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.

50K Birthday . . . The Mobile Celebration!

Thank you for the balloon and flowers,
Mom and Dad!
You're the BEST!

Is there anything more important than good health, great friends, and a loving (and tolerant!) family?  I think not!  

Today, on my 50th birthday, I had the chance to celebrate all those things as I ran 50 kilometers (31 miles).  It was supposed to be 50 miles; but Hey, I'm not crazy! ;-)

Friend Amy ran me in for the finish!
Okay, No.  We walked. :-)

As the hours passed, friends came out to run and walk beside me.  My husband and son Spencer decorated my van with balloons and signs.  They ran and walked with me, too.  They loaded my van with a cooler filled with icy drinks and tasty snacks-- I'm thinking of you, miraculous candied pecans at mile 20!

My first round of traveling companions:
What an awesome way to start a run!

It was a wonderful day.  I've had a lot of them.  Half a century's worth now.  But I hope not to be done for a long time.  I don't want to be over the hill.  I love climbing up the hills.  Of course, zooming down them is fun, too.

Much love to all of you who sent me sweet Happy Birthday messages, cards, balloons, and flowers!

John and longtime Bestie, Tod (and Gigi)

And WHO is taking me out for dinner and drinks after
spending the ENTIRE day being my run sherpa
and running/walking beside me ALL day?
THIS guy.  I love you, honey.  I'm sorry I'm crazy. ;-)

   

Working on my Transitions

Transition: 
The process of changing from one condition to another.

Triathlon has two transitions: from swim to bike and bike to run.  

John and I sharing snacks on our
most recent bike ride together.

But the Degonia family has many more transitions occurring simultaneously: John is leaving one job for another.  He is super excited about the opportunity, but that doesn't mean there aren't tense moments.  

Spencer and Denver are transitioning from homeschool to public and private school.  They are not super excited, but they are ready, willing, curious, and more than a bit nervous.  

John Robert is transitioning between time zones as he travels to Europe this summer with fellow classmates and his first girlfriend.  

Jibby pausing for a picture
in Madrid, Spain.

And I . . . I am transitioning from being a 40-something to celebrating my 50th birthday.  I am going from homeschool teacher to P.E. teacher at Denver's private school.  I am coaching beginner triathletes, and I am preparing for Ironman Chattanooga.

That's a lot of transitioning.

According to Google, the word Transition has several synonyms, including Metamorphosis.  I like that one.  The Degonia family is undergoing Metamorphosis. 

Welcome to the Butterfly House!

 

Preparing to Swim in the same River Twice

Accidental selfie--
taken on every bump in the road 
on yesterday's ride!

I wanted a repeat of last spring.  I wanted long rides with my husband and cycling club.  I wanted the excitement of anticipating race day; and let me admit it, I wanted the weight loss I experienced last year.

Few of these experiences have come to pass.  I am enjoying long rides with my club, and I love it; but my husband rarely gets to join us.  My race training is slightly less thrilling than last year, and I'm up ten pounds.  I'd like to claim it's all muscle, but I'd be lying.

A Sunday Novice ride with my son, Denver.

Heracleitus said we "can't step in the same river twice" (Of course, he said it in Greek).  I realize I've been trying to do just that-- repeat last year.  This year's training experiences are different.  Still good, but different.

One change is my focus: I've begun thinking how fun it would be to share the triathlon experience with others.  I've been offered the opportunity to coach, and I'm going to take it.

Riders seeking sustenance at Rest Stop No. 4
at the Tony Serrano Ride. 
It was a joy to meet every one of them!

Another surprise, I became president of my cycling club this year.  An even bigger surprise is that I love being more involved with our riders and supporting the growth of the club.  Working as a volunteer at the Tony Serrano Century was incredible!

Baking Pumpkin cookies for
the Tony Serrano Ride.

Another unexpected change is that I've fallen out of love with running (temporarily, I hope.  We're in counseling ;-).  And my nemesis and I are more than just friends--I'm passionate about swimming-- some would say obsessed (Amy Benton).  

I'm happily training and looking forward to race day, but it's less mysterious now.  I know if I have a good day, I'll be faster than last year.

Sneaking a kiss from my son after our ride.

Dominic and Eddie on our last ride together before
Dominic's move to Philadelphia.

A rare opportunity to ride with (almost) the whole family.

What I don't know is what this quiet, rainy day will bring, or the days that follow it.  This admission is hard for an organized, goal driven control freak like me to admit.  Today will be a rest day.  A be grateful day.  But maybe . . . if it stops pouring . . . a long run day.

When "Just Keep Swimming" isn't Enough

It was a rest day . . . or it was supposed to be a rest day . . . but my 11 year old son wanted to swim and I agreed to go to the pool for a fun swim together.

We had a good time.  He loves to coach me; so after we warmed up, Denver began telling me how to do butterfly.  He talked and demonstrated.  I tried.  He told me everything I was doing wrong.  I tried again.  Repeat.  Repeat.  At one point, he said, "Your upper body is too stiff.  You look like this."  He then proceeded to thrash in the water as if his upper body and lower body were trying to drown each other!

Enough of that, I thought.  I'll do something I know how to do.  Freestyle.  I've been studying and practicing and reading and watching videos for three years.  As I swam, Denver decided to record me so he could offer advice.  When I saw the recording, I became sick to my stomach.  This is me?!

I was reminded of the old adage that "practice makes perfect" only if your practice is perfect.  I have been practicing swimming poorly, with my arms sweeping out to the side, my stroke not fully extended, my hips flat.  Sigh...

It's funny how easy it is to watch others swimming and to learn from watching them without forming any kind of judgment about them as people.  When I watch myself, however, I am so frustrated that I almost don't want to get back in the pool.  

I am humbled by the embarrassment of being a newbie once again.  It reminds me of how my children must feel as they try new things and receive unsolicited feedback from well intentioned adults. 

Kindness matters.  Patience matters.  As my yoga teacher offered at the end of every class, "Nothing takes the place of gentle, loving persistence."  And . . . back to the pool I go.  Humbled, but determined.  

I have a sink full of dirty dishes and a couch hiding beneath a mountain of unfolded laundry. Happy International Women's Day!

A Joyful Christmas breakfast with Poinsettia dishes.
John did the cooking.  I did the cleaning; and then
I went for a ten mile run.

Okay.  Let me first say that I'm very lucky to have a plentiful supply of dishes.  And when I think about "doing the dishes or laundry," I don't actually mean without a dish or clothes washer!  So, let me just admit that by every measurable standard, my life is awesome and wonderful and I love it.  My husband is incredible.  My kids are fantastic.  I have a great job.  But even with this life, from time to time, questions arise.  Sometimes, but not always, they arise while I'm on a six hour bike ride with my cycling club on a sunny Saturday afternoon while my kids are home . . . playing video games.  

A frequent post in my women's triathlon Facebook group is this:
"My (insert husband/partner/mother/father) says my passion for triathlon is selfish and it's taking too much time away from family obligations.  I love running, biking, swimming, and competing in races.  Am I being too selfish?"

Ten hours into my first Ironman.

I have looked for such questions in male dominated triathlon groups, and have never found them.  When something similar is asked by men, it is usually related to career obligations, and there is no angst in the questioner's voice.  It is simply a matter of logistics, not guilt.  

The same questions arise with regard to mothers working long hours in careers they love.  How do they do it, people ask, with a family?  No one ever asks that of men.

And the truth is that a mother's place is still in the home, even when she's not there.  It's okay for her to do other things, even fantastic things-- going to law school, becoming a judge, competing in Ironman triathlons-- as long as these activities do not get in the way of all of her family obligations.

I don't know what to say or do about any of this.  I'm not even sure how I feel about it.  By the time John and I had our first child, I drank the Kool-Aid.  I wanted to be the Best mom, wife, housekeeper, attorney in the world.  My mom set the standard for how much a mother could accomplish.  She rose at 5am and worked as Postmaster of a small post office all day, returning home in time to feed us dinner, attend our after school events, clean around the house, do laundry, and remember all of our dental and doctor appointments.  

But I couldn't.  Not really.  Not and have a moment to relax and enjoy the life I was creating.  Now that the kids are old enough to cook themselves breakfast and one of them can drive, I no longer feel the pull of society's expectations.  Instead, I feel the drive to go outside and chase dreams.  Usually, on a bicycle.  The dishes can wait.  And your clean clothes are on the couch.  You'll have to dig around a bit, but they're there.  Call me if you need me.  I'll be riding, or trail running, or swimming.  I'll call you right back.

A New Romance

Tracks left by Apollo and me on the dawn of our one real snow day.
--Photographer Unknown

As winter forces me closer to the fire, my triathlon training adapts.  Gone are the long, sunny days of cycling.  I miss the sunshine on my skin and the unfortunate tan lines that cyclists wear with perverse pride.  

Instead, the few rides we have are cold; and we not only dress like crazy clowns, but some require whiskey for warmth!

Our first winter base ride
of the season.

An "unnamed rider" taking
advantage of a little liquid heat!

I have been running more.  Harder.  Longer.  I've finally committed to real strength training and have seen my body change and adapt.  Who is this strong woman in the mirror?!

Most surprising of all, I have a new romance with . . . swimming.

Thanks to an incredibly thoughtful swim program called Swim Speed Secrets by Sheila Taormina, my hours in the pool have doubled.  More importantly, swimming has gone from long and boring to challenging and different every day.  My stroke technique has improved.  I can see and feel the changes in my body.

Other than misgivings about my visibly bigger upper arms and shoulders, I am both surprised and delighted with this new relationship to the pool.  And biggest surprise of all?  I'm getting faster.

I'm so surprised by these changes that I don't quite know what to do with them.  Should I enter an open water race?  Join a masters' swim team?  Just keep training for my Ironman?

Not that it matters all that much.  As John will happily remind me, I haven't found a way to make swimming (or anything else!) into a money maker.  Yet it thrills me to see my body happily responding to new training and new challenges.

Old dog.  New tricks.

Apollo watches the rain as we both wait to go for a run.