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.