Ironman Florida 2008

“I could do this, all I have to do is learn to swim!” That’s what I said at Ironman KY, 2007 and I had to put my money where my mouth is.

Wednesday October 29^th: Bags packed, we headed for the airport. At 48 lbs, it felt like my giant yellow Cabelas duffel was filled with iron. Instead, it was filled with bike pedals, bento boxes, saddles, spare tubes, and birthday presents. Our carry-on bags seemed equally heavy, stuffed full of clothing and wet suits. Loaded with gear and potential we boarded a plane to Atlanta; ultimately Florida bound.

The drive through Georgia and Alabama into the Florida panhandle involved miles of pine trees and kudzu; a stop to explore a field of cotton and swab Guy’s ears; and vigorous conversation about the merits of stopping by the Dothon National Peanut Festival for boiled, fried, Cajun, spiced, and roasted peanuts on the way back. I’m not sure whether Guy wanted to try the peanuts or watch me swell up like a tick. There was little change to identify the crossing of state lines but we knew we were well into Florida when we started seeing signs for the upcoming bike race along highway 231 on our way into Panama City.

We buzzed directly to Panama City Beach and the Boardwalk Beach Resort to register for Ironman Florida 2008 and pick up our packets. The area was abuzz with race setup, retail at its finest, and registration. We signed in, filled out our emergency information, and lined up to be weighed and receive our packets. When it was my turn, I tipped the scales at a svelte 175 lbs… until Guy took his toe off the back of the scale. I was given a wrist band, pink swim cap with my number on it, a packet with my numbers and instructions, and a T-shirt. The numerous volunteers all wished me luck, I was going to need all the luck I could get.

After a quick swim out two bouys on the course and back, we headed to Kurt and Amy’s house about 45 minutes across town at Tyndall AFB. Amy met us at the gate to sign us up for a pass and we headed to their house. While Florida is certainly not Colorado, it did resemble a paradise of sorts, backing up onto a beach with the Shell Islands on the horizon and the sun sinking low, hinting at the sunset to come.

The day before the race was Halloween. We spent most of the day preparing Kurt and Amy’s bikes to fit us the best possible (slightly larger than our bikes but oh-so-much lighter). Kurt guaranteed “2-flat Guy” that he would have no flats and he delivered on that promise which means new tires in Guy’s future. We packed gear bags for the swim-to-bike transition, the bike-to-run, and two special needs bags for mid-ride and mid-run. Dashing out at the last minute we arrived minutes before our bikes had to be racked and dropped off our gear. More than a little stressed from the tight timeline, I was in quick agreement for a cold beer and a snack before our swim. Kurt waited patiently while we suited up and swam out around a couple bouys again. Then we dashed back nearly as fast to pass out candy and see the boys in costume as pirates. It was essential to finish my pedicure with a coat of bright orange nail polish which Berg, Amy, and Wendy assured me would be the most buoyant and fastest color.

That night we headed back to Panama City Beach to stay at the home of Kurt’s friends. Keith and Natalia live about 10 minutes from the beach and have just build a large garage with a beautiful Mother-in-law apartment above it. After a brief introduction we settled in to make last minute sandwiches and eat ice cream before bed. The accommodations were primo and even came with doggie kisses before bed.

We parked a short distance from the race site and walked over with our last minute bags. We put on our wet suits and stood around the beach for the National Anthem and then the pro’s start. Soon we moved toward the water in a crowd of wetsuits topped with pink and blue swim caps. Everyone looked nearly the same but I’m absolutely sure I kissed the right Guy for good luck! I waited for the crowd to hit the water and start swimming. Then I started. My breathing was way off. I stopped. I started again, still off. When I came up again, there was Guy bobbing close by to encourage me. He told me he was staying with me and I’d be fine. I swam some more, still struggling but much better. I stopped one more time and he reminded me to go slowly so I slowed down. From there, I stopped only to sight when I was having trouble seeing the bouys. It took 2/3 of the first loop to get really comfy and relaxed. At the end of the first loop, Guy gave me a big kiss in front of the crowd and then we parted ways to do our own races. He blasted through the next loop feeling great. And I swam the next loop about 20 minutes faster than the first one, even passing many swimmers. I spotted two jellies floating below me near the end of the swim. I came out of the water jazzed and ran up to the “strippers” who pulled my wetsuit off before I ran through the showers.

As I came through the walkway of the hotel, I called out my number and at the other end my transition bag was waiting in the hands of a volunteer. I grabbed it with thanks and ran into the changing tent. There another volunteer took my bag and dumped it. She asked me about each item and helped me change clothes (even putting one sock on for me) and gather my wits and my gear. As I ran out eating a sandwich, two young girls with rubber gloves slathered my arms, legs, and face with more sunscreen. A volunteer called out my number and by the time I got to the rack with my bike it was standing at the ready with another volunteer. Are you getting the idea about how fabulous the volunteers are?

I crossed the mat and was off on the bike elated that I already had my victory regardless of what came next. The first 20 miles fell quickly and I was hopeful. At mile 50, I grabbed one of my sandwiches and still felt great despite the mild but gradual uphill and the headwind. By mile 60, the wheels were coming off… not off the bike, my wheels. My shorts were bunching up and chafing my legs. The seat was becoming painful and my right Achilles was screaming. I slowed down considerably after that. An out and back with particularly bumpy cracks was a very painful experience that took whatever wind was left in my sails. I was convinced I wouldn’t make the 4 o’clock cutoff at 90 miles and even if I did, I surely wouldn’t make the last 22 miles in 1.5 hours after that. In fact, I almost hoped I wouldn’t make it. But make it, I did, by 15 minutes. And then someone went by and said, “we can make it, only 13 miles to go.” I picked up the pace, I’m not sure how. I started pedaling faster and inching up the gearing. I started singing Mark Cohn’s “Dig Down Deep” to myself in my head. I knew it was going to be close. I wasn’t sure I had enough left and then, how would I run. Remembering from ultras that it is best not to do math and not to think too much, I just kept pedaling trying to convince myself that I was a perpetual motion machine. I rolled into the transition to cheers of “you’ve made it!” I crossed the mat 15 minutes under the cutoff.

A quick change and ½ sandwich and I was out on the run in 5 minutes. Completing a section and the crowd gets you jazzed. I took off alternating running and walking. I was stiff but amazed how good I felt. I watched for Kurt and Amy and the Kids but didn’t see them. Then I started watching for Guy, finding him at about mile 3 on his way back in. I was pretty sure he might be finishing but would be amazed to see him headed out again on my way back. Some of the miles seemed long, some seemed short, but all of them were uncomfortable at best. Both Achilles were now hurting and so was nearly everything else. Training might have made that less but what is, is and I probably deserved some pain for not having done it.

The turnaround point at the State Park finally came into view and I crossed the mat. It was dark by then and the flood lights were sparse. A flashlight might have been helpful but this road was pretty good and it wasn’t essential. I ran back about ½ way and again, my lack of endurance caught up with me. I walked more and ran less back to the start/finish chute and the turn-around. I could barely run on the second lap so I channeled my friend Jay Norman and walked as fast as I possibly could. I was sure they said at the pre-race meeting that the cutoff at the turnaround was 10 p.m. and I just knew I wouldn’t make it. I might get pulled for time but I wasn’t going to quit! Another runner passed me doing the shuffle. He was a first timer and, he said, a last timer. He had no idea how painful something could be. It was painful, but nothing that the weight of a finisher’s medal couldn’t cure.

At 10:20, I made the turn about ¼- ½ mile behind him and they let me go through. As I made my way back with my chicken walk (trying to keep my Achilles from tearing in half) they were taking down the aid stations and some were gone completely. Grazing herds of deer had replaced the volunteers and several caught me by surprise. I caught up to the same guy at about mile 23 and he asked if we could finish. I told him I wasn’t quitting and that I would finish either before or after midnight but that I was going for it. He seemed resigned to try if I was going to. It seemed bleak for both of us.

About another mile down the road, a white car rolled up beside me and the window rolled down… it was my Prandsome Hince with a white-but-not-quite-steed. He was thrilled to see me still moving and I was thrilled at his support. He told me I had 25 minutes to go the last 2.2 miles and that I could make it but I would have to run. Once again, I began digging deep. I told him I’d like him to be there at the finish line and he took off (knowing he’d have to drive fast to beat me ;-) The first few steps felt like flames up the backs of my legs, I couldn’t. I walked again. I tried again and again until I could run 10 feet and then 50. I was alternating my fast walk and a run. The last mile I was able to run most of it with only a few short bits of walking as I’d find myself slowing down. I was hearing the announcer in the distance and finally, the chute. I summoned up everything else I had left and ran into the chute finishing at 16:51:41 to receive my medal and my congratulatory kiss from Guy. Unbelievable, I had pulled it off!

I had pulled it off with an incredible amount of luck (but then, I’d rather be lucky than good any day!) and with the well wishes of a lot of folks. I channeled a lot of great people during the race and had lots of time in my head to think about them. There were all the police on every corner and all the incredible volunteers I thanked along the course and those who were behind the scenes I didn’t even know about. All of them made my race possible. My swim coach Wendy did wonders for my stroke and my confidence, helping make the swim my best leg. Core PT who patched up my ankle at the last minute after I pulled my Slinky act down the basement stairs. Kurt and Amy gave us a wonderful place to stay, great food, and kisses from Berg and Kai to inspire us. And Guy gave me incredible support through all of my learning to swim, my anxiety, and my race.

The winners had finished eons before me but I still had my victory. Now it was time to celebrate! First with a heavenly hot shower. Do you know how good it feels to wash off hours of sweat and pain and Gatorade and sea salt? And then the feel of clean sheets and a soft mattress? Sleep was wonderful but broken by many awakenings as I moved my sore limbs. Soreness was not to dampen my spirits for relaxation time and Berg’s 4^th birthday. I haven’t said much about Kurt, Amy, Berg, or Kai because this is mostly the story of the race… I’ll save that for the next story on my blog. But, it was his birthday celebrated with a piñata surfside and caramel apples (made with Amy-made fresh cream caramel), pumpkin lasagna (made more for me than Berg) and a luscious yellow cake with raspberry filling and chocolate ganache. There is no better refuel for body or spirit than the delight of a 4 year old at his birthday and amazing eats from my favorite chef, a quick snorkeling excursion before sunset and a relaxing evening with fabulous friends. Snuggles from the boys and wags from the dogs were icing on the cake.

It was time to head home. A longish car ride to Macon gave us plenty of opportunity to tighten up and remember the race. But lunch with cousin Anne and uncle Bill was a lovely end to the vacation. Now it feels more like a vacation than the work of race day. And now… it’s time to train for Lake Placid.