My Swim Coaches live upstairs

My Eldest Swimming Hero: John Robert off the blocks in the 100 Freestyle.

As the new year approaches, I don't need to hire a swim coach or seek inspiration for the hard work required for successful racing.  Two of my heroes live with me.  As I work to become a stronger, faster swimmer; these two are both my coaches and cheerleaders.

John Robert's cheering friends at a recent swim meet.
My favorite sign: Chlorine, Breakfast of Champions

My eldest son, John Robert, continually surprises me with his dedication to excellence in all that he touches.  This (unfortunately) extends to video games and Dungeons & Dragons, but also includes academics and swim team.  Over the past two and a half years, it has extended to swim stroke advice.  

When I first began training for triathlons, I could barely swim freestyle.  Because John Robert has been swimming on a competitive swim team for several years, I asked him for help. He cautiously agreed.  

John Robert patiently endures my photography
and swim questions over a breakfast of Honey Nut
Cheerios and an Arnold Palmer.
Obviously, we differ on nutritional advice!

After watching me from the pool deck, he put on his goggles and jumped into the water.  He watched me from the bottom of the pool.  He then began with the most careful of critiques: "First of all, Mom, there is a lot you are doing right."  

Ha!  He knows my sensitivity to criticism so well!  He then proceeded to offer one thing for me to work on for that practice.  He did not make the mistake I might have made by offering a laundry list of flaws that needed to be addressed.  Day by day, I ever so slowly improved.  

John Robert in a rare moment of relaxation.

If John Robert wrote an inspirational
slogan, this might be it.

Since that time, he has gone from being mildly embarrassed by my presence at the pool in front of his teammates to a quiet acceptance.  In the past year, I even detected a bit of pride when he mentioned to a fellow lifeguard that his crazy mom was training for an Ironman.  When I asked him about my stroke, he said it looks fine.  I can even do flip turns!

Denver at the start of his 2017 triathlon
at Calloway Gardens.

My other coach is Denver.  He, too, competes on his year round swim team.  He loves his coach, his teammates, and anything that involves being with other people.  He knows every member of his swim team.  Even the older kids give him high fives as he walks onto the pool deck.  He is a fan of freestyle and butterfly, but his biggest love is any relay where he is competing with his teammates. 

Denver at state competition with his relay team.

It may go without saying that Denver doesn't like to be left out.  This has wonderful side effects.  He competes in triathlons so that he and I can "talk" training and spend more time together.  Denver is my primary cheerleader, but also enjoys telling me what I am doing wrong.  One day he spent over 30 minutes showing me the proper way to do a flip turn and having me practice until I was too dizzy to go on!

Denver was present at my first Ironman competition, and will undoubtedly be there for the next one.  He yells almost as loudly as his daddy.  When I was starting out on the run, I paused to speak to him.  He pushed on my back.  "Get going!  This is a race!" 

He was there to cheer me to the finish line after a 13 hour day.  I appreciated his presence as much as that of his big brother, Spencer, and his Daddy.  Denver is a fan of Ironman souvenirs, too, and has adopted all of my Ironman gear as his own, from tri kits to backpacks.  With this boy, I feel the joy of competition and teamwork.

As I train for Ironman Chattanooga in 2018, I look forward to the loving support of my whole family.  I know my husband will be there as my training partner.  I know my cycling club will be there to help me put in thousands of miles with a smile.  But my two favorite swimmers deserve a special shout out today.  I couldn't and wouldn't do it without them.  
    

All three of my monkeys enjoying some pool time three years ago.
Spencer-- my middle guy-- is not my swim coach.
He is, however, a wonderful cheerleader!

One of Denver's many temporary tattoos
used at competition.  I don't quite
have his confidence!

The Long Road to Recovery

The view from the top of my driveway yesterday.

Recovery: A return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.

Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever: A bacterial infection transmitted by a tick that can cause serious damage to internal organs such as the kidneys and heart.  Most commonly found in the southeastern United States.

After the whirlwind of Ironman-- the "Hurray!" and the "Congratulations!"-- what does one do?

My dear brother and sister-in-law
sent me this fruit basket.
The boys ate it in about 12 seconds!

I expected to feel done with triathlon.  I had been warned about burnout and depression after accomplishing this goal.  Neither arrived.  I wanted to train for next year.  Chattanooga 2018.  I thought I could go faster.  Maybe also try to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  Maybe compete in a bike race.  

My poor husband just looked at me like . . . !?X?!  Poor guy.  He thought the craziness was over!

After a mere two days of rest, I felt restless.  I was unaccustomed to sitting around.  I wasn't even sore.  Sadly for my house, I felt no desire to do a thorough cleaning or catch up on other chores.  I enjoyed more time with the boys, but even so, there was still a hole in my schedule.  I wanted to get back on the bike, or take a run, or maybe a swim.  

Back in the saddle with a few
of my favorite C4 folks.

Three days after Ironman, I rode 22 miles on the bike and did a 2,000 yard swim.  Delicious.  The next day, a 30 mile bike ride.  I wasn't fast.  My legs were still recovering, but the movement felt great. I allowed myself to continue doing half distance/half speed workouts for the next several days until a sudden change sucked the strength out of me-- Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

It began nine days after Ironman, with a sudden dislike for coffee.  It tasted funny.  Hmmm...  I wasn't hungry for breakfast or lunch either.  Then came the fever.  103.  Nausea.  Headache.  OOoooh!  HEADACHE...

This continued day and night.  I lived on the couch.  I forced myself to eat, and sometimes I kept it down.  One day it was half a bowl of Cheerios.  Another day, five bites of sweet potatoes.  I thought I was staying hydrated, but the continual profuse sweating-- which required daily sheet and blanket washing (Yuck!)-- was literally draining me.  At my mother's urging, John took me to the ER on the fifth day.

After ten hours in the ER, two IVs, numerous tests, and what was to be a $16,375 bill, the doctors sent me home with a shrug: "Maybe it's some sort of virus.  Make sure you follow up with your regular doctor."  Seriously?!  They didn't even test me for tick born disease, which I specifically asked them to do.  Grrr...

Two days later, I saw Dr. Lanclos who diagnosed me appropriately, and prescribed the antibiotics that would heal me.  It took another week before I could stay awake all day without a long nap or drive a car without getting dizzy and nauseated.  It was 14 days before I felt like exercising.  My parents came down for a visit and were a wonderful help keeping the boys busy with activities, cooking meals, shopping, and encouraging me to rest-- which I did!

So here I am-- six weeks and four days after Ironman, and in my third week of regular exercise post Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.  Where am I headed?  

I want to see if I can knock it out of the park next fall at Ironman Chattanooga.  How much stronger can I become?  How much faster?  

And-- by the way-- I know that in many ways it doesn't matter.  Health, Love, Family-- these three things are far more important than any physical challenge . . . and yet... these physical challenges call to me like a bewitching siren.

This drive to test my limits, however, has been tempered by the knowledge that my body is not superhuman-- despite my Ironman status.  It is humbling to see how quickly the body can falter.  But with the support of my favorite training partner, I think we still have goals to achieve.  Right PBM?     

SUFFERFEST and JOY

SHORT VERSION: 
It was a very long day, but I made it.
I am an IRONMAN!

FULL VERSION:
25 years of dreaming about doing an IRONMAN.  Two years of focused planning and training.  Hundred mile bike rides.  Hours of swimming.  Twenty mile runs.  All preparation for this day: Ironman Chattanooga September 24, 2017.

This is not fear, I told myself as we arrived in Chattanooga.  This is excitement.  I'm not nervous; I'm ready.  My husband and two sons endured my company to Chattanooga on the Friday before the event.  My eldest son stayed home for school and work, and I was sad he wouldn't be here.  But I was no fun-- as prickly as a cactus.  I sat silently and agonized about every detail in my mind-- Should I wear a wetsuit?  What should I pack in my special needs bag?  My family showed miraculous patience and forgiveness as I rode the emotional rollercoaster of pre-race anxiety-- "Ahem" . . . Excitement.

The night before the race, with my bike and bags checked in, I could finally stop fidgeting.  I mostly sat on the hotel bed in silence like a catatonic yogi-- breathing in, breathing out . . . Waiting for 5am.  Meanwhile, my husband and sons had fun that day: rock climbing and sampling every restaurant within walking distance.  I was ever grateful for my husband's willingness to entertain the boys.  Being a spectator at these events can be almost as tiring as being an athlete.  I wanted them to have fond memories.  

Race day arrived with the promise of heat and sun.  Fine by me.  After trying and failing to eat breakfast, I drank two cups of coffee, and John walked me to transition.  I adjusted the air pressure in my tires, put water bottles on the bike, and chatted with the athletes next to me.

Time to get on the bus.  John walked me to the long line of school buses waiting to take all 2,608 athletes to the start line.  About a quarter of us would either fail to reach the start line or fail to finish.     

Arriving at the swim start, I followed hundreds of athletes to the end of the swim start line which later became the middle of the swim start line.  It seemed to reach for miles into the darkness.  I couldn't see the river.  I sat on the sidewalk in the darkness, chatting with other athletes and their friends and family . . . and waited.  My teeth were chattering and my body shivering like a chihuahua.  It was 70 degrees.  I was simply nervous and ready to begin.

Supposedly, a cannon went off before the pros hit the water at 7:20am.  We were too far away to hear it.  Within minutes, however, our line began moving-- quickly.  We trotted along, awaiting the official start of our race.  Because we each wore a timing chip, our race didn't officially begin until we crossed the timing mat at the swim dock.  From that point, we had exactly 16 and a half hours to make it to the finish.  No exceptions.  The last Ironman of the day finished with four seconds to spare.  Hundreds failed to finish.

I obsessed about possibilities: broken goggles, a kick to the face that would knock me unconscious, lost contact lenses, a bike wreck, severely cramping muscles . . . the list went on and on.  One thing that never occurred to me was the possibility of a groundhog darting into the rode and causing a cyclist to crash.  This happened just a few hours later; but after lying unconcious for a few minutes, the man pulled himself together, and he finished!

The misty view of the swim start
from the boat of a volunteer.

It was my turn at the dock.  I leaped into the water and began doing what I have learned to do: just keep swimming.  My breathing was steady.  The water was comfortably cool.  The sun rose behind us, so we could see through the fog but were not blinded by sunlight.  I navigated through the sea of thrashing swimmers until I had a nice space to myself out in the middle of the river where the current was best.  I concentrated on getting the mechanics of the stroke just right, and on increasing speed.  I enjoyed it! 


John and the boys watched the excitement from the beautiful pedestrian bridge.  They saw swimmers doing all kinds of things-- breast stroke, side stroke, back stroke . . . They even saw a guy floating on his back.  They waved down at him.  He waved back. 

The strangest thing they saw was a guy who darted sideways in the river and then began swimming upstream!  A volunteer in a kayak had to come redirect him-- Twice!  Glad I wasn't that guy!  Overall, the swim went well for almost everyone.  No one was hurt.  Only four people were pulled from the water.  

In what seemed like just a few minutes, the buoys went from yellow to orange, so I knew we were halfway.  I sang songs in my head and just let myself get into that meditative groove that is long distance swimming.  My shoulders began to warm and then burn a little.  I knew this meant I was hitting a good pace.  I hoped to finish in an hour.  I concentrated on slipping my hand smoothly into the water, reaching, getting a good catch and pull, and lifting my elbow high on recovery.  Before I could believe it, I saw the angular architecture of the Chattanooga Aquarium and the red buoys that marked the end of the swim.  So fast!  And it was fast, too, only 55 minutes.  Thank you, Tennessee River current.

Me with Two Heads exiting the swim
and heading toward transition.

A line of volunteers built like football players stood at the steps of the exit to pull us out of the water.  After reaching the sidewalk, I reached back for my wetsuit cord and began unzipping as I trotted to the wetsuit strippers.

I ran up to a strong woman, plopped on my bottom, stuck my feet in the air, and she grabbed the top of my wetsuit and whipped it off in one smooth stroke.  
"Thank You!" I exclaimed.  
"Good job!" she answered as she handed me my wetsuit and off I went.  I was proud of myself for knowing how to get my wetsuit off.  It didn't occur to me at the time that she probably said "Good Job" to everyone!

Denver captured my expression
at the moment I saw my husband.

John and the boys were waiting near transition, and I stopped for a hug and a kiss and to thank them for being here.  Denver took a picture at the moment I saw them which captures my delight.

Unlike shorter triathlons where you keep all your gear next to your bike in transition, during an Ironman you run through a line of transition bags, shout your number-- "1121!"-- and a volunteer hands you your bag filled with your cycling gear.  Then we run into the changing tent where wonderful volunteers assist us as if we are toddlers: "I'll take you to a seat . . . I'm dumping out your gear right here so you can choose what you need . . . I'll put your wetsuit, goggles, and swim cap in your bag for you . . . You look like you're ready to go."

With over 2,000 bicycles, it's good
to remember your number!

I kept up a steady stream of gratitude for those volunteers all day.  They were amazing.  At that moment, I thanked her, put on my cycling shoes, gloves, and helmet, and headed for the bike racks.

Before I got there, more volunteers stepped up and slathered me with sunscreen.  How amazing is that?  I found Spooky, and we rolled out.

The beautiful countryside around Chattanooga filled me with joy.  Mountains surrounded us as we cycled past farms, pastures, wildflowers, and disgruntled churchgoers waiting in long lines to let us pass.

Unlike a few other races I'd experienced, most cyclists were polite and friendly and not prone to endangering themselves or others by drafting or swerving unexpectedly.  There was friendly chatter throughout the ride, though it grew less frequent as the hours passed. 

I am lucky that the Tennessee and Georgia hills on the Ironman course are very similar to what I'm used to.  I never felt overwhelmed by the long hills or rough and gravel strewn country roads.  Some athletes from Florida found it a bit more challenging, and I heard some sigh as we approached yet another long incline.

At nearly the halfway point, we rode through the little town of Chickamauga.  There, unbeknownst to me, my family was waiting with signs and cheers.  I shouted my gratitude and teared up so much I could barely see for a moment.  I felt so loved and grateful.  How lucky am I to have such a family?

As the miles passed, I occupied my mind with the pain in my stomach.  I planned to treat myself with PB&J sandwiches on the ride.  I don't normally eat flour or sugar anymore, and I thought it would give me a good energy boost.  After one sandwich at mile ten, however, it felt like an unending punch in the stomach.  I couldn't begin to eat and didn't want to drink anything.  This was not good.  I had eaten nothing yet today except that unwelcome sandwich.  Luckily, there were aid stations every 15 miles, and I started forcing down half a banana at each one.  I also stopped for refills of ice water in my water bottles, and forced myself to finish one water bottle before each station.  

By mile 70, my stomach felt better.  I ate an Rx bar and hoped that my energy would hold.  When a volunteer agreed to give me her own can of Coca-Cola, I chugged it in about ten seconds.  The results were amazing!  The caffeine and sugar hit me like lightening, and I felt good.  I guess flour is no longer my friend, but sugar still loves me.   

As I neared the 100 mile mark, I took inventory of my body.  Overall, I felt pretty good. Shoulders and neck ached a bit.  My back felt stiff but not painful.  My knees ached and my calves felt tight.  I had several blisters on both feet.  Worst of all were my thighs, though, which burned like they were on fire.  Front and back.  Quads and hamstrings: shredded.  I promised myself that running is different and my legs would rally.  (Lies!  All lies!)

As I coasted into transition and the dismount line, I told myself, Run and Done.  It's part of a chant that my youngest son and I made up to sing while he trained for his first triathlon.  

A volunteer grabbed the front of my bike and shouted, "I've got it!"  That was my cue to get my tired bottom off the bike and run toward transition shouting my number again.  I did, and another marvelous volunteer handed me my bag and then handed me over to another volunteer.  She walked me to a seat in the changing tent.  I removed my helmet, gloves, and cycling shoes while the volunteer took out my running gear and set it in front of me.  I slipped on my running shoes and felt the relief of larger shoes on my many blisters.

"All set?" she asked.  
"Yes.  Thank you!" and off I went with my race number belt in hand.

Again my wonderful family was there to wave signs and cheer me on.  I stopped to give hugs and kisses-- stopping too long for Denver.  "Run and Done, Mom.  It's a race!  Go!"  And off I went.

I felt great.  I had an average moving time of just under 17 mph on the bike; a victory for me.  My bottom felt blessedly relieved of the bike seat.  My arms loved swinging freely, and even my legs briefly rallied.

I'm off the bike!  Run and Done!

Those feelings lasted about two miles.  Unaccustomed to the unbelievably well stocked aid stations and enthusiastic volunteers every MILE on the run, I overindulged at the first two stations.  Instead of my usual sip of water every three to five miles, I was taking in water, grapes, and oranges every ten minutes.  The result was a heavy stomach and heavier legs.  Unlike some other poor souls I saw vomiting alongside the road and sprinting to the porta potties, I was able to get things under control in time.  I stopped eating and allowed myself a sip of water, Coke, or chicken broth every two or three miles.  That worked.

The miles dragged on.  We passed the spot where we had entered the water hours before.  I watched the sun set over the Tennessee River.  I talked to other athletes.  We encouraged each other and trotted on.  We weren't really racing one another; we were just battling the voices in our heads and the suffering in our bodies.

Volunteers were our life support.  They never failed to exclaim how Great we looked, how we were doing Awesome, and how we were Almost There.  Beautiful, beautiful lies.  They held out food, drink, and ice.  They danced.  They wore costumes.  They played loud music.  They were our islands of joy in an ocean of suffering.

At mile 12, am I running
or walking?  Hard to tell!
John is behind me in
the yellow shirt and red cap.

As I approached mile 13 of the run, my sons were suddenly beside me.  I smiled and gave hugs and wanted to stop and talk.  Denver said, "No.  Don't stop.  You can't stop.  We'll run right along here with you until we get to Dad."  I didn't know it at the time, but Denver thought I wasn't going to finish in time.  I could see worry in his eyes, but didn't know why.  For reasons he still can't explain, he thought the cut off time was 9pm and there was no way I was going to make it.

I kept running/trotting/shuffling.  The miles grew further and further apart.  Time ceased.  There was seemingly no end to the numbers between 13 and 26.  My legs couldn't tell the difference between uphills and downhills; both were equally painful.  I watched as volunteers tended to the fallen who lay with seized hamstrings or back spasms.  I saw an ambulance go by.  Some athletes looked like lurching zombies.  Some stepped to the edge of the road and vomited. Nearly all walked.  I allowed myself to walk only the steepest hills, but my "run" had become a pitiful shuffle.

There were moments of laughter.  Enthusiastic and well liquored college students made an evening of cheering us on the largest hills and trying to get us to drink beer.  They gave us high fives, played loud dance music, and lit up the sky with disco lighting.  Nearly all of us sped up as we neared them.  We didn't want to let them down. 

The miles somehow passed.  With only a mile to go, I passed over the pedestrian bridge the second time, but my family was no longer there.  The whole bridge was nearly empty.  I longed desperately to see my family and shout, "I'm going to make it!"  But they were already waiting at the finish line.

At the last turn, an Ironman coach who was also staying at our hotel, saw me and shouted, "There is the finish line.  Bring it on in!"  My body responded like a lightening bolt.  I felt my legs lift and my arms pump.  Where was that speed an hour ago?  I saw my family and they urged me on.  I passed a few people as I sprinted before reaching the red carpet.  And then . . . the Finish.  Tears even now as I write.  Bright spotlights in my eyes and the IRONMAN arch.  I slowed down, as is the custom once you get to the red carpet.  I saw the outstretched hands of strangers reaching for high fives . . . from me!  Wild cheering for every finisher.  I was stripped raw-- both emotionally and physically. I crossed the finish line and heard, "Kim Degonia.  You are an IRONMAN."  But I already knew.

And then yet another angelic volunteer-- known as a Catcher-- put her arm around me, handed me water, and asked me questions to determine whether or not to direct me to the medical tent.  Another volunteer put a medal around my neck and removed the timing chip from my ankle.  Yet another handed me my finisher's hat and shirt.  I walked into the corral for exhausted Ironmen and we looked vaguely bewildered as we waited for our friends and family to retrieve us like lost pets.  Mine did.

As I write this, it has been 48 hours since I crossed the finish line.  I'm still experiencing the effects of the race.  I cannot yet comprehend why this 144.6 mile Sufferfest has been such a powerful experience.  John said he watched two young guys holding either arm of an older athlete to keep him from falling, and it reminded him of the comradery of the Marine Corps.  There is kinship in shared suffering.  And at the finish line, shared joy.

Thank you to my parents who purchased Spooky and who have always supported my dreams.  Thank you to my husband who agreed to this goal well before he knew the cost-- and bought my ticket to Ironman on his own birthday.  Thank you to my children for preparing your own meals for much of the last six months.  Thank you to my bike mechanic, and my cycling club, C4, who helped me train-- and made it a joy.

I'm sorry, John Degonia, but I'm going to want to do this again.  I think I can go under 13 hours . . . 

  
  

IRONMAN Goal? Happiest Athlete on the Course.

Right now are the Hell weeks-- the longest distances crunched as close as possible together while still avoiding injury. 
Longest ride so far: 104 miles.  
Longest run: 18 miles.  
Longest swim: 4,500 yards.  
Not very fast.  Not on the same day, but in the same week.  Twice.

My husband is fond of quoting someone who said, "If you love what you're doing, you'll never work a day in your life."  I get the point, but it's not always easy to agree.  Sometimes I forget to remember that Ironman training is a bizarre kind of play.  It is self-exploration.  It is pushing limits.  It is discovering who I am and what this 50 year old (almost) body can do, and what the mind can endure.  All while still remaining employed, homeschooling and caring for the boys, and washing enough laundry and dishes that we aren't running around naked and eating out of dog bowls.  Yet. 

Two years ago this month, I decided to complete an Ironman triathlon.  For those of you who are not familiar, it is a race including a 2.4 mile open water swim, 112 mile bike ride, and then a marathon (26.2 miles).  This was a personal challenge I had never before believed I was capable of achieving, and the task seemed tremendous-- though possible.  Maybe.

Ironman Chattanooga 70.3
this past May.

I've been swimming, biking, running, eating like a paleo pro, and otherwise preparing for this race for so long now that I cannot quite imagine it being over.  I've raced in five triathlons, lost 20 pounds of fat while gaining 5 pounds of muscle, and I've managed to avoid alienating my family (due to their amazing patience)!

My deadline looms: September 24, 2017 at 8:00 a.m.

And right now, one month out, I'm feeling like I might be able to complete this race.  It is my quiet hope that I will be strong enough to finish in 14 hours and without the need of the medical tent.  An even bigger goal?  To be the happiest athlete on the course.

My favorite inspiring swim coach:
my son John Robert

As my training has progressed, I haven't learned only about myself, but others as well.  I adore my cycling club family.  They are incredible people whom I would not otherwise have known.

Some of our beloved C4 club riders.

I am amazed at how supportive my family has been.  My husband has made himself my training partner.  He bought an upgraded wheelset for Spooky to increase our speed.  The boys have been champs about taking care of themselves while Mommy trains.  Denver was inspired to compete in triathlons.  Spencer is running cross country.  The boys are endlessly forgiving as I plop yet another pizza or Chick-fil-A bag on the table for dinner before stumbling upstairs to bed at 8pm.

Denver completed his second
triathlon this summer.

Life passes so quickly.  My eldest son is the same age I was when I first met my husband.  Where did that time go?  As the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years race by, I am ever grateful for this opportunity to pursue a dream, love a wonderful family, and see what I'm made of.  Today.  

Whatever IRONMAN holds in store for me one month from today, it is my goal to be a joyful athlete who is grateful for the wonderful and rare opportunity to chase a dream. 

Morgan County Aquatic Center, where I spend hours training
and thinking about the Tennessee River in September.

The Tennessee River in Chattanooga: Home of my IRONMAN.

Race Report: IRONMAN 70.3 Chattanooga

Spoiler Alert: I made it!

In the two weeks leading up to my first Ironman event, I had a root canal and a crown put on a molar.  This should not have been a big deal.  I've had both done before.  But this time, the pain was nearly unbearable for twelve days.  I couldn't eat any solid food of any kind.  Even liquid touching the tooth was uncomfortable.  So the good news is, I didn't gain any weight during the taper leading up to my Ironman. The bad news is, I also had difficulty exercising, and I was crazy with worry about loss of fitness.


A few days before the event, I was coming out of my skin with anxiety.  Worried about everything: What if I panic in the swim?!  What if my bike gets a flat or has a mechanical problem I cannot fix?  What if I get diarrhea during the half marathon (a gross, but quite possible occurrence).  

Prayer, yoga, and walking the dogs helped calm me a little.  Finally, an acquaintance said to me, "Just remember to be in the moment and enjoy it."  Ah!  Not a new thought, but a great reminder.  I thought of all the people who could not participate in this kind of event-- elderly and disabled people I knew.  I realized that this race was a celebration of life-- not really a "race" at all.  And then . . . strangely, I was happy and grateful instead of crazy with anxiety.  Well, my husband might still insist that I'm a bit crazy!

John and I drove to Chattanooga the morning before the event.  I was excited to see the Ironman Village and look at everyone and everything.  Despite the close to 3,000 participants, check-in ran smoothly.  I caught my breath a little as a friendly lady attached my blue IRONMAN 70.3 wristband.  I clutched my bag with the ankle band chip and numbers for my bike and helmet.  "My precious!," I giggled.  

It was difficult not to spend a fortune in the little shop of all things Ironman that we had to walk through in order to exit the check-in, but I managed.  It helps that we didn't have extra money to spend!  All of those items are crazy expensive, and I felt no need for memorabilia when I was about to make some awesome memories of my own.

John and I walked my bike to transition, and I got it all set up.  It was nearly 90 degrees, sunny, and humid.  It felt like Georgia.  I loved that we had our own number on the bike rack that made it very clear where to put my bike.  I also loved that we had volunteers to clarify which way to turn the bike (even numbers toward the river) and where exactly to put my stuff (directly under the bike). 

And then in the evening, the storms came.  I looked out our hotel window and the sideways rain and tremendous wind gusts shook the flag poles below me.  Lightening streaked and thunder exploded in my ears.  Across the street in other hotel windows, I saw other athletes looking in trepidation out their windows as well.  My poor bicycle!  She had never been left out in the rain before.  I should have put trash bags over the chain and pedals!  We weren't allowed to stage a rescue for her.  I wondered if the racks would fall over.  I wondered if anyone would make sure the bikes didn't blow away.  The forceful storms were predicted to last throughout the night and the next morning.  Would the swim be cancelled?  The bike and/or run course shortened?  These questions raced through my head, but I was already mentally fatigued from the excitement.  I decided I would only worry about things I could control.  I ate. I set out my gear for the next morning. I set my alarm and went to sleep.

3:30 is early.  I crawled out of bed and toward the coffee my dear husband had already made for me.  He knows I am chronically early for everything; so if transition opens at 4:30 am, then guess what? We're going to be out the door by 4:15!  He endured this without complaint.  

In retrospect, this was silly.  The swim didn't begin until 6:50 am, and it takes nearly an hour to get everyone in the water.  I could have slept until nearly 6am and still made it in plenty of time, even if I had walked to the start.  Also, there were MANY buses ready to take us the one mile upriver to the swim start.  I didn't need to worry about missing the bus.

After setting up my transition area, John and I got on a school bus which dropped us at the swim start.  We unloaded and walked past a line of porta potties.  I didn't need them at the moment.  It was 5am.  We had nearly two hours until the start.  John didn't say a word about how early we were or how long we were going to have to wait in line.  God bless him.

Already, the line for the swim start was long.  We took our place at the back (which later became the middle and then became the front), and I sat down and waited.  John went for a walk to scout the area.  The other athletes and I spoke with relief about the storms having already passed.  We were in for a cloudy day with no rain!  Now sleepiness nearly outweighed anxiety.  I listened to the people chatter around me as dawn emerged over the dark green Tennessee river and the skyline of Chattanooga with its many beautiful bridges.  

I had thought that once the gun went off, the timer started for all of us.  That was one reason I wanted to be early in line.  It turns out that my time didn't begin until I crossed the threshold to the swim. I needn't have hurried.  Additionally, we were supposed to line up according to expected swim times, with faster swimmers toward the front. Since I had no idea how many people were in front of or behind me, I didn't realize that I should have been further back in line.  I discovered the truth of this hours later when we all hit the water and everyone swam away!

One unfortunate and rarely mentioned truth of these big events is that there are not enough porta potties or trash cans for 3,000 athletes.  After waiting from 5 am until nearly 8 am to get in the water, there was a flutter of protein bar and GU wrappers everywhere.  Some people abandoned their flip-flops as our line progressed toward the water. Even more strange was the discovery that the road leading to the water was already wet.  How could that be?  We weren't in the water yet.  Oh . . . .  I realized with some horror that I was standing in pee.  Ironman pee. People around me talked about lots of things.  No one mentioned that we all had to use the bathroom and we were all wearing wetsuits that are famously difficult to get up and down and we were all too far away from too few porta potties.  Probably shouldn't have mentioned it.

Last year, I was terrified of the swim.  This year, I was not.  Once I framed the swim in terms of time-- just a 40 minute swim!-- I was completely at ease with it.  An additional bonus-- due to the heavy rain in the area, the Tennessee River had a current deemed too challenging, so the course was rerouted to be shorter and all downstream.  Woot!

When it was finally my turn, I scooted into the water from the dock as if I didn't want to get my hair wet.  I've never liked cold water, and this morning was no exception.  The wetsuit helped, of course, but I did have difficulty keeping my face in the water at first, and had to work very hard to exhale into the cold water.

Ready for the race.

I had expected the water to be as dirty as a Georgia lake.  Instead, it was cleaner.  I could see the length of my arm in the water.  I didn't swim into any logs or dead fish as I had feared.  I sang Old Man River as I found my stroke and made my way from buoy to buoy. There were a lot of people in the water and I did have to kick people off of me once and I got kicked once; but it was not overwhelming and I didn't panic.  I was out of the water in 22 minutes.

I LOVE the volunteers!  As we exited the river, they held my hand on the steps and as I was walk/jogging toward transition, a man unzipped my wetsuit for me.  I pulled it to my waist.  Another man pointed at me and then pointed to the blue outdoor carpeting he was standing on.  I plopped down, stuck my feet in the air, and he whipped that thing off like a pro.  The famous wetsuit strippers!  I laughed with delight as he handed me my wetsuit and I trotted up the hill and to my bike.

My husband was there cheering for me as I approached transition. We began what has become a tradition-- every time I see him during the race, we shout, "Celebrate!" and kiss.  It is wonderful.  He says the people around him always seem jealous!

Spooky is a house bicycle.  She was unaccustomed
to being left out in the rain; but she forgave me!

Going out on the bike course, I was excited and cold.  I was nervous about getting a penalty for drafting or becoming involved in a bicycle pile up.  I was afraid of the numerous potholes that could cause a wreck or at least a flat.  None of my fears materialized.

The course was beautiful.  The low clouds couldn't hide the beauty of the mountains around us.  There were fields of flowers and pastures with cattle and horses.  The female riders were particularly friendly, and we exchanged pleasantries as we passed one another: how beautiful the scenery, how lucky we are about the weather, and also, Watch out for the big hill!  And it was a HILL cleverly preceded by a downhill and a nearly 90 degree left turn.  I like hills, and I could handle it.  Unfortunately, others were not so prepared.  There were people standing in the middle of the road looking stunned.  Others were walking their bikes up the hill.  Most were just weaving wildly as they strained to find a lower gear.  I was grateful there was no oncoming traffic as I was forced into the other lane to get around them.

As the miles passed, I reminded myself to save energy for the run.  I had a moving time of 18 mph, which is a fine speed for me.  I avoided the aid stations, since I was carrying all my own food and drink.  I watched a few riders nearly wreck or cause wrecks as water bottles were dropped and rolled across the path of other riders.  I didn't want any part of it.  This is a fear I need to work on. I'll be needing those aid stations during the full Ironman this fall.

Traffic was light for most of the 56 mile ride, but began getting heavier in the last twenty miles.  I saw the faces and gestures of impatient drivers; and I knew that if not for the presence of police officers at every intersection, this could be a much more hazardous experience.

As I approached transition, I thanked Spooky for taking me safely through the bike portion of the race.  She did great!  I hopped off and trotted her to the bike rack.  I didn't feel any great urgency to start the half marathon.  There are so many people in the race-- 180 just in my age group!-- that I had no chance of winning.  This was a relief to me.  I could just enjoy!  

I slipped off my helmet and into my running shoes, put on my belt with my number, and ate an almond butter packet.  I shoved a couple more packets into my tri kit, and headed out on the run.  "Run and Done!," I thought optimistically.

I chatted with another athlete as the first couple of miles clicked by. I felt great; happy and relieved that it appeared I would finish without incident. But after four miles, I noticed I was slowing, and my stomach rejected the thought of fuel.  I heard other runners asking, is this your first loop or second?  That was hard to hear. TWO loops.  We passed signs that indicated I was either at mile three or mile eleven.  Ugh . . . Luckily, there were aid stations at every mile of the run.  I loved their best lie: "You look Great!" And what a wonderful idea to have everyone's name on their race bib.  Every time I heard, "Go, KIM!" it perked me up a little.  The miles passed.  

I found I couldn't eat anything, but I could sip water and pour ice water on myself.  That felt great.  I did that every mile or two. There were several hills on the run, and I am strong on hills, so I passed people there.  Many of them passed me back later.  I no longer cared about my place in the enormous pack, but I didn't want this run to turn into a death march.  

Eventually, I realized that it hurt as much to go slow as it did to run faster, so I encouraged myself to speed up.  I ended up averaging a 9:21 pace, which is a full minute behind my best half marathon pace.  I am okay with that, but I'm looking forward to some race pace training before the full Ironman in September.  Like all athletes, I fantasize about going faster.

As I approached the finish line, I stopped to give my hubby another celebration kiss.  I usually sprint hard toward the finish, and have been blessed with a weirdly ferocious sprint finish despite fatigue.  However, I had been told to try to give other athletes space so that each of us could have our own moment under the finisher's arch.  I slowed down to try to find a space for a separate finish.  Apparently, the old guys near me didn't get the memo, so I shared my finish with several others.  Oh well!

A happy moment, and then I found John.  We walked back to the hotel, chatting with a dear friend and his sons who had driven for hours just to see us.  I don't remember any of the conversation, as I was feeling a combination of euphoria and stomach upset.  We made it back to the hotel, and I realized I still felt pretty good!  I was tired, but I could walk without assistance (unlike some of my marathon finishes!).  The only downside was that I thought my time was really slow: the clock showed 6:41, which was about the same as my first race at this distance seven months earlier.  With all the hours of training, cooler weather, and shorter swim, I had hoped to break six hours.  Imagine my delight when I looked at my Garmin results and saw that my time was 5:41.  A full hour faster than last fall!  Some of that speed was due to the shorter, swift current swim; but still, I was still delighted.


Travel home was peaceful and joyous.  My dear husband drove the whole way and was very happy at what we had accomplished.  And it was a team effort.  I would never have done this without his encouragement, support, and companionship.  The euphoria lasted for days, followed by fatigue and chocolate.  Two recovery weeks of light workouts, and then I'll dig into training for my first full Ironman distance in September.  I can't wait!

My Favorite Motivational Quote:
I put it on my phone as a screensaver
and read it many times each day.

The Heart Wants What it Wants . . . and My Heart Wants an Ironman!

Me in my favorite triathlon trucker hat.
John Robert said, "Mom, trucker hats are for
truckers and young people.  Which one
do you think applies to you?"

I can't believe I've been swimming, biking, and running for 18 months. When I put myself on a two year plan until my first Ironman, it seemed so far away!  

Today, I have 48 days until Half Ironman Chattanooga and 174 days until my first Full Ironman!

I currently swim twice a week, up to 4,000 yards per session. I cycle 2-3 times per week, with a high of 75 miles per ride so far. Running is easiest-- I run 3-4 times per week, with a long run of 15 miles. Yoga and injury prevention exercises twice a week help keep my joints and muscles happy. My heart and mind are happy, too.  So far . . . So Good! 

Every once in a while you find a book
that helps you really make important
changes.  Thank you, Whole 30.

And though it may seem a minor thing, I'm pleased to have lost 12 pounds so far this year.  It took a lot of experimentation, but I finally found what works best for my body.  I have given up many of my formerly favorite foods, but I love feeling energetic, strong, and lean. Other side effects of my dietary changes have been: deeper sleep, better moods, healthier skin, and faster recovery after training.  Hurray!

But thoughts do cross my mind . . . These thoughts pull me out of bed early in the morning to do my training.  Am I ready? Am I strong enough?  I know I won't win . . . not even an age group award; but I want to finish well before the cutoff time.  I don't want to see DNF beside my name (Did Not Finish). 

An unexpected benefit of my training:
The boys volunteered with me at the Frosty 5K,
a run supported by members of my cycling group.

I'm tremendously grateful to my husband for being my support crew. He didn't know what he was in for when I first told him my dream.  He was thinking only of the ridiculous cost of Ironman events, not the major time commitment and support I would need. 

Denver and pals at a recent swim meet.

The journey to Ironman has had unintended benefits, too. My youngest son has become a dedicated and fast swimmer and triathlete. John Robert helped me learn to swim fearlessly in open water as I followed his steady, flawless stroke across the lake last summer.  

My incredibly strong eldest son
swimming anchor leg
in the 200m freestyle relay.

Spencer runs with me on occasion; more importantly, he is openly supportive of my goals.  My dear husband has begun biking with me nearly every Saturday. We've met some very nice people through our cycling group whom we might otherwise never have known.  All of these things are wonderful.

John and I riding the Arabia Mtn Trail last Saturday.
John only wanted to do 20, but didn't bring his GPS watch,
so I tricked him into riding 36!

However, I still don't know why Ironman calls to me.  It isn't anything I can explain-- even to myself.  Maybe that is how dreams are. They call to something so deep within our hearts that we cannot even name the source.  As Emily Dickenson wrote and Selena Gomez stole, "the heart wants what it wants...".

Denver enjoys wearing my medals
and imagining they are his!

Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive.  I could not chase my dreams without you!
Dad and Mom (who support me even when they don't approve!)
John (who knows the grouchy me)
Boys 1, 2, & 3
and bike man, Mike Besaw

Spencer and I ran the Cheerios Challenge
last year.  He and Denver are going
to do it again this year!

Denver learning from our bike man,
Mike Besaw, how to change a tire.