifted on to the course. This had been posted on an IMFL facebook page two days before, and apparently the fire was still smoldering. So, here I am bouncing around, trying to avoid unavoidable cracks in the road while breathing in campfire smoke (ala Tahoe). Forces greater than me have a cruel sense of humor. Once I made the turn around, the crosswind became a headwind/crosswind and added insult to injury. OMG – when is this effin road going to end? Butterflies are my cheerleaders during long races, and there had been plenty of them in the days leading up to the race. In fact, there were flocks of bird-sized monarchs at packet pick up. Wouldn’t you know, I had not even seen one during the race – not even one. That five miles was the longest in the race. I think I heard angels singing when I finally made the right turn on to Blue Springs Rd – and even that was straight into a headwind. It was on this section that my decision to wear socks became a bad one. It was warming up (couldn’t have been warmer than 60) and my feet were beginning to get too warm which for me, means hot foot. The balls of my feet swell up and I no longer have enough vertical room in my shoes  - it feels like someone is holding a blowtorch to the bottom of my feet. I knew that I needed to take my socks off as I still had over 50 miles to go. I waited until I had turned back on 20. Now I was debating on whether to attempt sock removal while riding (I have done this successfully a couple times, but not in a crosswind) or should I suck it up and stop. This section was the most protected by trees, and so the wind was steady, but not gusting. I decided to take my socks off while riding. One foot out of my shoes (oh that feels soooo much better) and then I reached down to grab my sock – CRAP! CRAMP! My hip was seizing up. I willed it to relax, rode about a mile with my foot on top of my shoe and then was able to reach down and get it off. Butterfly! Okay, I can do this – the other sock was easier, no cramping and then I could finally get up to speed without foot pain. Somewhere on this stretch a guy was in front of me whose shorts were almost completely worn away right along his butt crack – not a good look. It was bad – the kind of lycra degradation I’m only used to seeing in swim suits. I thought about telling him, but then there wasn’t a thing he could do about it mid-race, so that option seemed merciless. I decided I would just have to speed up and pass him so I wouldn’t have to look at his rear for an extended period of time. This reminded me of a sprint race from my youth on Key Biscayne when I had the misfortune of riding behind an old guy wearing a thong, but I digress. Lycra has a shelf life – please check your swim suits and tri suits by holding them up to the light before you put them on. Save yourself the embarrassment. Everyone was silent along this stretch. I was too, until I passed a tandem team where an able-bodied participant was pulling a disabled athlete. I told them that they both rocked and then concentrated on my able-bodied form and remembered that I chose to do this race and dammit, I was supposed to be having fun enjoying something not everyone’s body can. Another butterfly! Okay, I’m going to finish this thing as fast as I can. Most likely due to the cold, I had torn through all my nutrition. Red Bull and lemonade - gone. Blindspot Nutbutters - all eaten ravenously. It was the opposite effect of losing my appetite that had happened at Boulder. I was now forced to rely on Gu from the aid stations with just my Zym for hydration until the run.

Left turn – 32 miles to go. I got one or two more glorious tailwind miles and then the wind seemed to shift to a more west to east position. The second out and back had a more palatable road, but the headwind was evil. I kept telling myself that I’d get a tailwind at the turn around, and although it was better, it wasn’t a direct tailwind. A right turn back to the beach provided more crosswinds, albeit a better wind angle than most of the race. Somewhere heading back to the beach I saw I sign that said, “I don’t want to do an Ironman, but I do want to ‘do’an Ironman. Call me ___-___-____(sorry, didn’t commit the phone number to memory). Once I turned left on to Front Beach Rd, I was hoping for a tailwind, but the winds off the water were canceling out the tailwind. This section was scary as there were tourists pulling out of parking spaces all over the place. I had to be vigilant and think of myself as invisible – this is something I do all the time on training rides, but I’m not used to spending that kind of energy during a race. I turned right toward transition on St. Thomas, got my feet out of my shoes, and rode toward the dismount line. Hooray! I can get off my bike and run a marathon :).

112 mile Bike 6:05:02, 18.41 mph, 19/147 in F 40-44, 905/2680 overall

Handed off my bike, grabbed my run transition bag and ran into the transition ballroom. This is the first time I’ve not had a volunteer’s help. No biggie. Bagged my helmet, changed sunglasses, took off my jacket but kept on my arm warmers that were underneath.  The trash bag was still under my jersey, but I had completely forgotten it was there. I grabbed my drink belt (I like to be able to drink whenever I want) with visor attached and ran out of the building. I stopped at the porta potty inside transition and hardened my mind to reach my goal of not stopping for the run. I had already taken too much time in transition.  In my past handful of ironman races, I was getting used to making the run too comfortable when things weren’t going my way (which unfortunately, has been happening frequently). I walked a lot at Boulder and ended up with a six hour marathon. Things weren’t going my way for this race either, but I could still come up aces on my main goal of toughing out the run without any walking. I just pulled the switch in my brain that walking was no longer an option.

T2 time:  5:13

 

Yay!! I got to see Mike! (See transition video under this post). It is always such a boost to see your better half out cheering for you during a long race. The rest of my family just thinks I’m nuts so they are never at my races (although they have consistently provided babysitting services) and my kids are seriously bored by Ironman. They think this racing stuff is ordinary and they would rather be doing something else all day – anything else all day. Mike was out of sight in seconds. It was already almost 4:15 and the sun would be setting around 6:00. I was going to be running an entire loop in the dark – I wasn’t prepared for this. I didn’t have a light in my transition bag and only had gloves waiting for me in my special needs bag.  Plus, it was going to be cold once the sun went down. The wind was still relentless and I hoped my asthma wouldn’t be an issue. My allergist had added an extra steroid inhaler to use the week of my races since my breathing debacle in Tahoe last year, so I was hoping that would hold any breathing issues at bay. A couple of signs that I saw early in the run: “Mother nature is a whore” – yes, she totally is, I thought. I gave that woman a thumbs up as I jogged by. Another one being held by a young adult read, “I ran once. It sucked.” That one made me laugh. I didn’t get many comments regarding my Luna sandals during this race, probably because I ran in the dark for so long. So far, I wasn’t shaming them. The first loop was pretty easy to run right on through all the aid stations. I didn’t feel great (my pace was around 10 minute miles), but I didn’t feel awful either.  The chip seal on the paths leading into and through the state park at around mile 6 were not fun. My feet were not happy about the bumpy road in my sandals, but I’ve run on worse. Along this stretch leading into the park, a woman leaning out the window of a van was yelling, “Jesus loves you!” at the top of her lungs. I was kind of in a bad place at the time and I remember thinking, “Oh please, He can’t stand us with this weather today. He doesn’t like me at all and He has a mischievous and odious sense of humor. If He actually liked me there would have been 90 degree temperatures and a swim.”  I definitely felt like I was being trolled – hadn’t I had enough disappointment already? I didn't want another lesson in adversity. I wanted to have a good race which I haven't had since 2009. Well, I suppose no one is keen on being handed a painful trial. It's just a few more hours and that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Nothing was going right this year, but I was not going to let my last "no stopping" goal slip away and ironically the situation was making the goal more meaningful. No walking. No whining. Not this race. I was starting to feel cold around mile 9 and made up a silly song in my head about getting to see Mike and getting my gloves at special needs in about 4 miles. Something about the faster I go, the faster I get there. I was slowing down a bit though because I was thinking too much about my cold hands. At the turn around I saw Mike just before I got my gloves. That gave me a boost and I felt 100x better with gloves on. I was able to pick up my pace with a nice kick and started passing people around miles 14-16. The extra effort most have taken a toll on my asthma, as all of a sudden around mile 16, people started passing me back even though I felt like I was keeping an even effort. I tried extra puffs on my rescue inhaler, but my chest was still tight. It was the cold, dry air. I undid my braid while running and hoped I’d be warmer with my hair down. Every little bit helps. I was drinking chicken broth when I could, but 2 aid stations in a row were out. I did, however, get an unofficial award running by a party for the “best hair” on the course. Ha! There were quite a few portable generator lamps up in the park, so not having a light didn’t turn out to be a problem. It was completely lonely in the park, but for the aid stations. It was here that a group of men run/walking took turns passing me and I them while they walked. A little voice in my head said – they’re walking and going just as fast, you should walk too! I ignored this internal advice, and focused on not stopping. Running was going to keep me warmer and was the fastest way to the finish line, plus I would be mad at myself later if I walked. Somewhere out of the park and through the residential area, someone had set up their own unofficial aid station with salt, left over Halloween candy, and real Coke (not the generic cola found at the real aid stations). A woman out front claiming that they had “everything” and she asked what  she could get for me. What I was thinking (but was too tired to actually form the words) was, “do you have a body bag? I might be needing one soon.” I didn’t really think I was dying, but my humor kind of goes dark towards the end of Ironman. Not too much farther up, a car pulled out in front of myself and another competitor and I turned to the guy next to me and said, “Funny, I’m not even upset he almost killed us – he might have done us a favor.” He nodded and said, “no kidding.” I also mentioned how torturous it was to be able to hear the finish line at 3-4 miles out. By some trick of physics, we could clearly hear the finish line announcer wayyyy too soon. More trolling. For those of you that haven’t done an Ironman before, each of the last 6 or so miles of an Ironman marathon are infinitely long. Do not tell someone during an Ironman with 5 miles to go, “You are almost there!” No, you are not. Plus, you probably don’t even know if I am on my first loop or my second.  At this point, most competitors’ legs are completely destroyed, we are unbelievably crabby and every move we make is painful – the whole of our physical being is begging us to stop. False information at how far away the finish line is can be DETRIMENTAL to both our physical and mental well being. You are only allowed to say, “You’re almost there,” when there is less than a mile to go. And even then you MUST BE SPECIFIC in how long there ACTUALLY is. Don’t tell me – it’s half a mile to go, when there’s ¾ of a mile to go. That is just cruel and unusual punishment. Mike, being a multiple Ironman finisher understands this and when I got a surprise visit about 15 minutes before I finished, he told me exactly how far it was to the 25 mile marker – again, it was great to see him and I knew that I could make it jogging to the finish (see 1.5 miles to go video below).

Contrary to what I’ve so far led you to believe, I really enjoyed the last couple of miles and I was proud of myself for attaining my “no walking or stopping” goal on the run. I wasn’t fast on the run by any measure, but today it really was the fastest I could go given the circumstances. I am still striving for that perfect race where I feel good during the run and have a performance where my results match my fitness. Sometimes an intermediate failure on the way to a goal can discourage you. Sometimes it has the opposite effect and spurs you on to do better. I choose to keep moving forward toward my goal of getting back to Kona, despite my recent substandard race performances. Knowing I can put in my best marathon effort even when the race to that point has been disappointing, and even when that best effort only results in 31^st place instead of 3^rd, has made me stronger.  I raised my arms in victory over that finish line and looked forward to trying again next year.

26.2mi Run 4:53.22, 31/147 in F 40-44, and 958/2680 overall.

Everyone who has been successful in some part of their life knows that the road to victory is paved with failures and disappointments. It’s these failures and disappointments that shape our character and make us more interesting people. Get back up again and strive to do what you love. I am still trying to decide which Ironman race to do next year since my original choice of Ironman Texas is surprisingly sold out. Definitely doing Vineman 70.3 in July and probably signing up for Tahoe again in September – if only someone could guarantee it won’t be too cold I would be there in a heartbeat. But with my luck, I wouldn’t count on it…