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.

Rage in the Sage 2013

Holy headwinds!  That's all I have to say, as that one statement truly sums up the entire race.  I'm not exaggerating; the winds at Lake Mead were ridiculous yesterday.  I might have actually had a good race, if I hadn't been biking into a wind-tunnel the entire time.  The crazy thing is, said winds were coming from every direction, so there was no relief.  I struggled on my way out and struggled just as much on my way back in.  It was ridiculous and exhausting.  Crazy Vegas weather!

All moaning and crying aside, I have to admit, I really did have a decent race.  I'm a little irked at the moment, because I'm convinced I could have done better, but isn't that always the case?  The fact of the matter is, I cranked out my best swim yet, managed a solid ride despite the wind, and held a strong pace on my run.  I came in at 3:06, a little slower than I had hoped, but still a time I can be proud of.  It put me in 7th place (out of 17) in my division, and 19th overall for females (out of 72).  It wasn't my best performance ever, but not bad for my first event of the season.  Now I know what I'm doing right in my training, and what I have to improve upon.  So, I guess I need to stop my whining and get to it...

Raging Jitters

Race day jitters. I always get them. It doesn't matter if it's a big race, or something as insignificant as a little, local 5k; I always get a case of the nerves. So, here I am, in the wee hours of an otherwise normal Saturday morning, stressing about the triathlon in my very near future. Two hours from now, I'll be wetsuit-ed up and plunging into the frigid waters of Lake Mead. It's Rage in the Sage time, the first tri of my season, and it's way too late to back out now. I have no idea how I'll fare, whether I'll be fast or slow; It's all a mystery for now. So, all I can do is put my game face on, psych myself up, and push myself as hard as a can. I'm ready for rubber arms and lactic acid-filled legs. Lake Mead, here I come!

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...

Tri, Tri Again

I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  I really haven't been training.  It's been tough to get myself into any sort of groove since I took this travel assignment in SoCal, after all.  I've been able to (somewhat) keep up with my running, but my biking and swimming have definitely suffered.  If I had been logical, I would have expected my Pumpkinman time to correlate, but I had high hopes.  (Or delusions of grandeur.)  I had my newer, fancier, faster bike, and was (seemingly) getting stronger with every race.  Despite my usual pre-race self-doubts, I really thought I was going to beat last year's time by at least a few minutes.  No such luck.  I still set a PR, but only by 20 seconds.  How humbling.

Still, the 2013 Pumpkinman Olympic Triathlon will go down as a good race in my book.  The weather was perfect.  The water was calm.  The winds remained tranquil, and the often-blistering Vegas heat cut us some slack.  My swim was a little slow, but strong.  My ride was more of the same.  The bike course was brutal, but that's a given when racing at Lake Mead.  My run felt great, but I should have pushed my pace just a little more.  In truth, my only real criticism of my performance is that I didn't take enough chances, or push myself hard enough.  I guess that's a lesson I needed to learn.

All in all, it was a good day.  I got to race and hang out with friends on a picturesque fall day.  What could be better than sprawling in a park post-race, downing cold beers?  It was truly everything a race day should be, so, despite my lackluster performance, I really can't complain.

Tomorrow I make the long, hot drive back to the OC.  But I have more than work, work, and more work to look forward to this week.  Yup, at the end of my three, my husband and puppy will be in town to spend some time with me.  So I'm more than ready to tackle this week and the challenges it may bring, as there is an incredibly bright and comforting light at the end of this tunnel.  I guess this is when countdown begins...

Vegas Bound

After three long nights of work, and one really good night of sleep I'm off to Vegas. The Pumpkinman Triathlon is tomorrow, and, as is my tradition since living there, I'm competing in the Olympic distance. I'm praying for a cool, calm morning, but the desert weather can be unpredictable and unforgiving, so who knows what tomorrow will bring? Wish me luck!

Begging for Mercy

Uh, yeah.  How embarrassing.  This weekend definitely kicked my butt.  Two short runs, with a mini-brick thrown in for good measure, and I'm feeling it.  This is soooo not acceptable.  Even worse was all of the huffing and puffing it took me to barely maintain my snail's pace while running.  And my shorter-than-short ride?  I'm not even going there.  Ugh.  What has happened to me?  How did I go from Half-Iron shape last month to this?

Yes, I did intentionally take time off and tone down my training after the Steelhead 70.3.  I'd earned a little rest time, after all.  But I had no idea my fitness level would take such a nose-dive.  The whole thing is mortifying and humbling.  Less than a month ago, I would have breezed through said workouts, without a second thought.  This weekend, it took every last bit of determination I could muster to make it through that last mile.  Maybe this is my body's way of telling me it's time to scale back and give it more recovery time.  I'll be the first to admit, I've been pushing myself this year.  First, the Big Sur Marathon.  Then the training for the Boise 70.3, even though it ended up becoming my race that never was.  June was a blur of backpacking the Tetons and Yellowstone, putting in upwards of twelve miles a day with fifty-pound packs upon our backs.  Then I jumped right back into training for Steelhead.

Maybe my poor body has earned the right to rest a little longer, but the Pumpkinman Olympic Triathlon is quickly approaching, so I don't see that happening any time soon.  I wouldn't miss this race for the world, so I need my body to start cooperating.  Maybe I just need a new, more forgiving approach.  Maybe I need to start a little slower and allow my body to find it's groove.  Either way, I'm not giving up.  I'll just have to find a way to push through the pain.

The Steelhead Challenge

Whew! I'm not going to lie; I'm really glad THAT (as in the Steelhead 70.3) is over. I love to compete and all, but the half-iron distance is no picnic. I don't care how tough you are, it hurts. So, it didn't come as any surprise when, as per usual, I found myself questioning my sanity (and fitness) around mile 6 of the run. That seems to be the magic number for me in a 70.3. I'm much too deep in to consider just giving up, yet I'm far enough away from the finish line to allow me to envision crossing it. I'm exhausted. My quads ache. My stomach is anything but happy. It never fails; this is my mental wall. Luckily, I always seem to summon enough determination to trust my training and push through it. And this is exactly what I was able to do on Sunday.

All of this being said, Steelhead was a great race. It was a personal best for me, with a finish time of 5:35. The weather was great. The water was calm. It was also a great course, starting on the sandy shores of Lake Michigan, winding through the lushly green countryside, and finishing at the same beach locale. After the Boise debacle, I needed this.

I'm always going to over-analyze my performance, wishing I did this or that differently, but I'm actually pleased with my effort this time. I probably could have taken my training a little more seriously, and could have benefitted from a few more long brick days, but that's all behind me now. What matters most is that I continue to push myself and improve. Steelhead proved to be a prime example of that.

Now that the race is done, my vacation can truly begin. Now, my only concerns are of lying on the beach, soaking up the rays, and what kind of wine I'm having at dinner. Now, I can focus on being on vacation. What a way to wrap up this sumner...

At It Again

Ugh. I definitely drank a bit too much wine last night. That was puh-robably not the best pre-race prep, but what's a girl to do when offered a glass of luscious Stag's Leap cab at dinner? I didn't want to be rude, after all. The same goes for the second and third glasses, as well. (I know, I know. I'm such a lush!) It was a good night with good friends we don't see often enough, though, so I don't regret one single drop of wine consumed. Oh well. Maybe I should be taking this race more seriously...

So now we're back on the road, heading from the 'burbs of Chicago to the shores of Benton Harbor. I'm downing Gatorade like a fish out of water, in my best attempt to rehydrate and atone for last night's sins. The Steelhead 70.3 will come early enough tomorrow morning, and I need to be ready to punish my body for a few hours or so.

It doesn't matter how often I do these triathlons, I never feel ready. No matter how much time and effort I've put into my training; it just never seems enough. I always feel like I should have done just one more swim, or one more brick. But there's no more time for training, so I guess I should stop my worrying. Now I need to rely upon the hope that I DID train enough, and that my body IS ready for this. At least this race is at sea-level...

In an hour or so, I'll be checking in, getting my body marked, and getting my gear all set up. Maybe then my confidence will kick in. A girl can dream!

A Lesson Hard Learned

I'll be the first to admit, triathletes are a crazy group of people, doubly so for those of us who enjoy the longer distances. We take pleasure in punishing our bodies with insane workouts, trading lazy weekend mornings for grueling training sessions. We don't have the luxury of being fair-weather athletes, either, so we learn to tough it out, rain or shine, blistering heat or freezing cold. Thus, I like to think triathlons have turned me into one tough chick. I've trained and raced in some pretty rough conditions. But yesterday, I learned even I have limits.

We knew the weather come race time wasn't going to be ideal. Even though Boise had been enjoying clear skies and temperatures in the mid-70s for days on end, we were well aware we weren't going to be so lucky Saturday. Nevertheless, I stayed positive as the day approached. I refused to give in to negative thoughts and continued to hope for the best. Besides, I thought I was prepared, both mentally and attire-wise, for the imminent inclement weather. Boy was I wrong.

Yesterday, I learned that sometimes no amount of preparation can ready a person for certain situations. It didn't matter how many hours of training I had logged, how much gear I invested in, or how tough I thought I was. Sometimes, you just have to know when to say when.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but yesterday's race was that moment for me. After suffering for hours in 43 degree weather at the Lucky Peak Reservoir, bracing ourselves against high winds and sleet, my racing partner and I had to make the call. It was gut-wrentching, all of that training and travel expenses gone to waste, but we knew we had to walk away. The risk of severe hypothermia was just too great for us chance it. I sobbed tears of frustration as we turned in our timing chips, my pride and self-identity taking a massive blow. Even now, I feel sick about it.

Still, I know we did the right thing. I would have been risking my well-being if I had stubbornly insisted on getting in that water. I was already frozen to the core, my body wracked with violent shivering. I never would have been able to recover after the swim. Even though the officials had already cut down the bike course to 15 miles (rather than the usual 56), due to the dangerous conditions, I knew this just wasn't my day to race. So, I forfeited. It's my first DNF and, I hope, my last.

Sure, there were people who went ahead and competed, and I am impressed with their persistence. Maybe they can withstand colder temperatures better than I can. Maybe they're just made from tougher stock. None of that matters. I have to keep my chin up, knowing I made the right decision for me.

I'm still searching for a silver-lining in all of this. I'm doing my best to come away with some valuable lessons, other than recognizing my own physical limitations. And slowly, I'm recognizing there are things I could have done differently, mainly in respects to my cold-weather gear. I also think the race organization, itself, could have done more for the athletes (a rain tent, perhaps?), but those decisions are out of my control. So, now I need to let this entire debacle go and start looking forward to the next race. Because, there is no doubt that there WILL be a next race...

Another Day, Another Tri

Well, here I am, the night before another big race.  Wasn't I in this exact position a little while ago?  It seems like just yesterday I was stressing out about Big Sur.  And yet, here I am in Boise, only six weeks since the marathon, contemplating the Half Iron Man I am about to throw myself into.  Just like Big Sur, I don't feel ready.  And just like Big Sur, I'm seriously doubting myself right now.  I'm nervous about the weather.  I'm nervous about the ride.  I'm nervous I'm going to disappoint myself.  But it's too late to back out now.  The race fees have been paid.  I made the long trip up here.  My bike is sitting in the transition area.  So all I can do is remind myself that I have put in the time and training, and I just have to give myself and my body a little credit.  Wish me luck.  I think to tomorrow just might hurt a tad...

Tri Crazy

I think I'm ready to admit that I'm completely out of my mind. It's not like people haven't been telling me this for years, it's just that I've been in complete denial. But it hit me the other morning during my ride. There I was, only a week after running a marathon, my quads burning as I cranked away, pushing myself up one of the many hills that comprise the PCH, when it dawned on me that instead of doing this, I should be resting. A marathon is fairly tough on the human body, after all. Most people use the weeks immediately post-race to recover. Not me. Nope - I brilliantly signed up for a Half Ironman June 9, which means I don't have the luxury of recovery time. Instead, I have to immediately throw myself into swimming, biking, and brick training. I'm taking the old adage, "No rest for the wicked" to a completely new level, and my poor body isn't sure what to make of this abuse. My hunger has kicked into overdrive and I'm definitely more fatigued than usual. Despite all this, I love the training process. I love pushing myself and learning what I'm capable of. (I also love being able to eat anything and everything I want.) Besides, it will all be over in a few weeks. Afterwards, I can truly let myself rest. So, for now, all I can do is embrace my newfound craziness and see this through to the end.

Brain Freeze

 I knew I was in trouble the moment I stepped into the water.  It was early Saturday morning, only minutes before the start of the Palm Springs triathlon.  I needed to warm up before the gun went off, but the waters of Lake Cahullia were breathtakingly cold, chilling me to the bone as soon as they made contact with my skin.  Who did I think I was kidding?  No matter how many strokes I got in pre-race, I wasn’t going to warm up.  If anything, every cell of my body was slowing to a complete halt every moment I spent in that water.  I’m pretty sure my well-worn wetsuit wasn’t doing me any favors, either.  I might as well have been treading naked in Artic waters for as much protection it was providing me.  The frigid water poured into each and every tear, giving me the sensation of being held down in an ice bath.  It was painful.  I was fighting back the panic.

I don’t remember many specifics from the swim, besides struggling to find a good breathing pattern and barely feeling my arms as they pushed through the water.  I do remember the relief I felt when I looked over to find my friend swimming next to me though.  And, of course, I remember feeling even more relief when I realized our swim was over.

I wish I could say that, after exiting the water, I was in the clear, but nothing could be further from the truth.  Now I had to deal with the aftermath of spending thirty-plus minutes in such bitter conditions.  If I’ve ever been close to hypothermia, this was it.  My body felt like a block of ice and my extremities took the form of foreign, frozen bodies.  There was a disconnect between what I wanted them to do and what they were actually doing.  Try as I might, I couldn’t get my wetsuit off.  I knew I needed to hook my thumbs around the fabric around my ankle, but all I could do was sit and shake.  It was like being caught in the middle of a really bad dream.  The world was coming at me in slow motion, and I couldn’t figure a way out of this dilemma.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my hands began to function again, and I was able to get out of my wetsuit, into my bike shoes, and out of the transition area.

The remainder of the race went by unremarkably, as the majority of races do.  At the time, I’m giving it my all, focused on pushing through the pain, and trying to bike/run as fast as I can.  Afterwards, I wonder if that was truly my best effort, or if I could have pushed just a little bit harder.  The only observation worth mentioning is that both the bike and run were personal records, coming in at significantly faster times than previous races.

Now I’m giving myself a couple of days off and nursing all of the muscles that are thoroughly fatigued from Saturday’s effort.  Of course, by “time off” I mean hiking Mt San Jacinto yesterday and yoga today, but relaxation is a relative term.   Right?