Just a Half . . . Ironman

Earlier this year, before I had any sense at all, I thought I would train quickly for a Boston qualifying time in a marathon in March, and then move on to training for my A race of the season, Ironman 70.3 Augusta in late September.  Because I had promised my dear hubby not to do another full Ironman this year, I had "only" signed up for a half.  A Half Ironman consists of a 1.2 mile open water swim, a 56 mile bike ride, and a 13.1 mile run.  My goal was to come in top three in my age group and qualify for the 70.3 World Championship in New Zealand.  Not that I could actually afford to go, but qualifying would be super cool.

In March, I learned that running a Boston qualifying time in the marathon was harder than I thought.  It took me until the end of June when my best running buddies and I qualified at Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, Minnesota.  

July was an awesome training month with lovely high mileage in all three disciplines-- swim, bike, and run-- until a few things happened to derail my training in August:
1. I injured my knee;
2. John accepted a new job that required buying and moving into a new house, preparing the old house to put on the market, and getting the boys settled into a new school and home;
3. My eldest went off to college, promptly came down with mono, and required a little extra care as he recovered.

So . . . Here came September, and I was . . . less than ready.

Cary, Barbara, and Kristi
Augusta 70.3 relay team: Three Women Fit to be Tired

I might not have done this Half Ironman at all if it weren't for my dear No Drama Momma training partners, Cary and Barbara.  They were doing the Half Ironman relay with another wonderful athlete and friend, Kristi.  Since they would all be there to have fun with, and since my dear, long suffering husband was willing to handle all planning and logistics, I decided to do my best and see what would happen.  (John's duties included last minute repairs on my bike, making hotel reservations, finding restaurants that met with my approval, and having the car in the right place at right time.  Also, cheering for me all over the course; then collecting my stinky, sweaty gear and bike after the event while I lay in the air conditioned van with my medal around my neck, a bottle of water, and a slice of pizza!  How can I thank him enough?)

So what happened was I felt super nervous and uncertain.  As I stood barefoot with nearly 3,000 athletes on the dock of the Savannah River, I looked at the glowing American flag swaying in morning breeze.  The pedestrian bridge was full of well wishers who would try without success to recognize their loved ones in the mad rush of splashing arms, kicking feet, and green, blue, and pink latex swim caps.

When it was my turn, I leaped in.  The cold water took my breath.  Despite my diligent swim practice, I had difficulty settling into a normal freestyle.  I kept having to lift my head and swim Tarzan style while I waited for my breathing to calm down so my body could get to work.  The morning sun was blinding; and despite my mirrored goggles, I could see nothing ahead of me.  I could only see when I looked to the side.  I didn't panic, but was slow to relax.  

By half way through the 1.2 miles, I was doing fine and singing "Rolling on the River." I swam along and watched as the yellow buoys turned to orange buoys, ending with one red buoy marking the swim exit.  As I splashed out of the water and jogged up the hill, I heard my darling's whistle.  I waved and thanked him and ran for my bike.  I saw Cary and Barbara as they awaited Kristi's swim finish.  Barbara dashed over and pulled off my swimskin. I got my bike shoes and helmet on and ran for the Bike Out.


56 miles.  I didn't know how it would go.  Since our move, I hadn't found a group to ride with or a safe road route on which to do interval training.  I had done one or two shorter road rides with Cary and a couple of more leisurely (but wonderful) rides with my hubby on a local paved bike path.  My goal had been to average 20 mph.  It would be a new record for me.  I rode the first six miles at over 19 mph, but then began to slow.  I loved the rolling hills and countryside around Augusta.  I kept working hard, knowing Cary would chase me down.  About mile 45, the route takes a little out and back, and there was Cary-- aero position, head down, determined.  She was definitely gaining on me!  I also worked to pass all the women in my age group I could find-- always a motivator.


Much to my surprise, the bike portion passed smoothly.  My fellow triathletes were courteous, friendly, and watching out for one another.  Athletes passed each other with care, and I had a short chat with a few athletes toward the end.  I did have to pull over twice in the first 20 miles to put my new chain back on.  After those incidents, I simply stayed in the big chain ring to eliminate risk.  I pushed hard-- more bricks than circles-- but was pleased to average 18.3 mph overall.


Coming in from the ride, I loved seeing my husband and gave him a kiss as I passed on my way to start the run.  I saw Barbara awaiting Cary's finish, and told her that Cary was right behind me.  It was a joy to hang Spooky back on the bike rack and slip on my running shoes.  Run and Done!

My knee injury kept me from running much at all through August, but I discovered that swimming in cold water seemed to help tremendously.  So I swam every day during my youngest son's swim practice.  Since early September, my legs felt strong again; so I looked forward to making up time on the run.

My dear hubby slapped his hat on my head as I ran by.  A good choice as it was blazing hot without a cloud to be seen.  My legs felt tired but sturdy.  I began at my normal easy long run pace-- about 9:30 minute miles.  I assumed I would get a bit faster as my legs realized they were off the bike.  They had other ideas.

It isn't the people from Augusta's fault that their streets felt like a sizzling frying pan.  People cheered and held up signs to amuse us.  There were numerous water hoses, water guns filled with ice water, and sprinklers set up to help keep us cool.  Every mile, the aid station angels offered up water, Gatorade, Red Bull, Coke, bananas, oranges, pretzels, potato chips, Gu, and ice.  

About mile four, Barbara breezed by me on the final leg of the relay.  I cheered for her as she passed and tried to follow her strong legs, but I could not.  She slipped away.

As the heat rose in my body, drinking water and running through sprinklers was not enough.  I started to enjoy the hallucinations of dehydration.  My dogs were running beside me.  All the dogs I had ever run with: Jack.  Lady.  Apollo.  Jake.  Max.  Even Bitsy (who really does not like to run).  I was happy and smiling as we all ran down the road together.  

Ummm . . . KIM!  YOU'RE OVERHEATING, came the message to my tired brain.  Okay.  At the next stop, I took drastic measures, dumping ice not just down my bra, but also in my hat, down my back, and into my shorts.  WOW, ice in the shorts is a wake up call!  I ceased hallucinating and kept plodding forward.  I am proud to say that I did not walk.  The people around me were filling their shirts and hats with ice, too.  I don't know about their shorts.  But we all sounded like maracas as we trotted along to the rhythm of the bouncing ice cubes.

The nice thing about ice and water is that it is cooling.  The less nice thing about ice and water is that when it gets into your shoes it can cause blisters.  Big ones.  By mile eight, I was convinced that I had a lot of grit in the heels of my shoes.  It was so painful, I decided to pull over and try to get it out.  

Oh.  That's not dirt.  That's blood and blisters.  How will I keep running?  Maybe take off my shoes and run barefoot?  Sounds crazy now, but it seemed worth a try because the pain in my heels was so intense.  

Know what hurts more than blisters?  Running barefoot on hot asphalt.  After a quarter mile, I wisely put my shoes back on and trotted on.

Although I continued to note the ages of any women who passed me (it is written on our calves), I no longer had any hope of winning my age group.  This race had become a survival competition as I watched once strong, athletic men and women dropping out of the race with drooping heads and sagging bodies as they were loaded onto golf carts and taken to the medical tent.  

At long last, when all hope had been sucked from my body, it was time to turn right and head for the finish.  As usual, I was struck by my sudden ability to pick up speed and sprint (kind of) when I know the finish is near.  John was there at the chute, and I paused for my kiss.  He then shooed me on, shouting, "It's a race!  Go!"  I did.  I sprinted in.  My time: 6 hours and 1 minute. My medal was awarded.  My finisher's cap.  A bottle of water.  And then, there was John, Cary, Barbara, and Kristi.  They waited to see me finish.  

Such a long hot day for all the spectators and athletes.  But as a fellow athlete said to me as we walked toward our cars, "What better way to spend the day?"  
"Yes," I replied.  "For some reason, we like to do hard things."

But not without the support of those who love us even when they don't understand us.  John not only collected my bike and gear, he drove the 3+ hours home while I munched on pizza and salt & vinegar potato chips.  Thank you, Sweetie.  I promise not to sign up for another . . . Oops!  Too late!

Goldilocks and the Three Runners

At the Finish Line next to Cary and Barbara

Eighteen weeks of dedicated marathon training while also being Mom, Wife, and Employee: One swim.  Two rides on the bike.  Six runs. Yoga and stretching and foam rolling sore legs.  Every week. 

To my amazement, following Hansons Marathon Method did not leave me injured.  It left me in need of a daily 30 minute nap.  It left me in bed before 10pm.  But most importantly when you're trying to qualify for Boston, the Hanson program left me STRONG.  I ran 50-60 miles per week.  I ran longer runs than the program called for: two 22 milers.  I got tired and bored during those long runs, but my legs held up.  There was no wall of exhaustion with which I was so familiar.  I went home after each long run and proceeded to go about my day like it was no big deal.  Not that I started doing laundry and dusting or anything.  No need to overdo it!

But this level of resilience in my legs was a big deal.  Despite being a runner for over 25 years, I had never felt such endurance.  It was amazing, and I suspected I might be able to qualify for Boston.  If everything went perfectly. But can you beat a personal best that you set in your mid-20's?  Can you do that at age 51? 

Grandma's Marathon is in Duluth, Minnesota.  It's cool there even in the summer.  We left 90 degree heat in Atlanta and met crisp 20 mph winds and temperatures in the low 50's in Duluth.  Stunning Lake Superior would be our chaperone for the entire race along it's shore.

Race day was nearly perfect-- a Goldilocks day for personal bests.  Perfect temperature.  A light tailwind for most of the race.  Beautiful scenery.  Cheering crowds.  Live music of all kinds.  Within the first few miles, I lost Barbara.  She was ahead of me.  I also lost Cary.  She was right behind me.  Although we three had different experiences, we would all three qualify for Boston on this day.




Thousands of runners made the first few miles challenging.  I zig-zagged an extra quarter mile around slower runners which threw my Garmin off the mile markers for the entire race.  This made the last mile torturous-- since my watch thought I was done, and the many twists and turns near the finish as well as a big blue inflatable arch that was NOT the finish line made for agonizing disappointments at every corner.

I took a fellow Ironman's advice and broke the race into three pieces.  The first nine miles, I sought to avoid going too fast.  This is not easy when you are excited and a little cold and you are passed by a nearly naked man with a rubber ducky on his yellow hat and a yellow bath towel instead of shorts. I did not want to be behind him if that towel dropped! 

The next nine miles were all about steady pace.  It was at this point I realized I could do it.  I had no stomach upset like last time.  Everything in me said today was the day IF I was willing to stay focused and get a little uncomfortable.  Although I fell off pace on a few hills, I managed to stay close to race pace.

Finally, the last nine miles (or almost) were all about pushing hard and ignoring discomfort.  Never before have I been able to do that.  There was no wall of exhaustion and no pain in my body other than fatigue and achiness.  I was tired of running.  I was ready to see my husband and hear him cheer for me.  Tears filled my eyes as I realized I might make it.  I had my unfortunate ugly cry face happening, and I thought how the crowd probably thought I was in pain, but really I was just very, very happy.  I was able to run negative splits in a marathon for the first time, and I ran the last mile at 5K race pace.

I crossed the finish line in 3:53:58.  Not only did I qualify for Boston by running under 3:55:00, but just as importantly for me, I set a lifetime personal best in the marathon-- running over 22 minutes faster than my past best time . . . 26 years ago!  

I couldn't and wouldn't have met this goal without my training partners, Cary and Barbara.  They showed me that I could still do hard things.  I can still meet challenging goals.  This is nice to know as you get older.

My dear husband made this trip possible, too.  He supported me during training, and pretended to listen as I discussed my various training efforts for 18 weeks.  He drove us to and from the airport, and back and forth between Minneapolis and Duluth.  He waited on me like a personal assistant as I fussed over needing a special pre-race dinner and other diva-like demands. And it was John who was waiting at the finish line to drive us back to the hotel and out to dinner. 

Chasing the Unicorn-- Hanson Marathon Method Weeks One through Five

Qualifying for the Boston Marathon is no easy trick.  As a 50 year old woman, I must run a certified marathon course in at least 3 hours and 55 minutes.  For some people, that might be easy; but not for me.  And the truth is, I must run faster than 3:55 by at least five minutes in order to get a spot.  This means running 26.2 miles and averaging about 8:50 per mile.  This includes potty stops and slowing to take in fuel and liquids.  As a runner more accustomed to a leisurely 10 minute mile pace, this time requirement seems almost out of reach.  

When the magical day arrives in September when crazy marathoners are all madly registering for the race, the Boston Marathon will accept only the fastest people in my age group, not just everyone with a qualifying time.  So what is a slow girl to do?

The morning of my first BQ attempt
alongside my sister Fast Girls.

Along with my running gal pals, the No Drama Mamas, a.k.a. the Fastest Girls in Town, I trained like mad from November to March.  I ran, I cycled, I swam, I did Crossfit.  I competed in half marathons to prepare.  Then, I competed in the Albany Marathon . . . and dropped out at mile 20! This was truly a humbling moment.  It was time to admit I needed help.  Time for a new plan.

Enter: The Hanson Marathon Method.  
I researched a variety of marathon training plans, and was disappointed to find that the one I was least attracted to-- a plan requiring minimal cross training and running SIX days a week-- this plan boasted more success than I could ignore.  

I have long enjoyed the benefits-- both emotionally and physically-- of cross training.  This would be different.  High mileage.  Paying attention to pace.  Weekly speed, tempo, and long runs interspersed with easy short to middle distance runs to build resilience in the legs.  It sounded like a recipe for injury, but my own training had left me beside the road at mile 20, so it was time for a new plan.  I would be running up to 60 miles a week on this plan.  If I survived to peak week fifteen.

The plan begins easily enough.  Frequent easy runs five days a week.  Then six days a week.  Then adding speed work and tempo runs on week six.  Long runs are nearly non-existent until week nine.  

I cheated early on by adding in a "long" run of ten miles and a few extra miles on easy days in order to avoid actually running less than I was used to.  The Hanson plan expressly allows this for folks who are already running more than the early weeks of the plan require.  Having just come off Ironman training last fall and marathon training through the winter, the first few weeks were fine.

And yet . . . by week four I noticed an uncomfortable fatigue in the legs and hips.  I increased my yoga practice and foam rolling to address these concerns.  I needed to nap (What?!) in the afternoon for 30 minutes between my morning and afternoon work, as well as get 7 hours of sleep at night.  I felt OLD.  

I got serious about my diet, too-- no need to carry around extra weight when running long distances. I had gained almost ten pounds over the winter, only a bit of which was muscle.  Never one to starve myself, losing weight for me means throwing out the bread, and no Hobbit days: no second breakfasts; no second suppers.  My belly deflated almost immediately.  This felt good. 

So I'm now on week Six.  I am headed to the track for a one mile warm up, 12x400 at 5K pace.  Can I do it?  Probably.  Can I go teach children's P.E. afterward?  I do have concerns . . .

"Failure is not an option." Oh, Wait! Yes, I guess it was.

Boston Bound?

Since I began running with my friends last September, a.k.a. the fastest girls in town, a.k.a. the No Drama Mamas, I expected to qualify for the Boston Marathon on March 2nd at the Albany Marathon.  We were all planning to run the Boston Marathon together; but for those smart readers who haven't concerned themselves with such things, you have to qualify for the Boston Marathon by running another certified marathon at a particularly fast pace.  I did everything I believed I should do to achieve this goal: track work, strength training, half marathons run at race pace, yoga and injury prevention exercises (all in addition to my usual swimming and cycling).  

At the finish line of a half marathon
trail race with fast girl, Amy.

Race pace 15K finish.  Feeling great.

My training culminated two weeks prior to race day with a Saturday that included: a ten mile race pace run, an hour of torturous Crossfit, a 50 mile ride with my cycling club in which I pushed the pace hard (to the annoyance of the ride leader), and then a 15K road race the following morning in which I held race pace.  I thought for sure I was ready.  I began the rest and recovery phase of training.  I loved having a goal in front of me that I felt confident I could achieve.  I visualized.  I practiced race day mantras.  I read motivational books.  When race day finally arrived, I felt ready.

The race began so well!

The No Drama Mamas at the Albany Marathon starting line.

Like most marathons, the Albany Marathon offered pace groups.  I decided to begin with a pace group just a bit faster than what I needed to qualify.  I thought I might surprise myself.  This is a lifelong tendency I have-- overestimating my abilities.  

The first few miles were wonderful.  They were astonishingly easy.  My legs were springs.  I was running 15--30 seconds faster per mile than I needed for my BQ (Boston Qualifier).  However, by mile six, I began to struggle a bit.  My stomach didn't feel well.  My legs were getting heavy.  Had I gone out too fast?  I decided to slow down to race pace and assess.  I was still well ahead of my BQ pace group.

Mile Ten was my last decent mile.  At Mile Eleven, it all went to Hell (Sorry, Mom).  I had purposely chosen to carry all my own fuel to avoid the very thing that happened: nausea, diarrhea, even a little vomiting.  The only blessing was that I made it to the porta potty-- every single time.

By the halfway mark, I was well behind my BQ pace, and I knew my Boston Qualifier wasn't going to happen.  To my horror, I watched pace group after pace group pass me between miles eleven and twenty.  I couldn't bring myself to talk much to the friendly back of the packers as they passed me.  Every well intentioned "Good Job!" they threw my way felt like a taunt.

At Mile 16, I stopped at an aid station where a kind volunteer texted my one man support crew-- John Degonia, a.k.a. the hubby, a.k.a. the Loyal Marine-- and asked that he find me on the course and rescue me like a lost puppy.  At every turn, I looked for his bright orange shirt.  The tracker app he relied on was giving him crazy information.  He wasn't able to find me until mile twenty.  My loyal Marine ran four miles trying to find me!  Relief, not shame, filled me at the moment he appeared.  I simply wanted to disappear; to click my heels and be home.

I wasn't the only dropout.  We gave another guy a ride back to the start.  He had also been hoping to run a BQ.  Unlike me, he was already talking about the Publix Marathon in Atlanta the following month.  I still wanted to throw away my running shoes.

My running partners were quietly supportive when they heard the news.  Unlike me, they had run the half marathon.  Also unlike me, they had a good time; and one had won her age group.  This is normal for her, so no need for an exclamation point there. ;-) They began immediately searching for my next marathon while I was still wiping away tears.  

My husband drove us home.  He never complained.  He made us laugh.  He likewise did not act ashamed of my performance, but focused on how strong I looked in the first few miles.  I appreciated this.  As usual, I didn't tell him.

On the long drive home, my No Drama Mamas began talking about other marathons I could aim for.  I pretended to ignore them for a while. 

But I have a score to settle now.  Something I thought I could do is actually more challenging than anticipated.  I began researching marathon training plans.  I committed to laying off other training while I dedicate myself to this challenge.  Then yesterday, this happened:

Let the challenge commence.

New Year. New Friends. New Goals.

Cary, Kristi, Barbara, and I at a local 10K

 Life at age 50 is interesting.  No longer young, but not yet old.  Strong and healthy, but anticipating decline.  It is a wonderful time to decide which challenges are still within reach and set your priorities accordingly.  It's even better when you have company on your journey.

My long suffering husband (the Hubs) is always happy to work out with me-- whether it's running a few miles, cycling, or swimming.  However, we have different goals (his are far more sensible); and sadly, he is often away from home for something called W-O-R-K.  I never leave Covington for any of my three jobs, and I shudder at the thought of being gone 7-10 days at a time; something poor Hubs is familiar with.  So although I love training alone and with the Hubs, it is wonderful to have another option.

After having a wonderful time at Ironman Chattanooga, I turned my attention to two new friends-- Cary and Barbara-- and their goal to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  Those ladies and their friends are so much fun and full of such positive, happy energy, that whatever they want to do will undoubtedly be wonderful.  And so the training has begun.

Cary showing off her stylish hat!

I would not have undertaken this goal without these new friends.  First of all, I have minimal hope of actually achieving my goal of running under 3 hours and 55 minutes (sub-9:00 miles for 26.2 miles).  Second, running faster requires speed and tempo work-- not my favorite things.  I prefer toodling along through the woods with my dogs and barely acknowledging my pace at all.  It is a challenge to teach my body to run faster and hold that pace over 10, 15, or 20 miles.  It is uncomfortable.  I simply cannot do it alone.  

Cary, other Kim, and I after
the Columbus half marathon.

Cary and Barbara help me face this challenge; and I am doing the same for them.  We are a team, though sometimes at different paces.  We encourage, inspire, and cheer one another.  We have begun a weekly yoga practice to reduce risk of injury; and when Barbara injured her ankle while away on business, we swam together as part of her recovery.

As a cyclist, I learned the joy of riding with others.  It initially surprised me how group rides were such joyful, happy experiences, and how speed and endurance increased effortlessly.  The same is now happening with running.  This girl, who always thought of herself as a natural introvert thriving on alone time now looks with anticipation toward group runs and rides.  Who knew?

2019 New Year's Day ride with C4 folks.
Note the Hubs waving in the back.

It turns out that community is important.  As I get older, I want a group of wise and happy friends with me on my journey.  Alone is fine, but together is better.  

First 2019 Winter base ride with C4.

A fun run and Christmas gathering with
Covington's She Runs this Town ladies.

SUFFERFEST 2018: IRONMAN CHATTANOOGA

Finish Line Bliss.

Before launching into this race report, let me say the important things first: I couldn't have done this without the love and support of my darling husband, John Degonia.  He would much prefer that I make a hobby of being thrifty and cleaning house.  Alas, he married the wrong woman!

As I've mentioned before, Heraclitus said that we can't step in the same river twice.  This was especially true this year in Chattanooga since the Tennessee river was flooded and treacherous.  Our usual running route was five feet underwater.  The river was swift, and filled with debris and dangerous bacteria.  Just three days before Ironman Chattanooga began, the swim portion was cancelled.  No swimming in that river.  This year's event was bike and run only.  

Many competitors were disappointed.  I didn't mind.  I loved the swim last year, and had been thrilled with my time.  However, the change in plans allowed us to have a time trial bike start that was exciting.  

Photo by Carol Howie Cherry

The race began well.  The sky cloudy.  The air cool.  I love the beauty of the surrounding Chattanooga mountains, particularly in the morning as the mist rises.

I pushed as hard as I could, and wore no watch.  The question of the day was, Can I go a little faster?  And the answer for the first 60 miles was Yes.  I discovered later that I averaged 19 mph-- a triumph of biblical proportions for me!

The second half of the 116 mile ride was less triumphant as I slowed a bit and couldn't seem to rally.  The hills seemed higher and the sun came out.  I no longer cared about the beautiful scenery.  My fellow racers and I became silent and determined, speaking or pointing only to alert others to road hazards.  

At mile 100, a cyclist sat in the ditch near his bike.  "Need medical?" I asked.  
"Dislocated shoulder," he replied.
Soon after, an ambulance passed on its way to assist.  Later, I saw the same man on the run.  He had his dislocated arm in a makeshift sling and was walking the 26.2 miles to the finish.  I still don't know whether to be amazed or horrified by that level of commitment.  

As I approached transition to begin the marathon, I knew my legs were experiencing a new level of suffering.  My thighs felt like they were being squeezed with a vise.  I hoped for the best as I changed into my running shoes, and began a hot, sunny run.

The worst part of knowing the course is knowing the pain to come.  The Chattanooga run course has one short (two mile?) flat section.  The rest is rolling hills with two or three steep uphills that are nothing if not disheartening.

Cindy and I were all smiles at the finish line.

Unlike last year, however, this year I made a friend who helped get me through the run.  Cindy is in the 55-59 age group, and has been on the Ironman podium more than once now.  She was chasing a Kona slot, and undoubtedly would have found it at this race if not for the excruciating thigh cramps that plagued her throughout the day.  As we ran together, she would say, "You go ahead.  I've got to stop."  A mile or two later, she would say, "Your shadow's back!" And we would run together until her legs cramped again.  Without her company, I undoubtedly would have lost heart and walked.  As it was, we finished within two minutes of one another.  

The finish line in an Ironman is a lifetime away.  As the miles slogged by, I had a revelation.  I realized that pain and fatigue were of no concern and should be ignored.  This is where my Crossfit training and coach Jimmy Birdsong came in.  

The pain and fatigue of Crossfit had taught me well.  As long as the pain is not an injury, you can continue.  Comfort is optional.  Progress is not.  In the second half of the marathon, there is no way to make the pain go away.  Even if I walked, the pain and fatigue would still be present, and walking only prolonged the effort.  So I ran.  

I passed hundreds of walkers, many of them still on their first loop of the 26.2 mile course.  When I felt tired, I ran harder.  Feel sorry for myself?  Heck, No.  I'm going to finish this race.  And though my time looks slow, I averaged one minute per mile faster than last year after having beaten last year's bike time by a full hour.

The Finish Line was Heaven.



























Immediately after the race, I promised my husband not to engage in this crazy behavior ever again.  I'm probably lying.  Already the pain is fading, and I'm wondering what would happen if I added more Crossfit to my schedule.  Maybe my form would hold together a little longer.  Maybe more power in my legs would translate to more speed on race day.  Sorry, Sweetie.  I'm not thrifty.  But you knew that going in.

Messing with Success-- adding Trail Running and a liberal dose of CrossFit to the Traditional Ironman Recipe

I read all the books.  I took notes.  I watched all the YouTube videos.  I studied and trained by the book for years before competing in my first Ironman.  It was a success.  I wanted immediately to do another one, and my dear, long suffering hubby bought my entry to Ironman Chattanooga 2018 as my Christmas gift.  

And then about April, I tired of the training.  Whenever I tried to push myself, I fell short of my best effort.  Some of my motivation could be remedied with a rest day or two, but then it never fully came back.  I was slacking off as my training should have been heating up, and I couldn't seem to do anything about it. 


So what did I do?  I stopped road running and began to do long, slow trail runs with the dogs and with my trail running friend, Amy Benton.  I forgot about pace and started enjoying the scenery.  My theory was/is that trail running strengthens the legs, ankles, and feet in a way that road running does not.  Also, I like it better.  This may or may not be a great idea.

My two happy running pals.

Even more questionable, what do I do only 8 weeks away from Ironman Number Two?  When by all accounts I am supposed to be logging my longest miles, I experiment with CrossFit.  In the past month, I've put in 15+ hours of CrossFit and have been too sore and fatigued to put in even half the mileage that would be normal during peak Ironman training.  This may not end well.  And I'll have a mountain of I Told You So to dig my way out of.
Can I blame Tanya Linger for issuing the CrossFit invitation?

The intensity of a Crossfit class can only be experienced, not explained.  The soreness after my first class was crippling.  My coach, Jimmy Birdsong, immediately identified my weaknesses and began to focus on them.  Tight left shoulder.  Weak core.  Weak upper body.  "Leave your ego at the door," he said.  

The location of my greatest suffering.

I spend some portion of every class splayed on the concrete floor in a pool of my own sweat before a large fan trying to remember why I came to this torture chamber.  But I have realized this: CrossFit increases my tolerance for discomfort, and I can achieve more than I ever thought I could.  Thank you, Jimmy.

Surely all of this weight lifting, squatting, jumping, pull ups, and burpees must result in some benefit to triathlon training?  Surely, I will have greater endurance as I run and a stronger climb as I bike the hills?  

There is hope: Yesterday, only 27 days from Ironman, I managed a 100 mile bike ride just below race pace.  I felt fine afterward.  This morning, I went for a ten mile trail run.  I am a little stiff around my knees, but feel no other fatigue.  Tomorrow I'll swim, but not far.  My shoulders are still sore from last week's CrossFit class.  The good news?  My motivation is high.  I am energized by the intensity of CrossFit, and I've already seen it carry over into my mile times in the run.

So I'm messing with last year's winning recipe.  Okay, not winning recipe, but a GOOD one.  This year, I'm trying something different.  We'll see . . . maybe it will be a delicious surprise.