I had a slew of excuses in case things went badly: my kids started a new school, I started a new job, Dreamer was clingy, Fearless threw tantrums, Joe was traveling … if you had all this “stuff” in your life you would not train consistently either. Yet in general I was relaxed. I had done both this race (Miami Man) and this distance (1/2 Iron: 1.2m swim, 56m bike, 13m run) before so I knew I could finish, and my only goal was to meet my 2011 time of 6h48’. If I beat it, even better. I was stronger, I was going to wear a wetsuit and I had a new bike … so the odds were stacked in my favor.
I arrived at the race site at 5:00AM, set up my transition (where you leave what you will need for the race), walked around, chatted with friends, and headed to the swim site. Miami Man had a cut off time for the bike. If you have not started the second loop at mile 28 by 10:15AM you got disqualified. I race Athena, a weight category, and the last group to start the race making the bike cutoff time a challenge. The organizers let you start in the first wave but you take a penalty so I took it and was able to start almost forty minutes before my scheduled time. At 7:00AM I was walking into the lake with the first group: professionals, elites and men aged 40 to 44. I stayed towards the back – not only were they strong but they were also competitive and the chances of being kicked or swum over was largely amplified.
I have to say as much as I missed looking at fish, I loved the feeling of fresh water. A couple hundred feet into the swim, water began to seep into my goggles so I had to stop and readjust. Had it been salt water, my problems would’ve been much worse. As I sighted the buoys I thought “wow, that’s far.” I guess I had forgotten how long 1.2 miles really was so I found some feet to follow.
If you follow feet, you draft a little bit and swimming is a bit easier. This is a skill I have not mastered and so I ended up finding feet but swallowing bubbles made by said feet. I decided I would just pull my own weight from then on. Miami Man has a two-loop swim. You swim a first loop of about .75 miles, get out of the water, go through the timing mat, and return into the water for another half mile or so. As I got out of the first loop, I heard people calling my name. I know I heard my Coach and some of the girls but my goggles were foggy and I was too confused to pay attention. I still had not found my rhythm, and was still thinking the swim was taking forever. Finally, a song from the Backyardigans, one of my kids favorite shows, came into my head and provided a perfect beat to follow: stroke, stroke, breath, stroke, stroke, breath. I started going faster, passing people and before I knew it, the swim was over.
I headed out of the water, and again I could hear my friends though this time I made more of an effort to smile. I took my goggles off and remembered I still had a wetsuit on. Fortunately someone yelled to go to the strippers, and when I looked confused they literally turned me around to face a line of eager volunteers. Their job is to get the wetsuit off me as quickly as possible and before I could tell them it was my first time someone was unzipping my back and pulling my wetsuit down. I sat on the floor while someone else pulled my (wetsuit) pants off. I then ran into transition somewhat discombobulated from the whole experience.
It was time to get on my bike. There were strong winds coming from the east and I started heading west. That meant I had to take advantage of this crazy tailwind since the way back would be riding straight into it. I was averaging about 21mph for much longer than I typically can. The ride was nice, flat, fast and fun. A dog ran after me barking his head off, while another one lay dead in the middle of the road (it was probably hit by a car and not a bike, mind you.) I wasn’t being passed all that much unlike last year when I had an old road bike and was constantly being passed – a very humbling and demoralizing experience.
It doesn’t matter how fast you are, 56 miles will take some time to complete. There were water “stops” where a volunteer held out a water bottle, you slowed down, and he did everything (and I mean everything) he can to help you get the bottle without stopping. It’s like driving through those electronic tolls on the highway – you slow down but you don’t actually stop. Last year I couldn’t handle the bike well enough to get a water bottle. This time I slowed down, held out my hand and a bottle was placed right on it. You then toss it at a designated place on the side of the road and another kind soul picks them up. God bless those volunteers!
After two loops, I had thirteen miles left on my way back to transition. Fortunately someone removed the dead dog from the middle of the road. Unfortunately I was riding dead East and faced the wind head on. Boy, was that tough. My average pace went down to 13mph and I was expending even more energy than expected.
I made it back to transition and when getting off the bike I almost fell flat on my face. My legs were shaky and wobbly and I felt like my knees were going to buckle. This did not bode well for the thirteen-mile run that lay ahead.
As soon as I left, I saw a group of my girl friends cheering me. Damn! I wanted to walk. I turned the corner and I saw my coach. ARGH. All I wanted was to walk but I was too proud to let them see me. I finally turned a corner and was alone. I walked for a minute and realized this was going to be an awful run. I don’t allow any negative thoughts in my head during a race. I am trained to push them out so I put aside all negativity and decided to run to the next mile marker. And I did. Then I decided to run to the next one … and I did. Getting to mile three was great as I saw fellow blogger Amy who was volunteering at the water stop. She ran next to me for a bit, and all I remember is her telling me that it took her three miles on her last race to get into the running groove. That helped me get to the next mile marker. Then I met up with another teammate (who passed me) but encouraged me, and that helped me get to the next one. Mile by mile I was getting through the run.
I met up with other friends at miles five and again at six. I saw them and I heard them but I couldn’t quite respond to them. I was too concentrated and if I stopped moving forward I thought I may not start up again. I never pass up water, but by then it was six hours into this race and the water started making me queasy so I would take less and less at each station. Note to self: work on nutrition for the IronMan.
It sounds awful but I did feel okay most of the time. The only thing that hurt were my legs, specially my quads. I realized I didn’t have to run gracefully so any concern for my form, or for how I look running, went out the window. Who cares if I looked like a duck? I was going to run in whatever position felt like I could propel myself faster.
By mile 11 or so of the run I saw my friend Mickey who asked me how I was feeling. By then the water was just not sitting well with the gels in my stomach. I told her I felt like crap and asked her why the F*** do I do this? She gave me a two-minute pep talk as she ran beside me. I heard her, but all I really wanted was to turn the corner so I could take a walk break without her seeing me! I don’t usually swear and I realized that I had broken my negative thought clause. I realized I was slipping into a bad space. I was told the half ironman is raced in the last three miles. Its how you finish those that determine how well you did in the whole race and by golly, I was going to finish strong. The last two miles were “fast” and focused. I would run three or four cones, and then walk one and I took that all the way to the anticlimactic finish line.
My kids had their first basketball game ever, and so Joe was with them and I was there alone. I knew I had friends and my coach around but I couldn’t see anyone. I never felt like I belonged in a race as much as I did here … every step of the way there was a familiar face encouraging me to go on. I was happy I beat my 2011 time by eleven minutes and I placed second in my category (they didn’t take my penalty but I would’ve placed second even if they had.) I got my medal and went to transition to call Joe and tell him I was done. Talking to my family I realized that I missed them so much. I was the one that told them not to come because in truth it’s a pain in the butt to be a spectator with small kids; but I would lie if I didn’t say I wished they were there. I realize that IronMan, racing, training, none of it means anything if my family wasn’t a part of my life. And that the slew of excuses I had to not train consistently are actually the slew of reasons why I train at all.
