My day started when the alarm went off just before 5. I quickly dressed in the dark, grabbed a banana, and headed out the door. This early in the day, I immediately noted that my stress level was practically non-existent. On a normal race day, my hands are shaking, I am sweating, and I am wondering why in the world I signed up for this thing. Yesterday was very different. I was still wondering what on earth I was doing, but I wasn’t the least bit nervous about it. I felt no pressure, no stress, no anxiety - there were literally zero expectations tied to this day. I knew that if things went according to plan, I would be finished around 1 PM. Otherwise, I literally had zero expectations for the day. Only 7 people knew what I was doing, so nobody else had any expectations either.
I drove to the fitness Center and arrived just after they opened. When I got down to the pool, I had the place to myself. It was a little chilly, so I didn’t waste much time getting in the water. As I pushed off the wall, I sang the national anthem in my head. While there was no canon to mark the beginning of my day, race day was officially underway. I prayed a significant portion of the swim and just generally enjoyed the 47 minutes alone with my thoughts. I hauled myself out of the pool, hustled to the locker room, and began my preparation for the bike portion of my day.
Swim time - 47:37
Transition 1 - unknown, unofficial, unimportant
I had tossed around the idea of doing 56 miles on the Texas City Dike. Race day conditions would’ve been perfect for it as there was virtually no wind. After several conversations with Doug about my plans for the day, we both decided that riding alone on the Dike and subsequently packing up and driving home afterwards was not the safest idea. There are about 10 million details about these conversations that I could get into, but I’ll save you the verbal tennis match. We decided the best course of action would be to put my bike on the trainer and maintain a steady pace at 16 miles an hour for 3 1/2 hours. When I got home from the pool, my bike and nutrition were already set up from the night before. I made myself a bowl of oatmeal, jumped on my bike, and started pedaling. At this point in the day, my children were just waking up and the morning routine began around me. I conducted my part of their activities from the saddle and helped Doug remember all the things. We usually divide and conquer in the mornings, so he’s not that familiar with the part I play. Miraculously, they walked out the door exactly on time for school. I got a quick kiss and a sweaty side hug from both of my kids and kept right on pedaling.
The next 210 minutes passed mostly uneventful with one exception. About 30 minutes before I was finished, I got a call from the school nurse. I would like to point out the last three races I have done, I have gotten a call from somebody about one of my children either at the athlete briefing (IMTX17 when Lia sprained her arm), driving to IM Waco 18 (when Daniel’s teachers needed to talk to me about his inability to pass off a specific lesson in Dreambox - don’t ask), and now for my make-believe race (where Lia tripped over a tree root, fell, and hurt her leg “so badly” that the PE coach had to put her in a wheelchair - please note that she went to school today without a wheelchair, crutches, a brace, or a bruise…). At any rate - my parents were in the area and picked her up for us.
By the time they arrived at home, I had 3 minutes left on my bike. Doug helped Lia hop on one foot to the couch, my dad got her an ice pack, and my mom got her a blanket and The Princess Bride. I climbed off my bike and got ready to run. I was actually feeling really great at this point, perhaps because I religiously consumed Honey Stinger Waffles, had NOT been fighting the winds of Galveston or the hills of Waco or Montgomery, or because I had nothing to focus on aside from moving my legs in circles. No traffic, no potholes, no other racers shouting out, “on your left!“. Whatever it was, I was grateful for it.
Bike time - 3:30:01
Transition 2 - unknown, unofficial, unimportant
Thus began the grueling part of my day, but not as grueling as I had anticipated. Running 13 miles is hard. Running 13 miles by yourself is harder. Running 13 miles by yourself after riding your bike for 3 1/2 hours and swimming 1.21 miles is the hardest. Me and my water bottle and my shot blocks got to work. My amazing parents showed up to be my mobile aid station. They met me around the 2 mile mark with cold oranges, bottled water, and Gatorade. Aid station volunteers are among the most amazing humans on earth. When it is your own mom and dad, it is truly next level. They opened my bottles, took my trash, and gave me encouragement. My next aid station was my own house. I was able to go to the bathroom (not in a porta potty!) and restock my nutrition. I also snuck in a quick kiss on Lia‘s head, which definitely made it feel like Ironman. My kids have been there for almost every race and I was actually pretty sad that they wouldn’t be there for this one. What a nice surprise tripping over a tree route turned out to be.
With 4.5 miles on my watch, I started doing race math. For anyone who has ever raced, you know what I’m talking about. With the flexibility to run whatever course I chose, race math was (again) next level. My route was to be three figure eights around the lakes in my neighborhood. On this lap, I got creative and added some mileage. My thought process went something like this… If I can manage to get 10 miles in before I get back home, I will just have a 5K left to do when I get home. I had already far exceeded my expectations on the run. I was certain if I could keep up this pace, I would really have the best race ever.
I remember meeting with Heather last May when I began strength training. She asked me about my goals for this race. Truthfully, all I wanted was to have a good day. I have never had a race where I didn’t cramp up, throw up, or want to give up. My initial plan had been a five-to-one run walk ratio. At this point, I had been maintaining a 1 mile/1 minute run walk ratio. If I could continue that strategy, I would be finished in record time. I just had to somehow manage not to cramp up or throw up.
My strategy almost worked and by the time I arrived back at home, I had 3.6 miles left to go. Unfortunately, my Apple Watch was not in it to win it. I exchanged my watch for my Garmin, refueled once more, and set out for the final leg of my journey. I told my family to expect me back in about 40 to 45 minutes. This was by far the hardest part of my day. My legs felt like lead and I was running out of things to think about. I was still in good spirits and miraculously never found myself at the entrance to the pain cave. I was able to spend most of my time thinking or talking to God, but by now, I was running out of things to say to Him. I convinced Doug to go with me for this last portion. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much to say to him, either. Ironman has strict rules against non-racers joining you on the course, so this was a new and different experience for me. By mile 67 of a 70-mile race, all I ever want is to stop moving and to be with my family. Having 50% of my needs met was pretty amazing and I relished the companionable quiet. After a few minutes of nothing but footfalls and breathing, Doug turned back and I continued on the last little bit.
My strategy on this last portion was simple - run 1.8 miles, turn around, and come back. That 1.8 went on and on and on and on. When I finally got to the turnaround, I was home free. The last 20 minutes flew by and before I knew it, I was turning the corner to the literal homestretch. I saw something I 100% did not expect - an actual finish line complete with handmade signs my kids had made for me. I have never gotten choked up at a finish line until that moment. I guess seeing your parents at the finish line means a whole lot more when they’re the only ones there. No pomp. No crowd. No finisher’s medal. Just the two people who have supported you through everything you’ve ever done in your entire life. The two people who gave you life, gave you opportunity, and gave you encouragement beyond your wildest expectations. My throat closed up and my chest got tight as I ran those last few meters into my driveway. The enormity of what I had just completed (mostly) by myself really just hit me. I had to fight back tears, but not for long.
By the time I got to my crepe paper finish line and my mom and dad’s hugs, I was all smiles. It was over. My 70-mile journey complete. I caught my breath, took a few pictures, and said goodbye. When I pushed the door open, Doug said, “how much longer do you have?”
“I’m finished,” I said. “It’s over.”
“What?? I thought I had like 10 minutes left! I missed the finish?”
“Yup - but mom and dad made me a finish line. I’m done.”
A previous version of myself would’ve been disappointed. This version of myself was just grateful. Grateful for the mile Doug ran with me. Grateful for quick kisses from Lia between laps. Grateful for cold oranges and encouragement from my parents at every turn. When I said I wanted to have a good day, I couldn’t have possibly dreamed up a day *this* good. No cramps. No wall. No pain cave. And to top it all of? A 20-minute PR.
I grabbed my crepe paper finish line and claimed my personal victory. When I said, “I’m done,” I meant it in a lot of ways. My 10-year run of racing and triathlon has been amazing, but it’s time for Ironman to take a seat in my life. I thought I would be sad, but I feel so good about the day that I had and the closure that came with it that I don’t even feel a hint of sadness. I’m happy to call it quits this time and in this way and when April 3 rolls around, I’ll be sitting poolside, cheering my guts out for my baby girl, and not feeling the slightest hint of regret.
Goodbye, Ironman. It’s been real.
