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