Like many things in life, you don't realize how much you really LOVE something until you go without it. After Ironman, there was a period of 7 days where I did nothing related to triathlon. It was kind of a good feeling I guess? I knew I had to rest my body and my mind so I made the most of that first saturday morning watching Giada and Ina and trying to just sit around. It drove me a little crazy as much as I longed for it for one full year. The next morning, I met my best friends and their kids for brunch at our signature good-old-days sunday funday place- Stanleys. It was UH-MAZING! It felt good to actually be home when they called with the invitation let alone be able to say, "I'm coming right over!"
Then came Monday. It was like I couldn't take it anymore. I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill for a glorious 35 minutes. I was in HEAVEN! I knew I was supposed to take a full 2 weeks off, but I was now bursting at the seams. In only a week's time, I could feel my pace and energy slow, but I felt great being back in it. Two days later I was in the pool. Another 2 days later I was riding 45 miles on the lakefront. It was a good ride with Erika and Akemi, but I was tired by the end and I was sore the next day. Just 2 weeks ago, I did Ironman. There was something unsettling about this to me.
During these same 2 weeks, Liz requested a review of races that I identified for 2011, so I tired to remind myself that I must listen to Liz and appreciate the gradual loss of fitness I am about to experience as an opportunity for growth come November 1 when 2011 training starts. That would include the first week off and 6 subsequent weeks of just playing around training and staying somewhat in control of my fitness.
To date, 6 1/2 weeks of those 7 weeks have passed. And, a loss of fitness has occured as Liz promised. However, for as much fitness was lost, twice as much desire to improve more this season has been gained. I kept up 3 weekly workouts with some pretty serious run splits and intensity training and can still go out and run an easy 10 miles without thinking twice as I did on Saturday. Tonight, I resumed Tuesday night swim practice at UIC with Sharone, our training center's owner. I am ready.
Not a lot of time has passed since Ironman and I realize I can't wait to get back into it- and, I know the committment involved won't end until this time next year once it starts again in 5 days. Triathlon has become my passion in life and I truly love it.
I also realized how much I much love triathlon when I made my biggest committment to date 3 weeks ago. I bought my Cervelo P2! It is so perfect and so fast. And, when I bought it, I knew it meant more than having a $3500 credit card bill to pay off.
It meant that I really love this sport and I'm serious about this next level of committment. At first, when I woke up the next day and saw it in my foyer I thought: HO-LY-SHIT. WHAT DID I DO! But, I knew I was ready for it. I could've charged it back in July and had to race the Steelhead Half Ironman and even Ironman in September. Some people don't understand why I just didn't buy it then if I was going to buy it now anyway.
I didn't deserve it then. Now, I know what it takes and I want to go there. I want to train this year 10 times harder than last year and I can say that because I know how much I love it. I needed to hear from Liz that going even further than I dreamed- trying to qualify for Nationals next year- actually is possible. I needed to survive Ironman and come out on the other end saying, "That was the best day of my life."
For whatever reason, there are a bunch of quotes lately about how much the average Ironman athlete's salary is and the answer is twice the amount of what I make. And, I could've told you that myself after I realized this past year of training, races, coaching and replacing shoes/goggles/swimsuits/tires/sportsbras/nutrition, etc totaled over $10,000. And, that was before the Cervelo.
So, I also realized how much I loved triathlon when I decided to get a second job to pay for it all. I just started on Saturday as a home health OT because RIC has now given me a 1.5% raise 3 years in a row and I simply cannot afford this anymore. Tonight, after working at RIC all day, I saw one of my new home health patients from 5-6pm, finally came home and made a quick salad with fresh breaded eggplant with basil in 25 minutes and then ran to swim practice on the other side of the city from 7:30-9pm.
So, when people ask me why do I do this, I say I do it for the love of triathlon. After a full days work at 2 jobs, I can't think of a better way to end my day than to drive 35 minutes to swim practice with our tough as nails triathlon club owner in a 50mph gusting storm at 7:30 at night.
And, I was lucky enough that he made me stay longer than everyone else to make a few additional improvements to my stroke.
Man, I LOVE IT!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Doping Dilemma
Unfortunately, I cannot continue to ignore three very recent discussions about doping in endurance athletes.
The first, and probably the most disturbing, encounter was during a conversation with a very close friend of mine days after Ironman. We were reflecting on my race and my potential for next season. After throwing out some smaller races where I could still qualify for Nationals, he said something like, "That's a good idea to go for the low hanging fruit. Everyone else competing at the bigger races are doping anyway. You can't compete with that."
In Age Group Triathlon. Doping.
And, within the last 48 hours, both Alberto Contador and Lance Armstrong were the topic of the doping conversation on two separate occasions. Contador, for being found to have a positive test for Clenbuterol, a synthetic and documented illegal bronchodilator, during the 2010 Tour de France and Lance because I just started reading, "It Not About The Bike."
When a friend learned I was reading the book, he responded, "At one point in my life- I would have argued that Lance Armstrong was the greatest athlete of our generation. Unfortunately- now as additional evidence continues to be uncovered- I'm afraid that he was heavily involved in doping. I guess times will tell."
At the time of this conversation, I happened to be on the second chapter only. Lance was writing about his days as a 12-year-old who would ride his bike 10 miles in the pre-dawn darkness to swim practice at 5:30am to swim 4000 meters. Let me tell you, 4000 meters is a lot. It is actually over 2 1/2 miles of swimming. Then, he'd ride to school and ride BACK to practice after school for another 6,000 meters. SIX MILES of swimming EVERY DAY. And, over 20 miles of riding. At 15, he finished 32nd overall in a field of experienced triathletes at the President's Triathlon in Lake Lavon. The following year he finished 5th. At 16.
At 16 years old, Lance was also training with Cat 1 cyclists- the most competitive cyclists in their late 20s.
At 16 years old, he was already making $20,000 a year from racing purses.
Also, when he was 16, Lance underwent his first VO2 max test, which is an aerobic threshold test. How much exertion can you tolerate and still keep going? Supposedly, it is a direct reflecion of your breathing capacity, or your lung's ability to efficiently process oxygen.
V= Volume
O2= Oxygen
Max= Maximium amount of oxygen one's lungs can process and still tolerate exertion
The more oxygen you exchange, the faster your muscles can contract. The faster your muscles contract and turnover.... you win. This concept and formula was derived at the prestigious Cooper Clinic in Dallas and to this day, no athlete produced a greater VO2 max than Lance Armstrong. At 16 years old.
NO ONE can argue that Lance Armstrong didn't have the natural formula to dominate an endurance sport like triathlon or cycling. Literally, it was in his blood. Although he is most recognized natural talent, he is not alone. Floyd Landis. Marion Jones. Barry Bonds. These athletes were undeniably some of the strongest and fastest in their fields- naturally- before doping.
Somewhere along the way, though, a talent become an obsession and reality so quickly must become distorted. I see it in triathletes every day. I see it in myself. The inability to stop or draw the line.
In elite athletes, and professional athletes, it must be exaccerbated. If I can allow my mind to wander and fantasize about the good times to come, I can only imagine what they dream up. Suddenly, a 1:05 100m free is not enough. It must be under 1:00. It must be under :59, :58, :57. It must be a recond this time.
It must be a record every time.
I empathize with this mindset because there is this part of you that you can't change and you don't want to change because you live off of this high of being the best. Luciano Pavarotti was born to sing Opera and he was the best, no one was better. In cycling, Lance Armstrong was the best but he wanted to be better. I hesitate in using him as an example since there are only allegations, but the same can be said for the others, like Floyd Landis. You must get so utterly caught up in being better that you completely lose touch with reality. I would imagine it is analogous to a defendent pleading insanity.
Blood doping is the newest form of performance-enhancing techniques and this is the type of doping that is in question lately. There is the use of EPO, or erythropoietin, a naturally occuring hormone that boosts red blood cell production in the blood. Again, the more red blood cells, the more oxygen. The more oxygen, the greater the muscle contraction turnover...the faster you are...the more you win.
Even though this is an outside source that is injected into the bloodstream, it is still considered "natural." Is this why coaches and athletes initially justify its use? I say this because I can't imagine that you would agree to it otherwise. These athletes are not dumb. If they were, they'd be injecting steroids. But, they'd never do that anymore because clearly that is illegal. Injecting synthetic steroids is illegal.
However, is injecting a naturally occuring hormone illegal? "Hmmm. Perhaps the natural occuring properties of EPO present a loophole in the understanding of what is acceptable and what is not. It isn't synthetic after all, it's natural."
How about autologous transfusions? "That's even MORE NATURAL. It's my own blood! There's no argument there that would allege the transfusion of my own blood is illegal! It's impossible!"
Is this what they really think?
I have to hope that it is. I have to believe that these role models- who were at one time, or still could arguably be, considered the strongest, fastest, most talented athletes of all time- made these decisions innocently. Out of a natural desire that we all battle- to be the best.
I disagree that many of these coaches and athletes made decisions to use EPO or transfusions knowing that is would be considered illegal. My complaint, though, is that they have a responsibility to ensure that it is not illegal. If you are afraid to ask or afraid to make it public, then that should tell you something.
Similarly, if allegations are made, it is your responsibility to answer them honestly. If you approached your racing with honesty up front, then you should have nothing to hide. Each one of these athletes were given the opportunity to preserve their integrity as a role model. Few stepped forward and accepted responsibility beforehand.
I hope what comes of these ongoing developments is a candid discussion with young people, our future elite athletes. Floyd Landis, Marion Jones, Roger Clemens, Alberto Contador- they need to put their egos aside and reflect on why the said yes. Did they want to? Were they scared? Could they see clearly? Were they obsessed?
They were number one without it.
This insight will be more valuable to our future generation of athletes and olympians than world records to break or apologies made. Be honest about what happened and good will come of this.
The first, and probably the most disturbing, encounter was during a conversation with a very close friend of mine days after Ironman. We were reflecting on my race and my potential for next season. After throwing out some smaller races where I could still qualify for Nationals, he said something like, "That's a good idea to go for the low hanging fruit. Everyone else competing at the bigger races are doping anyway. You can't compete with that."
In Age Group Triathlon. Doping.
And, within the last 48 hours, both Alberto Contador and Lance Armstrong were the topic of the doping conversation on two separate occasions. Contador, for being found to have a positive test for Clenbuterol, a synthetic and documented illegal bronchodilator, during the 2010 Tour de France and Lance because I just started reading, "It Not About The Bike."
When a friend learned I was reading the book, he responded, "At one point in my life- I would have argued that Lance Armstrong was the greatest athlete of our generation. Unfortunately- now as additional evidence continues to be uncovered- I'm afraid that he was heavily involved in doping. I guess times will tell."
At the time of this conversation, I happened to be on the second chapter only. Lance was writing about his days as a 12-year-old who would ride his bike 10 miles in the pre-dawn darkness to swim practice at 5:30am to swim 4000 meters. Let me tell you, 4000 meters is a lot. It is actually over 2 1/2 miles of swimming. Then, he'd ride to school and ride BACK to practice after school for another 6,000 meters. SIX MILES of swimming EVERY DAY. And, over 20 miles of riding. At 15, he finished 32nd overall in a field of experienced triathletes at the President's Triathlon in Lake Lavon. The following year he finished 5th. At 16.
At 16 years old, Lance was also training with Cat 1 cyclists- the most competitive cyclists in their late 20s.
At 16 years old, he was already making $20,000 a year from racing purses.
Also, when he was 16, Lance underwent his first VO2 max test, which is an aerobic threshold test. How much exertion can you tolerate and still keep going? Supposedly, it is a direct reflecion of your breathing capacity, or your lung's ability to efficiently process oxygen.
V= Volume
O2= Oxygen
Max= Maximium amount of oxygen one's lungs can process and still tolerate exertion
The more oxygen you exchange, the faster your muscles can contract. The faster your muscles contract and turnover.... you win. This concept and formula was derived at the prestigious Cooper Clinic in Dallas and to this day, no athlete produced a greater VO2 max than Lance Armstrong. At 16 years old.
NO ONE can argue that Lance Armstrong didn't have the natural formula to dominate an endurance sport like triathlon or cycling. Literally, it was in his blood. Although he is most recognized natural talent, he is not alone. Floyd Landis. Marion Jones. Barry Bonds. These athletes were undeniably some of the strongest and fastest in their fields- naturally- before doping.
Somewhere along the way, though, a talent become an obsession and reality so quickly must become distorted. I see it in triathletes every day. I see it in myself. The inability to stop or draw the line.
In elite athletes, and professional athletes, it must be exaccerbated. If I can allow my mind to wander and fantasize about the good times to come, I can only imagine what they dream up. Suddenly, a 1:05 100m free is not enough. It must be under 1:00. It must be under :59, :58, :57. It must be a recond this time.
It must be a record every time.
I empathize with this mindset because there is this part of you that you can't change and you don't want to change because you live off of this high of being the best. Luciano Pavarotti was born to sing Opera and he was the best, no one was better. In cycling, Lance Armstrong was the best but he wanted to be better. I hesitate in using him as an example since there are only allegations, but the same can be said for the others, like Floyd Landis. You must get so utterly caught up in being better that you completely lose touch with reality. I would imagine it is analogous to a defendent pleading insanity.
Blood doping is the newest form of performance-enhancing techniques and this is the type of doping that is in question lately. There is the use of EPO, or erythropoietin, a naturally occuring hormone that boosts red blood cell production in the blood. Again, the more red blood cells, the more oxygen. The more oxygen, the greater the muscle contraction turnover...the faster you are...the more you win.
Even though this is an outside source that is injected into the bloodstream, it is still considered "natural." Is this why coaches and athletes initially justify its use? I say this because I can't imagine that you would agree to it otherwise. These athletes are not dumb. If they were, they'd be injecting steroids. But, they'd never do that anymore because clearly that is illegal. Injecting synthetic steroids is illegal.
However, is injecting a naturally occuring hormone illegal? "Hmmm. Perhaps the natural occuring properties of EPO present a loophole in the understanding of what is acceptable and what is not. It isn't synthetic after all, it's natural."
How about autologous transfusions? "That's even MORE NATURAL. It's my own blood! There's no argument there that would allege the transfusion of my own blood is illegal! It's impossible!"
Is this what they really think?
I have to hope that it is. I have to believe that these role models- who were at one time, or still could arguably be, considered the strongest, fastest, most talented athletes of all time- made these decisions innocently. Out of a natural desire that we all battle- to be the best.
I disagree that many of these coaches and athletes made decisions to use EPO or transfusions knowing that is would be considered illegal. My complaint, though, is that they have a responsibility to ensure that it is not illegal. If you are afraid to ask or afraid to make it public, then that should tell you something.
Similarly, if allegations are made, it is your responsibility to answer them honestly. If you approached your racing with honesty up front, then you should have nothing to hide. Each one of these athletes were given the opportunity to preserve their integrity as a role model. Few stepped forward and accepted responsibility beforehand.
I hope what comes of these ongoing developments is a candid discussion with young people, our future elite athletes. Floyd Landis, Marion Jones, Roger Clemens, Alberto Contador- they need to put their egos aside and reflect on why the said yes. Did they want to? Were they scared? Could they see clearly? Were they obsessed?
They were number one without it.
This insight will be more valuable to our future generation of athletes and olympians than world records to break or apologies made. Be honest about what happened and good will come of this.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
2011
No Kidding. It's tiiiime! I finished my 2010 racing season with a bang at Ironman Wisconsin just 2 weeks ago today and already owe my coach the 2011 Race Schedule. I have 2 weeks of recovery down and only 4 to go before PreSeason. I am not kidding.
I realize my intentions for triathlon are evolving- from surviving to having fun to racing to competing. The first year (one OLY race) was for surviving. The second year (2 OLY races) was for fun. The third year, this year (3 races- OLY, HALF IRONMAN AND IRONMAN) was for racing against myself and next year will be to compete.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again for those of you who dream as I do... I never thought in my wildest dreams that I'd be actually competing in triathlon. I have a long way to go before I could even be considered for an Elite team but next year my goal is to be strong enough to place in the top 3 in my age group and go to Nationals.
After Madison, it was time to reflect honestly on the season. Where did I start? How far have I come? Where will I realistically go? A fatal error I made in my race plan for Madison was that I never disclosed "my real goal" to Liz. I didn't want to disappoint and I didn't want to BE disappointed. So, I erred on the side of safety and set up my entire "estimated race plan" for Liz and my family based on much slower, insincere split times that I knew I was actually going to go out on the course and try to blow away. This effort of trying to "protect my ego" very much backfired when I spent the entire 14 hours and 44 minutes of the race having to calculate and recall not one set of times but TWO sets of times the entire day...the "estimated race plan times" and then "my secret real goal times."
Let me tell you- under the pressure of a race, let alone a 14+ hour race, it's a miracle when you can actually recall half of your goal times along the course. When I say I had an "etimated race plan time" and then a secret "my real goal" time, I don't mean there was a difference of only minutes.
There was nearly a difference of an hour.
How could Liz even have an opportunity to set me straight beforehand if she never even knew? I went into that race on a high from the best season of my life and was blinded by the adrenaline of averaging 8:45s for 15+ mile runs the entire season. What I failed to consider was that the Ironman Marathon is after over 2.4 miles of swimming and 112 miles of biking. It turns out most athletes add an hour on to their best open marathon time when finalizing their Ironman race plan. If I was honest with Liz, I would have known better.
I say this, because it was the most important lesson I took from this season. In order to build on the success of this year, I would need to be honest with Liz about my goals for next year, which meant I would have to expose my ego to her personal opinion of me as an athlete. If you've read older posts, you know that Liz doesn't bullshit around. She is a Pro and basically appreciates the fact that there's no time for it, period.
So, a little over one week ago, just days after fudging my Ironman marathon and race plan, it was time to bare it all and ask Liz about 2011. I presented it something like this:
"I'm dying to review my race with you and pick your brain for next season. I want your honest opinion of what you think I can achieve. I will commit to a new bike and whatever training is necessary. This year was a great base, but let's pull this train out of the station."
That was my best attempt at saying, "I want to qualify for Nationals."
Her response was,
"I read your race report. It seems like some off nutrition on the bike got to you on the run. Not a big deal - it WAS your first Ironman, many lessons learned. Bottom line, you finished, you loved it! Done - on to the next thing! If you have any questions about the race, send to me and let's talk about them.
For 2011, here is where I see you growing/going:
1 - Get a new bike. EASY for me to say but this is a HUGE limiter to you getting to that next level (in my opinion).
2 - Stick with short stuff. I actually don't see your strength as "long" races right now, let's put some zip back in the legs and reteach your body how to go hard.
3 - Pick THREE races that you want to go to, show up and ROCK them. We can build the rest of the season around those races.
4 - Would like to see you do some "stand alone" run races (just a few, SHORT ones, NO half marathons).
5 - Masters swim...?
6 - If you want to do a half IM, pick a late season one so you can build up speed to that point and not just lock in more slow blah blah pace training."
Here's what I got out of that...
"Pick THREE races that you want to go to, show up and ROCK them."
SERIOUSLY??!!!
"ROCK THEM??!!!!!!"
YES!
And, so it goes that I did it. I took the first major step in pursuing what will be my first season actually COMPETING in triathlon. I had to bare it all to Liz in order to create a foundation for success. There's no more "race plan time" versus "my secret goal time." In order to make this happen, you must be open and honest and willing to accept defeat. Defeat, in this case, would be the possibility of Liz telling me, "No way. That's not realistic." However, you also take the risk to possibly hear your coach say, "Great. Go there and ROCK IT." The risk of defeat may crush you but it may also reward you in ways you could only imagine.
As Liz told us before Ironman, "There's nothing magical about race day. If you approached your season with honesty and vigor, you will put forth your best training day on a race course."
The last 10 days have been spent researching races, USAT qualifying rules, and results for my division. I can tell you what these courses are like, what names are actually showing up and I know that my competition will now include some of the Elite team. These girls are some of the fastest in the Midwest. Mandy McCarthy. Stacey Izard. Heather O'Brien. Karin Langer. Believe me, I have a LOT of work to do.
I also know that just 3 weeks ago I was throwing out to our Ironman team that we should do some fun races in 2011 like HyVee. Bigfoot. Bangs Lake. After researching these and 12 other races, I realize it's game time, not play time.
Galena 5/21
Elkhart Lake 6/11
Evergreen 7/16
Steelhead Ironman 70.3 7/30
Erika will be joining me on this journey to Nationals and Akemi agreed to share the schedule to keep us all together as well. No matter where this 2011 Race Schedule takes us, I know that we are in it to win it.
I realize my intentions for triathlon are evolving- from surviving to having fun to racing to competing. The first year (one OLY race) was for surviving. The second year (2 OLY races) was for fun. The third year, this year (3 races- OLY, HALF IRONMAN AND IRONMAN) was for racing against myself and next year will be to compete.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again for those of you who dream as I do... I never thought in my wildest dreams that I'd be actually competing in triathlon. I have a long way to go before I could even be considered for an Elite team but next year my goal is to be strong enough to place in the top 3 in my age group and go to Nationals.
After Madison, it was time to reflect honestly on the season. Where did I start? How far have I come? Where will I realistically go? A fatal error I made in my race plan for Madison was that I never disclosed "my real goal" to Liz. I didn't want to disappoint and I didn't want to BE disappointed. So, I erred on the side of safety and set up my entire "estimated race plan" for Liz and my family based on much slower, insincere split times that I knew I was actually going to go out on the course and try to blow away. This effort of trying to "protect my ego" very much backfired when I spent the entire 14 hours and 44 minutes of the race having to calculate and recall not one set of times but TWO sets of times the entire day...the "estimated race plan times" and then "my secret real goal times."
Let me tell you- under the pressure of a race, let alone a 14+ hour race, it's a miracle when you can actually recall half of your goal times along the course. When I say I had an "etimated race plan time" and then a secret "my real goal" time, I don't mean there was a difference of only minutes.
There was nearly a difference of an hour.
How could Liz even have an opportunity to set me straight beforehand if she never even knew? I went into that race on a high from the best season of my life and was blinded by the adrenaline of averaging 8:45s for 15+ mile runs the entire season. What I failed to consider was that the Ironman Marathon is after over 2.4 miles of swimming and 112 miles of biking. It turns out most athletes add an hour on to their best open marathon time when finalizing their Ironman race plan. If I was honest with Liz, I would have known better.
I say this, because it was the most important lesson I took from this season. In order to build on the success of this year, I would need to be honest with Liz about my goals for next year, which meant I would have to expose my ego to her personal opinion of me as an athlete. If you've read older posts, you know that Liz doesn't bullshit around. She is a Pro and basically appreciates the fact that there's no time for it, period.
So, a little over one week ago, just days after fudging my Ironman marathon and race plan, it was time to bare it all and ask Liz about 2011. I presented it something like this:
"I'm dying to review my race with you and pick your brain for next season. I want your honest opinion of what you think I can achieve. I will commit to a new bike and whatever training is necessary. This year was a great base, but let's pull this train out of the station."
That was my best attempt at saying, "I want to qualify for Nationals."
Her response was,
"I read your race report. It seems like some off nutrition on the bike got to you on the run. Not a big deal - it WAS your first Ironman, many lessons learned. Bottom line, you finished, you loved it! Done - on to the next thing! If you have any questions about the race, send to me and let's talk about them.
For 2011, here is where I see you growing/going:
1 - Get a new bike. EASY for me to say but this is a HUGE limiter to you getting to that next level (in my opinion).
2 - Stick with short stuff. I actually don't see your strength as "long" races right now, let's put some zip back in the legs and reteach your body how to go hard.
3 - Pick THREE races that you want to go to, show up and ROCK them. We can build the rest of the season around those races.
4 - Would like to see you do some "stand alone" run races (just a few, SHORT ones, NO half marathons).
5 - Masters swim...?
6 - If you want to do a half IM, pick a late season one so you can build up speed to that point and not just lock in more slow blah blah pace training."
Here's what I got out of that...
"Pick THREE races that you want to go to, show up and ROCK them."
SERIOUSLY??!!!
"ROCK THEM??!!!!!!"
YES!
And, so it goes that I did it. I took the first major step in pursuing what will be my first season actually COMPETING in triathlon. I had to bare it all to Liz in order to create a foundation for success. There's no more "race plan time" versus "my secret goal time." In order to make this happen, you must be open and honest and willing to accept defeat. Defeat, in this case, would be the possibility of Liz telling me, "No way. That's not realistic." However, you also take the risk to possibly hear your coach say, "Great. Go there and ROCK IT." The risk of defeat may crush you but it may also reward you in ways you could only imagine.
As Liz told us before Ironman, "There's nothing magical about race day. If you approached your season with honesty and vigor, you will put forth your best training day on a race course."
The last 10 days have been spent researching races, USAT qualifying rules, and results for my division. I can tell you what these courses are like, what names are actually showing up and I know that my competition will now include some of the Elite team. These girls are some of the fastest in the Midwest. Mandy McCarthy. Stacey Izard. Heather O'Brien. Karin Langer. Believe me, I have a LOT of work to do.
I also know that just 3 weeks ago I was throwing out to our Ironman team that we should do some fun races in 2011 like HyVee. Bigfoot. Bangs Lake. After researching these and 12 other races, I realize it's game time, not play time.
Galena 5/21
Elkhart Lake 6/11
Evergreen 7/16
Steelhead Ironman 70.3 7/30
Erika will be joining me on this journey to Nationals and Akemi agreed to share the schedule to keep us all together as well. No matter where this 2011 Race Schedule takes us, I know that we are in it to win it.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
IRONMAN WISCONSIN RACE REPORT
Ironman humbles you, regardless of how well you trained. Especially your first one. I went into this race prepared and controlled. And, as every experienced athlete will tell you, it all comes down to the run.
I started the day feeling great. Other than the expected nerves, mostly from just wanting to get this started already, I knew I was ready to take it on. My alarm was set to go off at 3:45am; however, my body naturally woke up at 2:30. I laid in bed for 30 minutes checking the weather from my phone and spent time reviewing in my head what I put in my special needs bag. Luckily, it was then that I remembered that I never put my spare tire in my bike special needs bag. I would need to save time to go down to the garage and get it out of the car where I left it. I also was thinking about how I still needed to call the Hampton Inn, where the rest of my family was staying, to make sure the hotel didn't charge them a second night. In the frenzy of arriving in Madison, I forget to change that detail for them. Since I had a few extra things to do now, I decided to get up and get going around 3am.
Time went by faster than you'd think. I ate my Banana Nut Crunch cereal, made coffee just for one sip and then into the shower. Before I knew it, it was 4:10 and I still hadn't been down to the car and still needed to add water to 8 water bottles to mix my nutrition. By 4:25, I was working on the bottles and was 15 minutes away from meeting Akemi to go downtstairs.
By 4:45, we were off to the start. Even as we were walking over, I don't think it hit us yet. We got to transition by 5, dropped off our special needs bags, added items to our swim to bike and bike to run bags, hit the bathrooms and then brought our nutrition to our bikes in transition. We pumped air in our tires, checked our computers, and got our bodies marked. Before we knew it, it was 5:55 and time to meet my mom by the Run Out. There she was already, smiles from ear to ear and more comforting than I could ever put into words. I got a big hug and kiss from her and you could tell she was just as nervous for us and we were for ourselves suddenly. The sun was just about to rise and there was a reddish orange hue to the horizon over Lake Monona. We still hadn't seen the buoys but were about to in just moments. Akemi and I looked at each other 5 minutes later after some pictures and said, "Let's do this." I got my final hug and kiss from my dearest and most supportive fan. It was time.
Akemi and I headed over to the helix and got our first glimpse of the buoys and swim course. Akemi had actually been able to see the course and swim it 3 weeks earlier during the one special training morning set up for the athletes. I couldn't go because it was the same day as my sister's wedding. I am all about preparing so there are no surprises and it bothered me the most to not be able to see the actual course size ahead of time. Once I saw it, I was really ready. It was massive, but I knew it would be. I trained in this lake at least 5 times this summer, let alone Lake Michigan nearly 2-3 times/week since May. I have to say, though, it always looks bigger than you think it would!!!
We were still holding our wetsuits at this point, so after getting down the helix to the ground level, it was time to keep moving along. We went into the porto-potty lines right away, got into our wetsuits, ran into Cliff (a fellow teammate), dropped off our morning clothes bag and that was literally it. It REALLY WAS time now.
It was around 6:25 at this point and we spent the next 10 minutes standing on the right side of the swim chute, waiting for the moment we felt ready to get in. The cannon wasn't going off for another 35 minutes so it was too early to start treading water. However, in that 10 minutes of waiting, it went from 1-2 people walking past us to get in at a time to hoards of people getting in. It literally started happening before we could even realize it. It was 6:35 now, and we dediced that 6:42 would be the right time to get in for some reason. We settled on our strategy to enter on the right and swim the diagonal line into the swim course in an effort to stay out of the rush of top swimmers. We were in the water by 6:42 and made our way over toward the signature "ski jump" area. This was about 50 yards away from shore and about half way to the official start line. If you are an athlete worried about every second, then it is to your advantage to get as close as possible to that red start buoy because whether you're at the red buoy or not even in the water yet, when that cannon goes off, everyone's clock starts. Period. Akemi and I decided to go half way to the start and treaded water for 15 minutes. I have to say, I did a great job staying calm! At first, there was enought room comfortably to tread water here or there, 10 feet this way or 15 feet that way. Within minutes, though, it started to get really really packed. You could no longer get enough space to even lay on your stomach because there were feet, legs, arms, torsos hitting you every second. I had to really focus to stay in control, but I did. The pros just were just about to go off at 6:50 but there were 10 minutes still before we would be able to start. I realized that Akemi wasn't next to me anymore but she waved out and was only about 10 athletes away. I still felt her strength with me. The cannon for the pros went off and the announcer was informing athletes in the water to move closer to the red start buoy and pushing along the athletes still on land that there was no more time to wait. GET IN. Another 5 minutes pass, I still haven't looked back, and then they announce the national anthem will now be sung. I am still OK because I'm on the right outside edge, in the front row, thinking that I will be in the safe zone. However, as I turn back toward the shore for the anthem, my worst fear is confirmed. I am in front of what is literally hundreds of only RED swim caps bobbing up and down. THE GUYS. ONYL GUYS. YOUNG GUYS who are out to WIN. There was nowhere to go even if I tried. All I could think about was the movie JAWS and the background music to go along with it. One of the guys must have seen the fear of death in my eyes and he said almost in an irritated voice,
"How fast are you swimming this."
"Not as fast as you guys." (Keep in mind that I'm hoping for a 1:40 swim split)
"Well, we're swimming under :55."
HO-LY-SHIT.
I just reminded myself of what Coach K kept telling us about the swim start. The first 10-15 minutes will be nuts. Just remember that it will pass and just keep thinking in 10-15 minutes it will be better.
As soon as the anthem finished and the crowd roared, the announcer yelled,
"THEY CAN HEEEAAARRR YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!"
And the crowd roared louder. The sun was rising and then we heard the the first beats of U2's "Beautiful Day." The announcer yelled,
"LESS THAN ONE MINUTE!"
"You WILL be an IRONMAN today!!"
And as soon as it got to the part,
"It's a BEAUTIFUL DAY! DON'T LET IT SLIP AWAY!" The cannon went off!
You just swim, one stroke after another, one breath as you can get it. The first 15 minutes really were insane. Guys were literally swimming over me. But, I held my own and just kept it going. It was really exciting and I felt confident despite being in a sea of total madness! My plan to enter on the right and aim for the first buoy from a diagonal was working, but I have to admit I must have added on a half mile throughout the 2.4 mile course by doing so because my perimeter stayed wide, about 25 meters from the buoy line. In retrospect, I would do it again, because after the first 15 minutes, it was no worse than Steelhead in terms of fighting for space. Throughout the swim, I felt fast and not tired. The biggest problem was other athlete's not sighting well and swimming away from the buoys into me. That's expected, though. the other problem was that my right goggle filled with water almost immediately and I couldn't fix it. Oh well, I thought. When I came to the first red turn buoy, it was an exciting milestone and I knew the second one was only minutes away before heading around the back length. Again, the third turn buoy came faster than I thought and it only made me feel stronger. Before I knew it, I was on the back side of the rectangle again and was about to head home around the last buoy. I remember some girl swam into ME and then she yelled, "HEY!" I looked at her when I took a breath and all I could think of was, "NO! Hey YOU!" Nice one, huh!!
The other thought that occupied my mind during the swim was how it would be so great for my FAMILY the sooner they could see me come out of the water because there's no way for them to know how you're doing during the swim. If I were a family member, I would be freaking out! When I exited the water, I remembered to lap my Garmin correctly and that's when I noticed it said, "1:36!" WOOT! I actually thought it would've been faster based on how fast I felt, but I could care less at that point. I knew I added a ton of distance on by swimming 25 yards outside the buoys and I was happy with that decision.
As I got to the top of the helix and saw my family, I was ecstatic! I ran over and gave my mom a huge kiss and hug, got my energizing high five from her, gave my dad a kiss and hug and was off to transition. I also saw Joe coming up the helix and he jumped in front of me screaming, "HERE SHE IS! HERE SHE IS!!!!" He picked me up and gave me a huge hug and kiss as well. Everyone is always worried about the swim :)
Transition was crazy but the volunteers were absolutely wonderful. I had to completely change out of of my swim suit and into my uniform. My sports bra was completely twised up from my wet skin and my leg was shaking from adrenaline, but I felt awesome. As I ran out of the transition changing area and outside, I saw my best friend in the whole world screaming for me, it was unreal. She made it here and I just couldn't believe it! It was amazing. I ran over to my bike and got going.
The bike started great and stayed great the entire ride. On the stick out, I really had to hit the port-o-potty because I couldn't go in the water! After I took care of that, I was down to business. I was looking at my computer and the time and was right where I wanted to be. I saved 7 minutes in the swim and was hoping to save 5 minutes on the stick out, which I did. I was not 12 minutes ahead. The whole time, I was faced with adjusting my documented race plan times that my coach and family had compared to what I really wanted. Somewhere along this bike course, I would have to shave off 50 minutes in order to hit the marathon before 4pm instead of the planned 5:10. I knew my 4:20 run estimate might very well be way off so I needed to compensate for that as well. I knew I could hit 7:15 on the bike since that was within reach to what I had been doing out here all summer if you subtract out red ligths, construction and goofing off in between loops.
I was eating as planned and made an effort to time my bars with aid stations so I could get water from there, per Liz's recommendation to avoid a sloshy stomach like Epic Monday. I felt bad drinking only a 1/4 of a bottle and then tossing it, but hey, this is IRONMAN and I'm doing what I need to do. By the time I got to Mineral Point and Garfoot Road, I was almost 30 minutes ahead of schedule. SWEETNESS. This is exaclty what I needed because at this point I was also remembering that even though I would hope to ride the second loop just as fast, I actually have never been close to that in training. I was always 15 minutes off. When I saw everyone with Mom's awesome yellow signs, it was the BEST feeling EVER! It also made me happy because I knew they'd be pumped to see me ahead as schedule and looking strong as well.
The next part of the course would be Cross Plains and I knew I'd see some of the WellFit team and my friend, Nick. It was great! They saw me right away and were cheering like crazy. Next up was Birch. The "Tour D'France climb." I was supposed to see Joe there so I was really looking forward to that. Instead, I saw my friend, Nga, who is the cutest ever! She was running after me with her camera, it was super awesome.
The next area would be just a mile ahead at Old Sauk Pass and that's when I was cheered on by Coach K, Keith, my swim coach. He was PUMPED! IT was awesome! I also saw my friend Erik there as well. The funniest spectator out there was this guy who was only wearing the shortest red velvet santa shorts ever with a huge chain of jingle bells! He jumped in front of me with those bells and said, "What do YOU want for Christmas little lady?! IRONMAN!" It kept me laughing for miles. I also saw two ladies holding signs...the first one said, "Ironmen are SEXY!" and then the second one said, "But IRONWOMEN ARE SEXIER!" I thought that was the best and then I realized it was my friend, Clare, holding the sign! AWESOME!
At this point, I was at least 35 minutes ahead schedule, maybe even 40 minutes. The next turn after Timber is Midtown Hill. This is the last significant climb of each loop and I was about to see the mastermind behind my success...Coach Liz. As I started climbing the hill, I noticed Chris, her husband, first and then screamed her name as soon as I saw her turn around with little Max, her 7 week old son. She grabbed the megaphone and yelled, "GO LORI!!!" It was great. It was about 25 meters later than Joe finally jumped in front of me. I had been waiting to see him since the swim. He was so excited, it was great.
I thought that would be it for my fan club at Midtown Hill because I told my family to skip it due to traffic backups with crossing Timber on Mineral Point. But, THERE THEY WERE!!!!! It was so great! I saw my Mom's bright yellow signs and all of their tshirts from about 100 yards away and I started waving like crazy. The best part of Ironman is showing your family you're alive and loving it. This is exactly how I felt the entire swim and ride. It was heaven on earth. I'd later realize that everytime I saw them on the course, they'd be waving my yellow signs, Ryan would be first waiting with the camera, Jeff would be next with the videocamera and Mom, Melissa, Nana, and Dad would usually be my grand finale for the smiles I couldn't wait to see. Leave it up to my Mom to make sure they all got to Timber to surprise me. She told me a few days after the race that they barely made it to that spot in time, but she wanted to take a chance. It works every time!
I carried on with the race down Shady Oak and back into Verona for Loop 2. It was definitely getting hot out now and it was about 12:15 by now. I decided that all I'd need out of my Bike Special Needs Bag would be my nutrition refills and one power bar. By this point, I ate 1/2 power bar before the race, 1 bar after the swim in transition and first few miles of the bike, and 1 bar on the first loop. That was good for the amount of time I had been out so far on the bike (roughly 3:15 by now). I was drinking my Infinit (2 full aerobottles by mile 56 at special needs) and I supplemented 4-5 oz water at every aid station with my power bar bites to prevent the sloshy stomach.
Loop 2 was surprisingly fast. I got through Valley Road, G, and 92 faster than I thought I would. Barely added 5 minutes onto my total split by that point. When I got to Mount Horeb, I was hurting. It was really hot out, all sun, and that's when I think I started to feel dehydrated. It is a very long stretch of false flats, so basically you are climbing for 20 miles straight- it's not fun, especially the second time around in hot sun. At this point, I think I started to get really thirsty and I made the mistake of thinking that my Infinit was making me thirstier. I continued to take water at the aid stations but you can only drop the bottles during the actual aid station unless you want a penalty. In retrospect, I definitely should have taken 2 minutes to pull over, dump out a bottle of Infinit and pour in plain water. But during the race, you don't always think clearly. You think about time. I saw my friend, Krisa, on the top of Mount Horeb, which was a HUGE surprise and very much needed.
I rode through Mount Horeb and onto "S" to my favorite, Witte Road, for a final time. This was turning out to be the ride of a lifetime and I don't want to ever forget it. The same sign, "Do what's right. Return the saw" that I saw on the fierce descent of Witte Road right before the mirrored climb was right there waiting for me like it was all summer. Over to Garfoot, up to Mineral Point, screaming cheers from my family again and my final descent into the Cross Plains valley- it was all like Heaven On Earth. I was doing the math and I was on track- 30 minutes to Birch, 5 up the climb, 20 to Midtown, 15 to Main, 10 to Whalen and 50 home. I had it and I knew it. I was going to get up the helix back at transition by 4pm and that was going to be a moment to remember.
And, that's just how it happened, too. I saw my family for another surprise at Midtown Hill, which was more needed than I thought because Liz AND Joe had already left the area to hit the marathon course back in Madison. After I saw them, I got my final wind and that was it.
I worked hard to set up that swim and ride, and two transitions, with enough time to run a 4:50 marathon. I didn't over-exert myself though because I was hitting the sames times I'd be hitting all summer, maybe 10 minutes ahead. The only problem I would later calculate was that I stopped drinking. I only consumed one aerobottle (1.5 water bottles) of Infinit, and about 16 oz of water on the second loop of 2 1/2 hours. That was not enough in the end.
Once I rode up the helix, it was a few minutes before 4 if I remember correctly. I was only in transition 7 minutes and that included a stop in the port-o-potty! AWESOME! I decided to change into running shorts and changed my socks before the marathon. It's funny, because when I write "marathon" it seems unbearable to me. I think that's where I went right and where I went wrong during the final weeks of training.
I can be a head case sometimes, that's no secret of most serious triathletes. And so, I almost never referred to the run part of Ironman as a MARATHON. It would have sent me over the edge I think. Instead, I always called it "the run." You know, like a little run. A 6 mile run. 4 times. That's not so bad. Plus a couple finish line miles up State St and around the Capitol. You'd never even feel it. That's what I actually thought.
When I left transition, I dumped out my infinit powder and filled my little 6 oz hand bottle with water because I was so thirsty. DUH. PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO MY BODY. I also took 2 bites of my MOJO bar, a pretzel and chocolate mix. It was making me thirstier. As soon as I crossed under the RUN OUT exit from transition, you run up a big hill right away. It's not fun, but I knew I would see my family at the stop sign one block away. There they were! It was great. They couldn't believe I was starting the marathon 1 hour and 10 minutes earlier than planned. I think they thought I was invincible just as I had once believed.
Almost immediately, I started to get little stomach pains, like I had to burp. It was definitely gas related, but nothing would come out. 2-3 miles into the run, it got worse. Every step was like a sharp pain, but I was still trying to run. I stopped and walked the second major aid station at mile 3.5 to have some grapes, orange slices, powerade and water. I also grabbed some potato chips! Suddenly I realized how dangerous walking can be. Try running again. It sucks.
I did start running again and this was uncomfortable, but I kept it going. I knew most of the course but not the next couple of miles so I used it as motivation to keep running. It was fun for a while. I saw Marc Robertson heading to the finsih ath this point, he must have been at mile 24 and I knew he was just about on target for a Kona qualifying time. I also saw Kimber who looked very strong as well, another one headed for Kona. Before I knew it, I was through Camp Randall, under the bridge where I volunteered last year, down the path by Mendota Lake, and back onto State Street to Mile 6 or so and to my family! YAY!!! That was very much needed but I have to say I think I felt OK still overall.
Once I passed them, we turned around again to head back over to the lake and then all the way back around. I saw Brian on his second loop but he was walking and that was weird. He must be hurting, too. I would see my family again around mile 12 and then again at 14 or so. By the time I got to Mile 12, I was hurting really bad. I couldn't find any coke except one sip because the aid stations were out, which was CRAZY, because it was actually early still. I had walked a few of the aid stations but also balanced that with jogging some of the smaller hills. The shooting pains didn't stop though. I made it to 12 where I saw my family again and got a picture with Diana, which was great. I also saw a lot of WellFit friends on State street at this point like Christine, Henry, Erik. I was hurting, though, and didn't want to even think about the half marathon turnaround point up by the Capitol. They have you run literally 20 feet from the finish chute so you see it all but it's not your time.
There are still 13.1 miles to be run, and in my case and most cases, it is 13.1 miles to survive, not run. I kept putting one foot in front of the other and at the turn around I saw Ross. He called out my name but I was in rare form and was not in a position to support anyone but myself. It made me sad and I thought about that for miles but I couldn't worry about it at the time. I was just thinking "at least I'm still running."
When I came back to State Street for mile 14, I saw my family again and I let them know I was not feeling good. Ryan ran with me for a block and that helped, but I wanted to stop. In fact, I stopped right after I saw him at the next aid station. I walked it, ate more fruit and drank water and powerade and then I started jogging again. I think it was now that I finally saw Akemi. I was so worried about her because I never saw her. She looked really strong. I kept running, and I saw Steve Altman just before Camp Randall. He was walking. I wanted to walk, but I couldn't yet. I was around mile 16 by now. Soon after, I started the walking more than running. I would try to pick it up but it was getting dark and I was getting tired and dizzy actually. I made it to mile 19 to see my family one last time but I knew this was about to take a turn. When Ryan jogged with me, I started crying and I said, "I don't want to do this anymore. It's not fun anymore."
And, it's at that point that you become Iron. You can call it getting your shovel out or bonking or hitting rock bottom. Joe told me I'd make deals with the devil and Coach K told us we'd make withdrawls from the bank. Whatever you call it, it's humbling. I was so sick, I feared someone would pull me from the race. Anyone who does Ironman does it because they think they can. They know they're good enough to do it. I did it for the challenge and my awesome coach trained me so well that I went it to it blinded by the season of a lifetime. I never thought this moment would come when I would watch my times go out the window and have to start walking because I would have fallen over if I didn't stop running. It's an hour of desparation where you start wavering, literally, in your steps but you can't take your eyes off your watch.
What is my pace?
How much further am I ahead?
Or am I so far behind?
What the hell is going on?
I remember having the weirdest thoughts about trying to figure out how I could get a ride to another part of the course. It was crazy. I actually contemplated what would happen if one of my friends came over on a bike and offered it to me. What would I do. It was absolutely crazy.
It was during these miles that I realized it was time to just survive the race and finish. I knew I had about 7 miles left and I would have to walk them. Every time I looked down to the ground, my vision would get blurry and my head would literally spin. I couldn't even look down anymore. It was dark out now and I was along Lake Mendota for the final time. It is a long pitch black stretch that double-backs. It's 1.5 miles in length for a total of 3 miles like this. I started yawning uncontrollably and couldn't stop. I was freezing now because my clothes were were wet from the earlier sponges. I kept thinking to myself, I am walking in Chicago from OSB (Ohio Street Beach, where we swim) to Belmont, or Wilson. That is the same distance. Just picture the landmarks and you will be fine. I even started speed walking because it occured to me that it might actually warm me up when another girl was speed walking past me.
At one point, I was walking with my eyes closed and I wandered onto the grass. Some guy grabbed my arm and asked if I was OK. I told him in a matter of fact way, "I keep falling asleep while I'm walking." He informed me that this was "dangerous" but I could do was laugh because what did he think I was going to do? Stop the race?! Not now.
And, so that's how it went all the way to mile 23. That's when another guy walked up next to me and started chatting. I went along with it for once and started telling him how I wasn't doing well and that I know I should be excited that we're at mile 23. He walked with me for a mile and by the end of that mile, I was actually alert again. My stomach cramps were getting worse and I found a port-o-potty literally right in time. After that, I decided I would try to jog again. I mean, I only had 2 more miles!
Just before mile 25, on Henry Street, I noticed that a girl passed me who looked like one of my teammates. She was jogging so I thought it's time to start running! And so I did. One foot in front of the other, I realized that either it really didn't hurt as bad anymore or I couldn't feel the pain anymore. It didn't matter.
I turned onto State Street and saw the Capitol. It was like Heaven. The crowds were still going and out of nowhere my friend, Erik, jumped in front of me. He was screaming, "YOU DID IT! YOU'RE HERE!!!" I almost started crying. I couldn't put into words at that moment what I had just been through physically and emotionally so I just looked into his eyes and said, "You have no idea! I just walked 8 miles, Erik! It was crazy!" Except, he definitely had an idea because he did Ironman last year. He just kept smiling and cheering me on and ran with me all the way to the stop of State Street. He let me go and just screamed for at me, "YOU'RE AN IRONMAN! GET IT!"
The last half mile of this race is in bright lights, crowds everywhere, as you round the beautiful lit Capital Building. This is where I finally saw Joe on the marathon course. He jumped in front of me and screamed the same things Erik did.
THERE SHE IS! YOU DID IT!
He wanted me to stop and give him a hug but I just wanted to finish. He told me my time doesn't matter anymore but getting a hug does but little did he know I had another agenda :)
I got my hug and started sprinted. It occured to me in these final 400 yards, why the hell couldn't I do this 6 miles ago! What the hell!
It goes by so fast. The crowds are everywhere and they're just screaming. The lights are bright and then you turn the corner. You see 20 feet ahead the sign that that you dreaded before and it says with corresponding arrows, "This Way to TurnAround" and then "THIS WAY TO FINISH."
And, this time you get to choose FINISH. I don't remember it at all, but I remember feeling like it was the moment of a lifetime. I saw my family on the right side, they were ecstatic to see I was actually alive, and then I hear Gil's voice in the crowd of thousands screaming "GO BRAVI!!!" on the left! I turn to find him and out of thousands of faces, I find him. He is jumping up and down and pointing to the finish!!
LORI BRAVI, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!!!!!!!!!
14:44.09 was my time. In the end, it was an amazing time.
Overall DIV
1876 86/139
SWIM 1:36.54 (2:33 pace) 2211 112/139
T1 12.04
BIKE 7:11.17 (15.6 mph) 1990 83/139
T2 7.00
RUN 5:36.56 (12.52 min/mile) 1665 84/139
Ironman is not something you take for granted or disprespect. You train for thousands of miles in the pool and in the open water, on the bike and in your shoes. You laugh, you cry, you feel pain and you feel strength. It is a gift to have a body that cooperates and it is a gift to have the time. It requires concentration and control, discipline and desire. Ironman is not about the finish line but about the journey there and having the ability to calculate actions to accomplish an endurance goal.
This year was the best year of my life because of this sport and what it's taught me. So here's to my family who supported me along the way and my friends who took time from their busy lives to understand what I was trying to accomplish. Here's to my coaches Liz and Keith, who showed me what I am capable of achieving with hard work and time.
And, finally, here's to my team that stuck together through wind, hail, sun, rain, tears of joy and tears of pain. We went into this as individuals but we came across the finish as one. Akemi, Brian, Erika, Ross, Jeff, Dave, Chris, Criss, Ryan, Tory, Gina, Cliff, Deb, Jenny, and Meghan....
This is only the beginning :)
I started the day feeling great. Other than the expected nerves, mostly from just wanting to get this started already, I knew I was ready to take it on. My alarm was set to go off at 3:45am; however, my body naturally woke up at 2:30. I laid in bed for 30 minutes checking the weather from my phone and spent time reviewing in my head what I put in my special needs bag. Luckily, it was then that I remembered that I never put my spare tire in my bike special needs bag. I would need to save time to go down to the garage and get it out of the car where I left it. I also was thinking about how I still needed to call the Hampton Inn, where the rest of my family was staying, to make sure the hotel didn't charge them a second night. In the frenzy of arriving in Madison, I forget to change that detail for them. Since I had a few extra things to do now, I decided to get up and get going around 3am.
Time went by faster than you'd think. I ate my Banana Nut Crunch cereal, made coffee just for one sip and then into the shower. Before I knew it, it was 4:10 and I still hadn't been down to the car and still needed to add water to 8 water bottles to mix my nutrition. By 4:25, I was working on the bottles and was 15 minutes away from meeting Akemi to go downtstairs.
By 4:45, we were off to the start. Even as we were walking over, I don't think it hit us yet. We got to transition by 5, dropped off our special needs bags, added items to our swim to bike and bike to run bags, hit the bathrooms and then brought our nutrition to our bikes in transition. We pumped air in our tires, checked our computers, and got our bodies marked. Before we knew it, it was 5:55 and time to meet my mom by the Run Out. There she was already, smiles from ear to ear and more comforting than I could ever put into words. I got a big hug and kiss from her and you could tell she was just as nervous for us and we were for ourselves suddenly. The sun was just about to rise and there was a reddish orange hue to the horizon over Lake Monona. We still hadn't seen the buoys but were about to in just moments. Akemi and I looked at each other 5 minutes later after some pictures and said, "Let's do this." I got my final hug and kiss from my dearest and most supportive fan. It was time.
Akemi and I headed over to the helix and got our first glimpse of the buoys and swim course. Akemi had actually been able to see the course and swim it 3 weeks earlier during the one special training morning set up for the athletes. I couldn't go because it was the same day as my sister's wedding. I am all about preparing so there are no surprises and it bothered me the most to not be able to see the actual course size ahead of time. Once I saw it, I was really ready. It was massive, but I knew it would be. I trained in this lake at least 5 times this summer, let alone Lake Michigan nearly 2-3 times/week since May. I have to say, though, it always looks bigger than you think it would!!!
We were still holding our wetsuits at this point, so after getting down the helix to the ground level, it was time to keep moving along. We went into the porto-potty lines right away, got into our wetsuits, ran into Cliff (a fellow teammate), dropped off our morning clothes bag and that was literally it. It REALLY WAS time now.
It was around 6:25 at this point and we spent the next 10 minutes standing on the right side of the swim chute, waiting for the moment we felt ready to get in. The cannon wasn't going off for another 35 minutes so it was too early to start treading water. However, in that 10 minutes of waiting, it went from 1-2 people walking past us to get in at a time to hoards of people getting in. It literally started happening before we could even realize it. It was 6:35 now, and we dediced that 6:42 would be the right time to get in for some reason. We settled on our strategy to enter on the right and swim the diagonal line into the swim course in an effort to stay out of the rush of top swimmers. We were in the water by 6:42 and made our way over toward the signature "ski jump" area. This was about 50 yards away from shore and about half way to the official start line. If you are an athlete worried about every second, then it is to your advantage to get as close as possible to that red start buoy because whether you're at the red buoy or not even in the water yet, when that cannon goes off, everyone's clock starts. Period. Akemi and I decided to go half way to the start and treaded water for 15 minutes. I have to say, I did a great job staying calm! At first, there was enought room comfortably to tread water here or there, 10 feet this way or 15 feet that way. Within minutes, though, it started to get really really packed. You could no longer get enough space to even lay on your stomach because there were feet, legs, arms, torsos hitting you every second. I had to really focus to stay in control, but I did. The pros just were just about to go off at 6:50 but there were 10 minutes still before we would be able to start. I realized that Akemi wasn't next to me anymore but she waved out and was only about 10 athletes away. I still felt her strength with me. The cannon for the pros went off and the announcer was informing athletes in the water to move closer to the red start buoy and pushing along the athletes still on land that there was no more time to wait. GET IN. Another 5 minutes pass, I still haven't looked back, and then they announce the national anthem will now be sung. I am still OK because I'm on the right outside edge, in the front row, thinking that I will be in the safe zone. However, as I turn back toward the shore for the anthem, my worst fear is confirmed. I am in front of what is literally hundreds of only RED swim caps bobbing up and down. THE GUYS. ONYL GUYS. YOUNG GUYS who are out to WIN. There was nowhere to go even if I tried. All I could think about was the movie JAWS and the background music to go along with it. One of the guys must have seen the fear of death in my eyes and he said almost in an irritated voice,
"How fast are you swimming this."
"Not as fast as you guys." (Keep in mind that I'm hoping for a 1:40 swim split)
"Well, we're swimming under :55."
HO-LY-SHIT.
I just reminded myself of what Coach K kept telling us about the swim start. The first 10-15 minutes will be nuts. Just remember that it will pass and just keep thinking in 10-15 minutes it will be better.
As soon as the anthem finished and the crowd roared, the announcer yelled,
"THEY CAN HEEEAAARRR YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!"
And the crowd roared louder. The sun was rising and then we heard the the first beats of U2's "Beautiful Day." The announcer yelled,
"LESS THAN ONE MINUTE!"
"You WILL be an IRONMAN today!!"
And as soon as it got to the part,
"It's a BEAUTIFUL DAY! DON'T LET IT SLIP AWAY!" The cannon went off!
You just swim, one stroke after another, one breath as you can get it. The first 15 minutes really were insane. Guys were literally swimming over me. But, I held my own and just kept it going. It was really exciting and I felt confident despite being in a sea of total madness! My plan to enter on the right and aim for the first buoy from a diagonal was working, but I have to admit I must have added on a half mile throughout the 2.4 mile course by doing so because my perimeter stayed wide, about 25 meters from the buoy line. In retrospect, I would do it again, because after the first 15 minutes, it was no worse than Steelhead in terms of fighting for space. Throughout the swim, I felt fast and not tired. The biggest problem was other athlete's not sighting well and swimming away from the buoys into me. That's expected, though. the other problem was that my right goggle filled with water almost immediately and I couldn't fix it. Oh well, I thought. When I came to the first red turn buoy, it was an exciting milestone and I knew the second one was only minutes away before heading around the back length. Again, the third turn buoy came faster than I thought and it only made me feel stronger. Before I knew it, I was on the back side of the rectangle again and was about to head home around the last buoy. I remember some girl swam into ME and then she yelled, "HEY!" I looked at her when I took a breath and all I could think of was, "NO! Hey YOU!" Nice one, huh!!
The other thought that occupied my mind during the swim was how it would be so great for my FAMILY the sooner they could see me come out of the water because there's no way for them to know how you're doing during the swim. If I were a family member, I would be freaking out! When I exited the water, I remembered to lap my Garmin correctly and that's when I noticed it said, "1:36!" WOOT! I actually thought it would've been faster based on how fast I felt, but I could care less at that point. I knew I added a ton of distance on by swimming 25 yards outside the buoys and I was happy with that decision.
As I got to the top of the helix and saw my family, I was ecstatic! I ran over and gave my mom a huge kiss and hug, got my energizing high five from her, gave my dad a kiss and hug and was off to transition. I also saw Joe coming up the helix and he jumped in front of me screaming, "HERE SHE IS! HERE SHE IS!!!!" He picked me up and gave me a huge hug and kiss as well. Everyone is always worried about the swim :)
Transition was crazy but the volunteers were absolutely wonderful. I had to completely change out of of my swim suit and into my uniform. My sports bra was completely twised up from my wet skin and my leg was shaking from adrenaline, but I felt awesome. As I ran out of the transition changing area and outside, I saw my best friend in the whole world screaming for me, it was unreal. She made it here and I just couldn't believe it! It was amazing. I ran over to my bike and got going.
The bike started great and stayed great the entire ride. On the stick out, I really had to hit the port-o-potty because I couldn't go in the water! After I took care of that, I was down to business. I was looking at my computer and the time and was right where I wanted to be. I saved 7 minutes in the swim and was hoping to save 5 minutes on the stick out, which I did. I was not 12 minutes ahead. The whole time, I was faced with adjusting my documented race plan times that my coach and family had compared to what I really wanted. Somewhere along this bike course, I would have to shave off 50 minutes in order to hit the marathon before 4pm instead of the planned 5:10. I knew my 4:20 run estimate might very well be way off so I needed to compensate for that as well. I knew I could hit 7:15 on the bike since that was within reach to what I had been doing out here all summer if you subtract out red ligths, construction and goofing off in between loops.
I was eating as planned and made an effort to time my bars with aid stations so I could get water from there, per Liz's recommendation to avoid a sloshy stomach like Epic Monday. I felt bad drinking only a 1/4 of a bottle and then tossing it, but hey, this is IRONMAN and I'm doing what I need to do. By the time I got to Mineral Point and Garfoot Road, I was almost 30 minutes ahead of schedule. SWEETNESS. This is exaclty what I needed because at this point I was also remembering that even though I would hope to ride the second loop just as fast, I actually have never been close to that in training. I was always 15 minutes off. When I saw everyone with Mom's awesome yellow signs, it was the BEST feeling EVER! It also made me happy because I knew they'd be pumped to see me ahead as schedule and looking strong as well.
The next part of the course would be Cross Plains and I knew I'd see some of the WellFit team and my friend, Nick. It was great! They saw me right away and were cheering like crazy. Next up was Birch. The "Tour D'France climb." I was supposed to see Joe there so I was really looking forward to that. Instead, I saw my friend, Nga, who is the cutest ever! She was running after me with her camera, it was super awesome.
The next area would be just a mile ahead at Old Sauk Pass and that's when I was cheered on by Coach K, Keith, my swim coach. He was PUMPED! IT was awesome! I also saw my friend Erik there as well. The funniest spectator out there was this guy who was only wearing the shortest red velvet santa shorts ever with a huge chain of jingle bells! He jumped in front of me with those bells and said, "What do YOU want for Christmas little lady?! IRONMAN!" It kept me laughing for miles. I also saw two ladies holding signs...the first one said, "Ironmen are SEXY!" and then the second one said, "But IRONWOMEN ARE SEXIER!" I thought that was the best and then I realized it was my friend, Clare, holding the sign! AWESOME!
At this point, I was at least 35 minutes ahead schedule, maybe even 40 minutes. The next turn after Timber is Midtown Hill. This is the last significant climb of each loop and I was about to see the mastermind behind my success...Coach Liz. As I started climbing the hill, I noticed Chris, her husband, first and then screamed her name as soon as I saw her turn around with little Max, her 7 week old son. She grabbed the megaphone and yelled, "GO LORI!!!" It was great. It was about 25 meters later than Joe finally jumped in front of me. I had been waiting to see him since the swim. He was so excited, it was great.
I thought that would be it for my fan club at Midtown Hill because I told my family to skip it due to traffic backups with crossing Timber on Mineral Point. But, THERE THEY WERE!!!!! It was so great! I saw my Mom's bright yellow signs and all of their tshirts from about 100 yards away and I started waving like crazy. The best part of Ironman is showing your family you're alive and loving it. This is exactly how I felt the entire swim and ride. It was heaven on earth. I'd later realize that everytime I saw them on the course, they'd be waving my yellow signs, Ryan would be first waiting with the camera, Jeff would be next with the videocamera and Mom, Melissa, Nana, and Dad would usually be my grand finale for the smiles I couldn't wait to see. Leave it up to my Mom to make sure they all got to Timber to surprise me. She told me a few days after the race that they barely made it to that spot in time, but she wanted to take a chance. It works every time!
I carried on with the race down Shady Oak and back into Verona for Loop 2. It was definitely getting hot out now and it was about 12:15 by now. I decided that all I'd need out of my Bike Special Needs Bag would be my nutrition refills and one power bar. By this point, I ate 1/2 power bar before the race, 1 bar after the swim in transition and first few miles of the bike, and 1 bar on the first loop. That was good for the amount of time I had been out so far on the bike (roughly 3:15 by now). I was drinking my Infinit (2 full aerobottles by mile 56 at special needs) and I supplemented 4-5 oz water at every aid station with my power bar bites to prevent the sloshy stomach.
Loop 2 was surprisingly fast. I got through Valley Road, G, and 92 faster than I thought I would. Barely added 5 minutes onto my total split by that point. When I got to Mount Horeb, I was hurting. It was really hot out, all sun, and that's when I think I started to feel dehydrated. It is a very long stretch of false flats, so basically you are climbing for 20 miles straight- it's not fun, especially the second time around in hot sun. At this point, I think I started to get really thirsty and I made the mistake of thinking that my Infinit was making me thirstier. I continued to take water at the aid stations but you can only drop the bottles during the actual aid station unless you want a penalty. In retrospect, I definitely should have taken 2 minutes to pull over, dump out a bottle of Infinit and pour in plain water. But during the race, you don't always think clearly. You think about time. I saw my friend, Krisa, on the top of Mount Horeb, which was a HUGE surprise and very much needed.
I rode through Mount Horeb and onto "S" to my favorite, Witte Road, for a final time. This was turning out to be the ride of a lifetime and I don't want to ever forget it. The same sign, "Do what's right. Return the saw" that I saw on the fierce descent of Witte Road right before the mirrored climb was right there waiting for me like it was all summer. Over to Garfoot, up to Mineral Point, screaming cheers from my family again and my final descent into the Cross Plains valley- it was all like Heaven On Earth. I was doing the math and I was on track- 30 minutes to Birch, 5 up the climb, 20 to Midtown, 15 to Main, 10 to Whalen and 50 home. I had it and I knew it. I was going to get up the helix back at transition by 4pm and that was going to be a moment to remember.
And, that's just how it happened, too. I saw my family for another surprise at Midtown Hill, which was more needed than I thought because Liz AND Joe had already left the area to hit the marathon course back in Madison. After I saw them, I got my final wind and that was it.
I worked hard to set up that swim and ride, and two transitions, with enough time to run a 4:50 marathon. I didn't over-exert myself though because I was hitting the sames times I'd be hitting all summer, maybe 10 minutes ahead. The only problem I would later calculate was that I stopped drinking. I only consumed one aerobottle (1.5 water bottles) of Infinit, and about 16 oz of water on the second loop of 2 1/2 hours. That was not enough in the end.
Once I rode up the helix, it was a few minutes before 4 if I remember correctly. I was only in transition 7 minutes and that included a stop in the port-o-potty! AWESOME! I decided to change into running shorts and changed my socks before the marathon. It's funny, because when I write "marathon" it seems unbearable to me. I think that's where I went right and where I went wrong during the final weeks of training.
I can be a head case sometimes, that's no secret of most serious triathletes. And so, I almost never referred to the run part of Ironman as a MARATHON. It would have sent me over the edge I think. Instead, I always called it "the run." You know, like a little run. A 6 mile run. 4 times. That's not so bad. Plus a couple finish line miles up State St and around the Capitol. You'd never even feel it. That's what I actually thought.
When I left transition, I dumped out my infinit powder and filled my little 6 oz hand bottle with water because I was so thirsty. DUH. PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO MY BODY. I also took 2 bites of my MOJO bar, a pretzel and chocolate mix. It was making me thirstier. As soon as I crossed under the RUN OUT exit from transition, you run up a big hill right away. It's not fun, but I knew I would see my family at the stop sign one block away. There they were! It was great. They couldn't believe I was starting the marathon 1 hour and 10 minutes earlier than planned. I think they thought I was invincible just as I had once believed.
Almost immediately, I started to get little stomach pains, like I had to burp. It was definitely gas related, but nothing would come out. 2-3 miles into the run, it got worse. Every step was like a sharp pain, but I was still trying to run. I stopped and walked the second major aid station at mile 3.5 to have some grapes, orange slices, powerade and water. I also grabbed some potato chips! Suddenly I realized how dangerous walking can be. Try running again. It sucks.
I did start running again and this was uncomfortable, but I kept it going. I knew most of the course but not the next couple of miles so I used it as motivation to keep running. It was fun for a while. I saw Marc Robertson heading to the finsih ath this point, he must have been at mile 24 and I knew he was just about on target for a Kona qualifying time. I also saw Kimber who looked very strong as well, another one headed for Kona. Before I knew it, I was through Camp Randall, under the bridge where I volunteered last year, down the path by Mendota Lake, and back onto State Street to Mile 6 or so and to my family! YAY!!! That was very much needed but I have to say I think I felt OK still overall.
Once I passed them, we turned around again to head back over to the lake and then all the way back around. I saw Brian on his second loop but he was walking and that was weird. He must be hurting, too. I would see my family again around mile 12 and then again at 14 or so. By the time I got to Mile 12, I was hurting really bad. I couldn't find any coke except one sip because the aid stations were out, which was CRAZY, because it was actually early still. I had walked a few of the aid stations but also balanced that with jogging some of the smaller hills. The shooting pains didn't stop though. I made it to 12 where I saw my family again and got a picture with Diana, which was great. I also saw a lot of WellFit friends on State street at this point like Christine, Henry, Erik. I was hurting, though, and didn't want to even think about the half marathon turnaround point up by the Capitol. They have you run literally 20 feet from the finish chute so you see it all but it's not your time.
There are still 13.1 miles to be run, and in my case and most cases, it is 13.1 miles to survive, not run. I kept putting one foot in front of the other and at the turn around I saw Ross. He called out my name but I was in rare form and was not in a position to support anyone but myself. It made me sad and I thought about that for miles but I couldn't worry about it at the time. I was just thinking "at least I'm still running."
When I came back to State Street for mile 14, I saw my family again and I let them know I was not feeling good. Ryan ran with me for a block and that helped, but I wanted to stop. In fact, I stopped right after I saw him at the next aid station. I walked it, ate more fruit and drank water and powerade and then I started jogging again. I think it was now that I finally saw Akemi. I was so worried about her because I never saw her. She looked really strong. I kept running, and I saw Steve Altman just before Camp Randall. He was walking. I wanted to walk, but I couldn't yet. I was around mile 16 by now. Soon after, I started the walking more than running. I would try to pick it up but it was getting dark and I was getting tired and dizzy actually. I made it to mile 19 to see my family one last time but I knew this was about to take a turn. When Ryan jogged with me, I started crying and I said, "I don't want to do this anymore. It's not fun anymore."
And, it's at that point that you become Iron. You can call it getting your shovel out or bonking or hitting rock bottom. Joe told me I'd make deals with the devil and Coach K told us we'd make withdrawls from the bank. Whatever you call it, it's humbling. I was so sick, I feared someone would pull me from the race. Anyone who does Ironman does it because they think they can. They know they're good enough to do it. I did it for the challenge and my awesome coach trained me so well that I went it to it blinded by the season of a lifetime. I never thought this moment would come when I would watch my times go out the window and have to start walking because I would have fallen over if I didn't stop running. It's an hour of desparation where you start wavering, literally, in your steps but you can't take your eyes off your watch.
What is my pace?
How much further am I ahead?
Or am I so far behind?
What the hell is going on?
I remember having the weirdest thoughts about trying to figure out how I could get a ride to another part of the course. It was crazy. I actually contemplated what would happen if one of my friends came over on a bike and offered it to me. What would I do. It was absolutely crazy.
It was during these miles that I realized it was time to just survive the race and finish. I knew I had about 7 miles left and I would have to walk them. Every time I looked down to the ground, my vision would get blurry and my head would literally spin. I couldn't even look down anymore. It was dark out now and I was along Lake Mendota for the final time. It is a long pitch black stretch that double-backs. It's 1.5 miles in length for a total of 3 miles like this. I started yawning uncontrollably and couldn't stop. I was freezing now because my clothes were were wet from the earlier sponges. I kept thinking to myself, I am walking in Chicago from OSB (Ohio Street Beach, where we swim) to Belmont, or Wilson. That is the same distance. Just picture the landmarks and you will be fine. I even started speed walking because it occured to me that it might actually warm me up when another girl was speed walking past me.
At one point, I was walking with my eyes closed and I wandered onto the grass. Some guy grabbed my arm and asked if I was OK. I told him in a matter of fact way, "I keep falling asleep while I'm walking." He informed me that this was "dangerous" but I could do was laugh because what did he think I was going to do? Stop the race?! Not now.
And, so that's how it went all the way to mile 23. That's when another guy walked up next to me and started chatting. I went along with it for once and started telling him how I wasn't doing well and that I know I should be excited that we're at mile 23. He walked with me for a mile and by the end of that mile, I was actually alert again. My stomach cramps were getting worse and I found a port-o-potty literally right in time. After that, I decided I would try to jog again. I mean, I only had 2 more miles!
Just before mile 25, on Henry Street, I noticed that a girl passed me who looked like one of my teammates. She was jogging so I thought it's time to start running! And so I did. One foot in front of the other, I realized that either it really didn't hurt as bad anymore or I couldn't feel the pain anymore. It didn't matter.
I turned onto State Street and saw the Capitol. It was like Heaven. The crowds were still going and out of nowhere my friend, Erik, jumped in front of me. He was screaming, "YOU DID IT! YOU'RE HERE!!!" I almost started crying. I couldn't put into words at that moment what I had just been through physically and emotionally so I just looked into his eyes and said, "You have no idea! I just walked 8 miles, Erik! It was crazy!" Except, he definitely had an idea because he did Ironman last year. He just kept smiling and cheering me on and ran with me all the way to the stop of State Street. He let me go and just screamed for at me, "YOU'RE AN IRONMAN! GET IT!"
The last half mile of this race is in bright lights, crowds everywhere, as you round the beautiful lit Capital Building. This is where I finally saw Joe on the marathon course. He jumped in front of me and screamed the same things Erik did.
THERE SHE IS! YOU DID IT!
He wanted me to stop and give him a hug but I just wanted to finish. He told me my time doesn't matter anymore but getting a hug does but little did he know I had another agenda :)
I got my hug and started sprinted. It occured to me in these final 400 yards, why the hell couldn't I do this 6 miles ago! What the hell!
It goes by so fast. The crowds are everywhere and they're just screaming. The lights are bright and then you turn the corner. You see 20 feet ahead the sign that that you dreaded before and it says with corresponding arrows, "This Way to TurnAround" and then "THIS WAY TO FINISH."
And, this time you get to choose FINISH. I don't remember it at all, but I remember feeling like it was the moment of a lifetime. I saw my family on the right side, they were ecstatic to see I was actually alive, and then I hear Gil's voice in the crowd of thousands screaming "GO BRAVI!!!" on the left! I turn to find him and out of thousands of faces, I find him. He is jumping up and down and pointing to the finish!!
LORI BRAVI, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!!!!!!!!!
14:44.09 was my time. In the end, it was an amazing time.
Overall DIV
1876 86/139
SWIM 1:36.54 (2:33 pace) 2211 112/139
T1 12.04
BIKE 7:11.17 (15.6 mph) 1990 83/139
T2 7.00
RUN 5:36.56 (12.52 min/mile) 1665 84/139
Ironman is not something you take for granted or disprespect. You train for thousands of miles in the pool and in the open water, on the bike and in your shoes. You laugh, you cry, you feel pain and you feel strength. It is a gift to have a body that cooperates and it is a gift to have the time. It requires concentration and control, discipline and desire. Ironman is not about the finish line but about the journey there and having the ability to calculate actions to accomplish an endurance goal.
This year was the best year of my life because of this sport and what it's taught me. So here's to my family who supported me along the way and my friends who took time from their busy lives to understand what I was trying to accomplish. Here's to my coaches Liz and Keith, who showed me what I am capable of achieving with hard work and time.
And, finally, here's to my team that stuck together through wind, hail, sun, rain, tears of joy and tears of pain. We went into this as individuals but we came across the finish as one. Akemi, Brian, Erika, Ross, Jeff, Dave, Chris, Criss, Ryan, Tory, Gina, Cliff, Deb, Jenny, and Meghan....
This is only the beginning :)
Saturday, September 11, 2010
IRONMAN WISCONSIN is here!!!
Wow, it is finally here. This has been a journey like no other, one that I couldn't have imagined completing, let alone loving, in a million years. Exactly one year ago, I came to Madison to cheer on my good friend, Joe Lotus, at Ironman Wisconsin. I had 3 olympic distance triathlons and a season of training, but not competing in, a Half Ironman as my entire triathlon repetoire. These races over the course of only 1 year were a far cry from considering doing an IRONMAN. I drove 3 hours to Madison last year on 2 hours of sleep after the U2 concert in Chicago and ended up spending the entire day wrapped up in all that was Ironman. I had planned on staying for a few hours, but I didn't leave until after he crossed the finish line.
There was something that drew me in, something that was bigger than I was capable of ever imagining. I had only one year of experience in this sport but this one day changed my perspective forever. As the day went on, fellow spectators would ask, "Have you ever done one?" or friends would ask me, "Are you going to sign up next year?" NO! was my first response. By the end of the day, when I was driving home over 12 hours later, it's all I could think about.
"WOULD I ever consider signing up?"
"How would I even fit this in!"
"Maybe I would love it."
"I know I need to do this. Now is the time."
The next day, I went to work having decided this was it. Everyone considering signing up knew that the only way to possibly get a spot for Madison is to start by volunteering. Only a few hundred spots would be left for those who were lucky enough to get through on the website at exactly 12 noon the day after race day. I had 4 computers going at work and 3 friends ready to help pull the trigger. After feverishly typing through various screens of USAT numbers, credit card numbers, addresses, medical form waivers, INSURANCE CARD INFO (! WHAT! They need my insurance card information even?! This is serious!)...
"CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE REGISTERED FOR THE 2010 FORD IRONMAN WISCONSIN."
By 12:01, the race was already closed.
I was IN.
Here I am, 12 months later, ready to conquer this course. I have been transformed as an athlete, 180 degrees from where I was a year ago. My coach extraordinaire, Elizabeth Waterstraat, is where it all started. She coached a Pre-Season group that I was in starting November 1st and after the first week, I knew I was in the best hands possible. I never looked back.
Liz prepared me better than I could have ever imagined. I knew that if I just trusted her and followed the plan day in and day out, I would do this. Somehow, along the way, I was running a 5K in 22 minutes at a 7:11 pace and a half marathon in 1:51. Somewhere else along the way, my long rides became weekends in Madison, 8 to be exact, training for 5-6-7-8 hours a day on the bike. Somewhere along the way, I realized after the fact, that the "marathon training" part of this would be taking place as an afterthought...on almost always what turned out to be Wednesday nights as opposed to the traditional saturday or sunday marathon training long run day. Our long runs were intentionally placed on the day after our 3-hour intense bike computrainer workouts in the middle of the week, on a work night. We needed to simulate fatigue on the run after riding like it would happen in Ironman. We weren't running 8 or 10 miles on these Wednesday nights, but 16, 17, 18 miles. We would have 4 more days of each training week after that before a rest day.
All year long, week after week, hill after hill after hill, I never looked back or questioned why I was doing this. I realized that I love doing this, especially in a world where so many cannot.
Tomorrow will be the biggest day of my life so far. I will be scared, nervous, excited, emotional, strong, and weak. I will manage it all like a skilled athlete who trusts the plan and doesn't waiver. I have prepared to succeed, and I will race as I've trained. Strong and steady, controlled.
I will think about my family, and especially my mom. She has been with me the whole way and these last 2 days have not been easy with me :) I will think of my family and my friends here with me from hundreds of miles away and I will also feel the push from friends and family across the country who are wearing the same tshirts my family is wearing in Madison. I will think about how lucky I am to be here. I work in a world where people cannot feed themselves or think for themselves. I will think of my patient, Mike, who told me on Wednesday in his soft african accent, "Lori, I will be thinking of you. You will feel me push you to the finish line." He is 52 years old, a father of 3 with his fourth on the way who is married for 30 years to love of his life. He had a severe stroke that left him with severe paralysis and much difficulty with the most basic problem solving and attention. I will hear his voice on G, and 92, when the wind is pushing me sideways around 2 pm and I get weak on another hill. His words will give me strength.
I will think of my young 19 year-old patient, Jessica, who has fought her own race this year. During a time when life seemed impossible for her, she managed to support ME in my racing and it will be her sassy smile that I think of when I want to walk instead of run.
I will think about how this is only the beginning and I will thank God for showing me a way to make the most of my body and mind for decades to come.
My time is estimated to come in, hopefully, under 14:30. I will be very proud of that accomplishment. Anything less will be icing on the cake.
For the final Facebook status update,
"MADTOWN."
There was something that drew me in, something that was bigger than I was capable of ever imagining. I had only one year of experience in this sport but this one day changed my perspective forever. As the day went on, fellow spectators would ask, "Have you ever done one?" or friends would ask me, "Are you going to sign up next year?" NO! was my first response. By the end of the day, when I was driving home over 12 hours later, it's all I could think about.
"WOULD I ever consider signing up?"
"How would I even fit this in!"
"Maybe I would love it."
"I know I need to do this. Now is the time."
The next day, I went to work having decided this was it. Everyone considering signing up knew that the only way to possibly get a spot for Madison is to start by volunteering. Only a few hundred spots would be left for those who were lucky enough to get through on the website at exactly 12 noon the day after race day. I had 4 computers going at work and 3 friends ready to help pull the trigger. After feverishly typing through various screens of USAT numbers, credit card numbers, addresses, medical form waivers, INSURANCE CARD INFO (! WHAT! They need my insurance card information even?! This is serious!)...
"CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE REGISTERED FOR THE 2010 FORD IRONMAN WISCONSIN."
By 12:01, the race was already closed.
I was IN.
Here I am, 12 months later, ready to conquer this course. I have been transformed as an athlete, 180 degrees from where I was a year ago. My coach extraordinaire, Elizabeth Waterstraat, is where it all started. She coached a Pre-Season group that I was in starting November 1st and after the first week, I knew I was in the best hands possible. I never looked back.
Liz prepared me better than I could have ever imagined. I knew that if I just trusted her and followed the plan day in and day out, I would do this. Somehow, along the way, I was running a 5K in 22 minutes at a 7:11 pace and a half marathon in 1:51. Somewhere else along the way, my long rides became weekends in Madison, 8 to be exact, training for 5-6-7-8 hours a day on the bike. Somewhere along the way, I realized after the fact, that the "marathon training" part of this would be taking place as an afterthought...on almost always what turned out to be Wednesday nights as opposed to the traditional saturday or sunday marathon training long run day. Our long runs were intentionally placed on the day after our 3-hour intense bike computrainer workouts in the middle of the week, on a work night. We needed to simulate fatigue on the run after riding like it would happen in Ironman. We weren't running 8 or 10 miles on these Wednesday nights, but 16, 17, 18 miles. We would have 4 more days of each training week after that before a rest day.
All year long, week after week, hill after hill after hill, I never looked back or questioned why I was doing this. I realized that I love doing this, especially in a world where so many cannot.
Tomorrow will be the biggest day of my life so far. I will be scared, nervous, excited, emotional, strong, and weak. I will manage it all like a skilled athlete who trusts the plan and doesn't waiver. I have prepared to succeed, and I will race as I've trained. Strong and steady, controlled.
I will think about my family, and especially my mom. She has been with me the whole way and these last 2 days have not been easy with me :) I will think of my family and my friends here with me from hundreds of miles away and I will also feel the push from friends and family across the country who are wearing the same tshirts my family is wearing in Madison. I will think about how lucky I am to be here. I work in a world where people cannot feed themselves or think for themselves. I will think of my patient, Mike, who told me on Wednesday in his soft african accent, "Lori, I will be thinking of you. You will feel me push you to the finish line." He is 52 years old, a father of 3 with his fourth on the way who is married for 30 years to love of his life. He had a severe stroke that left him with severe paralysis and much difficulty with the most basic problem solving and attention. I will hear his voice on G, and 92, when the wind is pushing me sideways around 2 pm and I get weak on another hill. His words will give me strength.
I will think of my young 19 year-old patient, Jessica, who has fought her own race this year. During a time when life seemed impossible for her, she managed to support ME in my racing and it will be her sassy smile that I think of when I want to walk instead of run.
I will think about how this is only the beginning and I will thank God for showing me a way to make the most of my body and mind for decades to come.
My time is estimated to come in, hopefully, under 14:30. I will be very proud of that accomplishment. Anything less will be icing on the cake.
For the final Facebook status update,
"MADTOWN."
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Ironman 70.3 Steelhead Race Report
Ironman 70.3 Steelhead, Saturday, July 31, 2010
This was more than a race for me, and it was more than just "my first Half Ironman." I came to this race this year to settle a score. If you read my blog from the beginning, you know what I'm talking about. It was last summer, just 3 weeks before the 2009 Ironman 70.3 Steelhead race. It was 7 months after I really began serious triathlon "training" for the first time in my life and only 10 months after my first triathlon. I committed myself to this race in 2009 and meant business. Those 7 months were more instrumental to me than I knew at the time because, slowly, they began to shape who I am today as an athlete. I no longer skipped workouts or cut them short and training became less of a hobby and more of a daily protocol. I started to learn one week, one month at a time what was really required of a good triathlete. I also began developing a desire to be competitive at some point in the distant future- maybe a few years down the line- but I started paying attention to what was required and made an effort to surround myself with the best triathletes in the entire Chicagoland area. I started to ask questions of the elite team like,
"How fast do YOU come out of the water?"
"How fast do YOU finish your bike split?"
"What pace is YOUR run?"
An athlete asks these questions only when they begin the journey of seriously pursuing these times themselves. I believed I was ready for Steelhead last year as beginner triathlete who trained as best she could with the WellFit training center. I didn't know what watts on the bike meant yet, I still got freaked out in open water once in a while, and I could only dream of breaking a 9-minute mile run but in my mind I was ready. That all ended when I crashed my bike 3 weeks before the race at 20 mph because of fresh gravel at a turn while training on the course "just one more time to be sure." I was out for the next 8 weeks with various torn wrist ligaments and a small tear on my right shoulder labrum. I missed the Steelhead Half-Ironman and returned to racing with a splint on my right wrist 5 days before what would only be my third triathlon, the Chicago Triathlon on August 30, 2009. I PR'd at that race despite no training for 8 weeks and being sick with the swine flu and high fever. It was only my 3rd triathlon ever. That goes to show you how ready I was for Steelhead last year and how devastated I was when I couldn't compete in it.
Well, it turns out when I went to the Steelhead Half Ironman race last year to cheer on my teammates from the sidelines, I nearly freaked out when I took a look at the swim course. WHAT! It's THAT LONG! NO WAY. There's NO WAY! It goes on FOREVER! And, so it goes that everything in life happens for a reason. It wasn't that I hadn't trained to swim the distance; I had. It was more a reflection of my mental preparedness as a triathlete. The fact that the distance I saw that morning appreared twice as long as what I was used to swimming just because the course was point to point instead of a loop like what I was used to training in back in Chicago was enough to send my mind out of control. If I really had to do Steelhead last year feeling so overhwhelmed at the race start, maybe I would've freaked out so bad that I wouldn't have finished the swim. Or maybe I would have had only a so-so race and wouldn't have even wanted to go for the full Ironman distance. And, then maybe I wouldn't even be writing this blog. Ted Ramos, one of my coaches from the 2009 training season said it best:
"I knew you'd either drop triathlon or come back stronger than ever. But, I knew you had it in you."
And so I came back stronger than ever. It's funny, because I didn't prepare specifically for this Steelhead Half Ironman race this year. The full Ironman race is all I think about, for nearly one year. Steelhead was approaching and the only goal I had was to ride the course once before race day to check my significantly improved bike fitness in order to submit my race plan (and estimated times) to Liz. My last blog post was about how I did squeeze in that one ride on the Steelhead course this year on July 18, 2010. I hammered the hell out of it 2 weeks before the race on Liz's carbon Cervelo. As we all know, though, that dream of hammering it on race day was derailed when the bike was stolen later that day. As an athlete, this was traumatic because all you want to do is race fast enough to be recognized. I wouldn't have placed this year even if I did have her bike, but I would have come close enough to be recognized as potential for the elite team. It was not swimming in open water, or training my legs to tolerate 56 miles on the bike and running a half marathon after that I would have to overcome for this year's Half Ironman. No. Instead, I would have to accept what I had inside of me as inner strength and physical strength without a $6,000 bike to get faster results and recognition. And, I had 12 days to do this.
The 2 weeks between the stolen bike and this Half Ironman were spent playing detective for the bike theft better than the Chicago Police Department. I was calling witnesses and begging them to go in for line-ups at 1am to nail these guys, paying hundreds of dollars for reverse phone number searches from the ad the thieves placed which I found on Craig's List, pleading with a judge and detectives to please submit a search warrant request, and filing entries in national databases and Craigs List to help find the stolen bike. Nothing but discouraging news, even though we knew exactly who stole the bike and where it was this whole time. In the meantime, Ironman training was carrying on and I somehow had to get it together for this Half-Ironman.
I left for Michigan on Thursday afternoon, July 29, 2010. During the drive, I thought about the Cervelo and how this race was going to be different than that glorious ride 2 weeks earlier. I thought about MY bike, and how Akemi knew exactly what to say to me earlier in the week when I brought it to practice instead of Liz's Cervelo. I was remembering how she smiled at me and said, "Ahhh. She's back. She missed you." It was the perfect thing to say with the perfect intention, from the person who knew me the best throughout all of this training. And, so, as I neared Benton Harbor, I started to get excited for MY race and MY bike, aluminum or not. I still had the strength in my arms for the swim and the power in my legs for the bike and run and that wasn't about to change. I decided at that point that I was going to this race to prove what I had in me without any bells and whistles.
I checked into our house, unpacked for the few workouts remaining before race day and prepared my old bike for a test run. I felt good and was surprisingly happy with my pace on an aluminum frame. I wasn't that far off from the ride on Liz's Cervelo although there was no denying I wouldn't be matching my 20mph pace from 2 weeks ago. Marc Robertson, Bill Jones and Pat Jones were also at the house now and I started to feel like this weekend was going to be a good one afterall. Being surrounded by my good friends on the elite team contributed to the sense of calm and comfort that I needed going into this race. My coach always reminds her athletes that 2 nights before a race is the most important night for sleep. I heeded her advice and slept well that night.
The next morning, the day before race day, involved getting up for breakfast then planning our run and swim and then trip to the expo to pick up our race numbers. My run was steady and strong and my swim went well, too. Hours later, we were home from the expo and beginning the ritual of preparing race belts, nutrition bottles, and securing our numbers to our bikes. When I put the bike sticker on that said, "Ironman 70.3," I knew this was for real. It was a moment I deserved last year but had to wait for until this year. I was calm and I was ready. Two additional athletes arrived at the house that night, one was a pro and another was elite. I was surrounded by confidence.
Then the ritual of checking the weather begins late friday night before we all went to bed. We succumbed to the hourly forecast because rain was predicted. Just as the weather channel showed thunderstorms rolling in, my phone alerted me to a new incoming email. It was from my coach and it addressed the possibility of a duathlon, run/bike/run. Her tone was level yet alerting with the message that this day will be no different than other training days. She reminded me, "I never understand when athletes blame their races on the weather. You train in the same conditions. You have a choice to either do this or don't. Your choice will determine your outcome tomorrow."
I went to bed that night knowing that I was ready. When my alarm went off at 4:15, I was up. I ate my cereal, got dressed, and took my bottles out of the freezer. Because I prepared so well the night before, it took little effort and thinking to get ready on time. We were watching the weather and the storms were definitely approaching. Almost as the orange and dark green flashes lit up the radar screen for our area, crackling thunder and bright lightening in the dark night provided stereo surround sound. The pro guy and the younger elite guy had this race morning thing down, and they were ready to leave at 4:45. They had room for one more in their car. My friends Marc, Bill and Pat were a little more relaxed and not exactly bolting out the door. I took the ride and was at the race start setting up transition 30 minutes later.
It was raining and it was dark but I planned ahead. Before I left the house, I packed each running shoe in large ziplocs, along with dry socks, and a dry visor. I was wearing a garbage bag to stay dry but quickly realized that was a lost cause so I put on my wetsuit. As I started putting my bottles in their respective water bottle cages, I realized something was wrong. I didn't have the 2 black rubberbands with me to secure my aero bottle to the aerobars. This could have been a drastic mistake not only because I would be short nearly 2 bottles due to the size of the aerobottle, but because I froze them overnight already mixed with nutrition, I wouldn't be able to dump it into another bottle even. After 5 minutes of quick thinking, I realized that my goggles are made of thick elastic and quickly tied them around the bottle to make sure it would be secure enough. IT WORKED! I couldn't believe it. Good, done! I decided to keep the aerobottle (without a cap) balance between my shoes in transition so when I saw it coming out of the swim, I would remember to use my goggle to connect it to the bike still. Otherwise, I might forget in the rush of the race and ride off without the bottle even attached.
Next step, now that the rain was coming down hard, was to try to use my phone through 2 plastic bags to call my mom. She was going on 3 hours of sleep and had to stay in a hotel over an hour away near NOTRE DAME. It was ridiculous. I was wavering between calling her to make sure she was on time still and then not wanting to call her for fear she'd get upset she was late while driving in the pitch black of night in a torrential thunderstorm on no sleep. It was 6:30, though, and our plan was to be out of transition already and on to the swim start. It was 1.5 miles away still and my wave was going off in only 1 hour.
My mom arrived minutes later, and at this point, I started to get nervous. It was still raining, I was running late, and I was very worried they might cancel the swim and/or the whole race. When I found my mom, she was so sweet and trying to be so wonderfully supportive, but I was a mess. I started crying and was suddenly frazzled because I didn't know the exact time and we still had to walk all the way down to the swim start. She looked tired and I felt terrible that she just endured a night of hell for me. I collected myself long enough to take a quick photo and then all of a sudden I realized it was time to GO. We walked extremely fast in deep sand for 1.5 miles to the swim start. It was still raining but definitely not as hard. My mom was keeping up pretty well and I assumed her tired face was expected from all she's been through lately. Within the last few years, including our trip to Italy, she has started to get short of breath, which is weird for her. She's an oncology nurse and someone who only eats the freshest and healthiest foods since we were children. She was the first person I ever know at 10 years old that paid attention to counting fat grams way before anyone else was on to that. She never goes to the doctor, though, despite us begging her to do so yet we never give her an ultimatum because, well, she's our dearest mom and nothing could possibly be wrong with her anyway.
We get the swim start with about 15 inutes to spare. I quickly leave her and head to the swim corral. I am just feet from the water, and my wave is about 3 back in the line-up still, maybe 10 minutes I had to spare. I hear Liz's and Chris's voice in my head (her husband, Chris, reassured us at the Galena triathlon 2 months earlier that it's really worth it to get in the water for a test swim before you start). I decide to put my feet in before my wave moves up in the cue and then decide to go ahead and take a few strokes before getting back in line. I am still nervous. All of a sudden, I see Akemi running toward the water. She and I have become so close as friends during Ironman training this whole year that we can finish each other's sentences and thoughts. She is waving to me and I realize she has driven all the way from Chicago this morning, with an hour time change, to cheer me on. I see her and I cry, and I suddenly feel ready. "That is what I needed" I tell her and I get in line for the swim start.
The music is pumping, it is now only lightly raining, and they bring my wave to the water's edge. I look into the distance of the swim course and see it further than the eye can see. I am not nervous at all, though, and the distance is a welcomed one after all of my Ironman training. I realize how different my race is going to be this year compared to if I raced in it last year. I am not nervous at all, I am ready. I see my Mom again and get a last minute hug and kiss and she so dearly snaps a few more photos. THIS IS IT, I think to myself. This is going to be a GREAT RACE!
And the HORN GOES OFF! I run into the water and start swimming. There is the usual kicking and pulling and fighting for space and position, but it doesn't bother me. I just swim. I see the first buoy and keep sighting. There were a few athletes who were very irritating in the swim, but that can be expected. You adjust your mind and keep going. The buoy order was yellow, orange then green. They went on forever and ever, but I wasn't tired, I wasn't stressed, and I felt like I could actually work at the swim instead of just surviving it. I was in a zone, it was unreal. When I came around that last red buoy and ran out of the water, I heard my brother now screaming, "GO LORI!!!!" so I knew he arrived from his 3+ hour drive in the storms as well. I heard my mom! I heard Akemi! I took off my goggles as a ran out of the water and looked at my watch. 39 MINUTES!!!! NO WAY!!!!!!!! It was unreal.
As I ran up the beach in the sand, I fought with my heart rate monitor because I accidently hit the wrong button and exited the mode I needed for the entire rest of the race. You have to keep in mind that these watches are computers and it can take 5-8 screens before getting back to the correct program. So, as I'm trying to race to transition in the sand, I'm also messing around with this stupid watch! It was annoying. However, I actually figured it out before getting to my bike, remembered to use my goggles to attach the aerobottle and within seconds my wetsuit was history and my bike shoes and helmet were strapped on. I had the longest possible run with my bike out of transition but determined the night before that this was actually the preferred position because I'd rather run with my bike fresh through T1 then be on the opposite end close to bike out and have to run with it tired after the bike during T2. I was off.
About 2 miles into the bike, I pulled my left groin because I was stubbornly climbing the first hill in the aerobars on a wet bike and a wet course. Dumby dumb dumb. I paid for it the entire rest of the race. However, I didn't let it affect my time. I paced my ride and timed my nutrition really well, which contributed to a strong bike split. The rain stopped but the sun was now hot. I was shooting for 3 hours on my aluminum bike on my best day, which would be about 30 MINUTES faster than what I trained at last year. Most of my ride was occupied by timing the milestones I remembered so well from last summer's training and then the other time was spent calculating and recaculating 100 times where I was for time because my watch was 39 minutes off. I knew I had to be close to 3 hours on the bike. I then started calculating how my legs felt and what I thought I could do on the run course. Because I bought myself so many extra minutes on the swim and now realized my 3 hour bike would be close to reality, I started to freak out because a sub-6 hour race could be in my future. NO WAY. NO WAY!!!!
Coming down the bike chute into T2 was surreal. The crowds were packed and I was just 2 hours away from completing my first Half Ironman. People were screaming my name and I just felt like I was on fire. I racked my bike, threw my bike helmet off, put the visor and race belt on, switched shoes and was OFF TO THE RUN.
I was excited for the run because I'd finally see my family again. I assumed it was them screaming my name in the bike chute, because that was the plan. They'd leave the race at that point and drive out to meet me on the run course, at mile 6. It would be half-way through the run when I'd see them and I'd need their encouragement and love at that point.
The first mile of the run is a steady uphill with a sharp incline right before mile 1. It's a big one and if you make it past that, you know you got it for the next couple of miles. I keep my pace and pass through the aid station because I decided to carry my own nutrition. It's what I'm used to and we race as we train. It was getting hot out and my legs were still settling in along with my breathing. When you're in the aerobars for nearly 60 miles, you body compensates for that position and you do very little deep, diaphramatic breathing. On the run, however, your body needs that oxygen and it can take miles before you adjust.
As I approach mile 4-5, already baking in the sun, we are suddenly running through this very stuffy and cramped nature preserve path that I did not expect at all. I studied the course, but somehow missed this mile stretch. There was no wind and the trail was wide enough for 2 people a the most. You could tell the heat was getting to some of the athletes or it could've been their pacing because people were walking now. That is never a good sign. I felt good enough to keep my pace and I knew mile 6 was just steps away. We came out of the trail and then through the winding drive that would lead me to my family. As I turned the corner, I didn't exactly see them in the distance, but it was still a full block away. As it got close, I could definitely tell they weren't there. I went from this high of knowing I'd get my second wind with seeing them to worrying what could have gone wrong. As the course turns again with my back now to the corner we planned to meet, I know that was my one and only chance at seeing my family on the race course. Could it have been their parking spot? Were my directions confusing and they missed the turn? I had no idea, but I knew it was WEIRD.
The run continued, and 1.5 miles later I was confronted with the other monster hill. I ran it, didn't walk, except the last 5 steps. I was glad I did because I was able to pick my pace right back up at the top. I turned again, now on M-36 (the main drag and signal of more than half way through with the 13.1 mile run. I now see Pat Jones on the sidelines, screaming my name, then my friend Eric and old swim coach, Noelle! They're all cheering for me and telling me I look strong and steady. It is exactly what I needed from the distraction of hoping my family is OK. I start the second loop, run the second long stretch of treeless streets in the hot sun now 85 degrees, and survive the second time through the trail. I see Eric and Noelle again and realize I am 1.5 miles from the finish. I run hard and I don't stop. I keep my form and tighten my core and tell fellow athletes "STAY STRONG! KEEP IT GOING!" as I pass them. Down the hill I once ran up and around the corner to the final 1/2 mile stretch before the finish chute. The crowd is starting to build as I get close and I can hear the announcer congratulating athletes crossing the line. As I race down the finish chute, I am pulling what must be a 7:30 pace, and some elite guy yells out, "NICE PACE GIRL!" I see the finish line 200 yards ahead and the crowd is so loud and thick I think to myslef, "Just keep on running, enjoy every second." I don't take my eyes of that finish line, except to look for my family as I keep this pace. I think, "Am I running so fast that they missed me?" And, I am disappointed during the highest point of my race history to date, because they could have somehow missed seeing me fly down this finish chute for some crazy reason. Within seconds, I am across the finish line, and the annoncer even yells, "LORI BRAVI FROM CHICAGO!!!" My feet are still on the timing mat when I see my good friend, Joe. He is yelling, YOU DID IT, BRAVI! AWESOME TIME!!! AWEOMSE!"
I don't even know what my time is at this point and I don't even care. The race of a lifetime is the least of my concerns because my family is not here. People are still yelling congratulations at me yet I cannot hear them. I was surrounded by an eerie silence because it was now at least one minute after I finished and my brother and mom were both missing. I go up to Joe and get my high five, but my end of it is half-ass. I am smiling and he tells me I finished "under 6", but I don't really care. You have to remember that my estimated time last year was to finish at 6:30 and my DREAM goal for this year was to finish "at 6." To finish "under 6" was absolutely an outstanding milestone that could change my future as a triathlete and pivot me into the potential elite field next year. I say I had the race of a lifetime but I say this hazily not even looking at him as I am nervously scoping the crowd literally so close to the finish line still that an official asks me to move. I tell Joe that something weird is going on and that my family is missing. He is mixed up in the excitement of the race and doesn't really absorb my concerns. People everywhere are just screaming as loud as they can at athletes crossing the finish line, the music is blarring and athletes keep bumping into me as they cross the line but I just stand there. Suddenly, I see my brother walking slowly and aimlessly toward the finish area and I yell and wave out to him. He half smiles, and I can tell something is very wrong. "CONGRATULATIONS!" he yells. I say nervously, "Where were you guys?" He says, "Hmm? What do you mean?" I say, "What do you mean, what do I mean??? Where were you on the race??" He is still only half smiling and acts like nothing is wrong. I can tell he is covering something up all of a sudden and my heart starts racing. "Where the hell is MOM???" Ryan: "Hmmm? [fake smile]. Oh, she's sitting down over there, come down there. Get out of the finish area." "NO" I say. She's not down there. Tell me what the hell is going on. "Come down there and I'll tell you, she's fine." "NO, TELL ME NOW."
"She's in the hospital. It's her heart."
My world stopped. Picture yourself standing in the finish area still after the race of a lifetime, leaning on the fence, trying to stay out of the way of hundreds of athletes crossing the finish line, people cheering and screaming, music blarring,
announcers rallying and then processing that your mom was rushed to the hospital. The was my mom, our pillar of strength for as long as we've lived, the one person who all of us have relied on and leaned on forever. We don't have anyone else except each other.
It was sobering to be standing in the ER 20 minutes later with my perfect little mom on oxygen and in a hospital gown hooked up to heart monitors and an IV. It was so soon after the race that I hadn't even replenished with gatorade or fruit and my race uniform was still wet from sweat. In the end, it's always a good thing when medical problems are caught before they blow up into bigger ones. We learned that day that my mom went into atrial fibrilation, or A-fib. It is a very dangerous, life-threatening episode that occurs when the electicity of your heart is erradic. Her resting heart rate shot up to 180-190 and wouldn't come down for an hour. The beach sand for a total of 3 miles probably set it off. Later, I learned that this happened nearly the moment after I exited the swim. She became short of breath and when Ryan and her walked to sit down, her shirt was vibrating from her speeding heart rate. Blood tests indicated that she narrowly escaped the diagnosis of a heart attack by .2 units on the troponin blood test, which indicates the presence of cardiac enzymes in the blood from a heart attack. She went into A-fib once more later that day and even the next morning, but she was stable enough for to go home on Sunday on a large dosage of beta blockers and aspirin, and is following up with Cardiology at Rush in Chicago.
It wasn't until almost 2 days later when I was first able to process the milestone race that took place at the Steelhead Half Ironman. When asked how did my race go, I say "Like Clockwork." It was literally stroke after stroke, pedal after pedal, stride after stride, one, after another, after another. I was prepared and I raced as I trained. The difference between this year and last is my mental preparedness. I no longer get freaked out by, well, anything. Ironman training has a way of desensitizing you to anything and everything. You could bring me to a race swim start that goes on further than the eye can see and it wouldn't phase me anymore because I know I am prepared.
As I go into the final 2 weeks before the full Ironman, I will do the same. I will make lists, cross them off, and make new ones. I will visualize the course along the way and set to hit my milestones one, after another, after another. Anything can happen in Ironman. And then again, anything can happen in training. It's how you prepare and adjust that determines the outcome. As coach Liz says,
"If you have approached your training with commitment, vigor, and honesty you will do in the race what you have done in training- except you'll do it fresher, better, and faster. Nothing magical happens on race day but on race day you should be able to put together your BEST training day- on a race course."
And, that's what I came to do and that's what I did at the Steelhead Half Ironman. Finally.
Overall Time 5:47.06 (13 minutes faster than even my dream time) (Div 41/110)(Overall 997/1860, including all elite athletes)
Swim 40.59 (including swim out through sand)
T1 2:54
Bike 3:00.28 (18.6 mph average)
T2 2:08
Run 2:00.31 (9:13 pace)
This was more than a race for me, and it was more than just "my first Half Ironman." I came to this race this year to settle a score. If you read my blog from the beginning, you know what I'm talking about. It was last summer, just 3 weeks before the 2009 Ironman 70.3 Steelhead race. It was 7 months after I really began serious triathlon "training" for the first time in my life and only 10 months after my first triathlon. I committed myself to this race in 2009 and meant business. Those 7 months were more instrumental to me than I knew at the time because, slowly, they began to shape who I am today as an athlete. I no longer skipped workouts or cut them short and training became less of a hobby and more of a daily protocol. I started to learn one week, one month at a time what was really required of a good triathlete. I also began developing a desire to be competitive at some point in the distant future- maybe a few years down the line- but I started paying attention to what was required and made an effort to surround myself with the best triathletes in the entire Chicagoland area. I started to ask questions of the elite team like,
"How fast do YOU come out of the water?"
"How fast do YOU finish your bike split?"
"What pace is YOUR run?"
An athlete asks these questions only when they begin the journey of seriously pursuing these times themselves. I believed I was ready for Steelhead last year as beginner triathlete who trained as best she could with the WellFit training center. I didn't know what watts on the bike meant yet, I still got freaked out in open water once in a while, and I could only dream of breaking a 9-minute mile run but in my mind I was ready. That all ended when I crashed my bike 3 weeks before the race at 20 mph because of fresh gravel at a turn while training on the course "just one more time to be sure." I was out for the next 8 weeks with various torn wrist ligaments and a small tear on my right shoulder labrum. I missed the Steelhead Half-Ironman and returned to racing with a splint on my right wrist 5 days before what would only be my third triathlon, the Chicago Triathlon on August 30, 2009. I PR'd at that race despite no training for 8 weeks and being sick with the swine flu and high fever. It was only my 3rd triathlon ever. That goes to show you how ready I was for Steelhead last year and how devastated I was when I couldn't compete in it.
Well, it turns out when I went to the Steelhead Half Ironman race last year to cheer on my teammates from the sidelines, I nearly freaked out when I took a look at the swim course. WHAT! It's THAT LONG! NO WAY. There's NO WAY! It goes on FOREVER! And, so it goes that everything in life happens for a reason. It wasn't that I hadn't trained to swim the distance; I had. It was more a reflection of my mental preparedness as a triathlete. The fact that the distance I saw that morning appreared twice as long as what I was used to swimming just because the course was point to point instead of a loop like what I was used to training in back in Chicago was enough to send my mind out of control. If I really had to do Steelhead last year feeling so overhwhelmed at the race start, maybe I would've freaked out so bad that I wouldn't have finished the swim. Or maybe I would have had only a so-so race and wouldn't have even wanted to go for the full Ironman distance. And, then maybe I wouldn't even be writing this blog. Ted Ramos, one of my coaches from the 2009 training season said it best:
"I knew you'd either drop triathlon or come back stronger than ever. But, I knew you had it in you."
And so I came back stronger than ever. It's funny, because I didn't prepare specifically for this Steelhead Half Ironman race this year. The full Ironman race is all I think about, for nearly one year. Steelhead was approaching and the only goal I had was to ride the course once before race day to check my significantly improved bike fitness in order to submit my race plan (and estimated times) to Liz. My last blog post was about how I did squeeze in that one ride on the Steelhead course this year on July 18, 2010. I hammered the hell out of it 2 weeks before the race on Liz's carbon Cervelo. As we all know, though, that dream of hammering it on race day was derailed when the bike was stolen later that day. As an athlete, this was traumatic because all you want to do is race fast enough to be recognized. I wouldn't have placed this year even if I did have her bike, but I would have come close enough to be recognized as potential for the elite team. It was not swimming in open water, or training my legs to tolerate 56 miles on the bike and running a half marathon after that I would have to overcome for this year's Half Ironman. No. Instead, I would have to accept what I had inside of me as inner strength and physical strength without a $6,000 bike to get faster results and recognition. And, I had 12 days to do this.
The 2 weeks between the stolen bike and this Half Ironman were spent playing detective for the bike theft better than the Chicago Police Department. I was calling witnesses and begging them to go in for line-ups at 1am to nail these guys, paying hundreds of dollars for reverse phone number searches from the ad the thieves placed which I found on Craig's List, pleading with a judge and detectives to please submit a search warrant request, and filing entries in national databases and Craigs List to help find the stolen bike. Nothing but discouraging news, even though we knew exactly who stole the bike and where it was this whole time. In the meantime, Ironman training was carrying on and I somehow had to get it together for this Half-Ironman.
I left for Michigan on Thursday afternoon, July 29, 2010. During the drive, I thought about the Cervelo and how this race was going to be different than that glorious ride 2 weeks earlier. I thought about MY bike, and how Akemi knew exactly what to say to me earlier in the week when I brought it to practice instead of Liz's Cervelo. I was remembering how she smiled at me and said, "Ahhh. She's back. She missed you." It was the perfect thing to say with the perfect intention, from the person who knew me the best throughout all of this training. And, so, as I neared Benton Harbor, I started to get excited for MY race and MY bike, aluminum or not. I still had the strength in my arms for the swim and the power in my legs for the bike and run and that wasn't about to change. I decided at that point that I was going to this race to prove what I had in me without any bells and whistles.
I checked into our house, unpacked for the few workouts remaining before race day and prepared my old bike for a test run. I felt good and was surprisingly happy with my pace on an aluminum frame. I wasn't that far off from the ride on Liz's Cervelo although there was no denying I wouldn't be matching my 20mph pace from 2 weeks ago. Marc Robertson, Bill Jones and Pat Jones were also at the house now and I started to feel like this weekend was going to be a good one afterall. Being surrounded by my good friends on the elite team contributed to the sense of calm and comfort that I needed going into this race. My coach always reminds her athletes that 2 nights before a race is the most important night for sleep. I heeded her advice and slept well that night.
The next morning, the day before race day, involved getting up for breakfast then planning our run and swim and then trip to the expo to pick up our race numbers. My run was steady and strong and my swim went well, too. Hours later, we were home from the expo and beginning the ritual of preparing race belts, nutrition bottles, and securing our numbers to our bikes. When I put the bike sticker on that said, "Ironman 70.3," I knew this was for real. It was a moment I deserved last year but had to wait for until this year. I was calm and I was ready. Two additional athletes arrived at the house that night, one was a pro and another was elite. I was surrounded by confidence.
Then the ritual of checking the weather begins late friday night before we all went to bed. We succumbed to the hourly forecast because rain was predicted. Just as the weather channel showed thunderstorms rolling in, my phone alerted me to a new incoming email. It was from my coach and it addressed the possibility of a duathlon, run/bike/run. Her tone was level yet alerting with the message that this day will be no different than other training days. She reminded me, "I never understand when athletes blame their races on the weather. You train in the same conditions. You have a choice to either do this or don't. Your choice will determine your outcome tomorrow."
I went to bed that night knowing that I was ready. When my alarm went off at 4:15, I was up. I ate my cereal, got dressed, and took my bottles out of the freezer. Because I prepared so well the night before, it took little effort and thinking to get ready on time. We were watching the weather and the storms were definitely approaching. Almost as the orange and dark green flashes lit up the radar screen for our area, crackling thunder and bright lightening in the dark night provided stereo surround sound. The pro guy and the younger elite guy had this race morning thing down, and they were ready to leave at 4:45. They had room for one more in their car. My friends Marc, Bill and Pat were a little more relaxed and not exactly bolting out the door. I took the ride and was at the race start setting up transition 30 minutes later.
It was raining and it was dark but I planned ahead. Before I left the house, I packed each running shoe in large ziplocs, along with dry socks, and a dry visor. I was wearing a garbage bag to stay dry but quickly realized that was a lost cause so I put on my wetsuit. As I started putting my bottles in their respective water bottle cages, I realized something was wrong. I didn't have the 2 black rubberbands with me to secure my aero bottle to the aerobars. This could have been a drastic mistake not only because I would be short nearly 2 bottles due to the size of the aerobottle, but because I froze them overnight already mixed with nutrition, I wouldn't be able to dump it into another bottle even. After 5 minutes of quick thinking, I realized that my goggles are made of thick elastic and quickly tied them around the bottle to make sure it would be secure enough. IT WORKED! I couldn't believe it. Good, done! I decided to keep the aerobottle (without a cap) balance between my shoes in transition so when I saw it coming out of the swim, I would remember to use my goggle to connect it to the bike still. Otherwise, I might forget in the rush of the race and ride off without the bottle even attached.
Next step, now that the rain was coming down hard, was to try to use my phone through 2 plastic bags to call my mom. She was going on 3 hours of sleep and had to stay in a hotel over an hour away near NOTRE DAME. It was ridiculous. I was wavering between calling her to make sure she was on time still and then not wanting to call her for fear she'd get upset she was late while driving in the pitch black of night in a torrential thunderstorm on no sleep. It was 6:30, though, and our plan was to be out of transition already and on to the swim start. It was 1.5 miles away still and my wave was going off in only 1 hour.
My mom arrived minutes later, and at this point, I started to get nervous. It was still raining, I was running late, and I was very worried they might cancel the swim and/or the whole race. When I found my mom, she was so sweet and trying to be so wonderfully supportive, but I was a mess. I started crying and was suddenly frazzled because I didn't know the exact time and we still had to walk all the way down to the swim start. She looked tired and I felt terrible that she just endured a night of hell for me. I collected myself long enough to take a quick photo and then all of a sudden I realized it was time to GO. We walked extremely fast in deep sand for 1.5 miles to the swim start. It was still raining but definitely not as hard. My mom was keeping up pretty well and I assumed her tired face was expected from all she's been through lately. Within the last few years, including our trip to Italy, she has started to get short of breath, which is weird for her. She's an oncology nurse and someone who only eats the freshest and healthiest foods since we were children. She was the first person I ever know at 10 years old that paid attention to counting fat grams way before anyone else was on to that. She never goes to the doctor, though, despite us begging her to do so yet we never give her an ultimatum because, well, she's our dearest mom and nothing could possibly be wrong with her anyway.
We get the swim start with about 15 inutes to spare. I quickly leave her and head to the swim corral. I am just feet from the water, and my wave is about 3 back in the line-up still, maybe 10 minutes I had to spare. I hear Liz's and Chris's voice in my head (her husband, Chris, reassured us at the Galena triathlon 2 months earlier that it's really worth it to get in the water for a test swim before you start). I decide to put my feet in before my wave moves up in the cue and then decide to go ahead and take a few strokes before getting back in line. I am still nervous. All of a sudden, I see Akemi running toward the water. She and I have become so close as friends during Ironman training this whole year that we can finish each other's sentences and thoughts. She is waving to me and I realize she has driven all the way from Chicago this morning, with an hour time change, to cheer me on. I see her and I cry, and I suddenly feel ready. "That is what I needed" I tell her and I get in line for the swim start.
The music is pumping, it is now only lightly raining, and they bring my wave to the water's edge. I look into the distance of the swim course and see it further than the eye can see. I am not nervous at all, though, and the distance is a welcomed one after all of my Ironman training. I realize how different my race is going to be this year compared to if I raced in it last year. I am not nervous at all, I am ready. I see my Mom again and get a last minute hug and kiss and she so dearly snaps a few more photos. THIS IS IT, I think to myself. This is going to be a GREAT RACE!
And the HORN GOES OFF! I run into the water and start swimming. There is the usual kicking and pulling and fighting for space and position, but it doesn't bother me. I just swim. I see the first buoy and keep sighting. There were a few athletes who were very irritating in the swim, but that can be expected. You adjust your mind and keep going. The buoy order was yellow, orange then green. They went on forever and ever, but I wasn't tired, I wasn't stressed, and I felt like I could actually work at the swim instead of just surviving it. I was in a zone, it was unreal. When I came around that last red buoy and ran out of the water, I heard my brother now screaming, "GO LORI!!!!" so I knew he arrived from his 3+ hour drive in the storms as well. I heard my mom! I heard Akemi! I took off my goggles as a ran out of the water and looked at my watch. 39 MINUTES!!!! NO WAY!!!!!!!! It was unreal.
As I ran up the beach in the sand, I fought with my heart rate monitor because I accidently hit the wrong button and exited the mode I needed for the entire rest of the race. You have to keep in mind that these watches are computers and it can take 5-8 screens before getting back to the correct program. So, as I'm trying to race to transition in the sand, I'm also messing around with this stupid watch! It was annoying. However, I actually figured it out before getting to my bike, remembered to use my goggles to attach the aerobottle and within seconds my wetsuit was history and my bike shoes and helmet were strapped on. I had the longest possible run with my bike out of transition but determined the night before that this was actually the preferred position because I'd rather run with my bike fresh through T1 then be on the opposite end close to bike out and have to run with it tired after the bike during T2. I was off.
About 2 miles into the bike, I pulled my left groin because I was stubbornly climbing the first hill in the aerobars on a wet bike and a wet course. Dumby dumb dumb. I paid for it the entire rest of the race. However, I didn't let it affect my time. I paced my ride and timed my nutrition really well, which contributed to a strong bike split. The rain stopped but the sun was now hot. I was shooting for 3 hours on my aluminum bike on my best day, which would be about 30 MINUTES faster than what I trained at last year. Most of my ride was occupied by timing the milestones I remembered so well from last summer's training and then the other time was spent calculating and recaculating 100 times where I was for time because my watch was 39 minutes off. I knew I had to be close to 3 hours on the bike. I then started calculating how my legs felt and what I thought I could do on the run course. Because I bought myself so many extra minutes on the swim and now realized my 3 hour bike would be close to reality, I started to freak out because a sub-6 hour race could be in my future. NO WAY. NO WAY!!!!
Coming down the bike chute into T2 was surreal. The crowds were packed and I was just 2 hours away from completing my first Half Ironman. People were screaming my name and I just felt like I was on fire. I racked my bike, threw my bike helmet off, put the visor and race belt on, switched shoes and was OFF TO THE RUN.
I was excited for the run because I'd finally see my family again. I assumed it was them screaming my name in the bike chute, because that was the plan. They'd leave the race at that point and drive out to meet me on the run course, at mile 6. It would be half-way through the run when I'd see them and I'd need their encouragement and love at that point.
The first mile of the run is a steady uphill with a sharp incline right before mile 1. It's a big one and if you make it past that, you know you got it for the next couple of miles. I keep my pace and pass through the aid station because I decided to carry my own nutrition. It's what I'm used to and we race as we train. It was getting hot out and my legs were still settling in along with my breathing. When you're in the aerobars for nearly 60 miles, you body compensates for that position and you do very little deep, diaphramatic breathing. On the run, however, your body needs that oxygen and it can take miles before you adjust.
As I approach mile 4-5, already baking in the sun, we are suddenly running through this very stuffy and cramped nature preserve path that I did not expect at all. I studied the course, but somehow missed this mile stretch. There was no wind and the trail was wide enough for 2 people a the most. You could tell the heat was getting to some of the athletes or it could've been their pacing because people were walking now. That is never a good sign. I felt good enough to keep my pace and I knew mile 6 was just steps away. We came out of the trail and then through the winding drive that would lead me to my family. As I turned the corner, I didn't exactly see them in the distance, but it was still a full block away. As it got close, I could definitely tell they weren't there. I went from this high of knowing I'd get my second wind with seeing them to worrying what could have gone wrong. As the course turns again with my back now to the corner we planned to meet, I know that was my one and only chance at seeing my family on the race course. Could it have been their parking spot? Were my directions confusing and they missed the turn? I had no idea, but I knew it was WEIRD.
The run continued, and 1.5 miles later I was confronted with the other monster hill. I ran it, didn't walk, except the last 5 steps. I was glad I did because I was able to pick my pace right back up at the top. I turned again, now on M-36 (the main drag and signal of more than half way through with the 13.1 mile run. I now see Pat Jones on the sidelines, screaming my name, then my friend Eric and old swim coach, Noelle! They're all cheering for me and telling me I look strong and steady. It is exactly what I needed from the distraction of hoping my family is OK. I start the second loop, run the second long stretch of treeless streets in the hot sun now 85 degrees, and survive the second time through the trail. I see Eric and Noelle again and realize I am 1.5 miles from the finish. I run hard and I don't stop. I keep my form and tighten my core and tell fellow athletes "STAY STRONG! KEEP IT GOING!" as I pass them. Down the hill I once ran up and around the corner to the final 1/2 mile stretch before the finish chute. The crowd is starting to build as I get close and I can hear the announcer congratulating athletes crossing the line. As I race down the finish chute, I am pulling what must be a 7:30 pace, and some elite guy yells out, "NICE PACE GIRL!" I see the finish line 200 yards ahead and the crowd is so loud and thick I think to myslef, "Just keep on running, enjoy every second." I don't take my eyes of that finish line, except to look for my family as I keep this pace. I think, "Am I running so fast that they missed me?" And, I am disappointed during the highest point of my race history to date, because they could have somehow missed seeing me fly down this finish chute for some crazy reason. Within seconds, I am across the finish line, and the annoncer even yells, "LORI BRAVI FROM CHICAGO!!!" My feet are still on the timing mat when I see my good friend, Joe. He is yelling, YOU DID IT, BRAVI! AWESOME TIME!!! AWEOMSE!"
I don't even know what my time is at this point and I don't even care. The race of a lifetime is the least of my concerns because my family is not here. People are still yelling congratulations at me yet I cannot hear them. I was surrounded by an eerie silence because it was now at least one minute after I finished and my brother and mom were both missing. I go up to Joe and get my high five, but my end of it is half-ass. I am smiling and he tells me I finished "under 6", but I don't really care. You have to remember that my estimated time last year was to finish at 6:30 and my DREAM goal for this year was to finish "at 6." To finish "under 6" was absolutely an outstanding milestone that could change my future as a triathlete and pivot me into the potential elite field next year. I say I had the race of a lifetime but I say this hazily not even looking at him as I am nervously scoping the crowd literally so close to the finish line still that an official asks me to move. I tell Joe that something weird is going on and that my family is missing. He is mixed up in the excitement of the race and doesn't really absorb my concerns. People everywhere are just screaming as loud as they can at athletes crossing the finish line, the music is blarring and athletes keep bumping into me as they cross the line but I just stand there. Suddenly, I see my brother walking slowly and aimlessly toward the finish area and I yell and wave out to him. He half smiles, and I can tell something is very wrong. "CONGRATULATIONS!" he yells. I say nervously, "Where were you guys?" He says, "Hmm? What do you mean?" I say, "What do you mean, what do I mean??? Where were you on the race??" He is still only half smiling and acts like nothing is wrong. I can tell he is covering something up all of a sudden and my heart starts racing. "Where the hell is MOM???" Ryan: "Hmmm? [fake smile]. Oh, she's sitting down over there, come down there. Get out of the finish area." "NO" I say. She's not down there. Tell me what the hell is going on. "Come down there and I'll tell you, she's fine." "NO, TELL ME NOW."
"She's in the hospital. It's her heart."
My world stopped. Picture yourself standing in the finish area still after the race of a lifetime, leaning on the fence, trying to stay out of the way of hundreds of athletes crossing the finish line, people cheering and screaming, music blarring,
announcers rallying and then processing that your mom was rushed to the hospital. The was my mom, our pillar of strength for as long as we've lived, the one person who all of us have relied on and leaned on forever. We don't have anyone else except each other.
It was sobering to be standing in the ER 20 minutes later with my perfect little mom on oxygen and in a hospital gown hooked up to heart monitors and an IV. It was so soon after the race that I hadn't even replenished with gatorade or fruit and my race uniform was still wet from sweat. In the end, it's always a good thing when medical problems are caught before they blow up into bigger ones. We learned that day that my mom went into atrial fibrilation, or A-fib. It is a very dangerous, life-threatening episode that occurs when the electicity of your heart is erradic. Her resting heart rate shot up to 180-190 and wouldn't come down for an hour. The beach sand for a total of 3 miles probably set it off. Later, I learned that this happened nearly the moment after I exited the swim. She became short of breath and when Ryan and her walked to sit down, her shirt was vibrating from her speeding heart rate. Blood tests indicated that she narrowly escaped the diagnosis of a heart attack by .2 units on the troponin blood test, which indicates the presence of cardiac enzymes in the blood from a heart attack. She went into A-fib once more later that day and even the next morning, but she was stable enough for to go home on Sunday on a large dosage of beta blockers and aspirin, and is following up with Cardiology at Rush in Chicago.
It wasn't until almost 2 days later when I was first able to process the milestone race that took place at the Steelhead Half Ironman. When asked how did my race go, I say "Like Clockwork." It was literally stroke after stroke, pedal after pedal, stride after stride, one, after another, after another. I was prepared and I raced as I trained. The difference between this year and last is my mental preparedness. I no longer get freaked out by, well, anything. Ironman training has a way of desensitizing you to anything and everything. You could bring me to a race swim start that goes on further than the eye can see and it wouldn't phase me anymore because I know I am prepared.
As I go into the final 2 weeks before the full Ironman, I will do the same. I will make lists, cross them off, and make new ones. I will visualize the course along the way and set to hit my milestones one, after another, after another. Anything can happen in Ironman. And then again, anything can happen in training. It's how you prepare and adjust that determines the outcome. As coach Liz says,
"If you have approached your training with commitment, vigor, and honesty you will do in the race what you have done in training- except you'll do it fresher, better, and faster. Nothing magical happens on race day but on race day you should be able to put together your BEST training day- on a race course."
And, that's what I came to do and that's what I did at the Steelhead Half Ironman. Finally.
Overall Time 5:47.06 (13 minutes faster than even my dream time) (Div 41/110)(Overall 997/1860, including all elite athletes)
Swim 40.59 (including swim out through sand)
T1 2:54
Bike 3:00.28 (18.6 mph average)
T2 2:08
Run 2:00.31 (9:13 pace)
Friday, July 23, 2010
Bike Update
There's so much to report since Sunday, but to sum things up: it's been an emotional rollercoaster. Between all of the leads, coincindences, positive IDs and negative IDs, I'm exhausted. I went to bed on Tuesday night sobbing all over again. It was that gut-wrenching despair that can only be relieved by talking to my Mom, and so I called her. I knew in my head that the money would have to work out if the bike isn't found or if insurance doesn't cover it. It won't take months to pay for it, but years.
What I was more upset about was the disappointment in knowing that my dream time would not be realized in two weeks at the Whirlpool Half Ironman in Michigan without this bike. It felt so unfair to me, like my pride was stolen. I know that finishing a Half Ironman is a great accomplishment, but I've trained not only to finish, but to nail down a solid time near or even under 6 hours. My ride on that course last sunday was a glimpse into how fast my time could really be with the best bike.
My Mom, as always, said the perfect thing. "But, Lori, that bike was not your bike. It wouldn't be a true reflection of who you are if you got that time on that bike. Yes, it would be exciting and yes you would gain a new level of recognition, but this is all more than you ever expected." She went on to say she understands how hard it must be for someone who is so competitive to have that element of being the best in reach but then taken away. More importantly, though, she reminded me that it is always more important to be our true selves when faced with that challenge, rather than wanting to be someone else. If it was my carbon triathlon bike that was stolen, then, yes, that would be my identity taken as well. However, it was not. I was immediately calmed by her words and, just like that, I was able to reconnect with all of my hard work on my old bike and appreciating how far I have come from it.
As I write this, 2 more guys are in custody. It's very hard to say if anything will come of it, but I wanted to be sure to share the full circle of accepting myself in all of this. It will always be tempting to buy MY first carbon triathlon bike, and I know I will someday in the future because I do want to keep moving up as a competitor. However, the world will actually not come to an end if I race on my older road bike instead of a beautiful carbon triathlon bike. My time may reflect an extra 30-45 minutes, but the world will not come to an end. In fact, it will just remind me how far I've come in all of this training, in so many ways.
What I was more upset about was the disappointment in knowing that my dream time would not be realized in two weeks at the Whirlpool Half Ironman in Michigan without this bike. It felt so unfair to me, like my pride was stolen. I know that finishing a Half Ironman is a great accomplishment, but I've trained not only to finish, but to nail down a solid time near or even under 6 hours. My ride on that course last sunday was a glimpse into how fast my time could really be with the best bike.
My Mom, as always, said the perfect thing. "But, Lori, that bike was not your bike. It wouldn't be a true reflection of who you are if you got that time on that bike. Yes, it would be exciting and yes you would gain a new level of recognition, but this is all more than you ever expected." She went on to say she understands how hard it must be for someone who is so competitive to have that element of being the best in reach but then taken away. More importantly, though, she reminded me that it is always more important to be our true selves when faced with that challenge, rather than wanting to be someone else. If it was my carbon triathlon bike that was stolen, then, yes, that would be my identity taken as well. However, it was not. I was immediately calmed by her words and, just like that, I was able to reconnect with all of my hard work on my old bike and appreciating how far I have come from it.
As I write this, 2 more guys are in custody. It's very hard to say if anything will come of it, but I wanted to be sure to share the full circle of accepting myself in all of this. It will always be tempting to buy MY first carbon triathlon bike, and I know I will someday in the future because I do want to keep moving up as a competitor. However, the world will actually not come to an end if I race on my older road bike instead of a beautiful carbon triathlon bike. My time may reflect an extra 30-45 minutes, but the world will not come to an end. In fact, it will just remind me how far I've come in all of this training, in so many ways.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Week 25 Updates
I don't know where to start on this one, exactly. This entry will certainly be bitter sweet. My coach graciously allowed me to use her Cervelo P2C time trial triathlon bike one week ago through the rest of the season. It has a completely upgraded derailleur systems and shifters that are Dura Ace, the highest quality, as she has raced this bike as Pro at Kona twice with a 10:30 time. It's value is around $4,000-$5,000. It was stolen today off my bike rack less than 5 minutes after I checked on it from a local restaurant in Wicker Park. If I were fortunate enough to own this bike, I would consider it my prized posession. It is by far the most valuable item I have even had stolen and likely will ever have stolen in my life. I am now faced with not only coming up with $4-5,000 but for something that is not even mine. To say it is heartbreaking does not even come close.
I have been sobbing uncontrollably for hours now since filing the police and insurance reports knowing that it will likely not be covered under insurance because it is not owned by me. As I was sobbing even in the shower tonight, it occured to me that writing about the ride of my life this morning would at least allow me to forever savor the experience that this bike gave me this morning as I trained for my Half Ironman race in Michigan, which is in less than two weeks.
First of all, I would like to preface this story by expressing how grateful I am that all of my training to date has been the hard way. Sweat and tears. Yes, I have a fairly nice Trek road bike, but it is aluminum with only a carbon fork and it's not the right size for me, which subsequently compromises my performance. This is my third season in triathlon, and the first full season I have trained with a coach for the past 9 months. If I had a dollar for every times a fellow teammate suggested I move up to a triathlon bike for speed, I'd be able to pay off this stolen one in a heartbeat. You hear it along the way at some point, but it's true: you can only be as fast as the money you put into your bike. You want speed? Pay up. Well, you don't have to be in triathlon long to realize that triathlon is quickly becoming the sport of 30-somethings who have more money than they know what to do with- mostly attorneys, MBA guys, physicians (believe it or not, this sport is so addicting that even ER residents with newborns find time to train for Ironman at the elite level). I, very unfortunately, am not one of the independently wealthy :) Thus, the official all-carbon triathlon time trial bike purchase is way down on the needs-list but absolutely #1 on the wants-list.
Anyway, back to why I am so grateful I trained the old-school way of sweat and tears on my alumninum road bike. IT MADE ME WORK MY ASS OFF. I have been busting my ass in training since October to catch my friends who are riding at least 5-7 mph faster than me on their carbon triathlon bikes. Just to put things in perspective: 5-7 mph faster in Ironman over the course of 112 miles is equivalent to 2-2.5 HOURS OFF YOUR TIME. That is insane- 33% FASTER. It could be the difference in qualifying for Kona, literally. Now you see what money can buy.
I have been pestering Liz for a few months now to sell me her Cervelo. No dice still, but she did offer to rent it to me starting last week until Ironman Wisconsin on September 12th. She also offered to lend me her race wheels (another $2-3,000) and her aero helmet. You can substract at least another 20 minutes from my estimated finish time thanks to these upgrades. My first ride on it last week was shaky at best. I took it for a short ride up and down Hoyne Avenue, right in front of my condo. As if riding it up and down the same 4 blocks 10 times would make it a safer ride than just riding it 2 miles in one direction then turning around. Actually, though, the fact that I was so scared is because riding a triathlon bike is MUCH different than riding an aluminum road bike. First of all, the frame has a much more aggressive seat and aerobar angle compared to riding a road bike with clip-on aerobars like my own. You initially have less control of the bike because your center of gravity is much smaller. There is no room for error. Add to this scenario that the bike is so light that the smallest divet in the road can easliy send you in a tailspin face-planted into the road. My first impression was "holy shit." You better believe I am not going any further than up and down these 4 blocks!
I then took it for a second ride 2 nights later on the south lakefront path. Much less pedestrian/rollerblade/stroller/IPOD runners in the way to dart around plus there are a few inclines and hopefully 10-15 miles of riding I could do fairly interrupted. Well, it was better, but still not great. I hardly rode in the aero bars, which defeats the whole purpose of riding a time trial carbon triathlon bike. Plus, the path is narrow and it was too scary to navigate most of the pavement variation and people I came across. 90% of that 45-minute test ride was upright, not in the aeros. I go home that night thinking I will possibly give it one more try when I ride in Michigan, which was today. It was a big risk to take because I was also trying to get an estimated finish time for this course that I'll be racing on in 2 weeks. I had to have enough nerve to go out there with this bike for 56 miles (not 4 blocks), on a 2-lane highway for most of the course, and not only ride it to just get by, but ride it to hammer it. Hmmmm. It doesn't get riskier than that. All right, riding a new bike for the first time at a race may be the only riskier decision out there :)
So, I do it. I am one of those people that thinks things through, but very quickly, and then can pull the trigger and stick with it come hell or high water. I decided on friday, I am bringing the Cervelo to Michigan and I will kick ass with it. And, that's exactly what happened. From 10 feet out of the parking lot, I get in the aeros and stay there. I stay there on the highway, I stay there through some construction zones dodging neon orange cones, I stay there as I learn for the first time how to really use the shifters, I stay there on the climbs, and I stay there on the descents. Last year at this time, I averaged 15 mph on this same course. I look down at the computer- 20 mph average. 20 MPH AVERAGE!!!!!!!!!! WHAT!!!!!!!!!! And, I can feel that I am flying. On the climbs, when I would normally be cranking out 10-13mph, I was now hammering out a minimum of 18mph, uphill. On the flats, 22-23.5 mph for miles and miles and miles at a time. The sound of my wheels cutting through the air and the feeling of the speed on my skin was pure heaven. The ride was so smooth, like silk. I couldn't believe what was happening. Every rpm, every mile, was like a dream. I can't explain it. When you train as hard as I have been since October, you do it all for a moment like this. I would compare it to the day I defended my Master's Thesis. No one can understand what an individual goes through during 2 years of hard core research, writing, research, re-writing, collecting date, analyzing data, tweaking date, re-writing, re-submitting. It's not worth it to tell people you slept on the research lab sofa several nights a week because it doesn't matter. What matters is the final product, which you don't know until your defense day. 2 years of this quiet sacrificing and then suddenly a standing ovation at your Thesis defense. That's how I felt today on this bike. 9 months of busting my ass 6 days a week and sometimes 7. For an amatuer triathlete, your time is what it is usually. But when you bust your ass for 9 months then the true test of caliber comes when someone hands you a Cervelo and says, "Now let's see what you can REALLY do," then that is the thesis defense and an average of 20mph for a Half Ironman distance is the standing ovation. It is the difference between doing this for fun and doing this as an athlete on an elite triathlon team. I want the latter.
I'm not sure where this will all take me. I went from realizing my true potential as a future podium contender and daydreaming for a full 3 hours that this dream is going to be a reality in just 2 weeks as I race this same course for future consideration as an elite triathlete to having it all pulled out from under me. The money it will take to replace Liz's bike is one thing but the fact that I will not have this speed advantage at either of these races I have killed myself for since October is devastating. Yes, I might say I don't give a shit next year and just buy this same bike for myself but it will be put on a growing credit card from this sport. More concerning, is that I will be another year behind in a sport that favors being identified as soon as possible. I was about to say "only time will tell," but actually your attitude trumps all else. Even time. If you ask me what I will do, I'll tell you that regardless of what happens with losing $5,000 for someone else's bike, I will continue to bust my ass on my aluminum bike because it got me here in the first place and I'm smart enough to realize that. Consider it more drag for training, In the end, I will do it.
I have been sobbing uncontrollably for hours now since filing the police and insurance reports knowing that it will likely not be covered under insurance because it is not owned by me. As I was sobbing even in the shower tonight, it occured to me that writing about the ride of my life this morning would at least allow me to forever savor the experience that this bike gave me this morning as I trained for my Half Ironman race in Michigan, which is in less than two weeks.
First of all, I would like to preface this story by expressing how grateful I am that all of my training to date has been the hard way. Sweat and tears. Yes, I have a fairly nice Trek road bike, but it is aluminum with only a carbon fork and it's not the right size for me, which subsequently compromises my performance. This is my third season in triathlon, and the first full season I have trained with a coach for the past 9 months. If I had a dollar for every times a fellow teammate suggested I move up to a triathlon bike for speed, I'd be able to pay off this stolen one in a heartbeat. You hear it along the way at some point, but it's true: you can only be as fast as the money you put into your bike. You want speed? Pay up. Well, you don't have to be in triathlon long to realize that triathlon is quickly becoming the sport of 30-somethings who have more money than they know what to do with- mostly attorneys, MBA guys, physicians (believe it or not, this sport is so addicting that even ER residents with newborns find time to train for Ironman at the elite level). I, very unfortunately, am not one of the independently wealthy :) Thus, the official all-carbon triathlon time trial bike purchase is way down on the needs-list but absolutely #1 on the wants-list.
Anyway, back to why I am so grateful I trained the old-school way of sweat and tears on my alumninum road bike. IT MADE ME WORK MY ASS OFF. I have been busting my ass in training since October to catch my friends who are riding at least 5-7 mph faster than me on their carbon triathlon bikes. Just to put things in perspective: 5-7 mph faster in Ironman over the course of 112 miles is equivalent to 2-2.5 HOURS OFF YOUR TIME. That is insane- 33% FASTER. It could be the difference in qualifying for Kona, literally. Now you see what money can buy.
I have been pestering Liz for a few months now to sell me her Cervelo. No dice still, but she did offer to rent it to me starting last week until Ironman Wisconsin on September 12th. She also offered to lend me her race wheels (another $2-3,000) and her aero helmet. You can substract at least another 20 minutes from my estimated finish time thanks to these upgrades. My first ride on it last week was shaky at best. I took it for a short ride up and down Hoyne Avenue, right in front of my condo. As if riding it up and down the same 4 blocks 10 times would make it a safer ride than just riding it 2 miles in one direction then turning around. Actually, though, the fact that I was so scared is because riding a triathlon bike is MUCH different than riding an aluminum road bike. First of all, the frame has a much more aggressive seat and aerobar angle compared to riding a road bike with clip-on aerobars like my own. You initially have less control of the bike because your center of gravity is much smaller. There is no room for error. Add to this scenario that the bike is so light that the smallest divet in the road can easliy send you in a tailspin face-planted into the road. My first impression was "holy shit." You better believe I am not going any further than up and down these 4 blocks!
I then took it for a second ride 2 nights later on the south lakefront path. Much less pedestrian/rollerblade/stroller/IPOD runners in the way to dart around plus there are a few inclines and hopefully 10-15 miles of riding I could do fairly interrupted. Well, it was better, but still not great. I hardly rode in the aero bars, which defeats the whole purpose of riding a time trial carbon triathlon bike. Plus, the path is narrow and it was too scary to navigate most of the pavement variation and people I came across. 90% of that 45-minute test ride was upright, not in the aeros. I go home that night thinking I will possibly give it one more try when I ride in Michigan, which was today. It was a big risk to take because I was also trying to get an estimated finish time for this course that I'll be racing on in 2 weeks. I had to have enough nerve to go out there with this bike for 56 miles (not 4 blocks), on a 2-lane highway for most of the course, and not only ride it to just get by, but ride it to hammer it. Hmmmm. It doesn't get riskier than that. All right, riding a new bike for the first time at a race may be the only riskier decision out there :)
So, I do it. I am one of those people that thinks things through, but very quickly, and then can pull the trigger and stick with it come hell or high water. I decided on friday, I am bringing the Cervelo to Michigan and I will kick ass with it. And, that's exactly what happened. From 10 feet out of the parking lot, I get in the aeros and stay there. I stay there on the highway, I stay there through some construction zones dodging neon orange cones, I stay there as I learn for the first time how to really use the shifters, I stay there on the climbs, and I stay there on the descents. Last year at this time, I averaged 15 mph on this same course. I look down at the computer- 20 mph average. 20 MPH AVERAGE!!!!!!!!!! WHAT!!!!!!!!!! And, I can feel that I am flying. On the climbs, when I would normally be cranking out 10-13mph, I was now hammering out a minimum of 18mph, uphill. On the flats, 22-23.5 mph for miles and miles and miles at a time. The sound of my wheels cutting through the air and the feeling of the speed on my skin was pure heaven. The ride was so smooth, like silk. I couldn't believe what was happening. Every rpm, every mile, was like a dream. I can't explain it. When you train as hard as I have been since October, you do it all for a moment like this. I would compare it to the day I defended my Master's Thesis. No one can understand what an individual goes through during 2 years of hard core research, writing, research, re-writing, collecting date, analyzing data, tweaking date, re-writing, re-submitting. It's not worth it to tell people you slept on the research lab sofa several nights a week because it doesn't matter. What matters is the final product, which you don't know until your defense day. 2 years of this quiet sacrificing and then suddenly a standing ovation at your Thesis defense. That's how I felt today on this bike. 9 months of busting my ass 6 days a week and sometimes 7. For an amatuer triathlete, your time is what it is usually. But when you bust your ass for 9 months then the true test of caliber comes when someone hands you a Cervelo and says, "Now let's see what you can REALLY do," then that is the thesis defense and an average of 20mph for a Half Ironman distance is the standing ovation. It is the difference between doing this for fun and doing this as an athlete on an elite triathlon team. I want the latter.
I'm not sure where this will all take me. I went from realizing my true potential as a future podium contender and daydreaming for a full 3 hours that this dream is going to be a reality in just 2 weeks as I race this same course for future consideration as an elite triathlete to having it all pulled out from under me. The money it will take to replace Liz's bike is one thing but the fact that I will not have this speed advantage at either of these races I have killed myself for since October is devastating. Yes, I might say I don't give a shit next year and just buy this same bike for myself but it will be put on a growing credit card from this sport. More concerning, is that I will be another year behind in a sport that favors being identified as soon as possible. I was about to say "only time will tell," but actually your attitude trumps all else. Even time. If you ask me what I will do, I'll tell you that regardless of what happens with losing $5,000 for someone else's bike, I will continue to bust my ass on my aluminum bike because it got me here in the first place and I'm smart enough to realize that. Consider it more drag for training, In the end, I will do it.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
WEEK SEVENTEEN (and then some) Re-Cap!!!
I am writing the title in caps because I seriously cannot believe TEN WEEKS have passed -nearly THREE MONTHS- since I've had 30 minutes to update my blog. I've learned so much in these 10 weeks and have grown immensely as an athlete.
One of my last entries, from Week 4, shared the results of my first run test. I thought I had it going on, holding an 8:22 pace for 20 minutes. That was something else for me and a level of fitness I never dreamed of achieving. I remember telling Liz shortly after that test that I was psyched that my run speed was improving. The conversation went something like this:
"Hey. I am now able to hold an 8:50ish pace pretty consistently now for 3 miles or so on my long runs. Well, close to 3 miles. Maybe not a full 3 miles, but close. I've never been able to do that before, ever. That's good..... Right? That's good for me?"
"Yeah." [No other comments or expression from Liz as she still maintains her gaze on the computer screen while she analyzes our bike data from that night]
"That's good, right???? Or, not. ??"
"No, that's pretty good, but you should be faster. Someone your size should be a lot faster. But, that's good! Keep going."
Hmmmm. Not the reaction I was expecting. The following week, she elaborated on her comments about my speed and mostly what she gets across is that, if I want, I could be a LOT faster. How much faster? All she does is share HER paces with me, "since we're the same size." I go home that night with thoughts racing through my head that my coach just basically told me that it's only up to me to do it. I've been gifted with a small frame, one that should be fast, and that the right training will pay off. Her paces are not something I could imagine in a million years. Her paces are that of a Pro Triathlete who raced Kona twice and placed at the top of her age group in the most grueling race in the world.
Somewhere along the last day of Week 12, Sunday April 25, 2010 to be exact, and 8 weeks after this conversation, we had our second run test. It was my first race of the season actually, the Ravenswood 5K. We were given the option to do the test on a treadmill, or pick a local 5K. My options were the Ravenswood 5K or the Run To Wrigley. I decided the week before the test that I would race the Ravenswood 5K. At first I thought I had nothing to lose. No 5K in the last DECADE that I could even try to compare my results to- it would be a success any way you looked at it because certainly I was faster than some random 5K I ran in college for fun. It would be in my own neighborhood and I'd gain momentum from the crowd as opposed to on a treadmill. As the days ticked down to Sunday, rain was in the forecast and I was starting to get nervous about not only racing in the rain and how it would affect my test, but also that Liz would be looking at my time again. It was the highest compliment she could've paid me to compare my potential to her world status and success as a professional triathlete. It was sometime the day before the race that I randomly picked an 8:00/mile pace that I would like to hit. That would put me at a finishing time "somewhere in the 26-minute range. Really, in my wildest dreams, I confided in my brother, Ryan, that I was actually shooting privately to break the 25-minute time. That would be Heaven on Earth for me.
It poured that night like you'd never believe but I posted on Facebook, "Rain Rain Go Away, Come Back When It's Not Race Day. But, if you stay, I will be running so fast it won't even matter!!!!! Bring it on." And, I meant it. Liz coaches me everyday to accept racing is what you make it. If it rains, it's raining for everyone else as well. Get out there and GET IT DONE. I made a playlist for my iPOD that was exactly 25 minutes. If I ran any slower, I'd be finishing the race of a lifetime for me with no music left. I specifically had Madonna and Justine Timberlake's "4-Minutes" song synced with 4 minutes left in the race. I was serious now.
Mom picked me up early and we headed over. The rain subsided and even though it could pour again any second, it hadn't yet. For the first time ever before a race, I followed a plan from my coach to warm up 10 minutes EZ, then another 10 minutes of spinting/EZ. Another first was positioning myself in the 8 min/mile pace group. This was really happening. That 8:22 test pace 8 weeks ago seemed like a lifetime ago. The national anthem was sung and the horn went off. I looked down at my Garmin 1/2 mile in and it said a 7 minute pace. This can't be possible. I'm really doing this! But I needed to find a balance quick and hold it. I raced my heart out and couldn't believe each turn I made I was experiencing a moment like never before. I was literally at the top of my game. I looked at my Garmin maybe one other time only because I was so focused and it was in the 7:30 range. This is insane! After my last turn onto Wilson, I could see the finish line 1/2 mile out and my song was just now starting. I was in. I crossed the finish line in 22:55. The pace ended up being 7:22. I placed 12/421 in my age group. The 50th female overall.
That race was the beginning for me. Up until now, my goal was to finish Ironman, ideally with a smile on my face and saying something like "this was the best experience of my life." Now, my mind is full of what the times look like for my age group for each race I compete in. What does the top 50 look like? What does the top 25 look like? What does the top 10 look like? Never in a million years did I think I'd be legitimately analyzing my age group.
This race was also the first of 4 races in 6 weeks for me, during a time of seriously builds and an intensity for the bike, run and swim that I've never experienced before for steady daily training. My next race was the following weekend at the Palos Hills Half Marathon. Liz had congratulated me on my performance with more excitement than my last test and actually seemed very satisfied with my efforts. I didn't mention, I paced one of the WellFit Elite team athletes during that race. The Half Marathon would be a whole new experience as well. The last one I raced one year ago was a HUGE 23-minute PR for me at 1:58.02. I was doing track workouts for the first time ever as part of the Steelhead Half Ironman training and couldn't believe I could break the 2-hour mark.
I asked Liz about the 3.5 hour training ride scheduled for the day before the half mary. Surely, she wouldn't be happy with me for suggesting I could still do this ride and then race the next morning in a half marathon. Her response?
"Of course you can still do the ride. You HAVE to do the ride."
End of discussion.
Next question:
"What kind of pace should I consider since we JUST did our run test 48 hours ago and my new paces will be, well, sort-of too fast for me right now to follow for a HALF MARATHON?"
"You should follow the new paces I just emailed you."
"It's an 8-8:15 pace though."
"Yep!"
hmmmm. Alrighty then. 3 1/2 hours of hills on the bike on saturday at the end of our first big build week and then race a half mary at my new insanely fast pace for me on sunday. And, so I did. I hurt like hell during that race, which was all rolling hills, but I heard her words during the race. If you're going to sign up for a race, then race it. There's no la-la-ing out there during a race. What's the point."
1:51.12, an 8:30 pace for a half marathon. 16th in my age group. I have arrived.
The following week, Week 14, was a milestone as well. I met the hills of Madison for first time as I rode one loop plus an additional 5 miles of the actual Ironman bike course in the sleet and rain with a high of 38 degrees. I had no idea what to expect but I was ready for the meeting. I drove up to Verona in rush hour later after work to share a hotel room with Akemi. It was the first time on the course, but it wouldn't be the last. I did the first loop in sleet and rain in 2:45, a goal that Liz had set for me. I would go back the following weekend to challenge myself again on these hills and rode the course solo in 2:38. In one week, I improved by 7 minutes. Granted, I was wearing 5 less pounds of clothing, but a lesson applied was maximizing momentum on the downhills to carry up on the climbs. I really am doing this and loving it.
Week 16 brought another milestone. Galena. A triathlon for the brave. This race was just on Saturday, 5 days ago. It would be cold and the climbs would be aggressive. I decided to get in the lake (Lake Michigan, that is) on Wednesday, May 20, a record for most triathletes to get in the water. If I had to guess, MAYBE 10 other athletes in the entire city of Chicago hit the lake this early. I was going to be prepared, though, because this is how I've been trained. My focus is to the point that nothing really phases me anymore. I was racing in 3 days and I needed to get in the water. Didn't matter that no one else was going. Didn't matter that I was stuck at work until 6:00 at night. Didn't matter that the air temperature was 60 degrees and the water temperature was low 50s at best. What did matter was that I am a different athlete than before, and I take things pretty seriously now.
When I got to Galena finally, way too late on friday after forgetting my front wheel in the garage due to rain, I was a mess. It was a two-transition race, something I've never experienced before. Also, I've never competed in a race that I didn't know the course. There was no time to drive it and barely time to understand what does in the T1 bag and what goes in the T2 bag. When should I rack my bike? It's a 45 minute drive, it's getting dark, and these country roads suck. What time should I get up if I need to do all of this in the morning? Where the hell is T2 then? I was lost and was suddenly following the lead of others rather than myself. In the end, the transition situation worked itself out thanks to Tim Kolar, smooth operator of racing. We drove to T2 first at 7am to drop off the running gear then drove to the swim start for the race and to rack our bikes at T1. As we cruised the Galena hills to the race start, and I mean REAL HILLS with guardrails even, I was finally introduced to the course. It was going to be my toughest race to date judging by the steep and long climbs. Some of them went on for 1/3 of a mile and dropped off a ridge that I almost wouldn't care to drive my car down.
The temp was good, maybe 60-65 and the rain subsided overnight. We arrived with enough time for me to rack my bike, set up transition (T1), check out the swim course visually sort-of, and then enough time to take my bike out of transition to trial a quick run of the steep hill out of T1 that almost required a granny gear. When I realized I could get up the hill that fellow non-elite teammates feared, I was feeling good. After getting back to T1, timing the port-o-potty visits, and placing flip flops for gravel, I was ready to go. Wetsuit on, I found Erika and we headed to the swim start. The race was delayed by 20 minutes due to fog but that gave us time to put our feet in the chilly water. We ran into Chris Waterstraat, Liz's husband. He was very calming and asked us when we were planning on getting in the water. We avoided this at all cost for fear that it would be too cold and ironincally throw us off. This was my final moment as a novice athlete. Just putting my feet it. Chris convinced us to go it and get water inside our wetsuits to at least get acclimated. And, so we did. Once in, it only made sense to swim it out a bit. Didn't matter if it was 5 strokes or 50, we were in, swimming, getting ready. Yes, it was cold, yes it was full of seaweed and algae, yes it was so murky you could feel the thickness of the river as we swam. However, there now were no surprises and finally, I was ready for this race.
The swim was great, I felt stronger than ever and sighted really well. It is an odd distance for a triathlon, falling somewhere between a sprint and an olympic distance. Plus insane hills. I had no idea what a good time for me should be but somehow I got "2 hours" in my head randomly. So, it was. Out of the water in 12:35 for about 700 yards, way too long in transition looking for flip flops (lesson learned), 17.4 miles or so on the hilliest course yet in just about 1:05.00 including 5-7 minutes for a dropped chain, and a 4.3 mile run with very challenging climbs. When I left T2, my watch said 1:19 and change. I heard Christine being announced as the first female across the finish and I knew that 40 minutes would typically be enough time for me to hammer out 4.3 miles if it was flat. I wanted that 40 minutes more than life itself at that point. 200 yards into the run, you descend a large hill, turn a corner and see a climb that is at least 1.2 miles long ahead of you. You see people everywhere just stopped, doubled over, wondering what they got themselves into. I could not make this up if I tried. My legs were heavy but I didn't stop. There was a fellow age grouper, #554, that I was playing cat and mouse with the entire bike and there she was again on the run. I'd pass her, she'd pass me, I'd pass her, she'd pass me. At mile 2.5, it finally sort of leveled off for what looked like 200 yards. When I was dying from that insane climb, I made a break for it and didn't look back. The last mile was painful- a big switchback downhill that you know you still have to climb on the return that also revealed a sister hill up (and down) for the final 1/2 mile. Once up the last hill, I was home free, passing the mile 4 marker and sprinted my ass off to the finish. Liz was 100 yards from the finish cheering.
2:00.30.
I did it, even with the hills, even with the chain, even with not knowing the course, I did it. Even though it isn't really fair to say, if I hadn't dropped my chain and gained those 5-7 minutes, I would've easily placed in the top 15 of my age group for an incredibly challenging course. Even at 2:00, I was only 17 minutes off of Heather, a fellow athlete friend of mine and roommate for the weekend but elite team member, who placed 3rd in our age group. I placed 27.
So many people make so many comments to me about Ironman and the training it requires.
"I don't know how you can do that."
"Your body isn't meant to tolerate that kind of training."
"How do you do it? Aren't you exhausted?"
"You deserve a break."
Training for Ironman is a gift. It is a gift of mental tenacity, physcial strength, finances, endurance and perseverance. You have to be ready for Ironman. It is not a race of pride, but rather of satisfaction. I train 6 days/week for 10 months straight because I feel the truest sense of satisfaction. I test myself every day to be stronger and race smarter. I absorb new strategies that make me faster because I'm wiser and I trust my coach. Ironman is not something that you do for a dare. It's not a level of training that you can make excuses for if it's cold, or you're tired, or you're sick, or you're busy or you want to go out. Ironman is the biggest committment you'll make as an athlete and it's the most important one because you commit fully, to yourself.
One of my last entries, from Week 4, shared the results of my first run test. I thought I had it going on, holding an 8:22 pace for 20 minutes. That was something else for me and a level of fitness I never dreamed of achieving. I remember telling Liz shortly after that test that I was psyched that my run speed was improving. The conversation went something like this:
"Hey. I am now able to hold an 8:50ish pace pretty consistently now for 3 miles or so on my long runs. Well, close to 3 miles. Maybe not a full 3 miles, but close. I've never been able to do that before, ever. That's good..... Right? That's good for me?"
"Yeah." [No other comments or expression from Liz as she still maintains her gaze on the computer screen while she analyzes our bike data from that night]
"That's good, right???? Or, not. ??"
"No, that's pretty good, but you should be faster. Someone your size should be a lot faster. But, that's good! Keep going."
Hmmmm. Not the reaction I was expecting. The following week, she elaborated on her comments about my speed and mostly what she gets across is that, if I want, I could be a LOT faster. How much faster? All she does is share HER paces with me, "since we're the same size." I go home that night with thoughts racing through my head that my coach just basically told me that it's only up to me to do it. I've been gifted with a small frame, one that should be fast, and that the right training will pay off. Her paces are not something I could imagine in a million years. Her paces are that of a Pro Triathlete who raced Kona twice and placed at the top of her age group in the most grueling race in the world.
Somewhere along the last day of Week 12, Sunday April 25, 2010 to be exact, and 8 weeks after this conversation, we had our second run test. It was my first race of the season actually, the Ravenswood 5K. We were given the option to do the test on a treadmill, or pick a local 5K. My options were the Ravenswood 5K or the Run To Wrigley. I decided the week before the test that I would race the Ravenswood 5K. At first I thought I had nothing to lose. No 5K in the last DECADE that I could even try to compare my results to- it would be a success any way you looked at it because certainly I was faster than some random 5K I ran in college for fun. It would be in my own neighborhood and I'd gain momentum from the crowd as opposed to on a treadmill. As the days ticked down to Sunday, rain was in the forecast and I was starting to get nervous about not only racing in the rain and how it would affect my test, but also that Liz would be looking at my time again. It was the highest compliment she could've paid me to compare my potential to her world status and success as a professional triathlete. It was sometime the day before the race that I randomly picked an 8:00/mile pace that I would like to hit. That would put me at a finishing time "somewhere in the 26-minute range. Really, in my wildest dreams, I confided in my brother, Ryan, that I was actually shooting privately to break the 25-minute time. That would be Heaven on Earth for me.
It poured that night like you'd never believe but I posted on Facebook, "Rain Rain Go Away, Come Back When It's Not Race Day. But, if you stay, I will be running so fast it won't even matter!!!!! Bring it on." And, I meant it. Liz coaches me everyday to accept racing is what you make it. If it rains, it's raining for everyone else as well. Get out there and GET IT DONE. I made a playlist for my iPOD that was exactly 25 minutes. If I ran any slower, I'd be finishing the race of a lifetime for me with no music left. I specifically had Madonna and Justine Timberlake's "4-Minutes" song synced with 4 minutes left in the race. I was serious now.
Mom picked me up early and we headed over. The rain subsided and even though it could pour again any second, it hadn't yet. For the first time ever before a race, I followed a plan from my coach to warm up 10 minutes EZ, then another 10 minutes of spinting/EZ. Another first was positioning myself in the 8 min/mile pace group. This was really happening. That 8:22 test pace 8 weeks ago seemed like a lifetime ago. The national anthem was sung and the horn went off. I looked down at my Garmin 1/2 mile in and it said a 7 minute pace. This can't be possible. I'm really doing this! But I needed to find a balance quick and hold it. I raced my heart out and couldn't believe each turn I made I was experiencing a moment like never before. I was literally at the top of my game. I looked at my Garmin maybe one other time only because I was so focused and it was in the 7:30 range. This is insane! After my last turn onto Wilson, I could see the finish line 1/2 mile out and my song was just now starting. I was in. I crossed the finish line in 22:55. The pace ended up being 7:22. I placed 12/421 in my age group. The 50th female overall.
That race was the beginning for me. Up until now, my goal was to finish Ironman, ideally with a smile on my face and saying something like "this was the best experience of my life." Now, my mind is full of what the times look like for my age group for each race I compete in. What does the top 50 look like? What does the top 25 look like? What does the top 10 look like? Never in a million years did I think I'd be legitimately analyzing my age group.
This race was also the first of 4 races in 6 weeks for me, during a time of seriously builds and an intensity for the bike, run and swim that I've never experienced before for steady daily training. My next race was the following weekend at the Palos Hills Half Marathon. Liz had congratulated me on my performance with more excitement than my last test and actually seemed very satisfied with my efforts. I didn't mention, I paced one of the WellFit Elite team athletes during that race. The Half Marathon would be a whole new experience as well. The last one I raced one year ago was a HUGE 23-minute PR for me at 1:58.02. I was doing track workouts for the first time ever as part of the Steelhead Half Ironman training and couldn't believe I could break the 2-hour mark.
I asked Liz about the 3.5 hour training ride scheduled for the day before the half mary. Surely, she wouldn't be happy with me for suggesting I could still do this ride and then race the next morning in a half marathon. Her response?
"Of course you can still do the ride. You HAVE to do the ride."
End of discussion.
Next question:
"What kind of pace should I consider since we JUST did our run test 48 hours ago and my new paces will be, well, sort-of too fast for me right now to follow for a HALF MARATHON?"
"You should follow the new paces I just emailed you."
"It's an 8-8:15 pace though."
"Yep!"
hmmmm. Alrighty then. 3 1/2 hours of hills on the bike on saturday at the end of our first big build week and then race a half mary at my new insanely fast pace for me on sunday. And, so I did. I hurt like hell during that race, which was all rolling hills, but I heard her words during the race. If you're going to sign up for a race, then race it. There's no la-la-ing out there during a race. What's the point."
1:51.12, an 8:30 pace for a half marathon. 16th in my age group. I have arrived.
The following week, Week 14, was a milestone as well. I met the hills of Madison for first time as I rode one loop plus an additional 5 miles of the actual Ironman bike course in the sleet and rain with a high of 38 degrees. I had no idea what to expect but I was ready for the meeting. I drove up to Verona in rush hour later after work to share a hotel room with Akemi. It was the first time on the course, but it wouldn't be the last. I did the first loop in sleet and rain in 2:45, a goal that Liz had set for me. I would go back the following weekend to challenge myself again on these hills and rode the course solo in 2:38. In one week, I improved by 7 minutes. Granted, I was wearing 5 less pounds of clothing, but a lesson applied was maximizing momentum on the downhills to carry up on the climbs. I really am doing this and loving it.
Week 16 brought another milestone. Galena. A triathlon for the brave. This race was just on Saturday, 5 days ago. It would be cold and the climbs would be aggressive. I decided to get in the lake (Lake Michigan, that is) on Wednesday, May 20, a record for most triathletes to get in the water. If I had to guess, MAYBE 10 other athletes in the entire city of Chicago hit the lake this early. I was going to be prepared, though, because this is how I've been trained. My focus is to the point that nothing really phases me anymore. I was racing in 3 days and I needed to get in the water. Didn't matter that no one else was going. Didn't matter that I was stuck at work until 6:00 at night. Didn't matter that the air temperature was 60 degrees and the water temperature was low 50s at best. What did matter was that I am a different athlete than before, and I take things pretty seriously now.
When I got to Galena finally, way too late on friday after forgetting my front wheel in the garage due to rain, I was a mess. It was a two-transition race, something I've never experienced before. Also, I've never competed in a race that I didn't know the course. There was no time to drive it and barely time to understand what does in the T1 bag and what goes in the T2 bag. When should I rack my bike? It's a 45 minute drive, it's getting dark, and these country roads suck. What time should I get up if I need to do all of this in the morning? Where the hell is T2 then? I was lost and was suddenly following the lead of others rather than myself. In the end, the transition situation worked itself out thanks to Tim Kolar, smooth operator of racing. We drove to T2 first at 7am to drop off the running gear then drove to the swim start for the race and to rack our bikes at T1. As we cruised the Galena hills to the race start, and I mean REAL HILLS with guardrails even, I was finally introduced to the course. It was going to be my toughest race to date judging by the steep and long climbs. Some of them went on for 1/3 of a mile and dropped off a ridge that I almost wouldn't care to drive my car down.
The temp was good, maybe 60-65 and the rain subsided overnight. We arrived with enough time for me to rack my bike, set up transition (T1), check out the swim course visually sort-of, and then enough time to take my bike out of transition to trial a quick run of the steep hill out of T1 that almost required a granny gear. When I realized I could get up the hill that fellow non-elite teammates feared, I was feeling good. After getting back to T1, timing the port-o-potty visits, and placing flip flops for gravel, I was ready to go. Wetsuit on, I found Erika and we headed to the swim start. The race was delayed by 20 minutes due to fog but that gave us time to put our feet in the chilly water. We ran into Chris Waterstraat, Liz's husband. He was very calming and asked us when we were planning on getting in the water. We avoided this at all cost for fear that it would be too cold and ironincally throw us off. This was my final moment as a novice athlete. Just putting my feet it. Chris convinced us to go it and get water inside our wetsuits to at least get acclimated. And, so we did. Once in, it only made sense to swim it out a bit. Didn't matter if it was 5 strokes or 50, we were in, swimming, getting ready. Yes, it was cold, yes it was full of seaweed and algae, yes it was so murky you could feel the thickness of the river as we swam. However, there now were no surprises and finally, I was ready for this race.
The swim was great, I felt stronger than ever and sighted really well. It is an odd distance for a triathlon, falling somewhere between a sprint and an olympic distance. Plus insane hills. I had no idea what a good time for me should be but somehow I got "2 hours" in my head randomly. So, it was. Out of the water in 12:35 for about 700 yards, way too long in transition looking for flip flops (lesson learned), 17.4 miles or so on the hilliest course yet in just about 1:05.00 including 5-7 minutes for a dropped chain, and a 4.3 mile run with very challenging climbs. When I left T2, my watch said 1:19 and change. I heard Christine being announced as the first female across the finish and I knew that 40 minutes would typically be enough time for me to hammer out 4.3 miles if it was flat. I wanted that 40 minutes more than life itself at that point. 200 yards into the run, you descend a large hill, turn a corner and see a climb that is at least 1.2 miles long ahead of you. You see people everywhere just stopped, doubled over, wondering what they got themselves into. I could not make this up if I tried. My legs were heavy but I didn't stop. There was a fellow age grouper, #554, that I was playing cat and mouse with the entire bike and there she was again on the run. I'd pass her, she'd pass me, I'd pass her, she'd pass me. At mile 2.5, it finally sort of leveled off for what looked like 200 yards. When I was dying from that insane climb, I made a break for it and didn't look back. The last mile was painful- a big switchback downhill that you know you still have to climb on the return that also revealed a sister hill up (and down) for the final 1/2 mile. Once up the last hill, I was home free, passing the mile 4 marker and sprinted my ass off to the finish. Liz was 100 yards from the finish cheering.
2:00.30.
I did it, even with the hills, even with the chain, even with not knowing the course, I did it. Even though it isn't really fair to say, if I hadn't dropped my chain and gained those 5-7 minutes, I would've easily placed in the top 15 of my age group for an incredibly challenging course. Even at 2:00, I was only 17 minutes off of Heather, a fellow athlete friend of mine and roommate for the weekend but elite team member, who placed 3rd in our age group. I placed 27.
So many people make so many comments to me about Ironman and the training it requires.
"I don't know how you can do that."
"Your body isn't meant to tolerate that kind of training."
"How do you do it? Aren't you exhausted?"
"You deserve a break."
Training for Ironman is a gift. It is a gift of mental tenacity, physcial strength, finances, endurance and perseverance. You have to be ready for Ironman. It is not a race of pride, but rather of satisfaction. I train 6 days/week for 10 months straight because I feel the truest sense of satisfaction. I test myself every day to be stronger and race smarter. I absorb new strategies that make me faster because I'm wiser and I trust my coach. Ironman is not something that you do for a dare. It's not a level of training that you can make excuses for if it's cold, or you're tired, or you're sick, or you're busy or you want to go out. Ironman is the biggest committment you'll make as an athlete and it's the most important one because you commit fully, to yourself.
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