It
is hard to describe the feeling of crossing the finish line of an Ironman. It
is an emotional experience when you hear Mike Reilly, the voice of Ironman,
calling your name and announcing “You are an Ironman!” All of the work, the
pain, the fun, is all behind you. You accomplished a feat that many people have
never even dreamed of. You woke up at 4:00 A.M. after months and months of pushing
your limits and testing your mental fortitude in order to swim 2.4 miles, bike
112 miles and run 26.2 miles. You did it.
I
signed up for my first Ironman after I completed Florida 70.3 in 2011. Ironman
Texas was going to be almost exactly a year later. What better way to spend
college graduation money? I joined Total Intensity Sports and met a great group
of athletes and friends with a coach who knew how to push me to be my best.
Training was long. It was difficult. And there were several points in the day
when I just didn’t feel like going. But, I knew that I was not going to have a
good race without putting in the work. The workouts that you don’t want to do
are the most important. Those are the days when you really test and build your
mental toughness. On the actual course, there are going to be points where you
don’t want to keep going, but you can draw from the difficult training sessions
and know that you can do it.
I’m
going to try to describe my race, but to get a better picture, watch the re-cap
video that was played during the awards ceremony. My dad was racing with me. We
were smack talking all the way up to the event to see who would be a faster
Ironman, but really, the important part is being there with family and getting
each other to the finish line. (Yes, he beat me…) My sister was finishing the
Disney College Program right before the race, so she flew into Texas on the way
home to California to join our cheer section with my uncles, aunt and cousins.
Race
Day! I know a lot of people feel pre-race nerves, but I was honestly too
excited to be nervous, although I needed to be calm in order to conserve the
energy that I was going to need. Time to eat breakfast, get our bags
(transition bags were all prepared the night before and bikes are already
dropped off in transition the day before. There’s a lot of preparation involved
and obviously no time to think about that stuff on race day…) We got to the
parking area and dropped off our transition bags. Our day started with a mile
long walk to the water from there. It was pitch dark. There were thousands of
athletes and volunteers and spectators near the swim start. We got our body
markings, sunblocked, stood in a really long line for the bathroom (part of the
pre-race routine), warmed-up and waited. We were ready.
After
the cannon goes off for the pros to start about ten minutes before the race
start, athletes started funneling through the swim corral and into the water. The
water was warm, so wetsuits were allowed if needed, but not allowed for anyone
who wanted to try to qualify for awards or Kona. I went without, but I prefer
swimming sans wetsuit (which is why I picked Texas). We treaded water for
several minutes. If you have ever witnessed a mass swim start, you would
understand why the nickname is “the blender.” You are in the water with
approximately 2,000 of your new friends, all anxious to go. When the cannon
went off, I immediately got pushed under water. I was honestly a bit scared
from that, even though swimming was always my strength. I felt disoriented and
didn’t want to be too close to anyone after that.
I
was so happy when I saw the ladder and a volunteer pulled me out of the water
at a time of 1:10:57. Time to grab the transition bag and run to the changing
tent. Some people change completely, others just grab shoes and nutrition. Do
whatever you have to do to finish the race. After the changing station is the
sunblock station. The volunteers have giant vats full of sunblock that they
smear all over. It was 90 degrees in May, so this was very much appreciated.
Next I had to find my bike and started my 112 mile journey. There are a lot of
thoughts that run through your mind in 112 miles. I tried to focus on enjoying
it. I honestly loved the part where we rode through the Sam Houston National
Forrest. And I waved to all of the spectators cheering us on. I do wear a watch
with me while racing, but only to track my calorie intake. Everything else I go
with how I feel. I just remembered all of the advice that coach gave me and
thought about how great the finish line was going to be. And how all of my
friends could track my progress online whenever I reached a timing matt. Dad
passed me around mile 40-something. I knew I wouldn’t see him again until the
run. It’s hard not to tick off the miles at the mile markers and think about
how many miles you have left. And that you still have to run a marathon even
when you get off your bike. I stopped to pee way to many times. A lot of people
just go on their bikes, but I wasn’t that fancy, yet. I opted for
porta-potties. When I hit mile 90, I thought I was almost there. But really,
that’s 22 miles away. And mile 100 was still 12 miles left! The crowds were
getting bigger as I got closer to transition. I saw my sister! 6:48:30 is a
long time to be on a bike.
Time
to give away my bike to the nice volunteers. I grabbed my running shoes from my
next transition bag, had to pee again, and got more sunblock from the volunteers
with the sunblock vats. 26.2 miles is a long way to go. I passed the rest of my
family about a mile away. They were cheering and partying and enjoying the
atmosphere. My uncle told me that my dad was way ahead of me and that I had two
girls in my age group ahead of me. I wanted to go to Kona. Slow and steady.
Just keep running. People are walking left and right. Several people did not
look all that good, to be honest. I had to just keep going. I had a little bit
of knee trouble leading up to the event. I promised coach that I would stop and
stretch every hour just to avoid issues. It seemed to help, because I didn’t
have to walk at all. There were spectators and volunteers all over the course,
which really helped keep us going. High-fives to everyone. At the start of each
lap, you can hear the finish line. It sounded like a party. I just had to get
there. At the second lap of three laps, there were even more people walking.
More people looking exhausted. My uncle told me that I was catching up to my
dad. I wanted to find him. Finally, lap number three. It seems as if you’re
almost there, but it’s still over 8 miles away. That’s a decent run even on fresh
legs, let alone when you’re completely run down. This time I was only five
minutes behind my dad. I was determined to catch him. We saw each other I think
about halfway through the last leg. He was going one way, and I was on the
opposite side. I pushed harder to catch him, and now that he knew where I was, he
pushed harder as well because he didn’t want me to catch up.
With
about 3 miles left, my stomach was having no more of the food. I debated about
forcing myself to eat, but it wasn’t going to happen. People were vomiting,
walking, sitting, etc. I knew I could take on the last 3 miles. I skipped the
food, stretched a final time and kept on running. As I reached the finish shoot,
I high-fived everyone. 12:43:49 for my final time. It didn’t really matter
though. What mattered was that I made it. To top it off, Chrissie Wellington,
my idol, gave me my medal at the finish. I was sore, exhausted, surprisingly in
that “not hungry” stage (don’t worry, I ate later!) We waddled over to the food
area, eventually got our stuff to pack into the car. After showering and
eating, we went back to the finish line so we could cheer on our fellow Ironman
athletes to the finish line. They had until midnight. The finish line is like
one big party. Everyone is excited. Everyone who finishes comes in to a hero’s
welcome. It is an emotional journey, but well worth it.
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