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.

IMC - My Day of Reckoning

Road Trip Day # 9 - Race Day.  It's 4:30 am; my final pre-dawn morning of the season.  It all comes down to this.  140.6 miles of swimming, biking, and running, which will most likely take me (at least) fourteen hours to complete.  It's going to be a tough day.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous, maybe even downright scared.  This race is going to test me physically, mentally, and spiritually, but when it's all said and done, I will be an Ironman.  Here goes nothing...

The Problem with the Taper

Road Trip Day # 7 - OK, so I totally lied.  I still feel like a slug.  Or, maybe, a better description is that of a big, fat, doughy ball of out-of-shape flesh.  Of course, nothing could be further from the truth.  I have been actively training for Ironman since February, after all.  It's just that this tapering and carbo-loading thing is messing with my mind.  After being so active for so long, and becoming accustomed to training for several hours every day, this self-imposed state of rest is disconcerting.  I already feel thoroughly out of shape, which is not exactly ideal, considering how quickly this race is approaching.  I'm trying to make the best of it, though.  (I know, I know.  Poor me.)  I guess there could be worse things than hanging out with old friends, cooking meals together, and relaxing in a mountainside condo, so I really should stop my moaning.  One more day until IMC.  I hope I'm ready for this...

Ready or Not

Road-trip Day #5 - I may be dirty, smelly, and vaguely reminiscent of the patchouli-laden hippies that seem to populate Vancouver Island, but at least I'm feeling less sluggish. After a couple of days tucked into the wilderness, with some trail runs and hikes under my belt, I'm beginning to feel a little more like myself.

Vancouver Island was everything I imagined it to be; the exact portrait of the Pacific Northwest conjured in my imagination. Victoria proved to be a quaint city, exuding an old-world vibe one doesn't get back home, with it's architecture of centuries past. I wish we had been able to spend more than a couple of hours there, as it would have been an intriguing area to explore, but the southern portion of the island was calling us. So, we ate, stocked our groceries, and headed for less-populated shores. The drive to China Beach in Juan del Fuca Provincial Park took much longer than expected, along the narrow, winding, rural roads, but it was worth the trek. The further south we ventured, the more rugged the wilderness became. Except for some houses dotting the coastline, and the occasional roadside cafe, there was no civilization to speak of, just old-growth forests and rocky beaches. I honestly don't think you could get more quintessential Pacific Northwest than this. The pine trees towered at least one hundred feet overhead, majestic in their presence alone. The green mosses and ferns covering the forest floor only further lent to the sense of mystique, like we were walking into a storybook rendition of a rainforest. It was all so rugged and beautiful in a way that made me want to get lost there forever. This abject beauty did not come without a price, though, as it was quite a bit colder than expected. Even in the supposed heat of August, the ocean mist would role in and chill us to the bone. I guess that's a small penance for such surreal surroundings, though.

Today, we're back on the ferry and returning to the mainland. Our next stop is Whistler, the true purpose for the trip. While I'm excited for the luxury of the condo, and to spend some time with friends, I'm also keenly aware that this signals that Ironman is nearly here. I'm trying to keep my nerves at bay, and focus only on the good, but it's tough to do when Sunday is approaching so quickly. I just have to remind myself that it is only one day, and I've been preparing for it since February. Ready or not, here it comes.

Oh Canada!

Road-trip Day #3, and I feel like a slug. For two days now, we've been on the road for more than twelve hours a stretch. We've subsisted on fast food and junk, as there aren't many nutritional options in the middle of nowhere. And any form of exercise has been out of the question; we've been too focussed on making good travel time for any form of leisure. I'm not sure if this is the best pre-race prep, but I guess that's how it goes.

We finally crossed the Canadian border last night and made it to our campsite on Porteau Cove in pitch black. The beauty of the coastline was lost on us as we navigated the winding Sea-to-Sky Highway. All we could see was the precarious road ahead and the infinite darkness around. This morning was a different story, though. We woke to a misty Pacific Northwest morning, with the fog unfurling from the mountains into the sea below. It was a sight for sore eyes, and a welcome reminder of why we drove so far.

Thankfully, the worst of the traveling is now behind us. Today, we're hopping a ferry that will take us from the mainland to Vancouver Island. Once there, we'll hit up the city of Victoria for a proper lunch and some microbrews before heading further south to Juan de Fuca Provincial Park and China Beach for some more camping and, finally, a touch of relaxing. I don't think I've ever been more ready for the mainstay of a vacation to begin...

Whistler or Bust

Well, here we go. My training is complete. There's nothing left to do. At this point, I will either sink or swim come next Saturday. (Frighteningly, that's a very literal interpretation of what could happen.) So, we packed our gear and hit the road early this morning. Our final destination: Whistler, British Columbia. Today, we'll be happy to make it to Boise. Right now, we're somewhere in the flat, never-ending grasslands of Wyoming, wishing for even the slightest change of scenery. Our road-trip has officially begun, and we have countless hours of driving ahead. Even though this first stretch is tedious and threatens to be mind-numbingly boring, I'm thrilled for our vacation to begin. I've been planning, plotting, and researching for this all summer, and am excited to see my efforts finally come to fruition. Besides, I need to focus on how much fun this trip is going to be, rather than how truly terrified of Ironman I am. So, for now, I'm pushing all race thoughts as far to the periphery of my mind as possible and am treating this like any other vacation. I'm looking forward to exploring the Pacific Northwest, a region in which I've not previously ventured. I'm looking forward to seafood dinners and days on the beach. Most importantly, I'm looking forward to finally having some time to unwind. So, let another adventure begin!

An Iron-Clad Summer

I remember the good old days, when running a marathon meant I got a little time off.  I remember a time when I got to kick back, relax, and enjoy the time it took for my fatigued legs to recover from the grueling 26.2.  But, this time around, no such luck.  I quickly learned that, when one is training for an Ironman event, "time off" does not exist.

So, after the marathon, I jumped right back into training.  My coach was kind enough to grant me a little bit of recovery time, in that I did not have to run immediately post-race, but everything else was fair game.  Thus, I was back in the pool three days after completing Utah Valley, and back on the bike one day thereafter.  In fact, since the marathon, and my last post, I've participated in two Olympic-distance triathlons, one Century ride, and have spent countless hours on the bike, in the pool, and pounding the pavement.  It seems as though my entire life revolves around Ironman.  When I'm not working, I'm training.  I leave the house before dawn most weekend mornings, and don't return until late afternoon, exhausted and chaffed.  My social life has disappeared.  My husband feels abandoned.  I've become an absentee friend.  This is the summer of Ironman; everything else had had to take second place.

When I started this training, I had plans to write weekly updates to document my training progress.  But, as this summer and my training have progressed, I've realized that: 1) I'm just too tired to write, and 2) there isn't much to write about.  Let's be honest, you all would get very bored very quickly reading detailed descriptions of each and every training ride.  No one needs to read multiple entries on how tiring riding 90+ miles is, how my bum is bruised from all the time in the saddle, and how I'm beginning to despise every form of energy food.  Because that's pretty much how I can sum up my training thus far.

That being said, I'm also impressed with how well my body is holding up.  I haven't been taken out by any strange illness.  I haven't gotten shin splints, or stress fractures, or any of the old injuries I suffered from in my early days of distance running.  My only complaint is that my left toes keep popping out of joint, but with a little help from my amazing chiropractor, Joseph Hummell, and Denver Community Acupuncture, I'm keeping the pain at bay.   I'm not losing massive amounts of weight, and think I have my nutrition fairly well dialed-in.  And, even though my muscles are constantly fatigued, I can tell that my body is becoming stronger and my endurance is improving.  As nervous as I am about the actual event, I think my body just may be blossoming into Ironman material.

Now, I'm less than four weeks away from the event, so the worst of the training is behind me.  Of course, the 140.6 grueling miles of race day still looms in my near future, but I think I'm ready for it.  All of the time I've put into training haven't been for naught.  Each and every workout has been carefully planned to prepare me for race day.  So, I just need to tough it out a little longer.  My chance to prove that I  am an Ironman will be here before I know it.

Exhausted: Training for Ironman Canada, Week 6

Only six weeks in, and I'm already exhausted. It's like I've become a hamster in a massive wheel of triathlon training, continuously spinning myself into a frenzy, in hopes of whipping my body into Ironman shape. Everyday is a new challenge, whether it be running, biking or swimming. It's always something: speed work, hill repeats, strength and distance training. It never seems to end. My shoulders ache. My quads are incessantly fatigued. My appetite is out of control. And this is only the beginning...

All whining aside, I'm actually enjoying myself. With every workout, I feel myself getting leaner and stronger. Thanks to my coach, and the plan she's developed, every workout has a purpose and offers a new challenge. The days of simply going out for a run, a ride, or simple laps at the pool, are long gone. Now I'm forced to think about each and every training session. I focus on form. I concentrate on stride, pace, cadence, and RPMs. It's all become so technical, I almost feel like a real athlete.

Despite this shift in my training style, and my newfound fatigue, I have to admit that the workouts aren't really THAT hard. Yes, I'm pushing myself much further and harder than I have in the past, but it's nothing my body can't handle. The real challenge has been fitting the required sessions into my insane work schedule. Finding time to squeeze in six separate training sessions per week has not been an easy task while I'm working four, twelve-hour, overnight shifts each week. And convincing myself to get up early enough to jam in a short training session between shifts has been next to impossible. But, somehow, I'm making it work. I've made peace with the new reality that every day off from work is a day fully committed to my training. And I've even managed to occasionally peel myself out of bed in time to go for a run before heading into the hospital. It's exhausting, but I know all of this hard work is going to be worth it in the end.

So, that's where I'm at six weeks into my Ironman training. Just plain tired. I don't expect the exhaustion to ease much as the weeks wear on, but my work schedule will lighten significantly soon, which should help immensely. So, for now, I just have to grin and bear it. Preparing for Ironman is a labor of love; I guess I need to learn to love all of the labor it entails.

In Over My Head

Oh my goodness.  What have I gotten myself into?  I'm definitely feeling more than a little overwhelmed right now.  I knew it was going to be tough, and was going to take up a significant amount of my time, but seeing it all laid out in front of me is an entirely different situation.

You see, I've decided to do an Ironman this summer.  For those of you not initiated into the world of Ironman triathlons, that's 140.6 grueling miles of competition, consisting of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run.  For most, that probably sounds like hell.  For me, it sounds like an outstanding challenge.

So, why am I overwhelmed right now?  It's not like I didn't know this was a serious undertaking; I've done enough Half-Ironman events to know that.  But, this time, it's different.  This race is double the distance of anything I've ever done, and double the commitment.  So, I've decided to train the right way, and really take it seriously.  In the past, I've followed training schedules of my own making, and have done well enough, but I thought I could do better with a proper coach.  Enter Mile High Mountain Sports, Coach Kathy, and the TriBella women's team.  I'm counting on them to keep me accountable, challenge me, and help me prepare for this race at a much more competitive level than I could on my own.

Again, why am I overwhelmed?  Well, Coach Kathy just sent me the first few weeks of my training schedule, and it isn't pretty.  It's much more technical and focussed than anything I've ever done: fartleks, intervals, tempos, and a whole lot of training jargon that I'm not quite sure I understand.  Just looking at the proposed workouts makes my head spin.  While I understand this is exactly what I need, it doesn't make it any less intimidating.  It really makes me question whether or not I've gotten in over my head.

But I don't have time to panic.  The race is only 6 months away, so I just have to throw myself into this,  and do the best I can.  As the weeks and months go by, the training will begin to make more sense, and will become more intuitive.

I'm going to start writing regular updates to my training, to help keep track of my progress.  So, I guess the countdown to Ironman Canada is beginning.  6 months and counting...