Ironman Canada

It was just after 8pm when I crossed the finish line, thirteen hours and three minutes after the gun went off and I plunged into insanity.  The final surge of adrenaline I had felt in the final miles of the run i
mmediately dissipated, only to be replaced with relief and utter exhaustion.  I had done it.  I had completed Ironman Canada.  My legs could barely hold me up, my entire body shook with cold and fatigue, and waves of nausea overcame me.  I made my way through the race corral and collapsed into Mouse's arms, fighting back tears.  All of the emotions I had battled over the course of the race - frustration, fear, pain - all bubbled up and came out.  I was completely and thoroughly spent.  But through the fog of my mental and physical pain, I was still able to feel the unmitigated elation of knowing that I had actually finished.  I had accomplished my goal.  I was now Ironman.

Sitting on the grass, sipping my chicken broth, it was surreal to think that I had started this morning at the lake, battling my way through the two-mile swim with nearly three thousand other participants.  It had been my first mass start, and it was ruthless.  The sheer number of swimmers made it impossible to get into a good rhythm for the first mile.  I spent more time fending off the other swimmers than I did actually swimming, and sucked in more water than I did air.  I sputtered and coughed.  I can't even count the number of blows I took to the head.  It was pure madness, and it took everything I had to keep the panic at bay.  Luckily, the field began to open up as I began my second mile, allowing me to fall into a steady rhythm.  With every stroke, the panic faded and my confidence began to build.  I could do this.  I found open pockets of water, navigated my way through the other swimmers, and made seemingly slow progress through the field.  Finally, I rounded the last turn and reached the shore.  The first portion of the race was done.

Then came the bike - the part I had been dreading.  It's my weakest event and, also, the longest.  I'd been reading the course reports for weeks and feared the worst.  The official report claimed only 4,000 feet of elevation gain over the 112 miles, but the unofficial reports warned it was closer to 6,000 feet.  Either way, I knew I had a significant amount of climbing ahead.  And climb I did.  Then I climbed some more.  That's all I seemed to do.  Every time I gained a little speed on some downhill, I was met by an even steeper uphill.  My quads burned and my spirits sank.  It was becoming a vicious mind game, and frustration was getting the better of me.  I tried to distract myself with the awe-inspiring beauty of the surrounding mountains, but even that couldn't boost my spirits. The hills just never seemed to end, and miles 92 to 100 felt like a cruel joke.  But, like all things, the hills did eventually come to an end.  I rode into the transition area on an indescribable high, knowing I had battled my demons, my burning quads, and those insufferable hills.

Now it was time for the run.  This is what I had been looking forward to all day.  This was going to be my chance to make up some of the time I had lost on the bike.  Amazingly, I felt great on the first thirteen miles.  My adrenaline had kicked in as soon as I put on my running shoes, and my legs wanted to go fast, maybe a little too fast.  I tried to slow myself down in preparation for the 26.2
miles ahead, but my first couple of miles still went by more quickly than they should.  By mile 5, I was able to fall into a comfortable pace, and I settled in to my run.  The course switched from paved path to gravel trail, winding past golf courses, lakes, and through wooded areas.  The varied terrain was a blessing, keeping my mind occupied, and off the severe fatigue that was starting to settle in.  No matter how much I love running, I couldn't deny that I was beginning to fade.  By mile 15, my quads were shredded and my pace significantly slowed.  At this point, it was a mind game.  I knew I couldn't let time, distance, or fatigue get the best of me.  So, I just kept pushing along.  At times, I was certain that my shuffle was no faster than a walk, but I didn't care.  I knew I had to keep running, which is exactly what I did.  I kept running past mile 20, then mile 22, and before I knew it, I was passing the mile 24 marker, making my way into Whistler Village.  The crowd support was amazing; their cheers only adding more fuel to my fire.  My pace quickened as my adrenaline surged once more.  Before I knew it, I was crossing the finish line, barely able to process what I just done.  I was speechless and stunned.  I had thought I would cry tears of joy as soon as I crossed that line, but I discovered I had nothing left at that moment.  I was the definition of done.

There it is.  Six months of my life wrapped up into one, long day.  Was it tough?  Definitely.  Was it worth it?  Most certainly.  I'm proud to say that I am Ironman.