Or as I like to refer to it, the Perfect Racecation.
We started with a cliché
Doesn’t all beach access look like this?
Continued with a cliché
Once I signed up for Xterra Worlds, thanks to an underserved roll-down slot, I promptly put the event out of my mind. I sort of figured I could coast to the start line powered by residual fitness from 70.3 worlds and good will from the fitness gods.
As it turns out, you can’t just rock up to the start line of a world championships and expect much more than a “I’m just really happy to be here” kind of result with that kind of prep.
No matter! I got my ass kicked and I loved it. Truly.
Here’s how the race went down for me.
The day before:
Standard race: get your gear ready, eat, rest, blah blah blah.
Xterra worlds: a 5K trail run sounds like a great idea! I should note that I told myself that I’d go easy, enjoy the scenery, shake out my legs.
I came 2nd in my AG and did none of the things I said I’d do.
My new career
Standard: wake up at a time that borders on inhuman, choke down food, battle nerves and logistics till the gun goes off.
Xterra: wake up without an alarm. Enjoy coffee and breakfast on the lanai. Eventually, and leisurely, we make our way to the race venue.
Standard: stand at the start trying to quell the fear.
Xterra:stand at the start trying to quell the fear.
Truly. I mean, when we landed on Maui, the news was announcing that the Pe’ahi Challenge was on. The surf in the days leading up to the race was big, fun and scary. On race day, I stood on the start line legitimately concerned that I was going to be last out of the water (provided I managed to get past the break, that is).
The good news is that I wasn’t last. It was fun, hard, salty and people were spread all over the ocean. I got pummelled by waves. I had a big smile on my face when I emerged from the ocean.
Before the gun
Dave captured the Pe’ahi
Yes! I’m out!
Standard:I get out of the swim and work my way to the front of the pack.
Xterra: I very much noticed my lack of bike fitness pretty early on. My heart rate was sky high. I talked myself off the ledge almost right away, then I spent the rest of the ride passing folks and giggling (when I wasn’t riding uphill). I yelled “on your left!” and “rider!” and of course said “Sorry!” a whole lot, and passed a lot of people. It was awesome. Hard, uphill, and awesome.
My biggest area of improvement here would be my sock selection. I went with short ones due to the impossibility of pulling on proper fun ones. Hardly acceptable behaviour.
Standard:I tick along at a pretty consistent pace till I get to the finish line.
Xterra:I alternated my pace between crawl, jog, sprint, jump, whimper (is that even a pace?), slog, shuffle, run and walk. It was ugly. And yet? I still passed people and it was still fun.
I crossed the finish line totally depleted and pretty sure it was one of the hardest races I’ve ever done. But the good thing about doing races like that is that it makes you hungry for more.
We spent the remainder of the vacation recovering, rehashing and reliving. Within hours we were talking about which events we want to do next.
When I qualified for the 70.3 Worlds way back in April, it was a very pleasant surprise. I took my spot, paid my money and then pretty much put the idea out of my mind.
Summer went by in a flash. My time was filled with work, training and many happy distractions.
Every few weeks, Liz and I would text each other a quick note regarding the race: sometimes it was logistics or a question about training, but usually, it was something along the lines of HOLY SHIT WE’RE GOING TO TENNESSEE.
It only really dawned on me about 10 days before the race that we were really doing this. We were going to Chattanooga to race in theworld championships.
I had no idea what to expect other than knowing the swim would be tough as it was partially upriver, the weather was going to be hot and the field very talented.
Fast forward to last Thursday, and we stepped off the plane in Nashville, only to pretty much drive straight to a Waffle House.
Kicking it off in style, y’all.
The day before the women’s race (we had our own day all to ourselves, the men raced Sunday) we arrived at the race site for the practice swim in the river. The place was jammed and I wanted to vomit at the thought of fighting the current for 860m. Let me just say that swimming downstream was may more fun.
Post-swim, I was still very nervous about the whole race thing the following day, but I threw time goals out the window upon getting a feel for things and vowed to race to my ability and, more importantly, smile till my face hurt more than my legs.
There’s some sucking in happening here. By me.
I couldn’t believe how great the southern hospitality was, how kind and generous the volunteers were and what a great vibe surrounded the event. It felt different from any other race I’ve done, and it made me feel like this exercise contest was a big deal. And ladies first? Yes, please. I am SO grateful we didn’t have to watch the men go first. Pretty sure I’d have packed up my shit and left town.
I’ll quickly break down the race itself.
Swim: 42:55 (putting me 189/230 AHAHHHAHAAHAHAHA)
It wasn’t terrible, I just swam terribly. Or, more accurately, I swam to my current level of swim fitness. I haven’t been in the water enough this summer, I’ve lost my feel and it showed. I felt fatigued when I finally made the down current turn. On the plus side? I swam straight AND I cannonballed in!
Do you know who looks good coming out of a river? No one, that’s who.
Bike: 2:54 (putting me 87/230 DO YOU THINK I LIKE BIKING?)
Absolutely awesome. And the best part? Shortly after the 10 mile marker, I heard Liz and I’s agreed upon theme song… which means that I got to ride a world championship bike course with my coach/training partner/brain twin. I am fairly certain no one else gets to do that. I loved how hard it was, even if it didn’t feel too terribly hard. I was determined to not overbike, like the good old days. I came off the bike feeling good, and ready to run. Or at the very least, strongly jog.
What’s not to love?
The climbs were real.
This is actually a legal pass!
Run: 1:51 (putting me 79/230, I’ll take it).
Really, really hard. Never a dull moment, it was a roller coaster of terrain. BUT: I smiled my way through the entire damn thing. Coming down that final hill to the finish line, I was negotiating with my legs not to cramp, I was all emotional and giggling like a crazy person. I crossed that finish line absolutely elated.
Smiles for days
Travelling and racing with your Brain Twin ™ is amazing: you don’t need to negotiate, you pretty much always know what the other person needs and you have a day drinking partner to debrief on the day with.
And, yes, we did very well in the day drinking department, too. Go us! I mean, our speed tour of Nashville may warrant a whole other post.
The hats were a hit, y’all
When I raced Oceanside 70.3 in April to qualify for this race, I burst into tears of unhappiness at the finish line. I didn’t have fun, or enjoy my day at all. I’ve thought about this a lot and was determined to change my mindset for Coeur D’Alene, and I wanted to race happy. Sometimes, when it hurts, you have to force the happy, but I can’t even describe how much better it makes things out there. I made friends, stupid jokes, mistakes and I had the best day.
My times were nothing spectacular. I’m used to being at the pointy end of races, so the result was, in a sense, a bit of a shock. But I don’t need be disappointed after the fact, or over analyze the results. I am so proud of the day I had.
A couple of weeks ago, I posted a very informal poll on Facebook:
This is but a sample of the answers that were heavily weighted in favour of happy = success.
I’ll admit, I was sceptical. Doesn’t anger fuel you? When you are in a bad mood, don’t you just want to smash things? And by things, one could argue that smashing oneself on the race course totally counts.
With that in mind, I thought back to the last few races I’d done and while I was motivated to do well and put my heart into it, there was a certain joy in the execution that was lacking. I *always* dreaded the 4am or earlier morning alarm, and I just felt like I was going through the motions and ticking the boxes:
eat ✅ swim ✅ bike ✅ run ✅ go home ✅
For Coeur d’Alene 70.3, I really didn’t have anything to prove or high expectations. I’d secured my spot for World’s in April; my training was sporadic since spending a month in Baku. So I updated my goals for the race to a) take risks and b) really, truly have fun.
Making these goals easier to achieve can be attributed to loading up the Shaggin’ Waggon ™️ with a few of my favourite people and heading south to some great weather and a fun little town. Not to mention the great house, complete with lovely housemates.
Our hats though!
CDA and the livin’ is easy
All the styles.
Here moosey moosey
Who wore it best?
I was so relaxed all weekend that not only did I forget to collect a timing chip at athlete check-in, I also forgot my cycling shoes race morning. I almost panicked but pulled it together, sprinted back to the house and made it back to transition before anyone really noticed I’d gone missing.
I squeeeeeeeezed into my wetsuit, all the while making terrible jokes with the girls and wandered down to the start. Thosefasties headed to the front of the pack, while I happily dropped back and hung out where I belong (rather than near the front, which is where I’d been starting the past few races, and really had no business doing so).
Well, what do you know… I not only enjoyed the swim, I swam in a straight-ish line, didn’t barf and I got out in respectable (for me) time.
And then I totally killed it in transition.
The bike ride? It felt oddly effortless. It gives me tremendous pleasure to pass men on super bikes. True story.
And then I killed it in the next transition, too.
The run was through the ‘hoods of CDA, and I got to run most of it with Jordan (very famous race announcer and Oh Canada singer). There was chatting, high fives, smiles, we built this city on rock and roll, bagpipes, Christmas carols and finish chute that was pretty much perfection.
All day, I had a smile plastered on my face.
Here’s proof, courtesy of the awesome team at BCC Live (minute 5 to see just how nerdy I can get).
So you know what? Fun wins. Race happy.
Just the facts:
Swim 38:18 35/138
T1 2:54 #winning
Bike 2:49 13/138 Bye boys!
T2: 1:59 #winning
Run 1:48 12/138
Now, I hang up the TT bike for a few weeks and play in the dirt.
As I crossed the line on Saturday at Oceanside 70.3, I dissolved into a puddle of tears. I immediately saw Jen and blurted “I’m so disappointed”.
Good lord. I felt like such a loser for crying at a finish line of an amateur event I had paid for the privilege of doing. I couldn’t even pinpoint why I was so bummed. I just was.
It took a couple of minutes to pull myself together, thankful for sunglasses to hide the evidence and the chance to meet new people and talk about something else for a bit.
AC splashing out on serving size
Thrilled after so much grey
Clouds out, guns out
Here’s how I perceived the day, “in real time”.
Swim: By the time I *finally* hit the water in the rolling start, I was shivering uncontrollably and so thankful that the water felt warmer than the air. Until the turnaround, I was a satisfied fish. And then.
I caught an ankle squarely in the chin, bit my toungue hard enough that I could taste blood and inhaled a bunch of delicious, murky salt water. Then I barfed. So that was neat! Sorry to those fine folks behind me.
Eventually, staggered out of the water and jogged through what has to be the world’s biggest transition, fumbled around and rode away.
Bike: There was a tank crossing! I mean, Camp Pendleton and all. They take their armoury seriously, I suppose. I was pretty grumpy for a long time. I couldn’t find a rhythm, I couldn’t focus, and I was trying to stay within the zones that Liz assigned to me. I kept waiting for that sleepy, drained feeling I usually get. It wouldn’t come. Was I going too slowly? Bah. I couldn’t tell. I felt strong but I maybe I was tricking myself? Let’s just get this over with already.
Run: This was the dialogue in my brain:
Kilometers 1-15: TICK/TICK/TICK KEEP MY LITTLE FEET GOING TICK/TICK/TICK EAT SOMETHING THAT COKE WASN’T FLAT *BURP*
Kilometers 15.1-19.1: UUUUUUUNNNNNHHHHH NO NO NO NO MORE.
Kilometers 19.1-21.1: Don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry if you cry you can’t breathe I think I’m making a really ugly face don’tcrydon’tcry dammit I think this course is long.
And then it was over.
Carlos is in there somewhere
I look… compressed. But headband game on point.
And then it was over
Fast forward an hour or so. I didn’t know how (numbers-wise) the day had gone. I was still feeling pretty ambivalent about it and then I texted Liz… lo and behold, welcome the objective perspective.
She gave me her view on the event, “as seen from her bike”, as she virtually watched my race from the discomfort of her bike trainer. Her view was far more positive than mine and hearing that pulled me out of my funk. Maybe I didn’t need to quit this silly sport after all.
The reality is that I did indeed have a shit swim, but I put together a good bike and a solid run. I actually raced, like we’d talked about me doing. I didn’t give up, stuck to the plan. I have something to build on. Battled my own demons all day. I may not have won against them, but I held my own. It took me a few hours to realize that.
I still haven’t looked at the results, but I know that I ended up 7th, clawing my way back through the field after the swim. And while my goal had been top 5, I ended up with what I wanted: a spot to the World Championships.
By sheer force of waiting around.
What y’all runnin’ from?
Recovery but not really ride
Before I got really bad
Next up? Tightening my race director hat and getting back to it for Coeur d’Alene 70.3.
I love trail running. Love, love, love. I pretend to traipse through the forest with speed and ease.
Am I fast at trail running?
Do I care?
Glass ankles, a fear of breaking my face and a general sense of “it so does not matter” adequately describes my lack of desire to push for speed on the trails. I think of Gary Robbins leaping down rooty mountain faces and admire his bravery whilst I hold on to trees, picking my own way down. I watch my friends bound from rock to rock and envy their dexterity. I try to bring my heart rate down as those around me chatter on effortlessly.
I can finally accept that I’ll never lead the pack in a trail race. And the very best part of coming to this realization/acceptance that I kinda suck is that I just. don’t. care. And it’s delightful! How liberating! How good for my ankles!
True acceptance of personal suckiness can lead to happiness. That, my friends, is the hot tip of the day.
Before the trail traipsing.
If not for this girl, I would have walked the whole way.
After! It’s about as warm as Robin looks.
LC: Baby smuggler.
Edit: this in no way reflects on the trail capabilities of those around me during said race. In fact, you folks are the only reason I don’t walk off the course at the first available trailhead. Onwards!
Can we all just agree that race reports are boring? Unless accompanied by a lot of photos and human interest filler, I lose interest pretty quickly. Mostly because tales of watts and nutrition bore me. So I shall endeavour to keep this short, sweet and with lots of photos and useless and completely unrelated movie quotes.
The lead up
As summer wound down, work slowed a little and the dependants went back to school, I was able to focus a bit more on training. It was… condensed. Not quite off the couch, but still. Am I getting too old to do it this way? Maybe.
My fave run of the build, supported by Coach.
Training on the East Coast.
Up Up Up we went
This is how good I look when running in 98% humidity!
Sometimes, life just fits into training. And vice-versa.
The Lone Star State
Last time I went to Texas, I said I wouldn’t go back anytime soon. Well, surprise! I lied. Austin fit into my life, and as I’ve gone on and on about, I was super excited about my little camper.
Turns out travelling solo was fine, but it added an air of seriousness to the race that I didn’t really want. Part of racing is being social and hanging out with friends. In this case, I kind of folded inward and didn’t make much effort to be social. I did my thing, caught up on rest, read and pretended I could totally fit my life into tiny home living.
I rented the ugliest colour on purpose.
Taking the most Texas selfie I could come up with.
I wanted to park here all day, but was also a bit scared.
Talk to me, Goose.
Fast forward to race morning, and watching the fog settle onto the lake. I wandered aimlessly, peed behind trees (it was foggy! No one could see me!) and went to find friends working the race who could give me the goods. Sure enough, I learned the quick way to be careful what you wish for: swim cancelled… Surprisingly, I wasn’t super happy about this. I mean, I had a new wetsuit to try!
Getting the goods
This was when the fog was “thin”
Killing time behind the aforementioned trees.
You’re ego’s writing checks your body can’t cash
Onto the bike, I thought I felt good. I trucked along, kept and eye on the über bumpy road and my numbers and, as it turns out, totally over-biked. Woo! Also, I hit myself in the face with a flying water bottle.
This was before I hit myself in the face.
Front row parking. One of the few times being a AWA pays off?
Stunning bike course.
Good morning gentlemen, it’s 110 degrees
That about sums up the run. Heart rate sky high, melting from the inside out, running in circles through the rodeo grounds. Extremely grateful for the unicorn hat that created a little bubble. Also, my aim for cups into trash bins was exceptional at this race. Was it the most scenic of runs? Nooooo. Did I stick to my race plan? Also, nooooo. It wasn’t for lack of trying.
Great balls of fire
Stumble across the air conditioned finish line, see double for a few minutes, cool down, regain composure, meet up with friends, beer, burger, juan pelota, eat some more, netflix and bed.
Visiting Juan. Love him or hate him, it’s a neat place.
My teeny home away from home.
All in all, just another Sunday in the Lone Star State.
I’m having a hard time coming up with anything truly interesting to say about this race. Let’s face it: race reports are boring. So instead, since it was report card season for the kids right before I left, I’ll grade the experience. Imagine this read in the voice of your grade 9 math teacher.
While Christine generally exhibits good pre-race planning and preparation, she seemed to treat Texas 70.3 as a university final. One for which it was appropriate to “cram” and/or “party all night long the night before”. By cram, we mean “pack the day before flying without a checklist” and by party all night long we mean “work a super high-stress event and neglect sleep, nutrition and training” for 8 days.
Unfortunately, this also meant that Christine was peppering her pre-race talk with pre-emptive excuses, making her “that asshole”. She can do better.
Travel + Texas
Christine was able to use her web surfing prowess to secure a beach view Air BnB (which did not have a working coffee maker or cutting board, but whatever) and comfortable air travel while skirting bike fees. However, she failed to read the Athlete Manual and was that idiot who showed up at the race venue looking to swim… at a venue that was clearly closed.
Christine flat out refuses to get up at 4:something, so the alarm was set for 5:01AM. She was able to choke down coffee, oatmeal and other flavourless foods and accompany friends/roommates to the venue with little fanfare. She also, apparently, harshly shut down the stranger trying to make small talk (unbeknownst to her). She then forgot her wetsuit in the car parked miles away, earning her extra warm up time.
Grade: A (because no one likes early morning chit chat).
Christine tends to treat the swim as though it’s some kind of leisure activity. This is not an acceptable way to begin a race. Therefore, her esteemed coach told her to get her butt in gear and focus; which we believe she did, sorta. She successfully swam over people, as well. While still molasses-uphill-in-January-slow, it’s believed her work in the pool is paying off. Somewhat.
Christine really loves to ride her bike, and it is evidenced by the fact that she passed roughly a billion people.
Christine learned the hard way that 8 runs in 6 weeks does not a good half-marathon make.
Christine looked skyward as she crossed the line as if she’s been through war, not some catered exercise contest. Next time, she should try harder to look presentable.
Overall, Christine earned a solid B on this race due to the fact that she was able to earn a 4 minute PB. Surprisingly, 8 days of pre-race slacking does not completely negate some solid months of training. Therefore, Christine is encouraged to continue on in this silly sport and should look for another race to do.
Every triathlon I’ve done starts exactly the same way.
With an alarm. At a very miserable hour. It’s always still dark outside. And I always have the exact same thought shoot through my brain as I roll over under the warm blankets:
“Man alive, this is such a stupid sport.”
Ironman Arizona? Absolutely no different!
(Good: I got up and and left the hotel room. Evil: It was oh-dark-thirty).
The lead up the this race was pretty great. My training had been consistent (which is pretty much a first – I have traditionally been the queen of just “going with it” and not following schedules and plans too closely). My body held up, with the help of regular physio and massage. I caught a cold in the week before the race, but I gagged down lots of oil of oregano (officially the most disgusting substance on earth), and I found that I was pretty excited to hit that start line in the hot Arizona sun (foreshadowing!)
We flew into Pheonix on Thursday and settled into the hotel and got on with the usual logistical stuff that goes along with these races. Packing, organizing, last minute workouts, eating and resting. All things I am pretty good at and yet I really dislike the day prior to the race. Nerves are rampant, there’s too much to think about and I just want to get on with it already. I did get to meet my Team TRS teammates, so that was cool (and not as awkward as I’d expect, this merging of social media and real life).
Not like Pemberton!
Team TRS at IMAZ!
I met some guy who was 6’9′” on the course. I bet his bike touched the ground.
4h layover in LA? No problem.
Tucked myself into bed with one last swig of oil of oregano, and I drifted to sleep by trying to daydream about anything non-triathlon related.
(Good: I am ready! Evil: I have a cold, and I have an alarm set for 4-something).
The alarm rang at 4:23AM and I dragged myself into the shower and mumbled to Liz to make the coffee. It was going to be a long day.
We got packed up and Christine picked us up (how in the world does this woman look so pulled together at this hour?) My stomach was feeling a little off, and I was hoping it was just nerves. We got to the venue much earlier than I normally do, so I had lots of time to sit and contemplate just how crappy I was feeling. By then, my stomach hurt like hell and I alternated between trying to curl into a ball and just die with trying to stretch, walk around and snap myself out of it. I was questioning whether I’d be able to keep down food, let alone exercise in circles all day.
Eventually, I sucked it up, squeezed into my wetsuit, bid the girls goodbye and followed the masses to the start line. Arizona has a rolling start, meaning that they expect everyone to self-seed, then gradually move into the water based on their estimated swim times. I staked my claim at the back of the 1:10 corral. I had lots of room to swing my arms about (which would have to do as a warm up) and since I’d been swimming well in training, I was confident that this was where I was meant to be. I looked up, it was still kind of dark and I saw clouds. Huh, guess I won’t need to worry about the sun burning my eyeballs on the swim (foreshadowing!)
The gun went off and so too did the herd of athletes headed to the stairs that led down to the “lake” (I use this term loosely. It’s more like a murky, brown, stagnant canal. What fun!) I jumped into the very cold water and started to swim. And then… bam! I experienced a very unpleasant and very full-blown panic attack. What. The. Hell?! My head popped up, I was cold and having trouble breathing. For some reason, I was imagining a wall of humanity bearing down on me and I couldn’t get any perspective. I was far enough away from the boards and kayaks that I knew I had to figure this out on my own, and I knew that that meant just keep moving forward. So I did. Likely in terrible form because I was stiff and cold and grumpy. I couldn’t wait to get out of the water and I bargained with myself the entire way around.
Finally out of the swim, I was hauled up the stairs by amazing volunteers, stripped of my wetsuit and sent on my way to the change tents. I was fairly certain, during transition and during the entire time that I was getting dressed to ride, that I was not going to get onto my bike. Oddly enough, I did. Huh. Mind over matter, I suppose.
(Good: I did not abandon the swim. Evil: I sure as hell wanted to. And I had a personal worst).
Once onto the bike course, it took forever for me to shake the negative feelings from that swim and focus on what I was doing then, which was riding my bike around in circles for many hours while eating. Doesn’t that sound like a riveting way to spend a Sunday morning? The ride actually went by fairly quickly — likely because I was passing a ton of people, wondering why everyone was going so slowly (this sounds mean and arrogant and yet, it’s the truth!) The course was pretty boring, windy and 3 loops. I got to see friends out there and I was wearing a suit that made me feel pretty sleek. So that was neat. And then… the rain! And not just drizzle. RAIN. It didn’t bother me much but based on how quickly everyone around me slowed down, it was pretty much like the sky was falling.
Still thinking about the swim
Pretty much as wet as the swim
The “Are We There Yet” posture
It took me most of the last loop to do some race math and realize that if I didn’t let up, I’d set a personal best for the bike. And so I went for it and beat myself by 10 minutes.
(Good: My brain finally stopped dwelling on the swim and I remembered I was meant to be biking. Evil: I biked in many circles for many hours).
Into transition, I quickly changed shoes and socks and was off again. I felt totally fine and my legs didn’t hurt (whoa). It was absolutely bucketing down rain and I was kind of laughing at the conditions. I am in the DESERT, might I remind you! Where is the sunburn I came for?
There isn’t much to report about the run: it was 2, not particularly scenic loops. The first loop was uneventful. I ate. I ran. I ate some more. I saw Liz and we joked around a bit – that was refreshing. The 2nd loop was a sea of space-blanket wearing humanity and I was now in that frame of mind where everyone needed to move it, you are in my way! I may or may not have growled more than once. People were oblivious to those around them and it was driving me batty.
The wheels started to rattle loose around the 23 mile mark. I was tired. I was bored. My left leg hurt and I felt a blister pop on my right foot (gross!) I looked down and my tummy was bloated, making me feel a lot less sleek than on the bike, that’s for damn sure. Liz, waiting at the finish line, said to Chrissy that I needed to get moving if I was going to make it under 11 hours. I must have sensed that because I basically said “F#*$ this, I am done!” and busted it (relative to the shuffle I was executing at the time) to the line.
I wish I’d known how crooked my visor was.
I feel kinda bad for this person. I tried to give him space, but then they just stopped.
Per usual, the last mile is interminable and I eventually made the turn to the chute and the finish arch. Erin caught me as I stumbled a bit and was pretty blinded by the lights — I’ve never finished in the dark before, so that was quite a different experience. I didn’t bother to look at the clock, I was just thrilled to stop moving for a bit. A quick trip through medical and I was done, done and DONE. I’ll leave our rather poorly executed post-game plan (read: none!) for another post.
(Good: I held pace, I did what I came to do. Evil: circles are boring and space blanket capes did not amuse me. I get that I am Canadian and hardy and all that, but was it really that cold?)
Maybe the best part of the weekend was recovery Monday: coffee. Big breakfast. Nap. More food. More coffee. Hot tub. Another nap. Beer. Sunset from the top of a wee mountain. Big dinner. More beer. More sleeping.
Recovery day sunset from the “A” on the hill
Wonder who I get to meet?
And now, I’m home and I’m ready to take a break for a bit. I’ve learned that I have to stop saying “ohmygodnevereveragain” when I cross finish lines. I didn’t do that this time because I know that soon enough, I’ll groan at the sound of a way-too-early alarm clock and head out for another start line.
(Good: All of the food. Evil: Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness).
Just the facts: 10:56, 9th AG, personal best!
Anja comes downstairs this morning and asks if I won my AG. I said no. She asks if I came second, I say: “No, I came 9th”.
If you’re a tri-nerd of any variety, you’ll know by now that Ironman Coeur d’Alene was one of the hottest on record. Now, I’m the first to tell you that I love the heat and that I really enjoy racing in it; mainly because I know that I’m small enough to shrug it off and also because I’m smart enough to know that I can’t control it, so why fret? Simply have a cold beer, eat all of the things and plot your preparations.
So! Off we went, south to the inferno that was Idaho. Liz made it her mission in the days leading up to find the hottest forecast she could. 44C! Good times. We love a good road trip that’s fuelled by caffeine and chip-like things.
We cruised into Coeur d’Alene, moved into our lovely home with the other girls and then it was all the pre-race prep that I loathe. This is the part that gives me anxiety and makes me nervous (not the actual racing part). That said, I know I’m ready to race when I reach the “yeah, I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want to sleep in my pint-size bed all day, thanks” phase. That rolled around at about 2pm before race day.
I HATE this part.
Triathlon things exploded in my room.
My room for the week. Rules must be followed.
Pre-race included fun activities like lying around, naps, eating, swimming and meeting new friend Erin. So fun for us to finally meet in real life! Plus, we kept bumping into each other all week – including on the race course. So great and she rocked it.
A little BRITE photo shoot?
Pre-riding that super shady run course.
Rumours were FLYING in the days leading up. Will they cancel? Shorten? Start earlier or later? Reverse the order? (I’m kidding. But not really. Someone legitimately suggested this). I asked around the day before and pretty much confirmed we were going full. Yay! And also, ugh.
Race morning. 5:45AM start! Isn’t that silly? I flat out refused to set my alarm for anything with a 3 on it, so 4AM it was. Choke down breakfast and off we went to the start. Chrissy dropped Liz and I off to make our way to transition.
Now, here’s where I say I was both heartbroken for and super proud of Lizzie. She’d been sick in the days leading up to the race and made the very smart decision not to do the whole thing. It’s a tough call to make when you’re getting caught up in the buzz and have put in all those hours. So once again, she proved to me that she’s a smarty pants. Plus, now she’s just going to crush IMC and I get to turn the tables and cheer!
Here’s a riveting account of how my day went down:
Swim: Terrible. F. What on earth was I doing out there? Oh right, simply confirming my suspicions that I hadn’t been swimming enough. I was way too relaxed when the gun went off. I had a good first lap but then I day dreamed my way through the 2nd lap. I think my first indication that things weren’t going to be record breaking when my arms weren’t tired. Maybe I was wishing for an imaginary current. Whoopsie Daisy.
Bike: It took me a long time to settle in and get my ass in gear. Once I did, I felt a-ok. I passed a whole lot of people out there, and forced myself to eat every 15 minutes. Do you know how un-fun force-feeding yourself every 15 minutes during exercise at 40C is? Yeah, it’s pretty un-fun. But I got it done. I had one of those nifty sun shirts to protect my skin and keep me cool and I swear that thing made my day. I kept myself as cool as I could as I rode by people whom I swear I could see sunburning/melting before my very eyes.
I felt like an idiot because I couldn’t remember the distance of an Ironman bike leg in miles. I’m here to tell you that you get a lot of weird looks when you ask other competitors how far we have to go.
As I was making one of the last descents into town – by this time, 100% ready to get the hell off my bike – I watched as people were walking up hills, sitting in ditches and, in one case, falling off their bike… uphill. Ok, so maybe it was a bit hotter for those folks. Yikes!
Run: I was really looking forward to getting off the bike and back on my feet… until I was actually on said feet. Right. Running. I came off ok, tossed my disgusting sticky bike to a volunteer and trotted into the tent.
I don’t know why, but I had the best time in transition snatching my bags off the ground before the volunteers could get to it, like some kind of racing purse snatcher. Anyway.
In the transition tent, I dumped my stuff out and looked for my body glide. Opened it up and liquid goo spilled onto the grass. Lovely! Undeterred, I smeared my hands in the grass then onto myself. I’m a classy broad that way.
The first mile was horrid. As in, I saw Liz and Laurel and said “how am I supposed to do this?!” horrid. Well, I did it. Kind of. The marathon just became a mile-by-mile thing, aid station-to-aid station mission. Each aid station was the same: stuff ice into every piece of clothing, eat/drink something, high 5 the INCREDIBLE volunteers, and go. On and on it went.
I didn’t even bother to look at my watch. I wasn’t setting records by any stretch, I’d missed my time goals by country miles and at that point, I didn’t care anyway. I wanted to finish safely, that was all. The weird thing was that my legs didn’t really hurt once I got going, but I knew better than to crank my heart rate lest my body shut down in the heat. So I just did what I needed to do to get to the end of the race.
It’s funny that the run is such a blur because I talked to so many people and thanked so many volunteers (new goal for the day). It takes a special kind of person to give up their day in that kind of weather to help others achieve their goals. So, to the pregnant lady to whom I told to go indoors and to the guy who held my hand when I had 3 miles to go and didn’t want to anymore and just said “you got this”, THANK YOU.
That last mile was the longest one on the planet. A guy got right up in my face and yelled “Do you know how many blocks you have left??!” I said something along the lines of “No F#$%ing clue!” and he held up 8 fingers. I think he thought he was doing me a favour but my brain almost melted at the thought of running 8 more blocks.
Finish: the last few races I’ve done, for some reason I feel the need to blast to the line. Not this time. It was weird. There was no one on the boulevard save one guy quite a ways ahead of me. People were cheering and I was smiling — mostly out of glee that it was finally done. The guy ahead of me pulled over in the chute and waved me ahead of him. I’m still not sure why but that was very gracious. I slowed to a walk and crossed the line.
After a few wobbly steps and a few minutes with medical, I was handed off to my girls and it was so great to see them. And here, ladies and gentlemen, was pretty much the first thing out of my mouth (worth the watch, if you ask me):
I guess, in retrospect, there must have been some fun parts, because I said that with a huge grin on my face.
So now what?
I missed my goal by a lot, but I knew that would happen in those temps so I re-evaluated to get it done. I’m proud of the fact that I did. I said to Liz that I was done with Ironman for a while… but now… now I don’t know. I feel like I have all this fitness stored up and I should put it to good use. So…
ps. Ironman aftermath. Those things may or may not have stayed there for a few days…
We took the opportunity last weekend to zip over to the Sunshine Coast for a change of scenery, some training and the April Fools half marathon.
In the days leading up, my motivation was waning, I was tired and the forecast looked dismal. So dismal that I packed the trainer, anticipating a Saturday morning cranking out indoor miles… albeit in a new setting.
Regardless, I loaded up the ‘burb and the boys got to skip an afternoon of school which, right there, made the trip for them. Picked up Lizzie and Henry, drove onto the ferry and we were off.
Because nothing says quality training weekend like 2 moms and 4 kids!
Nothing to see here.
They hate it here.
View. ‘s ok.
Lo and behold, the place we got on Airbnb was awesome (I’d give you the link but that’s like giving away a good babysitter’s number so, no.) and the weather ended up being sunshiny pretty for the entire weekend.
Saturday we left the littles behind to forage for crabs on the beach and rode our bikes for a while…
The next morning, we had the best laid plans for the half. You know, healthy breakfast… good sleep… solid warm up.
Instead, we ate nutella, got some broken sleep and showed up with just enough time to win the bathroom locator race (again).
We took off on tired legs, a bit unsure on how it would all go. My goal was to have fun, say thanks to all the volunteers and try not to have a disaster of an outing. Plus, we were wearing matching shirts aka our license to go at whatever pace we feel like.
1:36 and change. Mission accomplished on all fronts!
That guy though…
She got me… this time.
We hunted minnie down.
Lizzie looking for snacks
Backdrop to the finish line!
While I was desperately trying not to pass out from stomach cramps, I fed the kids lots of refined sugar
Lizzie’s wee little trophy
Can’t wait for next time!
They didn’t forage for crabs alone. I’m not *that* irresponsible.