Race report! #im703tx #himtx

Here is my long-anticipated (by exactly nobody!) race report! It will be long and it will be detailed, but guess what? It's for me. If you happen to enjoy it, yay. But I really expect exactly zero other people to read this. This is my account of the Galveston Ironman 70.3.

My race report begins Friday. I rode down to Galveston with my parents and my kids to get my race packet and check in. My sweet girl wore her Aurora dress and Tinkerbell shoes and it was epic. I zipped right through check-in as there were approximately 12 people there checking in. The first guy I happened upon asked if I was on the All World Athlete list and I almost died laughing. Taylor got me my wrist band, bib, and packet o' stickers and wished me well. Some super tall blonde dude got me a shirt and assured me I'd be fine, especially since I'm from the area and I'd been training in the humidity. At this point, I meandered over to the Mandatory Athlete Briefing and listened to all the details, including the fact that the water temperature was 75.5 (for those who don't know, anything above 76.1 is no longer wetsuit legal). This was in my head, but only a little. I know Texas weather and I was holding out hope that the water temp would stay down over the next 36 hours. After check-in, we tooled around the island and headed over to La King's for some candy and ice cream, which was pretty much torture. I somehow managed to resist temptation and diligently drank my water and Vitalyte.

Our amazing friends - the Longos - invited us over for spaghetti dinner and early carb loading that evening. Oddly enough, they had just picked up a kid off the side of the road who is 7 weeks into a journey from Tampa to San Diego on his bicycle. He's here from Holland and is just an amazing conversation piece. We swapped stories about cycling and I came to the conclusion that 56 miles on a tri bike was no big deal (he simultaneously came to the conclusion that 56 miles on a tri bike is insane). Anywho, Mr. Matt prayed for my race and Tys's journey, we ate a metric ton of spaghetti, we laughed until we hurt, and that was that.

Saturday afternoon, my SBMAT teammate - the amazing Sarah Kelley - picked me and Bruce the Bike up and we headed to Galveston. The athlete check-in line was nearly 3 hours long. Holy. Moley. I was so grateful we had made the extra trip to the island on Friday to save me from that madness! We racked our bikes, checked out the swim start, and headed home. After my traditional dinner of Fettuccine Alfredo and roasted broccoli, I was off to bed to toss and turn and turn and toss and toss and turn. I think I finally drifted off around midnight and was up by 4. I kissed my husband goodbye, snuck a quick kiss from my sleeping girl (Daniel was sleeping over with my folks), and headed out to face the day.

Heather picked me up. I warned her the night before that nerves either make me shut down completely or chat incessantly. Chatty Sheri showed up and I gabbed all the way to the race. I think I managed to choke down 6 bites of oatmeal and almond butter. The rest of my oatmeal is still in the back of Heather's truck. Barf. We parked, hiked the half mile to transition, and parted ways for the moment.

Transition set-up was quick and easy. I had taken a picture of my transition practice and knew exactly where I wanted everything. I got it situated, aired up the tires, and found a portapotty. I found Heather, Randi, Adam, and the Katy TriCrew outside of transition and hung around for a while. After the cannon went off for the first swim start, I started nervously edging toward the dock. Everyone who had done this race in the past assured me it would be wetsuit legal. "That's the coldest water I've ever jumped in." "This race has ALWAYS been wetsuit legal." "Why on earth would it NOT be wetsuit legal?" Well guess what? Race morning water temp = 77 degrees = .9 degrees too warm for a wetsuit. I had nearly 2 hours to make peace with that and by the time I headed to the dock among many panicked athletes, I was confident enough in my abilities to knock out the 1.2 miles wetsuit-free.

The swim start was in my top three favorite moments of the entire day. I gathered with my fellow pink caps and we all stood around smiling and trying not to puke on ourselves. I met so many amazing women standing on that dock, but only one name stuck in my head - Bonnie. I had people compliment my kit and ask me how many races I'd done. I had people assure me it was going to be amazing. I had people ask me where I was from and how long I'd been training and what my goal was. But as we left dry land and walked onto that dock, Bonnie and her friend were holding hands and walking in solidarity down that dock to face the day. Fears, dreams, doubts - I don't know what they were facing, but they were doing it together. I smiled at them and said I wished I had somebody to hold my hand. Without hesitating, they let go of each other and each reached for my hands. And here I was, walking hand in hand with two strangers to the water's edge to tackle the most incredible challenge I'd ever laid before myself. In that moment, all of my fears and apprehension and anxiety and doubt washed away and I knew it was going to be ok.

After I'd had this moment of clarity, the speakers began blasting All the Single Ladies and that dock erupted in a wild, joyous dance of silliness. The 35-39 women were here to play! We were all shimmying and snapping and skipping down the dock like we were at some wild dance party and MAN it was fun. A bunch of kindred spirits getting ready to do what we love and love what we do and that music was perfect to begin our journey. After I cavorted to the edge of the dock, I yelled, "CANNONBALLLLLLL!" and splashed into the water like a maniac. Everyone made their way to the starting line and the announcer asked how many women were here for their first 70.3. I kid you not, half of us hooted or hollered or waved our hands. And the other half? They cheered and hooted and hollered and wished us all the best on our adventure. I couldn't help myself. I shouted out 10 seconds before the horn, "I LOVE THIS SPORT!" Everyone cheered and laughed and agreed with me and off we went.

I had been so worried about the swim. It's my weakest link, I said. I'm not a strong swimmer, I said. Once that horn went off, none of that mattered. I started swimming and before I knew it, the first buoy was coming up. I had counted the buoys on the map, but I was so busy keeping myself distracted, I forgot to count them when they were right there in front of me. The map showed 6/10/4 (I think), but in reality, it was more like 3/6/2. By the time I rounded the first turn, I had caught up to the wave in front of me, which was utterly shocking to me. Of course by this point, the wave behind me had caught up to me, but whatever, man. I was DOING it and doing it well enough to catch somebody! My friend Melissa had called me on Thursday to give me an amazing pep talk. She mentioned that the side with 10 buoys will feel like "you've been swimming it your whooooooole life and it will never end." I'm not sure if it was the decreased number of buoys or the fact that my amazing Ironman friend said it would be so long (or maybe both), but it seemed like no time at all that I was upon the red turn buoy and I could see the swim exit. Just as I rounded the turn buoy, somebody ran his arm down the length of my right leg and BOOM. Leg cramp. I could see the exit and hear the announcer and NO. WAY. was I letting this stop me! I kicked like a crazy person and the cramp worked itself out. I put my head down and picked up my pace and came out of the water with a HUGE smile on my face. I peeled off my cap and goggles and ran up the carpet with my fists in the air shouting, "I didn't drown!!!!!!"

Swim time: 50:01

I felt like my bike transition was quick, but my official time says otherwise. Some 5 minutes later, I was off!

The beginning of the bike course was just a few turns around Moody Gardens and out to the seawall/3004. The first 5 miles flew by and I was feeling confident in my abilities to finish before the cutoff. Sadly, the cadence monitor on my computer wasn't working, and I just had to wing it. It seemed like no time at all when we saw the pros coming back in on the other side of the road. Those dudes were bookin'! I prayed for a lot of friends during this portion of the race. They were mostly fleeting thoughts that jumped from friend to friend to friend, but it helped pass the time. About an hour into the ride, it started raining (I heard other people talking about sleet, but I never saw or felt it). It really was perfect on the way out. The rain kept us cool and the wind was just a slight tailwind.

I was having a nice little chat with myself about why I do this. I know why I like triathlon (it's fun and I like the challenge and I love the people), but I was really trying to hone in on why 70.3. I was about 30 miles in and climbing a tiny little bridge that crossed over the gulf. There was nothing on my left but the gulf and nothing on my right but the bay. There really weren't too many people aruond me either. For the most part, I was alone. I responsible for no one and nothing except for myself and for climbing that little bridge and turning the pedals over. I have never been more sure of who I am. I had never felt so free and so alive and so confident about being a mom, wife, daughter, neighbor, friend. I learned a lot about myself that day, but this moment of clarity was by far the most valuable lesson.

I also learned that you (I) ought not put all of my calories in my drink bottle. Because it was overcast, raining, and windy, I didn't want to drink. I knew that if I didn't, I'd risk bonking on the run with little to no fuel in my belly. I forced myself to drink, which later proved to be a mistake. Nothing I couldn't overcome, but I won't do that again. By around mile 40, the wind really started to pick up. I never wanted to quit and never thought I couldn't do it, but MAN ALIVE I was ready to be off that bike! I remember looking down at my computer and seeing 10.4 mph and thinking, "These last 10 miles will never end!" Right about then, a lady named Karen pulled up next to me and we had a nice chat about her business (she owns a restaurant: http://oxhearthouston.com/) and about my kids and before I knew it, we were turning off the seawall and heading back into transition. Look at my face. I had never been so happy to see a pile of crushed concrete and busted pallets in my life. Ok. So maybe I've never even seen a pile of crushed concrete and busted pallets pointing the way back into transition, but you get it.

Official bike time: 3:37:17

Transition was nondescript with a quick stop at the potties, some sunscreen, and new shoes. No sooner had I run out of transition than I saw Heather and Randi. They had some words of wisdom - don't wait until you're hungry to eat, drink lots of water, and stay cool - and they ran along side me for a few yards.  I settled into a decent pace and BOOM! There was the first aid station. Stopped for ice, water, and Gatorade, and really started to notice a sloshy feeling in my belly. I knew I shouldn't have forced the liquids on the bike, but I am terrified of overheating. Been there. Done that. No thanks. (See this post.) I settled into a rhythm again and BOOM! THERE WAS MY DADDY AND MY KIDS! I got a HUGE surge of energy seeing my babies and hearing their voices. I still had a cheesy grin smeared all over my face coming around the next bend and BOOM! There was my hubs!!! He high-fived me and off I went. I settled into a rhythm and BOOM! There were Randi and Heather - AGAIN! Are you noticing a pattern here? This run course was the most supportive thing I've ever seen. Heather assured me that my family was at the parking garage, and that was just around the corner. THERE THEY WERE!!! MY PERSONAL CHEERING SQUAD! With signs and cowbells and bubble guns and my lips were about to split in half I was smiling so big. Everyone in this picture was there for ME. Friends. Family. Neighbors. And see that guy in the blue ragland shirt? He's Dutch. Here from Amsterdam to ride his bicycle from Tampa to San Diego. And my neighbors convinced him to come cheer for me. I had wings. This race was mine.

The run continued like this. Rhythm, friends, rhythm, family, rhythm, aid station, rhythm, dentist. Wait. What? Yes. Dentist. I ran into my dentist around mile 9. I had seen him that morning at the swim start, but I figured we wouldn't bump into each other again. Well, we hooked up at an aid station and leap frogged for a while. When he realized I had a plan (run:walk ratio), he decided to stick with me. I had in my head that I was going beg someone - anyone - to meet me at the finish. By the time we got back around to my cheering squad, they were ALL making their way to the finish. I could've cried. Dr. Moore and I chatted about racing and kids and not teeth and before I knew it, we were coming up on the finish chute. I could hear the announcer and the crowd coming around the corner and I was like a kid at Christmas. I was all but dancing at this point. Dr. Moore and I parted ways at this point so we could finish solo. I don't know what I thought I'd do at the finish, but I held my "rock on!" sign up over my head and I was howling like a banshee across that finish line. I did it. There was my husband. My kids. My daddy. My inlaws. My friends. It was amazing. just amazing.

Official finish time: 7:41:00

I simply could not have done this without my family and friends. For every friend who showed up on race day, there were 10 at home who wished me well, asked about my training, and sent me encouraging text messages. I can't say enough positive things about my husband, my kids, my parents, my friends, my extended family. You guys gave me wings. I absolutely cannot wait to do it again.

***I raced this race in honor of my cousin Cameron, who was taken from us too soon. He only lived 6 short days, but his life has touched our entire family deeply. He would have been 19 on Sunday. I carried his memory and his family's hope with me on this race as they held me in their prayers. I know that we pulled each other through that day.***

5daystoglory

Well here we are! Five days to glory. I've been hashtagging the snot out of all of my stuff. and this one seems to have stuck (counting down from about 12). I'm feeling SO super excited right now. I've practiced changing tires, grabbing water on the go, nutrition, and transitions. I've made my packing list and compared it to my training runs and my transition practices. My friends and family have their poster boards and their cowbells and their directions on when to stand where and all of that good stuff. I'm obsessively checking the weather and the water temps, but other than than, I AM READY!

I may wake up tomorrow scared out of my mind, but my self-talk today has been super positive. "It will be choppy, but you have your wetsuit and kayaks and buoys and you.will.be.fine. It will be windy, but you have trained hard in the wind and you know what to expect and you.will.be.fine. It will be hot, but you will have cooling sleeves, cold sponges, ice, and your family is armed with water guns and you.will.be.fine."

Yesterday was a bit of a mess - kids had swim practice 4-5, soccer 6-7, and scouts 6:30-7:30. Somehow, Coach Sheri managed to run out the door with no ball bag and no whistle, but thanks to an enormous mouth and a killer set of lungs God gave me, we made it through. I'm thankful I was able to get my swim in early and focus on being mom (read - being two places at the same thing). Taper week seems to have hit at just the right time. Doug started a new job last week and we're all kind of discombobulated, but at least my training dropped from ~10 hours a week to ~3. I feel everything falling into place and today? I'm not scared. Today I am trusting in my training and in myself.

In other news, I've decided to race in honor of Cameron Clanton. My cousin and her husband lost thier little boy almost exactly 19 years ago. Their family has been on my heart a lot lately and as fate would have it, his birthday is race day. When I get scared or tired or something starts to hurt, I will lift his family up in prayer. I will remember how scared and tired and painful this experience was for our entire family and I will push through - not just for the sake of finishing the race, but for the sake of bringing glory to an otherwise sad day for our family. To bring honor to his memory and to my dedication. My dear friend and training buddy says I should have picked a happier memory to carry with me on race day, but this one is near and dear to me and the timing is right somehow.

So. #5daystoglory. Five days to #HIMTX #IM703TX #brasstacks. Five days until I skip, crawl, stumble across that finish line and embrace the reward that I've trained so hard for over these last 7 months. Five days until my race report.

Expectations

This is part of an email I sent to a family member today to outline what I expect race day to look like. Notice how many times I use the word expect. I see 5 here, not to mention the times I used expect that's from the part of the email I'm not sharing.

My swim wave starts at 7:48 on 4/26. I expect to be in the water for 45-55 minutes. I do not expect anyone to be there that early. That's madness. :)

I'll be out on the bike for 3-3.5 hours (expecting to be back in transition around noon/12:30). Doug and the kids are hoping to catch me out on the road somewhere down towards Pirate's Beach. I'll get him to get in touch with y'all about that as the day approaches. Or even the day of. 

For the run... There's no telling. If all goes well, I'll be headed out no later than 12:45. My typical half marathon time is 2:20-2:40. I have NO idea what to expect that to look like after 57.2 miles of extreme exertion. 

My real goal is to finish before they close the course (which is 4:45). My stretch goal is to finish in 7 hours (which will be around 3ish). 

When I finish, I expect to be in the finisher area for a bit (30 minutes or so) for medals, photos, massage, etc. after that, I intend to eat at least 6 pounds of protein and collapse into a heap. :) I would love for y'all to join us for that celebratory meal.

I have oft compared Ironman to pregnancy, labor, and delivery. Increased levels of discomfort, increased appetite toward the end, counting down the days, obsessing over every item you put in your mouth, obsessing over every tiny detail. This summary of what I expect is kind of like a birth plan. I have it all figured out in my head, but race day will likely bring a million unexpected variables I haven't planned for. I am (just in this moment) considering racing blind. Ditching the watch. Pulling the computer from my bike. Refusing to ask, "What time is it?" I know that's madness, but I have to wonder if it'd be better for my psyche to let go of all the expectations and just enjoy the day. I am confident I can hit all the cutoffs. Keeping up with the time will only serve to frustrate me (or will it...?). 

That's my job over the next 18 days. Finish the training plan strong, let go of expectations, eat clean, stay away from wine, and hydrate like it's the most important thing I've ever done. 

****I can't wait to revisit this after the big day.****

Three weeks out

While I had hoped to keep up with this on a weekly basis, that clearly has not happened. I'll be back logging some of my bigger training accomplishments during taper week (like my first 50+ mile bike ride - whoop whoop!) and some of the mind games I have played with myself over the past several weeks.

Today, I'm less than three weeks out from the big day. The hay? It's in the barn. Peak week was last week and I made it. I did a dumb, dumb thing and tried to push my rest day out 4 days to accommodate Easter Sunday, but that was a huge, miserable mistake that resulted in me falling asleep in the shower. No foolin'. I wound up taking an extra rest day to make up for the punishment I had already put my body through in an effort to avoid resting. Go figure...

Peak week also brought my first flat (and my second) in the span of a mile. Nice. I'm not sure what I ran over, but I was pedaling and pushing and grinding and switching gears and I was still. . . slowing. . . down. . . "Hey Heather?" I hollered over my shoulder. "Is something wrong with my back tire?" I had a problem with my back brakes rubbing a few weeks back and we were able to stop, make a quick adjustment, and get back on the road. "Shit. You got a flat..." Heather has been cycling for 10 years, so she knew what to do. Thank God. After we got the tube switched out, we hopped back on and had to stop less than a minute later. I don't know what we did wrong, but we tried again and this one seemed to do the trick.

Peak week also brought the realization that I am NOT ready for a full anytime soon. Peak week ended with 145 miles and 11.5 hours of training. From what I understand, a full demands nearly that much every week and a lot more as you build. If that causes me to fall asleep standing up? I'm not so sure I'll ever be ready to repeat that on a weekly basis.

It's 80 degrees here in Houston today, so I went out for a nice little jog. I was shooting for 10 and realized around 4ish that I was NOT prepared to handle 10 in this heat with no support and only one water fountain along the way. I hoofed it home and ended with 5 and some change. Another hour of hay in the barn.

That's it for my random ramblings for the day. I'm sure I'll be spewing all of my thoughts on paper the closer we get to race day. 19 days and counting!

Recovery Week

So this is my first recovery week, my first one since. . . April. I'm lost. And found. And trying to make peace with it all.

On one hand, my body is screaming at me to "DO SOMETHING!!!" On the other hand, it's super nice to hang out in my pjs with a second third cup of coffee in my hands while playing Ariel and Flounder with my little girl.

On one hand, it's really nice to get caught up on my laundry and my blogging and on work and on changing burned out light bulbs and on finishing taxes and. . . on the other hand, I'm obsessively checking the weather to see if it will hold for a non-existent long ride/run this weekend.

On one hand, I'm glad to stay at home in my nice, warm house rather than trek out into the 36-degree rain to the pool. On the other hand, I'm counting miles and comparing weeks and wondering "What happened this week???" before I realize that it's re-cov-er-y weeeeeeek. Say it slowly.

One of my favorite people in the whole world wrote this little diddy awhile back. I didn't get it (yet) because I hadn't been doing this long enough to understand where she was coming from. Swim Bike Mom had written this piece about the Sucky Rotation Schedule where something has to fall below the "suck line" in order to keep all the balls in the air. You know the balls. Marriage, kids, work, training, groceries and cooking, laundry, vet visits, visiting old people, cleaning, homework, mowing the grass, sleeping. Those balls. It occurred to me today that Recovery Week is the time that it's OK to let "training" fall below the suck line. All of the other balls that have fallen below the suck line are finally getting some attention this week and that's good. My life is not all about this race I'm working toward. This race is just one of many balls I have in the air.

So on one hand, my body and my brain are all confused about what we're doing. But on the other hand, this is giving me a chance to put the whole rest of my life back together so that each of the balls can take its turn below the suck line in a week or two.

I'm glad we had this chat. Carry on.

Near Miss

Every day I get on my bike, I say to myself, "Today is the day I will fall off of my bike." I've said it since my first ride with #brucethebike. It's just something I started in an effort to remind myself to never get cocky and to always remember to unclip. Every time I say it, I envision a slow-speed tipover at a stop sign. 

This morning, I took this picture of myself. I posted it on Instagram and Facebook and said, "Feeling fancy and legit today. This is the day I will fall off my bike."

This morning we had a 40% chance of showers we were trying to outrun. The roads were a little damp, but not wet enough to keep us inside. My group usually rides 40+. I haven't had a chance to ride with them since I actually broke 30, so this was new territory. We took a different route that I was unfamiliar with. Seeing all the variables here?

Anyway, we were almost back to my car and we were coming up on a green and it was a major intersection. I thought I heard our lead guy say "GOING!" so I cranked it only to hear him yell "STOPPING!" The pavement was wet by now as more showers had come through the area and I fishtailed pretty bad. My front tire was shaking and I was damn near out in the intersection (like, access road to the interstate intersection). The whole 2 seconds, I kept repeating to myself, "Get your foot out... get your foot out..." but I wasn't stable enough to get enough torque to get out. At the LAST second, I pulled out and managed to save myself. That, friends. That was terrifying. I'm glad it happened, though, to give me an idea of what to expect and how I would react. I'm glad it didn't happen on race day and I'm glad it happened with good friends but I never care to repeat that.

That was the last day that I'll ever say something to tempt fate when I'm getting on #brucethebike. Lesson learned.

Rhythm and Blues

This weekend was the Rhythm and Blues Half Marathon. I decided to do this race just a few weeks ago when my favorite local race was canceled. I've been training pretty diligently and figured I had plenty of time to up my mileage before the race. Turns out, I was right!

We went through our usual prerace routine of fettuccine alfredo dinner and were fortunate enough to pass the kids off to my folks for a sleepover. Doug and I headed home, laid out our gear (which is SO TINY after triathlon!), and tucked ourselves in early. This was the first race I wasn't nervous about. I knew I could manage the distance and when all else fails, walk a while. It took me a long time to get to this point (over two years and five half marathons), but now that I've arrived, it makes race day so much more pleasant.

After parking downtown (I'm, again, reminded of why I don't do downtown races), we made our way to the unofficial official starting line of ALL races - the portapotties. We managed to find 5 of our running friends before the start and found our way to the real starting line. I didn't even hear the start, but the mob started moving and so did I. We quickly lost our buddies, but we're all different paces so whatevs. Doug and two friends were doing the 1/4 marathon and the rest of us were tackling the 1/2, so our routes were even slightly different.

I never did see mile marker 1 or 2, so when I came up on 3 at 31:00, I was shocked. That would have been a PR 5K for me, so I was a little nervous. My fastest race to date was 2:34:02. My goal today was 2:30. I quickly did the math in my head and realized that if I maintained this pace, I'd finish in 2:22. THAT'S lofty - a 12-minute PR. I talked myself into trying to maintain and went about my way.

For a February race, it was HOT. Like water on my head at every aid station HOT. I had my hydration belt split half water and half Gatorade with a few Humas on my belt. I allowed myself a ShotBlock or a Huma every 45 minutes. Every aid station was 2 Gatorades and a water on my head. In February! What the heck??

Any-ol'-who, my "dark miles" are usually around 8-10. Once I pass 10, that's "just" a 5k and my brain leaves me alone. Around mile 8, I saw a friend on the opposite side of the course who told me that his fiance was just ahead of me. WHAT? Randi is fast. She's a 2-time Ironman, multiple-time marathoner, and countless-time half marathoner. And she's fast. And I was right behind her?? "Catch her!" he said. So I did. I set out to catch her and finally caught up at 12.5. Guess what? My dark miles were over and I didn't even notice.

Randi was the perfect rabbit. When I finally caught her, she was walking. When I said hey to her, she decided to run with me. Just before mile marker 13, she started picking it up and I lagged behind. "I'm not slowing down," she said. "Go on with your bad self," I retorted. "Nope. You're gonna have to catch me." Well hell's bells. Here we go again. So off I went to catch my rabbit. Even though she finished 10 seconds ahead of me, my chip time was actually a full minute faster than hers. And guess what? It was 2:21:57. I maintained and I finished in my projected time.

I am so very proud of this race. I had fun, I hydrated well, my nutrition was spot-on, and I destroyed my PR. This race was great for my mental game and I feel very ready to tackle Galveston in a short 9 weeks. These "little" milestones along the way are amazing for my training, confidence, and mental game. Not that I wasn't looking forward to Galveston before, but this race has renewed my vigor for the finish line. NINE WEEKS! Nine weeks and I'll be writing the race report I've been dreaming of for months.