Ironman Arizona Race Report - Chapter 3: Don't Trip

Some people say, ‘Don’t drown. Don’t crash. Don’t walk’ as the expression I’ve been quoting in my chapter titles during my Ironman Arizona race report. That expression just makes me annoyed. As if walking is a catastrophic (or deadly) failure.

What baloney.

That person who walks during a marathon is the same thing any other person crossing the finish line is: a marathoner.

Walking is not something to be ashamed of. It’s not a failure. It’s recognition that you are still moving forward. That you aren’t giving up. That you’ve got this.

You know what it takes to become an Ironman? It takes not giving up.

As I wobbled my way into T2, I was sopping wet. I wasn’t cold yet, but I think that was mostly because I was too stiff to really have the temperature sink in. All I knew was that only 26.2 miles (42.2km) separated me from the finish line. That thought had me grinning (oh, wait – I’m usually grinning when I race).

But I knew I had conquered my biggest fear: the bike – in the pouring rain, no less. I saw starting the run as being almost home free.

Crazy in hindsight. It is the Ironman after all.

I have to give it to the organizers and volunteers at Ironman Arizona. When the weather turned, they responded on a dime. I suspect I’m not the only one who expected Arizona to be hot and dry that day. But as I approached the change tent, I could feel a blast of warm air coming from it. They’d set up heaters inside the tent to warm up racers. As I entered, a volunteer wrapped me in one of those tinfoil warming blankets. It was like a moment of heaven.

The women’s change tent itself was a mess. It was wet, muddy, smelly and packed with shivering women. Similar to my T1 experience, I decided to change while standing up. There wasn’t really space to sit down – and I couldn’t begrudge any of the women in chairs blocking the way to other chairs. So many looked freezing cold.

Guess that’s one benefit of being from Canada – it didn’t seem so bad to me. I was getting a bit chilled standing in one spot, but overall I felt no worse than I’d expected to feel coming off the bike after 180km.

So I dumped my run gear out on a table. I admit that changing was an incredibly slow process. The ground was so mucky, I stood on my bike shoes to try and keep my feet semi-dry (oh, the mud!).  Sadly, my T2 bag had been sitting outside in the pouring rain, so I found a fair bit of my stuff was damp. Thankfully not sopping wet though. I peeled off my bike clothes, slowly maneuvered my way into my tri-top, shorts, socks and running shoes ….put on my visor, my race belt, and grabbed my handheld water bottle.

I debated extra gear – arm warmers in particular – but I know that I get warm very quickly when I run, so I decided to forgo my good gear since I didn’t want to lose or throw good stuff away later.

It didn’t occur to me until after the race that I could’ve packed some throw-away sock-gloves like I would for a standalone marathon. Maybe next time!

So I wrapped up in the tinfoil blanket, figuring I’d use that as an extra layer until I warmed up – then I could throw it away.

I got all my sodden bike gear back into the bag and handed it off to a volunteer. I exchanged quick greetings with my friend Erin who was in the change tent too, and then headed out of the tent.

It wasn’t raining! Whoohooo!

I stopped at a portapottie in transition (Ewwwwwww is all I can say about that experience), and then headed out onto the run course. Swim and bike down. Just a marathon to go!

T2 Time: 14:28

Yikes. I think I did my first try-a-tri run faster than that transition!

The tinfoil blanket drove me nuts running out of transition, but I admit I was getting chilled by that point, so I tried to find a decent way to wear it without it becoming a nuisance. Can’t say I ever found the best way.

Just outside of T1, they’d opened Special Needs to runners just coming out of transition.

For people who don’t know much about Ironman…Special Needs is something unique to Ironman (and maybe other Iron Distance) races. You get a bag to put some extra stuff in – which you can access mid-way through the bike, and then a different bag that you can access mid-way through the run. You don’t need to stop (I didn’t on the bike), but you have the option.

I don’t know if IMAZ does this normally (usually you’d get access to Special Needs after 1 lap), but given the number of people who stopped (likely to put on warmer clothing no one expected to need until the sun set), I think it was a wise idea.

I didn’t stop at that point, thinking I’d prefer my clean -and hopefully less than damp - socks on the next loop.

Not long out of transition, I ran into my friends Paula and Karen. I think it was Paula caught me in my very trendy outfit. And here I was thinking there was no photographic evidence.

 

Thrilled to be on the run - Just a marathon to go!

About a kilometre into the run, I warmed up considerably. I shed the tinfoil blanket and dumped it in the trash at the top of a landscaped hill. The course doesn’t have much in the way of real hills, but the cosmetic ones count a lot more after you swim 3.8km and ride 180km.  

I enjoyed the run course when I did a loop of it in 2014 when volunteering – and the same was true on race day. I like that the course winds around the lake for large portions, always giving me things to look at. Plus, this time I had other competitors running around me, so I never felt alone.

The first 5 or so km (maybe more or maybe less) went much better than I was expecting along the paved lake path. When I saw my friend LK – on her way to a spectacular finish something like 4 hours ahead of me – I couldn’t have felt better.

But then the course doubled back along a dirt trail that runs more adjacent to the lake. I actually liked this path in 2014 when I ran it. But this year, there was a big problem.

You see….a dirt path turns to mud in the rain. When I turned onto the path, all I could think was, “Oh, Shit.” (Apologies for swearing, but that is exactly what I was thinking). The whole path had turned into a gross muddy swamp. I picked my way through it, hoping not to trip. I came close on several occasions.

A few other competitors and I joked that we didn’t know we had signed up for the Iron Mudder as we slogged through the mess. Thankfully sans electroshocks.

We followed the muddy and puddle-y path almost all the way back to transition, where we then made our way down to the opposite end of the lake. I remember seeing a sign on a small piece of yellow Bristol board somewhere along that stretch: “Smile, it makes the pain hurt less” – or something along those lines. It made me smile, not that I was feeling pain at that point.

Insert maniacal laughter here.

Really, when it comes down to it, the first 10km of the marathon went perfectly, even with the mud. My legs felt surprisingly good. My pace was strong – hovering under 6min pace per kilometer. I was eating regularly and sipping from my hand-held.

I really did feel good the first 10-14k!

 

But it’s the Ironman…and anything can happen on race day. And that day – for me – it did.

Around 14km, my back suddenly spasmed. This took me completely by surprise since I don’t have back issues. If anything, I expected my calves to do something – not my back!

Immediately, my back knotted up and began to ache. I shortened my stride and tried to massage it out. This happened not too long before Curry Road (the one real hill on the course), so when I reached the hill, I made my way carefully up the hill, mostly jogging very easy. At the top, I had to stop for a minute. I tried bending backwards over the railing of a fence to try and loosen up my back. This helped, but not much.

Still smiling (and running), but I was starting to hurt.

 

For the next 6 or 7km, I tried to jog as much as I could, stopping intermittently to try and work the tension out of my back. My pace dropped considerably – the only good thing was that I had some nice downhill where I could let gravity take control. I tried to run as best I could downhill and then just did what I could do on the flat.

Crossing the bridge back, I started to walk a lot more. I noted the sun was getting low in the sky...but at least it wasn’t raining. I wasn’t cold at all. I couldn’t help but smile.

My Dad was waiting for me at the turn to start the second loop. I was so glad to see him!

 

Dad: How do you feel? Me: If I felt any better, I'd be in Heaven!

Sorry, inside joke.

 

Despite my reassurances that I felt pretty good - just unable to run because my back was so tight - I am sure he was very worried about me (I don’t think I looked that bad, but I’ll let you be the judge). He suggested a visit to the next first aid tent – but I said that was unnecessary.

To be honest, I was afraid someone would suggest that I stop. Not that they would have, but how was I to know.

And I figured my back wasn’t that bad. By this point I’d figured out what had happened. I am nervous bike rider. For the 100km or so I rode in the pouring rain (especially going above 35km/h down the Beeline), I was tense like there was no tomorrow. That crazy hours-long tension caught up to me on the run and my back decided to make its displeasure known. I knew all I needed was a couple of Advil to help release the tension and I’d (probably) be as good as new.

Alas, I didn’t have any Advil because I’d heard it was terrible to take during an endurance race. In hindsight, I think I took the idea of no Advil a little too literally. Maybe if you were taking it pre-emptively and all day long it would be really bad…but to counteract a real issue, I think I would’ve been fine to take an Advil or two at that point. I wasn’t going very fast by that point after all.

Thankfully though, my Dad was able to help my back a little. I am sure we looked hilarious with him lifting me up backwards to try and get my back to stretch out, but it worked well enough that I felt a lot better. I was able to jog away from my Dad with a smile - even if the jog was incredibly slow. 

 

Despite my back, I was still laughing and having fun!

 

I probably shouldn't admit that the minute I was outside of my Dad's sight, I slowed back to a walk...but realistically, everyone could probably tell that from my split times. But I didn't want my Dad to worry about me. Truth be told, much as my back screeched every time I tried to run, I could walk pretty fast.

 

I passed by transition on the start of the second loop. This time, I did stop at Special Needs, mostly so I could change into dry socks. Miracle of Miracles, they actually were dry – unlike the damp pair in my T2 bag. I slathered some more body glide on my feet to prevent blisters, put on the dry socks, and decided not to take the throwaway jacket I’d also put in the bag since I wasn’t cold at all. My tri-suit was doing me well.

I got back into my jog a bit, walk a bit routine…stopping before the mud-pit section to try and work my back out (yet again) on a friendly bit of fence. Maybe even on a bench. I can’t quite remember. It’s a bit blurry when I did what – although trust me, anything the right height to let me lean against it got utilized. Benches, fences, funny square things I think were electrical boxes. You name it – I kept hoping something would help!

Interestingly, I found the mud-pit section just a bit better on the second time through. Because the rain had been done for a while, the mud started to harden – which was better than slopping through the whole thing. I walked this entire section though, finding the uneven and hardening ground quite precarious and very jarring on my poor back.

As I headed past transition for the last time – and then toward the bridge to get to the opposite side of the lake, I saw that “Smile, it makes the pain hurt less” sign again. This time, I laughed right out loud. I also smiled really big.

Same sentiment - if a different poster

 

It’s true, smiling helps. It reminds you why you are there – to be awesome, to push your limits, to see what you are capable of. You forget about time and just enjoy the day for what it is: a celebration of all you’ve done to get there.

And for me, I’d been through unexpected race issues once before – and smiling made that race one of the best days of my life.

During my first marathon in 2013, which I ran with a stomach bug (I ate one Cliff Shot Block during the whole marathon because my stomach was so unsettled), I quickly realized I wasn’t going to come close to my goal time because I’d been sick. So I made a new goal: Be caught smiling in every single race picture. I had people amazed that I was grinning well beyond the 30km marker. That made my day. And crossing the finish line was the best feeling ever, regardless of the time.

You might recall my realization on the bike that I could walk the entire marathon if I had to and still finish the race.

 

At no time during the IMAZ marathon, did I doubt I would finish. At no point did I fear I’d run out of time. To me, that made the marathon something to enjoy as much as I could.

Knowing I had no fear of missing the cut-off meant I could smile through the pain, take time to thank the very kind (and cold) volunteers, to cheer on the other racers…including several Toronto friends who passed me over the last 15km. I was thrilled to see them doing so well. My biggest hope for the day was for everyone I knew to finish and finish smiling.

I can’t count the number of people who paused to ask me if I was okay during the last 15km. I must have looked a lot worse than I felt.

 

Apparently that's because my back was so tight I was practically listing like a boat about to tip over. So glad I couldn't see myself.

 

It was honestly at least a dozen, including both racers and volunteers. My friend Erin even paused to give me a couple of salt pills to see if they’d help (sadly, they didn’t – but I appreciated the ability to try something!).

What’s funny, is that while my back refused to let me run, my legs actually felt good. As long as I didn’t run, the pain was manageable. It was when I got it into my head to jog that my back made its displeasure known.

At the bottom of the decent from Curry Road down to the lake, my friend Barry (husband and incredible Sherpa to my friend LK) found me as I passed under the bridge. I was in quite a bit of pain at that point after trying to jog down the long descent. I vaguely recall a nice (and likely worried) volunteer asking if I was okay. And that’s when I spotted Barry. He’d found some Tiger Balm and jogged out to this (very remote) part of the course to find me, and to cheer me and my friend Carole (apparently close behind) on.  He mentioned that I only had about 5km left.

5km left of a 226 km (140.6 mile) journey. It was crazy to imagine how far I’d gone – and how little I had left to go.

With profuse thanks to Barry and the kind volunteer who hovered nearby until I was underway again, I headed into the home stretch.

I decided shortly after seeing Barry that I wouldn’t try and run again until I got to the Finisher’s Chute. I figured it wasn’t worth the rebound pain when I stopped. I would just walk as quickly as I could. And so I did.

 

I admit I found it challenging not to run. Running is my favourite of the three sports after all. I love, love, love it. But I knew if I tried to run any more, I might collapse before I finished.

 

And there was no way I wasn't finishing.

 

A couple of times during that last 5k, I looked at the ring my friend Karina gave me a few years ago. It says: Be Awesome Today. That phrase, my race mantra if you will, has been my motto for life for a couple of years now. 

 

And as I am always willing to tell people: awesome isn't about speed, it's about attitude. 

 

That day, I was...with every  step forward. With every smile.

Over the next 5km, I chatted with a number of other racers. We were quite an eclectic mix out there. Men, women, large, tiny, old, young.  All we shared in common was a quest to reach the finish line and the utter determination that we would get there.

 

There'd be no giving up today.

 

I talked with several racers over the last few miles, but three conversations really stick out for me.

One woman came from behind looking very strong. She slowed down to check if I was okay as she passed. When I smiled and said that yes I was great and only had a few km to go, I think she was relieved. She wished me well and went on her way.

The second conversation made me realize why the first woman was probably so relieved by my response. This one was with a younger girl (at least I think she was younger than I was). I vaguely recall she was wearing a pink top. I could tell she was getting a bit down…and quickly learned that was because she was on her first loop. She was nervous that she wasn’t going to make the cut off for the second.

We were so very close. I looked at my watch. As far as I could tell, it was 20-30 minutes until 9pm - which was the cut-off to start the second loop. I did the math in my head and figured she could do it. It was maybe 2 or 3 km back to transition, if that was where the cut-off was (I wasn't sure).

 

Either way, I put on my biggest smile, gave her every bit of encouragement I had – and told her that she could do this – that she could make it, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn't quit. It might be close, but she could make the cut off if she just kept going. I told her to go.

 

 

I think my words helped. She picked up her pace. Before long, she disappeared into the darkness.

 

I smiled. I have no idea if she made the cut off, but from the look she gave when she went ahead of me, I bet she did. I really hope that she finished - that she became an Ironman.

The last conversation I had was with an older gentleman. He was quite slender, but looked strong. We walked together for at least a good kilometre, maybe two. As we walked, we chatted about racing. He’d done several Ironman races in the past. He offered me one piece of advice. He said that if there were other people around me near the finish, I should let them go ahead. That I should savour every moment of crossing the finish line – and to take the time to ensure I had it to myself. He said the extra few seconds would be worth it.

As we got to within one km of the finish line, he went ahead, putting on a great final kick. It wasn't long before he was out of sight.

And then, I was alone.

It was dark. Quiet. Peaceful. The only sounds were my footfalls: Left, right, repeat.

As I strode closer and closer to the finish line, there were no tears. I’d shed those along with any worries I had about not finishing in the last kilometre of the bike. This was pure celebration.

As I turned into the finishing chute, I realized I was still alone.

I started to run. In my head, I ran smoothly. In hindsight, I looked well beyond drunk. It didn’t matter. All I could hear was the roar of the crowd.

A few steps from the finish, I stopped. Despite what friends and family watching – live and at home – thought, I wasn’t hurting when I stopped.

No, I wanted to hold onto that moment forever. I paused to soak in the atmosphere, so I would never forget the feeling. The booming music. The roaring crowd. Cowbells. Noisemakers. People banging on the side of the finisher’s chute.

Mike Reilly – the Voice of Ironman - calling me in.

 “Come on, Jana…just a few more steps…..”

What’s the expression – an object in motion will stay in motion?  Wish I’d thought of that before I stopped just shy of the finish line. But I could see my Dad hovering just beyond the finish – waiting for me to come through.

I took those three steps: by far the hardest ones I took all day. I tried to raise my hands over my head.  

Basking in the moment.

As I crossed the finish line, I heard the words I’d used to get me through some incredibly long workouts: a six and a half hour trainer ride. A 34km run. A five hour brick followed by a 16km run. Whenever I got tired or felt like I couldn’t finish a workout, I imagined Mike Reilly saying those magic words and I found the energy I needed to get it done.

This time, those words were not in my imagination. They were real.

“You are an Ironman”

A very drunk looking Ironman, but still an Ironman!

 

I bet you thought I’d stop the chapter there, but I can’t leave it at that. As I crossed the finish line, I stopped for the second time. There was no way I was going to get moving again.

My Mom, watching on the live feed tells me I said, “Help me.” Maybe I did, who knows. Certainly I needed help.

 

And in the next moment, there was my Dad, pushing his way through a pile of volunteers to catch me before I could fall over.

 

Having my Dad catch me before I could fall. What more could a girl ask for?

Thanks Dad.

Final Run Time: 5:31:04 (59/120 AG, 332/765 Women, 1,493/2,676 Overall)
Ironman Arizona Finish Time: 13:59:16 

Ironman Arizona Race Report - Chapter 2: Don't Crash

As I headed into transition, a volunteer passed my T1 bag to me as I went by (Thank you awesome volunteer!). From there, I was sheparded into the women’s change tent. I admit, it was nice to know exactly where the change tent was from volunteering in T2 last year – it meant I had one less thing to worry about.

I finished around 1/3 through the pack of swimmers  – so during the peak of the swim-exit curve I think. That's probably why the transition tent was a bit of a zoo with people blocking paths to all the chairs. Rather than try and find a seat, I dumped my bag of gear on a table at the front of the tent and changed while standing. This was incredibly awkward, but it also meant I didn’t get comfortable in transition. If I’d sat down, maybe I would’ve wanted to stay awhile!

Several volunteers asked me if I needed help, but I didn’t need any. My simple plan was to methodically go through what I needed and take my time so I didn’t forget anything. It was going to be a long ride after all.

For months I’d debated whether to do full changes in transition or to just stick with my tri-suit. In hindsight, I am extremely glad I decided to do full changes even if it took a lot of time. Given the day’s weather, putting on dry clothes was nice – even if my run gear was not so dry by the time I got to T2.

Got to love foreshadowing, right?

On the funny side, putting my dry sports bra on was a comedic challenge I wasn’t expecting since I’ve never had issues before. One volunteer noted me struggling and helped pull it down in back. What a lifesaver. (Thanks awesome volunteer!).

I put on my LPC bike jersey and shorts, got my socks, shoes, gloves, sunglasses and helmet on, and then started stuffing my wetsuit into my bag. When I was done, one of the volunteers said not to worry about the bag and shoed me out the tent flap.

I let the sunscreen volunteers put a bit on me – just in case the clouds cleared up. After all, I had this happen to me at Barrelman in 2014. It poured before the start and then got incredibly sunny on the bike. I was hoping for something similar at IMAZ.

Insert maniacal laugher here.

Outside of the change tent, I quickly got my bearings and started jogging toward my bike. I had a fantastic place in transition, practically in front of the Bike Exit sign. Thank goodness for that because transition was massive. I can understand how people can get lost in there. It only took me a second to find my bike and to start my ‘extra’ watch. Then I just had a few steps to get to the bike exit. 

 

T1 Time: 8:54

After seeing a crash right out of T1 last year, I was very careful riding out of Tempe Beach Park. I figured the first 500m would be the most difficult part of the ride and if I got out of there, I’d be good. And I was.

 

The exit onto Rio Salado from Tempe Beach Park...I'm not in this pic.

 

Once I hit Rio Salado, I stretched my legs for a bit and got into a comfortable groove. I was cheerful and full of energy. There were smiles.

 

First Loop: Felt great!

The ride out to the Beeline Highway went by pretty quick. As I made my way up to the turnaround for the first time (it was a 3 loop course), I felt very good despite a bit of a headwind. I was settled, confident and happy with what I was doing.

 

My big goal early on was not to push too hard – so I tried to slow down when I found myself riding faster than my goal average. It wasn’t a warm day, so I had to remind myself to drink regularly to get my CarboPro calories – and to eat a honey stinger chew once in a while as well.

 

Cactus giving the finger...foreshadowing of the weather to come?

 

The miles after the turnaround on the Beeline were the best part of the day. After spending 10 miles or so going uphill, I got to go downhill with the wind at my back. Because the Beeline isn’t very steep (it’s basically a false flat), I didn’t have to worry about the descent. I just held on a went as fast as I could go with the same effort as I’d been riding all the way along. I felt like I was flying.

I made it back to transition to start the second loop. Of course, I saw Barry Richards and my friends Paula and Karen out there. So great to know people – it really makes a difference!

I can’t remember exactly when it started to rain to be honest. I feel like it was right around the beginning of the second loop. I could see the clouds in the distance and they just kept on coming closer…grey, ominous and not very friendly looking given I was on my bike. I hate riding in the rain.

I started to hear little plinks on my helmet. That’s when I realized it was raining. Very quickly, those plinks got louder and louder, practically reverberating in my ears. For a little while I thought I was hearing hail given the sounds were so loud – but I’m pretty sure they were just rain drops. Looking at the road, the water droplets were bouncing it was hitting so hard.

 

Of course, there were no photographers on the course at this point. I swear all the official pictures make it look like we had a beautiful day.

Very quickly, the road became a wet mess. As I climbed the Beeline, I was hoping the rain would hurry up and stop. No such luck. I kept drinking from my Camelbak and got started into my honey stingers since the rain was filling my bento box. Lucky for me, the honey stinger chews didn’t melt into goo with the rain – they just became slippery.

As I turned to head back down the Beeline, I had an interesting choice to make…slow down or do what I did the first time – and just pedal as hard as the wind would carry me. The wind was picking up now – but it was still a tailwind.

Despite being a bit terrified, I decided to go with it.

This is where riding in the rain several times during my training really helped. First during a drafting clinic and triathlon clinic, then while on various rides over the summer - and finally when I did 80km as part of a cold, windy and very wet PwC Epic Tour in September.

With this experience going for me, I hunkered down over my handlebars and held onto my brakes for dear life. I zoomed down the Beeline at a similar speed to my first loop. I didn’t let go for anything. There was no eating, no drinking…just focusing on what I could see in the few feet ahead of me – and trying not to do anything that might surprise people coming behind. Interestingly, I actually passed a few people (not many) – which I thought was awesome. I smiled, laughed out loud a few times, and kept a running playlist of songs with the word ‘rain’ going in my head.

I kept reminding myself that I was there doing an Ironman in the desert and it was pouring rain. Blame it on me. I picked this race because it was going to be dry. I should know better!

On the way back into Tempe, I started to feel bad for the volunteers. The weather was not what any of them expected either. I am sure they were much colder than I was, given they weren’t moving!

I am pretty sure I saw Barry again on this loop – and, as I went around the turn to start my second lap, there was my dad! My friend Paula actually got a picture of him in the Bike VIP tent - although when I saw him, he was outside braving the wet!

 

My Dad patiently waiting to catch sight of me

 

I admit, seeing my Dad made my day and got me revved up for my last loop. I saw Karen and Paula again on this lap as well I think. In fact, Paula got a picture of me.

 

Proof it was raining - Thanks Paula!

 

On the way up the Beeline for the third time, the rain stopped for a while. This gave me a nice (if short) reprieve – although the wind was picking up, so I felt my pace dropping on the uphill to the turnaround. I figured that was okay though since I’d still have the wind at my back on the way down.

Around this time, I saw a lovely rainbow in the distance. That made me smile and push a bit harder. I took it as a sign I was going to finish. Wish I could have taken a picture of it!

Midway through the last loop was when I started to feel incredibly stiff. It was a chore just to let go of my handlebars at various points. But I peeled my fingers off regularly to stretch them out - and did my best to keep fueled and hydrated.

I am proud of how far I’ve come with respect to eating and drinking on the bike. Less than 6 months earlier, I still wasn’t able to take my hands off my handlebars. Here’s to my coach’s diligence in keeping me practicing that skill until I finally, finally had it.

As I approached the turnaround for the last time, the rain started up again. Yippee! As I turned around, I decided to do the same thing I’d done on the second loop: I pushed as hard as I could down the hill and ignored everything but the road in front of me.

 

Official pic from near the end of the bike.

 

At one point I passed a bike crash. Several people had already stopped to help. I was given a wave so I kept going. As I glanced at the girl on the ground from the corner of my eye, I felt badly since it was pretty clear she wasn’t going to be finishing the race that day. I just hope she was okay overall.

Needless to say, I was a bit more cautious the last stretch. My hands felt glued to my handlebars at this point and my elbows and forearms ached a lot – no doubt from tension (what a weird thing to hurt during an Ironman, right?). My legs felt pretty good oddly enough.

A few kilometers from town, I approached the bridge over Tempe Town Lake. I went to shift gears but my fingers weren’t moving very well. A second later, I felt the tell-tale looseness that said I’d dropped my chain.

I quickly came to a stop, jumped off, quickly flipped the chain back on, then got going again. The entire incident took maybe 30 seconds.

Aside: Getting my chain back on was the only time I stopped during the entire IMAZ bike leg. To be honest, I was so afraid that if I stopped in the rain, I’d have a problem getting started again.

The last few km into transition were almost surreal. I teared up, knowing that even if I suddenly had 3 flat tires, I could walk my bike to transition.  Every km closer that I got, I breathed a bit easier.

 

Official picture...close to the end

 

As I approached transition, it must have been the cut-off time for people starting the third loop of the bike. I had to watch as two different people were stopped from proceeding by an official. Watching them made me realize how lucky I was to have no real issues on that bike ride, despite the rain.

Riding into Tempe Beach Park, I realized that I was going to do this.

As I wobbled to a stop at the dismount line and handed my bike off to a volunteer, I knew that I had enough time to walk every step of the marathon and still finish before midnight.

I knew – regardless of what happened on the run (and I certainly tested that out as you will see in the next chapter) – that I was going to do this.

 

I was going to be an Ironman.

Final bike time: 6:48:05 (48/120 AG, 285/765 women, and 1484/2676 overall)

Ironman Arizona Race Report - Chapter 1: Don't Drown

I could write an incredibly awesome blog about how I got to Ironman Arizona (aka – the Epic Road Trip with my Dad) – but for now, I know people really want to read about my race experience…so I might fill in details about the trip in a follow-up series of blogs (likely sometime in the next millennium).

In other words….just pretend you know everything that happened on my journey prior to race day. Like skipping over the beginning of the book or movie and going straight to the climactic scene. Not that I’d ever recommend doing that!

 

Bike ramp leading into Tempe Beach Park

The calm before the storm

My hotel (Hampton Inn on Scottsdale Road) arranged to have breakfast available from 4:30am for everyone on race day. I decided that rather than worry about getting to the race site right when transition opened, I’d just eat my normal breakfast and then get there when I got there. Having dropped my bags and bike off the day before, there really wasn’t much for me to do to ‘prepare’ on race day other than to check my tires and make sure my Speedfil was full. I didn’t want to be wandering around in the cold for 2 hours before the race start.

So I got up around 4:30am, rolled out of bed and went downstairs with my Dad to get breakfast. Needless to say, I stuck to my standard race day fare: A bagel with peanut butter,  and a coffee (Nothing new on race day!). To be honest, it was nice to have some time to sip my coffee, eat and watch other people getting ready for the long day ahead. It was the calm before the storm if you will.

Not that I was particularly calm. I am pretty sure my hands were shaking as I slathered peanut better on my bagel – but I was excited and confident about the day to come.

When we got outside, it was chilly (Around 50F/10C) but dry. Thankfully, I knew how cold it was going to be from watching three friends race last year, so I was dressed well in warm-up pants, long sleeved shirt and jacket. We drove to the race site and managed to get a great parking spot just across from Tempe Beach Park. Thanks to my dad for scouting the lot out in advance.

My dad took some start-of-the-day pictures and then we were off to transition. I had all my swim stuff with me, not to mention my special needs bags. I’d rechecked my bags the night before so I knew I had everything I had planned to bring (e.g. a spare pairs of goggles, bike pump, extra nutrition, etc.).

Starting the day with a smile!

In fact, I was pretty sure I was prepared for anything that might come my way.

Aside: You can’t see me, but I’m laughing out loud as I write this.

It was really dark in transition, so I was glad I didn’t have much to do when I arrived around 5:30am. Mostly, I just had to give my bike a once over. If you’re wondering what I did….I:

·         Put water in my Speedfil – This was easy. I just filled it from a 1.5L water bottle I brought with me. My Camelbak had my Carbo-Pro mix in it.

·         Check my bento box – I double checked that the zipper was working and that everything was still there. It was full of 4 bags of Honey Stinger Chews (already out of the package so I could eat them easily), and a couple of gels I could take if I ever stopped (I can’t eat gels on the go yet).

·         Put my spare Garmin on my handlebars – I came up with this idea after dealing with not 1, but 2 half-ironman races where my watch refused to work. Figured with a spare, I’d be covered even if my Garmin 920 decided to fail me.

·         Pump my tires up – This was surprisingly hard to do since the bikes were so tight on the rack. But luckily I was right by the bike mechanic so I used their fence to rest my bike so I had more space.

·         Make sure I was in the right gear – This was mostly a wild guess. I knew I’d be in a crowd leaving transition, so I went with something easy, but enough to give me a little resistance so I’d get going quickly. If I recall, it was toward the end of the lower ring – one shift before I’d probably switch to the big ring.

All in all, this took me a maximum of 10 minutes. Not long at all. I gave my bike pump back to my Dad – and then it was time to say goodbye. I got my Dad a VIP pass for the day, so he headed off to find the VIP swim tent, while I got to look for the portapotties!

The line for the loo was pretty long, but I had plenty of time. After I made it through the line and did my business, it was time to get my wetsuit on and drop off my morning clothes bag (i.e. all the stuff I’d lugged with me to the race and that I’d likely want to put on again when I crossed the finish line).

Wetsuit on, I looked around and found a refreshment table with plenty of water. While it was supposed to be for people to drink, I took one of the jugs and poured some of it into my wetsuit.

That may sound weird, but my coach recommended once (before the Toronto Triathlon Festival – in Lake Ontario) that when you have to swim in cold water, getting wet before getting in the water makes the shock easier since you have time for the water closest to your skin to warm up. I am sure I got some funny looks – but trust me, it did help!

From there, I made my way to the swim entrance, where people were already starting to gather.

Ironman Arizona: Swim

This was the first year that IMAZ had a rolling start.

I admit that the rolling start took a fair bit of my nerves about the swim away since it would be a self-seeded start where you could pick when you entered the water. In my mind, this was a lot better than a mass start with 2,500 of my closest friends – even though I’m a reasonably good swimmer.

I get this kind of start sucks for people who might be vying for a Kona slot (since you don’t know when your competition will start and ‘first to the finish’ may not actually win you the race), but for average racers, the time trial start can make for an easier start to the day. And it did – at least for me.

That’s not to say I didn’t contemplate where to start. As I wound my way through the later seeded groups toward the front, it seemed that most of the people were in the 1:15 and up sections. Now, I figured I could swim around 1:13-1:15 on a perfect day – but I also knew that people would likely be seeding up (i.e. going a bit ahead of where they would actually swim) and I didn’t want to have to swim over people if I could help it.

Given the 1:10 and up area had a lot less people, I decided to seed myself to the left of the 1:10 sign. I figured the time wasn’t completely unreasonable if I found a good draft and swam a good line – and I’d probably have more space to swim than if I started later.

It was a perfect choice in hindsight.

Before I seeded myself, I did a few stretches to warm up while looking out onto Tempe Town Lake. The water was calm, only a flicker of lights bobbing on the water from people in kayaks and boats. As I was standing there, I got caught by one of the race photographers. I think that’s a first for me. I rarely get pictures from before the swim unless they’re taken by friends and family.

Waiting for the sunrise!

The sky lightened very quickly. It was much cloudier than I expected. But the clouds didn't look too bad and it wasn't windy, so I wasn't worried.  On the positive side, I knew I wouldn't have to swim right into the glare of the sun.

Once it got brighter out, I vaguely recall they played the American national anthem...People cheered, but it was like I was hearing it from a distance. It was almost surreal. I distinctly heard Mike Reilly say in the loudspeaker, “You are going to be an Ironman today!” And I grinned.

Here's a fantastic picture of the transition area and people in the swim corral corridor. I think it's from the Ironman Arizona Facebook Page...but I really don't know. All I know is it is an astonishing view!

Aerial view of the transition area - before the start

When the cannon (I think it was a cannon – I just know it was loud) went off for the pro men’s race, I jumped. Then the pro women started.

I started my watch so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. I didn’t want it failing me – and didn’t care about an extra minute or two on my time.

 What seemed like seconds later, the gun went off for the Age Group Start.

Time of day: 6:50am. Ironman Arizona had begun!

We were funneled into the water very quickly. I found myself going down the entry leftmost entry steps quickly by safely. My plan was to swim left toward the buoy line, knowing the wall curved and not wanting to swim too much extra.

 In hindsight, I swam too far left at first, but at least I had pretty clear water to swim in.

My Dad's view of the swim start!

 

I jumped in Tempe Town Lake, put my head down and started swimming. I had decided the day before to get a few minutes into the swim before I took stock and decided if I needed to stop to adjust my goggles or anything. Thankfully, I didn't need to.

The swim itself was a million times easier than Barrelman in September. Despite starting near the front (relatively…still far back from the really fast swimmers), I didn’t get any hard knocks, nor did I have a girl trying to clobber me intentionally.

I got into a nice rhythm pretty quickly. I felt strong. I admit, mentally, I spent a lot of the first half wondering when I’d hit the turn around, but think that was more nervous energy, excitement and needing to calm down.  I had some decent drafting opportunities, which I took – and also found plenty of people drafting off me.

At different times during the swim, I realized that I wasn’t swimming the best line. I was sighting well – but I don’t think I actually had a good sense of what the fastest line was. I thought I knew it going in, but in the water, it was tough to know if I was there or not.

This was especially true on the way back from the turnaround….I know I swam much wider than I had to. But hey, if I ever do the race again, I have a much better sense of where things are and what I should have sighted on the trip down and then back up the course. Certainly on the way back, I should have been sighting one spot on the bridge, rather than the buoys.

But all in all, I felt great in the water. It was a perfect temperature for a long swim.  By the time I closed in on the twin bridges right before the last turn to the finish, I could sense I was finishing in a really good time.  

The turn toward the stairs was one of the easiest parts of the day because I’d scoped out the sight line the day before. I just put my head down and swam directly to the stairs, sighting occasionally. I tried to shake my legs out a bit as I went, which might have looked a bit funny if someone had an underwater camera…but fortunately no one did.

On the funny side, I didn’t see my dad as I came out of the water – and later, he said that he didn’t see me (not surprising given what a zoo it was). Yet, when I looked at one of the swim exit pictures he posted on Facebook as I was writing this blog….I realized he actually caught me on camera right before I went up the stairs!  That’s me in the pink cap with the purple goggles!

 

Don't trip on the stairs. Don't trip on the stairs.

I took my time going up the steps (a process I’d practiced the day before) and had no issues. There were a million people yelling and cheering. It was amazing.

As I walked away from the swim exit I looked at my watch- which I somehow managed to pause partway through the swim (surprise, surprise!). This moment was kindly caught for posterity by the race photographers. I was smiling because even though my swim time wasn't completely captured, I saw it was only just after 8am. I was thrilled!

 

What time is it?

 

Here is a wider view of the swim exit - you can see me to the left still looking at my watch. I really like the view though since it gives you a great feel for the atmosphere of the swim exit.

 



Swim exit - so exciting!

 

I hit start, switched to transition mode, then jogged quickly out of the swim exit area, pulling down the top of my wetsuit as I went. A few steps later, I was ushered into the wetsuit stripping station. Before I knew it, I was lying on the ground, two volunteers peeled off my wetsuit in about 2 seconds then helped me up and sent me on my way, wetsuit in hand. It was awesome!

Lessons Learned on the Swim

Sighting on such a long course when the things around you are awkwardly shaped (the edge of the lake curved)  was harder than I expected because I couldn’t see far enough down the course to really tell if I was taking the quickest route (I could only see a buoy or two at a time.  I don’t know that I could’ve done much differently since we were only allowed to swim part of the course the day before. Really, it was the experience of swimming the course that gave me the knowledge that I could use to swim a better route next time.

But hey – I was still more than happy with my swim time – especially the fact that I felt good coming out of the water!

Total Swim time: 1:16:45 (A lot less time than it took to write this blog)
Rank: 26/120 AG, 180/765 women, 865/2,676 overall

Next up: The bike!