This week, I had the opportunity to take some time to pursue a longterm goal of mine: to complete an Ironman triathlon. The process of training to swim 2.4 miles followed by a 112 mile bike ride followed by a 26.2 mile marathon takes several months. Thus, amidst the nerves that arrive on race day is the feeling of relief that there is only another 140.6 miles to go.

I drove to St. George, Utah  with some friends who have been mentors for me ever since I took up endurance sports. We arrived on Monday and had the chance to spend the week swimming, riding and running on the course which we would be tackling on Saturday. We wanted to believe that the bike course and run course were not as challenging as people reported, but we were proven wrong. The bike course is the toughest Ironman route in North America (I believe only Ironman Lanzerote is more aggressive) and the run course is the toughest Ironman route in the world. Combined with the frightening winds (we had gusts up to 55mph this week), chip-seal roads (which make for a very bumpy ride) and temperature ranges (the lake where we would be swimming could be as cold as 54 degrees while the air temperature on the run could be as warm as 90 degrees), we were dreading the arrival of this race.

Ironman provides an incredible experience for athletes, though. The check-in process was smooth, their gift shop was buzzing with thousands of people looking for apparel symbolizing this inaugural race, their pre-race banquet featured Dave Orlowski (one of the original 12 Ironmen from 1978), and the logistics of setting up transitions at various locations were perfectly smooth. The company thinks of everything when it comes to putting on an event, from proactive body marking days before the race to assigning a "catcher" who is responsible for your well-being at the finish line. Although there are many 140.6-mile triathlons that people can enter, there is something about the Ironman brand which provides a unique experience for participants.

My race day alarm buzzed at 3:00am in order to allow me to leave at 4:00am to catch the shuttle to the swim-to-bike transition area (T1). The weather was unseasonably cool, with a projected high temperature of less than 70 degrees, which was perfect for me.  I was lucky to have more than a dozen friends from my race club also registered for Ironman St. George, almost all of which have done many long course triathlons before (three of which were here for their 10th, 13th and 21st Ironman races). They did a great job of taking me under their wing to show me how to train and how to prepare for the event. We jumped on the shuttle and I realized that I was still holding on to both of my concentrated solution water bottles (one of which I was supposed to leave in a "special needs bag" in order to pick it up at Mile #52 of the bike segment). I decided to improvise and pour the contents of one of those bottles in my aero bottle while putting the other one in the bottle cage on my bike. This meant that I would be starting off my day with more calories and electrolytes than originally planned, but I figured I could refill it with water after the first hour or two and it wouldn't affect me very much. As for nutrition, I had some Cliff bars that I broke up into little pieces in my bento box and I had some GUs in my jersey pocket (as well as Carbo Pro in my concentrated bottle). My plan was to try to take in 200+ calories per hour on the bike and I failed miserably. However, I did eat and drink much more than I usually do on my training rides.

T1 was an amazing sight, with almost 2,000 bikes, people and transition bags set up. The air temperature was in the low 40's, and people were putting on their wetsuits a full hour before the 7:00am start time in an attempt to stay warm. Finally, at 6:40am, we made our way over to the boat ramp. Reports on the water temperature varied quite a bit...we swam at Sand Hollow on Wednesday when it was 57 degrees and the high winds churned the colder water up, cooling off the warmer layer on top. Still, some people were reporting a 58-59 degree temperature. When we jumped in, we certainly didn't believe it. For me, anything 59 or above is somewhat tolerable, while temperatures under 57 will take my breath away for a few minutes until I become numb. We later learned that the temperatures were closer to 54 degrees, as one of our friends was pulled out of the water 400 yards from shore due to hypothermia symptoms. I certainly couldn't breathe when I jumped in and submerged my face. I was anxious to get started in an attempt to burn enough calories to be able to move.

This was my first mass swim start and I was very nervous. Anybody who has ever been in a triathlon knows that the swim can be a huge underwater wrestling match, as people are constantly running into each other, allowing their swim stroke to push other people around (or down into the water) and their feet to kick people in the face (therefore knocking goggles loose). As soon as the cannon fired, I was pummeled by dozens of people trying to sprint ahead to find some open water. I was completely scared. Six months ago, I couldn't swim 25 yards across a pool, and here I was trying not to drown while people were knocking me around and pulling me down. I immediately made a beeline for a nearby support kayak and clung on to its edge for a moment while I gathered my thoughts. I spotted another kayak 100 yards away and I told myself I'd make it there and reassess the situation. As I hung on to the second kayak, I decided I had no choice but to jump into the crowd and try to find a spot where I could swim. Luckily, I did. I planned to try to swing to the far right side of each buoy in order to avoid some of the congestion, but learned that my swim stroke is a bit lopsided and kept veering to the left where the competition was tougher. The plus side is that there is more of a draft on that side, so it is possible for people to swim faster if they are aggressive about getting around (or over) people who swim more slowly. I calmed myself by making a game of it, seeing how many people I could pass, and I kept telling myself that I was swimming really well. In all honesty, I had no idea how fast or slow I was going...the clock could have said 1:05 or 1:45 when I got out and I wouldn't have been surprised either way. Thankfully, it said 1:17:02, which was three minutes faster than my expectation.

My transition time was an incredibly slow 12 minutes, mostly because my hands were too cold to move. I put on arm warmers, two jerseys, gloves, socks, shoes and a helmet and found my bike in the racks. The air temperature was still in the mid 40's (and we expected it to be in the low 40's at the top of the climb), so I was shivering quite a bit. I told the team I coach that I was expecting to spend 6 hours and 45 minutes on the bike. Normally, that would be a very slow bike split for me, but considering the rigor of the course and the fact that I was trying to ride at 70% of my functional threshold (the amount of power which I can produce in one hour of all-out cycling), I thought it was a reasonable expectation. I started at the same exact time as a good friend and training partner and I was passed by another teammate at Mile #6. We rode 22 miles to St. George and then started two 45-mile loops through the hills climbing up to Gunlock and Veyo. The course was congested with cyclists, and it was hard to abide by the drafting, blocking and passing rules that Ironman sets forth, but I did my best to ride an honest race without getting in anyone's draft. I was having some stomach issues, so I stopped at a port-a-potty to try to resolve them, but that didn't work. I was disappointed to lose the 5-6 minutes to no avail, but my back was happy to be able to stretch a little. During the climb up the "Veyo Wall," I heard a familiar voice yell my name...it was my good friend coming up behind me and absolutely crushing her bike time (she finished 4th in her age group). At the 56-mile mark, I looked at my clock and I was astonished to see how slowly I was riding. I was on pace for a 7-hour bike split...I'm pretty sure I can do a 5:30 on a flat course, so I was really disheartened. However, the descent into St. George was pretty fast...at one point I was doing 39mph in my aero bars and having a ton of fun. At Mile #67, I saw some spectators I knew and at Mile #70 I saw my friend and training partner who was doing Ironman St. George for his 40th birthday. He and I rode near each other for 15 miles before I proceeded toward the bike-to-run transition (T2) on my own. There was a second port-a-potty break during that loop which was also unhelpful, and I was accruing a lot of pain (left calf was seizing up, right foot was extremely sore where it was pressing against the pedal, lower back and neck were killing me), so I was wondering how I was going to run a marathon. However, seeing some friends running as I rode into T2 got me excited about joining them out there. The friend whom I rode with got into transition a couple of minutes after me, so I waited up for him and we headed out on the run together.

I was really doubting my run strength during Mile #1, but my calf and foot numbed a bit and I was able to start moving. I was trying to feel for my heart rate and determined that I could comfortably run 8:30/mi pace without bonking or getting sore. I was wrong. The course was very hilly and, although I maintained that pace for the first 14-15 miles, I eventually moved to a walk/jog and then a walk at Mile #17. I was very disappointed to be 9 miles from the finish line and totally unable to run anymore, but my legs and joints simply couldn't support my body weight anymore. I did my best to pace myself, but my inexperience showed. So, I decided to make the most of it and start walking to the best of my capability. I saw quite a few friends on the run course, five of which finished in less than 12 hours (two of them qualified for the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii) and a couple of which were walking about as fast as I was. At Mile #20, I was so fatigued that I actually went into a port-a-potty just to be able to sit down for a minute. By Mile #24, I was wondering if I could walk the next two miles. I was feeling faint and trying to take in calories and hydration, but the fear of fainting a couple of miles short of becoming an Ironman was welling up inside of me. At Mile #25, I looked at my watch and realized I was going to "run" a marathon slower than 5 hours if I didn't start moving. I threw caution to the wind and figured if I fainted, it would be better to do it while fighting than while walking. Somehow, my adrenaline allowed me to run a mile to the finish line without falling. I stopped a foot short, dropped to the ground and did a Blazeman Roll in honor of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis victim Jon Blais, who has been a big inspiration to me. As I rose, I was greeted by Bob and Mary Ann Blais, Jon's parents, and being congratulated by them was the best feeling I had all day.

So, although I don't really feel any different and I'm a bit embarrassed about my super-slow marathon, I woke up today an Ironman. I have absolutely no desire to do another 140.6 mile triathlon; for me, it was just a "bucket list" goal to accomplish someday. I'm sure there will come a day when I want to find a flatter course to try to do what I think is possible for me (sub-11 hours), but I will have the memories of my painful 13:31 day  to sober me from that inclination. Regardless of my retirement from that distance, I am eternally thankful for the friends who encouraged me to ride a bike, taught me how to swim, and guided me to this goal. Now, it's time to work on the next item on my bucket list, which I will blog about soon.