tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291431252024-03-13T15:32:17.961-05:00corre! run! run like a llama!Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.comBlogger350125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-44632187638630962412023-11-12T19:13:00.003-06:002023-11-12T19:13:50.490-06:00Loch Ness Marathon Race Report 2023<p> On October 1, I completed my 18th marathon and my first international marathon at Loch Ness, and it was WONDERFUL! That's it, that's the race report. In all seriousness, this tale begins a year or so ago, when I was hanging out with Joy and she mentioned that she wanted to run this marathon in Scotland. Without a second thought I said "hell yes, I'm in" - to the point where she didn't even believe me, and I recall vividly that she told Andrew that he had to hold me accountable to actually doing the race. Turns out it wasn't a tough sell - a trip to Scotland sounded amazing, I was all for the idea of a marathon done truly for fun, and sometime back in the spring I found myself hitting submit for my first international race!</p><p>Obviously many things happened between then and now, the most obvious being the fact that I raced IMLP in late July. And as it turns out, the time between late July and the first day of October is, uh, not actually that much time. By the time I had taken a week of recovery from the Ironman, I realized that I had about 6 weeks total to cram in some marathon training before tapering again. The problem was, after a Boston cycle followed immediately by an Ironman cycle, I was not, shall we say, at my most motivated to train for a marathon. In fact, I may have been the least motivated I have EVER been to train for a marathon! Combine that with the shortened timeframe and absolutely atrocious humid weather and you can see where this is going - all in all, it wasn't exactly what most of us would call quality marathon training. I skipped 2 long runs to go hiking (to be fair, those hikes were 22 and 13 miles with a boatload of elevation and I think both of them actually contributed to my success, but I still felt like a delinquent) and 1 due to getting sick, leaving me with a grand total of 2 17 mile runs, a 20 mile run, and a 13 mile run, all of which were completed at the chillest of chill paces. I listened to an ACOTAR podcast on pretty much all of my runs, which saved my motivation from the pit of despair, I turned off the mile split notifications on my watch, and in general I just gave zero f*cks about anything other than attempting to cobble together at least a reasonable amount of miles. By the time race week rolled around, I didn't feel confident I was going to run very fast, but I at least felt confident that I could complete a marathon and not feel like a disaster while doing so, and so with that extremely low bar set for myself, I headed off to Scotland!</p><p>We did the usual overnight flight thing, during which I got maybe 3 hours of sleep but did achieve the bonus of having second dinner on the plane, which happened to be a surprisingly decent pasta. Carbs! I was awoken to the sounds of a child in front of me vomiting everywhere and was immediately glad I had decided to wear a mask in the event the source of his vomit was a norovirus. We disembarked in the UK around 8:30 am, a little groggy but all excited to be there, and met up with Brittany before braving the left side of the road driving to our hotel in Edinburgh. The beauty of this being a "for fun" marathon was that there was nothing held back in terms of touristing - we walked over 10 miles on Friday sightseeing around the city, hiking up to some cathedral ruins, and touring the castle and the vaults, something I never would have been comfortable with if I was truly racing (particularly because my legs felt absolutely AWFUL after the flight) but in this situation it wasn't anxiety inducing at all.</p><p>Saturday morning we did a quick shakeout around Edinburgh and then loaded up for the 3 hour drive to Inverness, where the race was located. The drive went by quickly because we were all gawking at the scenery - Scotland is absolutely otherworldly, definitely one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Bib pickup featured Scottish set musicians and a giant Loch Ness monster, because of course it did. What it did not feature was anywhere to obtain lunch, and so in another total faux pas but something that I didn't let bother me because of the casualness of the situation, we didn't even eat lunch the day before a marathon! Luckily, Joy had brought an entire box of Saltines and I had brought an entire box of graham crackers for carb loading purposes, and so we were able to consume those as we went out on a boat cruise on Loch Ness - pretty much the perfect pre race activity, sightseeing without walking! I even had a pretty great local pilsner while on the boat, and because pretty much all Scottish beer falls in the 4% ABV range I didn't even feel bad about it!</p><p>Our AirBnB was absolutely delightful and we headed back there after stopping by the local Tesco and learning that many things that we take for granted in US grocery stores (fresh garlic, shredded parmesan cheese...) are a little harder to find in the UK! Still, we had a great home cooked meal of my old standby butter tomato sauce, meatballs, salad, and of course some beer and wine. Every time I thought about the fact that I was running a marathon the next day I would start laughing...I wasn't nervous, just the idea of it seemed so utterly ridiculous as to be comical. How was this really happening? </p><p>I slept reasonably well despite the sounds of people coming home from the pubs in the wee hours of the morning and was up before my alarm at 6 am. I quickly got my race kit on and headed down into the kitchen where I had what I'm pretty sure is my new go to race breakfast...toast and GOOD JAM! I also drank some "breakfast juice" which is some kind of mixture of orange, clementine, and grapefruit juice and had some french press coffee, the only time I had 'real' coffee on the entire trip! We headed off to the bus dropoff, a little confused by how dark it still was as we approached the 7 o clock hour. Things at the start were well organized, and Joy and I availed ourselves of the porta potties before quickly getting on a shuttle bus where we waited for awhile (I think they sent most of the buses off at the same time) before beginning our drive out to the start.</p><p>The bus ride was SO cool - I kept marveling at what a difference experience being on this bus was compared to the urban highway situation of Boston. The lake was shrouded in fog as the sun began to rise, creating a completely magical scene as we wound our way through the forest. At one point we stopped briefly in a small town next to a field full of cows and I once again couldn't help but laugh - that certainly wasn't something I had seen on any point to point marathon bus in the past! I realized that I actually haven't run a marathon that <i>wasn't</i> a point to point (or a world major) since 2017, which is completely ridiculous, and Joy laughed at me for becoming such a diva that I only do these huge races. </p><p>We finally arrived at the starting point after the typically lengthy bus ride (seriously, how is it that the drive to the start of a marathon always somehow takes an hour and a half?) and it was wild. I remembered reading somewhere that the start of the race was "in the middle of nowhere" and it was a good idea to bring extra layers, etc for the wait before the start as there was really no shelter or resources to speak of. I guess I didn't totally believe that, but WOW was it accurate - truly, the bus stopped, we got off on a road with nothing as far as the eye could see but heather and rolling hills and fields, the only evidence of humanity the cluster of porta potties, a truck for bag drop, and a speaker blasting of all random things "Love Shack" which felt totally incongruous to the surroundings. From the second I got off the bus, the beauty and isolation of it all had me absolutely giddy. I couldn't stop looking around, gaping as I took in the reality of the scenery and the fact that I was going to run a freaking MARATHON in this setting. </p><p>We immediately got in line for the porta potties - by far the most scenic porta potties I've ever been a part of - and then milled around for a bit waiting to drop our gear bags until the last minute. The gear truck closed about 20 minutes before the start, and while it was a pretty pleasant morning the wind was brisk - I was glad I'd brought one of my many random space blankets that I eternally save "in case" lol. Some nice man gave Joy a trash bag to keep warm and we started to make our way up towards the start corrals. In typical Audrey fashion, about 10 minutes before the start I once again realized that I really needed to pee. There were men roaming off into the heather left and right to do their business, and I was feeling jealous until I saw one bold woman make her way off into the corner as well and I decided, you know what, it's not like this is anyone's property! We were literally in the wilderness, and I had to laugh as I crouched behind an absolutely miniscule bush...but I felt SO much better afterward! Was it worth it? You bet it was.</p><p>I think maybe there was some brief announcement, but at 10 am on the dot with little to no fanfare, a horn sounded and the race began! As we exited the starting area, there was a bagpipe corps playing on both sides of the road, and it was SO COOL. The wide open road with a gorgeous morning was ahead, nothing but beautiful, wild hills on either side, and we were off and running...it was magical. I reached back to adjust my phone in my bra pocket and I heard Joy say "I thought you were pulling out your phone to take a picture!" Well...now that she mentioned it....I felt like this was the type of race where I didn't mind losing a couple seconds to capture the view, and so I went ahead and did just that. </p><p>The first several miles of the race are fairly straight downhill, very similar to Boston - in fact, the course felt similar to Boston in many ways, except with WAY better views and significantly bigger hills! I really only looked at my watch in the first couple of miles to ensure I wasn't being a complete moron - I genuinely had no idea what I was capable of running on this day, but I was fairly certain that whatever it was didn't involve any sub 7 miles or anything crazy like that. I was pleased to find myself bopping along feeling very relaxed in the mid 7:30s, which seemed appropriate for early downhill. The effort felt right, so once I realized that I wasn't going to do anything stupid, I completely stopped looking at my watch and in fact only glanced at it a couple of times during the entirety of the rest of the race! It was such a freeing feeling to genuinely not care about the numbers on the clock, but more importantly it gave me the opportunity to actually run by effort for once in my life. Marathon pace *is* an effort, and I know 100% how I should feel at a certain mile of a marathon, but it's so easy sometimes to get stuck in the numbers and send yourself off on a truly idiotic adventure during the first half before everything comes back to bite you. For the whole of this race, even when it got hard, I knew the effort was exactly where it was supposed to be, and that gave me this great sense of calm that regardless of what pace I was running at any given moment, it was the right one. </p><p>I found myself in a calm and comfortable mindset as the first few miles unfolded, constantly looking at the beauty around me and feeling so utterly grateful to be there. At some point I found myself running behind a group of younger Scottish men who were chatting and we passed by a sheep standing alone very close to the road. I of course had to say "HI SHEEP!" and then laughed to myself at what these Scotsman who I'm sure see sheep on a very regular basis must have thought of the dumb American woman behind them saying hi to the livestock, lol. </p><p>I decided at the last minute to spring for the Aftershokz headphones so that I could run with music, because despite the fact that I knew I could probably stay in the moment and just enjoy the scenery without it, I also knew that I would definitely enjoy myself more if I had it, especially if things started to turn south. Somewhere early in the race the song Manchester by Kishi Bashi came on, and the lyrics "I haven't been this alive in a long time" almost made me cry. Sure, I knew I was starting this marathon at a fitness that some past version of myself would have been appalled at, but after a year of a relationship with running that felt tumultuous at best and abusive at worst, I realized as I flowed through the fields of sheep and the rolling hills that I was running, and I was <i>happy. </i>And it was just such an important thing in that moment, which the cinematic qualities of that song seemed to drive home even more. </p><p>I had heard some rumblings in my (admittedly very limited) research of the race that while the course profile was net downhill, there were quite a few rolling hills in the mix. That point was proven early on when around mile 5 I turned a corner to find myself staring at a STEEP hill, a hill which would turn out to last nearly half a mile! After the race Joy and I were both joking that we felt like we'd been teleported into Mount Washington for a second; the road was surrounded with dewy greenery, and the grade was every bit as steep as something you'd encounter in the early phases of that race! Now, had I been "racing", this might have really thrown me, but in the setting of just enjoying a lovely 26.2 mile run in the countryside, I simply modified my effort to get myself back to that sweet spot, told myself that what went up would eventually come down, and forged my way up the hill. Simple! This whole 'just running' thing was seeming better and better by the minute. I did allow myself a moment of consideration for how my quads were going to hold up to the net downhill, but again, I figured I knew what the effort was supposed to be like and all I had to do was keep it steady. Somewhere in this general area "Shots" also came on my playlist, which was perfectly keeping with my theme of approaching this marathon as if it were an extra long Reach the Beach leg - run by effort, try hard but don't kill yourself, HAVE FUN - and I definitely sang along for a little bit so you're welcome to the men who got to hear me whisper-sing "SUCK MY COCK" lmao. </p><p>The rolling hills continued through the next couple of miles; after running through an area with a few houses we ended up on a road that was so small it literally was the size of a Massachusetts bike path - I kept laughing whenever I would remember that we were actually on a ROAD. I had to modify my gel schedule somewhat due to the water stops, which were relatively spread out (something like 4/9/13/17/23 or something to that effect), but they were actually giving out 12 oz bottles of water which I didn't mind carrying for a bit nearly as much as I thought I would. I sort of fell into the rhythm of taking water, drinking a good amount, and carrying it for the next mile or so - partially this was also because there were only spots to toss trash every mile or so, and I really didn't want to litter in this pristine landscape.</p><p>Somewhere around mile 8 we finally reached a point where you could see the loch off on the left. The road ran through this corridor of tall evergreens, creating this dark and incredibly atmospheric feeling. I actually took out my camera and took a video of a bit of this section (while also holding a water bottle...I had to run a few steps with it in my mouth while putting my phone back in my bra, LOL). A few moments later, it started to RAIN - it was just a short shower, but it was so magical. I was still feeling great at whatever pace I was running (Strava actually indicates it was in the high 7:30s/low7:40s, which I DEFINITELY did not realize at the time), I was in this glorious place with the rain falling...I honestly could not have been happier.</p><p>One interesting thing that I became aware of around this point in the race was the fact that I was COMPLETELY surrounded by men - in fact, once I noticed it I actually started keeping a count of how many women I saw after mile 3 of the race, and the result was less than 10! When I looked at the results it actually seemed like the mens and womens fields were relatively equal, so I'm not sure if it wasn't so much that there weren't many women as it was that there weren't many fast-ish women, but it was definitely not a situation I've ever found myself in. Sure, I often end up running with middle age men, but there are always some women in the mix as well! I liked the idea of picturing myself as this strong women among a pack of men, and since there were so few women it gave me a boost when I would see one in the distance and see if I could reel her in. </p><p>The section between the rainstorm and the half passed without much of note. I do remember one random house on the side of the course with a window on the second floor overlooking the runners, and there was this elderly woman up there with a blanket on her lap smiling and waving at us, which was absolutely adorable. We were still sort of in the middle of nowhere so spectators were fairly few and far between, but there was still the occasional cluster of a few folks or a family standing at their driveway, and what spectators there were were extremely warm and welcoming! My favorite thing I heard from a spectator was the very British sounding phrase of "You're SMASHING it!" I had taken a gel around mile 8 and was planning on waiting until 12ish for my next one, but I found myself feeling pretty hungry around mile 10 and decided to eat it a little bit early - I also figured this might help me line my gels up a little better with the water stations, which had been a little awkward so far. The effort was definitely starting to get a little bit noticeable here - Joy and I had discussed the section in the middle of the race which appeared to be completely flat on the course map. "I hope it's not TOO flat," Joy had remarked, and as I continued to run through what seemed like either endless undulating hills or a false flat that I was convinced was climbing for a couple of miles I couldn't help but laugh at that concern. We certainly were NOT going to have to worry about this course being too flat - in the end we wound up with between 900-1000 feet of elevation gain. Talk about a "net downhill" that really makes you work for it...but I honestly I think these are the types of courses where I thrive.</p><p>Miles 11 and 12 seemed to take longer than they should have, and I was somewhat relieved to see the "halfway" sign with a cute little "SMILE! You're halfway there!" message. This was really where things started to head into unknown territory - obviously, I knew I could run 13 miles at a reasonable pace, but my lack of running anything over 17 miles at any sort of brisk effort left the second half of this race something of a black box. I glanced at my watch and noted something in the low 1:43s for 13:1 - certainly better than I would have expected, but I also was very aware that there was a whole lot more downhill in the first half of the race than the second. The middle section of the race was just very classic marathon - I didn't feel *awesome* but I didn't feel terrible, and I sort of felt like I could sustain the effort and just keep plugging away. By this point I had been running with essentially the same little group for a few miles, including an older gentleman who I seemed to be constantly running side by side with who seemed to be checking his watch VERY frequently - looking back I think it was because he was British and had his watch set to kilometer splits, but in the moment I just could not understand why anyone would want to be looking at their watch every 5 minutes. I mean, I wasn't looking at my watch at ALL! I WAS FREE! I can't understate how wonderful it's been to completely disconnect from splits and my watch while running. Not only do I feel like I can actually pay attention to how I'm feeling effort-wise, but there's this mental battle that I've had with myself for years every time I look at my watch that is finally just gone. Because let's be real: it didn't matter. My only goal for this race was to have fun, finish, and not fuck myself up so royally that I couldn't enjoy the rest of my vacation, and so far that mission was being accomplished.</p><p>A sort of interesting surprise that became more noticeable in the second half was the fact that it ended up being a relatively warm day (~60s) and SUNNY, which I certainly did not expect for my marathon in Scotland! In fact, I actually discovered after the race that I got some color on my face which I found mildly hilarious. In the moment I was still relatively composed but I could tell that I wasn't quite rolling along as smoothly as I had been up until about mile 15. I basically knew that there was going to come a point when things were going to get rough - I mean, that's a given in any marathon but in a marathon where you've trained poorly it's even MORE of a given - and I kept acknowledging that every mile that went by without a crash was one less mile I had to deal with. Again, I wasn't perseverating on it in the moment but looking at my Garmin I see that around mile 14 was where I started to slow a bit, with the pace dropping down into the high 7s/low 8s. Of note, there was more elevation in this area compared to the several miles past, and I think while I was feeling things becoming more difficult I was doing a good job of trying to keep the effort consistent, and it makes sense that my pace would change accordingly! </p><p>I was thinking about 2 things as I approached the 16 mile mark: one, I started wondering when the giant hill was coming, because I couldn't remember whether it started or ended at mile 18. The other thing I started thinking about was the ALPACA FARM that I had seen on maps when I had been browsing the course on Google, and sure enough, I reached the top of a (rather unpleasant, TBH) hill and there were ALPACAS! I almost took a photo and I sort of wish I had, because there were 3 alpacas in the most perfect pose with one standing, one kind of kneeling, and one lying down with this gorgeous tableau of the loch and the mountains in the background. I think I maybe gave it a little extra gas due to my excitement about the alpacas, which I paid for shortly after with a weird high hamstring cramp. I took a quick walk break to sort it out and was able to get back in business pretty quickly - for me personally, sometimes a quick walk break to figure something out is the move over trying to run through it. I'm usually able to resume running at a faster pace and despite the short time of moving slower, I'm convinced that my overall pace is faster in the end...unless I'm walking because of heat stroke, then all bets are off. But this wasn't that! So anyway, a quick shakeout and I was back on the move, looking forward to the next water station before the town of Dorne and the upcoming climb.</p><p>Dorne itself was an absolute delight, with spectators packing the roads and pretty HYPE spectators at that! I kept an eye out for Joy's parents, who she had said were planning to be around mile 17 or 18, and I was able to catch them on the right side of the road as they cheered adorable. Hilariously, when they saw Joy a little later one of the first things her dad screamed at her was "WE SAW AUDREY!", lol. I knew that at some point past the town the climbing was going to start, and so it did - gradually at first, to the point where I almost kind of thought, huh, is it this grade the whole way? This isn't so bad.... But then I looked ahead and saw the grade start to steepen, accompanied by a little sign from the race that said "It's just a wee hill..." Ah yes, here it was....the famed Dorne Hill.</p><p>Well, I won't lie: a 2 mile climb at mile 19/20 of a marathon is not a particularly fun time! There was carnage all around me - it seemed like everyone was walking, and I won't pretend I wasn't among them. I could feel when my heart rate climbed above the acceptable threshold and I tried to give myself 10 or 15 seconds to try to bring it down before starting again. It worked pretty well - I passed a pretty decent number of people on the climb simply by plugging away. Was it fast? Absolutely not - my 2 miles up the hill clocked 9:06 and 8:41 - but it was forward motion, and more importantly despite the fact that my legs were DEFINITELY starting to feel the lack of mileage and my body was starting to get excited about the eventual prospect of *not* running anymore, I didn't feel like I was drowning in the fatigue hole - it wasn't that hard to convince myself to keep moving forward, I just couldn't go all that fast. </p><p>Luckily, on a net downhill course what goes up must (at least somewhat) go down, so once we crested the hill I was greeted with a blissful downhill, on which I let it rip as much as I felt I could. Despite my earlier worries, the one thing that was absolutely rock solid throughout this entire race was my quads - I gave myself a hard time for skipping 2 of my long runs for hikes, but I've gotta say I think ripping my legs to shreds on the mountain downhills actually set me up for great success on a course that also required running a lot of downhill. Sure, everything else basically felt like trash at this point, but at least my quads were solid! It felt really nice to no longer be running uphill, and I was starting to believe that I could finish this thing faster than I'd ever pictured. It was somewhere around here, rolling on the downhill when Noah Kahan's "Dial Drunk" came on my playlist. That song for some reason hits perfectly for running fast in the woods and it brought a smile to my face as I headed into the last 3 miles of the course.</p><p>There is another giant hill at mile 23ish that is just simply rude; about a half mile long and significantly steeper than the Dorne climb, it was like Heartbreak Hill on crack and my legs were NOT amused. Luckily, I happened to have come upon a rare woman who appeared to be running with her husband, and for some reason I found them super annoying - I'm not actually sure if they were doing anything particularly annoying, but in the moment I was convinced that they were just taking up the entire road by running side by side. Anyway, they were an excellent carrot to chase particularly during the few instances where I would briefly walk between cones, they would pass me, and I would instantly get a shot of adrenaline and decide that I needed to get a move on regardless of how my legs were feeling. I may say that my competitive fire has left me, but instances like these remind me that it's not entirely gone, haha.</p><p>Once we crested the hill I knew that there was no more major climbing to contend with and all that was left to do was hold on for another couple of miles to the finish. I won't lie, by this point my legs wanted absolutely NOTHING to do with running anymore - mentally and globally I was fine and I think I'd managed fueling and hydration extremely well even on a relatively warm day, but my legs were completely shot. I hadn't been able to find a place to dispose of the water bottle I'd taken several miles previously and I found myself becoming more and more annoyed by the fact that I still had to hold it in my hand long after I'd sprayed the last of its contents onto my head (yes, 60ish degrees and I'm dumping water on my head, in case you need a sense of how heat intolerant I am!). We hilariously had to run through a roundabout at around mile 24; hilarious because the entire weekend we had been making jokes about how many damn ROUNDABOUTS there are in Scotland, so it was only fitting that there was one on the marathon course! There was an absolutely incredible squad of 3 or 4 women who were on an Audrey level of hype cheering right as I entered the roundabout, and I screamed and waved my arms as they screamed at me - love, love, love a quality spectator.</p><p>The crowds increased significantly as we headed into town which was amazing - it was so clear throughout the entire race experience that the town of Inverness took such pride in hosting a great event and welcoming the runners to their town! I was absolutely in the pain cave by now, so probably didn't appreciate as much as I could have as I was solely focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling in the road. My calves were doing the annoying cramping thing that they sometimes tend to do at the end of marathons, making each step feel like a delicate dance to prevent landing the wrong way and having them fully seize up, and I just REALLY was looking forward to being done running, but I knew I had to hold on a little while longer.</p><p>At some point in here I saw Andrew, giving him some kind of vague wave as I didn't have energy for much more at mile 24.5. There were a couple of great breweries and bars getting rowdy as we turned toward the river and I could definitely feel the energy radiating out even as my legs threatened to collapse underneath me. Argh....just a little longer. I luckily knew in advance about the fact that you had to run past the finish line, out and over a bridge, and then back towards the finish line to finish, but I swear to god that stupid little bridge nearly broke me. The tiny uphill felt like a mountain, and my calves were rapidly entering the danger zone where I knew one funky step was going to send me to the ground, but as ever with one mile to go I forced myself to forgo the temptation of just one more short walk break and set my eyes on the finish line. It was tunnel vision at this point; I vaguely remember passing a guy who was walking, and for some reason vividly remember that the song that came on at the very end of the race was "Burn" by Ellie Goulding, which was a theme song to some long ago marathon of mine but that I haven't listened to in years. I still wasn't looking at my watch, because it truly didn't matter - the time on the clock would be what it would be, I was giving it everything I had in the moment and finding whatever I had left to fight to the finish. As I entered the chute I found a last burst of energy to pick it up, just a tiny bit, and managed to cross the line feeling strong...and fairly shocked as I looked at my watch and realized that off the tiniest little training cycle that I barely counted as marathon training, I had run a 3:31! Going into the race I had genuinely thought that I was likely to run 3:45-3:50, so to manage a decent BQ was a complete surprise. Honestly, feeling so strong during the race was a surprise too - it's almost like finding an appropriate effort and sticking with that over pace has some merit to it or something, because I really only found myself up against that red line in the last couple of miles. And I mean, if you're not on the red line in the last couple of miles of a marathon, no matter how "fun" of a run, I'm not sure you're entirely human. </p><p>I waited around in the chute for a minute or two until my older man friend came through, as we had ended up running together for a good chunk of the race, leapfrogging in the later stages, and then me finally taking the lead a few miles from the end. He was a delightful British man in his 60s and it was fun chatting a bit and congratulating him on a race well run - we both agreed that for a net downhill course, this one certainly packed a punch! I made my way through the finishing area, obtaining an absolutely delicious NA radler beer, and was able to find Andrew and get my drop bag back pretty quickly. My legs were rapidly trying to disconnect from life but I managed to find my way over to the chute and lean pretty pathetically on it while cheering the runners in and waiting for Joy, who came in soon after under her goal of breaking 4!</p><p>We enjoyed a nice cask beer on the grass and swapped race stories, basking in what is always such a magical glow of finishing a marathon. I was certainly pleased with my time given the circumstances, but I was also just so delighted with how happy I had felt during the entire race experience. I had never been frustrated, or worried, or upset - when things got hard, I adjusted, or I fought, or I made it work, but I never had a moment where I got negatively in my head about anything. Sure, you could argue that going into a race with less-than-stellar training and no expectations lines you up well for an enjoyable mental experience, but it went beyond that. I have spent so much time and mental energy since I got injured in 2022 trying to find my way back to the runner I was before that injury and endlessly frustrated that that runner no longer seemed to exist. And maybe she doesn't. And maybe that's OK. And I think this marathon was the first time that I truly accepted the runner that I am right <b>now </b>- not to say that things won't change and evolve in the future, because maybe they will. Maybe the time will come where I want to give a PR one last shot. But I'm done with the mental burden that carries, and I'm done turning my hobby, something that I supposedly love to do, into a chore. In running Loch Ness I finally felt free of the ghost of my past self - I was running as I am now, and doing it with gratitude and freedom and joy. And that - rolling through stunning countryside in a place I've never been, working hard but being able to enjoy the ride at the same time, just being in the moment and not in a mental cage made by my watch - that is why I run.</p><p>Loch Ness Marathon 2023</p><p>3:31:06</p><p>287/3504 OA, 21/1332 F, 14/593 AG</p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-42218569515726832242023-10-09T16:45:00.003-05:002023-10-09T16:45:24.135-05:00Keep it burning through the night, until the end of time: Ironman Lake Placid 2023 Race Report<p>Well, I am an Ironman again! Not entirely sure how that happened lol. This entire training cycle, up to and including the race felt like an insane fever dream - I was half convinced I was going to wake up midway through the bike and discover it was actually a Tuesday morning at the very start of training. I signed up for this race basically when it opened last July when I was just starting to crawl out of my injury pit and train with any sort of consistency again. It had always kind of been on my list as I'd heard about the race from several people I follow on Instagram that it was beautiful, it was HARD, and it had a lot of history. The race's contract also ends next year and there have also been rumors that it may not return after 2024 (although IDK based on the support I saw for the race all over town I have to doubt that somewhat), plus I could DRIVE there and not have to deal with flying with my bike, so it was kind of a no brainer to sign up. Obviously between July and now many things occurred - I also made the somewhat idiotic decision to run Boston in April, thinking to myself that I would *definitely* be able to keep the focus on the Ironman as opposed to dropping swimming and riding like they were hot in favor of building up "high" (not even really that high) marathon mileage...but I was definitely lying to myself. Yes, I did some trainer riding and some swimming over the winter but it was definitely the first thing to get dropped in favor of a run as I kept telling myself that I needed to "respect the marathon". That was all well and good, however when I finished my post-Boston recovery week and realized I had essentially 10 WEEKS to train myself up for an Ironman....I may or may not have panicked a little (a lot). Talk about respecting the distance?!! This is an Ironman we're talking about here, people! It quickly became clear that I was going to be cramming what probably should have been 6 months of structured training into 3 months, while also juggling an insane schedule that included work, the busiest season of my dance teaching side job, multiple mountain races that I refused to back out of, and the most ill timed bout of pool renovations I ever did see. Sounds fun, right?</p><p>All in all though, it WAS fun, even if I wished I could have spread things out a bit more and gotten myself up to a better level of fitness before the race. Reversing roles, I decided to rest on the laurels of having just completed a marathon cycle and REALLY deprioritized running...to a fault, I would say. My long runs really took a hit particularly as we got later into June and July, between a bunch of races, an entire month of the absolute SHITTIEST weather, and the global fatigue of the abbreviated cycle itself. I only ended up getting in 1 16 miler and 1 18 miler, with a couple of 14-15 milers in there but a decent stretch of weeks where my long run only made it up to 12 miles for several reasons (got sick...did a half Iron tri where the run was only 12 miles...wanted to do a fun long run with friends instead of running solo...). On the flip side, I did not miss a SINGLE bike workout and really made the long rides a priority, no matter if the weather sucked or not. Swimming was a mixed bag - I really tried to get in the water 2x/week but between BOTH of my pools being closed for a period of time and the constant rain making OWS a challenge, my volume wasn't as high as I would have liked. Training completely solo was also pretty weird - I did one long run and some mountain races with my running friends, and one long ride in New Hampshire with Gwen, but otherwise I was flying solo the whole time which was a very different vibe than the IMWI cycle. As race day approached, I felt confident that I could complete the distance but not so confident of how strong I would be. Truthfully, between the difficulty of the bike course, the prospect of summer weather, and the above mentioned less-than-impeccable training cycle, I suspected my time was very likely to be closer to 13 hours than 12, and had zero aspirations of a PR. But up until the very last second, I wasn't actually NERVOUS about the race - maybe because the training had been more a matter of putting my head down and bulldozing my way through each week as opposed to feeling like some epic quest, or maybe just because now I've done it and I know I can.</p><p>However, all of a sudden around the Tuesday before the race, my anxiety spiraled into something really quite nasty - every doubt I think I've ever had about myself athletically came bubbling up to the surface. I had only done like 3 swims over 3000 yards and all of my open water swims were slow, how was I even going to finish the swim in a reasonable time? The Keene Descent was a nightmare and I was going to be the loser riding my brakes on the side, wasn't I? My bike was going to be so slow because there was no way I had done enough hard climbing! The situation was not helped by the fact that on Wednesday Topper decided he would help himself to my packed container of cinnamon RAISIN bagels (this is what I get for trying to be prepared)...raisins can cause kidney failure in dogs, and so his delightful need to be an obese animal turned into a trip to the emergency vet on our way to Lake Placid on Thursday...don't worry, the raisins didn't cause him any problems, he was just bloated from all the carbs, lol. Having dealt with our pathetic animal there was a bit of a weight lifted and by the time we actually made it to Lake Placid on Thursday evening I was definitely feeling better about life. It was also super helpful having been up there for the weekend back in June, because I felt like I had the lay of the land and knew where I was going at all times which was one less thing to worry about in terms of nerves.</p><p>Our Vrbo was in a great spot in my opinion - right on the bike course where the climbing really starts in Wilmington, a really beautiful and secluded spot but also not too far from town where everything was happening. I did a quick 4 mile shakeout run when we arrived just to stretch out after the car ride and stumbled upon the cutest little local lake/park where a bunch of people had gathered to listen to some live folk music. As I was heading back up the road the band started playing a song that had something to do with loving life or living like it's the last day of your life or something like that, and I kind of liked the vibes that carried going into the weekend. We ate dinner at the Twisted Raven where I had to choose items based solely on the number of carbs that they contained. True carb loading DEFINITELY works, but wow do I kind of hate it haha. </p><p>I enjoy the fact that you have to do a lot of your check in stuff for Ironman 2 days before, as I think that the day before the day before the race is the best day to get excited and enjoy the vibes of a big race without having to freak out about the race actually being the following day. We ended up walking down the road from our cabin to Up a Creek for breakfast which was SO great - cute little spot, great food, and dog friendly. I went a bit nuts on the carb loading train and ended up getting pancakes, breakfast potatoes, AND fruit...the pancakes were gigantic and both Andrew and the server were cracking up at how much food I had in front of me. I'm normally not a sweet breakfast person so this was really a sacrifice for me to not get like a breakfast sandwich or an omelette and go for the pancakes instead lol. We drove up to Placid via 86 and I got to point out all the sights of the bike course to Andrew, which, thanks to my training weekend in June I felt like I already knew super well. The bike course is just so unbelievably gorgeous - I genuinely don't think I ever got sick of the sights driving/biking into and out of town. </p><p>In my opinion we nailed the timing getting to athlete check in right as it opened at 9, and after a short wait I once again had an Ironman wristband on and a bib number assigned...apparently, this was really happening!? Whenever I think about the entire weekend, "surreal" is really what comes to mind. I was really trying to be present and take in the whole experience but my brain was really having a hard time believing that said experience could possible be real. I bought some swag at the Ironman store and then roamed around the village, which was a giant puddle on the speed skating oval because there had been a big thunderstorm the night before. I wandered into the PlayTri area looking for an extra Co2 canister and walked away with more miscellaneous flavors of Gu and a bottle of chain lube...I think a snake oil salesman could have convinced me I needed about a thousand different things at that moment. Andrew and I got coffee at Origin (quite possibly my new favorite coffee shop in all the land) and then grabbed bagel sandwiches to go from Soulshine Bagels. Then we beat it back to the Vrbo...honestly, while I can definitely see the convenience of staying right in town for the race I actually loved being able to completely escape the insanity. We spent the next couple of hours just relaxing in the yard behind our cabin, eating sandwiches (and I even had a beer!) and I could *almost* completely forget the purpose of this whole endeavor was for me to go cover 140 miles under my own power on Sunday. </p><p>Andrew took a nap while I set about organizing THE BAGS, that very uniquely Ironman situation that requires you to split up all of your transition and special needs gear and bag it separately. This was kind of a zen project but also a stressful one, as I'm always convinced that I'm going to forget *something* (I'm looking at you, run special needs seltzer from Wisconsin). But eventually I felt like I had the key components sorted out and the special needs ones could be saved for later, as those couldn't be dropped off until race day anyway. I then went for a shakeout ride which I decided to do out on the Haselton out and back which was WONDERFUL - my bike and I felt totally in sync, the road was beautiful and empty, and I was riding fast without much effort. It's amazing how I can be so deep in my head about these things and really the only thing I need to do is DO something, and I will feel better every. single. time. When I got back from my ride even though it was early we decided that for lack of anything better to do we should go early to dinner at Big Slide, where I knew they had good pizza and just as importantly, good beer. This turned out to be a great decision, as we were able to get a table right away but by the time we left the place was packed and there was a decent wait. We got a delightful appetizer called "the 3 needs" which was basically a sampler of 3 different breads, cheeses, and beers which also added to my carb total! I got a bolognese pizza which was ridiculously good, and we ordered a 3rd pizza to take home so that I would have something to eat when we got back after the race on Sunday. Pleasantly full, we drove back to the vrbo via the run course on River Road, which is, like everything else on this race course, beautiful, and I said something to Andrew along the lines of "how do people not like this run course? Like, they say it's BORING. How can you think this is boring?" Ohhhhhh little did I know boring would be the least of my worries on River Road on race day...but I'm getting ahead of myself.</p><p>Saturday morning was definitely where the anxiety started to set back in, and I found myself feeling horribly nervous as I got my bike and run/bike bags ready to take downtown for gear check in. I literally could not stop thinking about the Keene descent, the enormity of the distance, just the whole thing. But just like the night before, I knew that if I could just go *do* something I would feel better, so I got my stuff together and actually enjoyed the drive downtown - again, just soaking in the beauty of the road in the calm before the storm. I got to the lake for my little shakeout and once again felt a little overwhelmed by the buzz of energy. It's just so easy to look around at everyone around you when getting ready for a race like this and think "they're so much more prepared, so much better than me, so much stronger, do I really belong here?" Even though I think I've more than proven that I am a decent triathlete (and not that it would even matter if I weren't) I still have such imposter syndrome when I show up especially to these big Ironman races. But, as always, as soon as I got in the water all of that disappeared, and I thoroughly enjoyed my 1000 yds of shakeout swimming. I sort of impulsively bought a sleeveless wetsuit a couple of weeks ago because I realized that the water temp at Placid was probably going to be close to the wetsuit line anyway and I'd prefer not to be hot...that turned out to be a GREAT choice as I think having more freedom at my shoulders definitely makes a difference for me. I came out of the water feeling happy, but also like an idiot as I didn't think to bring an extra change of clothes *or* a towel, so I ended up getting to practice transition a day early as well by walking back up to my car in my wetsuit and then pulling a full car change in the public Lake Place parking lot, lmao. Honestly, it was just what I needed - to laugh at myself and to remember that all this is supposed to be fun! I was kind of hungry and there was still a bit before bike check in opened, so I went back to the bagel place and got a breakfast sandwich, which I ended up eating in the car because it was actually kind of COLD out?! After existing in a perpetual land of heat and humidity for the last month being in a place where I actually felt like I wanted to have long sleeves on was shocking and also absolutely magical. </p><p>I headed over to bike check in and was one of the first few in line...as with every event along the way this weekend, the ratio of men to women was wild - there were just over 450 female finishers out of over 1600 competitors, which is just WILD to me! I wonder if triathlon will ever catch up the way running seems to have, or if it's just the long course races (it was a similar ratio at White Mountains). I definitely think it adds a special bit of sisterhood with the other women you do see out on the course, though! Bheithir was the first bike on his rack in a spot with a great view of the finish line, and after checking that everything was set with his placement I took a moment to just take in my surroundings. I was saying to Andrew later when we toured the Olympic museum and the 1980 ice rink that I have a fondness for empty stadiums and arenas...I feel like without the fans and the music and the chaos they just have this energy about them, this sense of great moments past but also of such potential. Obviously there was plenty of chaos happening, but standing there in the middle of the Olympic oval, with still mostly empty racks surrounding me, I felt the potential in the moment, the possibility...I get a little chill thinking about that now.</p><p>I dropped off my gear bags and in doing so remembered a little trick that I had forgotten about putting something that stands out on the top of your bag to make it easier to find - made a mental note to figure out something of that nature for later. Then I headed back to Origin for more coffee and was feeling very self satisfied with how early I had completed all of my tasks; I was pulling out of my primo parking spot when I suddenly realized that I still needed to go to the athlete briefing at 11...derp. I went and found a new parking spot and walked myself back to the oval...at least now I had coffee! The briefing didn't really explore anything I didn't already know, although it was helpful to hear the specifics of the bike transition (someone takes your bike back to the rack at the end of the bike, whaaaat?) and hear that the current official water temperature was 72 so wetsuit legality was all but certain. Now that my work in town was ACTUALLY done, I headed back to my car and decided to drive back to the vrbo the long way, via the Keene Descent.</p><p>Let me pause here for a moment and just talk about the Keene Descent, which has been living rent free in my mind since I signed up for this race. I am NOT a descender - I tend to be a pretty cautious cyclist, even more so after my crash last year, and there is something about how out of control going downhill on a bike can sometimes feel that just freaks me out. When I rode the course at the beginning of June it was in really bad conditions (fog, crosswinds, low visibility, and cold) and I was terrified to the point of having to stop halfway down to collect myself, so I felt like I needed to see the thing one more time before race day to mentally prepare. I think it was a good idea - it definitely wasn't as bad as the image I had in my head, and I was able to kind of give myself a pep talk as I was alone in the car. The rest of the drive honestly helped to calm me down overall and by the time I made it back to the cabin I was in a way better headspace. </p><p>We went back to Up A Creek for lunch (turkey club, you can never go wrong) and then pretty much lounged around for the remainder of the afternoon - I read a bunch, took a nap, and went out on my little baby shakeout run but otherwise pretty much stayed off my feet. One of the huge perks of staying in a cabin vs. a hotel in my opinion is being able to cook your own food the night before a race; not only not dealing with the stress of finding a place to eat but also knowing that you can eat exactly what you want and are used to. So I ate the same thing that I've eaten before who knows how many races in the past 10 years: pasta with homemade butter tomato sauce and breaded chicken, and it was perfect. I also had a pack of poptarts for dessert because #allthecarbs, lol. We watched Miracle on my tiny phone screen (kind of had to, given the setting) and I had my customary prerace beer and painted my nails, and then we were in bed by 8:30 with the alarm set for 4 am...setting the alarm that says "IT'S IRON DAY" that I haven't deleted from my phone since that first solo venture back in 2020 made me feel a whole lot of feels. I tried to push back the nerves and kept telling myself the same thing I've been telling myself all training cycle: to push away the part of me that wants to focus on all the things I didn't do or could have done better, and to focus solely on what I DID do, and believe and trust myself that it would be enough.</p><p>I woke up before my alarm race morning, judging the fact that it must be getting close by the fact that I kept hearing more and more cars driving on the road past the cabin. I gathered my swim and special needs bags, braided my hair, ate first breakfast (a banana, juice, and graham crackers), and we drove through the dark up 86 one last time before I would be there on my bike. I swore as I do every time I'm in the mountains at dawn that this would be the day I saw a moose (it wasn't) and I toggled my playlist to all of my favorite pump up songs as we made good time to our "secret" parking spot off Lake Placid Drive near the top of the lake. It was a little farther away from transition than I'd hoped, but honestly the walk was good both for my nerves and to wake up my legs, and Andrew kindly carried all of my crap until we really got into the zone where things were too chaotic for him and Topper to continue. Dawn was breaking over Mirror Lake and the water was like glass. I once wrote in a piece of fiction that "it was like the sea was holding it's breath" and it felt a little bit that way, in the calm silence, like the lake was patiently waiting for the day to come.</p><p>The hour or so before transition closed felt like it passed very slowly and very quickly at the same time. I went and dropped off my bike special needs bag, giving me a good mental map of where that bag would be, and then went down to fill up my bottles, fill up my bento box, and check on Bheithir. I somehow had the foresight to bring a towel from the cabin in the morning because I was worried about my brake levers being wet and slippery (we will laugh at my fears shortly), but sure enough it had been a dewy evening and so everything on my bike was wet - it was nice to be able to give it a full wipe down before the race. I also went and attached my silly half paper plates to my run and bike bags to make them easier to find and began the work of attempting to force a bagel...one of the stupid goddamn bagels that I had purchased way too far in advance and my dog almost poisoned himself with...down my throat, which some days goes OK but today was not going smoothly. I guess that should maybe have been my first guess that my stomach was going to be a diva but I tried to keep it out of my head and just focus on getting the fuel I needed in whether I wanted it or not. I felt like I walked in and out of the bike area of transition 15 times, first convinced that I'd forgotten something and then waffling back and forth over whether I should find someone with a pump to make absolutely sure that my tires were at the perfect pressure. In the end I decided it wasn't worth the possibility of somehow screwing up the correct pressure I'd already created the day before, and so I finally realized that I needed to stop creating things to do in transition and get myself down to the swim start to warm up. </p><p>Compared to Wisconsin, LP felt pretty small and friendly to me, but the area by the swim start was still, as it always is, chaos. I was trying to figure out the perfect timeline to get my wetsuit on and get in the water without having to stand around for too long afterward, as the temps were still in the high 50s and I didn't want to get cold. I chatted with a tall, younger guy who said it was his first Ironman and I wished him an amazing day, then went off to hunt for the morning clothes bag dropoff which was somehow more challenging to find than it needed to be - myself and several other confused looking athletes finally found it up on top of the hill. It did make sense - there wasn't exactly extra room to spare on the beach - but it was one extra thing to stress me out. All of my connections to the outside world placed on a truck somewhere, it all started to get real. There was a moment of levity getting into the water for the warmup, where I sort of blindly followed a few other people into the water and we ended up in this area with a bunch of gigantic rocks off a steep bank...not exactly a smooth entry into the water, lol. I did a few strokes out towards the end of the warmup area and then paused and just floated. The sunrise was absolutely beautiful, with mountains rising out of the clouds at the end of the lake, mist hovering over the water, the sun turning everything gold. I remembered my promise to myself to take each moment as it came today, to "feel it when you feel it", as I put it to myself, not to think about how it might feel in an hour or 10. So I let myself take this moment to just feel it - the calm of the water, the way I felt floating watching the sun come up over the lake, the anticipation and possibility and gratitude for what I was about to do. It was just one of those wonderful moments where the universe feels locked into place and you have this sense that you are exactly where you are supposed to be. </p><p>All too quickly the moment was over and it was time to get out of the water and head towards the starting corrals. I took my pineapple Gu and headed into the bottleneck of the chute, immediately finding a roadblock. I befriended a random woman as we worked our way up to our appropriate start time area together, and wound up discovering that she was from New Berlin, a couple towns over from my hometown ("Woodland Conference, baby!" I said, like a loser lmao). We wished each other luck and I made my way to what seemed like a good looking spot in the middle of the 1:10-1:20 area just as the pros started their race. And then waited...it seemed to take a LONG time to get into the water, but luckily the playlist that was bumping at the swim start would have been just as suited for getting ready to go out in 2010. We had "Poker Face" followed immediately by "Timber" which I started dancing like an insane person to and was cracking up inside when the only other person nearby who was dancing was a ~60 year old man next to me who was shaking what his mama gave him. I'd like to believe my energy was contagious lmao. The woman whose job it was to just keep talking and trying to pump us up as the race got underway was no Mike Reilly, but she did say a couple things that hit me just right - one of them a rephrasing of one of my favorite sayings "you have everything you need inside you", and also something about being courageous, which has been my word that I've turned to as an anchor throughout this training cycle. We drew closer to the starting corrals; "I've Gotta Feelin'" was now playing as I stepped up to the line. The staring thing beeped and I ran into the water, literally yelling "LETS FUCKING GO" (yes I'm serious) before I dove in. Yes indeed...let's go.</p><p><i>The swim (1:10:03) - 14th AG, 87th F, 324th OA</i></p><p>Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the piece of triathlon that has always been my worst event was my HIGHEST PLACEMENT OF THE DAY. This is completely insane to me. Call it Mirror Lake magic, call it whatever you want, but this was far and away the best swim of my triathlon career so far. I got in the water and as always, I was so happy because I didn't have to think about doing the thing anymore, I was doing it. I initially had told myself that I wasn't going to try to stay on the cable, which runs under the water directly under the course and basically means you don't have to sight. The first 500 yards or so I was off to the left side of the cable but eventually found myself right on top of it, and then something funny happened: I decided, you know what, I BELONG here. I had noticed I was passing people pretty consistently from the moment I got in the water and I just decided, well, fuck it, I deserve to get on the cable. I was honestly expecting such carnage - my memory of the swim at Wisconsin was just this extremely violent and chaotic time - but honestly I found things to be pretty tame overall. I find that my general response to chaotic swimmers tends to be *annoyance* more than stress or anything else - I definitely had some instances where I felt totally stuck behind a cluster of people who were moving slower than me, but I couldn't see why I should have to go all the way AROUND them to get through. At one point I was also near some girl who just seemed insistent on trying to swim over me and at one point I literally muttered "I fucking hate you" under my breath while sighting before putting in a surge to get past her. There was also a man (it's always a man) with the most AGGRESSIVE kick...like, no need to create a tidal wave here, my guy. I took a couple nice gulps of lake water as a result in these things, but all in all things were going pretty swimmingly (heh). The turn buoys were a bit of a cluster as they always are because everyone seems to think they need to come to a dead stop to turn, but after that I found myself in relatively clear water as we headed back to the end of the first loop. Not that I could see said clear water, as my goggles were completely fogged up and between that and the sun helpfully popping out on the left side of the lake I was essentially blind. But I could see the cable, and I was swimming in a straight line, and everything seemed alright, so I told myself I'd deal with the goggles when we came out of the water before beginning our second lap. </p><p>We got to the turn to come up onto shore before starting our second lap, which required going around a dock and was a little confusing because I actually didn't know what this turn looked like, but I was able to at least make out the swim arch and so figured it out from there. I have a bad habit of trying to check my splits while I'm racing to get a sense of pace but I actually did not do that during this race, so it was quite shocking to come up on shore, quickly defog my goggles, and glance and my watch and see 35ish minutes there! "Well, THERE'S a PR at least," I laughed as I dove back into the water, and I pretty much didn't think about anything except laughing about my half iron PR during the second lap. I was hoping I would be able to find some feet to draft off of, but as it always seems everyone who I would end up behind ended up being slower than me and so attempting to draft quickly became frustrating. I definitely got more bold on the second lap, bulldozing my way through a line of several men creating a blockade on the line, and not being afraid to surge a bit if someone was in my way. Somewhere on this lap someone literally clawed my foot (I confirmed later that they cut me, CUT YOUR NAILS PEOPLE) and I got punched directly in the goggles but otherwise there seemed to be less contact. I did run straight into at least 3 of the small round buoys that the line is set on which was sort of comical, but in each case I was able to get back into my rhythm quickly. I felt relaxed and well within myself the entire time and really never felt tired or sick of swimming, and as always seems to be the case I got a little sad as I approached the end of the second loop. The swim is just such a nice place of consistency for me - I don't think I've ever had a really *bad* swim...like I just get in, I do it, and I move on. It's really a part of triathlon that I adore. What I will say I did not adore is running into the back of the pack, however, I thought about how they were literally going to be in the water for double what I just had and I found that to be pretty incredible. I kept stroking until I touched sand and then popped up to run through the arch, looking at my watch almost as an afterthought, and saw a 1:09 THERE, and literally yelled "HOLY SHIT!"</p><p>Truly, I couldn't believe it. With all of the pool closures, OWS challenges, and honestly just not that great swim training over the past couple of months I had NO aspirations of swimming under 1:15 - hell, I would have been content with a 1:20! So this was just absolutely beyond. I honestly have to give all the credit to this random guy at the pool back in February who offered me some form tips and apparently straight up changed my life! I decided to skip the wetsuit strippers and made my way up the blue carpet, grinning from ear to ear. I vaguely heard someone yell my name and gave a thumbs up before continuing along. I did notice as I ran that my left quad was cramping up pretty aggressively, which was concerning, but I tried not to think about it too much and hoped that I could shake it out once I got on the bike - not sure if it was from running in my wetsuit or what, but it never bothered me again after T1. </p><p>T1 - 7:43 (includes ~1/4 mile run to transition area)</p><p>Having only ever done the COVIDish edition of Wisconsin, I'd never actually experienced a changing tent before, and wow what a freaking luxurious experience! CHAIRS in transition!! I ended up sitting down next to a girl wearing the same trisuit as me, which I found delightful and we both complimented each other on our good fashion taste. I got my wetsuit off and then tried to figure out what to do - I swear my brain short circuits in T1 and with all the bags and stuff in an Ironman it just becomes even more confusing. Thankfully, the changing tent volunteers (all of the volunteers, truly) are angels and someone just appeared in front of me and began pulling things out of my bike bag, asking if I needed them, and putting things back into the bag so I could drop it off before I headed out. I crammed all of my gels into my sports bra (Tracksmith pocket bra FTW) and my waffles into my suit, hoping I had all the calories I needed for my first loop. I found a random thing of sunscreen on the chair next to me and sprayed it on the back of my neck (and only the back of my neck lmao, way to go), said a prayer of thanks that my janky bike shoe clip appeared to be holding, got my helmet on, crammed my oatmeal cream pie into my mouth, and ran off to go find Bheithir. I always feel so wildly disheveled after the swim, like my socks are always crooked and there's some sort of food hanging out of my mouth and my zipper is half undone, and then I'm trying to run carrying my beautiful bike and it's just all so nonsensical. Triathlon is SO ridiculous lol. There was another wonderful volunteer, an older woman, there at my rack to help me with my bike and she was SO lovely - she took my bottles out for me and replaced them when they wouldn't fit under the rack and was just so kind as she got me on my way. Ironman volunteers are truly on another level - I have never felt so much like all of these individual people were committed to my success as I did during that race. Finally I was at the mount line, time to face the demons. I gave Bheithir a little pat, mounted my dragon, and set off on the bike!</p><p><i>The bike (6:19:39) 21st AG, 100th female, 489th overall</i></p><p>The bike starts off with a sharp downhill out of town that I remembered from training, and I made a concerted effort to get my adrenaline down and keep things chill in the early going. But I couldn't stop smiling. "Remember when you swam a 1:10? A 1:10?!!" I couldn't stop thinking about that ridiculous swim, and it put me in a great mood heading out onto the bike course. There were some lovely spectators heading out of town, including a girl wearing a Ricky Bobby outfit to whom I screamed "SHAKE AND BAKE BABY!" Apparently adding baby to the end of various statements was one of my themes of this race lol, not sure why but I couldn't help myself.</p><p>I had broken the loop in my mind into sections: Climb Out of Town, Keene Descent, The Flat Part, Jay to Wilmington Is Rude, Haselton, The Notch. In my opinion "Climb Out of Town" is kind of the worst part of the whole thing - I remember when I rode this for the first time I recalled someone mentioning "some warmup hills" as you left the town. Um, try 750 ft over 5 miles? It's extremely rude. However, doing this so early in the race was kind of pleasant because everyone was obviously conserving energy, just spinning up in their low gears, and the mood was generally pretty jovial. I began leapfrogging back and forth with a guy - I would pass on the climbs, he would pass every downhill - and after about the 3rd time he said something like "we've gotta stop meeting like this!" I responded "right, I don't even know your name!" Turns out his name was Chris, we exchanged pleasantries and wished each other a good race. I could already tell how my place in the field was going to work in the early going as I was passing a lot on the uphills without feeling like I was straining at all, but I knew (and joked with a few people) that everyone was going to be passing me on the descent. At some point we passed a sign that just said "TIN ROOF: RUSTED", a quote from the song Love Shack and I assumed an inside joke meant for someone, but it made me think of my senior year college house which we called the Love Shack, and I started singing the song a little bit - always a good sign, because singing on my bike means I'm happy on my bike! I made a point to try to get some fuel on board early coming out of the swim and drank a good chunk of a bottle and had a couple of rounds of 3 chews before the weird little out and back at the bobsled mountain. The bobsled mountain had a great German themed aid station with signs that were cracking me up..."<strike>Beer </strike> Gatorade" "<strike>Strudel</strike> Bananas", etc. We did have to do this strange little rollercoaster section with a bunch of turns which I was not expecting and after one of the turns I got this weird sensation and was completely convinced that my brakes were locked up. Obviously this was concerning a) so early in the race and b) right before the screaming downhill, so I pulled over to check on them, a moment that was of COURSE captured on film lol. It turns out I was apparently just being ridiculous; there was absolutely no issue, and so I continued on. </p><p>As I headed back to the main road I took a deep breath, because I knew this was it. The Keene Descent. It was about to happen for real. "OK, psych up and spike up," I said to myself as I made the turn back onto 73. But as I made that turn towards the thing I feared most, I found, wonderfully, that I actually wasn't afraid. Somewhere in the last 24 hours I had acquired a belief in my ability to do this, and as I rode towards the runaway truck sign that signaled the start I said it out loud: I can do this.</p><p>What I did NOT expect was for the next 10 minutes to be some of the most joyful, cathartic, and special minutes I have ever spent on my bike. I found myself with open road, these spectacular alpine lakes and cliffs beside me, the sun shining, barely a breath of wind, and the knowledge that somehow none of this was that bad and I was in control, and I was somehow, impossibly able to let go and just. have. fun. It was that part of biking that makes you feel like a kid again, and it was absolute magic. Sure, was I in aero on the super steep parts? No. But I was in aero on the less steep parts, and more importantly I was NOT riding the brakes, I was not slowing myself down, I was flying. I literally shouted at the top of my lungs "YOU'RE DOING IT!!!" Maybe that's what it would be like to ride a dragon, feeling totally in sync with your mount and just simply flying. When I hit the speed limit sign I saw 39 and I was so damn proud of myself, and when I reached the bottom and the bridge I was actually almost in tears of joy. It sounds so, so stupid to write it out - like, you were scared of going down a long downhill that, compared to some things you've ridden, isn't actually that steep? But you know what, I was. And not only facing that fear head on, but giving into it, laughing in its face, feeling that silly little drawing I made on my water bottle of myself riding down the descent saying "Just kidding I actually love this!" come to life, was one of the most special moments I've had in my entire cycling career. It felt, without a doubt, like magic. </p><p>We turned the corner at the bottom of the descent and I screamed a pretty aggressive thank you at the course marshal down there, such was my excitement. I was ready to get into the meat of the course, starting with the lovely flat section between Keene and Jay. The day I rode this in training I had to deal with almost a direct headwind, so the fact that there was pretty much no wind on race day was absolutely lovely. I got down to the business of figuring out where I was at in my fueling, taking a Gu and then pretty quickly a waffle as I was still feeling kind of hungry - I think the adrenaline of that first descent did throw me a little bit, to be honest. But once I'd eaten I locked into aero and just cruised - the small rollers through this stretch are nothing crazy and it's really just a lovely stretch of road. It was around this time that the song that titles this blog, the song that would never leave my head for the remainder of the bike, appeared in my head:</p><p><i>I want your love/to roll the dice/I'll put it all on you and I/until the end of time</i></p><p><i>I want your love/to start a fire/and keep it burning through the night/until the end of time</i></p><p><i>Na na na na, na na na na na, na na na na, na na na na na</i></p><p>As is my custom when something is stuck in my head, I have a tendency to just go ahead and share it with the world, so I continued to roll down 9N intermittently just singing aloud "I WANT YOUR LOVEEEEE", I'm sure to the delight of everyone around me lol. I'd only been passed by a few people on the descent and I could already tell that I'd sort of found "my people" for the race - sure, a slow swimming man would go blasting by on the outside from time to time, but for the most part you could tell everyone was kind of on the same wavelength. I do have to say that I experienced what I viewed as some...er...rude behavior at times on the bike, mostly by men but there were a few women as well who just had terrible passing etiquette. I certainly don't expect every single person who passes to say something (although it's generally a nice thing to do), but if you're going to creep up on me silently at LEAST pass with more than 6 inches of space between us, geez. My favorite was at one point when I was in the midst of passing a guy, this random woman literally came blasting BETWEEN the two of us to pass us both without saying a single word! Like, WTF, lady? Dangerous, and very not cool! I do think I'm always taken aback by people who are just so dang *serious* when they're riding because I am not that way...I want to sing out loud, look at the scenery, smile, thank the volunteers, and say hi to my fellow racers, and I tell you what I am not going to shoot between two people when one is making a pass! I immediately decided I hated this woman, and hilariously would spend the rest of the bike leapfrogging with her before finally losing her on the last climb. She subsequently passed me on the run, ugh, but I did take a small victory in coming out on top on the bike when she was riding like a psychopath on her fancy bike with the disc wheel and super aero helmet.</p><p>ANYWAY...to return from that digression, one somewhat hilarious thing that happened in this stretch is that the top of my tri suit completely unzipped itself and popped open, probably because I never completely zipped it while shoving 6 gels into my bra, and so I had to literally pull over and rezip it or otherwise deal with it flapping around for the next 5 hours. I chose the former, and had to laugh when a woman asked me if I was OK and I replied something like "yeah....my top is just trying to strip itself..." lol. I made a mental note that when obtaining Gus in the future I needed to be more mindful of the zipper situation. The "Flat Part" seemed to pass pretty quickly. My legs were feeling great, although I was starting to feel a little sketched out by my stomach, which didn't feel awful but definitely felt unsettled, and I seemed to be having a harder time getting both nutrition and hydration in than I would have liked. It wasn't at the point of being alarming yet, but I reminded myself that I really had to make sure I kept drinking even if I didn't want to or I was really going to find myself in a hole. At one point I started feeling kind of nauseous but I couldn't really decide if it was nausea or hunger, so I decided to eat another waffle and that actually seemed to help a bit. On a side note, I've GOT to find a better way of storing my waffles because pulling a waffle that is soaking wet from your tri suit that you swam in a lake in, plus have now been sweating in for a couple of hours...I folded it the opposite way so the wetness was on the inside but like still...I was still EATING it. Gross. But aside from that, I was delighted with the way things were proceeding. My splits were clicking off faster than I'd expected them to be, but I was feeling strong and happy on my bike, aside from the minor stomach discomfort. </p><p>We hit the left turn into the big climb to Wilmington, a part of the course that I had absolutely despised on my training ride, and I was pleased to feel like I could really keep the effort manageable and spin up the hill while passing probably 25 people in the process. What can I say, I'm a climber! That hill truly does seem to stretch on FOREVER and someone had put a little sign on the side of the road that just said "Worst Hill Ever". I commented to a guy that I agreed and he said I was wrong - it was the climb out of town on the second loop that was the worst. I gave that one to him, and carried on - he was an older guy with the bib number 262 which made me think of the marathon, and he was another person I wound up seeing quite a few times throughout the course of the ride. </p><p>We finally crested the big hill and I found myself strangely in a pocket of isolation on the road, with no one in front of me that I could see, and this absolutely spectacular vista of the mountains to my left. "How could anyone not LOVE this?!" I yelled out loud, waving to a group of cute little kids cheering on the sidelines as I finally had a moment to enjoy flying downhill (I will say, aside from the Keene Descent, there really is almost no place where you get to coast on this course!) It was just SO beautiful and I was just so happy! What a gift it was to be out here in this beautiful place on a beautiful day and just doing this thing that I love to do.</p><p>I made the turn into the little Haselton out and back which I was really looking forward to after riding it during my shakeout ride, but the first pass through it actually wasn't my fave mainly because it was REALLY crowded. It's a pretty decent stretch, like 5 or 6 miles each way, and the full road is closed but the road was FULL of cyclists in both directions and it just felt kind of claustrophobic, especially with the continued obnoxious behavior of (mainly) men whipping by to pass without saying anything and at close range. I tried to just lock in and find a rhythm in the pack, stay to the right, and let the stuff that was happening around me just roll off me. I was getting excited to see Andrew at the 40ish mile mark and to finally hit the climbing section through the notch, which I just think is wonderful. As I exited the out and back section I encountered one of my favorite group of spectators of the day, a clearly drunk group of 20 somethings who were pretty rowdy and who I of course took the opportunity to hype up even further by making a "pump it up" gesture with my arm and yelling "fuck yeah!" at them (I swore a lot during this race, in both exclamatory and expletive fashion haha). I was feeling pretty happy as I turned back out into the town of Wilmington and shortly after the left hand turn that leads into the climb back to town. Andrew was right where I knew he'd be, sitting out in front of our hotel with Topper and holding the sign I had made that said "Smile if you like techno" while blasting my "Trainer Banger" playlist out of my speaker...don't worry, I came prepared and prepped my husband well for his spectating experience, I'm too good at that for him to embarrass me, lol. I yelled "I NEED MORE TECHNO!" at him and waved and then continued on, which is kind of the funny thing about spectating the bike component...the moment comes and goes in a flash, and then you're back out there on your own!</p><p>As we started to climb the wind picked up a little bit - as an aside, I feel like the weather was about as dreamy as you could hope for during the majority of the bike. There was virtually no wind to speak of with the exception of this one small section, and while there was a bit of interesting weather which I'll get to later it really came at an opportune time for me personally. All in all, considering all of the different weather possibilities, it was a pretty good deal! But even a minor headwind as you start what you know is a long climb is a little annoying, and I kind of had to get my head back in the game a bit. I was definitely trying to mete out my effort a little bit, getting in low gear whenever it felt appropriate and focusing on just getting up the hills with as little effort as possible. There was one more group of pretty rowdy spectators after I saw Andrew and a great Viking themed aid station near Whiteface where I made a point to tell the volunteers what rockstars they all were, but other than that the road was pretty quiet with everyone kind of in their own little boxes. I continued to make quite a few passes as this stretch went on and stayed happy with my effort level - my stomach had improved somewhat and I was able to just focus on what I was doing. While I wasn't overwhelmed when I saw one of my 5 mile splits in this area, I reminded myself that one slow split in a section of ALL climbing literally doesn't mean anything and tried to stop worrying about time and just focus on effort. When in doubt, I just looked around at the scenery. The cliffs, the river, the forest - all of it was just so spectacular. I truly felt like there was no place else I'd rather be than out on my bike in this wonderful place.</p><p>I was really happy to have ridden the course in my training camp and so had a good sense of where the bigger climbs were and where it was easy to let it roll a little bit. I also could tell when we were starting to get back closer to town, although I have to say I was a little disappointed that there was nothing in the road to denote "the bears" - come on Placid, if you're going to name your hills at least make them obvious! But I remembered from my training rides that the only real climb of the 3 in my opinion was the final hill, Papa Bear, and what a delightful experience riding up that hill on the first loop. The hill was packed with fans crowding in close, just like the Tour de France (a reference I could actually understand having followed the Tour this year, and kind of cool that they finished on the same day as my race!) I grinned and waved and actually high fived/fist bumped a few spectators <i>while climbing a giant hill on my bike after 50 miles of riding</i> which sort of makes me giggle. It was so dang fun and I felt like a rockstar! The short out and back section that followed wasn't as much of a hill as I had perceived when I rode it and was actually delightful except for the sharp 180 degree turn at the end...not exactly something I had ever practiced, and not something a tri bike is super adept at, but we made it! I enjoyed the spectator who yelled "GREAT CORNERING" hahaha, I gave a thumbs up for that one. The spectators in town were ROWDY and the turnaround was one of the most hype parts of the bike course for sure - I did my usual arm-waving-hype-up-the-crowd situation and I started singing a little song as I rode the little section back towards the lake, something about "town gives you ENERGY!" Just a brief moment of not having "I want your lovvvvveeee...." repeating over and over in my head. It really was super energizing after quite a while of climbing in relative silence and I did feel pretty damn hyped as I rode back into town, around the "hot corner" where I saw Tara! and into the special needs area.</p><p>Special needs was AWESOME, again, I think my Wisconsin experience was missing a few of these special touches because of covid things. A volunteer literally held my bike for me, got my bag out, and got all of my stuff sorted for me - she gave me all my bottles (and complimented my The Feed TdF bottle which I loved), I asked if she could get my bag of fuel, she took my old stuff and I just didn't have to *think* at all which was so wonderful - I remember at Wisconsin special needs just standing there for what felt like forever trying to figure out what the hell I was actually supposed to do. This lady did all the thinking for me - again, the volunteers at this race were straight up top notch. Every single person I encountered throughout the day was awesome at their job, super friendly and encouraging, and seemed to know exactly what to say or do to be helpful - it was truly such a pleasure interacting with all of them, and I tried to make a point to really genuinely thank each person who helped me, because I was really genuinely so grateful that they were there! </p><p>Bottles and fueling sorted, I headed off into the second loop! And what a difference - far from the trepidation I had felt approaching the Keene Descent on loop one, I was SO EXCITED to get back there this time! But of course, first I had to contend with the rude hills heading out of time, which continued to be rude as advertised, but once again I focused on just keeping the effort consistent and not overriding the hills. It's funny because when I ride hills in training I tend to either absolutely hammer them and burn out or ride them super lazily, and I feel like somehow when I'm racing I'm able to find this perfect effort level where I know the effort is there but it's not too much. Or, perhaps you could argue that I could ride faster! But I would argue back that consistently finishing the bike with something left in the tank is something I am happy to continue to aspire to. </p><p>By this point the pack had spread out quite a bit and so everyone I was with was riding a relatively similar pace to mine, so there was less passing this time around and we all seemed to kind of be spinning our way up together. At some point in this area there was a giant group of kids who looked like maybe they were at day camp over on the other side of the road cheering, and I gave them a big wave/pump up arm move which got a great reaction. It was so cool to see so many kids out there spectating - I always think about that at these races, how you never know who you're inspiring just by being out there. Those kids see these athletes doing something that seems insane, impossible even, but we're out here doing it, and I like to believe that maybe at least a few of them think to themselves "hey, maybe I can do that someday." Obviously I wasn't a kid exactly when I became aware of Ironman for the first time, but I still remember the absolute awe that I felt watching these people - these people who were just <i>normal people</i>, not professional athletes - doing this insane thing. It absolutely enthralled me and (clearly) never let me go. It's honestly hard for me to believe sometimes that I am that person, I am the athlete that my 19 year old self thought maybe she could be someday. Seeing those kids and their excitement to be a part of the race really reminded me of how incredible it was to be out here DOING this thing that I had once only dreamed I could. At some point in this stretch I also happened to look at my watch, because I genuinely had no idea what time it was (I think time just elapses differently in an Ironman) and it was 11:11 which really made me smile. And of course, I made a wish - for the rest of the day to be as wonderful as the day so far had been. </p><p>I headed into the out and back stretch again, this time prepared for the weird squiggle by the bobsled run. It occurred to me that what I sort of wanted in that moment was WATER...like, actual water, not Skratch. My stomach had continued to be sort of unsettled, and something about the Skratch was just leaving my mouth feeling super sticky and gross. I realized after the fact that I think I over concentrated my bottles because I was worried about having enough salt - definitely something to try to nail down a little more concretely in the future! So water sounded good...but the issue with water was that I was going to have to take it from an aid station, something I've NEVER done before on my road bike, let alone my tri bike. But, keeping with the theme of trusting myself, I told myself I just had to stay steady and do it. I slowed up coming into the aid station and was able to make a successful handoff! I got a few big gulps of water before tossing it and it was SO COLD - I have no idea how they kept all the water so cold, but it was honestly incredible. Happy to know that this could continue to be a part of my plan for the rest of the bike, I made the right turn back onto the road and headed off into what I now knew was the absolute best thing ever...Keene Descent round two. This time, I let myself fly even more - I didn't touch my brakes once and truly let myself just enjoy the ride. It was just as incredible as the first round, full of whooping and shouting for joy. I let myself really see the beauty of the scenery we were riding past - these incredible alpine lakes with cliffs dropping into them, the mountains in the distance, the way the road stretched out in front of me, and just riding the roller coaster through it all. </p><p>At the bottom I somewhat sadly kissed the Keene Descent goodbye, surprised that the moment I had thought would be the biggest relief of the race turned out to be bittersweet, and proceeded to set about the task of "the flat part" of the course. This was definitely starting to get to the point of the race of just putting your head down and doing it - there's nothing really glamorous about mile 70 of an Ironman. My stomach was continuing to be mildly questionable and Skratch still just was not hitting the way that I would have hoped, but my legs were honestly still feeling great. The sun was definitely making itself more of a factor, and in the open stretch near the cow sign (sadly with no cows) I found myself for the first time all day vaguely thinking "huh, I'm a little warm". I think it was also somewhere in here where I thought for the first time "this marathon is going to SUCK." I immediately told myself (out loud, of course haha) "you CANNOT think about the marathon right now." And it was true - I had to go back to my little mantra of "feel it when you feel it". Now was not the time to contemplate how running was going to feel in several hours, it was time to do what I needed to do right now. Which was keep turning the pedals, keep to the fueling schedule as much as I could, keep singing my little songs to myself, and just keep the wheels in motion. </p><p>I made the left turn onto the rude Wilmington hill again, and while I think/assume I was probably a little slower on the second pass I was pleased with how easy I was able to keep the effort while still rolling past other riders. I think that's one of the things that helps me in races - when I'm alone I hammer every hill because I just have no context for how fast or not fast I'm going, but when there are other people I can actually see that I actually am getting up the hill at a totally reasonable pace without throttling myself! I passed Mr. 26.2 again (we had been bouncing back and forth since the prior lap) and I happened to overhear a snippet of conversation: "yeah, just like coach says: <i>don't fuck it up!</i>" I sort of laughed and looked over. "It's that easy, huh?" I said. "Yup, just don't fuck it up!" 262 replied. And that sort of became an appropriate mantra for the remainder of the bike - nothing flashy, nothing crazy, just do what you've gotta do and don't fuck it up!</p><p>The downhill with the majestic vista was much welcomed although perhaps not as much of a religious experience as lap one - I was starting to find that it was requiring, shall we say, more *effort* to appreciate my surroundings as more of my mental energy started to be funneled towards what I needed to do to keep myself rolling through the next 30 odd miles. The Haselton out and back on loop 2 was definitely a bit of a low - the sun was beating and I found myself getting hot, I still hadn't solved my stomach issues, and I found myself in a very awkward "pack" on the way back that I wanted to be riding just slightly faster than, but didn't feel like putting a full on surge in to pass. I also didn't want to be drafting, so I tried to just drop back and wait it out until we hit a hill, at which point I figured I'd be able to finally make the pass. That idea worked out temporarily - on the first hill coming back I broke away from the group, but on the nastier climb I all of a sudden was struck with a NASTY hamstring cramp. I'm not sure I've ever had a hamstring cramp while riding? Clearly the stomach and hydration/fueling issues were starting to take their toll from an electrolyte perspective, and I definitely got a little freaked out knowing that I still had a whole lot of climbing to contend with before the end of the bike. But I managed to keep my head on straight and just adjust my position for a few revolutions, give it a bit of the good old on-bike massage, get to the top of the hill and then shake it out on the way back down into Wilmingon. It weirdly (thankfully) never bothered me again, but definitely was one of those "oh shit" moments that had me feeling like I needed to try to double down on my electrolytes for the remainder of the ride. </p><p>As I made the turn back onto 86 and the final stretch back towards Placid it was a little wild realizing that there were *only* a bit more than 20 miles left in the bike! It always amazes me how quickly 5-6 hours can elapse while riding...sometimes you're so aware of the time passing, but so much of the time I feel like I just go off into a flow state for awhile and next thing I know an hour and a half has passed! For my anxious, constantly whirring brain, it is honestly rather magical to be so fully in the moment as I am when I'm riding. I was looking forward to seeing Andrew again and once again got a good boost from seeing him, even if I yelled "I'm feeling like a DONG TILE" at him and his response was something like "welp, so it goes!", lol. This was one of the only points in the race where I actually noticed the wind, and I sort of internally grumbled about it as the headwind started picking up. Just what I needed on tired legs to head into 20 miles of climbing - a headwind! It was about this time that I also started to realize that the sky was getting a little darker, and all of a sudden with almost no warning it was POURING - like, not a little sprinkly rain, an absolute deluge. And it. was. AWESOME. I was definitely grateful to be climbing and not having to stress about bombing downhill on slippery roads, but the rain was cooling me off beautifully and there was just something absolutely glorious about being in the midst of this race and and fighting, and the weather being such a reflection of that.</p><p>It was at this point that I happened to come upon the girl with the same kit as me, which happens to look something like storm clouds, and say perhaps the DUMBEST thing I've ever said to anyone during a race which was something to the effect of "Looks like we brought the storm!" Like, what is wrong with me lmao. By this point I feel like she was probably like wow why did I choose to wear the same getup as this ridiculous woman hahaha, and I honestly may or may not have put in a little surge to fully pass her just out of pure embarrassment. The field was much more strung out by this point so everyone was just kind of in their own little sphere, head down and tackling this final climb. When I passed through the aid station at the Hungry Trout they had the timing mat out for the bike cutoff several hours later, and I thought about how wild (and incredible) it was that people would be out on this ride for hours more, fighting for that cutoff, and probably were dealing with this same rainstorm while plowing down the Keene descent...much as I found the descent way more fun than planned, it's hard to imagine loving it in the blowing wind and rain..</p><p>The rain continued for 20 minutes or so, beautiful and cooling, and making the already gorgeous scenery of the river, the cliffs, and the winding road feel even more ethereal and beautiful than before. As the rain subsided, the roads were shrouded in mist and I felt like I was riding through some mystical land in a fantasy novel. This feeling was amplified by the fact that somehow I had found myself completely in no man's land - at one point I couldn't see ANYONE ahead of me on the road which was a bizarre feeling to have in what had been such a crowded race earlier. After awhile I caught up to one man and we leapfrogged back and forth a bit on the climbs and small descents, but I really didn't see too many other people for the remainder of the ride. When I think back on this part of the race I honestly don't really think about the effort, although I definitely did slow down a bit in the climbing sections on the second loop and I continued to have this vague understanding that my nutrition and hydration were kind of a mess. But even after so many hours of riding, I was still somehow able to wrap myself in the beauty of the course and the magical feeling of riding through the mist and almost forget about the fact that I was even racing - I was just out here, in the moment, just me and my bike climbing back to Lake Placid.</p><p>I arrived at papa bear and was a little sad to find that the crowds had dispersed and there were few spectators lining the hill this time. The weird little out and back towards town was rowdier however, and I was able to give some fist pumps to the crew cheering down at the turnaround point and once again managed somehow to not crash while making the tight 180 turn. The uphill towards the turn into town definitely felt a little more *uphill* this time around - as excited as I was to get off my bike, though, the whole situation of the marathon that still had to happen was starting to loom heavy over my mind. But I continued to try not to let myself worry about that until I was in it, and focused on soaking in the final few minutes of what had been a fantastic bike, the cheers of the crows lining the road along the lake, and just the overwhelming feeling of love for my bike and pride in myself for overcoming the part of the race that had scared me so much. </p><p>T2 - 5:19 (This felt SO MUCH LONGER than 5 minutes!)</p><p>I turned towards transition in tandem with another woman and both of us were a bit confused for a moment because we weren't sure where the turnoff for transition was. I joked that much as I'd love the bike I didn't need to go for a 3rd loop (although I must say now I would have taken a 3rd loop on the bike ANY day over what I was about to experience!) We quickly found the arrows leading to transition and soon enough I was at the dismount line! Another feature that I didn't get to experience at Wisconsin was the bike catchers - I literally got to hand Bheithir to a volunteer who took him right back to the rack, thus eliminating something I always hate during triathlons, fumbling around trying to get my bike reracked! So that was really lovely. What was less lovely was the state of my legs the second I attempted to start jogging towards the bag area and the changing tent - they were in a STATE, and I quickly decided that saving a few seconds by trying to jog was not going to be worth it. I power walked, trying to stretch everything that had been flexed for 6 and a half hours out, found my bag with no issues ("26.2 miles to trunk pizza!" made me laugh as expected) and headed into the changing tent.</p><p>I was glad I had the wherewithal to put extra socks in my transition run bag, because as wonderful as the rain had felt in the moment, my socks were now soaked. Changing socks was less of an enjoyable endeavor with my brain and body rapidly heading towards survival mode, but I got it done, shoveled my gels into my bra so my chest looked like a hoard set up by a chipmunk, found my hat, somehow got all of my bike stuff back into my bag, and got out of there. I actually can't even remember what I ended up doing with my bike bag - did we give them to volunteers in the tent? I genuinely have no idea, all I know is it eventually got where it needed to go. And then, I took a deep breath, and I headed out on the run.</p><p><i>The run - 4:35:03 - 25th AG, 143rd female, 497th OA</i></p><p>I headed out of the tent and onto the run course, and almost immediately heard someone screaming my name. I turned to look (almost rolling my ankle in a hole in the process) and realized it was INGA! As a sidebar, I ran with Inga back in my WTC days - she is a bit older than me but a totally badass sprinter, still competing at a really high level well into her 40s and definitely an inspiration. I saw her at IMWI at one of the aid stations, and when I posted on facebook that I was doing LP she responded that she was going to be there - apparently her husband had won volunteer of the year for IMWI, and the award was a trip to any other Ironman race. They happened to choose Lake Placid! So I thought it was kind of hilarious that she is apparently my Ironman good luck charm, lol. Anyway, it was great actually seeing her on the course, and I am pretty sure I just shouted her name back at her (which tends to be my typical response to seeing people I know while racing, lol). It definitely gave me a boost heading into the run, and quite frankly was probably one of the most enjoyable moments of the entire marathon.</p><p>The run begins on a sizeable downhill, which you are very aware you're going to have to run back up again. Pretty much as soon as I started running, I knew the direction things were headed in. It wasn't my legs that were the problem - from that perspective, I actually felt better than I'd expected coming off the bike - it was more just that general <i>badness</i> that had started to pervade parts of the second loop of the bike was really becoming apparent as I started the much more difficult activity of running. Additionally, something that I hadn't noticed as much while riding but was now becoming VERY aware of was the fact that it was midday, the sun was OUT, and it was WARM. I'm not going to say hot, because I know that the high temperature was only in the mid 70s, but then I think about all the times I've raced *just* a marathon in the mid 70s and what a disaster those times have been and I start to get a good picture of why starting that distance with 7.5 hours of physical activity and a problematic dehydration/fueling level was not going to end well.</p><p>At the very first water stop, about a mile in, I already wanted to grab water and grab the ice that they were handing out, which told me just about everything I needed to know about the weather conditions. Ice at mile 1 = a Very Bad Thing. Still, I felt relatively OK in the mostly downhill stretch of the first 5K. I finally had to pee and sort of regretted not doing that in transition, but figured I'd deal with it once I got onto the out and back. At some point around here I also saw Amber Ferriera, who is an amazing triathlete/mountain runner/athlete extraordinare from NH who I am familiar with from mountain races (and instagram, haha). As normal people do I just shouted "Go Amber" at her, as if we were friends. One of the best things about the double out and back was getting to see everyone coming and going on both sides - I wish I'd had more energy/awareness to be able to encourage anybody else besides myself (and let's be real, I wasn't even doing much of that) because it was a good vibe feeling the energy of everyone out on the course.</p><p>I decided to hit the porta potty around the 5K mark which was a necessary evil but deeply annoying - I had to undo my race belt and it was about 400 degrees inside the porta potty, which at least made the outside air feel relatively cool in comparison when I emerged! I was already feeling decidedly Not Good and as I began the first out and back stretch along River Road I attempted to set myself to the task of figuring out what, exactly might make me feel better. Now, hindsight being as it is, I know that in the dehydration hole that I was in there was absolutely nothing that was actually going to fix my problems. I think even in the moment in the back of my mind I kind of knew it was too late and I was just going to have to gut it out for the next several hours. But with aid stations laid out like a buffet along the road, I was convinced that I could find SOMETHING on those tables that would save me, and I kept looking.</p><p>I had already taken a few walk breaks by mile 4 or 5, truly never a good sign, but I had managed to find my way into something of a stable position, a position that I tried to maintain by repeating the word "homeostasis" over and over and over in my head, as you do. Basically that meant finding a run pace that wasn't actively making my problems worse, and if my problems did actively start becoming worse walking until they improved. In the beginning this worked out pretty well - I'd run for 10 minutes or so, slowly, but running, and then take a walk break through an aid station before proceeding. I definitely didn't feel great by any means, but things felt survivable and I had pretty much resigned myself before the race to a 4+ hour marathon, so I didn't really have any problem with running 9+ minute miles as long as I could maintain that pace (foreshadowing...). I was pretty desperately thirsty and the water they had at the aid stations was blissfully cold, so I kept trying to take water, drink some and dump the rest on my suit, grab ice when they had it, and take anything else that looked appealing. As with Wisconsin, I think I ended up sampling every drink on the table in the hopes that one would sit well, but unfortunately the Coke miracle never really materialized in the way that it did at that race. At some point around the 5 or 6 mile mark, there was an awesome group of spectators which was definitely a boost on an otherwise pretty desolate stretch of road. One of them yelled "YOU LOOK GREAT!" at me, to which I replied with a smirk "That is blatantly a lie, but thank you anyway!" LOL. At least I still could see the humor in the situation at that point. </p><p>I made it to the turnaround, very actively trying NOT to think about the fact that I was going to have to do this all again, and set myself to the task of getting back to town. Somewhere in here I think I took a Gu which didn't go down particularly well - again, same as Wisconsin, my ability to take in fuel was really compromised by my stomach on the run, and that was a huge issue. I was carrying a sports bra packed to the gills with Gu and I think I managed to stomach a grand total of 2 during the marathon. I will give a shoutout to the Huma lemon lime gel with extra electrolytes - that gel was actually SOUR, not sweet, and Not Sweet was literally the best thing I could have tasted. Think I may have to experiment with this more in the future, as I just get sooooo sick of the salty/sweet flavor of most endurance food which doesn't help when you're already nauseous.</p><p>I continued back down the straightaway, quickly finding that I was having to take more walk breaks than I would have liked. My body was just not having it - it's amazing the difference between breaking down due to fatigue and breaking down to a hydration/heat/homeostasis problem. I can run through fatigue - I'll slow down, sure, or I'll walk a bit, but running doesn't turn into this absolutely impossible ask. Every single time I would start running it was 100% a mental battle of forcing myself to continue to fight against a body that genuinely wanted to lay down on the pavement and die. Walking was better, but there was no way I was walking the rest of this marathon - no. It was around this point, only about 8 miles into the marathon, that I found myself reaching for a strategy that I read on someone's blog and that has been my tried and true strategy for mountain racing, and it goes like this: in it's simplest form, you alternate running 100 steps and walking 50 steps. But at this early stage, I modified the game - I could run as long as I could, and then I could walk, but I could ONLY walk 50 steps and then I had to start running again. It really is so easy to let the walk breaks extend out into this endless pity party, when your body is rebelling against the concept of running and there really just doesn't seem to be any good reason to start up again. But then - you get to the count of 50 and you start to run again, even though it hurts, even though you don't want to, even though your stomach is flipping inside out and you feel like you're going to collapse, you have to run before you get to walk another 50 steps. </p><p>I kept trying to look around as I approached the turn back to the ski jumps, as I had commented how beautiful this road was while running and driving it in the past, but it was really hard to get outside of myself and appreciate it when I was feeling so bad. I'm writing this far enough out from the experience that it's dulled in my mind, but make no mistake: for the ENTIRE 26.2 miles of the marathon, I felt terrible. I was in such a haze that I almost missed the fact that Andrew was standing by the side of the road cheering - I hadn't expected to see him on the run, and I was so out of it that I think he yelled my name 3 times before yelling "HEY" and I finally recognized his voice. I expressed how awful I was feeling, and he gave me the very Andrew-like response of telling me that that was how it goes in the Ironman, haha. I'll tell you one thing, no false "you look good" statements are ever going to come out of Andrew's mouth. The man tells it like it is, for better or for worse.</p><p>Seeing him lifted my spirits a tiny bit, and there were a few good things that happened in the moments that followed. First, the barn that was another beacon of cheering in an empty stretch of road started BLASTING "Everytime We Touch" and I was actually disappointed that I was running away from it! Then, it started to rain again, just an absolute downpour that I knew couldn't last but that I thoroughly enjoyed each and every moment of. Coming back up the ski jump hill, the loudest crack of thunder I think I've ever heard boomed across the mountains, and I could see lightning flashing in the clouds off in the distance. It seemed like the storm was staying at a relative distance, but it was epic all the same.</p><p>The spectators on the road back to town were much louder and rowdier, and even as bad as I was feeling it was pretty fun to feed off their energy as I went. I desperately wished that I could veer off the road and into the party going on at Big Slide Brewing, and I gave myself the promise of a beer there later if I could just keep going. There were a couple of points where they had those inflatable sprinkler things, which I veered through at every opportunity, and I remember vaguely thinking again about what a bad sign it was from a heat perspective if we were at the point where sprinkler arches were needed. At some point in this section I saw an old DailyMile acquaintance who I've followed for years, and again as is custom I decided to just yell her name at her, because that's obviously what you do to people you've primarily only interacted with through instagram likes, right? She's always been a triathlon inspiration to me, and she was so kind each time I saw her during the run, with my morale and pace steadily descending, always offering some word of wisdom that was motivating but not annoying. I think people who've actually DONE this distance are definitely the best when it comes to spectating - you know they've been in that dark place where you are currently, and it just means a little bit more.</p><p>The gigantic hill up to town was as bad as anticipated, but at least I had planned to walk it anyway due to it's length and steepness. My attention was becoming more and more focused on how awful my stomach was feeling - I was desperately thirsty, but clearly wasn't absorbing what I was drinking as my stomach just felt like a disgusting, bloated bag that was sloshing with each step. I passed Tara somewhere on the hill and yelled something at her to the effect of "UGGGGH my stomach hates me!" "That's a problem for later you!" I did smile a little bit at that, so I guess it had the intended effect!</p><p>The out and back on Mirror Lake drive should actually be illegal - I swear there is no WAY that mile out is only 1 mile, because it literally felt ETERNAL. By this point everything was going downhill in a hurry, and I was pretty set in my 100/50 run/walk cycle, occasionally running a bit further if I could convince myself or if I was on a downhill. But no matter what, if I was running, I was desperately counting down the steps until I could walk again, and that isn't a fun way to feel. I passed the special needs bag area and tried to consider if anything in my bag could help me. On first pass I thought no; the thought of consuming food of any time caused an immediate reflexive nausea to well up in me. However, as I turned around and thought on it, I considered the idea that maybe more salt, perhaps in a non sweet form, might help to turn the electrolyte situation around. The second time I passed I stopped and, in a complete daze, didn't bother to find a volunteer to try to help me and just made a beeline for my bag. I obtained the salt and vinegar chips that I'd put in there, not even bothering to take the bag but just scooping a handful of chips out to eat out of my hand, and then fled. I attempted to eat a chip, and immediately spat/half puked it out - clearly, the eating was not going to work, but I could tell my body was craving the salt. So, I began trying to lick the chip, like a deer, and not wanting to throw trash on the ground even when it became clear that this was not going to be a workable option I just held the chips in my hand for practically another mile until I could find a trash can. I was VERY passionate about not littering for some reason, lol. Please, form a mental picture of me sadly walk/jogging by Mirror Lake while licking a chip that I have clutched in my hand....I promise you'll laugh, because I do whenever I think of this moment.</p><p>What was NOT a laughing matter was the fact that I needed to go and run what I had just completed, AGAIN. I had started to vaguely contemplate my watch when things started going south, and I noted that I was around 2 hours in when I hit the halfway mark. I attempted to do some calculations and determined that if I *only* slowed down by 1 minute per mile on the second loop. I could still technically run a PR. SPOILER ALERT (and I think this will be something I'm sour about until I finally get revenge on this run course): I couldn't even manage that. If the first loop was an unpleasant fever dream, the second loop was an outright nightmare.</p><p>As I attempt to describe the next 2.5 hours of my life, I realize that my brain either wasn't processing information or has totally blocked the majority of the experience out, because I have very few strong memories from the second loop of the run. When I look at photos from the second loop, even close to the finish line, I see this look in my eyes that I would very much describe as Not All There. Truly, I think this race is the closest I've ever come to winding up in a medical tent - my body was just so utterly out of whack and I was running myself down to the absolute core, that I think higher level mental processing sort of took a backseat to the basic functions of staying upright and continuing to put one foot in front of the other. Still, there are a few things that stood out, which I will try to record with some level of coherence, although I'm not sure how coherent I was in the moment. </p><p>I headed back down the hill, trying to rally some energy from the still hype crowds. I grabbed some more ice at this first aid station and once again just shoved it down my tri suit...as bizarre as it feels having a butt full of ice cubes I've gotta say it is fairly effective in cooling! At some point along this stretch I saw several of the pro women again, including my hero Amber who was walking - now, obviously I didn't wish a shitty run on anyone, but there was something about seeing someone I really admire and who seems invincible also having a tough day that made me feel just a tad bit better about my own situation. Of course, she was 2 miles from the finish line, whereas I still had another 12 miles to contend with, but I was trying very hard not to think about anything except the next 10 feet in front of me. One mile at a time, one step at a time. </p><p>At the turn towards the out and back there was an outrageous guy spectating in just a speedo, which actually did make me laugh a little bit in my time of woe as I headed out into the ENDLESS out and back. I understand now all of the things that people say about this run course, which didn't make sense to me when I was just out for an enjoyable training run and looking at the scenery. When you're in the pain cave, that long and empty stretch of road seems completely ENDLESS. There was a lot of carnage around me, but I also could tell I was being passed by a few women who I'd overtaken during the bike, which I found deeply frustrating. This was supposed to be MY sport! It felt a bit embarassing to be falling apart so aggressively, but I tried to tamp down any additional feelings of negativity - my body was feeling bad enough, I didn't need to add a pity party to the equation (although I certainly tried). I kept surveying the aid station tables, convinced that something contained there would fix my life, but alas, nothing seemed to be doing the trick. The volunteers at the aid stations were INCREDIBLE, though - I suspect that they were understaffed but there wasn't a single moment when I felt like I wasn't getting what I needed. They were so committed to doing the most for the athletes and it was really pretty amazing. At one point a little girl, maybe 8 or 9, was holding a plate of cookies and very sweetly advertising them...I had to laugh, because I couldn't think of anything I wanted LESS in that moment than a dry chips ahoy cookie. I would have probably barfed it up all over her; in fact even the thought of trying to eat such a thing only increased my nausea.</p><p>I suppose at some point I made it to the turnaround, wondering how in the hell I was going to survive 7 more miles. I was grateful that I had made it to the final "leg" of the run, as I was approaching it in my head, but it was just getting harder and harder to keep putting one foot in front of the other. In addition to my ongoing nausea and general depletion, muscle fatigue and cramping had started to join the party. Again, the only emotion I could really feel was frustration - I was aware that something was wrong, and I had a vague sense of what I needed to do to fix it (salt! hydration! fuel!) but my body wasn't responding to anything that seemed like it "should" work and I couldn't put my finger on the exact combination required to pull me out of the depths. I could feel even my jaw and neck muscles tightening, whether with effort or electrolyte imbalance I didn't even know. </p><p>The cramping situation was not helping the already meager amount of running I was able to do, and at some point as I ran back towards the ski jumps something (honestly I can't even remember what anymore) seized and I swore in frustration as I was reduced to a walk yet again. A guy next to me asked if I was OK, and I responded that I was alright, just cramping and frustrated. "Do you want some salt?" he kindly offered, and handed me a baggie of salt. This was definitely a time when I was open to trying anything, so I poured some of what I assumed was like a salt stick esque sweet/salty situation into my hand and licked it...well, my taste buds were SURPRISED when the salt was like the spicy salt that you'd put on the rim of a spicy margarita! The guy must have noted my reaction, because then he proceeded to offer me a ginger candy - again, super kind man! I was all about this idea, thinking the ginger might ease the nausea and get the weird spicy flavor out of my mouth...buuuuut the second I put the candy in my mouth I almost reflex vomited, and ended up spitting it back into my hand. Not wanting to offend the kindest man on earth, nor wanting to litter, I now held the offending candy in my hand like a sticky fingered toddler...it was SOMETHING lol. </p><p>I finally made it back to the end of the out and back, where there was a farm on the right with a bunch of goats and chickens. Andrew and I had joked before the race that when I got to this point on my second lap I could be happy saying hi to the goats because I would know that I was almost done. One of the goats was on the roof of his little goat hut, and I couldn't help but sadly say "hiiiii goat" to him, haha. You know things are bad when I can barely summon the energy to greet the local farm animals! Speedo guy was there again on the turn back towards town, and for some reason I felt like I wanted to try to run as much of the uphill as I could (I don't know why I thought this, considering I'd barely been able to run the relatively flat section that preceded it, but it's safe to say my brain wasn't working particularly well at this point). </p><p>The rest of the run back into town is pretty much a blur. There was someone playing a trumpet from a lawn that looked like it was hosting a raging house party, and I remember commenting to the crowd at Big Slide how much I wished I was drinking with them at that moment. I also got to be on the flip side of the crowd of people cheering at someone who is walking and gets them to start running again - there were a couple of super hype groups that I happened to hit on a walk cycle, and I've gotta say their roars of approval when I got myself to start running again really did make me smile. I also saw Ann again and made some sort of comment about how much I was struggling, and she again responded with something incredibly kind and encouraging. The super steep hill back into town was almost a reprieve, as I had basically planned on walking that anyway, and once I got to the top I knew that I only had 2 more miles to go.</p><p>And those 2 miles? Longest 2 miles of my LIFE! But there were some minor highlights, the first of which was knowing that I could get through 2 miles, no matter how badly I was feeling. As I headed up towards Mirror Lake Drive a guy (who I think might have been the same guy I was talking to before the swim start) commented on how much he liked my Mount Washington hat. "I would rather be doing that than this right now!" I grumpily replied. I was so tired of feeling so awful, hot, nauseous, and depleted and somehow still needing to convince myself to keep dragging my carcass forward towards the finish line. It's truly a marvel that half the field in an Ironman doesn't just completely drop out on the run - it was so miserable, for so long, and I guess the victory I can take away from the whole thing is that despite how absolutely wretched I felt, I somehow managed to find away to keep running as much as I could, keep moving forward, and never completely give up.</p><p>I saw Andrew briefly at the turn for the out and back, and the fact that he tried to say something that wasn't completely snarky let me know how bad I must actually be looking. I had told myself that once I got to the out and back I would try to run it in, but I swear they extended that stretch of road by another mile since the first lap - it took FOREVER to get to the turnaround. But finally, FINALLY, I made that final turn. A mile to go. Ohhhh, fuck, I did not want to, every muscle and cell and nerve was screaming at me not to, but I looked inside myself and I somehow told myself that for all of the absolute bullshit and frustration and disappointment that had been contained in the last 4 and a half hours, I was not going to let the last mile be a disappointment too. As I ran, sounds of the finish line in the distance, I happened to pass Paul, an acquaintance from Boston who was the only person that I knew who I hadn't seen yet today. I think I made some truly motivational comment like "This SUCKS" before continuing to forge ahead. It was an utter relief to reach the end of the street and finally get to make the right hand turn towards the finish - truly, I'm not sure I've ever been so happy to realize that a finish line was approaching.</p><p>As I turned onto the Olympic oval, it suddenly dawned on me through the haze that I was really, truly, about to finish this thing. I managed to pull myself out of the fog that I'd existed in for the last few hours and really tried to appreciate what was happening, the moment, the golden hour, those moments on the oval before I reached the grandstand that were all my own. For the first time since the disappointment of a run had started, I let myself be proud, let myself think about what a gift it was to be able to do this. I knew my training hadn't been perfect, knew that there had been a lot of doubt and fear going into the race, and here I was in the home stretch, in a place where Olympic medals had been won, and I was about to finish an Ironman. I soaked in the last stretch down the finishing carpet and tried to smile, though I could barely summon the energy to raise my arms in something resembling triumph. When I look at my finishing photos, I see someone who has truly given the day EVERYTHING, and maybe even a little bit more. I look completely spent, depleted, and quite frankly if you really look at my eyes a little bit like I'm on the verge of collapse, but there's a triumph there too, different than the fist pumping hype of Wisconsin, but triumph all the same. And that, maybe, is the allure of the Ironman - no matter the type of day you have, there is triumph in DOING this ridiculous thing. And so, when I crossed the finish line, relief washed over me, but happiness washed over me too. </p><p>It took a WHILE to gather myself after I finished - I still wanted to vomit, and the smell of the fried food that was being offered only increased that feeling. I grabbed a soda and sipped it veeeery slowly while I sat on a folding chair, watching the other finishers, giving some high fives and great jobs as we all processed the day. After a bit I managed to find Andrew and Inga, who it was lovely to see, and then began what is always the worst part of the day, the process of getting your bike and gear bags out of transition. Because of the rainstorm everything was soaked, and as I attempted to condense all of my stuff into one bag I nearly vomited yet again as I pulled out a sock covered in disintegrating honey stinger waffle, lmao. Triathlon: it is nothing if not glamorous.</p><p>We began the loooooong walk back to the car; the only benefit to this was that I got to participate in my other favorite hobby which is CHEERING for other racers! However, having to walk 2 more miles after the torture of that marathon was a special kind of hell. I was literally saved by 2 things: a child with a lemonade stand handing out the most DELICIOUS watermelon lemonade for free to racers, and the fact that when we passed Big Slide I informed Andrew that we WERE stopping there for a beer. And so, still wearing my race kit, Bheithir leaning against a sign post, I sat in an Adirondak chair and finally had a victory beer, doing what I had been dreaming of all throughout the marathon: drinking a beer, cheering for the racers still out on the course, and basking in the glow of becoming an Ironman once again. The race wasn't perfect - I still have so, so much to learn - but it was wonderful, a triumph in so, so many ways. And as I sat there, I let that glow wash over me, that love for this crazy sport, even on the days when I feel like I come up a little short. How lucky, how grateful to have found this sport, to have continued on this triathlon journey, and as ever to do it my own damn way. Until the end, the end, the end of fucking time.</p><p><i>Ironman Lake Placid</i></p><p><i>12:17:44</i></p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-56619905938002499442023-09-14T12:12:00.003-05:002023-09-14T12:12:42.361-05:00Keep the party alive: Boston 2023 Race Report<p>It's fitting that as I start to write this post I feel a bit at a loss for words, because that's really how I've felt whenever I try to verbalize my emotions on the fact that on Monday, I ran my 10th Boston Marathon. 10 is a lot of times to do something, let alone something that many people would rather die than do and an equal number of people would die to be able to. Even after 10 times on this particular journey, I still don't think I can fully explain why this race holds such a part of my soul, why I can't seem to say no to doing it when given the opportunity even if my rational brain is saying "please no not again". But I think it has something to do with the fact that my chosen home happens to also be the home of this wonderful race, this spectacular, magical, painful, wonderful marathon, and who would ever pass up an opportunity to be a part of that?</p><p>But anyway, on to the story of this year's race. Quite bluntly, I did not particularly enjoy the experience of this training cycle. It felt like a tooth and nail fight between my brain asking my body to please, just give me *something* and my legs, 99% of the time, saying "eh, no thanks". The number of days when I felt like utter trash slogging through an easy run were innumerable, the number of times I told myself I was taking a break from the marathon next year were many. That's not to say I didn't put in the work - because actually, aside from getting sick during the first week of taper, it was a remarkably consistent cycle. It just never felt good, and because I was starting from basically zero I essentially ran out of runway when it came to building fitness in the way I'd normally like. I remember thinking during the first week of my taper, <i>wow, NOW it feels like I'm ready to start marathon training. </i>In fact, the whole experience was such a slog that I actually had myself convinced that I was not going to sign up for next year. "I think I need a break from the marathon," I whined to Andrew, as if I hadn't just taken a year long break not only from the marathon but from really any sort of structured training due to injury (insert facepalm here). </p><p>But then, as it always seems to, Boston rolled around and shot its magic straight into my veins, a magic that sometimes seems to hide itself but is always there, waiting. And I realized I had a particular opportunity that I had not had in an extremely long time, if ever: to truly, ACTUALLY, run with the goal of having fun. That was it. No time goals, no strings attached, no pressure. I had a basic idea of what I thought I was probably capable of given how my long runs and races had gone (3:20ish) but when I wrote out my A, B, and C goals for the race they were as follows: </p><p>A - top 50% of Bostons (basically sub 3:30)</p><p>B - relatively even splits</p><p>C - DRINK A BEER</p><p>So as you can see, things were very *loose* as far as any sort of goals went. This made for probably the most enjoyable pre-marathon weekend of my life, because I was just completely unbothered. There was the minor detail that I still had to run a marathon, sure, but generally speaking the fact that I knew without a doubt that I was not and did not need to be in PR shape really got rid of most of the nerves I normally would have had about the weather, my commitments of the weekend, work, and about a million other things. My friend Brittany came to stay with us for the weekend and experience all that is Boston which made everything even more fun - getting to see the whole thing through the eyes of someone who'd never experienced it before, as well as spending time with one of my best friends who I don't see that often, was just GLORIOUS. I got to do a shakeout run with both her AND ANDREW which was the most special and wonderful thing, made even more wonderful by the fact that I was not stressing remotely about only running 3 miles instead of 5, or running slower than I usually do, or whatever, because WHO CARES. My only concern was that pretty much the entire week my legs felt inexplicably achy and dead, but I figured a full day off Saturday would solve that problem. We went downtown and browsed all of the popups on Friday before heading down to hit up Vitamin C Brewing with Joy and her new pup! It was bizarrely 80 degrees the entire weekend (I will admit I was grateful that it wasn't 80 degrees on race day...even for a "fun" marathon, I'm not interested lol) so we got to relax outside in the sunshine while drinking delicious IPAs...truly a perfect day! </p><p>Saturday of marathon week is a day I basically have down to a science at this point, and this year was no different. Brittany and I arrived downtown bright and early (and alive, which was uncertain for awhile due to our Uber driver going 65 on Storrow Drive lol), grabbed coffees and then headed to my usual cheer spot for the 5K at Hereford and Newbury. While wandering around I spotted some familiar GBTC jackets, so we chatted with Shannon and Rob for awhile before Joy joined the crew. I LOVE cheering for the 5K - it gives my my little boost of spectating love that always makes me so happy and really sets the right tone for the weekend. However, this spectating experience was made a bit more interesting than usual by the fact that the cops who we assumed were supposed to block the cross street of this very large race had not shown up by the time the wheelchair athletes started coming through. The result was a perplexed Joy and I moving cones into the road and standing there to keep some very perplexed drivers from running over the athletes...all in all definitely a weird situation. Elise eventually joined us and we had quite the dance party and I was dying when I got a text from a former student that just said "I SAW YOU"...another highlight was the guy with mullet and full on 80s leotard workout attire with "I suck at fantasy football" written on his back. LOL.</p><p>We headed to the expo which was pretty underwhelming this year - apparently Adidas has basically kicked out any and all potential competitors - and then met up with some other GBTC gals at Tatte for brunch. We finally headed home for a bit - I originally had planned on a more relaxing afternoon, but then was coerced into going to a GBTC reception. Luckily this worked out well, because had I not gone to Central Square earlier in the day I would have missed my opportunity to partake in yet another favorite marathon weekend tradition, throwaway shopping at Goodwill! I was pressed for time but found what I think may be one of the best staple pieces that I ever have before heading to the reception.</p><p>On a side note, I did an actual, structured carb load for this race (thanks Featherstone Nutrition) and while it DEFINITELY works and I will be doing it again, the actual experience was horrid lol. The amount of carbs required is in fact so much more than I would ever willingly consume in a day, and somewhere around my 3rd sleeve of graham crackers and 4th bagel I definitely began to question my sanity. While waiting for Andrew and Brittany to arrive for our dinner reservations, I sat in Clover eating a plain piece of pita bread because I literally looked up their nutrition facts to see what had the most carbs in it and the bread was the answer. Thankfully, dinner at our traditional spot of Viale was as always excellent, highlighted by some fantastic wine and some much needed bitching about work for both Brittany and I. </p><p>Sunday dawned, and with it sort of dawned the fact that I was running a marathon the next day. I headed out on my shakeout loop, stopping at Spy Pond as I always do to just take a breath and a moment for myself to celebrate the end of the training cycle. It was weird, considering I never actually felt like I was really "training" or building fitness in any way, but standing there I had to appreciate what I had put in to get to this point. I thought about what it takes to get to the starting line of Boston 10 times - not only the training for those races, but all of the other things that come with being a human in the world that could preclude your ability or desire to run a marathon. Yet somehow, across all these years, through injury, illness, heartbreak, frustration, and loss, I had always made my way back to Hopkinton. I thought about this particularly training cycle, how it would have been really easy to completely throw in the towel or to make excuses. I had fought to overcome my own mind that kept telling me how washed up I was and just put in the work anyway. I finished Des Linden's book recently and there's a section that really resonated with me speaking about how when she was building her way back she had to just focus on putting in the effort and redefining what a successful workout or run meant to her, beyond the numbers. I kind of wish I'd read those words in February or March, because there were really times where in my traditional sense of running success, I felt like I was absolutely nowhere. But standing and looking out at the pond as I stood at the threshold of another marathon, I could finally appreciate what a victory getting to this start line healthy, as was my original stated goal, really was.</p><p>I had less time than I thought when I got back home to organize my stuff for the next day and assemble my race playlist, which definitely swung more "I'm pregaming to go to the club" than "I'm running a marathon" - exactly according to plan. I found myself feeling super anxious, not about the race but about somehow missing my dancers if their competition was running early, so I ended up heading out to Andover earlier than planned and thank goodness I did, because my duet was basically about to go onstage when I arrived. They were fantastic - the best I've ever seen them perform, which really filled my heart. I spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with the other teachers and dancers, none of whom had realized I was running the marathon ("How do you survive it?" asked one - uh, good question kid lol). My soloist went on earlier than anticipated and she was also wonderful in her last competition as a senior! I was happy to head home early and relax for a bit before cooking the usual prerace pasta and jamming out to my playlist with Andrew and Brittany. We selected Best In Show for our prerace movie - not the classic pump up choice but a 100% perfect one in my opinion. I did my nails and alternated drinks of my Hop Rocks beer with Skratch Hyperhydrate, as the humidity forecast was not looking favorable even though the temperature was. Finally, I headed to bed and fell asleep with ease...not sure where the pre-marathon nerves were, but they certainly weren't here! </p><p>Race day dawned and I was up before my alarm, going through my usual prerace routine. I have modified my pre-Boston routine slightly in recent years to basically account for eating a second breakfast, which I think has been a game changer in terms of my fueling. I ate a couple of graham crackers and drank some juice while braiding my hair and getting all my shit ready for the day. The weather forecast was looking pretty acceptable all things considered - 50s and potential rain - and I had planned to wear an old pair of shoes to the village to account for the possibility of wetness or mud. I said my goodbyes to Andrew, Topper, and Brittany and headed out - one of my favorite things about marathon morning is strutting down Mass Ave in whatever ridiculous getup I've picked out to wear to the village as if I look completely normal. This year's selection of a copper crushed velvet blazer was quite possibly one of my favorites, and I couldn't help but giggle as I strode down the street, sipping a can of Linden x Two iced coffee, and jamming out to my party playlist as I made my way to the T. </p><p>The ride passed uneventfully, even with the fuckery that is the MBTA at the moment, and soon enough we were disembarking at Arlington Street. I had a plan to meet Lauren by her bag drop which worked out wonderfully - since it was the wave 2 bus loading time, the wave 1 bus area was super quiet and included a massive line of porta potties with NO lines - beautiful. We dropped our bags and headed for the bus loading area which seemed way less chaotic than last year - the line to get into the area seemed to be moving a lot faster, and in general everyone seemed to have a better sense of what was happening and where they were supposed to go. We headed down the line for one last porta potty stop, laughed at the dance party music that was playing (I may or may not have added Hotel Room Service by Pitbull to my playlist after hearing it over the loudspeakers) and then chatted with a nice woman in line for the buses who was telling us about how she was moving to Australia and so this would likely be her last Boston, at least for awhile. Wild!</p><p>The bus ride passed about as quickly as it ever has thanks to having Lauren as a bus buddy. We did some Gu trading, I ate my bagel and cream cheese and drank my Skratch, and we just chatted about all kinds of random things...it was so nice to not be such a ball of ANXIETY! There was a little anxiety when at some point we realized that we had definitely got off the highway at an unusual exit and there were no longer any school buses around...we were kind of laughing as I pulled out my phone to check out what direction we were going and Lauren could see several other people at the front of the bus doing the same. In the grand scheme of things it was a pretty minor episode of getting "lost" but it still amazes me that these bus drivers can't have some kind of training on the route in advance! During this time the radio was also on in the bus and "Take Care" by Drake and Rhianna came on. I haven't heard that song in years but for some reason it was totally hitting right as we pulled into Hopkinton. I couldn't get it out of my head the rest of the morning, and ended up adding it to my playlist and starting the race to it because that just felt like the right thing to do!</p><p>We got off the bus to a village full of dense fog, and as usual immediately headed off to the porta potty line. For like the 3rd year in a row, it seemed like all there was really time for was to hit the porta potty, organize your food, and start walking to the start - maybe they've finally optimized the bus loading schedule! In any case, I'm all about not having to hang out in the village for eternity. It was actually kind of chilly, to the point that I pulled out my old space blanket for awhile to use as a cape while we were waiting for the bathroom. Then again, I'll take being chilly while waiting ANY day of the week!! After using the facilities we headed over to the table to drop off our unwanted stuff, kind of cackling as we left what probably amounted to an entire box of graham crackers there on the table. I gave a girl my space blanket and we headed out of the village towards the start. By this point it had started to rain somewhat heavily again, and I kind of regretted giving away my space blanket. I was still wearing my throwaway shoes and had tucked my racing shoes in my blazer in an attempt to keep them dry. Some guy walking next to me made a comment about why I had what appeared to be a single shoe clutched to my chest and I was like "oh, yeah, this is my emotional support shoe..." lol.</p><p>We made our final porta potty stop and outfit changes at the last outpost by the CVS. I kept my amazing blazer for the final walk to the start, but otherwise was ready to go. We were kind of laughing at how close we cut it this year - they were calling 2 minutes to the start as we were approaching the general area by the corrals, and we thought there was no way we were going to make it all the way up to corral 4. But somehow we managed with almost no time to spare - we got into the corral as they were calling 30 seconds to the start, moved over to the left (IDK, I love the left side), wished each other luck, and then the gun went off! I'm pretty sure I actually started the race laughing at the chaos of it all and then started singing "I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU" to Lauren...all in all, I would say that the start of the race definitely set the tone for the rest of the day to come.</p><p>Lauren and I rolled through the first couple of miles together in the 7:30s, though I consciously kept reminding myself to hooooold back. I had a very good sense of where my upper limit was given my training, and I knew if I went out in the 7:10 region I was royally fucked, so I cooled my jets and just tried to ride the wave. I definitely think this is one of those things where you finally get some bonuses for maturity and knowledge, because I saw so many people doing the usual Boston thing of just FLYING chaotically down those downhills in the first few miles, and while it's really hard to pull back (and probably would be even harder if I was actually at a fitness to be aiming for a PR) I knew from experience that it was the right thing to do. The first mile actually felt really crowded, which helped to slow my roll, and when Lauren started pulling ahead after a couple of miles I consciously let her go. Even if she wasn't running full out, at the end of the day she's still a 2:50 marathoner and her "easy day" looks a whole lot different than mine! Still, it was really fun to start the race with a teammate - in 10 tries, I've never gotten to do that before!</p><p>I think it took me a little while to sort out how I was actually feeling, which in a way is a good thing at the start of a marathon. I definitely didn't feel immediately ready to rage, but overall I felt optimistic. My legs seemed to have shown up and I felt like I have in my better Bostons where the effort and the pace feel like they're a direct match. I bopped around to my party soundtrack and tried to head over and give some high fives whenever it made sense - one of my favorite things was the number of small children who were just HYPED to get a high five. Tons of them were wearing Bruins gear or holding cute signs for Chara, as the Bruins great was running the marathon...and apparently started like 2 minutes behind me! I'm a little disappointed that I never saw him...he's a gigantic man, so definitely would have been hard to miss. The bar around mile 4 or 5 that is always having a rowdy party was in full swing as usual, and I gave some extra rock on arm pumps in their general direction. I don't think I've done the "rock on" hand sign since like...high school maybe but for some reason that became my go to thing to do with my arms as I partied on down the course.</p><p>I felt pretty comfortable on the little rollers that crop up in Ashland and the first part of Framingham, and was pleased to see that I had fallen into a pretty steady rhythm right around 7:30s, which felt like the right place to be. I had said before the race that 3:20 was probably my ballpark, and while 7:30s put me a little ahead of that I knew the likelihood that I would be holding that pace in the Newton hills was pretty low. I was correct in that thinking, as we shall soon see. I had quite a lot of fun in Framingham, and decided to take it upon myself to start yelling at the crowds when I didn't think they were being loud enough, literally shouting "COME ON FRAMINGHAM MAKE SOME NOISE!!" as if I were opening a concert or something. I did this several times along the long, ugly stretch by the railroad tracks which both entertained me and kept me mentally engaged during a section of the course that can sometimes seem a little long. Somewhere in here was also a time when I saw a sign that I eventually figured out was for a person named Claire, but it had a photo of a cute dog on it who I assumed was named Claire, so I yelled at the owner of the sign "THANKS CLAIRE....I mean...Claire's dog...yeah..." lol. It was awkward, kind of like when I screamed at the person with the baby head last year. Whatever, marathon brain isn't exactly a 100% functional brain, after all. </p><p>Coming up on the 15K mark I laughed as I always think of the camera they have at this point as such a barometer for the race as a whole - if you have to fake a smile at 9.3 miles, you're having a rough day. Today was not that kind of day - I spent the whole leadup along the lake planning my exact pose which included not only the rock on hands but also sticking out my tongue for some reason...what can I say, I was truly embracing the party mode. The next mile is actually one of the things I am most proud of about this race - I despise the slightly uphill mile leading into Natick Center, and at mile 10 of the race it's just far enough in where you definitely feel the incline. For some reason, it didn't bother me at ALL this year - maybe because I've finally realized that it's an uphill and so there's a reason everything suddenly feels so hard? Anyway, I was in great spirits coming into Natick Center, which was also when I happened to look over and see one of my teammates cheering on the sidewalk! That gave me another boost, and I was grinning as I ran through the town center - 10 miles down. </p><p>The mile after Natick center is also not one of my favorites, however, this year it featured so much entertainment that I truly could not have been bothered by the rolling uphills. Some features included: a literal CHILD handing out cans of beer (apparently at other points throughout the day he had White Claw lol) which I was tempted to take due to my C goal but since I was feeling generally good I thought that mile 11 was perhaps a little early. In fact, I actually yelled at the kid "MAYBE LATER!" lol. I think it was somewhere around here where some people were holding a sign that said "show us a dance move" and I really wanted to do a pirouette or something but the logistics were too difficult, so what I ended up choosing to do was THE SPRINKLER lmao. There was also a person dressed as a coffee cup outside of a Dunkin' Donuts singing "That's Amore" which honestly kind of felt like something out of a fever dream lmao. </p><p>Just as an aside here, I am writing the rest of this post in late June, aka literal MONTHS after this race, because I have been so freaking busy...so the remainder of this race report is probably not going to be my best work and some of the parts might be out of order, but by god I am determined to finish this thing! So we left off in Natick, where I was both enjoying the local color and being delighted and also fairly surprised by how good I was feeling. It was pretty humid and raining on and off, but none of that really was bothering me - I couldn't tell if I was just really nailing my hydration and fueling, or if it just helped that it wasn't sunny, but I was generally speaking feeling very comfortable, just the way you want to feel around halfway of a marathon!</p><p>I always tend to kind of pull into myself a bit in the Wellesley College area of the course, which for some reason just isn't my favorite, and I did the same this year, staying to the center of the road and just rolling into the uphill. I feel like coming out of the woods and into the Wellesley town center is so utterly MISERABLE when it's hot and sunny, but on an overcast day the sea of people lining both sides of the road always seems to give me a boost. There's just so much sound and color and energy, and when you can cross the halfway point still feeling good there's always a little flicker of realizing that you're probably going to make it. Each mile that I kept in the 7:30s felt like a total victory and with no real expectations I just kept appreciating every mile that felt comfortable. I started thinking about the sections of the course I had to contend with before the hills - by this point in my life, I've really got Wellesley down to some very distinct sections. So I'm going through my mental monologue...<i>OK, after this first downtown section there's the park, then there's the second downtown section, you go by Marathon Sports, and then there's "road". </i> This made me laugh then and still makes me laugh now, and I don't know why it's so funny to me, but there's this sort of nondescript section between the end of the true Wellesley town and the big downhill, and my brain was like insistent about like, yeah, duh, there's Road. And I just kept saying it in my head over and over and it kept getting funnier, to the point that when I finally got there I was practically laughing thinking to myself, <i>here we are, it's ROAD! And then the big downhill!</i></p><p>Well. I reached the end of Road and began running down the large downhill, and IMMEDIATELY both of my quads seized up in such an abrupt way as to be completely hilarious - in all my years running Boston, I've had meltdowns in a variety of unpleasant ways but never have I ever had The Thing everyone talks about happen, which is blowing out your quads in the first half. And I couldn't help but laugh! Boston #10, and here I am making the mother of all rookie mistakes. The positive was, aside from my quads everything else still felt great. I felt well fueled and strong, I wasn't overheating, I didn't feel dehydrated and mentally I was still in a great place. So I just kind of told myself that the rest of the race probably wasn't going to be very pleasant, but if I was willing to deal with being uncomfortable it didn't have to be a disaster, and I got to the bottom of the hill and set myself to getting through the next 9 miles in the best way I could and vowed to still have fun doing it. </p><p>The good news was, while my legs definitely HURT and were definitely not going to allow me to run under 8 minute pace anymore, they kind of reached a level of unpleasant homeostasis that was, while definitely not enjoyable, perfectly manageable. I climbed the hill over the freeway and sure, did I love it? No! But it was fine. I ran into the unexciting section by Newton Wellesley, and was it amazing? No! But it was totally fine. I feel like this is where the weather really helped me out, because once I get caught in the heat hole there is absolutely nothing I can do and it's just an endless slow decline. But I wasn't hot, I wasn't hungry, nothing specifically was going wrong...my quads were just tired! And that was survivable, as long as I could keep myself at a level where I wasn't going to fully cramp up.</p><p>It was finally time to turn into the Newton hills, which I approached not with trepidation or fear or awe but just a desire to ENJOY the party that the Newton hills are. While the fans are great all the way through the course, the hills are where I really feel like the spectators shine, and this year was no exception. I tried to funnel my fatigue into high fives, fist pumps, and hyping up the crowd - it was getting a little harder to smile and be quite the hype queen I wanted to be, but I didn't let myself lose my party attitude. In a hilarious instance of deja vu, at one point I looked over to the left side of the road and for the second year in a row locked eyes with Alyssa, a girl who I used to dance with and saw in pretty much the exact same instance last year! We both cracked up in disbelief - out of a sea of people, two years running! </p><p>I kept plugging away, generally noticing the splits on my watch and feeling pleasantly surprised that they were staying quite consistent in the 8:0x range. As we approached the second Newton hill I glanced at the running time on my watch and realized with some hilarity that once again, I was going to miss the group of therapists and clients coming to spectate from work - I had told them to arrive around 1 and I think it was 12:45 or something at this point. Maybe someday I'll get it right! By this point rain showers had started to spray on and off, which delighted me, because if there's one thing I love it's racing in the rain. I also started to think about where and how I was going to find someone to give me a beer - I was starting to wish I'd taken the Michelob from that kid back in Natick, because I was starting to get nervous that I wasn't going to be able to find a beer to have!</p><p>But then, the most perfectly cinematic series of events occurred: as I approached Heartbreak, I saw a group of people with a giant BEER sign, screaming and handing out cups. For a split second my dumb self thought "no, wait until BC" and then I was like fuck it, if you have TWO beers then that's what happens, and I ran over and grabbed that beer to uproarious cheers from the group. I slammed it back, not even breaking stride (you just can't take the racer out of the girl...) and then looked over to see Cara, one of our old Boston Badger friends, and just started laughing. As warm Michelob buzzed through my system, I began the climb up Heartbreak at which point it suddenly began DOWNPOURING. Joy coursed through every vein along with the beer; I felt so alive and happy and completely in the moment (it was probably around this point in the race that I decided I lied about not signing up next year, lol). As I neared the top of the hill I saw BRITTANY screaming her face off, and I screamed "FUCK YEAH" right back at her. I later learned that Brittany had screamed "C'MON, BUDDY!" at Kipchoge as he looked to be slowing up the hill, in the way you would yell at an unathletic little leaguer trying to make his way around the bases, and when I watched the video she had taken of this later I was absolutely dying laughing. I crested the hill, as always, in my slowest mile of the race, but with so much happiness in my heart.</p><p>BC delivered as always, and with my beer goal achieved I was able to just straight up bomb down the line of students, high fiving as many as I possibly could until my hand and arm were sore from the force of it. The BC downhill was destroying my already shredded quads, but it was filling my soul, and despite feeling like with every step I had to be a little more cautious of my landing to avoid a total seize up, I was running stronger than I ever would have expected to be at this point. Happier, too. When you get down by the reservoir, you pretty much know you're going to make it, and even as the pain and tightness in my legs grew and I became very aware of the overall desire to STOP running, I kept myself moving forward, fist pumping, making hand motions to amp up the crowd. Still a little more time left to party.</p><p>The long stretch from Cleveland Circle to Kenmore is always a total blur, whether it's from exhaustion or elation, and this year was no exception. I was quickly running out of energy to party with the spectators although I tried to give a wave or a fist bump where I could, and put my head down and set myself to the task of getting to Kenmore. The one memory that really stands out for me during this stretch is having "Soulja Boy" come on at about mile 24.5, right at the point where I was just so ready to give up, and that ridiculous steel drum intro sent me right back to a college pregame and I couldn't help but grin. It really summed up the entire theme of this race for me - I had taken this whole angsty situation that I'd been in about running and I had blown the whole thing up and for once in my life made it FUN. And I think the older I get and the further my fastest days recede, the more important it is to come back to what my why is for running, especially my why for running this one marathon over and over and over again when there are so many better things and races to do. It's because Boston is the best party you could ever be invited to, and when I have that invitation in my hand I simply don't have it in me to turn it down. </p><p>I could hardly believe it, but I was finally approaching Kenmore, something my quads were VERY grateful about as keeping my legs from not cramping up and sending me flying to the pavement was becoming increasingly difficult with each mile that elapsed. I soaked in that dumb hill up over the bridge my Kenmore, my legs stupidly feeling better with the climb than when I was trying to descend, and then down to the "1 mile to go mark". I knew as I ran through Kenmore that there was no way I wasn't coming back for this next year, no matter how many times I said this was my last one for awhile. For the 10th time, I ran under and up that evil little hill on the underpass. For the 10th time, I turned right on Hereford. There was a guy on this stretch going absolutely apeshit, galloping along the lines of spectators, waving his arms, roaring at the top of his lungs, clearly completely entrenched in the glory of the moment. Hilariously, days after the race I would be scrolling through TikTok and come across a Boston Marathon video that turned out to be THAT GUY (I even found myself in the background of the video! lmao). His hype was the perfect finale to this glorious party as I finally made that wonderful turn onto Boylston for the 10th time.</p><p>I felt my legs respond once again as the finish line approached; it never ceases to amaze me how you can always scrape the bottom of the barrel and find *something* left in that last half mile. The home stretch of Boston will forever be indescribable to me. It's sound, and pain, and hope, and life and on this wide street with eyes up with a blue and gold finishing arch in sight, it will forever and always feel like coming home. And at the end of the day, that's why I simply cannot stay away from this race - the feeling of that finish in this city that I love, my chosen home, is worth the fight. And I had proven to myself, finally, that I did not need to run a PR for a race to be joyful, meaningful, and special. I had made the magic in my own way. </p><p>In the preceding miles I had been vaguely keeping track of my overall time and came to the conclusion that I was probably coming in somewhere around 3:25 or 26, which I thought was great - just like I ran in NYC under similar circumstances - and the finish clock as I had run under seemed to support that viewpoint. But I had forgotten that I started much further back in the corrals this year, and so was absolutely delighted to look at my watch and see a 3:23! I had officially achieved ALL of my goals, because I had made my goals match where I truly knew I was with training, with life, and with what I wanted out of the race. You know, you might get slower with age, but I've gotta say there are some kernels of wisdom that definitely can make the sport a little more enjoyable, if you let them. </p><p>I swear the walk through the finishing chute and the march to Clery's gets longer every single year; with my quads out of commission and screaming in pain this one was a particularly slow roll. As I finally straggled up to the corner of the bar, a group of guys at the window started banging on the windows and screaming and fistbumping at me, perfect drunken college madness and the absolutely perfect end to the day. As I descended the stairs towards the GBTC crew, slowly and painfully, the bouncer cheered me on with just as much enthusiasm as the fans that day. And suddenly, all the frustration, all the feelings of falling out of love with running, all of the days when I felt like I was never going to be "as good" as I used to be - none of it mattered. I had finished my 10th Boston, partying and joyful all the way, and with all the feeling of rightness and warmth that go with the word, I was home.</p><p>Boston Marathon 2023</p><p>3:23:44</p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-80381016685054303812022-09-13T20:32:00.000-05:002022-09-13T20:32:05.828-05:00Pumpkinman 2022 Race Report....aka baby's first crash (with a surprise ending!)<p> I decided to do the Pumpkinman olympic distance about a month ago, kind of on a whim, and mostly as a way to try to coerce myself into a month of more consistent triathlon training before switching back to running or whatever the hell it is I'm aiming for this fall. That grand plan didn't work out particularly well - I missed almost a week of training due to a crappy cold, didn't manage to swim for an entire month prior to the race (pool closures + weather + an algae bloom of all things lol) but I still went into the race feeling reasonably good about my ability to have a decent, if not stellar race, and to have some fun. Well...I did have fun (mostly) and I did have a *memorable* experience although perhaps not in the way I expected. And while I've been absolutely terrible about updating this blog recently, I felt this one was definitely worth an actual writeup.</p><p>The first challenge of the day was the fact that I had to leave by 4:30 am to get to the race on time. Triathlons, alas, are not like running races where you can pretty much roll up to the gate and go, and so I spent the entire morning anxiously calculating whether I was going to have enough time to get my race packet and get my shit together in transition before the start at 7 am. As it turned out I shouldn't have worried - turns out people were still arriving as late as 6:45 am and the race was ultimately delayed as a result - and overall I was pleased with my efficiency in getting things set up in transition, getting my hair braided, using the bathroom and getting down to the race start. I even managed to get in the water to warm up! My first yards in a month! Lmao. I chatted with a few women in my wave, one of whom I discovered is doing IMLP next year AND is doing Reach the Beach this weekend! I didn't get her name but we decided we should probably be friends. </p><p>The swim was a time trial start, which I feel like most races have been doing lately and is definitely nice in terms of ending up with more open water. Once I entered the water I immediately settled into a pretty relaxed stroke - I didn't want to overdo it knowing my utter lack of swim training recently. The first loop went pretty smoothly - I was sighting well, and after passing a few people initially I had pretty open water. Just like the year that I did the half iron, the second loop was definitely slower and worse - my goggles fogged up and someone almost ripped my chip off my leg near the end of the first loop, and then JUST like in the half iron, I totally lost my sighting as we swam directly into the sun and once again wound up having a kayaker have to direct me back to the general population. Once I got that sorted out things improved somewhat, and while I knew I wasn't swimming wildly fast I knew I wasn't swimming wildly slowly either (though my official swim split would beg to differ lol). Regardless, I got out of the water just generally happy to have gotten through the swim on absolute trash training and was excited to move onto what I anticipated would be the highlight of the day, the bike!</p><p>They had wetsuit strippers on the way out of the water which I decided to avail myself of and that was pretty fun; it really is easier to get a wetsuit off when someone can just rip it off your body! I then headed up the giant hill to transition where I made a slight effort to jog when I saw someone with a camera and then just gave up because my heart rate was too high and I didn't feel like wasting the energy.</p><p>I SUCK at T1. I literally think I'm prepared every year but when push comes to shove I just get so lost...as I whined aloud as I attempted to put something in my pocked and failed, "ugh, I can't do ANYTHING after I swim!" My glasses were stuck in my helmet, I forgot to fully tighten one of my shoes, the cap on my water bottle was stuck, and I feel like I always wind up standing around for at least 30 seconds trying to finish chewing some food (in this case, a rice krispie treat which honestly was an EXCELLENT transition snack) and then at some point abruptly realizing that I'm in a race and I need to get the heck out of dodge. So I got to that point eventually...4 minutes later, which I'm not sure if counts the hill climb or not. Either makes me feel better about my swim or about this transition haha, depending on which one that time counts for!</p><p>I mounted my bike and was immediately stuck behind a woman who was weaving around slowly and riding on the LEFT/center side of the road. I let this slide for about 15 seconds before yelling a little snarkily "on your RIGHT" and absolutely blasting off into the bike course. I freaking love my tri bike, and I'm just so excited to actually train on it next year because it just makes riding feel effortless. The first 6 or 7 miles of the course were just lovely and I was happily settling into a rhythm of eating and drinking, picking off people left and right (perks of being almost last into the water I suppose) and just bopping along. It always takes me a bit to get my heart rate down and my legs under me coming out of the swim but things were all going according to plan and I was delighted to be seeing splits just under 20mph popping up on my bike computer.</p><p>The first issue occurred when we hit the one major hill on the course and I tried to downshift and my bike just...wouldn't? I could go all the way down in my big ring, but my shifter would not switch to my small ring, and I'd like to say I TOLD YOU SO to the person at the bike shop who looked at me like I was crazy when I asked if there was any way to override the power shifting because THIS is exactly the type of thing I was afraid of! I have no idea what was/is going on and obviously need to get the shifting looked at, but in the moment once I got over the initial annoyance I just resigned myself to having to muscle up the hill in my big ring. It sucked, and I was annoyed about having to exert so much power although I was still passing people all the way up the hill. I yelled a few choice words into the abyss ("FUCK my shifter!", not the last f bomb that would be dropped on the day) and eventually crested the hill.</p><p>I got back into aero and got ready to hit the next half of the course, pleased to see another 15:xx split despite the time I had obviously lost on the hill. And that's when <i>it</i> happened. Yes, the big kahuna, my all time greatest bike related fear: I crashed.</p><p>I had been watching these two pickup trucks for a few minutes that had been behaving weirdly - there weren't many cars on the road period, but those that were up until this point had been super respectful, giving a really wide berth, etc. But these two were just driving...weirdly. Super slowly, then speeding up, then slowing down, and way too far to the right. Initially I thought maybe they were with the race but as I continued to get closer it seemed like they were driving way too erratically to be an official vehicle. Now, as I sit here in hindsight thinking about this, I think: I could have just waited for them to move out of my way. But I was in a RACE, damnit, and I had no patience for fuckwads in pickup trucks having a laugh over blocking my right of way. Not to mention, I couldn't fathom that anyone would DO the thing that they ended up doing, which was this: instead of moving over to the left when I started to pass on the tiny ribbon of road remaining to me on their right, they started coming even FURTHER to the right. Directly into the path at which I was riding 20 miles and hour, in aero, with a downhill gravel gully on my right.</p><p>I think there was about 3 seconds before the crash actually happened when I had the horrifying clarity of knowing that I was about to crash, and the only control I had over the situation was how. The choice I had to make in those 3 seconds was a) slam into the truck, b) veer right into the gravel and lose control sideways, or c) hit the brakes and hope for the best. I chose option C, which I felt at least held the POSSIBILITY of staying on my bike - all I knew was I did not want to come in contact with the car. Time slowed down as I slammed on the brakes and immediately knew that it was too hard, too fast, that I was going over the bars. I honestly have no idea how I got unclipped but I must have somehow, because next thing I knew I was slamming into the pavement, primarily landing on my right hand followed by the left side of my face. </p><p>I lay there for a second, honestly in total shock over what had just transpired, and then very quickly my instincts came back online and every part of my brain was screaming at me GET UP GET UP GET BACK ON YOUR BIKE! Which, we should note, is a very dumb thing for your brain to be screaming at you in a situation where you literally could have just died. But that was the choice my mind was making, so I started assessing my situation. I was amazed to find that I still had all of my teeth, equally surprised that a brief systems check revealed no pain anywhere except my face and my right hand. I hadn't hit my head. My collarbones were still intact. I stood up on wobbly legs and went to talk to a race official who had come over. I feel like this time on the side of the road could have been hours, but really was something like 5 or 6 minutes. The things that really stand out in my mind are how helpful and concerned this guy was - he was putting my bike chain back on, took my sunglasses from me while I was attempting their broken halves into my bento box, and kept asking me (actually thinking back I believe it was more him TELLING me and me refusing haha) to sit down. "No," I kept saying, "I'm fine, I'm fine, I just want to get back on my bike." Meanwhile I was standing there with one half of my brain asking me "ARE you actually OK? Are you sure you're not just faking it?" while the other half of my brain was watching ever more cyclists whiz by and thinking "GOD DAMN it you were riding so well, every minute you stand here is a minute you're losing, get back on your bike and get back in the game!" which again, is just...idiotic. But for better or for worse, that's who I am. I think I genuinely believe sometimes that if I can continue on with my life after something bad happened as if it never did, then maybe it never really happened at all. Maybe it was just a bad dream. I remember after my thyroid cancer surgery being the most ANNOYING person walking around the hospital and just making every effort to pretend there was nothing wrong with me, I was just a healthy person hanging out at this hospital for some reason, as if I could make the whole thing just go away by pretending. And so here I was, confident that if I could just get back on my bike, just get back in the race, there's no way this crash could have ever happened. I was obviously fine, just fine.</p><p>And in the end, after some period of time, I felt confident enough that I wasn't actually lying to myself and I was actually physically and cognitively OK. So I thanked the official for his help, mounted up, and got back on my goddamn dragon.</p><p>I'm not going to say the next 15 miles were the greatest of my life - I still managed to average 18.5 mph, which is still way faster than I ever rode on my road bike, but was definitely riding shall we say conservatively. The shifters were still an issue, which was particularly annoying on the second time up the steeper hill, and my nutrition and hydration plan was shot to shit because my bike computer had reset during the crash and so I wasn't actually sure how many miles I had left to go...not to mention my lip pretty much immediately puffed up like a balloon so drinking was difficult and not particularly desirable. My mood kept pingponging between numb shock and absolute rage at the cretin of a human being who would literally run someone off the road and then DRIVE AWAY. But I kept trying to be the athlete that I like to be: I said something encouraging to everyone I passed, I thanked the volunteers, I reminded myself that I was out here doing something I loved and I was <i>still</i> out here - crash be damned. My bike was functional, my bones were intact, I could deal with the mental aftermath later on. </p><p>It didn't seem like much time had passed before I was riding back into transition and dismounting my bike. It's kind of wild to me that even WITH the crash and the subsequent aftermath, time spent on the side of the road, and definitely riding slower trying to get my wits back about me the second half, my average pace was still 17.5 mph...a pace I basically dreamed of riding last year. In all seriousness, I am SO excited to see where actual training on this tri bike can take me. T2 was much more efficient than T1 as it always is - shoes changed, race belt on, ready set go. I wore a 1 piece tri suit for this race for the first time and I have to say (although this particular one is now covered in blood and may or may not be cursed) I loved it! Never felt like I had to think about my clothes at all during the day. </p><p>I ran out of transition like a woman possessed and immediately started in on the most fun part of triathlon in my opinion, mowing people down on the run even when I don't feel like I'm running particularly fast. I disconnected myself from any awareness of my pace and just tried to run at the right effort. I have to say, when my Garmin informed my that I had run a 7:07 first mile (my fastest mile since April, by the way), I was shocked, but I was also uplifted. It just feels like it's been a really long time since I felt any sort of competitive fire or desire to really <i>race</i> - the injury in April and it's seemingly endless aftermath have left me feeling just content to be out there at all. But seeing that split, seeing myself continue to make passes because I was finally in MY domain, suddenly I felt that fire stir within me. Suddenly, I wanted to see just <i>how</i> much of a comeback I could make. With the time trial start, the sprint occurring simultaneously, and the different waves, there was no way of knowing who I was actually competing with but all I knew was that continuing to make passes was only going to be a positive thing. </p><p>There was a long, nasty uphill on the 3rd mile of the loop, which I knew I wasn't going to appreciate on the second go around, but it was exciting to realize that I was already only 3 miles from finishing. I continued to try to give encouragement as I passed people, getting occasional feedback from people who actually got a good look at my face as I went by. My favorite was when I said "good job" to a woman as I passed her and she looked at me and said "oh no!" hahaha. There was a guy with a shirt that said "drown, crash, shuffle," on the back and I laughed as I passed him. "I've got the second part down today!" I said. I definitely slowed down as the run went on, as the general fatigue of the day, the heat (it was now approaching 80 and humid) as well as some unpleasant quad cramps (probably due to the utter clusterfuck of my hydration and electrolyte situation) starting to brew. I walked a short stretch on the final uphill, but then realized just how close I was to the finish and forced myself to get my ass back into gear. People were <i>struggling</i> on the uphill - it really wasn't very nice at all - and I felt proud of how strong I still felt despite what had been more than the usual amount of adversity on the day. </p><p>We turned into the start/finish area and I laughed as I realized we were going to have to make a stupid little loop around the transition zone before running down the big downhill to the finish. As we came around the corner, I saw two women directly in front of me, both with numbers on their legs indicating that they were in my age group. "Ah, they're probably in the sprint," I thought. Buuuuut then I thought again...they were both wearing tri suits, and definitely didn't look like newbies, which meant they could very possibly be my competition...and really, after all that had happened today, was I <i>really</i> going to give up a chance for a couple places higher? And so, with my legs protesting, I found another gear and sent myself rocketing by both of the women and into the downhill, hoping that neither of them were runners by background. And in the end, finding myself uncaught, I crossed the finish line - if not completely triumphantly, then at least gratefully.</p><p>A volunteer gave me my medal, and then, obviously noticing the carnage of my face, asked if I wanted to go to the medical tent. "You know, yes, I think I would," I sort of laughed. Baby's first med tent experience! The EMTs were understandably sort of worried about me, but once I was able to give them my spiel and make them feel confident that I didn't have a concussion and I just wanted to get some antiseptic on my face, they let me go pretty quickly with an ice pack and a towel ("courtesy of York Hospital" lol). </p><p>I sort of meandered around trying to figure out how to organize my life, talking with many people along the way who saw my face and wanted to know if I was OK. I talked with a guy who said he was right behind me before the crash and corroborated my story that the pickup truck was completely at fault. I eventually made my way to the results tent and got my little printout, where I was shocked to find I had made the podium in my age group. I honestly didn't really believe it, but I figured it was worth staying for awards to find out for sure. I got my stuff from transition and took it back to the car, continuing to answer more questions and talk to people as I went. I think I was still really trying to laugh the whole thing off - when people asked me if I was OK, I would crack a joke, like "I'm still here aren't I?" or "I've heard there are only cyclists who've crashed and cyclists who haven't crashed yet". People would look at me like I sprouted another head when I told them I finished, and I just...I don't know, was it that weird? Was it that inspirational? Was it just me being stupid and stubborn? Probably the latter, honestly. But despite my utter hatred of people being worried about me or asking if I am OK, I think I handled it pretty well.</p><p>I finally headed back to the food/awards tent and while I couldn't find it in me to eat much, pumpkin beer sounded very appealing. I chatted with a couple of women in the food tent who asked me if it was a red pickup truck who had caused my crash - sure enough, the same truck had been screwing with them, braking hard, revving the engine, riding too close....it's just utterly disgusting. I can't believe that people would go out of their way to do something so dangerous just to make themselves feel powerful but that's a large chunk of men who live in this world for ya, I guess. </p><p>The awards ceremony happened and sure enough when we got to the women's 35-39 age group my name was called for 3rd...yes, somehow, some way, crash and all, I had made the podium. I made my way up and it was like a movie or something where everyone is murmuring as you walk by...I guess this is what it's like to be a minor celebrity. The race director gave me my little prize bag and I got on the podium...and I honestly feel sort of bad for the other two women in my age group because I definitely stole their thunder as the entire tent gave the loudest ovation that has ever been directed at me in my 35 years on this planet. I think that was the moment that I just sort of realized everything? Like, could have died, was beat up and scraped and bruised, chose to keep going, got on the podium. I don't honestly view myself as super tough or mentally strong, but I supposed in that moment I had no choice to believe it. Annnnd so I did the natural thing and burst into tears! I really hope I get a hold of the podium photos someday because I probably literally look like something out of a horror movie, bloody and ugly cry grimacing while still trying to smile with a busted lip, but it was really quite a moment. </p><p>So...that's the story of the time I got run off the road by a pickup truck, crashed, miraculously only sustained flesh wounds, got up and finished the race, and got on the age group podium. It's a story I'm already getting a little sick of telling but one that I think I will always remember when the going gets tough - because when I have a goal, when I am on a mission, I will not let ANYTHING stop me. Not even an asshole in a pickup truck and the unkind kiss of cement against my face. .</p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-74826776580391018782022-06-19T20:17:00.000-05:002022-06-19T20:17:04.472-05:00I'd trade it all just to come back home: Boston Marathon 2022 Race Report<p><i>This post has taken me FOREVER to write, mainly because it is now 9 weeks post race and I am only just now beginning to crawl my way out of the injury hole that I put myself in by racing this marathon. Was it worth it? If you'd told me I'd be completely out of running for almost 2 months after the race, I'm not sure I'd have said yes. But when I really put myself back there into the magic of the day, I'd probably make the same choice over and over again. </i></p><p>"Why do you keep running Boston?" a friend of mine asked me multiple times throughout this training cycle. And honestly, I started a whole separate post dedicated to that topic, one that maybe I'll get around to publishing someday. The last time I ran Boston, in 2019, I crossed the line upset and miserable. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but for awhile I swore that I was done with Boston, done with the marathon in general. It took me literal years, a pandemic, picking up triathlon, and having my NYC qualifier somehow magically fall in the window for Boston 2022 for me to realized that deep down, I <i>did</i> want to come back. When I signed up back in the fall, I swore up and down that this time would be different. "Yeah, I'll train, but I'm running Boston for <i>fun," </i>I told anyone who would listen. And then a funny thing happened. I started training, started seeing my mileage creep up, started tagging on to the group of GBTC women who were aiming for sub-3. I got sunk hard into the winter depression doldrums, and the only thing that made me feel like I was accomplishing anything in life was getting out and training...and dare I say it, I was finding that training <i>fun.</i></p><p>On paper, up until taper, the training cycle was pretty much perfect. I didn't skip a SINGLE planned run or workout from December through March. Not one. I nailed workout after workout, my tuneup races (which maybe I'll get around to finishing race reports of someday) went well. I ran my highest month of mileage ever with over 300 miles in March, and I could feel the strength that that added mileage was giving me. I found the cumulative fatigue catching up with me at the end of March, but was still able to nail my last long run workout 2 weeks out from the race, finally boosting my confidence that maybe I was in PR shape after all. Except, after that long run, I got out of the car and my left hip seized up. Initially I brushed it off, thinking it was something that a couple of days of TLC would fix. Except...it didn't get better. Every time I ran, it actually got <i>worse. </i>I tried to stay positive, tried to let go of what I knew had become this image of a "perfect" training cycle in my mind, but as the days passed and things still didn't seem to be improving, an imperfect taper was the least of my problems - I genuinely wasn't sure if I was going to be able to race at all.</p><p>Well, not to spoil the ending, but I was able to race. My hip held on for the full 26.2. And the amazing part? It was the most fun, joyful, grateful marathon of my running career so far. It's amazing sitting here now, thinking about how different the race could have been if I'd gone into it in a situation where everything had been "perfect". I would have <i>expected</i> perfection out of myself, and I'm almost certain that the weight of that expectation would have stolen so much of my joy. And so, like they say on cheesy greeting cards "it doesn't have to be perfect to be wonderful". Here is the perfectly imperfect story of my 9th Boston. </p><p>The week leading up to the race my anxiety was absolutely at an all time high. I had gotten a massage on Monday, felt OK enough to do my couple of MP miles for a workout on Tuesday, but then was in so much pain Wednesday I couldn't make it more than half a mile, and THAT was the point where I started to completely lose my shit. I knew I had to stop obsessing about having a normal taper and shut down running completely if I had any hopes of making it to the start line on Monday, and I will give myself credit for the fact that once I had made that decision, I was able to get into a much better place mentally and shift the focus from "woe is me, how could I get hurt this close to the race" to "I'm going to do everything in my power to be ready to fight on Monday". Lots of yoga, lots of forcing my student to do mobilizations on me, lots of ibuprofen, no running. </p><p>Saturday is always my favorite day of marathon weekend, and by the time it came around I was feeling decent enough to be optimistic and actually enjoy the day. I went downtown early to cheer for the BAA 5K which was a blast as always. My personal favorite moment was when a child running in the 5K ran up to me, stopped and looked up at me, and asked "Are we almost done?" Adorable - we've all been there, kid! I met up with Elise and we headed to the expo as soon as it opened, which is the MOVE. Not sure why I've never done this in the past but it made the whole expo experience so much more relaxing, and eliminated that point that I feel like I get to every year where I just get overwhelmed and grumpy by how many people are there. We got our numbers, got some nuun, did a little shopping and stocked up on Gus, then parted ways as Elise had to head to a family event. I did a bit more shopping at the various popups along Newbury Street with Brooks being a favorite...all kinds of freebies, and I got a whole bag of coffee beans with the jacket I bought! Very nice perk! Having spent a suitable amount of money I headed home to relax for a bit and eat lunch. Of note, I made a very concerted effort to do a 3 day carb load this year and tried to get in at least 475g of carbs each day per the recommendation of the calculator I used (which took more effort than expected). I think a lot of things were key to how good I felt on race day, but nailing nutrition was definitely one of them, and I'm definitely a believer in paying attention to the carb load for the future.</p><p>GBTC had a reception in the afternoon so I headed to that for a bit and chatted with a couple of the other girls who were running before walking over to an early dinner with Andrew at Viale, which has become our Saturday night before Boston spot. Dinner was excellent, with my mint pesto pasta and some delicious cocktails being standouts. Back at home I started gathering my stuff for the race and assembling my drop bag - not sure why I didn't save that for the endless time abyss that always is the Sunday before Boston, but I'll just blame anxiety for that one.</p><p>Sunday morning Andrew and I walked over to Pemberton Farms to pick up breakfast and some last minute needs for the next day. My hip was feeling fine while walking, which was a step up from earlier in the week, but I was still anxious about how any attempt at a shakeout run would go. Still, I felt like I had to see what I would be working with the next day, so I set off for a couple miles which were...OK. Not as bad as the awful, snapping, pinching pain I'd been having on Wednesday, but decidedly not how I'd ordinarily like to feel. I also nearly got run down by a cyclist on the Minuteman path which combined with the increasing soreness in my IT band shook me up enough to inspire me to stop the run at 2 miles as opposed to trying to push to my usual 2.5 or 3. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. I wrote something on Strava to the effect of "unfortunately my hip is going to be a factor tomorrow and all I can do is do the best I can". </p><p>I spent the majority of the rest of the day playing mindless video games and snacking (at one point I just randomly wandered into the kitchen, ate a bagel, and walked out lol). We made the usual prerace meal of butter tomato pasta with breaded chicken and bread, and then I drank my traditional prerace beer (Lamplighter Birds of a Feather this year) while taking a literal hour to paint my nails in a design I had come up with to match my shoes and watching Boondock Saints. I think I honestly just managed to shut off the part of my brain that knew I was running a marathon the next day and tried to just enjoy a relaxing evening.</p><p>But while I had done a great job of toning down the anxiety in the days leading up to Monday, when I woke up Monday morning well before my alarm, I felt gripped by sheer panic. I was hyperanalyzing every movement, every twinge, every creak in my hip. I lay there staring at the ceiling, wanting time to slow down. I've genuinely never had this experience before of waking up the morning of a race and truly not knowing if I'm going to be able to do it. Needless to say, it was not a feeling I enjoyed, nor one that I ever hope to experience again! But soon enough, Thunderstruck was blasting out of my phone, and there was nothing to do but get up, see how my hip was faring, and get on with it. Was it perfect? No. But it was going to have to suffice.</p><p>Because I was in wave 3 this year I had quite a leisurely start to the day and was able to spend some time stretching out and braiding my hair while eating breakfast number 1. Again, I think I played this well this year - I drank a bottle of juice and had a couple of graham crackers in addition to my usual banana which I think started my fueling off on the right foot. I donned my race apparel and my throwaway clothes, including the most SPECTACULAR jacket that literally made me think of a lunar module. I won't lie, it was sad tossing that jacket at the start line. Andrew told me I looked like I belonged in an art show for people who couldn't see. I took an extra moment with him and the dog, wishing I could somehow know what the day was going to bring. "I don't know if I'm even going to be able to do this," I said to Andrew. I don't remember what he said back (I'm sure it was realistic and not altogether reassuring) but it was time to go. I was on my own.</p><p>I had bought a can of cold brew coffee the day before but one sip indicated that it was not going to sit well in my stomach so off to Dunkin I went (nearly getting run down by a woman in too much of a hurry to stop at the crosswalk, you love to see it). I said hi to the 90 yo man who always gives Topper peanut butter; he was unfazed by my ridiculous getup and tried to offer me some peanut butter to take home to the dog. "Ah, I'm actually running the marathon so I'm not going home right now, but thanks!" That added some levity. I always love taking the T down to the bus loading, a special blend of runners in their throwaway gear and your standard commuters just off to work for the day. I did the very important tasks of updating my fantasy baseball lineup and doing the Wordle ("FLAIR", almost too perfect for my ridiculous getup) and tried to get myself in a relaxed headspace.</p><p>No matter what kind of anxiety I was feeling, that feeling can always somehow be negated when you follow the line of runners up the steps at Arlington and out into the bright spring morning, into the cacophony of announcements and low flying helicopters and runners clad in all manner of ridiculous throwaway apparel running this way and that. The air is full of life, full of possibility, full of hope. I wandered my way to the 16000 drop bag bus, which seemed to be the furthest possible distance away - <i>that </i>was going to be a delight post race. I handed off my bag to the volunteer. "Got everything you need?" she asked. "I hope so!" I replied. As I meandered back towards the buses to Hopkinton, I couldn't help but feel a grin emerge on my face. The volunteers were hyping us up, and I kept throwing fist bumps and smiles. "Look at you, you're GOLDEN!" one woman beamed back at me, admiring my shining jacket. It's been a long time since I made my way through this process solo and there was somehow a peace to it, not worrying about talking with my teammates or the nervous energy that tends to explode out of me before a race when I'm around people I know. Just looking around, taking it all in with wonder that I was here once again, doing this, a part of it.</p><p>The actual bus loading process felt like something of a clusterfuck this year with multiple lines forming without a discernible endpoint and a whole lot of people packed into a small space. I eventually managed to identify a porta potty line and then made my way into what theoretically appeared to be the end of a line for a bus. After quite some time spent in a line that somehow seemed to be twice as long as the rest, I moved to a different line where I ended up befriending two women maybe in their 50s and had a lovely time chatting about past Bostons and appreciating the fact that it was not currently pouring on us as we waited to board the bus. It seemed that I would get to continue to be friends with them, but as we reached the front of the line the volunteer indicated that they had room for 1 more person. I bid my new friends goodbye and headed for the back of the bus and met my bus friends, who both turned out to be older men (one was 73!) They were engaged in a lively conversation that included discussion of supershoes, the fact that they were both widows, and how training gets a lot harder when you get older. I didn't quite fit the demographic, but we eventually did get to chatting and both were quite impressed to hear that this was my 9th Boston. The general vibe I got all weekend was that I look pretty young to have done 9 Bostons...I guess that's what you get when you are basically an infant when you start and then you never really stop, haha. I drank a bottle of Skratch throughout the ride (another thing I will definitely be adding to my race routine in the future) and ate my bagel with cream cheese around 9:15. It never fails to amaze me that the ride out to Hopkinton somehow takes an hour, but eventually we were pulling in to the athlete's village. "The weather's good today, this could be a special day for you," my bus buddy said as we said our farewells. And then we were off into the masses, just another memorable interaction with a stranger that always feels so right on this day and this day only.</p><p>As usual, I immediately headed for the porta potty lines once inside the village. I'm not sure if this was a #wave3win or what, but the lines were the shortest I've ever seen them. As I was waiting, the loudspeakers were making announcements: "wave 3, you will be leaving the village in 15 minutes!". The girl in front of me in line turned back to me. "15 minutes?! What? I don't even have my life together!" Indeed, 15 minutes felt like an unusually short period of time to spend in Hopkinton, but I honestly didn't hate it - I had just enough time to use the bathroom, arrange my Gus in my shorts, grab a water and ditch some of my layers before the call to the start came. I also attempted to manage my anxiety by taking a wide variety of ridiculous selfies and tried to capture the mood through some videos, as I was running with my phone for the first time. </p><p>I love the walk to the start at Boston, but I really had to force myself to love it this year, because the anxiety was starting to build heavily as the moments ticked away towards the moment when I was going to find out if my body was actually going to let me run today. I found some levity in what looked like an absolutely SPECTACULAR house party going on at one of the homes along the route, high fiving and fist bumping a group of people who looked like they were well into their Monday Funday. As usual, I stopped at the porta potty pod behind the CVS and got rid of the rest of my throwaways with the exception of the golden jacket. I had to laugh, as at the table where everyone was ditching their clothes there was also a pile of all the other miscellaneous stuff people had used and abandoned, which was essentially a lovely pile of everything a runner could need! Safety pins, sunscreen, tape, bandaids, bodyglide, hairties, and more. I decided to use someone's abandoned bodyglide, because why not not get chafage today? The minutes kept ticking away; 20, 15 minutes until the start. We were finally released towards the corrals, and another wave of fear overtook me. This was actually happening - this marathon, this end of this training cycle that had been so great, so marred with this injury. The uncertainty threatened to consume me as I started making my way up to corral 1. My stomach felt weird and sloshy, like I had drank too much water, and I found myself stressing out about that too. And then...</p><p>I am a big believer in signs that show you that you're where you're meant to be. Something that might not mean anything to anyone else, but mean something to you. It's why I love finding heads up pennies before races, or why I love anytime the number 14 shows up in my bib - which, by the way, it did for this race, 16114, which should have reassured me that I was going to be OK. I think it's also important to note that typically, the majority of the songs they play at the athlete's village are not songs I particularly enjoy ("Call Me Al" is one that I seem to recall hearing just about every year...like, who finds that motivational?). But as I was walking up towards the corrals, I heard a familiar guitar riff coming from somewhere. Could it be? It was. It was THUNDERSTRUCK, the song I literally wake up to every race morning, the song that says to me "you are ready to fucking ROLL", blasting over the loudspeakers in Hopkinton. I heard it, and I told myself: you are ready for whatever happens out here today. You are ready to <i>fight.</i> And I knew in my heart that no matter what happened, nothing would stop me from getting to the finish line. </p><p>Being in the first corral of the wave always feels like an honor, no matter what wave it is. I was actually sort of surprised how spaced out and relaxed things were - I feel like I always remember there being more people, but I felt like I had all this space to fix my shoelaces and bounce around and whatnot. I took my traditional lemon lime Gu about 10 minutes before the start and finally said a sad farewell to my glorious jacket. "It's been a great 12 hours together!" I hope someone enjoys that coat someday...or it makes its way back to Goodwill and I can find it again next year haha. As the gun got closer and closer, I found myself finally calming down. I had told Andrew the day before that when I stepped over the starting line, I needed to have amnesia about everything that had happened in the past two weeks and just be fully in the moment, with whatever happened. A time goal wasn't even a thing that existed anymore - it was 100% about taking what the day gave me. I know I've said that before, but I think for the first time standing there on that start line, I actually meant it. </p><p>I decided to listen to music for this year's race, as I've just accepted that I race better and happier with music than without, and my experience at New York showed me that it's totally possible to engage with the crowds while still going into the box with your jams when you need to. I had a 4ish hour playlist that I put on shuffle so that each song would be something of a surprise, but I had picked a specific song to start the race, one that I felt like perfectly captured that mood that I needed to have heading down this 26.2 mile road in this situation. And as the announcer counted down, 30 seconds to the gun, I pressed play.</p><p><i>Switch your mind off, take a deep breath, let it all go, I know we're not perfect</i></p><p>BANG!</p><p>I started running, and my hip didn't hurt, and that was the best possible thing I could as for. As I looked at the open road with only maybe 50 other runners ahead, I burst into a grin.</p><p>We were off.</p><p>Miles 1-6: 7:09, 7:13, 7:08, 7:08, 7:13, 7:14</p><p><i>We are young and free, and all we will ever need, is right here right now. </i></p><p>I beamed as we poured down the hill, filled with the sense that my legs were under me and they knew what they were doing. I may have complained bitterly about being in wave 3 leading up to the race, but there was something pretty cool about feeling as if you were in the lead pack of the race. Because I was running pretty quickly relative to my qualifying time, the pack became fairly spread out, and for the first time ever at Boston I didn't feel crowded in the slightest. I was very cognizant of needing to not go out too fast, particularly with the giant question mark hanging over my head of "what even is your fitness after these bizarre last 2 weeks?" But the great part is, I've run this course enough times and in enough conditions and fitness levels to know what the effort <i>should </i>feel like for the first 10K of Boston, and that effort is outrageously easy. If you're running at or slower than your goal pace and you feel like you could go all day, you are doing it right. </p><p>I keep my watch on the setting where I can only see the pace of the mile I'm in when I race now, which has worked wonders for my mental game, and I snuck a quick peek after a few minutes just to make sure I wasn't doing anything nutty. And sure enough - my sense of effort was right on, I was running right around goal pace. Beauty. The second song that popped on my playlist almost sent me through the roof, as it was one of my ultimate pump up songs this cycle and the source of the message I'd chosen to write on my hand this year: "Mind over matter, faith over disbelief". I found myself shouting those lyrics aloud into the sky, into the sunshine, into the runners surrounding me. Mind over matter. Faith over disbelief. And anything could be possible. </p><p>As the splits started to roll in, I actually considered for a second that they were a little slower than my theoretical "goal" pace - but then I caught myself. Goal pace, what the hell does that even mean anymore? The effort was perfect, and I knew it - no reason to get in a tizzy about something that would only lead to bad decisions. And so I just kept cruising down the road with a smile that I couldn't seem to wipe off my face. I high fived anyone that I was close enough to reach, joyously motioning for the crowd to make more noise. As we passed the Dunkin' that sits off the road to the Ashland T stop, I thought, well, no big deal, only 24 miles to go! Just a long run! </p><p>We all know those first few miles mean nothing at Boston, and there's always that little demon in the back of your mind that says "hey, it's one thing to pour yourself downhill, it's quite another to deal with the rest of this course". But I squashed those voices. I didn't believe them, not today. My face literally hurt from smiling by mile 4 and instead of thinking about all the things that could go wrong, I found myself thinking about all the things that could go right today. </p><p>I took my first Gu at mile 4; I finally organized my life in such a way that I knew which Gu I was taking out of which pocket at which point in the race (again, it took me 16 marathons to figure this out...better late than never I suppose). The weather was about as good as you could realistically hope for for the 3rd Monday in April: low 50s, sunny, a fairly mild headwind. Still, while the temps were relatively cool I knew that "relative" tended not to play in my favor and I was still going to have to be very mindful of my hydration and salt situation. For now, that meant taking water at every other stop and drinking just a bit before moving on. At one of the stations in Ashland they had the stops directly across from each other (normally they're staggered) forming almost a tunnel of volunteers in bright green jackets. I didn't need water at that point and so instead decided to run directly down the middle of the chute, waving my arms and screaming "THANK YOU VOLUNTEERS!" Which, if I hadn't figured it out already, was a good indicator that I was in a good place, at least for the time being. </p><p>Somewhere around here the song 30/90 from Tick, Tick, Boom came on my playlist and while that is a VERY random song to find motivational in the midst of a marathon there's something about the piano riff that makes my heart soar. The sun was shining, the crowds were out in force, I had plenty of room on the road to run my race, and I was just...happy. I wasn't worried about what was going to happen next or what pace I was running or anything besides right now. </p><p>After much back and forth this training cycle and trying out a carbon plated shoe (the Saucony Endorphin Pro), I ended up deciding that for whatever reason the carbon plate was just not for me and ultimately decided to race in the shoe that I've been loving since I first put it on, the Saucony Endorphin Speed. And I cannot stress enough how this was THE BEST DECISION. I literally thought multiple times over the course of the first 10 miles of the race, "I love this shoe, fuck carbon plated shoes!" I kept thinking back to the last long run I did on the course, during which I wore the Pros and essentially felt like I was fighting against the shoe the entire way. The Speeds felt like they were a natural extension of me, just giving a delightful zip to my stride. Lesson learned, kids: do what works for YOU! </p><p>There's a bar around the 5 mile mark that always has a party going on, and this year was no exception. They had a massive sign up dedicated to the women runners (as it was the 50th anniversary of women being allowed to run at Boston - kind of crazy when you think about it). My favorite part of this stretch was the woman (runner) that I saw shotgunning a beer as the bar patrons cheered her on. I was definitely happy that it hadn't turned into that kind of day for me yet, but I have to admit that one of these years I would love the experience of just turning Boston into one massive party in that kind of way. The way the crowds come out is just like no other, and I think this year with it having been 3 years since the last April marathon Monday, the spectators were absolutely out in force. I was trying to describe what's so special about the crowds at Boston and what makes it different from say, New York, to someone, and I actually think I figured it out. New York was like going to a massive party where everyone is cheering for you but you don't know anyone (very fitting to the city of New York itself). Boston is like going to a party where everyone instantly becomes your best friend and they are 100% there for YOU. The way these individual people make eye contact, scream your name, reach out to you specifically for a high five like you're a celebrity they've been waiting to meet all their life...there truly is nothing else like it. And here I was approaching the 10K mark, feeling for all the world like I was back at the party I hadn't even realized I'd missed for all these years.</p><p>Miles 7-13: 7:08, 7:11, 7:07, 7:13, 7:20, 7:09, 7:16</p><p>Running this section of the course sometimes feels like running through a highlights (or lowlights) reel of all of the places I've started feeling bad at Boston. Passing each of those points felt like an achievement of sorts, and I couldn't help but read off in my mind like some sort of tour guide. "Ah, yes, and here we'll see mile 7, where she began to implode in 2016. On your left you'll see mile 10, where she completely gave up on life in 2019." Etc, etc. Every mile running well felt like a victory. I know so well how Boston can just pull the rug out from under you at literally any point along the course, and so I just kept savoring and appreciating each mile that passed when I felt <i>good</i>. Finally, all that work at "marathon pace" which was consistently faster than marathon pace had paid off - I knew what ACTUAL marathon pace was supposed to feel like, and man did it feel great. </p><p>At some point in Framingham I think I realized that my face actually hurt from smiling so hard, and while I was still having a blast I also recognized that I needed to get down to business a little bit and make sure I was keeping my effort in the right place. By this point I had started to catch the back end of wave 3, so things became a bit more crowded but also provided a boost, since catching people also meant passing people...a lot of people. I had sort of found myself running in a little pack with a woman in a black lululemon top and another woman in a singlet that said "YESSIR" on the back, and the 3 of us leapfrogged as we wove through the crowds across the ugly expanse of road that is the course through Framingham. I pulled to the middle of the road for awhile here, letting the crowds bolster me from the sides but putting a little less effort into actually interact with them. It was a perfect time to just lock into the pace and cruise. </p><p>We headed out of the town center and up what I always feel is one of the more rude surprises in the first half of the course, the hill by the Wendy's. It's not a massive hill by any stretch but I feel like if you're already feeling bad by that point, around mile 8, it can reduce you practically to a walk and you know you're really in for it the rest of the day. But today, I felt SO strong climbing this hill, pushing upward past 2019's ghosts. The guy who always dresses up as Santa was standing at the top of the hill with a giant candy cane, and I gave him a big wave. I definitely found myself becoming a little giddy as we ran through the section that I picture as being "between" Framingham and Natick. There were some spectators with a big sign with a cat on it that said something about a cheer cat, and I literally yelled at them "THANK YOU CHEER CAT!" This was followed by some people on the other side of the road who were holding some giant baby heads (probably for the parent of the baby, I'm guessing lol) but I just decided to yell "THANK YOU BABY HEADS!" and a girl running next to me actually started laughing at that, which made me laugh at myself, and that was a lovely experience haha. It brought to mind one of the nuggets of wisdom Tom had once shared that "most of a marathon should be a jovial mood", and as far as that was concerned I felt like I was executing perfectly. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvGIgncvW6vlpLzwGMIIsWWXPnQs5LZCvhTG0ObLm5fCD7e5W-7d2BHlfUoamPO2dUkwvPUsOzlHGwvVA8WTt3c6ER9lxoDiOjHPuIYzn1EX1hKHqNTuG_NKp9xBqDhyT6wGJt9InozLQ0oaCfjPlUi3EJggjIbkQumTHkJvT5oukae0HNQs/s2880/1133364_311415528_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="1920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvGIgncvW6vlpLzwGMIIsWWXPnQs5LZCvhTG0ObLm5fCD7e5W-7d2BHlfUoamPO2dUkwvPUsOzlHGwvVA8WTt3c6ER9lxoDiOjHPuIYzn1EX1hKHqNTuG_NKp9xBqDhyT6wGJt9InozLQ0oaCfjPlUi3EJggjIbkQumTHkJvT5oukae0HNQs/w266-h400/1133364_311415528_XLarge.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jovial indeed :) </div><p>As we ran through the stretch next to the lake in Natick I became much more aware of the wind, which was definitely a headwind. It wasn't a major factor for most of the race but when it would occasionally kick up, it was pretty unpleasant. Thankfully, it was also cold - despite the mild temperatures, the sun was definitely warm (my right shoulder got very sunburnt, oops) and the wind absolutely helped to keep the temperature down. I took my second Gu somewhere around here and then seamlessly transitioned one of the ones I had stashed in my bra into my shorts...there's another indication that things were going well, that I had the presence of mind to stay organized with my fuel for perhaps the first time in history. There's always a camera thing at the 15K mark, and I feel like whether or not I have to fake happiness for this camera is a strong indicator of how my race is going. It was delightful to put my hands in the air and make a heart with my hands, completely sincerely full of love for everything that was going on, and genuinely feeling great. I think its somewhere in this area where I saw someone who maybe holds this sign that says "your ass looks GREAT" at this spot on the course every year, and I think I actually slapped my butt because...why not? We're having FUN! </p><p>The mile from the lake into Natick Center is one that I have finally accepted as one of my least favorite miles of the race, and absolutely one of the mentally toughest. Why? Well, first of all, it's a gradual uphill, and I have learned over the years that I would happily take a bitch of a steep uphill over a false flat slow incline ANY day. Combine that with the fact that you're at mile 10 of a marathon, which is still quite a solid distance to have run at marathon pace while also still being TERRIFYINGLY far away from the finish line, and you've got a recipe for a physical and/or mental meltdown. And you see my splits for this section - I slowed down a bit, it wasn't spectacular. And when you look at the sneaky elevation that you get in this stretch, that makes total sense. BUT! Mentally, I stayed in it. I feel like I did such a good job during this race of accepting whatever was going on in a given moment, really just taking it in objectively, and doing my best with it. Slowing down a little bit on a hill was fine, because, well, it was a hill, but I was running up it and my legs were strong and there was a downhill on the other side, all was well. I just had this sense of feeling really calm and capable, even in the moments where my body felt less than perfect. There were definitely thoughts that crept in a little bit around this time of "oh, it's starting to get harder" or remembering how many miles were still to go, but I just let the moment pass and waited for the next high point to hit. I am really, REALLY proud of that. I'd also like to point out that I ran this mile FASTER than I did during my ill-fated attempt at marathon pace during my last long run, so that's gotta count for something.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDT8-8KLSbwoltvbnJZC4VRfz9kQLVF4Aar21IWJJ3Ie-9V8MmXrAmzY8iR5Ntl6Dw9xNx7QfYAEd_rHkKZT-4Da1fUvegg1WCCfC5w8dmmURW4sskwDQO_MzAXDK6gfRUiii3gM5e0PUJ92oUMLbMxW9VZ6g2JbKGN57E9u8xM8KWWkMLGnM/s3599/1133364_312263694_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3599" data-original-width="2396" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDT8-8KLSbwoltvbnJZC4VRfz9kQLVF4Aar21IWJJ3Ie-9V8MmXrAmzY8iR5Ntl6Dw9xNx7QfYAEd_rHkKZT-4Da1fUvegg1WCCfC5w8dmmURW4sskwDQO_MzAXDK6gfRUiii3gM5e0PUJ92oUMLbMxW9VZ6g2JbKGN57E9u8xM8KWWkMLGnM/w266-h400/1133364_312263694_XLarge.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Most definitely working in Natick</div><br /> As I began hauling myself out of the Natick doldrums and trying to get back in a rhythm, I came across my FAVORITE sign of the day. I always love the signs that are very much inside jokes or specific to the year of the race - just that uniqueness is always fun and makes me laugh. So these people around mile 11 were standing there with this MASSIVE cardboard cutout of Will Smith's face...which I didn't fully understand at first, until I saw runners making a beeline over to it and slapping it! As you can imagine, I had to do the same, which totally gave me a much needed shot of energy as I headed off into the Wellesley section of the course. <p></p><p>I found myself getting into a groove again as I ran through the small rollers heading into Wellesley. I was well into wave 2 now and still continuously passing runners, though somehow was still connected to my two friends from earlier in the luluemon tank and the yessir singlet. It was cool feeling those subtle threads of connection between myself and those two women as we forged ahead through packs of runners who had started 15 to 20 minutes before we had. I actually enjoy the section of the course leading into Wellesley College more than the college itself - there are lovely woods and some lovely downhill, and even the tiniest patch of shade was a welcome break from the sun. Since I was feeling strong and comfortable, it was a great spot to kind of put my head back down and find my rhythm again after those tougher miles in Natick. As we approached the scream tunnel, I looked up and started laughing as I laid eyes upon a man who was racing clad only in a speedo with a cat face on the butt, cat paw gloves, and cat ears. The Wellesley girls were goin absolutely wild for him, although, it should be noted that I'd heard that they had been strongly discouraged from doing any kissing due to the whole COVID thing, and I did not in fact see any illicit kissing going on - plenty of kisses being blown, however, and a couple of cute signs like "DON'T kiss me, that's gross". </p><p>As I crested the hill following the college, back into brilliant sunshine, towards the halfway point, I could hardly believe that I had already made it halfway! I said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever running gods had allowed me to get this far with not even a whisper of complaint from my hip. I crossed the mat at halfway in just under 1:35 which, thinking about it now is actually a beautiful throwback to my first race back after COVID last year, when I tried to PR in the half and ended up running 1:34 high. How many 1:34 all out half marathons have I run in my life? A lot, actually. It will never get old seeing a time that you know you've run giving everything in the middle of a longer race and know that you still have so much more to give. That being said, though every mile that I passed still feeling as good as I did felt like a massive victory, I knew that the likelihood of being able to maintain the pace through the hills was not great. I still felt wonderful, but there were just enough glimmers of fatigue along with a growing sense of needing to be very mindful of my hydration and salt status that I knew the second half of this race would be more difficult than the first. But the great part was, I was totally OK with that! When I picture this race in my mind, try to put myself back in those moments, the overwhelming memory I have is just of feeling so calm and joyful and just so at peace with literally anything that could happen. It just amazes me, even as I think about it weeks later, but it's something I know didn't just happen randomly. I've known for a long time that my mind holds me back more than my body a lot of the time, and one of the things I've been really working on over the past year is to figure out how to be mentally stronger in races. One thing that's been really helpful is to set my watch so I can only see the pace of the current mile, truly keeping myself focused only on the present moment. Another has been working on the way I talk to myself when I'm racing and the narrative I tell myself. I think in this race, because of my injury, all the expectations had been stripped away, there was no overarching goal, there was nothing but the moment I was in. </p><p>I sometimes have these moments in races that I can only describe as cinematic, where I can almost take a birds eye view and appreciate the absolute magic of what I'm doing, what my body and mind are allowing me to do, the beauty of the community of runners surrounding me, of the press of the crowd urging us on. As I ran through Wellesley, an extremely random song that I'd added to my playlist came on - it's from the Divergent movie score and the bronze medal women's figure skater at this year's Olympics used it as part of her long program, which was how I became aware of it. It starts slowly and builds to this really powerful, bombastic conclusion, and as it did so it felt like that music was meant for this moment, this driving beat and power urging me forward as I continued to weave forward through the crowds. I literally thought to myself <i>you're going to remember this moment</i>, and I do, I can close my eyes and feel the sun on my face, feel the joy radiating through me, the colors and background sounds of the crowd. The joy of being able to do this thing, the gratitude. Maybe it's cheesy when I write it out like that. Maybe the powerful moments of your life shouldn't be these athletic pursuits that don't really mean anything in the whole grand scheme of it all. But all I know is that moments like that one are the moments when I am most myself, when I am most alive - and isn't that the point of it all?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8a7H3bZNKQGdFA3adw26DzvDDlCvC-XcWIaSD7no7jUyCyZ1HeruzWm3C_GV63yV6a2ubulPkTzB6KzRf7ePfqQgvLVg9WCO7EYBzELP6HoDoBUvCFSDAWJg2fFM4Ja1KFoBTeW0r66eT8yRwtvKWSeWuZo9HwIZcB2Bu6BiI_8zD-mT2s4/s3599/1133364_312185274_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3599" data-original-width="2396" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8a7H3bZNKQGdFA3adw26DzvDDlCvC-XcWIaSD7no7jUyCyZ1HeruzWm3C_GV63yV6a2ubulPkTzB6KzRf7ePfqQgvLVg9WCO7EYBzELP6HoDoBUvCFSDAWJg2fFM4Ja1KFoBTeW0r66eT8yRwtvKWSeWuZo9HwIZcB2Bu6BiI_8zD-mT2s4/w266-h400/1133364_312185274_XLarge.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><p>Miles 14-21: 7:13, 7:16, 7:07 (big wellesley dowhill), 7:37, 7:44 (ass panther hill), 7:28, 7:41, 8:11 (heartbreak)</p><p>I kept running through Wellesley, still sort of in disbelief that I was still running as fast as I was, still having the energy to smile at the crowds, occasionally throwing out my hand for some high fives when I came close enough to either side of the course. I definitely found myself towards the middle of the road more often than I have in the past, and I think I spent at least SOME time on all sides of the course, just letting myself go wherever the mood struck me. When I'm having a bad race I sometimes find spectators frustrating, like their happiness just doesn't match my energy or I feel like I don't deserve what they're giving. Not this year. I so appreciated the spectators in Wellesley this year; not even anything specific about them but just the general ambiance, the sea of people, so bright, so many colors. It was SO bright - I only started racing in sunglasses a couple of years ago (I think triathlon was a factor haha) and I absolutely love it...I swear that not having to squint into the sun saves me energy, and I just feel like I can be hidden in my own little pain box haha. </p><p>I could definitely start to feel the fatigue creeping in, and could feel my mind trying to turn down the dark road of all the bad things that possibly could happen, but I managed to shut those thoughts down and replaced them with "it's just a long run! You're fine!" I shifted my attention to keeping the effort steady, keeping my shoulders relaxed, just letting myself roll down the road. I took another salted watermelon Gu just after the half and had definitely started to recognize that I was going to have to put some thought and effort to maintaining my hydration and electrolytes for the remainder of the race. I think it was somewhere in here that I saw some kids handing out cold sponges, and while I never got to the point of dumping a cup of water over my head in this race a cold sponge sounded AMAZING. I made a beeline across the course to them, just barely managing to grab one without slowing down. Again, let's recall that it was maybe 55 degrees, and we can laugh about what a heat intolerant runner I am. But squeezing the sponge over my head felt just amazing, a nice little shock to the senses. No regrets! I was still rolling through the wave 2 crowds, still feeling strong despite the fatigue.</p><p>I felt like I was sort of biding my time to get to the big Wellesley downhill, after which I knew the real work was going to begin. Right at the start of the hill, I found myself passing Adrienne Haslet who was running with Shalane Flanagan. Naturally, I elected to just SCREAM something that I felt was motivational in the moment but probably had them both thinking "who is this crazy woman" as I passed by and went flying down the hill. And when I say flying, I mean flying, because I held nothing back on the downhill this year. I let it all go, continuing to pass wave 2 victims who had gone out too fast. Now, as I write this a month later with the knowledge I have now, I can tell you that this downhill is probably the moment when I really screwed up my hip, because in this moment I can tell you that it's a month after this marathon and I STILL cannot run. But at the time? I felt some twinges on the downhill, sure, but I ignored them. That was a problem for some later version of me to deal with - right now I just wanted to fly. </p><p>The uphill over the highway is always a point where it feels like my soul leaves my body when I'm having a bad race and is more just an annoyance when I'm having a good one. This year, it was definitely more annoyance than devastation - honestly, the place where I felt my training paid off the most was on the hills, because I just felt so strong and capable on them, for lack of a better word. I knew that they would slow me down, but I would get up and over and move on with the race, and everything would be just fine. This calm little bubble that I managed to keep myself in for the duration was a fascinating place to be, mentally, and not something I've experienced much in my past races: just such utter certainty that I could do this, I would do this, and everything would be fine.</p><p>It was around this point where I became aware of the fact that the same amount of effort, which still felt absolutely appropriate, was not producing the same output in terms of pace. After the downhill my splits had gone from 7:15-20 to 7:30s. But again, my mental calm took over. <i>Your effort is perfect, </i>I reassured myself, <i>and anyway, you expected to slow down in the hills, right? Even effort, that's the key! 7:30s are the new 7:15s! It's all good. </i>I ran through the Maurten station, thinking about how I'd tried to take a Maurten gel on a long run and practically reflex puked it back up because in my opinion it has the consistency and flavor of snot dripping down your throat. That reminded me that I should take another one of the Gus that I actually did want to eat, which was the new salted lime flavor that I thought was absolutely delicious. I continued bopping along, sort of vaguely aware of my pace, and somehow completely lost control of my ability to do math and decided that I was pretty sure I was going to run around a 3:20. And here's the great part: I was EXCITED by that prospect. And maybe that's another one of the great things about Boston: I've had so many just...really, REALLY bad Bostons, like the absolute worst case scenario, that running even vaguely well sounded like a total victory. Because right now, the important thing was that I was running, I was feeling strong and happy, and I was <i>enjoying</i> it. I didn't care one bit what my finish time was going to be - I just wanted to keep feeling the way that I was feeling in this moment. As I rounded the corner at the firehouse, I had the most crystal clear thought: <i>If the 3:10 I ran in 2018 is the best marathon I ever run, I'm OK with that.</i></p><p>Now, sure, not exactly an "eye of the tiger" thought to be having when you are literally in the middle of a race! But it was really just like right there at that firehouse turn heading into the hills, for the first time in my running career, I felt at peace with the fact that I was just doing this because I <i>love </i>it, and if more PRs are out there that's great, but if not I'd be content to just have more days where I feel just like this. I felt completely free from the weight of any expectations - whatever I was doing, I knew it was enough. I know this doesn't sound like a great thing to think - like, why are you racing if you don't care how fast you run? But I think I am someone who defines myself so much by my achievements, working hard and getting the results I want, and always striving to be more (enneagram 3 in case anyone was wondering haha), there was so much magic in actually just being able to accept exactly where I was and what I was doing in this particular moment. I was running with joy, I was doing it for me. I had almost had this opportunity taken away and somehow my body was allowing me to do this thing, to experience this joy, to give it the best that I had. And <i>that </i>was the important thing. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckgm-Ey-2VDZmMMi4PSAVv0T91NmhOGoRJqzg30-FRTqyFXFYvur2GYM1CzqGvKVhBDbjg8toF7I3Tze__xH8DEWkTirJzF0YHEOmcC6nNiSv-xK82om76R5NR_nKq3dWlPhnCtdiwk2FR6uC0846USPnodV49FPSVo6oMpcMV5uOnRjFDl8/s3600/1133364_312318647_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckgm-Ey-2VDZmMMi4PSAVv0T91NmhOGoRJqzg30-FRTqyFXFYvur2GYM1CzqGvKVhBDbjg8toF7I3Tze__xH8DEWkTirJzF0YHEOmcC6nNiSv-xK82om76R5NR_nKq3dWlPhnCtdiwk2FR6uC0846USPnodV49FPSVo6oMpcMV5uOnRjFDl8/w266-h400/1133364_312318647_XLarge.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lol..apparently just lost in my own thoughts at the firehouse and not QUITE as happy as this guy</div><p>These were the thoughts in my mind as I headed up the first of the three Newton hills, "ass panther hill" as I always refer to it. It's a bear of a hill and was no less bearish today, but again, somehow despite the fact that I was absolutely starting to get tired and hill climbing was absolutely becoming something that my legs were no longer interested it, I was able to just put my head down and remind myself that I had the strength to do this, and on the other side of the hill was a downhill. I never had to walk in the race, never really had much of an urge to (I think it may have helped knowing in the back of my mind that if I had to walk, given my hip situation I probably wasn't going to be able to start running again lol). I knew that the hill was slowing me down, but I also knew that that was a very normal thing for a hill to do, and that it wasn't going to break me. I just kept forging ahead. </p><p>I had been scanning the crowds around here as I had a couple of friends who I knew had planned on being in the Newton hills. I never actually saw any of them, but I did have a really funny moment where I locked eyes with a random girl in a BC sweatshirt. "AUDREY?!!" she said. "OMG HIIIIII!" I squealed back to her, a girl I danced with many years ago and haven't seen since probably 2013. It was just a really random and amusing moment and seeing a face that I knew in the crowd was just so delightful! </p><p>We have now reached the part of the race report that I am writing literally MONTHS later, so most things are kind of a blur. I knew I had slowed down but I didn't feel like I was slowing down any <i>more</i> as I ran through the hills, and I was still gobbling up wave two bibs like it was my job. I always enjoy the slightly downhill stretch that comes between ass panther and the last two big hills, and this time was no exception - I felt like I could just lock in and groove, getting ready for the last two big hills, and picked the pace back up into the high 7:20s. Some great songs came on my playlist in this stretch including "Purple Hat" which was basically the theme song of our training group this year and also felt perfect at the time because its such a fun song, and I was running those Newton hills like the giant block party they were. </p><p>Again, while I was never truly uncomfortable from a heat perspective I was definitely warmer than I'd prefer (what I'd prefer is being cold haha). The sun was definitely beating in a legit way, so when I saw a woman on the left side of the course offering up freeze pops, I think somewhere on the second big hill, there was only one thing to do. I made a beeline for her, making direct eye contact so as not to have to stop. "Grape or pineapple?" she asked, offering both up. "OOH, PINEAPPLE!!!" I shouted, grabbing it as I ran by, and let me tell you that pineapple freeze pop tasted so fucking good. Like I guess what I really wanted in the moment was straight up cold sugar, no electrolytes, no fancy amino acid, just...pineapple flavored frozen sugar water. So good.</p><p>The hills were slowing me down, no doubt, but again, never in a way that felt insurmountable. It was different than the years when I've had just completely magic days at Boston where the hills never really felt hard, but it also wasn't like any of the meltdowns I've had in the past. Hard, but doable. Isn't that really what a marathon should be? And as I headed onto Heartbreak, I continued to have this feeling that despite the fact that this was most definitely not easy, it was still fun. It was still wonderful. I think I appreciated the crowds going up Heartbreak in a way I never have before - again, in the past I've either been SO zoned in as to barely notice or dying so badly as to not care. But today, as I ran up the hill, I noticed <i>everything - </i>the cowbells, the cheers, the massive Pioneer Run Crew group blasting music and absolutely losing their minds cheering, the runners surrounding me, the press of hands offering high fives, everything. It was my only mile of the day that clocked in over 8 minute pace, and sure, maybe that's not the most impressive mile I've ever run in a marathon...but I would argue that I just took a little extra time to fight the fatigue back and for once appreciate and enjoy this epic climb.</p><p>Right at the top of Heartbreak someone had the most AMAZING Wordle sign (ADIEU/HEART/BREAK/HILLS/SMILE which actually WORKS with the Wordle rules!) and I was so impressed and amazed and delighted that I SHRIEKED at the woman holding it "BEST SIGN EVER!" I had topped out now; I was all but home free. I absolutely knew that I was going to have to fight for the last few miles, but I felt the same way that I had all race: I knew that I was up for the fight.</p><p>Miles 22-Finish: 7:40, 7:39, 7:33, 7:37, 7:48, 6:51 pace for last 0.2</p><p>BC was a raucous blur, as always, highlighted by a guy who was literally shotgunning a beer in the middle of the race to the roar of the drunken college crowd. Again, I could feel some grumblings from my bad hip as I rolled the downhill, but I continued to tell myself that those grumblings needed to go into the "things to deal with later" box. We were too close now, only 5 miles standing in the way of finishing this thing against all odds. I spent the entire mile from BC to the reservoir thinking about how shitty I had felt so many times in this stretch - it was kind of comical having my brain conjure up all of these mental images of me shoveling part of a nuun tablet into my mouth, walking because I felt like vomiting, desperately careening towards a water table like a woman lost in the desert, while in this actual moment I still felt exactly like I had the whole time: strong and capable. It was really just like, oh, how lovely it is to be running this stretch and feeling GOOD!</p><p>As I ran the downhill stretch at Cleveland Circle, I could definitely feel my body beginning to revolt against the events of the day. My calves in particular were both making threatening "we want to seize up" sensations (I think maybe I need to do some more calf strengthening in my next marathon cycle? Because they seem to have been my weak link late in the race). I tried to avoid any sudden plantarflexion, keeping my stride as smooth and steady as I could. This long stretch on Beacon Street is so straight and because it's like 3.5 miles long kind of feels like it goes on forever. However, on the flip side, it's so long and straight that I feel like no matter where I'm at I can always find a way to lock into whatever pace is the pace of the moment and just dial it in and go. And that's exactly what I did - right back to mid 7:30s, cruising along, keeping the calves in check. With 3 miles to go I randomly decided that I wanted my extra Gu that I'd brought - I can't remember if I was most interested in the glucose, the electrolytes, or the caffeine, but regardless I was definitely reaching that point in the race where I was grasping for <i>anything</i> that would keep me moving through the last 5K. The Gu was a cold brew coffee flavor, which was delicious, but also had an oddly thicker consistency than any of the other Gu's I've tried, and I found myself laughing out loud as I attempted to kind of chew it. I felt like a cow with cud or something...but hey, it was still better than Maurten. </p><p><i>Keep moving forward, keep moving forward, keep moving forward - </i>the only refrain you can really ever have in the last 5K of a marathon. The die is cast at this point; barring some massive catastrophe (which to be fair CAN happen), you essentially know where you stand, and all you can do is keep holding on. I kept holding on. I threw some more high fives out into the crowd, I jammed to my music (Gas Pedal and Don't Look Down both came on in this stretch, which were solid choices - Gas Pedal in particular is a perfect beat for just putting your head down and rolling). I started to realized that the race was almost over, and as it always feels in my very best races, got a little sad that that was the case. Because despite the fatigue, despite my calves threatening to cramp, despite everything about the fact that mile 24 of a marathon feels like shit no matter who you are and how fit you are, I was still filled with so much joy, so much happiness, so much gratitude. It was everything I cherish about running; the whole reason I do this sport: to do this hard thing, to do it well, but to love it too.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwY6xHQJ7tLoRLERvR7g81XwhpHe06cfUu63GyF1imBxbEmZakQ8loZQKFmcHGDABjFE3R4RH94CgWb66MW_Sd94AiFNgB59vnRjKAgNEd8D6cy1YofiafRyHkh-qIIu_3WPf-ffZPr98DPxdWFx3PLHSLt2Lq1ABj7Sp8dBE4625H1SQdWE/s3600/1133364_311612378_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwY6xHQJ7tLoRLERvR7g81XwhpHe06cfUu63GyF1imBxbEmZakQ8loZQKFmcHGDABjFE3R4RH94CgWb66MW_Sd94AiFNgB59vnRjKAgNEd8D6cy1YofiafRyHkh-qIIu_3WPf-ffZPr98DPxdWFx3PLHSLt2Lq1ABj7Sp8dBE4625H1SQdWE/w266-h400/1133364_311612378_XLarge.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Circa mile 24: This is what it's all about</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Citgo sign came into view, and with it the knowledge of that one last hill over the overpass. I kind of laughed at this point because "Taking Care of Business" had now come on my playlist - a great song for the early miles of the race; not exactly what I was looking for for the last push to the finish line - but in a way, it was perfect. Because indeed, I was taking care of business. And just like every other hill on the course, when it came to the business of that last evil uphill, I just took it in stride, put my head down, and let the strength that I <i>knew</i> I had, that I'd built over these past several months, carry me through. Up and over the crest of the hill and down into Kenmore, and for the first time in miles I allowed myself a glance at my net time on my watch, finally let myself do some light mental math. Was I going to run...closer to 3:15 than 3:20? Was this a dream? And then suddenly, to make things even more perfect, the next song up on my playlist came on. The song is called "Freaks (Intro Mix)" and is a techno song that I once joked with Andrew makes me feel like I could run through a brick wall. When I ran my first race back after 2020, I had set up my playlist for it to be the last song, but then had accidentally ended up putting my playlist on shuffle. But here I was, the last mile of the most joyful Boston, and that song was here to help me power through. The last mile of Boston...I tell you, it doesn't matter whether I've had an amazing race, a terrible race, or something in between - the last mile of Boston is ALWAYS a struggle. That stupid underpass makes me want to die each and every time and this year was no exception, my calves increasing their threats of cramping, every muscle in my legs screaming at me that everything would be fine if I could just walk for just a second, pretty, pretty please. And from my mind and my heart I answered them with a resounding: NO. Not yet. Not with a thousand meters to go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfqrVScp6sFHaJ4wDDVIRdtlR5xZXJ4j5Ana8JdjcPnDhylzMwLIDZBSga0d5gb1ZHmmAJc6JmJPddFc-B7N-reJmDdp4xOX7UJO5p_JLjsyeUL7cJnB6xxfKwVuRfdm9Ba21IApz5gaBb64phZ3mkrfnTuSvoytDDKP9hWhKGu6ZXrrqGKjk/s3600/1133364_311364314_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfqrVScp6sFHaJ4wDDVIRdtlR5xZXJ4j5Ana8JdjcPnDhylzMwLIDZBSga0d5gb1ZHmmAJc6JmJPddFc-B7N-reJmDdp4xOX7UJO5p_JLjsyeUL7cJnB6xxfKwVuRfdm9Ba21IApz5gaBb64phZ3mkrfnTuSvoytDDKP9hWhKGu6ZXrrqGKjk/w266-h400/1133364_311364314_XLarge.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pain cave, this way</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgch4D8xp3x2LROTZ3Aoof43s3z5BsCrD67AKWnRqHBAn_JMTv-oln0vqKRhzpYulW-S4EzEoIE_kTHI6ZjotkiiNufdJaCAkDXbYB2Ljw57tvUS0uQwfAettOp5-ng6V2a1F0Iuj-DZOk-GeI8N19JUlwiNvs5mtPCtz_3VUzr4jWSrBIQICE/s3600/1133364_311433409_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2389" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgch4D8xp3x2LROTZ3Aoof43s3z5BsCrD67AKWnRqHBAn_JMTv-oln0vqKRhzpYulW-S4EzEoIE_kTHI6ZjotkiiNufdJaCAkDXbYB2Ljw57tvUS0uQwfAettOp5-ng6V2a1F0Iuj-DZOk-GeI8N19JUlwiNvs5mtPCtz_3VUzr4jWSrBIQICE/w265-h400/1133364_311433409_XLarge.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">AND YET...I'm smiling. Because I'm home. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Right on Hereford, left on Boylston, I've done it time and time again, and it never gets less special. Never. And today, on a day when I had truly had to let go of every expectation and hope I'd had through 5 months of training and just hope for the best, on a day where joy and love and running happy had been what managed to carry me through, on a day when we were FINALLY making this turn on Patriot's Day for the first time in 3 years, it was something even more. I'm home. Boston, this race, this course, this day, will always and forever be like coming home. I turned left, willing my legs on. Closer, closer, closer. The finish line arch always seems miles away, that last half mile or so on Boylston stretching on into eternity. Closer, closer. Hold on, hold on, hold on. As I got closer, I could finally make out the finish line clock, with a number on it so much lower than anything I'd ever hoped for when I woke up this morning. I have just passed the 26 mile mark, and the clock has just turned to 3:13. And suddenly I think - the 14 in my number, 14, my lucky number, my favorite number - I have the chance to run a 3:14. And I want that so much, want to wrap this perfect day up in an even more perfect bow, that I somehow find some last reserve of strength in my legs, some product of the months of speed workouts and loops on loops around Harvard Stadium and finding ways to get workouts in when there's still no indoor track to be found and forcing myself not to give up, to hang onto the backs of my faster teammates. And with the opening bars of "Come Back Home" playing in my ears, I summon the best kick I have ever found in a marathon, an absolute give-it-all-I-have, tunnel vision, legs churning all out kick. And when I cross the finish line, 3:14 still glowing on the clock, I burst into tears of complete and utter joy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6je0Gv3HZIA08R0UwFbUaFLc4hxaEbhS-sEjp-z7YZBC-fd3XFnP1IYHJ5BKJUv0GoPAduhlcH_UdOfLXBn1QmPzH6JLyWejTpB73WUg4v411vgQuFtUHeWjGXgPamVgZpWpUnHU7nylOd0dMcJgPRjOdjijB7VeDJGl267ylZwm31nyVIjI/s6192/1133364_311301072_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="6192" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6je0Gv3HZIA08R0UwFbUaFLc4hxaEbhS-sEjp-z7YZBC-fd3XFnP1IYHJ5BKJUv0GoPAduhlcH_UdOfLXBn1QmPzH6JLyWejTpB73WUg4v411vgQuFtUHeWjGXgPamVgZpWpUnHU7nylOd0dMcJgPRjOdjijB7VeDJGl267ylZwm31nyVIjI/w400-h266/1133364_311301072_XLarge.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I genuinely couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that my clearly injured body had allowed me to run the race I just had, couldn't believe the joy that I'd felt all along the way, couldn't believe the beauty of a 3:14. It was just so completely perfect in a way that surpasses a personal best. It's hard to even articulate the feeling other than to describe it as pure joy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And it's funny, I'm almost glad I'm writing this now, knowing what I now know (that as soon as I sat down to put on pants after the race and then stood up again my hip seized up in so much pain that I could barely walk, that I wouldn't be able to walk normally for a month+ and wouldn't be able to run for 2 months, that I would watch every bit of fitness I'd gained over the past year slip through my fingertips and into the abyss of injury). Because the past 2 months have made me ask the question so many times: <i>was it worth it? </i>And yeah, it's probably easier to say this now when I finally am moving towards a full recovery, can run again, am feeling like myself again. But taking myself back to this moment, this day, and revisiting that complete joy, something I've never felt in any of my previous 15 cracks at the distance, makes me feel like the only way I can answer that question is with a resounding "yes". It was worth it. I'd trade it all just to come back home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Boston Marathon 2022</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>3:14:38</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>6294/24822 OA, 832/10564 F, 652/4717 F18-39</b></div>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-81051267289595619472021-10-10T20:21:00.003-05:002021-10-10T20:21:17.790-05:00It was a magic day: Ironman Wisconsin 2021 Race Report<p>Trying to think of how to start this race report is almost impossible. Where do you begin when you accomplish this goal, something that was 2 years (but in a way, actually 15 years) in the making? Do you start when you signed up for the race, when you started training, when you toed the start line? How many decisions did you make along you way that brought you to this spot, this one moment, that's finally yours? And how do you even begin to try to capture that kind of moment in words? This sounds ridiculous, but I actually remember reading race reports from the Ironman I spectated back in 2006, back when blogging was popular, and thinking, wow, maybe one day I'll get to write one of these. Honestly, I kind of can't believe that now I'm actually writing this? It's maybe not the exact same as a childhood dream, but to sit here and be the person that I dreamed of being 15 years ago is truly incredible. I knew about Ironman Wisconsin before I knew about Boston, before I really even knew about marathons or road racing or any of the other things I've done and loved over the years. It's always been special to me before I ever had any inkling that it was something I could actually achieve, and maybe that's why this whole weekend just felt so emotional and special. I know blogging is dead but I hope that maybe someone somewhere will google "Ironman Wisconsin Race Report" and read this novel and feel the emotion and the power of doing this thing, just like I did, and maybe they'll do this crazy thing someday too. So, with that in mind, I'll do my best.</p><p>Since the day I stood in the rain spectating IMWI in 2006, I knew I wanted to do it someday. I've talked about this before - I was utterly drawn in from the very start. But as with so many things, it got put on the back burner for a long time. I learned and grew as a runner, finished grad school, moved to Boston, and over the years gave little thought to coming back to triathlon...until, in 2015, my coworker finished her first Ironman at IMWI. That little kernel of spark inside me flared once again. I remember being so enthralled hearing about her training, the race, wanting to soak it all in, but when push came to shove I just didn't feel ready to tackle it myself. But little by little, that spark became a flame. Finally, in 2019, I decided to take the plunge and sign up for a half iron tri, thinking that if I liked that, then maybe I would sign up for a full. Not only did I like it - I LOVED it - and I wasn't bad at it to boot. The race was on Sunday; when Ironman Wisconsin registration opened on Monday, I pulled the trigger. 2020 was going to be the year.</p><p>Of course, we all know how 2020 turned out.</p><p>So I did a solo Ironman, which was truly amazing and gave me the confidence that I could do the distance, but still lacked what I had always been truly dreaming of which was so specifically Ironman Wisconsin. The run up the helix in transition, the 3 bitch hills on the bike course, the run through campus and Camp Randall, the finish at the capitol - it was all those things, not solely the Ironman in and of itself, that I'd had on a pedestal in my mind. But 2021 was finally going to be the year. And so I trained. I knew I wanted to get stronger on the bike so I rode my ass off, rode hills, really tried to put in the work on the bike. I didn't follow a plan, didn't have a coach (these are things that multiple people have told me is shocking/unusual?) but knew what putting in the work felt like, and I did, all with the goal of getting to have the Ironman Wisconsin experience that I'd always dreamed of. The race is moving to June next year (and it seems its future is unclear after that), so this could truly be my last chance to have that EXACT Ironman I dreamed of. I wanted to soak in every moment, and to really make it count, while also hopefully performing the way I knew that I was capable of. And, if you want to skip the extremely long story I'll tell you this: I did all that, and then some. </p><p>SO, we begin with the leadup to the race. I spent my entire Labor Day packing, making lists upon lists, and putting everything in its individual bags for each transition, special needs, etc. When all was said and done I had an entire carry on suitcase filled ONLY with things for the tri, in addition to a large suitcase full of normal life stuff. Packing was also the first time that it really kind of dawned on me that the race was actually happening, and this was all real. When you're so deep into training that all you can see is the next workout in front of you, it's almost easy to forget what you're even doing it FOR; the end result just seems impossibly far away. But here I was, actually making a checklist and a spectator guide for the actual Ironman that I was actually going to do.</p><p>We flew out Thursday morning to Milwaukee; it was an absolute delight when I was aimlessly letting my eyes wander around the terminal while waiting to board when they spotted a guy in an Ironman shirt...it was my training buddy, John! He's an experienced triathlete and his guidance has been invaluable throughout this training cycle (my other newbie Ironman friend and I call him our "triathlon dad") and being on the same flight just felt like good vibes to begin the weekend. I had also elected to splurge on first class tickets due to a combination of COVID (not wanting to have to sit next to some rando who wouldn't wear a mask) and just feeling like I should give myself the <i>experience</i> haha, but it turned out to be pretty great - the more attentive service during the flight meant I did a much better job of staying hydrated than I otherwise would, and having the extra legroom to stretch out was also very helpful. I also got to watch the 5K fun run episode of the Office, which also felt like a perfect way to pass the time. We had a brief layover in Detroit, and then boarded our short puddle jumper and arrived in Milwaukee on time with zero travel issues. Leg one, check!</p><p>We spent the rest of the day bopping around with my mom in Tosa, which was actually really a nice way to relax and take my mind off some of the nerves. I went for a run in my old stomping grounds, which I haven't done in ages, and we hit up a local beer garden on a really beautiful night. At the beer garden we happened to run into a high school friend of my sister's and her husband, and my mom started making small talk with them. As it turned out, her husband had done IMWI 3 times! He asked how I felt about the race, and I had mentioned that I was nervous about the bike. "Oh, the bike is the best part," he said. "It's so much fun. The fans are so crazy you hardly even notice the hills." FUN! That was really just exactly what I needed to hear. Just another perfect development at just the right moment. We cooked out at my childhood house, had maybe a couple more beers than was strictly necessary, and ended the night by interpretively reading aloud form some of my childhood journals...definitely entertaining, and almost made me forget what the weekend ahead would bring. </p><p>Friday was a beautiful day, and we headed up to Madison so that I could get through athlete check in relatively early. As soon as the capitol came into view, I felt the nerves and emotion start to build. Was I really here? Was this real life? Friends and family weren't allowed in athlete check in so I was flying solo as I walked towards Monona Terrace, and at long last, under the arch that read "Ironman Village". (If we're keeping score here of times I cried during the weekend: #1!). We wound our way through Monona Terrace, stopping at various checkpoints along the way. I spastically offered one volunteer my MBTA Charlie Card instead of my ID (lol), I was given my chip, and then I made my way downstairs to number pick up. </p><p>Here is one of the ridiculous things I have such a vivid memory of when I was a student: walking around downtown and seeing the Ironman athletes with their wristbands that denote an athlete competing in the race, and thinking "holy shit, they look like just a normal person walking around but they are doing an IRONMAN tomorrow". So, as you can imagine, having the volunteer putting one on my wrist and suddenly <i>being</i> a person with a wristband, a person who is doing an Ironman this weekend, was a lot. I rode up the escalator to the "expo" area basically just staring at my arm, wanting to pinch myself. It's real. It's real. It's really real.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEincdkR58BvzsowU9FjFYQNo_V9ulOF_ra3K2Iu2NsrfXiZk4HBZ2mKPkCySkSt90nH14FCflLcNw-Saz1GWYNXPBpN90fd6sNwVwJrgSdLe26pTkCLn4GT6uPxXq_MB53qTlrJDA/s4032/20210910_101347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEincdkR58BvzsowU9FjFYQNo_V9ulOF_ra3K2Iu2NsrfXiZk4HBZ2mKPkCySkSt90nH14FCflLcNw-Saz1GWYNXPBpN90fd6sNwVwJrgSdLe26pTkCLn4GT6uPxXq_MB53qTlrJDA/w480-h640/20210910_101347.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Is this real life? </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuVHnPw4TYPmSx5t0SUo1WJYwhUGgkghDXufcgRVMzTv7BZeVHce2F4YFCkhN_n-CfjM_VdLDAdMGAyOF3DP1MSDI_AKR4wc8kjT2O7bbCn9dDgtJJDh0GJ7jgAvMyv3o_3nsZw/s3648/20210910_103034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuVHnPw4TYPmSx5t0SUo1WJYwhUGgkghDXufcgRVMzTv7BZeVHce2F4YFCkhN_n-CfjM_VdLDAdMGAyOF3DP1MSDI_AKR4wc8kjT2O7bbCn9dDgtJJDh0GJ7jgAvMyv3o_3nsZw/w480-h640/20210910_103034.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Utter excitement</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJvPnSoCFaPeZfNM7s8NjB2qDeqT_U_d_cm8KtPlT6OEPyChv4qGBgBbLjcPZSOT0NN0SdiY4N-h-9_YPO6udWUMcO3XpnSrPx28CpNg9B3fvLPJb4LfxA7UxeJztLKYI6VARug/s4032/20210910_103903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJvPnSoCFaPeZfNM7s8NjB2qDeqT_U_d_cm8KtPlT6OEPyChv4qGBgBbLjcPZSOT0NN0SdiY4N-h-9_YPO6udWUMcO3XpnSrPx28CpNg9B3fvLPJb4LfxA7UxeJztLKYI6VARug/w480-h640/20210910_103903.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pretty much spent the entire weekend in disbelief that I was actually here</div><p>I wandered around the store and basically bought anything that caught my eye with no regard for how much it might cost...yolo, am I right? Then I went up to the top of the terrace and took a few pictures, looking out at the lake again just in disbelief that I was finally here, the swim buoys were really going up, that this was all really happening. I think because of everything in the past 2 years with COVID, and then recently with Delta becoming more of a concern, all the way up until the race weekend I just had this underlying anxiety that something was going to happen - it was going to get cancelled, Andrew was going to get sick - and that it wouldn't happen. So I truly spent the entire weekend just lost in a sea of gratitude and joy that it WAS happening. This wasn't a dream, it was real.</p><p>I "invited" aka forced my mom to take me on a driving tour of the bike course, not because that's a totally necessary thing to do (everyone told me it wasn't), but because I needed to see the damn thing for myself to decide if my anxieties about the course were founded or not. I haven't been writing a ton on here in training, but to say that I was nervous about the Wisconsin bike course would be an extreme understatement. ALL I had heard was that it was super hilly, unrelenting, never gave you much back in the downhill, and involved a ton of turns. John and Gwen had both reassured me that it was a course that would most likely play to my strengths as a cyclists (strong climber, not a strong descender, mediocre on the flats) but I just....didn't believe them? Driving the course was somewhat stressful in itself as I essentially had to be a human GPS through a zillion turns while also trying to pay attention to the course, aka the whole point of the drive. I definitely had a sense of which sections of the course were going to be more challenging for me, especially in the second loop. Finally, we arrived at the "3 Bitches", aka the 3 fabled hills of the Wisconsin course. I have known about these hills since 2006, when I went on an adventure googling race reports after the race because I was just desperate to know more about this nutty thing people were doing right in my backyard. We went up the first, Old Sauk Pass. ....<i>that was it? </i>OK, the next one is supposed to be the steeper one. We drove up Timber Lane. ...<i>that was it? </i>Then there's a long reprieve with some downhill before the last bitch on Midtown Road. <i>OK...I guess I can see how this one might pack a little punch...but....that was it??</i> My mom was looking at me like I was crazy as I basically laughed out loud. Finally, I believed what everyone had told me: I trained in the big hills of New England and the mountains of New Hampshire. The hills of Wisconsin didn't need to scare me.</p><p>Back in Madison, we hit up Lucille, a great local pizza place, for lunch, where I continued my carb loading with some pepperoni and mushroom pizza and a gose from local brewery Young Blood. It was a beautiful day for eating outdoors, and while I still had a bunch of items to check off my list I felt my anxiety subsiding. We got checked into the hotel, and then I headed off to go pick up my bike from TriBike transport and go out for a shakeout ride. Unfortunately, after walking almost all the way down to the lake path, I realized I'd forgotten my pedals (which they don't ship with the bike) and had to go back and get them. First of SO MANY walks from the hotel around the capitol square, check. It worked out OK in the end, because on my way back across the square I crossed paths with an older woman who was also racing. I helped direct her to check in and we made small talk - she had done several Ironmans, and I told her this was my first, and I was just so excited that it was finally happening. "Oh, I can tell!" she said. "You seem like you're so happy to be here!" We wished each other luck and parted ways, and I went off to be reunited with Bahamut!! It had been over a week since I'd dropped him off, and I was so happy to see him again. My little 2014 road bike, sitting in a rack full of fancy tri bikes, and I couldn't care less - I was so happy to have my bike back. The guy got my pedals on and off I went for a little 40 minute shakeout ride! I wasn't exactly sure where I should go but my internal GPS ended up sending me off to the perfect place - a bike path where I used to do long runs, leading to the Madison arb. It was such a perfect little ride, complete with views of Monona Terrace, a little gear check on the hill climbing back up to the capitol, and finding a heads up penny on the ground on the square while waiting at a light! </p><p>I got Bahamut back into the hotel room and then began the process of transferring all of my stuff for the race from my prepacked bags to the official race bags. Obviously this required MORE checklists, double checking, and eventually a trip out to Walgreens to pick up the miscellaneous food items I still needed (combos, teddy grahams, and a candy bar....#nutrition #so professional lol). It definitely took longer than expected but I eventually felt like I had my life somewhat together, and it was getting late so we needed to find dinner. As you'd expect it was not exactly EASY to locate some pasta on a Friday night in a college town that is hosting an Ironman, but we ended up snagging a table at Cento and it was delicious. Great bread, octopus. an incredibly rich and delicious pasta with short rib, and sorbet to end the evening (oh and a spritz and a Spotted Cow...in case you were wondering if I am a teetotaler before races that is a hard NOPE.) Full and happy, we wandered back to the hotel and fell asleep to the bass of the "Mad Lit" event occurring on State Street (LOL), Bahamut snuggled up by the wall next to the bed. Just a girl and her two men hahaha. It was actually a little strange, because Friday felt SO much like the day right before a race that it was almost hard to believe that the ACTUAL day before the race was still to come. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXjWSroQ1i2AAZaJOPNOB_wezxfwAYF-ypARx68NuQXCuFRnezdDAmnLv77qT_msFuBLLLXbozuYYqN4xWJj6qy_-ANAmPIxTUMwodsAwmg7X116PfrphziXHCXm8Dt5f4nAJYA/s4032/20210910_213720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXjWSroQ1i2AAZaJOPNOB_wezxfwAYF-ypARx68NuQXCuFRnezdDAmnLv77qT_msFuBLLLXbozuYYqN4xWJj6qy_-ANAmPIxTUMwodsAwmg7X116PfrphziXHCXm8Dt5f4nAJYA/w640-h480/20210910_213720.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"You've never slept this close to your bike, have you?" - Andrew</div><br /><p>Saturday was a pretty full day as well, beginning with a quick stroll around the early hours of the Capitol farmer's market. I bought some cheese (duh); felt like I should probably buy something to eat but the nervous stomach feeling was in full force by this point, making it really hard to WANT to eat. I then headed down to the swim start to do a quick 20 minute shakeout swim. All I could think as I was swimming was "this lake has GOOD vibes". It's not the most crystal clear lake, it may smell fishy at points, but the water was cool and smooth and the view back to Monona Terrace was glorious. I swam out to the 3rd buoy and then paused, just floating, gazing at the terrace and envisioning it full of people the next day. Swimming has been such an unexpected joy for me in this whole triathlon thing - sometimes the logistics of it are a pain in the ass, but I really do feel absolutely peaceful and happy in the water (we will revisit why this is a VERY good thing when we get to race day!) I was reluctant to leave the calm, lovely water on such a beautiful day but alas, swimming for an hour the day before a race is generally frowned upon. I mean, I think it is, anyway. It's not like I'm following anyone's rules or advice, so who even knows! 😂</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLN2LTzvYvIxYZyUno1A9bUcNJF-51JQt2-lCG-tlkYpcYZ4ihKqOqEDZpCTEQ67IOD5Vm0ygq93vAEr3lV9E6sg355MT7i1roICWt2oNoiTrCbu8fpQYLWsWRQ6oqE-0RgRhJw/s4032/20210911_084449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLN2LTzvYvIxYZyUno1A9bUcNJF-51JQt2-lCG-tlkYpcYZ4ihKqOqEDZpCTEQ67IOD5Vm0ygq93vAEr3lV9E6sg355MT7i1roICWt2oNoiTrCbu8fpQYLWsWRQ6oqE-0RgRhJw/w480-h640/20210911_084449.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Made Andrew take a dumb post shakeout swim pic LOL</div><p>Andrew headed off to go meet up with his sister at the botanical garden, and I headed back to the hotel (think we are now at walk #6 around the capitol) to change and head out for a shakeout run. On the way, I ran across the IronKids race going on around the square, and HAD to stop and clap for the little kids...it was the cutest thing. They were all BEAMING as we cheered them on around the capitol - except for the couple who were crying, haha - but it was just really really sweet.</p><p>The 20 minute shakeout run is one of my favorite prerace traditions - I'm sure it does nothing either for or against my race performance, but there is something so joyful about spending 20 minutes running, always listening to a playlist of songs that have come to represent the training cycle, and just thinking about all of the work that's gone into the race the next day. It always puts me in a really good place mentally and eases some of the anxiety (even if John was like "who told you to run today? Aren't we supposed to be resting?" Uhh...my coach told me...aka myself lol). I ran down State Street and onto the Lakeshore path, envisioning how I'd feel there the next day. I was grinning as I ran back up towards the hotel, feeling like I held this secret - today, I look like just another runner, but tomorrow, I will be an Ironman. </p><p>Back to the hotel again, and then BACK to the terrace for bike and gear bag check in. I got really anxious during this part of the day just because there were so many moving parts and I felt like I had to rush for some reason (I did not). I found my bike rack spot, which I actually LOVED - it was right under one of two pedestrian bridges, so easy to locate in the heat of the moment, plus sheltered from any overnight rain that might show up! As always, when I walk through transition with Bahamut, my elderly road bike, and I look around at all the $6000+ triathlon bikes with their disc wheels and fancy hydration systems, I get a little bit of impostor syndrome, but I think that the work I've put in on the bike this summer is finally paying off in confidence if nothing else, because as I walked along the parking lot of Monona Terrace instead of having doubts about whether I belonged here, my overwhelming feeling was: I DO belong, and I can't wait to show these people on their fancy bikes what these legs on a roadie can do.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6DuSlaNZOZCRsEonWkVwIAwz3JxXPX0Sz6E07nw0rLmsyUMOT0hClS5Yz1WPgLBWvk_L-HGq7vuJr6n7mlpXXnGhbtOUuuqtguEIicKBbOIuVFZOmHiy5EUu0Mlm0jKYphqy9g/s3648/20210911_104121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6DuSlaNZOZCRsEonWkVwIAwz3JxXPX0Sz6E07nw0rLmsyUMOT0hClS5Yz1WPgLBWvk_L-HGq7vuJr6n7mlpXXnGhbtOUuuqtguEIicKBbOIuVFZOmHiy5EUu0Mlm0jKYphqy9g/w480-h640/20210911_104121.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Racked and ready!</div><p>With Bahamut safely racked for the night, I proceeded to get my bike and run transition bags checked in, making note of where they were in the lines of thousands of bags, and then I decided to do a walk through of the swim to bike transition. It's a LONG journey from the beach up the helix and through transition, but knowing the lay of the land once again helped ease my nerves. FINALLY, I was done with all of the race day logistics. I went to Ancora to grab an iced coffee, then bought a massive scone and a bag of cheese curds at the farmer's marked and proceeded to spend the next hour or so sitting in the shade on the capitol lawn, people watching and browsing the internet. I wouldn't say I was able to TOTALLY achieve relaxation, but it was good to be off my feet and know that everything was in its right place for the next day.</p><p>I reconvened with Andrew back at the hotel and we then headed to the prerace briefing which mostly included information I already knew, but was still good to hear again. I also got BIT BY ANTS while sitting on a curb listening...like, the people on the bleachers across from me were probably like why is that girl putting her hands in her pants as I reached up my shorts and flung out a fire ant that was biting my butt...like what even lol. For lunch we went back to Ancora (we're now on walk around the capitol #10 or 11 lol). Turkey club and some breakfast potatoes hit the spot! Again, I was at that point of nerves where eating did not sound good at all, so I kept just trying to find things that sounded very appealing and making myself eat them because I knew I needed to be loading up on carbs as much as possible, and definitely did not want to be undereating 2 days out from the race. I was also trying to stay hydrated particularly because it hit nearly 90 degrees in Madison on Saturday - I was SO GRATEFUL that the race was on Sunday!!</p><p>Now we were ACTUALLY done with all of the logistical stuff, so we headed back to the hotel to chill for awhile. I attempted to read but unsurprisingly just ended up meandering around on the internet while some random college football played in the background. We had actually arranged to meet up with Andrew's family at his aunt's house for a spaghetti dinner (per my request of course) which was REALLY lovely - I got to meet our nephew who just turned 1 and see some of his family who I haven't seen in ages. It worked like a charm to make me forget about what I was doing the next day - amazing how making small talk with the in laws will do that! In all seriousness I love Andrew's family, and the meal was delicious, even including homemade sourdough bread and fantastic brownies for dessert. Everyone was obviously asking me about the race with varying levels of knowledge ranging from one aunt who may or may not have known what an Ironman was to my brother in law who works for Trek and most DEFINITELY knows. But we were able to talk about other things too (and of course the baby stole the show, as babies always do), and all in all it was an extremely enjoyable way to spend a pre-race eve...definitely far superior to trying to hunt down a restaurant! I think I'm team air bnb/find a way to cook your own prerace meal for life after this year. </p><p>We headed back to the hotel around 7 and there wasn't much left to do but wait. We turned on the Badger game, I drank my customary prerace beer (Working Draft Brewing Future Tense, definitely a good choice), painted my nails, and read over my race plan one last time. The lights of the capitol glowed outside the window as I shut the lights off at 9:30. One more sleep until Iron Day.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7nerXqbL6Qt7kgb1po9VjTLlpABQhA6oEXSIvkvHOaZDEbNeDcTMJSlr95MJiMmiboTPpmMQ0eaiscqJpfqVz9w9Qf4vU22mEzKfWyiPJ5aq0oBdLxrgxYovt-QhkGWEiGaPyg/s1600/IMG_2359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7nerXqbL6Qt7kgb1po9VjTLlpABQhA6oEXSIvkvHOaZDEbNeDcTMJSlr95MJiMmiboTPpmMQ0eaiscqJpfqVz9w9Qf4vU22mEzKfWyiPJ5aq0oBdLxrgxYovt-QhkGWEiGaPyg/w480-h640/IMG_2359.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Joy made our dogs wear good luck signs and it was my favorite thing</div><p><i>Race Morning</i></p><p>4:30 am. The guitar riff of Thunderstruck starts to play. I may have used it as the reception entry song at my wedding, yes, but to me this song will always signify one thing: Race Day. Or today: Iron Day. I always wait for the last THUNDER before the verse begins to get out of bed, and then I was up, trying to take stock of all the things that needed to happen in the next hour before leaving for transition. And...I was almost immediately thrown into a tailspin, because my legs felt AWFUL. My right anterior tib was sore, my calves felt tight, but more than that my legs just felt shaky and weak. I was way too hungry. Fuck. Key decision number one of the day: actively choosing not to freak out about this. I held down my panic, ate a banana, quickly got dressed in my base layer of tri shorts and sports bra and my morning warm clothes, and went down to the lobby, where the Madison Concourse was absolutely AMAZING and had a breakfast bar going from 3:30 on to cater to the athletes...like, seriously, how wonderful is that? I got my bagel and iced coffee and made my way back up to the room, all the while sort of shaking my legs and just wondering what I could do to make them feel less bad. </p><p>By the time I got back to the room Andrew was rustling around, so I felt less bad about putting on my playlist of power songs while I braided my hair and began the monumental task of forcing a dry bagel with cream cheese gradually down my throat. The music and the calories definitely unlocked a bit of the nerves coiled around my stomach, and I had a little dance party to "good for u" (don't ask how that became a power song, we're not gonna worry about it). It was fine, it was fine, it was fine. Race braid done, bags checked and double checked, I still had a few more moments before we needed to leave and I decided that before I walked out into this morning, into this Iron day, I needed to take a moment to remind myself what I was really doing here. I put my legs up the wall, closed my eyes, and listed to this track - I don't know whether to call it a song or a poem or an inspirational speech or what - and took myself to the place I needed to go. It's something that since the first time I heard it has always immediately feel this sense of: I'm doing something big. This is real. I've made it. <i>The thing about time, is that it comes and goes. Tomorrow will make today a distant memory, and as quick as you were here, you'll be gone. </i>All it took was the opening bars, the opening words, and I felt tears welling up behind my eyes. <i>What's in front of you is an opportunity to make right now something you'll never forget. </i>Right now. Today. Today is the day. <i>Gone are the insecurities, the doubt, the disbelief...this day is YOURS. </i>Today, I was going to be the person that my 19 year old self had looked at with awe and a little bit of longing. I was going to be Iron. <i>This is your day. It will not disappear with time; it will live on. You have EARNED today - go make sure the world knows. </i>You have EARNED today. I whispered it again, like an echo, like a prayer. To even be in a place to toe the start line of an Ironman is something you earn, through training and learning and sweat and exhaustion, through figuring out how the hell to use gears on a bike and weeping during a trainer ride, convinced you can't go on, through running up mountains in the humidity of summer and telling your coworkers, no, you can't actually go to happy hour, because you have training to do. And it's not only you - it's those same coworkers, your friends, your training partners, your family - the ones who put up with you when you have nothing left to give outside of your pursuit of this quest that they may or may not even understand. You have EARNED today. When I opened my eyes again, I felt ready to face whatever the day would bring. </p><p>We walked out of the hotel into the quiet of the morning, hazy and still. The air was like a blanket, dashing any hopes I had for a fall-like morning, and certainly not decreasing the anxiety I was already feeling. But the glow of the capitol was a comforting presence, beckoning towards the starting line. I dropped off my special needs bags in the designated area and it was onward into the village, into transition, and into the overwhelming flurry of activity that awaits on race morning. This was the largest triathlon I've ever done by a factor of about 10, and the utter chaos of Monona Terrace at 5:45 am on Iron morning was enough to be fairly overwhelming. Athletes, their fans and supporters, race volunteers and officials roamed everywhere under the glow of the parking lot lights, the sound of thousands of people asking where they were going or wishing each other luck or cursing out loud wondering where they put that other bag of chews loud enough to sound like a dull roar. The anxiety coiled in my stomach threatened to consume me. "Stay here, I'm going to do my shit." I practically threw my wetsuit bag at Andrew and ran away into the scrum, trying to find somewhere where I could just breathe for a second. I got my bottles loaded onto Bahamut, pumped up the tires (a note: I literally know nothing about what tire pressures should be but I had someone tell me 100 was too high and I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that slightly lower pressure was better on rough roads SO I went with something like 92 and let me tell you it worked like a charm) and gave him a little good luck pat, then made several trips back and forth to my bike and run bags to unwrap my nutrition (missed several, as we'll see), fill bottles, and remind myself of where the bags were located. Shockingly given my level of nerves I only used the porta potty once and I will say it was the shortest porta potty line I've waited in at any race, ever...perks of literally unlimited opportunities to pee during the first hour of the race, I guess? </p><p>I eventually realized that checking and double checking and procrastinating wasn't actually helping my anxiety at all, so I made my way back to Andrew just in time to hear an exchange between to athletes nearby: "How ya feelin'?" "Like I want to VOMIT". Could I ever relate to the second girl. The anxiety ball in my stomach was taking me for a ride. OK, I just needed to do something. Action overcomes anxiety, or however the saying goes. I threw some different stuff into Andrew's arms before leading him gamely down the helix, like a pet goat or something. (Seriously, I need to take a moment to say that my husband is a saint and a hero. That man has kept me sane and fed throughout this entire training nonsense and then spent the entire weekend following me around, catering to my whims no matter how ridiculous, and keeping my head on my shoulders when it was threatening to go whirling away into the stratosphere. Andrew, I love you.) </p><p>Up until this point my primary emotion had just been fear? anxiety? nerves? But as we walked down the helix and I looked over the mass of athletes streaming towards the start line, the sun just starting to rise, I felt a welling of something else. It dawned on me why the mass of humans at transition had been so jarring: this was by FAR the largest event of any type I'd been at since March of 2020, and we were all here doing this race. We had all put in the work to make it here, to this starting line and this moment, despite what undoubtably had been a challenging past 2 years for every single person there. Each and every person at that start line had a story and a reason to be here, and we were going to start this race, this utterly impossible ridiculous thing, together. </p><p>Maybe that was the stimulus for the fact that when I reached the bottom of the helix and there was a volunteer yelling that friends and family could not go any further, that it was athletes only beyond this point, and I realized that I had to leave Andrew and ACTUALLY GO DO AN IRONMAN, I very abruptly BURST INTO TEARS. It was surprising hahaha. Like the good husband he is, Andrew gave me a hug and then patted me on the back with a little shooing motion. "Go! Go do the thing!" I relinquished my gear bag, took a deep breath, and then stepped out of the parking ramp and into the sea of athletes.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLzIiqAAD4GpNTu1ArYfpKMA1lDlwlRTINsxwT661pwz3T6rjFG3IIZQk4IiI5WcDken9wYEedtr8mngKAA0uq_9DFcj0RSCc5kk8IE_JccHzT9fp-q7V0WaRrg3lmtdn7eylvA/s3648/20210912_061411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLzIiqAAD4GpNTu1ArYfpKMA1lDlwlRTINsxwT661pwz3T6rjFG3IIZQk4IiI5WcDken9wYEedtr8mngKAA0uq_9DFcj0RSCc5kk8IE_JccHzT9fp-q7V0WaRrg3lmtdn7eylvA/w480-h640/20210912_061411.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Live shot of me after bursting into tears. Wearing the No Mercy No Limits shirt, obviously. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn5C5Cet1dxL-ofbeBUf2gApFirtQeBIY9O6OMO2zEo9bNJ8_2r7TzxNDTI1B9Ax-FRmJvbrIv1cxW2EJg5RYx6F5564EcT19vMhEKhuEa8bGNWMsM1ryX5FPdPlRbRz1QZ8u1_w/s4608/20210912_061024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn5C5Cet1dxL-ofbeBUf2gApFirtQeBIY9O6OMO2zEo9bNJ8_2r7TzxNDTI1B9Ax-FRmJvbrIv1cxW2EJg5RYx6F5564EcT19vMhEKhuEa8bGNWMsM1ryX5FPdPlRbRz1QZ8u1_w/w480-h640/20210912_061024.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Iron Morning.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbqTP2YNQeiRH2ulr_CmFA9AWkoSOWosBBm0k4r13ZMdOoTCcQhtn6HIDqyIcBKgX_itYrpxkAsBGiWj0hUswvKQHS_Pn0GASjIXgHF2yGRNIj7ERyPfUUoovEstzmma8ljFl7A/s4032/20210912_060049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbqTP2YNQeiRH2ulr_CmFA9AWkoSOWosBBm0k4r13ZMdOoTCcQhtn6HIDqyIcBKgX_itYrpxkAsBGiWj0hUswvKQHS_Pn0GASjIXgHF2yGRNIj7ERyPfUUoovEstzmma8ljFl7A/w480-h640/20210912_060049.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This sign was absolutely the perfect thing to see in the morning. "For fun biking!" </div><p>I knew I needed to fuel a bit more in addition to my customary Gu for a race of this length, so I ate most of a Skratch rice krispie bar. I no longer had water, which was unfortunate - note to self, bring a disposable bottle for the future! Oh well. The corrals were already getting packed and I decided that with 20 minutes to go until the cannon it probably made sense to just get in there and find a spot. I had to make my way in from the back, all the way up to somewhere that I presumed was around 1:20. In fact, some guy next to me asked "Is this 1:20?" and I kind of shrugged and was like, I don't know, that's where I'm seeding myself so hope so! I scooted through trying to find people who looked like they would swim like me. There were SO few women - I felt like a total outlier in the sea of green caps! Ladies, where are you, and why is more than 2/3 of this race men? </p><p>I had the bottom of my wetsuit on but had been waiting to put the top on because it was honestly muggy out (like 70 and humid at the start) and I didn't feel like sweating inside the suit was a great way to warm up for the race. About 6:35 I decided it was probably time to suit up, checking multiple times to make sure the sleeves were pulled up as high as they could go since I never seem to get the right one on correctly and it makes my shoulder feel like crap. It's so rare for me to do a race completely on my own, and everyone near me seemed to be with friends or training partners - it was weird to feel lonely standing in the middle of 2000 people! Finally, I decided to befriend the 50 something men standing near me (the eternal racing partners of the age grouper 30 something female lol). They were very nice, especially when I mentioned it was my first full, which was extremely helpful because as the minutes ticked down I was starting to feel more and more like I was going to collapse into a puddle of anxiety, only a wetsuit and goggles left behind. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJU16Hu9rE9xPVNZfIhTx494hPEt3GshfoYBUAcNhHfZ5MzYnPdRNmfjWlyolnARZZ-ddqdCnDnOUQx9v7UxRu0_YfSepowDsnA98lvmE6c_QaiwzExT9ClUrz4m5j54GssI3t2Q/s960/FB_IMG_1631550077418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJU16Hu9rE9xPVNZfIhTx494hPEt3GshfoYBUAcNhHfZ5MzYnPdRNmfjWlyolnARZZ-ddqdCnDnOUQx9v7UxRu0_YfSepowDsnA98lvmE6c_QaiwzExT9ClUrz4m5j54GssI3t2Q/w640-h480/FB_IMG_1631550077418.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Swim corral chaos. Where are all the pink caps?</div><p>There were some prerace announcements, with Mike Reilly asking "Who's gonna be an Ironman today?" with an absolute roar in response, and then came the national anthem. And oh my. I've explained how I feel about the national anthem at races, especially post COVID. There's just something special about the calm and the quiet and the possibility that moment holds. 1900 of us stood there on the cusp of an Ironman, and the anthem began - one singer at first. And then gradually: more and more voices add on, quietly at first, and then louder, until there are 1900 athletes singing together, standing together, here and having the opportunity to do this thing together, and I was crying then and I'm crying now because it was just breathtakingly beautiful. There was such an unspoken bond between us that in this moment was tangible. We were here. We got to do this. Together. I was so unbelievably grateful, for this moment, for all of the moments that brought me here, and the moments that would make up the rest of this magic day. </p><p>I wasn't the only one wiping my eyes as the anthem concluded, chiding myself that I needed to stop crying because I needed to put on my goggles and crying in my goggles was not going to help with my sighting. And then: BOOM! The cannon fired (first Mount Washington and now this, do all of my favorite races start with cannons?) and the pack began to move. The race start was a rolling start so I figured I had a few minutes before I'd actually cross the line. As we started to shuffle forward I was aimlessly scanning around and suddenly laid eyes on my MOM in the crowd! I managed to catch her eye and gave a big grin and a waver before continuing onward. Closer and closer we came. The sound system was playing "Best Day of My Life" as I crossed under the first arch, somehow obtaining not one but TWO fist bumps from Mike Reilly. That's gotta be good luck, right? The closer I got to the water the more the anxiety and fear and emotion was replaced by straight up joy and excitement. We were shuffled into 5 gates and every few seconds the beep would sound and another group would go off. Closer, closer, finally - here I was, at the water's edge, a few steps from the start of my Ironman journey. Beep...beep...beep....GO! I charged into the water, whooping, arms up like I was at some kind of aquatic party. I dove into the water, and my Ironman began.</p><p><i>Swim: 1:16:09 (1:47/100yd) - </i><i>17th AG, 127th woman, 507th OA</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsCIAqcwtm4g0Il9r-cWaAfWE9aWcQhuQ05i3eFrZGXoTbT_8uuIsrxTkt-y-bUTCbq5c7da_cbriKHmIPSCSvTZEd1iJ32FXVEKZ9vBuuMVElsgdCOv3_Tf4XkuHC91b-GAePw/s960/FB_IMG_1631512235291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsCIAqcwtm4g0Il9r-cWaAfWE9aWcQhuQ05i3eFrZGXoTbT_8uuIsrxTkt-y-bUTCbq5c7da_cbriKHmIPSCSvTZEd1iJ32FXVEKZ9vBuuMVElsgdCOv3_Tf4XkuHC91b-GAePw/w480-h640/FB_IMG_1631512235291.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>As always, I love the feeling when I first dive into the water and all the sounds, music, announcements, and the roar of the crows fade away, replaced by the sound of the water surrounding me. The water temp was beautiful, 72 on race morning, so there was really no shock to the system when I dove in. Initially, things didn't seem too bad from a crowding perspective and I was thrilled to see that the sun was remaining behind the clouds as I swam towards the first turn buoy. The sun part would remain throughout the swim...the crowding part would change shortly.</p><p>At the first turn, I popped out of the water to sight and to MOO which is apparently a thing that you do at this race...but I was very disappointed because no one around me moo'd? So I just let out this super awkward, quiet "moo." and then laughed and got around the buoy and into the first straightaway and THAT is where the adventure began. I was prepared for a physical swim; I knew this was going to be the biggest race I'd swam in by a large margin and I knew there was going to be contact. Well, it was EVERYTHING I imagined it would be and then some! I had worn my nose clip to try to avoid getting congested later in the day; that got kicked off my face and sent to the bottom of Lake Monona within the first 5 minutes. Throughout the first straight I was kicked in the head twice, slapped/grabbed more times than I care to count, and every time I sighted I seemed to find myself stuck behind a line of 3 people swimming in tight formation with no space to get through. The good news was that I'm pretty much the chillest swimmer out there, and while I felt a great deal of annoyance with the woman randomly butterfly kicking in my face, or the man whose windmill arms seemed to be constantly in contact with my body, I had zero sense of panic or anxiety or anything of that sort. I just wanted to get the eff out of there so I could swim my dang swim! And so every time I got caught behind a pack of people, I just tried to find an opening, or go around, or whatever, while still trying to maintain a straight line on the buoys. At about 500 yd I had to stop briefly to defog my goggles - this always seems to happen right at the start of the swim, but once I suck it up and defog them they're fine for the rest, which was again the case today. I was almost laughing at the contact, singing Dua Lipa's "let's get physical" in my head.</p><p>My first 500 buzzed on my watch and I decided to sneak a peek even though I swore I wouldn't, because I was really curious about how the crowd was impacting my pace. As you might imagine, I was SHOCKED to see a <i>7:55</i> there, which, for those of you keeping score at home, is the fastest I have EVER swam 500 yd. I would realize shortly that we definitely had something of a tailwind on the way out and a headwind on the way back, but still, it was wild. My confidence was bolstered and I laughed to myself about how apparently my desire to get away from the crowd actually helps me in the swim because I swim faster just to get away!</p><p>As we approached the arches just before the next turn buoy, something else slapped me in the face...in fact, wrapped itself around my face is probably more accurate, because I was now swimming through some kind of mat of water plants and it was not pleasant! At one point a piece of sea grass wrapped itself around my arm and as I flung it away during a stroke I became convinced I had just flung my wedding ring into the lake (I wear my wedding band, which is very replaceable, but not my engagement band, which is not, when I swim). Bits of weeds were wrapping themselves around my goggles, getting in my mouth, tangling with my fingers...I felt like some kind of sea witch. Honestly give me people slapping me over unanticipated plants entwining with my body any day of the week lol. </p><p>I made my way through the short stretch at the end of the loop and made the turn to head back to the start for the second loop. This was where it became fairly obvious that we'd had some wind assistance on the way out, because all of a sudden there was a lot more chop in the water. I was still trying to manage the crowds although on this side of the lake I ended up further to the outside, so it ended up feeling more like "people in my way" than actual contact. I had read that people say you should 'find some feet' to follow and I guess draft, but I must have started slower than what I ended up swimming because I could not for the life of me find feet to follow that I wasn't almost immediately being kicked by/swimming on top of. I eventually stopped trying and recognized that I just needed to swim my own swim and get out of the crowds as much as I could. One thing that made me laugh during this stretch was that I was sighting every 15 or so strokes, which is more than usual but I was just trying not to run into people and didn't want to get too far off the buoy line. Usually when I'm swimming I just fall into the mental pattern of counting to 15, sight, do it again, but I kept zoning out for a second and then just picking back up at a completely random number...so it would be like "13, 14, 15...sight...28, 29, 30..." Just utterly unhelpful, but the good news was I wasn't swimming randomly off the course, which I'm proud of!</p><p>I could tell I had slowed down on the second half of the loop, but assumed that with the balance between some fast splits and slower ones I was probably right around my typical swim pace (spoiler alert: I was.) We made the turn into the short stretch before the turn out to the second loop, and this section was CHAOS. I had really thought that I was going to get some clear water until we made that turn, at which point the following things happened in the span of about 3 minutes: I was kicked in the head twice, someone kicked or slapped my wrist hard enough to take a split on my Garmin, someone kicked me right in the knee which made me kick awkwardly and get a cramp in my right calf. At that point I was like GET ME OUT OF HERE! I think I actually popped out of the water and yelled DAMN it! on that last one. Once I got around the turn I tried to pick up the pace heading back on the out stretch to try to escape whatever fuckery was going on and it actually sort of worked. I found some semi-open water for a little while. I also swam directly into a buoy (YAY SWIMMING IN A STRAIGHT LINE!) which was a little disorienting but I will take over most of the other contact I had. Luckily the calf cramp eased up quickly; I think in a wetsuit I can really be pretty lazy about my kicking if I want to, which allowed me to kind of shake it out for a couple of minutes and get me back in it.</p><p>We went under the arches again; thankfully the kelp forest seemed to have dissipated by this point. After the relatively clear water of the long stretch out to the turn, it was rather unpleasant to once again get super bunched up around the buoy and into the short stretch. MEN, I am calling you out, because it was almost entirely green caps doing this...can you not swim directly into me? Can you control your limbs when you're making a turn? Or maybe can you not seed yourself 10 minutes faster than you're actually going to swim so you're not clogging the turns? That was my thought process at this moment haha.</p><p>And yet, I love the damn swim, so during the last stretch back towards the finish I actually got a little sad that soon I was going to have to get out of the water and GET ON MY BIKE (gasp). Despite all of the contact and crowding and general chaos, I just feel like when I get in the water I know exactly what I'll be able to do, and having that consistency to start off the race is really wonderful for me. All the nerves I feel at the start line are quite literally washed away when I get in the water, and even when it feels a bit like a washing machine I always feel calm when I'm swimming. There's a distinct possibility that this means I should be swimming a bit harder, but I think in the grand scheme of a 12 hour race, an extra 2 or 3 minutes faster on the swim at the cost of fatigue probably isn't worth it at this point in my career.</p><p>As I was counting down the buoys to go and realized I was within a few hundred yards of the finish, I looked at my watch and saw a 1:04. Oh shit! I was going to swim like 1:15?? I was convinced that with the crowding and my history of poor sighting that I would have been happy with going under 1:20. That gave me a boost through the last bit. Sort of hilariously the only time I went really off course all day was right near the finish buoys, when I nearly swam right into the left one, but then I was through and shortly after that my hands were grazing the bottom of the lake, and it was time to stand up and run out. I always stop my watch when I stop swimming to get a true "swimming" time (my official time is usually longer with the standing and running into/out of the water), and was SHOCKED to actually see a 1:15 there. My fastest swim ever, and in an Ironman?! This was definitely a cause for celebration.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJkGbSApTOaf-6AuVDTpjxgyJgFMgJCTItgABWk7vIOuZBBI8d8pi9N4qYlGMf9DRnMrCaikjptWpoxRJpa7NmZ8DL5r74NokoQHPD6h0YKjYLmesdOaD0AtVzn3l064HLnbaXA/s3200/223_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_033633-3772678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJkGbSApTOaf-6AuVDTpjxgyJgFMgJCTItgABWk7vIOuZBBI8d8pi9N4qYlGMf9DRnMrCaikjptWpoxRJpa7NmZ8DL5r74NokoQHPD6h0YKjYLmesdOaD0AtVzn3l064HLnbaXA/w426-h640/223_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_033633-3772678.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOnC946jQVhH47n-EdZyiCb8ScklegkJmbjAd1P9mVmagv8H9Bll2Cs9OYvh4gx1li4A6wTYluOPUDDW5JnEDbK14mpS04UK5LkLDdBHdRHXsV8dXSpk_e7Mum7I91ox-hEDzmQ/s3200/215_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_027756-3772670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOnC946jQVhH47n-EdZyiCb8ScklegkJmbjAd1P9mVmagv8H9Bll2Cs9OYvh4gx1li4A6wTYluOPUDDW5JnEDbK14mpS04UK5LkLDdBHdRHXsV8dXSpk_e7Mum7I91ox-hEDzmQ/w426-h640/215_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_027756-3772670.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Having way, WAY too much fun</div><p><i>T1: 9:43</i></p><p>Normally when I come out of swim I feel like my heart rate is in the stratosphere somewhere and it's all I can do to walk to transition, let alone jog, but for some reason that was not the case. Maybe it was the excitement of a well executed swim, maybe it was the adrenaline of swimming in a maze of arms and legs for over an hour, but I was HYPED. Normal people would probably just get out of the water and move along with their day but I ran out of the water with my arms up, grinning from ear to ear, whooping at the volunteers. What? This was FUN!</p><p>I jogged along the bank, having not yet made any moves to get rid of my swim cap or wetsuit, and realized I didn't actually have a plan for those things. Everyone made a big deal of there not being wetsuit strippers this year due to COVID, but having never actually experienced wetsuit strippers I was sort of like...so where DO I take off my wetsuit? Thankfully, I saw a few athletes around me pulling over before the helix and pulling their wetsuits off, and I decided that seemed like a good idea. My wetsuit came off SO EASILY (still have no idea WTF I was doing at White Mountains) and with it over my arm I started running up the helix.</p><p>The helix!! This is one of the parts of Ironman Wisconsin that has always lived in my mind as legendary. I had heard so much about it, and now here I was, an athlete, running up that legendary parking ramp. It was completely lined with screaming fans, and I was LIVING it. "Electric" was the word that popped into my head as I ran, beaming, up the spirals. I high fived some people, I slapped a kid's "Tap here for power" sign, I waved my arms in the air...it was my party and all these people were invited to it. I've felt similarly at Boston, where the crowd just lifts you up and makes you feel like you are the most amazing, the best, the person that they are ALL here to see. The energy of that crowd cheering you victorious from the swim and into the longest leg of the race was just a game changer, and if I already hadn't been riding a high after that swim they certainly would have taken me there.</p><p>If I'm looking for things to critique about my race or where I could have saved a minute or two, this is DEFINITELY one of them. I feel like I didn't really have a solid plan for exactly how I was going to approach transition because of the bag situation, etc, and I definitely felt like there were a few moments where I was just standing there not sure what to do next. The volunteers were absolutely AMAZING - a volunteer came up to me (I wish I could remember her name - she was an older woman and she was lovely) and asked "can I help you with anything?" Me, again completely unprepared for this, was unhelpfully like..."um...I don't know?" Clearly this wasn't her first rodeo because she immediately was like "OK, I'll put your swim stuff back in here while you put your stuff on, do you need me to put any of these things in your pockets? Can I put this sunscreen back in?" It was so cool and all I could do was babble "OMG you are amazing, thank you SO much, that's perfect, wow did I mention how awesome you are? Wow this is AWESOME?" I got my socks and bike shoes on and put on my tri top - I had gone back and forth about changing shorts but decided it wasn't worth it, definitely the right move - and then randomly slapped some sunscreen on my arms. It's a good thing it wasn't really sunny, because it was the most half-assed sunscreen application of my life lol. Better than nothing?<br /></p><p>"My" volunteer went off to help someone else, I realized I probably should hit the porta potty quickly if I didn't want to pee on my bike, and I then realized that I had missed a couple of pieces of food in my opening spree in the morning and I couldn't get them open with wet/sunscreen hands (definitely lost 30-60 seconds here). I stood blankly for a second because I needed this food and I didn't want to deal with opening it on the bike, and then my dumb brain realized that I was SURROUNDED by volunteers who apparently were there solely to be angels sent from above. I asked a random volunteer if she could open my clif bar and my chews, which she happily did. I double checked that I had everything, then threw my bag in the bag corner and ran off into the parking structure to find Bahamut.</p><p>My rack was close to T1, so it was a short jog to my bike and then a loooong jog to the bike out. Running in bike shoes with a bike is very awkward and I almost wiped out twice but somehow managed to save it. "Blank Space" by Taylor Swift was playing in the transition area and I thought <i>how fitting...right now this bike course is a blank space, a blank slate waiting to be written. </i> POETIC, right? I grinned at the spectators but also felt a little trepidation as I jogged through the racks of bikes. I had been nervous about this bike for months. From day one, it was the only part of this race that ever scared me. And now, it was finally here. </p><p>Bahamut (named for the Final Fantasy X aeon, if you're wondering) is not a fancy bike. He's a 2014 Jamis Ventura, aluminum frame, 9 speed, basic components. His back wheel bearings are worn out beyond the point of repair and he has 4 season tires that were absolutely not built for speed. But he's mine. He's the bike that I've become a cyclist on, and he's the bike I bought and said "I'm going to do an Ironman on this bike someday." That day was today. And as I ran towards that line, I put my trust in my bike and in my legs, in every single hill and mountain that I had climbed in the past months and years with this bike underneath me, and I trusted that together we would get through the race we were always meant to do together. I got to the mount line and swung my leg up onto my little dragon bike. "Bahamut, let's ride!" I said. And I rode under the arch and onto the helix, and into the most joyous, magical, perfect 113.5 miles of my life. </p><p><i>Bike: 6:34:28 (17.3 mph) - 21st AG, 88th woman, 618th OA</i></p><p>I'm going to try to write about the bike in excruciating detail, because I wish I could go back and live that 6 and a half hours over and over again. How else can I describe the fact that the thing about the race that I was so nervous about, that I was convinced was going to be so hard, so awful, that I was going to have to fight for, turned out to be the most joyous part of the whole thing? Sure, you could argue that I could have ridden faster - I've certainly thought about that now, that I probably shouldn't have had quite SO much energy to enjoy the bike as much as I did if I were really racing. But, at what cost? I LOVED this bike, every mile, every hill, every spectator, everything. I wouldn't trade the joy that I felt radiating through every cell within me as I rode for any number of minutes off my time. If I had to summarize the bike in 3 words, it would be these: it was magic.</p><p>Once I mounted my bike and began gliding down the helix, somehow the doubts and disbelief and worries that I'd had about riding began to melt away. The day was an open book, I'd had a fantastic swim, and I was ready for this. One thing I did before the race that I really liked was write the names of hills I'd climbed throughout training on the bottles that I carried with me on the bike, so I had those hills 'with' me, reminding me of the work that I had put in to get here. I was smiling as soon as I hit the helix and I don't think the smile left my face for the next 6.5 hours. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8T-mkUszOBL7yGWxXoZzkYCGOJsiVRIOcJ4ZKyQvCA5HNI1W528HMEk6VNwqJVSn8ex0JqvvfMzrBoONp79BzMmsR-4YVUS5TG9_uZkAOZfvnrKp9w_LBTLs7LN_IADs-3Vp3XA/s3200/213_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_003685-3772668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8T-mkUszOBL7yGWxXoZzkYCGOJsiVRIOcJ4ZKyQvCA5HNI1W528HMEk6VNwqJVSn8ex0JqvvfMzrBoONp79BzMmsR-4YVUS5TG9_uZkAOZfvnrKp9w_LBTLs7LN_IADs-3Vp3XA/w426-h640/213_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_003685-3772668.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Smiling my way down the helix</div><p>The bike course begins with a sort of obnoxious section as you get out of the city; I was prepared to keep it slow and controlled and actually I found it to be a nice way to ease into the ride. You <i>couldn't</i> ride fast unless you were an idiot - between the hairpin turns, narrow bike path, and less than optimal roads, there was nothing to do but chill out, get your head on straight for 20 minutes, and wait to get to the real action. I saw Andrew and his mom within the first few minutes and screamed at Andrew about my swim - "I swam 1:15! AHH!" lol. Already within the first 3 or 4 miles, I saw multiple bottle cages/bottles that had been jettisoned onto the road. With my road setup I ended up deciding against a back water bottle cage, which was already seeming to be a smart idea given the road conditions. It was quiet as we headed out of downtown, everyone clearly in their heads and preparing for the day to come.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBuzSYWdQ1r55vluTATvJwAX3I1wbWFIvioU3Sa2NYJS8jiLZhPRYvpI24fLmAV-zsVSWFZYhz0tqeIT6uxgBnAV0PGx9rVHoC31Yln1hgeFVcM4w7arIHV5tGMWBMczATWwQnw/s3200/227_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_042505-3772682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBuzSYWdQ1r55vluTATvJwAX3I1wbWFIvioU3Sa2NYJS8jiLZhPRYvpI24fLmAV-zsVSWFZYhz0tqeIT6uxgBnAV0PGx9rVHoC31Yln1hgeFVcM4w7arIHV5tGMWBMczATWwQnw/w426-h640/227_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_042505-3772682.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fun continues</div><p>Despite having driven the course the day before, with all the turns I had no great sense of direction as to where we were on the course at any given time. The first real hill comes up fast, and definitely wakes you up - in fact, I think I turned to someone next to me at the top of the hill and said "well, I'm awake!" That got a laugh. It was still early. Because I have zero confidence in my biking, I assumed I'd be constantly being passed throughout the ride, but overall throughout the day I was really happy to discover that that would not be the case! Still, in the beginning there were definitely a few people who had probably come out of the water just a couple of minutes behind me who went blowing by. I almost started laughing because I had told Andrew that I just needed to remind myself that I'd see those people again on the run (as far as I can tell, I almost entirely would/did). And the perfect song popped into my head...the Miley Cyrus classic...<i>I can't wait, to see you again...</i> Now if you've read a triathlon race report of mine before, you'll know that those words were NOT just in my head but were actually sung aloud...because when I'm happy on my bike I'm totally unable to stay inside my own head. </p><p>I was surprised and a little horrified to see at least 3 people already off to the side of the road with flats within the first several miles. The roads didn't seem THAT bad, and I knew I had the equipment and (sort of) skills to fix a flat if I had to, but I really didn't want that to be a part of my day. I tried to reassure myself that they almost certainly were not riding on 4 season tires and just carried on. All I could do was ride - if I worried about flats all day, that was never going to help me. </p><p>Soon we were on Whalen Rd, the last section of the "stick" part of the course before we headed into the loop. Here some smaller rollers began in earnest, but from the get go my confidence was boosted with every single hill, because not only did they seem not that large or steep compared to what I'm used to riding, I was consistently making tons of passes every time the course would start to climb. At some point my mom appeared on the corner of a random road! I was so not expecting to actually see her on the bike, so that was really exciting. We passed by a lovely field where horses were grazing, cornfields off to the other side. It was so idyllic, so classically Wisconsin, and so hard to believe that we were barely 10 miles outside of the state capitol. Sure, it was a little warmer than I might have ideally liked, but there was pretty good cloud cover and all in all it was a beautiful morning. Annnnd so logically I decided to sing myself another little song, this time choosing the glorious classic "Oh, What A Beautiful Morning" from the musical Oklahoma. And the lyrics just seemed apt: <i>oh, what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day...I've got a beautiful feelin', everything's going my way.</i> I tried to temper my excitement; it was still so early, there were still so many hills I hadn't even experienced yet. But I think already I knew somewhere deep down that this day was meant to be mine.</p><p>At some point I realized that we've made some turns and were now into the loop portion of the course, which you do twice. I had broken the loop down in my head into sections: little rollers, annoying false flat, Mount Horeb (aka "Mount Horrible" climb), BIG rollers aka the section I expected to hate the most on the second loop, flat section/rest break, 3 bitches, party time in Verona. The "little" rollers section passed uneventfully. I'd been worried about feeling crowded or being stressed about not drafting, but while there were always other riders around it was pretty comfortable spacing and pacing wise, and I always felt able to pass appropriately if I needed to. I tried to exchange pleasantries with other athletes, mainly as I passed them on climbs (most of the people who were passing me - and I have to say they were mostly men - were totally SILENT, not even an on your left. IDK.) I briefly chatted with a girl who I bonded with because we were both runners by background "just trying to get through the bike". At one point I passed a girl whose cycling kit I loved - "On your left, I LOVE your top!" As I guess you'd expect with the overall makeup of the race, I was mainly surrounded by men so when I'd find a little pack of women it was great - we were typically riding at similar speeds and throughout the day I definitely did a lot of leapfrogging with people as I kind of anticipated being a strong climber/weak descender type of person. </p><p>My goal for the first loop was really to just stay calm and relax, not screw up my eating, and have a good time, and so far so good. My nutrition plan may need a couple of tweaks, as we'll see later, but overall I think I did a pretty good job. I ate half a clif bar as soon as I got on my bike, and then was munching on 3 clif chomps every 20-30 minutes, with more "real" food every 90 minutes...this varied and was mostly based on what I wanted, but ended up being clif bar, teddy grahams, and combos. I did manage to squirt half a clif bar out of the wrapper and onto the road when I tried to eat the second half of it but that was my only food casualty of the day, so we'll call that a win. I was kind of enjoying just randomly going into my pocket for a sleeve of chews and being like ooh, what flavor will we come out with this time? </p><p>After some smaller hills, a couple of which were a little punchy but nothing major, we rode into the section I had dubbed "annoying false flat". God, I hate false flats. There's nothing more obnoxious than thinking you should be riding faster than you are and then realizing you can't because you're going uphill. But thankfully, the first section of AFF took place on a BRAND NEW paved road, by far the smoothest road we'd ride on all day. I couldn't resist just shouting, "oh, it's like BUTTAH" as I made the turn. Honestly, anyone riding in my vicinity must have either been annoyed or entertained by me throughout this race. I just spent so much time shouting and whooping and singing and just generally being extra, but I was just LOVING it. I find it very interesting that the part of triathlon that I feel like I'm the worst at/intimidates me the most/I feel like I need to work the hardest at (aka the bike) is also the part of triathlon where in a race scenario my heart just about blows out of my chest with happiness. All throughout the race as I pedaled in aero with this giant shit eating grin on my face, I found myself wondering, "why does no one seem to be having any fun? This is SO FUCKING FUN!" Is that the price you have to pay to become serious? Because if so, count me out of being a serious triathlete. I want to ride hard, I want to be my best, but why would I ever pass up the opportunity to feel as happy as I did out on that course?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIanmFJzd_zx8eKBn5OrGPWffADOCkQxq9Ml9TKQFgQc2cmvD0_hX9M_VFQr8nvxvzg8VyoDH5qTt02Zy7ig2EZ0F81mawKEAcv2SKnSYf3hLa0Ag_B8IcLDQ1PMReHlrnJHSZ1Q/s3200/234_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_063161-3772689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIanmFJzd_zx8eKBn5OrGPWffADOCkQxq9Ml9TKQFgQc2cmvD0_hX9M_VFQr8nvxvzg8VyoDH5qTt02Zy7ig2EZ0F81mawKEAcv2SKnSYf3hLa0Ag_B8IcLDQ1PMReHlrnJHSZ1Q/w426-h640/234_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_063161-3772689.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fun? FUN!!!</div><p>This section went on awhile. The road was nice but honestly at a certain point I was almost like....OK can I have some more hills? I want some real hills, not this false flat crap! What have I become...anyway, after awhile, my wish was granted. We started up some kind of hill that ran under a highway. The grade was nothing crazy, and while I was definitely needing to put in more effort I felt like I was completely under control. Still smiling, still having a blast, still yelling and whooping at pretty much every spectator I saw. In fact, I didn't stop doing this all day. I'll point out some specific spectator moments as I go along, but basically every time I saw humans I screamed at them. I think I shouted GO PACK GO at people in Packers apparel at least 20 times....sometimes I just yelled WOOOOOOO!...the spectators out at Wisconsin make you feel like you're a star, and I was absolutely committed to taking that spotlight and running with it. So we continued up the hill, chugging along, I'm still smiling, and after a bit I started to wonder if in fact this was the infamous "Mount Horrible". If so, I was VERY excited, because this hill fell firmly into the Not That Bad category in my mind. So I decided to turn to a girl that I was in the process of passing and say "Gosh, I don't even know where we are on the course right now! Are we getting close to Mount Horeb?" The girl, who I don't think was my biggest fan at the time (fair lol), replied tersely: "This is Mount Horeb. The MOUNT part." I somehow managed to control my word vomit long enough to prevent myself from saying "Oh, this is IT? This isn't so bad!" and I think instead settled for "Oh, sweet, yeah!" Internally though, I was pumped. THIS was the climb that people went on and on about as being the worst outside of the 3 bitches? Let's just pause here for a moment and discuss how I have discovered that while I may not be the absolute fastest cyclist, I LOVE to climb - something that I truly find to be the most bizarre piece of myself that I've discovered in this whole triathlon journey to date. There is something about conquering a hill that is so powerful, and as I powered up past the sign welcoming us to Mount Horeb, I suspected that in spite of all of my anxieties and fears, this bike course and I were going to get along very well indeed. </p><p>After the climb into Mount Horeb there's a short break as you ride through the city itself. An old college teammate of mine had said she'd be volunteering at the aid station there. While I prefer to carry my own fluids/nutrition and only stopped at special needs on the second loop, I was looking for her as I cruised on the outside of the aid station, hyping up the volunteers. Again: every time I went through an aid station? No, I don't want your water or Gatorade or whatever, I but I am going to scream at you and tell you how AWESOME you are because the volunteers at this race? Absolutely the best volunteers I've ever encountered. The energy was SO high, they seemed to know exactly what we needed as athletes, and honestly, after the last year and a half, I'm sure it wasn't easy to get enough people out there to man these aid stations. My cheers and thank yous were 100% genuine, but it was kind of fun because I could tell they were not used to hearing quite that level of enthusiasm, and definitely seemed to get a kick otu of it. While I didn't actually see Inga, I heard a voice yell "Go Audrey!" and I assumed that had to be her (it was). </p><p>Mount Horeb really gave me a boost, which I knew I would need because we were heading into the section that I had decided would probably be the most challenging section of the day for me: the big, open rollers of Witte and Garfoot Rds. At some point before we turned towards this section, there was a cluster of spectators dressed in pink and holding lawn flamingos, with shirts that identified them as Derrick's Flock. Well, Derrick, I have no idea who you are, but let me tell you that your friends and family? I felt like they were MY friends and family! I saw these people at least 8 times during the day between the bike and run - I don't know if there were multiple groups or if they have teleportation powers or what - and maybe it was my energy or maybe they recognized me after my first round of screaming and waving my arms at them, but I swear to God these people cheered me on like I was a member of their family. So if I remember correctly, this was my first encounter with the Flock, which was another fantastic boost as I got ready to tackle the Big Rollers.</p><p>I feel like I'm getting some pieces of the course a little mixed up, but all I know is that you come out of the town and up a minor hill, and then you make this left turn and everything is wide open; all you can see in front of you is what looks like a roller coaster ride of rolling hills as far as the eye can see. This is the legendary Witte Road. And then you drop into those rollers, and suddenly, if you're me, you wonder what in the hell you were ever so worried about, because this is literally a roller coaster ride, and you are swooping and diving and then gearing down and climbing and then cresting and falling and all the while you are smiling, smiling, smiling because this is better than any roller coaster could ever possibly be. As per my typical pattern, each time we started to climb I would make a bunch of passes, many of whom would repeat the pass on the downhills, and rinse, repeat. But I honestly couldn't have cared less about what was going on around me - I was in this wide open country, riding the waves, this stunning ribbon of road ahead of me, my trusty bike underneath me, and I was just so unspeakably happy.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRulmQy7NxNbEvbfQUXf0IjXbjxfTjBxadqUCaVrRDJJqKY7kEgDhdv05luVDRNf5uepNhdZpQS6Cc15AYsIHGJ5EZCWXp0O9zKZoTCt0PHKoG6wdA3SZ8gB_opG-WiTiQH771aA/s4032/20210910_115134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRulmQy7NxNbEvbfQUXf0IjXbjxfTjBxadqUCaVrRDJJqKY7kEgDhdv05luVDRNf5uepNhdZpQS6Cc15AYsIHGJ5EZCWXp0O9zKZoTCt0PHKoG6wdA3SZ8gB_opG-WiTiQH771aA/w480-h640/20210910_115134.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Witte Rd; photos from our course drive don't really do it justice</div><p>This road goes on longer than you might think, and those rollers do start to wear a little bit, but even by the time we got to the last big one, where you do my least favorite thing and do an obnoxious climb around a turn, I still felt like I had plenty of juice left in the legs. <i>Good, </i>the little voice in the back of my head whispered, <i>I know you're having fun, but you do realize this is only mile 35 of 112, right? </i>Yeah, yeah, little voice of reason, step off. I went through a little systems check: my legs, per usual, had felt a little wonky coming out of the swim but had settled in nicely. I was happy with my fueling scheme, I didn't feel hungry or overly full, and I felt like I was drinking to thirst. One minor problem I WAS having was the fact that my Skratch just tasted like the water in it was...off somehow. Looking back filling up my water from the hotel sink was a dumb idea, because the water did NOT taste good and it was making drinking much more of a hassle than I would have liked, but I just kept putting my college shot taking skills into practice and throwing it back without regard for how it tasted. Madison memories, am I right?</p><p>As the rolling section came to an end, we finally made a turn onto Garfoot Rd which leads into a pretty intense, winding downhill. For some reason I felt really unprepared for this downhill, and I also was basically alone riding through the twists and turns, to the point where I got scared for a second that I'd somehow gone off course (though that seemed completely impossible.) My fears were unfounded when suddenly at least 6 men came absolutely BLASTING by me in aero...OK, so there ARE other people around! Phew. I let them pass, as we headed into the next section which I thought of as the "flat" section of the course. There were a couple of awkward railroad crossings as we went through the town of Cross Plains, but mainly you were on a pretty dull, flat road - honestly, not the worst thing in the world at this point in the race. The spectators thinned out through this section, but there were lots of COWS, and let me tell you I said hi to each and every one. Again, I'd love to know what the people around me were thinking at this point - we're all pretty serious, everything is quiet, and then there's this girl just yelling HI COWS!!! It was truly idyllic Wisconsin - silos, fields, cows, winding country roads - exactly what I'd imagined when I pictured this course. Because there was a break from the hills, it was kind of enjoyable to get in aero and just roll for awhile. I got a little bored, so I started singing "The Thong Song"...as you do...was definitely cackling to myself as some guy passed me just as I was singing out loud "ooh, that ass so scandalous..." LOL. At some point out here I also heard a weird sound, which I initially thought was someone's bike but turned out to be a flock of sandhill cranes! They make really weird honking noises...and no, I don't take a day off from birdwatching even when I'm in the midst of an Ironman lol. </p><p>I knew at the end of this flattish section it was going to be time to see what the 3 bitches were all about, and quite honestly I was EXCITED to get out of this boring section and get back to the climbing. And soon enough, we were taking the turn onto Old Sauk Pass, the first of the 3 major climbs. This is the longest one; it starts pretty tame and then ramps up a bit as you get closer to the top. On the flat stretch approaching the hill, I started to sing yet again. A song popped into my head that just felt fitting for the moment, given these hills' moniker of the 3 bitches: Rock This Bitch from the Ben Folds Live album. <i>Tell you what I'm gonna do...Iiiiii'm gonna rock this bitch....I'm gonna ro-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-hack this motherfu&king....beyotch. </i>I grinned. I was SO READY to conquer this hill. As we pedaled onto the road, one of the only really forested sections of the course, it was almost eerily quiet as we started the climb. Only the sounds of breath and the whir of gears and that pleasant sound of wheels on road broke the quiet. "It's so quiet!" I remarked helpfully to a man laboring up the hill next to me. "Won't be for long," he said. And sure enough, as we continued to climb, you started to hear a muffled roar - it reminded me of Wellesley at Boston, where you can sort of hear the sound from far away and then all of a sudden you're in it. </p><p>The climb itself was a hill, sure, but nothing remarkable in the context of hills I've climbed before. But the spectators - how could I not have a giant grin on my face as I climbed when there is a woman banging on a drum and singing some kind of chant/rap about putting the pedal to the metal? When there are people screaming at you and willing you on, when there are cowbells and drums and music playing from somewhere and chalk on the road and dogs and kids and all of them are just telling you how powerful you are, how amazing, how strong? I was beaming, I was passing people, I was joyous. "B1 round 1, DONE!" I exclaimed as I crested the hill and enjoyed the descent. The next hill, Timber Lane, comes up quickly. It almost made me laugh, because in my opinion it is SO similar to this hill I ride basically every week: short, steep, and yes, bitchy. It's a rude hill but it's over quickly, and the rudeness was definitely tempered once again by the amazing spectators, including one hilarious pair of women dressed as a taco and a waffle screaming "YOU WANT SOME OF THIS?!" Again, I never found the hills to be a source of stress on this course - in fact they were actually the opposite, a challenge, a chance to prove my worth, and an opportunity to outclimb the men surrounding me on their multithousand dollar tri bikes, which I did with a smile. I think it was on this hill when a spectator yelled at me "Now THAT'S how you climb a hill!" as I basically laughed my way up the steepest incline I'd face all day. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgce9NriyBmvlJVrFW-hll9MUCuPhGzh0w4vf83GbX6lJJ0qP7XWClYdzK2MUZQQgdcX2tplu2ohJLj-gNu4xoGOSbUa8mSNs0YNkrhWeKMzC4keU5h1-F_MQqnXnG-dfi1VeQ2SQ/s1080/FB_IMG_1631641850669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgce9NriyBmvlJVrFW-hll9MUCuPhGzh0w4vf83GbX6lJJ0qP7XWClYdzK2MUZQQgdcX2tplu2ohJLj-gNu4xoGOSbUa8mSNs0YNkrhWeKMzC4keU5h1-F_MQqnXnG-dfi1VeQ2SQ/w640-h426/FB_IMG_1631641850669.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The taco/waffle ladies - photo from the local Madison paper</div><p>There's a bit of a reprieve after Timber before you have to tackle Midtown; some smaller rollers but some flat sections as well. The scenery is more classic rolling fields and farms, along with the randomness of a bubbler shaped like a lion head. The crowds remained pretty thick throughout this stretch, and it felt good to just keep rolling over the rollers. There's a pretty steep downhill that rolls into a lefthand turn; this was the one that I'd heard about before the race so I was pretty cautious descending, especially since for some reason the 70.3 course merged in right before the bottom of the hill (that seemed like a pretty bad decision to have the races merge at the point where it seemed like people were most likely to crash all day? But what do I know). And then quickly enough, the final bitch, Midtown, was upon us.</p><p>Midtown was definitely the most legitimate of the 3 hills - not as long as Old Sauk, but steeper and definitely more of a grind. BUT, the fans on Midtown were absolutely out of control. I had read somewhere that the crowds on the hills make you feel like you're in the Tour de France, and I seriously understood what they meant. It was just a blur of cowbells and music and screaming; a guy in full fireman gear running up the hill next to a rider, cheering them on, tents and horns and chalk on the road and here I am again, just smiling my way to the top of the hill, whooping it up and taking every second in. I let out a cross between a guffaw and a yelp at the guy sitting in a lawn chair dressed as a creepy clown with a sign that read "Free Hugs". I waved my arms at the people in tents at the top of the hill, this wall of sound and cowbells and horns, and maybe I imagined it, but maybe there was a vuzuvala. I knew I could do this again. "Fuck yeah!" I shouted to no one as I crested the hill. The hardest part of loop one was over, and all I had to do was do it all again.</p><p>Again, I somehow was under the impression that there are literally NO breaks from the hills on the Wisconsin course, which is simply not true. After the 3rd bitch, there is an absolutely delightful section which is mostly flat/downhill and involves the absolute PARTY that is Verona before you head out into the second loop. Unsurprisingly, I enjoyed this just as much as I'd enjoyed the previous 3 hours. There's one section where the full road is actually closed, and you just get to ride through the middle of what feels like thousands of people. I was dancing on my bike, waving my arms, just loving every second. It's hard to even find the words to describe all of these moments out there on the bike course, moments when the infectious energy of the crowds just felt like it had been shot straight into my veins, moments when I felt like the most tired muscles in my body were in my face from smiling so much, moments when I would look at someone's sign or something motivational written in chalk on the ground and remember that it was there for me, because I was doing a freaking Ironman, and was that not the coolest damn thing in the world? Like something out of my wildest dreams, but I'm not dreaming; this is real. This day is happening, and just like I wanted to, I am soaking in every single moment.</p><p>Soon enough I reached the turn into the second loop; it seemed almost unbelievable that I was already 56 miles into the bike! I had purposely been paying no attention to my bike computer all day - in fact, I had my settings so that all I could see was total time, distance, and elevation gain, purposely leaving pace off the screen (and if you think I have the equipment to give me data on power or cadence...all I have to say is go back and read the rest of this race report and see if I sound like a person who cares about power or cadence, lol). But I did do a quick calculation at the halfway point just to get a ballpark sense of where I was at, and realizing that I was riding nearly 17.5 mph was...shocking? Enlightening? I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised - I tend to default to right around 17 mph while riding, and I was "racing" (whatever that means in the longest triathlon of your life), but I had been totally convinced that <i>this course is SO HARD if I can even ride 16.5 mph I'll be happy. </i>Seriously, the juxtaposition between my anxieties about this course and the bike before the race and my actual feelings while riding it...I have never been so delighted to be wrong in my life. I really wanted to save something for the run, so I figured I was just going to stick with what had been working on loop one as I headed into loop two. Even effort, keep it fun, keep eating, let's ride. Ready, set, go. </p><p>I was getting excited/nervous for special needs, aka the one time I would need to stop on this ride. Because I carried all of my own fuel, I had planned this one stop to refill my bottles and grab my "big food" (aka a giant baggie of Combos) for the second half. I was pretty excited to have some water that didn't taste so unpleasant, and of course Combos are always an exciting time. The whole process was seamless - a volunteer at the start of the area called my number on a megaphone down to the person who was in my area of numbers, who then grabbed the bag and had it ready for me by the time I arrived. Just amazing! I thanked my volunteer and got to work refilling my bottles. This is DEFINITELY something that I screwed up due to lack of experience, and now know what to do in the future. I had bought just Poland Spring bottles from Walgreens, which I then dumped into my existing water bottles. But WHY - I should have just started with water bottles I could toss, and then just grabbed the new bottles at special needs. The time it took to dump the water in felt like an ETERNITY, and I was getting impatient with needing to stand there stopped. So impatient, in fact, that I decided to abandon my plan to try to dump new electrolyte mix in the bottles and just get the hell out of dodge. This may have been a mistake, as I definitely struggled with dehydration later in the run, but I also doubled down on my salt tabs in the second half of the bike to make up for any missing electrolytes, so who knows. Either way, after what was probably less than 90 seconds but felt like an hour, I decided I had enough damn water and I needed to get rolling. And then I was off into loop 2!</p><p>Now that I'd ridden the course once, it was a lot easier to break it up in my head into the sections I described above. Little rollers, annoying false flat, Mt. Horeb, big rollers, actual flat, 3 bitches, Verona party. Easy, right? As I took off out of special needs I was laughing to myself as I attempted to shove my apparently excessively large bag of Combos into my bike bag. It 100% did not fit, and I ended up riding the rest of the bike with the top of the baggie flapping out of the top tube bag...#notaero. </p><p>In the small rollers section I became friends with an Ironworx girl who I would play leapfrog with for quite awhile. As we've established is the story of my life, I would pass her on the uphills, she would pass me on the downhills, and so on. At one point there is a short but nasty little hill that comes right after a right hand turn. I found myself next to her on this hill and made some comment like "well, it's loop 2, so every hill we climb right now is a hill we NEVER have to climb again!" She sort of laughed, and asked me where I was from. I told her Boston, and she said that she was from Madison, and so rode these hills in training all the time and would definitely ride them again. My asshole competitive brain gloated. <i>Well, I ride even BIGGER hills all the time, that's why I'm passing you every time we climb one. </i>Yes, in the midst of all this fun I was having, we can't forget that I do have just a bit of a competitive chip on my shoulder after all. The real fact of the matter was, we were basically riding the same pace, I was just constantly making up for the downhill on the uphill - to the point where after like the 5th time I passed on a hill I actually apologized. "Sorry, I feel like I'm being SO annoying right now!" She laughed, but I felt like maybe it was time to finally put some distance between us so I surged a little bit to try to end the leapfrog game. I definitely lost her for awhile but think she may have caught back up in the end - then again, there were a LOT of people in Ironworx jerseys out there, so it may have been someone else, who knows?</p><p>At the top of one of the hills in the smaller roller section was one of my favorite spectator moments of the day. There was a group of people blasting some techno music, which is pretty much my favorite. For a second I thought it was one of my FAVORITE songs that I've been listening to all training cycle, so I completely freaked out and screamed "I LOVE THIS SONG!" and started dancing on my bike, only to realize it wasn't actually that song but was a DIFFERENT song that I have also really enjoyed this training cycle ("Drinking From The Bottle" lol), and so paused for a moment and then continued to just absolutely rock out on my bike as I went over the hill. It was somewhere around this time where I was starting to get some more incredulous looks from spectators, probably wondering who this weirdo was having her own private dance party in the midst of a hilly Ironman bike course. All I can say is, I was riding that course in the only way I knew how: with joy, with heart, and with the wonder that comes with trying something new and seeing what happens. </p><p>We hit the smooth like buttah/annoying false flat section, which I think I enjoyed more the second time around because I realized what it was all about. I got into aero and found a nice, steady rhythm and just cruised for awhile. The sun had come out for a bit during the second half of the first loop, to the point where I was nervous that it was going to start feeling hot, but in fact my weather-related concerns were starting to go in a different direction as the skies were starting to get rather dark and brooding, and the wind had definitely kicked a notch above "calm". We were getting into the section of the course that I'd predicted I would hate the second time around; it was a pleasant surprise to find that while there were moments where I felt like I was grinding a little bit, I was still perfectly content to be on my bike. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNeeQKtL6LTPx-Mj7dbUZRFks2b7l99xyUbuOdb99ic1FoTxL8s1BBQ6tAZqfXdnQezICmTH2hyAeu4OymPd-uKNNtpw9CK4RJp2Dg2CEtrL_iLGtky6RThtc36PMVaCLS7wUSTQ/s3200/243_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_086233-3772698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2136" data-original-width="3200" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNeeQKtL6LTPx-Mj7dbUZRFks2b7l99xyUbuOdb99ic1FoTxL8s1BBQ6tAZqfXdnQezICmTH2hyAeu4OymPd-uKNNtpw9CK4RJp2Dg2CEtrL_iLGtky6RThtc36PMVaCLS7wUSTQ/w640-h428/243_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_086233-3772698.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Just a girl and her dragon</div><p>Now that I knew the landmarks I didn't have to ask any stupid questions as we hit Mount Horrible, round 2, which was probably a blessing because it was becoming clear that the hills were starting to take their toll on. And maybe this means that I could have ridden harder but....I was still having a great time? The changes in grade and constant switching gears was keeping me super engaged and entertained, and really just added to the allure of the whole thing. The crowds were still going nuts, and I was still 100% on board the party train. As I reached the top of the hill where there's a sign that says "Welcome to Mount Horeb", I felt myself smile even wider. "Is this supposed to be this much FUN?!" I shouted to no one, or maybe to the guy next to me, who gave me an incredulous stare. I don't know, is it? It's so hard for me to reconcile with myself how hard I know that this thing that I was doing was, and how much fun I was having doing it. As I sit here now, there's a little bit of me that thinks, well, if you were having so much fun, that probably means you should have been riding harder. Which I guess you could argue, but when I look at how the run went I'd make the counterpoint that I could have blown up a whole lot worse if I <i>hadn't</i> ridden conservatively. Plus, to state the obvious, I wouldn't have had as much fun. And at the end of the day, the thread that has run though each and every triathlon I've done, the thing that attached itself to my heart after my first sprint and has pulled me back in each and every time I've raced since then, is the fact that when I am racing triathlon, it is so much fucking fun. Is it hard? Yes! But there is just this lightness and joy to it, that for some reason I don't think I've ever quite found in running races alone. I can think of races where I've been happy, or proud, or felt like magic in running. But...fun? No. But here, 70 miles into a 112 mile bike ride, climbing this hill that seemed to be breaking the spirits of many, my little dragon bike and me, I was honestly and truly having the time of my life.</p><p>Into Mount Horeb I rode, back through the aid station where I once again appointed myself personal hype woman for the entire volunteer squad, back through town where I felt like each and every fan was placed there just for me. I was approaching the "big rollers" section, the section that I had deemed as the one that was going to be the hardest part of the race for me. Mile 80 was the doldrums of my solo Ironman, the time when the finish just felt light years away and I all I wanted was to be off my damn bike. I sure hadn't hit that point, but just in case, I gave myself a little bribe: OK, after the big rollers section, you get to eat COMBOS! And with the excitement of a future delicious snack in my mind, I continued to ride. I was still grinning at every spectator I saw. Just before the turn onto Witte, I saw a couple both wearing Badger apparel who I'd seen several times throughout the day, and each time they'd hyped me up and commented on the fact that I was smiling. The male half of the the couple laughed in disbelief as I passed. "She's STILL smiling!" he exclaimed. "Hell yes, I am!" I yelled back as I made the turn and dove into the downhill. </p><p>The clouds, which had been steadily darkening, were now becoming downright ominous, and the wind was definitely making its presence known. It made for an arresting sight as I once again made the turn to drop into Witte Rd, the dark sky settling over the fields and creating an atmosphere that kind of felt like something out of a horror movie...maybe Signs, or Twister. But all thoughts of horror were forgotten as I flew down the first hill. I'd been more conservative on the first pass because there were more riders around and I wasn't sure about the road conditions, but on the second loop I let go of all fears and absolutely whooped into the wind like a kid riding their first roller coaster. It was glorious, it was magical, it was freedom. I've heard people describe Witte as their absolute favorite part of the course, and I think I get it now. It's not easy, sure - the rollers are big, the hills make you work, and just when you think you might get a break there always seems to be another hill to climb. But it's just a FUN road, certainly never boring, and a road that in sections really makes you feel like you can fly.</p><p>By the time we reached the end of the road, I will finally admit that the last uphill wore on me just a touch. The wind had kicked up significantly, and climbing a hill to then turn into another section of hill with a headwind blasting in your face was just...unnecessary. (Honestly, wind is always unnecessary). After catcalling a man spectating wearing a speedo before making the turn (where else but IMWI can you find a large man in a Speedo standing in a cornfield?), I had to laugh again when a guy riding next to me tuned to me and said "Gosh, you know what I could REALLY use right now? A NICE STIFF HEADWIND!" I cracked up laughing. "We're so lucky, aren't we?" I replied with a laugh. And then it was more rollers, climb, descend, climb descent, wind and air and the smell of manure, after this road you get COMBOS, climbing and passing and maybe starting to feel just the tiniest bit tired of the hills but never, never being broken by them.</p><p>While the hills weren't crushing my soul, I won't pretend I wasn't happy when we finally made the turn that led into the big blazing downhill, and without my earlier fears that I'd somehow left the course I once again took the opportunity to absolutely fly. Everyone who knows what a cautious descender I am please note: I hit 40 mph on this winding downhill stretch, and I LOVED it. Once again, I found myself simply shouting with joy into the wind. Words from the track I had listened to in the morning popped into my head: <i>this is your everything, embrace it. </i>I was embracing every inch of this course with open arms, letting it run through my veins and fill every cell with the joy of taking what I had earned in training, in preparation, in setting my fears aside and allowing myself this chance to soar. </p><p>With the downhill complete, it was finally time to eat my Combos! I stand by my love for Combos as a race snack, even though they are quite impractical and honestly pretty challenging to eat because of how dry the are. I felt solidarity with the cattle as I gnawed on a couple of them at a time like cud, breaking them down to nothingness so that I could actually swallow them without choking. Despite their complications they just tasted so damn good, and were a perfect reward for another well ridden stretch of Wisconsin country hills. The timing was also perfect, since I was on the flattest stretch of road we'd see for most of the day. I'd learned the hard way on a training ride this summer that Combos and uphills do not mix, and so again just kind of settled into aero, kept my effort steady, and nom nom nommed on my snack while also enjoying my water which finally did not taste like ass. Lesson learned: will NOT be filling my bottles from a hotel sink ever again!</p><p>The "flat" section actually goes on for longer than I remembered, and surprisingly given the weather forecast (but not surprisingly given the sky), it actually started to rain for awhile. It was more confusing than anything else...it was...raining? I pondered whether I should take off my sunglasses, or really do anything, and in the end just decided to ignore it and make changes if things seemed to be getting worse. It was a pretty light sprinkle, but kind of nice from a cooling perspective. I had to laugh as it seemed we were experiencing multiple days worth of weather over the course of this race. I also had thought I had this section of the course pretty well memorized, but had apparently forgotten about multiple sections of it in my head, because we kept coming up to turns and I would think "this is it, the last run up the 3 bitches", and then we would not actually be there. I think this happened at least twice where I would be really internally hyping myself up and then would have to suddenly be like...ohhh nope, just kidding, just Stagecoach Road. Also, a familiar figure came blowing by me in aero at some point in this stretch...it was John! I hadn't been sure what kit he'd be wearing, but I recognized his bike and helmet. I shouted at him but I think it was too late, laughing as he effortlessly recreated what Elise and I had seen so many times on our White Mountains ride: starting a downhill only to shortly thereafter have the little rocket that is John in aero come blasting by. Elise even made up a little song about it..."here comes the John" to the tune of "Here Comes The Sun". Did I sing it out loud? Well, of course I did! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5QFyIIojqRsZkbHlR4flktwMbOo7258VUVoS6P0-k8b3BvvPmceSUlsk8dh_KW3Yq4x8-d9c9KjVbT04Re5oA7BrSXQuPE4h0MSEs2Ikth8JDCwm3BSSMDFlyU4v451RkpZ8Aw/s3200/262_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_136931-3772717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5QFyIIojqRsZkbHlR4flktwMbOo7258VUVoS6P0-k8b3BvvPmceSUlsk8dh_KW3Yq4x8-d9c9KjVbT04Re5oA7BrSXQuPE4h0MSEs2Ikth8JDCwm3BSSMDFlyU4v451RkpZ8Aw/w426-h640/262_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_136931-3772717.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Don't remember exactly where this picture was taking but I decided to throw some "party time"/jazz hands</div><p>And yet, eventually we did arrive at the turn that really did lead to Old Sauk Pass. Again, you could tell that people were starting to break. It might just be the rosy memory of the race, but I truly believe that I felt just as strong up the hills the second time through as I did on the first. There was more fatigue in my legs, sure, and I doubt I was riding quite as fast, but there was never a moment like the ones I've reached on plenty of the hills I've climbed this summer where I just think, <i>I CAN'T climb this anymore, I just CAN'T. </i>It was never a question, not for one second. The hill was there for the taking, it was there to be conquered, and I was going to ride up it with the strength of 3500 miles of the hills of New England. This hill was nothing, this hill was mine.</p><p>I truly wish I could remember the song/chanting that the woman on Old Sauk was STILL there singing and drumming, but it was rhythmic and had something to do with pedaling at was really the perfect thing to just groove up the hill to. I just have random flashes of memory of the spectators on this hill; of woods, of people in pink shirts but not the flock people, of a cute dog, signs, things flashing by but not really flashing because you're climbing, you're not really riding that fast, and there's actually a moment to try to take it in. Just a little further to the top of the hill and then I was over, cruising down the other side, 2 to go. Quickly on to Timber - yes it's steep, yes it's getting a little harder now, but goddamnit I'm going to smile my way up this hill because THIS is how you climb a hill! I think the road was technically open but by this point the field had opened up across the road, everyone just trying to find open pavement to buckle down and climb. Timber is truly the type of hill I refer to as "bitchy" - steep, but short, rude but something that can be easily forgotten as soon as you crest it - so it felt quite fitting that it would be one of the bitches. I was apparently also inspired to be a bitch when I elected to yell "Ann Arbor is a whore," at some spectators wearing Michigan apparel...hey, this is Badger country, alright? Into the lion bubbler section we went. I think this was the most crowded I ever felt during the whole day, and looking back I actually wonder if it was because we were starting to lap people? It seems crazy to me that I'd ever be lapping anyone, or passing anyone, or really doing any thing even relatively impressive on the bike, but here we are. </p><p>After the downhill stretch, during which I once again really enjoyed myself, I was finally on the approach to the final bitch of Midtown Rd. I knew that there were still a few more minor climbs on the stick, but essentially once I was over this hill I had made it through all the hardest parts of the bike course. And here in the leadup to this one last climb was where my happiness gave way to raw emotion. Before the race, I had put duct tape on my bottles and written the names of all kinds of different hills I'd climbed in training, in preparation for these hills that I'd been so afraid of. It only felt fitting that I carry a piece of the New England climbs that made me the cyclist I am with me on the course that had driven me to them in the first place. And as I approached the last big hill of that course that I'd been so afraid of, all I could think about was how fucking proud I was of myself. And I said a little pep talk to myself that went something like this: <i>You have climbed so many hills in the past 2 years, so many mountains, so many days of frustration and feeling like your bike was failing you and Trapelo Road over and over and 2 hour rides after work no matter how tired you were and riding up MOUNTAINS and just telling yourself that it was all going to pay off someday. The payoff is here. It's now. It's today. It's ONE MORE HILL that you have to climb, that you have EARNED the right to climb with a smile on your face because you deserve to be here, you have trained to be here, you have EARNED TODAY. One more hill. Go get it. </i> Tears of joy welling behind my sunglasses, with a smile on my face, joy in my heart, and those thousands of miles of hills in my legs, I gave Midtown everything. The memory of it is a blur of noise, other bikes, color, chalk, and just being within this hill and these spectators. At the very top the crowd was so close it was basically a one bike width road with spectators enfolding you and I didn't know them but they were mine, they were the guy in front of me's, they were the girl on her first lap behind me's, they were ALL of ours. Everyone on that course - the riders, the spectators, everyone - we were truly all a part of something bigger. </p><p>Cresting that last hill I felt like I could explode with the wonder of it all, and the disbelief that this thing that I had genuinely been SO worried about had turned out to be so perfect. And then, it was time to party. The stretch into Verona really felt like a celebration this time around, with the hills in the rearview and only 20 something miles until it was time to run. It was just. so. good. I could go in circles for hours trying to capture this feeling, and I know I'll never come close. Joy, magic, wonder - I've used all those words so many times throughout this novel of a race report, but truly there's no other way to describe it. I continued to go wild every time I saw a spectator, had another flyby with "The Flock", and was riding down a stretch of road where I had previously seen a lady with a creepy puppet when suddenly from the other side of the road I saw someone waving their arms and screaming...it was Brittany! Logically, I shrieked BRITTANY!!!! and waved my arms around some more. Was the reason my arms were so sore the day after the race from gripping the bars and being in aero, or for excessive celebratory arm waving? We may never know. Suitably hyped up from seeing one of my personal fans, I realized that I was approaching the split in the course where I'd turn back for home. How were we here already? Every other ride of this distance that I've ever done has <i>felt</i> it's length - but this had just flown by. When I got to the arrow pointing left to the finish, I joked to a volunteer "well, guess I'll skip the 3rd loop for today" and headed left back into the stick, only 15 miles to go!</p><p>Based on how I've described the second loop it would probably be easy to forget that I was actually in fact in a race, with other people around, and quite frankly I hadn't been bothered by that fact either. Aside from the hills, the other thing I'd been anxious about with the bike was biking around a lot of other people, being stressed about drafting, and being passed a ton. As it turned out, none of those things were really factors. Everyone was riding relatively close together but I never felt stuck behind anyone, and I got passed much less frequently than I anticipated. I think the race is long enough that it eventually kind of shook out that you were riding around people of similar speed, so aside from some leapfrogging it just kind of worked. For some reason when I headed into the stick my brain decided to shift back into "huh, we're actually in a race, aren't we?" mode, and I abruptly became a woman on a mission, particularly whenever there was an incline involved. There were a couple of women around that I decided I wanted to try to pass, or at least get up with, and a couple of men who I was tired of jumping back and forth with. I'm not going to say I started hammering or anything, but I definitely think there was a bit of a mental shift, feeling like "OK, we've pretty much made it" and trying to push a bit into the finish.</p><p>Around here was a spectator with my favorite sign of the day and the one that almost made me cry: a ~10 year old girl with a sign that read "You Inspire ME! Future Ironman" with an arrow at herself. I really had a moment just thinking about that - that this kid, or anyone watching, might look at this crazy thing that I was doing and think "hey, maybe I could do that someday." And maybe not even an Ironman specifically, but maybe some other crazy thing that they hadn't ever really thought possible. I think that's one of the biggest things I've learned in my athletic career in general, but especially over the last 3 years when I finally decided to do this thing that I knew I really wanted to do: if you know you want to do something, you should do it. Don't wait for the perfect moment, don't put it off, don't convince yourself it's crazy or impossible. Do it. The fact that everyone out on that course was showing that it was possible to do hard things, maybe inspiring others to do hard things too, was really a cool feeling.</p><p>Prior to the race someone had posted a comical version of the bike course with some landmarks and commentary of where things happened at certain locations, and one that kept rolling around and around in my head was "Don't forget about me! says the white picket fence hill". I was practically laughing as I climbed the hill, thinking <i>don't forget about meeeeee!</i> and quite honestly, I will not forget about the white picket fence hill, because it was kind of rude! You think you're just DONE with hills when actually...there's one more waiting for you. But no matter: up and over, eating up a few more men on the way, and onward to Madison. The rollers were more downhill coming this way. The skies were darker now, and the riders certainly less fresh than we'd been several hours before, but the horse was still out in its pasture and the spectators were still there, ever reliable, cheering us all the way on to the end.</p><p>There finally came a point at about mile 105 where I finally decided that I was, in fact, mentally and emotionally ready to stop riding my bike. I also started to feel hungry, which was upsetting, since I thought I'd been executing my nutrition strategy so well. As we were nearing the end of the bike I didn't have much left in the way of food, but decided that half a clif bar should hold me over. It should be noted that this may have been a LARGE mistake, something I probably should have realized when I nearly reflex vomited the bar as soon as I tried to swallow it. I suspect that at this point I'd gotten a little dehydrated, and while I definitely did need to eat something if I felt hungry, I think a Gu (or preferably the one thing I lacked, chews) would have been preferable, for reasons we'll see later on the run. The road also started getting really shitty, way shittier than I remembered from the morning, and there seemed to be a wider variety of men managing to block the entire narrow cone corridor than there'd been all day. To add to the rudeness, as I was trying to do the math with landmarks and where I knew we were relative to the finish, I realized that this bike course was DEFINITELY going to be more than 112 miles. I had heard rumors of this prior to the race but for some reason had elected not to believe them...well, believe the hype, the 2021 IMWI bike course was definitely 113.5 miles!</p><p>We finally reached the bridge over the highway that my brain had identified as the end of the "real" course - just the awkward jaunt through the Alliant Center parking lot and on the bike path left to go. At this point, I did really start to celebrate, because I realized that my bike could basically explode at this point and I could walk it in and still make the cutoff. I had MADE IT. NOTHING from my nightmares or anxieties had come to pass in any sense - no mechanicals, no flats, no crashing, no stress, no awful hills, only the most amazing ride ever. Truly, I will never think back on that ride without the word "magic" coming to mind. </p><p>There was one lone woman cheering in the Alliant parking lot and she was amazing; despite my growing desire to see Monona Terrace I still managed to summon some hype for her. And then I tried to savor the last 2 miles back to transition, because I had done it: I had conquered the thing that had scared me the most, all of the work that I had put in on the bike over the previous months and years had shone through in the most perfect way, and I had done it my way just like I had always dreamed of, loving every single minute. </p><p>The terrace shone ahead, just a mile to the helix. I started stretching out a bit, loosened my left shoe which had been digging into my ankle for the better part of an hour, took a deep breath and grinned. As I rode down the final stretch towards the terrace, I was reunited with my personal cheer squad of Andrew, Brittany, and Gabby and - what else? - I screamed and waved my arms and smiled like a maniac. Up the helix, a blazing joy in my heart, because I had conquered the fear, the doubts, the hills, I had made it home, and now I didn't have to run a marathon: I got to. The opportunity to run my first Ironman marathon, in the streets of Madison, where I became a runner, where I dreamed of being an Ironman. It was time to become that, too.</p><p>[Fueling for posterity: 5 packs of clif chomps (2-3 every 20-30 min), 1.5 Clif bars (lost second half of one), ~2 servings of honey Teddy Grahams, ~1.5 servings of pizzaria pretzel Combos, 1 pineapple Gu, 4 salt tabs (2 with caf, 2 without), 4 bottles Skratch, 1.5 bottles water]</p><p><i>T2: 7:41</i></p><p>What initially seemed like a magical transition position quickly seemed less amazing when I realized I had to drag my bike sooooo far to the other side of the parking lot. I thought about running with my bike, but quickly decided that awkwardly jogging on noodle legs with my bike fell firmly in the "not worth it category" (also everyone else was walking and I figured they knew better than me). So I power walked, eyeing up that damn bridge at the end of the parking lot and wishing I could will it closer. This was another moment in the race where I swear time just slowed down and I felt like it took hours to get to my rack! But finally, I was there, putting Bahamut back in the rack. I won't lie, this sounds ridiculous but it was a little bit emotional. I knew full well going into this race that it was almost certainly Bahamut's last, and to have had such a victorious ride on that bike at the end of its career, my very first bike that was the gateway to this whole dream, was so special. I gave the handlebars a little kiss and patted my little dragon for a job well done, then clomped off back to the other side of the helix to run down to my T2 bag. </p><p>Once I dropped off my bike I attempted to get my ass in gear to some degree and jogged the rest of the way out through the bike racks and down the helix to the next level of the garage, where the run bags were waiting. Overall the whole experience of finding the bags, something I'd actually had a stress dream about in the weeks leading up to the race, was actually pretty seamless. I'd stuck some Bell's stickers on the strings of my bags which made them extra easy to find, and I grabbed my bag and ran into the changing zone. Once again, I wasn't fully changing so didn't go into the tent, but just sort of dropped my stuff and started figuring out my life. Tri top off, shoes off, I managed to put my head in the armhole of my singlet but overcame my inability to don a tank top quickly enough. I had decided to change from my tri top to a singlet because I just felt like there was no way I could finish this race in anything but my GBTC racing singlet. Hat on; I started putting on my shoes; a volunteer asked me if I wanted to sit down and I immediately was like "NO", hahaha. Sitting down would have been death at that point. Got my shoes on and my fuel loaded up; hit the porta potty quickly while eating a Gu (EFFICIENCY lol). Once again this transition seemed to take a really long time and I guess it did compared to a "typical" transition, mainly because that run across the parking lot was VERY long. Again, definitely a couple things I could smooth out by being more prepared to do it efficiently, but not terrible at all. Do not regret not changing my shorts. And now, finally, it was time to do my thing, my domain, my home: the run. </p><p><i>Run: 3:51:47 (8:49/mi) - 6th AG, 23rd woman, 120th OA</i></p><p>Something I only learned after the race was that the run apparently actually started as soon as you left the bag drop area, so we ran ~1/4 mile inside the parking garage. It was kind of a weird sensation just running through this sort of endless underground tunnel thing. There weren't a ton of athletes around, so it was just this odd, quiet, what's even happening right now sort of feeling. It was almost eerily quiet, which was quite the juxtaposition for when I finally stepped out of the tunnel and under the "run out" arch (lol we'd already been on the run for 3 minutes, but whatever) and into a tunnel of cheering spectators. As I started my watch I whispered to myself <i>I'm home. </i>I had made it through the hard stuff - no matter what happened out there on this marathon, this part I knew how to do.</p><p>The first couple of miles I think I was just so utterly DELIGHTED to finally be running that nothing could have hurt me if it tried. It was lightly raining when I exited the tunnel, which actually felt great as the humidity was still sitting higher than I typically find comfortable. As I headed out around the square, I saw Andrew's friend Pete out cheering and gave him a big smile and a wave. The Wisconsin run course is essentially a tour of all the most wonderful places on campus, places I became a runner, and so much of the course has meaning or memories for me. In the later stages of the race, those memories would be something I'd call upon to keep myself in it when things got really rough. But for now, everything was beautiful, nothing hurt, and life was simply amazing. My legs felt great coming out of T2 so of course I had to take it out a little hot (7:27 for the first mile after the arch), but I quickly told myself I had to reel it in. My goal for the run was to go as close to 3:30 as possible. I think in the moment I had in my head that a crash was going to come at some point, and that I might as well bank a little time (honestly never a good strategy in the marathon, but I think in this case it saved me a bit of time). At the same time, I knew that I could not be running 7:45s and expect things to not come crashing down on me an hour from now. I literally gave myself a little talking to: <i>so, if you were running an OPEN marathon right now, what pace would you go out in? This pace? OK well then you should probably NOT BE RUNNING THIS PACE when you're already 115 miles into the race, you dumbo!</i> So I reined it in to a much more reasonable pace, around 8:00-8:10 by about mile 3. Smart! But also fun, because being a run-dominant person in a world where most people are not means that even running what I would normally consider to be a pretty easy pace, I was passing people left and right. Spectators got in on the action - "Look at her PACE!" was one of my favorite shouts, hah. I guess I figured if I was going to be wearing a track club singlet, I had better make sure I earned it.</p><p>We did a little out and back on the southeast bike path which I made a mental note of because I knew it would annoy the shit out of me on the second loop (IT DID). By this point I had settled into what felt like the right level of effort, and I was trying to just let it roll. There was a fantastic aid station at around the 3 mile mark on the loop, which was hilariously notable on this first lap because there was a little FOOD ROBOT stuck in the middle of the race! Andrew's sister had pointed out these adorable little robots that do food delivery on campus, but apparently they stop when they encounter a human. I almost started laughing when I spotted this robot in the middle of passing runners, no clue how to exit the situation, and I wondered if it would still be there when I got back. The energy through this aid station was awesome and I was still pretty fired up. I thanked the volunteers, but I actually don't remember if I took any water or not...I'm thinking not, which was stupid (more on that later). </p><p>The thing I was most excited for in the whole run was the fact that we got to run a loop around the field at Camp Randall and let me tell you, on that first lap it did NOT disappoint. That stadium is hallowed ground if you're a Badger, and I haven't been inside in over a decade. Maybe I sung the opening bars to Jump Around? Only those who were in the stadium with me know for sure, haha. I threw up the W at the photographer on the way out of the station, the one and only photo I had been planning since the start. By all accounts I was still feeling great. There was sort of an awkward curb coming out of the stadium, something I was glad I was aware of for later, and we headed onto Breese Terrace. I could close my eyes and almost picture the gameday tailgates where I'd spent so many Saturdays in college, but today there was just a gentle incline, the sound of footsteps, and some amazing spectators who were dressed as condiments for some reason. The course then turns onto University with a nice, gentle downhill. I had settled into a nice 8:10 pace at this point, which seemed about right - I kept telling myself the effort should basically feel like a long run. A lot of miles on the legs already, a lot of miles still to go.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkds-ctK6r2k-HbYrUz7-OOcl3WgXTNFBYnqxEx2i0MdTAPa55ZjFI__vYOnbK2h2pZRIQuIm44ddwtilbKv5UjsHZfq6_YfQqDHxdhB9cUm3hNubzEM2qCG4Tvy-bSpLwHzPHgA/s3200/254_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_120791-3772709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkds-ctK6r2k-HbYrUz7-OOcl3WgXTNFBYnqxEx2i0MdTAPa55ZjFI__vYOnbK2h2pZRIQuIm44ddwtilbKv5UjsHZfq6_YfQqDHxdhB9cUm3hNubzEM2qCG4Tvy-bSpLwHzPHgA/w426-h640/254_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_120791-3772709.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSQoZFSBnIIqCUDRonsn3eUhmvH9i4_F3-DVJPge0kOAC1YWwuynkTAvq1cx32ausiDKyNs1zKVJ6wNUOuKQO4lJMDm7fkalt8I8rVQS-IFkQuHZAyalbzQHuNFUyda5Cq3F-8Q/s3200/250_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_120787-3772705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSQoZFSBnIIqCUDRonsn3eUhmvH9i4_F3-DVJPge0kOAC1YWwuynkTAvq1cx32ausiDKyNs1zKVJ6wNUOuKQO4lJMDm7fkalt8I8rVQS-IFkQuHZAyalbzQHuNFUyda5Cq3F-8Q/w426-h640/250_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_120787-3772705.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If you wanna be a Badger, just come along with meeee!</div><p>We turned onto Walnut Street, where I took my first Gu of the day as planned just after mile 4. I should have known that trouble was brewing when that Gu didn't go down super smoothly - it wasn't awful, but my stomach definitely didn't accept it as readily as it usually does. No matter - I took some water and continued on. Now that I've run the course it totally makes sense to me, but the first lap was quite confusing with the number of out and backs, sections on and off the bike path, and random turns. Still, we were out by the track where I raced in college, running on the lakeshore path where I did workouts all the time, and it was pretty special to be back on these paths after all this time in an Ironman marathon. Despite my modest pace I was still passing people pretty constantly, with only a few strong running men rolling by on occasion. I felt steady and ready to execute my plan - if the bike had been full of joy and fun, the run was where I really had to get down to business.</p><p>I turned up past the boathouse, where I once manned a volunteer aid station back in college, and was delighted by a ~10 year old girl AGGRESSIVELY advertising the aid station. She was standing a little bit ahead of the station and pretty much hawking the various items they had on offer - "have a nice, cool, BEVERAGE! Stay hydrated! We have ORANGE SLICES!" It was hilarious, and she was right, so I grabbed some more water before turning to head up Observatory.</p><p>Observatory is the one major hill on the course, and it is a doozy. I forced myself to run it on the first loop but basically had already resigned myself to walking it on the second. At this point in the race, it was at that level of steepness where it started to fall into the category of "not worth it" to run up it. Still, if for nothing more than the moral victory, I wanted to run up it on the first pass. And I did, and it was...OK. Decidedly not great, but OK. There's a little break about halfway up the hill where you run by the Wisconsin bell tower, which was announcing some hour of the evening with a lovely carillon. It was a song I recognized but couldn't for the life of me identify, so I spent the next few minutes wracking my brain trying to figure out what that song <i>was...</i>as if I had the mental energy for anything more than basic bodily functions at that point. </p><p>I can't remember exactly at what point I started to have some serious concerns about my stomach, but it was somewhere around this point as I ran down the big hill on the other side of Observatory. It wasn't a sensation I've ever felt before - at this point, it wasn't nausea, it wasn't lower GI issues...my stomach just HURT. Like that Gu I had eaten earlier had somehow developed spikes and was just stabbing the inside of my stomach. As someone who pretty much has a stomach of steel during races unless I'm on the verge of heat stroke, this was unusual and needless to say, with 20 miles still to run, it was also concerning. For the moment I tried to just ignore it and hope that it would settle down, and continued on. At the bottom of the hill I ran past Bascom Hill, where I looked over and saw Andrew, Brittany, and Andrew's sister and brother in law sitting on the edge of the hill cheering! I gave them a wave, then turned into one of the more amazing parts of the course, the out and back on State Street.</p><p>Up until now there had been pockets of excellent spectator support, but the lakeshore path and the hill section had overall been pretty quiet. The turn onto State Street, however, was absolutely electric. The entire street was lined with spectators, Boston Marathon style. It was LOUD, and it was awesome. I ran down one corridor of spectators, high fiving all the way. I knew that I wasn't feeling as amazing as I hoped, but I tried to suck every bit of energy I could from that crowd to push me onward. On the way back from the turnaround I saw my mom, who I told "I've felt better in my life!" as I ran by. Then I saw Andrew and Brittany again, who I made a face at and yelled "I don't think I like running anymore!" LOL. Brittany made a comment that I was now a member of the "I Hate Running Running Club" which made me laugh and gave me a boost as I turned once again onto the lakeshore path. Home to so many warmups before track workouts, some of the first runs I ever did on campus, one of so many places where I really became a runner. I tried to take myself back to those moments and just zone out and let it ride through this section, which was flat, straight, and a great place to just let a few miles tick by without thinking.</p><p>Unfortunately, my stomach situation was rapidly going from bad to worse. I made an effort and took my second Gu around mile 9, but it was apparent in the way my stomach reacted that I was heading down a road where fueling was going to become a problem. At some point I also became aware that I was SO thirsty - I would just be dreaming of something to drink at the next aid station - but every time I drank my stomach would go into spasm and hurt even more. The best that I can guess is that I got more dehydrated than I realized on the bike, and that combined with my poorly timed clif bar in the last stretch of the ride put me into a hole that I was now paying the price for. Was this ideal? Not in the slightest. But I had said so many times going into the race that in a race this long, SOMETHING was bound to go wrong, and I had to be prepared to adapt and find a way to get through to the other side. This was the moment that I had to put that mental training and preparation into practice; to take a less than ideal situation and find a way through.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaA5UPet872mtXlKvKZPlFi3hWT4qaNwsQX520JMYW3V9L4VbEFVbjw5zqCNh6wcKlyKkorjM97HLzgSx5_qmlIm4ter8dnkHyBvxX2QaFqT-ubo6K8dPu7q-_gVXnEMmKTws4Bg/s3200/276_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_148559-3772731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaA5UPet872mtXlKvKZPlFi3hWT4qaNwsQX520JMYW3V9L4VbEFVbjw5zqCNh6wcKlyKkorjM97HLzgSx5_qmlIm4ter8dnkHyBvxX2QaFqT-ubo6K8dPu7q-_gVXnEMmKTws4Bg/w426-h640/276_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_148559-3772731.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hmmm yes, I HAVE FELT BETTER</div><p>I kept moving forward, though my stomach kept getting worse. Around the 11 mile mark I had to take my first brief walk break to try to calm the cramping in my stomach. <i>OK, stomach, you're going to need to GET IT TOGETHER</i>, I said to myself. I started thinking about my special needs bag and what I could find within. I knew I had pepto bismol in there, which sounded lifesaving, but what I was really fixated on was the seltzer that I had. Some thirst quenching bubbles to calm things down, then maybe burp things up sounded ideal. The next several miles passed in a blur as I made my way back onto the bike path, through the tunnel, along the road, and back up State Street to the Capitol. ALL I could think of was that damn seltzer! At some point in here I saw the Derrick's Flock crew again, still going as wild as ever. Derrick, your friends and family ROCK! The crowds were an entertaining mix of spectators and just students/normal people going about their day and stopping to watch whatever the hell us crazy people were out here doing. </p><p>The run around the Capitol into special needs was a low point in the race for sure. The stomach cramps just would NOT let up, and while I was trying to fight through it the discomfort combined with the creeping fatigue in my legs was starting to take its toll. I walked through another water station, deeply annoyed with myself. Although there would be slower miles further along the course as the race went on, I think here at mile 12.5, knowing I still was only halfway, feeling so atrocious and wondering if it was going to get even worse was the mental low point of the entire race. I kept looking around at people who were just starting the run and reminding myself that I was honestly doing GREAT, that running a 1:48 first half of an Ironman marathon was absolutely nothing to be mad about, and that even if I crashed and burned from here (which was seeming fairly likely), I was still doing great relative to the field. But I do think it was hard for me in that moment to shut off the pure runner brain that I've had my whole life and tell myself that it was actually acceptable to be walking at mile 12. Like, hi, remember when you just biked 113.5 miles over 6000 ft of elevation? Yup, your legs do. I think I still had this dream of just running this amazing marathon, never having to walk, and just crushing my way to a low 3:30. Today, clearly, was not going to be that kind of day. And that was OK - but I think I had to take a second to pout over my imperfect marathon before attending to the task at hand and getting to work on what I DID have to work with. </p><p>Anyway, I had that little pity party, but then got over it and set my eyes on the prize that was special needs and my SELTZER. I had hoped to not need to stop here, but I definitely don't regret it. The volunteer had my bag and I quickly dug around for the pepto...threw that back...seltzer? SELTZER? I mournfully cried "DID I NOT PUT MY SELTZER IN HERE?!" The poor volunteer was probably like WTF...but alas, I apparently had put the seltzer in my BIKE special needs bag, not the run. Damnit! I should have known there had to be at least one error with all the bags. In the grand scheme of things worse errors could definitely have been made, but ugh, I had been counting on that seltzer to save me! I hoped that the pepto bismol would work it's magic in the meantime, and started thinking about possible fizzy beverages that I could find out on the course. Meanwhile, apparently all the people tracking me freaked out when my pace for this section showed something over 10 (and I suppose, to my credit, it WAS the only mile over 10 minutes due to the stoppage time - probably less than a minute). Deeply disappointed about my lack of seltzer, but with nothing to be done for it, I set out around the turnaround from special needs and back onto the course for the second loop of my Ironman marathon. </p><p>I've seen a saying that the monkey really jumps on your back the second loop of the marathon in an Ironman, and I'll admit that I went into the race a little bit cocky, thinking that wouldn't be true. I was such a strong runner! I had been so smart with my effort on the bike! I wasn't going to let the second loop get me, no way. But in actuality, with my stomach continuing to try to turn itself inside out and my legs rapidly realizing that more fuel wasn't coming, the monkey or the wall or whatever you want to call it was real. Heading back out onto the course and recognizing that I had to run that all AGAIN, in the current state I was in, was daunting to say the least. I won't say that the miles that followed were the proudest of my life; this was the only section out of the entire day when I felt my mental game start to crack a bit. I just couldn't see a way out of the problem in front of me. I think that's one of the most challenging things about a race this long - when something goes wrong, it's probably already been in the process of going wrong for hours, and once you realize it it's already too late. </p><p>I headed back around the Capitol and started the process of trying to figure out what the hell my stomach was going to accept for the second half of this marathon. My first choice, poorly made, was Gatorade, which was a hard NOPE. Stomach spasm, walk, let my brain think its angry thoughts, maybe (probably) curse out loud, and then try to start running again. It's funny because when I look at my splits for miles 14-20, which I perceived as an absolute disaster where I walked the WHOLE time, they honestly aren't THAT bad. I had 2 splits over 10 (a section coming out of the stadium, and my chosen walk up Observatory the second time), the rest are in the mid-9s even though every single one included some walking. It pretty much looks exactly like all the times I've blown up at Boston - I may have to walk, but when I'm not walking I'm still running at a pretty good pace. In the moment, however, it just felt like ALL I was doing was walking, and while that was also the case for nearly everyone around me, it was really striking a blow to my "I'm a runner" ego.</p><p>Coming back down State Street, I suddenly heard someone call my name and managed to lock eyes with a random friend of my sister's who recognized me in the crowd! That plus the downhill gave me a brief reprieve as I waited for the Pepto to kick in, and I think I actually managed to run all of mile 15. There was an aid station blasting some pretty great techno, which always pumps me up, and on my way down under the tunnel I saw John running up the other side! We still haven't been able to figure out at what point I passed him during the run - I would think I would have noticed, but I was probably too delirious to recognize him without his bike. Either way, it was cool to have a moment with a training partner who was also out there in the arena!</p><p>Back on the bike path in the little out and back section, which was exactly as annoying as I'd predicted it would be on the first lap. The path seemed a lot more crowded and I was still making passes, which I started to realize were people I was lapping. I kept trying to keep my mind in it, reminding myself that I was tough, that I knew I could keep moving forward, and that I couldn't be too upset with myself when I was out here lapping people. At the lively aid station at the end of the bike path, things were still rocking. "Sweet Dreams" was blasting from somewhere, and as I ran under the Red Bull arch I decided that it was time to see if Red Bull would be the thing to save my stomach. <i>Everybody's looking for something...</i> I will give the Red Bull mixed reviews. It was VERY cold (amazing) and fizzy (also amazing) but the flavor just didn't sit the way I wanted. The stomach cramps were now starting to evolve into more of a nausea, which I also did not appreciate, and I tried to keep my head on. This was where I really got to find out what I was made of, not in the parts that were perfect and effortless but in the parts that were hard, really, really hard. This was what being iron was all about.</p><p>The second run into and around Camp Randall was slightly less of a religious experience than the first. I found myself entering the stadium directly behind two women together on what I assume was their first lap who were power walking, chatting it up loudly like they were out for a stroll in the park. In my mental state at that moment, for some reason the sound of their voices drove me NUTS. I'm pretty sure I tried to run faster just to get away from the yakking..."faster" being a relative term. My stomach sucked. My legs sucked. Everything sucked. I looked around at the stadium, where workers were still sweeping up trash from the previous night's game, willing it to give me some kind of energy. Unfortunately, all I could think was how much I identified with the garbage being swept out of the stadium at that moment, lol. But I told myself I was not allowed to walk on the hallowed ground of the Camp Randall field, and so I kept my legs moving at whatever kind of run they could muster, over the astroturf and out through the gate. The incline leading out of the stadium nearly broke me; it was here that I took one of my longest walk breaks of the race and really had to pull myself back together mentally. My mind was whirling with one question: <i>how can I make it through 10 more miles feeling like THIS? </i>I couldn't eat anything, my legs were trashed, and all I could picture was that I was just going to slow down more and more and more. This was one of the 10+ minute miles of the race. It was just a LONG walk break where I really wondered if I was ever going to manage to get myself running again. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvyvk31_HZV_drb7MHZIYaQJ7-uQGAyVO362WOqKL854CiQ5M7SoFtxlcMMOy8XRERZ2ZFmScOHJx8DbIj7zF0Z3dslpH7zDVzgI0-YhkVv74ENu2Csmykw29KTGmSh598QIA6Q/s3200/245_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_117631-3772700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvyvk31_HZV_drb7MHZIYaQJ7-uQGAyVO362WOqKL854CiQ5M7SoFtxlcMMOy8XRERZ2ZFmScOHJx8DbIj7zF0Z3dslpH7zDVzgI0-YhkVv74ENu2Csmykw29KTGmSh598QIA6Q/w426-h640/245_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_117631-3772700.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Trying to stay in it</div><p>But I had to stay in it. At some point on Breese Terrace, I saw a woman lying on the ground being attended to by medics, and somehow that snapped me out of it. I was still out here, still moving forward, still in it. The situation was not ideal, sure, but it wasn't catastrophic. I wasn't frantically searching for a porta potty, I wasn't injured, I was just fatigued and uncomfortable. Uncomfortable? Who gives a shit about uncomfortable? Throughout my running career I think I've always struggled with really getting uncomfortable in races; I tend to back off and play it safe rather than risk that feeling. I think it's a big reason why I should have a much faster half marathon PR than I do - I just can't convince myself to stay in it when the going gets tough. Sitting here writing this now, it's easy for me to throw stones at myself and say I could have pushed through it more, walked less, been mentally stronger. The only thing I'm remotely disappointed in of the entire racing experience are these middle 8 miles of the marathon. But in the moment, I was just doing what I needed to do to survive, advance, and keep moving, and I think if that meant taking a few moments when my stomach felt like it was going to fly Alien-style out of my body, then so be it. But there was a time to give in and there was a time to get over myself, and now was that time. And so, I forced myself back into a run, past the stadium and onto University. I had another unfortunate moment of weakness just after the turn, when my stomach again reminded me that it was still A Problem and I started walking just after hearing 2 guys behind me discuss their plan to "run a 5K, walk a mile" (this did not seem like a plan I wanted to subscribe to). I kept telling myself I only got to walk as long as it took for whatever hissy fit my stomach was having to stop, and then I'd make myself get back to it. I even implemented the counting strategy that I've used at mountain races to keep myself in check, because I know well that once you start walking, it's just so easy to let yourself walk just a little longer.</p><p>By the time we reached the aid station at Walnut Street, I was basically begging my body to just let me puke already, so that maybe I would stop feeling so nauseous. I was honestly eyeing up garbage cans, considering whether forcing myself to throw up would be the move. You know you've reached a low point in life when you actively WISH you would vomit...Ironmans are truly a magical thing lol. But instead of stopping, I decided to try something I hadn't yet grabbed from an aid station, and grabbed a cup of Coke. And Coke tasted SO. DAMN. GOOD. I was still nauseous, it didn't immediately solve my problems, but it was something I could get down, something that made me burp, which was almost as good as puking, and something that my body actually seemed to be interested in. Forget the vast spread of food and drink that was available at all of the aid stations, forget the salt tabs and Gus that I had with me: the remainder of this marathon was about to be fueled by Coca Cola.</p><p>My stomach felt better, but my legs were starting to become pretty aggressively uncooperative as I turned onto the lakeshore path once again. When I think about this section, I think of two things: the fact that for some reason someone was playing Fergie's "London Bridge" (why.) and this section of the path where there's a dorm right up against the path and you're running next to a brick wall with windows - I have almost a photograph in my mind of the wall, the runners in front of me, runners streaming from the other side. There was some kind of dorm event going on outside one of the lakeshore dorms, a BBQ of some sort, and all I could think of was how the thought of food made me want to hurl. The next couple miles were a blur of mostly running, sometimes walking, always feeling nauseous, and constantly telling myself that every step forward was a step closer to stopping.</p><p>I was almost looking forward to the turn at the boathouse, because I knew my plan to walk Observatory meant that I had a nice long walk break in store - hopefully, a chance for my body as a whole to pull itself together for the last 7-8 miles. I grabbed a cup of coke and a cup of water and sipped on both as I power walked up the hill, actually passing a couple of people who were running which gives more credence to the mountain running theory that sometimes walking IS actually the better option. When I got to the top of the steep section of the hill, I got myself running again and continued up past the carrilon and down the winding road by the library. I somehow found myself totally alone on the downhill of Observatory - kind of a magical feeling for my soul, if not for my stomach...the bounce of running down hill as ROUGH. I looked at the students studying in the library windows, wondering if any of them had any idea what was going on on the other side of the glass, or if they were too absorbed in Physics 202 or Biochem or whatever to even notice.</p><p>At the bottom of the hill, right in front of me, out popped Andrew and Brittany! "Thoughts and prayers to my stomach" I yelled at them, grimacing. After the race Andrew made fun of me because apparently as I was bitching about my stomach I also passed several people as they watched. Sometimes you truly need an outsider to give you perspective! In all of my official race photos, I generally look pretty good - smiling mostly, or at the very least looking strong - but Brittany got a great shot here that truly demonstrates how I REALLY felt at that moment:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6o1nFhSZjFwz81vXy52eQWFuA3FlXnoeySqBM7H6D_H59sApG8N0iluxGAGLOrMJSIaKuk30tm6_8aKwL0-WnlxkZTXybUR2tY2Z0R_J6qH3BzyUudB2ofoZGHrcPOtA1FCQXA/s2048/IMG_0997.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6o1nFhSZjFwz81vXy52eQWFuA3FlXnoeySqBM7H6D_H59sApG8N0iluxGAGLOrMJSIaKuk30tm6_8aKwL0-WnlxkZTXybUR2tY2Z0R_J6qH3BzyUudB2ofoZGHrcPOtA1FCQXA/w480-h640/IMG_0997.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thank you Brittany for making sure the true story is told hahahaha</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I ran onto State Street in a fog, grabbing some more of the magical Coke before heading into the roar of the crowd. I was starting to get into sort of a rhythm with the aid stations: walk, drink the Coke, keep walking while waiting for things to settle or preferably to burp, get running again. With each aid station the prospect of starting to run again was starting to become less and less desireable, but I forced myself to stick to the pattern. Walk only as long as absolutely necessary to get the fluids down and make sure your stomach isn't going to reject them, then get your ass moving. State Street, again, was completely electric, and while I lacked the energy to interact with the crowds in the way I had been for most of the race I did have a hilarious interaction with a drunk college girl who screamed at me "OH MY GOD, YOU LOOK AMAZING! LIKE HOW HAVE YOU BEEN DOING THIS FOR HOURS? YOU'RE BARELY SWEATING!" For the first time in awhile, I actually cracked a smile and did an awkward little hair flip thing. By the time I got back to Andrew and Brittany, I was still complaining about having to go back out on the bike path but I was starting to find the whole situation mildly comical, which was certainly a better place to be than absolutely miserable. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I headed back past the limnology building and onto the trail, laughing as a clueless college student meandered across the route until a guy running in front of me just yelled at her "MOVE!" There actually were a few clueless coeds roaming around the bike path as if they didn't even notice the thousands of sweaty people in bib numbers running there, and there were a couple points when I just wanted to yell "read the room!" But again, this section of the course was a great place to just kind of zone out and keep going, step by step. I'm sure there was some walking that occurred, but I think it was mostly running. I had fallen into a decent rhythm of walking through every other aid station, taking Coke, drinking it, washing it down with a little water, letting my stomach settle, and then moving on my way at a run. By this point I think the combination of the pepto and the Coke had brought my stomach to some level of homeostasis. It still didn't feel AMAZING, but it no longer felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out, and that was progress. Of course, we were now approaching mile 20 of the race, which meant that even as my stomach jumped back on board the party bus my legs were determined to exit the equation. But at least THAT was a feeling I was familiar with. The stomach thing was such a nightmare because I'd literally never experienced before and had no idea how to cope. But dead legs at mile 20 of a marathon? That was a problem I had substantial experience with. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was around this point where my memory of the race involves me running more and walking less, and my splits do back up that story. I was still walking through some of the aid stations trying to get some Coke in, because I was still thirsty, but I had stopped with the random walk breaks between aid stations and was forcing myself to wait for the Coke before I'd allow myself to walk again. During this stretch the course ran out past picnic point and into an out and back around the university bay fields. There was a group of guys, one of whom was dressed as Minnie Mouse, drinking beers and cheering loudly while relaxing in lawn chairs by the entrance to picnic point. I was pretty sure I'd seen Minnie out on the bike course at one of the aid stations, yelling "It's your lucky day, because you're at MY AID STATION!" and I was seriously impressed that he was somehow back here, drinking and cheering more. But let's be real, that would totally be me if I lived in Madison. As I ran out towards the turnaround, I found myself thinking about the fact that it was on this very path, on a run with Brittany in 2009, that we decided we wanted to do an Ironman in 2020. We had a whole joke my senior track season: no matter how bad the 5K feels, at least you're not doing an Ironman. But here I was, doing an Ironman, and it was so much harder and so much better and so much more glorious than any 5K could ever be. The thought really kept me going: that I was having the opportunity to do this thing not only where I'd always dreamed of it, but literally running in the footsteps of my past self, the one who had jokingly said I was going to do this thing someday, but who always knew deep down that it wasn't really a joke at all. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcHlzqakFTnBeNSxtSDKoSCKqitmFdh_viIoew5JjfAL6_a8k9k4SpjbBUEGoMDHO1nfOeZrVn9mmNURPYSvtg9iEpEFhrhu292j-SJOWFOCfyUnjSmJgqWMEIxUHj-LGbSEqRQ/s3200/241_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_079895-3772696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2136" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcHlzqakFTnBeNSxtSDKoSCKqitmFdh_viIoew5JjfAL6_a8k9k4SpjbBUEGoMDHO1nfOeZrVn9mmNURPYSvtg9iEpEFhrhu292j-SJOWFOCfyUnjSmJgqWMEIxUHj-LGbSEqRQ/w428-h640/241_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_079895-3772696.JPG" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Surviving...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was something about the turnaround at the bay fields, maybe just knowing that it was the last turnaround and that I was actually finally running directly towards the finish, maybe the pepto bismol finally taking effect, maybe the fact that I was 5 miles away from finishing an Ironman, or maybe the fact that I was still running against all odds and just about everyone in the vicinity was walking, but I started to feel just the slightest sense that I had some life left in me. The walk breaks had become shorter and more directly related to aid stations over the past few miles, and while I wasn't running very FAST, I was running, which was something. I definitely didn't feel great, but I felt better than I had 6 miles ago, which was something. As I turned around into the last bike path section I started thinking about what I had left to tackle. I'd been doing my usual complex mental math over the course of second loop (mainly related to "if I run 10:00 miles from here on out, when will I finish, because that's easy math and always seems achieveable, lol). My ability to do math at this stage of the race is always sketchy at best, and I couldn't remember the exact time I'd gone into the water, but looking at the time of day and how far I still had to go, I realized there was no way I was going to finish under 12 hours. <i>It's OK, </i>I thought to myself, <i>you came really close, you're still having a great race, and now it's time to finish it. </i>I wasn't bothered by letting go of that arbitrary time goal, I think because deep down I really knew that I was racing the absolute best that I could for this day and this race and these circumstances, and knowing that was true made the thought of a time goal matter much less. I made up my mind: one more walk break at the Walnut St aid station, one more cup of Coke with some water to was it down, and then? I was going to run it in. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How do I describe the last 5K of an Ironman? When your body has been at its limit for hours, when you haven't taken in anything but Coke since mile 8, when it feels like there's nothing left in your legs and with every step your mind is telling you that it would be so much easier if you just walked, it doesn't matter anyway, you can make this not hurt so much, all you have to do is give in, and you somehow have to keep on moving for a distance that would normally seem nominal, but today is your 138th mile of the day. But I would not give in. I can barely even remember being on University or Breese because there was just nothing outside of myself and running forward, one step, then, another, then another, and under no circumstances walking. I wanted so much to just let go and walk - hadn't I already lost the chance at my time goal? What was the point of more torture? But I would not - not in the last 5K of MY Ironman, not when running was MY sport, because the work I had done and sacrifices I had made over the past 2 years deserved more than walking with 3 miles to go. I wish I could say there was some inspirational quote or mantra playing in my head, but all there was was the internal roar of every cell in my body screaming <i>pleasestoppleasestoppleasestop</i> and my mind shouting above it all <i>NO, you HAVE to keep running, you CAN, and you HAVE to. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 miles to go. Back by the stadium, I almost tripped on the curb just like I knew I would, then almost lost control of my legs on the little ramp downhill, then we were back on the street. Still running, still fighting, somehow, some way. As I approached what I had now come to think of as the party aid station, they were playing this Beastie Boys song which I later identified as "Sabotage" but in the moment only processed as LOUD ROCK MUSIC SONG which also for some reason was EXACTLY what I wanted to hear. The aggressive shouting felt like a perfect match for my mood - the time for lighthearted pumping up was over, it was time to FIGHT. I knew vaguely where the 25 mile marker was, and I kept thinking that if I could just get there, I could do 1 more mile after that. Back under the bike path, through the tunnel, onto the street (I still have never figured out why in triathlons you always seem to run on the left side when runners are going both ways?). Everything was in shambles, but somehow I was still running, and I willed myself towards that 25 mile mark with everything I had.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Finally, it appeared. One mile to go. I was finally, really going to do this. For some reason the only thing that stands out from the turn onto State Street is that there was someone standing on the corner with a pack of 3 french bulldogs, and my brain was like "3 frenchies, that's a good omen" (I'm sorry brain, what? lmao). And then I was there, on State Street, in that finishing stretch that I had always imagined and dreamed of. Because I relate everything back to the Boston course, and I was hurting so much but knew I was so close, I suddenly had the most vivid mental picture of Boylston Street in my head. <i>You're on Boylston. You're on Boylston. </i>It became my mantra, my mental refrain. I ran on, up State Street and towards the capitol square, each step harder than the last but the pull of my heart knowing that I was so, so close. I was so excited to be done running, but I also had this awareness that I only got to do this, my first real Ironman finish, once. Despite the exhaustion, I didn't want to wish the moments away. I wanted to savor it - every bit of fatigue in my legs and exhaustion in my body, every bit of mental strength that I continued to call on to will me forward. The light of the Capitol, the background roar of the crowd, the feeling of being here, being alive, doing this thing. It's been a long time since I got to do something for the first time, and even longer since that something was a thing I had dreamed of most of my adult life. There is so much magic in that first time - you put in this work and this training but until race day you just have to take it on faith that what you have is enough. Especially in an Ironman, where there's nothing you can do in training that even comes close to the real thing, you just have to step to the precipice and jump, hoping you'll land safely. The pride and joy that I began to fill as the finish line crept closer, the knowledge that I had taken what the day had given me and done EVERYTHING I possibly could with it - I can only describe that as magic.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I ran into the special needs chute, ready to take the left turn to the finish. In a moment of comedy, a runner heading out for their second loop was making a bag exchange right in front of me, and as I continued to approach I quickly realized that I was about to run right into them. Unable to make any sudden lateral movements (or really any sudden movements, for that matter) by this point, I think I just ended up shouting something...I don't remember if it was "COMING THROUGH!" or "EXCUSE ME!" or possibly just "AHHHHH" (honestly it was probably that 3rd one hahaha) but they managed to evacuate the area in time for me to have a clear path through. And then the beautiful left turn arrow, "To Finish", and the red carpet unfolded in front of me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The moment I hit that carpet, all the fatigue and pain and nausea and everything simply melted away. Andrew and Brittany and my mom were right there at the turn, guiding me into the chute, and as I ran down that carpet I broke open with joy. The crowd was cheering, but I wanted more, MORE, and I waved my arms in a "pump up the volume" gesture, then threw them over my head. It was complete, absolute, and perfect joy. Perfect magic. I think I always pictured I'd cry when I finished the Ironman, but this went beyond tears - there was just too much happiness for even tears of joy. I closed my eyes and raised my arms and let the lights of the capitol and the roar of the crowd and the sound of Mike Reilly's voice and the sensation of having done it, having fucking done it, having become an Ironman, envelop me, and I ran. <i>Audrey Hatas </i>(pronounced incorrectly as hate-uhs, because of course hahaha)<i>, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KxrrRTkIGSOhuTiFMsf8-5KEmvJHviS3vqW2XTLaGNTTG8-SYvcn0akJOF4_2-9Cv8LuTQSX7NM67r0YHO0xPzyiTbJ98eX3wT35Apy05CIG2kifm8rmUxdjOepPsh2mgIh78g/s3200/299_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_195817-3772754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2136" data-original-width="3200" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KxrrRTkIGSOhuTiFMsf8-5KEmvJHviS3vqW2XTLaGNTTG8-SYvcn0akJOF4_2-9Cv8LuTQSX7NM67r0YHO0xPzyiTbJ98eX3wT35Apy05CIG2kifm8rmUxdjOepPsh2mgIh78g/w640-h428/299_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_195817-3772754.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wEVKIey8QL6eVt3AEmj9HHY1iZ97FRKKqHYU1l37No_RhRIRkWLKTh1wB1enuY4q-cLiuvMb3WIdOHo9_GNCt3JhYlFcjb6IcVT_74aEQ4nCyczlHPrePpYnklEIIqBbT5QKgQ/s3200/300_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_195818-3772755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2136" data-original-width="3200" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wEVKIey8QL6eVt3AEmj9HHY1iZ97FRKKqHYU1l37No_RhRIRkWLKTh1wB1enuY4q-cLiuvMb3WIdOHo9_GNCt3JhYlFcjb6IcVT_74aEQ4nCyczlHPrePpYnklEIIqBbT5QKgQ/w640-h428/300_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_195818-3772755.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOz-VPuN68B-gli9mmAbEYdMceLLYBRg7IbbqtpqAw8-bmKkJsyvSxQfjteMMRr8DE1it-mOBE1BVG0IBmeYm1lQt0YD3waXnMDOFsSjbofySgwrsJfV19HHD3P_25A7pwAmNnSg/s3200/302_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_195820-3772757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2136" data-original-width="3200" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOz-VPuN68B-gli9mmAbEYdMceLLYBRg7IbbqtpqAw8-bmKkJsyvSxQfjteMMRr8DE1it-mOBE1BVG0IBmeYm1lQt0YD3waXnMDOFsSjbofySgwrsJfV19HHD3P_25A7pwAmNnSg/w640-h428/302_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_195820-3772757.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeutMi1qVrkF9sDcnR7uEpSJcqwiZqLoK-y2A0rjJxV9yQalhJra71Wuh32aVry9KxaxmTDZM8NB7aLkyA5SMn4Aah1p2duo58btVs-5-SS4lTuxv1UfeI1foQJwIwsVFO5Avk4Q/s3200/282_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_157984-3772737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeutMi1qVrkF9sDcnR7uEpSJcqwiZqLoK-y2A0rjJxV9yQalhJra71Wuh32aVry9KxaxmTDZM8NB7aLkyA5SMn4Aah1p2duo58btVs-5-SS4lTuxv1UfeI1foQJwIwsVFO5Avk4Q/w426-h640/282_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_157984-3772737.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREVZOm7EQA82tsnS-9MoUJsbHdUB5HsuWBAnj3EQKk3vZIezkLCVrGQAcgemO8aiKvOlPcUkBfdIfbSAgfuGEpp97OkfFQPhyvu7Ggc8j2ZUwtPSY-swzuQI8nqF0RATTCKB74Q/s3200/283_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_170696-3772738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREVZOm7EQA82tsnS-9MoUJsbHdUB5HsuWBAnj3EQKk3vZIezkLCVrGQAcgemO8aiKvOlPcUkBfdIfbSAgfuGEpp97OkfFQPhyvu7Ggc8j2ZUwtPSY-swzuQI8nqF0RATTCKB74Q/w426-h640/283_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_170696-3772738.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5P9VBZrFrLwGhT5pTGW3m0tOqyKq1TCtin31HlnlEV3uEAODLEC0aTv1BrBGEax3rLv5nE5N2CIjv0fSgYHbPfNtIPsVEme-q8uxqYogOvnOEmEUSlUxOqx8wn2Wj87n9R31Fw/s3200/270_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_147654-3772725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5P9VBZrFrLwGhT5pTGW3m0tOqyKq1TCtin31HlnlEV3uEAODLEC0aTv1BrBGEax3rLv5nE5N2CIjv0fSgYHbPfNtIPsVEme-q8uxqYogOvnOEmEUSlUxOqx8wn2Wj87n9R31Fw/w426-h640/270_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_147654-3772725.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>Freeze frame. Capture a moment that you've thought about for years. This exact place, those exact words, this exact feeling. I will treasure this moment, this fact that I had brought myself to this place, this moment, this feeling, in exactly the way I had always envisioned. It was perfect. It was magic.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I crossed the line and entered the chute, overwhelmed but beaming, and overjoyed to no longer be running. I got my medal and kind of cackled at the volunteer who told me "food to the right, medical to the left....uh, you look like you're fine though?" Oh, I was more than fine. I wandered into the food tent and surveyed the scene: sub sandwiches, fruit, bagels (WHO, I ask, wants bagels AFTER a race?). The thought of consuming any of those selections immediately made me consider vomiting again. Then I laid eyes on a bin of soda at the end of the tent, which contained SPRITE. "OH MY GOD," I exclaimed to the volunteer, as I cradled a Sprite in my hands, "I think I want this soda more than I've ever wanted anything in my life." "...you can take another one!" he called to me as I exited the tent, lol. In fact, the actual experience of drinking the Sprite wasn't as great as I thought it would be - my stomach was basically having nothing to do with anything - but it's really the finding it that counts. I stood for a bit, trying to bring myself back to a semi-human state of being, then figured I should probably start making my way back to transition to get my stuff so I could meet up with Andrew and the crew. It was a slow walk, to say the least. Across the top of the terrace, down the elevator, where I made small talk with a fellow racer who told me "wow, if you did this as your first, you'll DEFINITELY PR at the next one you do," haha. God bless the volunteers once again, as all of our bike/run/morning bags were neatly tied together at the same location they'd been in the morning - the organization of this race was truly a well oiled machine, even with the COVID related changes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I opened my bag and grabbed my phone, laughing at the ~80 texts that I had, and then as I started walking over to grab my bike from the rack, decided I should see what my time had been, in the end. I opened the app, pulled up my own tracker, and saw: <b>11:59:46.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And that? THAT is when I started to cry. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCVT3J3Y1UX4-1TrY6PqKYcVLAwVqcr2gG_7n_RoJ0FmJDBNZPUfDYFm_saViOdX0asTIvQxHBO2uLgx7QqxrZaXpxJiC9cOAxaaE5zkqV0BU4wWFiVN5htzlyUK30q1FmdswSQ/s2944/20210912_190816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2944" data-original-width="2208" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCVT3J3Y1UX4-1TrY6PqKYcVLAwVqcr2gG_7n_RoJ0FmJDBNZPUfDYFm_saViOdX0asTIvQxHBO2uLgx7QqxrZaXpxJiC9cOAxaaE5zkqV0BU4wWFiVN5htzlyUK30q1FmdswSQ/w480-h640/20210912_190816.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">14 seconds. Somehow, despite everything, despite giving up on that dream halfway through the marathon, I had done it. All I could think about was the way that I had pulled myself together for that last 5K, the way I had fought against every instinct that wanted to stop and convinced myself to hang on just a little longer. That mental strength that was built over a summer of runs in horrific weather, endless doubles, overcoming my doubts about my riding. The way I had ridden the bike course I'd been so afraid of with such joy. All of the millions of ways I could have given up those 14 seconds throughout the course of a nearly 12 hour day of racing and yet somehow, I had reclaimed those seconds, and I had gotten my sub-12. The fact that it was 14 seconds, my favorite number, as well...I've used this word a lot throughout the race report, but all I can say is that it was absolute magic.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipUxvIzQWU2QN2xa235c4n6zhy8tKVgx0ChZtKEBy-3cPuLNfSpopjgJEYVeBbmoWmkWrRVDaEujJGwappe_Q6K_oYYPF8dF8UzRtoJbXUBR02FrNF9P4HVGIvILVAK-DRsFiS6A/s4032/20210912_192934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipUxvIzQWU2QN2xa235c4n6zhy8tKVgx0ChZtKEBy-3cPuLNfSpopjgJEYVeBbmoWmkWrRVDaEujJGwappe_Q6K_oYYPF8dF8UzRtoJbXUBR02FrNF9P4HVGIvILVAK-DRsFiS6A/w480-h640/20210912_192934.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The best squad ever</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The rest of the evening was as perfect as I had always wanted it to be. I drank a beer, took an epic shower, and then dragged Andrew back out into the night so I could cheer for athletes finishing until midnight. I ate a slice of Ian's mac and cheese pizza while sitting on the curb (1 single slice of pizza was the only thing my stomach was willing to accept throughout the evening...refueling, not doing it right), then used the box as a noisemaker while sitting on the Paul's Club patio, drinking a Bell's Two Hearted, and screaming my face off for the athletes still finishing. If you know me at all you know that the only thing that can make a race day more perfect for me is if I ALSO somehow get to spectate, so to wrap up the day in the way that this all began, cheering on these crazy athletes as they made their way to their own Ironman finishes, was perfection. Only now? I was one of them. I was an Ironman.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dW1x7lCkRa_xz1AjVTxTsVMH1NIiPF9mU3iKLkOzJfzv5nFp9FU3ShTis7zXGfy3d0gDAd0zvkCDjvLyq28UQLc5CgRx77OMZ7WzRnk7XsnwnIuKM-AwioohUoJPmDcz2J8jIg/s3200/309_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_212840-3772764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2133" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dW1x7lCkRa_xz1AjVTxTsVMH1NIiPF9mU3iKLkOzJfzv5nFp9FU3ShTis7zXGfy3d0gDAd0zvkCDjvLyq28UQLc5CgRx77OMZ7WzRnk7XsnwnIuKM-AwioohUoJPmDcz2J8jIg/w426-h640/309_d-2718345-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-4015_212840-3772764.JPG" width="426" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I could keep talking for hours about this race, but this is already a literal novel, so all I'll say is this: on my first day in Madison, I walked past a bar with a giant neon sign that said "It Was A Magic Day". And I thought, wow, what a perfect sign, but I can't think about it or take a picture of it or with it or anything until after the race, until it actually is magic. Well, I can safely say that every second of my Ironman Wisconsin day, every breath, every mile, the joyous moments and the tough ones, was magic. It was exactly the day I had always dreamed of, from a college sophomore watching the swim start to an adult buying a bike to a half iron finisher who realized I did have what it took. It was, in every sense, a magic day. I feel so unbelievably lucky to have had it, and I cannot WAIT to do it again. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Ironman Wisconsin 2021: 11:59:46 - 11th AG, 40th woman, 247th OA</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bAg685C2bec08KoLYKWZk-0drZkqQWigRzUv5fYQRpfpp4oGQRL4MREhJHGVadtj9aa54MgyUG3MH7I3S-vuf7FEOs83uxhTQlbZL6eVmMI66PGdRY3jaqt0F4z7UWp0_tC6MA/s4032/20210916_164736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bAg685C2bec08KoLYKWZk-0drZkqQWigRzUv5fYQRpfpp4oGQRL4MREhJHGVadtj9aa54MgyUG3MH7I3S-vuf7FEOs83uxhTQlbZL6eVmMI66PGdRY3jaqt0F4z7UWp0_tC6MA/w480-h640/20210916_164736.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAGI4U2hYY5wVGh1v94skxttzzZXlyriu-XtbP883TDgbe6TN9EcJAcW7JB68erVRMsTlMbEmdsUL0yJ-o5vsq9rOBGOdG0LrFKKYWK25Cwg9esMVTwOABtQXZUqZxEInzth4eQ/s4032/20210913_102655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAGI4U2hYY5wVGh1v94skxttzzZXlyriu-XtbP883TDgbe6TN9EcJAcW7JB68erVRMsTlMbEmdsUL0yJ-o5vsq9rOBGOdG0LrFKKYWK25Cwg9esMVTwOABtQXZUqZxEInzth4eQ/w480-h640/20210913_102655.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-57954310910776286862021-07-11T19:28:00.002-05:002021-07-11T19:28:17.067-05:00Mount Washington Road Race Race Report 2021<p>Going out of order with the race reports here - I started this one right after the race, but then the week got away from me, then the triathlon happened, and that race report took ages to write. But anyway, here's my race report for Mount Washington, which happened on June 19. Oh man, I just love Mount Washington. It's been 3 years since I last raced up the rockpile (didn't get in the lottery in 2019 and then COVID in 2020) and what a joyous experience it was to be back out there, fighting the incline and the weather (more on that later) and the magic of the mountain. I was also pretty damn pleased that after 3 years away and no formal preparation for this race specifically, I came away with a 4 minute PR and placed in the top 30 women overall! I hate to admit it but I'm starting to think I might not suck at this mountain running thing, annnnd I might have a goal of cracking the top 25 the next time I head up the mountain - and also, I think all this Ironman training might be doing something after all.</p><p>Anyway, on to the race report! We had a great squad of GBTC ladies racing this weekend, and since this was really the first team event/girls weekend since COVID began there was an extra layer of excitement to the situation. We all made our way up to Bartlett on Friday night and got settled in our fantastic AirBnB which just happened to have an outstanding view of Mount Washington itself...this may or may not have been the deciding factor in me booking this specific lodging, hah. We all contributed to make a great pasta dinner and enjoyed a couple of beers and caught up - several of my teammates I literally hadn't seen since last March and others I've seen minimally, so it was fantastic just shooting the breeze. All the while, the mountain watched over us, waiting and beckoning.</p><p>We went to bed pretty early, but I slept terribly - took me ages to fall asleep, woke up several times during the night, and then woke up at 4:40 am (alarm was set for 5:45) and after about 20 minutes of tossing and turning decided to just get the eff up and enjoy a leisurely morning. I still don't think I had really processed in any sense what I was doing today and while there was some hint of pre race nerves in play it was more of a giddiness to be here with my friends and just doing SOMETHING after the past year. I ate a banana, drank some coffee out on the porch, and braided my hair - my braid turned out well which is always good vibes for the race - and we slowly but surely got our stuff together until it was time to leave for the start.</p><p>Because of COVID, the men and women ran on separate days this year, which I actually thought was pretty awesome. The women got to run first on Saturday (clutch, as that obviously means more time for enjoying life post race), but the smaller field meant less lines and fewer logistical problems the morning of the race. It also created a pretty cool vibe as the entire area was full of badass women ready to conquer the mountain. When we arrived at the bottom of the auto road it was RAINING, and we immediately all started laughing about how no one had actually prepared for rain. Luckily for the fact that we still had 90 minutes to kill before the start, the rain let up and was replaced by pretty humid, but cool air. We sent our driver good vibes as she headed up the mountain, took care of the typical morning rituals of porta potty lines, and then headed off on a warmup. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjE3pER2syNrYx_p4CVjmx7nxBFX_lfYmiyQwqMEfVH35fBdf_9n6zCy-FlOyBa90blGfJrnXCPQNXQoCGkYyvYEasC171a_AEvy-1lK6uhOlzfYfdKA9oExKOsaMoFVD6PlEJVg/s2048/20210619_072759.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjE3pER2syNrYx_p4CVjmx7nxBFX_lfYmiyQwqMEfVH35fBdf_9n6zCy-FlOyBa90blGfJrnXCPQNXQoCGkYyvYEasC171a_AEvy-1lK6uhOlzfYfdKA9oExKOsaMoFVD6PlEJVg/w480-h640/20210619_072759.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Also yes I made everyone warm up for this race, you're welcome guys from your team mom :D</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So we did a couple mile warmup, it was humid, and my legs were really not feeling the situation. My left calf was already sore, not a great sign, and running up the hills was not feeling fantastic. But hey! It's Mount Washington, and your ability to run 8 minute pace doesn't actually mean jack squat when you start running 7.6 miles up a mountain, so I decided not to even worry about it. Again, I really don't think I had fully accepted what we were doing just yet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />We got back to the starting area and hit up the porta potties once again, where a very lovely man (men could run in the women's race if they wanted, but weren't eligible for prizes, etc) commented on how hardcore we looked because we were warming up...lol. We hung out in the field and I was just totally caught up in the beauty of the scene...as the rain cleared off the clouds over this pond right next to the starting line were just spectacular, and I really just took a few moments to drink it all in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbXF3pEw_udaDfzTEjXp90zXBOkcv2UdvJ-8PWckt8IJB5CA8isxdSksR4DwUey7RKNsXEwricvlPbQD6Qmvkymb3b3RBnsL-iHxZbe7FRihOvgMW1QzvFdnIY2_lXhxI797zcg/s2048/195786262_960053561499804_6743082385975775768_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbXF3pEw_udaDfzTEjXp90zXBOkcv2UdvJ-8PWckt8IJB5CA8isxdSksR4DwUey7RKNsXEwricvlPbQD6Qmvkymb3b3RBnsL-iHxZbe7FRihOvgMW1QzvFdnIY2_lXhxI797zcg/w480-h640/195786262_960053561499804_6743082385975775768_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Do you ever just feel like you're right where you're meant to be?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Around 8:15 they started lining everyone up, and I became completely overtaken by nervous energy. Sometimes I wonder what my friends think of me when they have to be around me before a race, because I just become this wild, loud ball of glee and nerves. The guy making announcements was also talking a lot, and finally they got around to announcing all of the elite women (15 or 16 of them) who would be starting all together, with the rest of us going out 2 at a time in a time trial start. And then it was time for the national anthem.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've talked about how I love the national anthem before races before, and it's interesting because I definitely thought that I'd get more emotional than I did when I heard it for the first time in so long at the half. I didn't really then, I think because I was too nervous and focused on my actual race performance to really feel anything else. At the 10 mile I'm actually not even sure they played the anthem, or if they did I was probably too busy holding my stupid singlet over my mouth to pay attention. But anyway, when the singer began to sing, the sound echoing off the mountains, the sound of the breeze gently rustling the leaves in the background, and I was standing there with my teammates and we were about to do this ridiculous thing? I just about lost it! I was caught off guard by this swell of emotion, and I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised. My love for these mountains, for this opportunity to do something that's so much beyond just "running fast", and being at this race with a true sense of normalcy - no masks, no weirdness, just...racing - made it really special.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The elite women went off, and as I watched them begin to climb the snaking road up the mountain, ALL OF A SUDDEN my brain processed that yes, what we are doing is running up a mountain today, and I just about wanted to vomit. And that's really the thing about Mount Washington - you can prepare for it, you can have done it in the past, you can absolutely know what it's all about, but you can't TRULY know until you're into it how ridiculous it truly is. Looking at the road, I wondered if I was going to be up to the task today.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAyNl6OhV78CSlg7mD3AN72c1tSeSoBBbGpj7AChrKbS8lFGTNq9CXDDPZvlgnCtc1slTRfoZ36eXyoGJme437xYkhuu_pVjY81o6iR_LueR4yk1J_O9r5bB0zmksXBoJOUH04w/s2048/20210619_080422+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAyNl6OhV78CSlg7mD3AN72c1tSeSoBBbGpj7AChrKbS8lFGTNq9CXDDPZvlgnCtc1slTRfoZ36eXyoGJme437xYkhuu_pVjY81o6iR_LueR4yk1J_O9r5bB0zmksXBoJOUH04w/w480-h640/20210619_080422+%25281%2529.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Up she goes...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I ended up on the line with Elise and as we stepped up to the line, I again just felt this giddy surge of "WTF am I doing" as the clock counted down, and then with a beep, we were off! One of the silliest things about this race is that for about 200 meters, you run a flat to DOWNHILL section before you start to climb - it's almost cruel. Elise and I bopped along and I think I said something like "I can't believe we're doing this!" There was a small group of spectators with cowbells at the end of the flat dirt path, and then there was nothing ahead but up.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we hit the initial climb I felt the usual sense of my body just balking at the situation, but remembered from the past that after awhile I'd settle in and adjust to the task. Elise looked incredibly strong and I had the feeling I wouldn't be able to stay with her for long, but I tried not to worry about that and to just relax into the hill. I was quickly proven correct as she began to pull away within the first 5 minutes of the climb, but I aimed to keep her in my sights. There had been no seeding of the time trial start, so aside from Elise running off into the distance like a mountain gazelle, I was bolstered by the fact that I was otherwise pretty consistently passing people who had started before me. I felt relatively strong and in control, and I passed the 1 mile mark in around a 10:30 split which is definitely the fastest I've ever started this race!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's a spot right after the 1 mile mark where the road just gets nasty steep (as compared with just normal steep, lol). I remember my first year racing I tried to slog up it at a run, and then the second time I purposely chose to walk it. I chose the latter again this year - my heart rate was under control, but I could feel my calves working overtime and I knew I'd successfully pulled off the walk/run strategy and wound up with a faster time in the past. It was just a short power hike to get above the steepest part, and once the ground "leveled" out (level being like 8% grade or something), I got back to a run. That's basically how the first few miles of the race went by. Mostly run, and then either if the grade got so steep that running seemed less productive than walking or for whatever reason my body just screamed walk, I'd do 50 steps walking and then resume the run. The counting strategy is something I read in someone's race report before the first year I raced, and it's served me so well over the years. Having a limit to your power hike break really keeps you on track and mentally in it, and later on knowing that you ONLY have to run 50 or 100 steps and then you can walk makes it seem doable. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My legs were feeling pretty solid, but it was VERY muggy in the trees which we all know is not my jam. I had a bottle of Skratch with me as the race had gone cupless this year, but even drinking wasn't helping the haze of moisture surrounding me. I couldn't wait to break treeline, where I knew at the very least it would be cooler and probably with a breeze. Every time I do this race, somewhere around mile 3 I'm convinced that I'm running terribly and I hate this race, and this year was no exception. I was totally certain that I was walking way more than I had in the past, that the humidity was doing me in, that all of my friends were soon going to come blowing past me, etc. In reality, I hadn't been passed by a single person who started behind me yet, and my splits were comparable if not better than years past - but you try telling me that as I'm grumpily power hiking up a 10% incline.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Somewhere around mile 3 there were two women spectating in the most amazing fashion - seriously, these were women after my own heart, screaming and yelling and telling everyone how AWESOME they looked, how STRONG! I couldn't help but smile then, and remember how utterly ridiculous this thing I was doing was. Somewhere in this area I also randomly decided to look back to see if I could spot any of my teammates, and sure enough I saw a familiar orange tank top - it was Erin, who had actually forgotten her team singlet and so was wearing a random orange tank top. We actually laughed because in 2018, Elise didn't have a GBTC singlet yet and so wore an orange tank top...it may or may not now be tradition that one of the Mount Washington newbies has to race in a random orange singlet hahaha. I should mention that it was EXTREMELY quiet at this moment, with no wind, no spectators, nothing, so when I looked back and decided to scream "E-RINNNN!" everyone heard me lol. I was convinced that she would catch me at any second, and while that honestly would have been lovely, I definitely think my competitive spirit stirred a little bit inside and decided that I did not actually want ANYONE to catch me at all! I started making an effort to run a little harder on my run segments, and keeping my walk segments short and sweet. If the road leveled out in any sense (aka it was like 5% grade instead of 9%), I'd start running again. My 3 mile split was still in the 13s and I knew my pace from the past was 14 minutes plus, so I felt like things were actually going better than I realized!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The halfway point felt like it came up surprisingly quickly. The first half of this race I think is way harder than the second, partially because the grades are steep but also you're just in the forest, it's muggy, and there doesn't seem to be any payoff for what you're doing. But around halfway you start getting peeks of the views and you really get the sense that you're getting higher. When I had passed the 3000 ft post, I thought to myself "woo, 3000 ft!" and then tried to forget about the fact that this mountain is over 6000 ft tall...lol. As I passed the halfway marker I shouted to no one "half way, hell yeah!" Looking at my watched, I was surprised to see that I was well ahead of pace from the previous year - in hindsight this kind of makes sense since my first mile this year was very quick (chasing Elise haha). I also ended up actually stopping at the water station to fill up my bottle as it was still pretty hot/muggy and I was going through my Skratch faster than I wanted to and didn't want to run out with almost an hour of running still to go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />All that was about to change, however, because at some point we made a turn on the road and were abruptly hit with a BLAST of chilly wind. It actually felt incredible and cooling, but I had to laugh. It was just a very sudden change of climate! Any thoughts of seeing views that I had imagined were fading away into the rapidly developing mist, but since this was my 3rd time at this rodeo I was less invested in the views than in the past. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The 4 mile mark is where I always think the race really turns into "the mountain" because somewhere in that area you clear tree line and are really completely exposed to the elements. With the wind this year, things definitely started to kick up a notch. Visibility seemed to be dropping by the second as the wind whipped the fog around, which made me feel like I was in another world. By this point the field had sort of settled itself and I had found a "pack" of a few women who I could keep in view and do some leapfrogging with depending on our individual run/walk patterns. There was one woman in particular with a Somerville Road Runners jersey and some kind of bobbling headband who I went back and forth with all throughout the second half, and funny enough looking at the results I think it's someone I used to follow on Daily Mile waaaay back in the day. But anyway, while we were all relatively isolated everyone kept offering each other encouragement in the even that we did find ourselves next to someone - after the race, our group all agreed that having the women only run was actually really cool, and added even more of a sense of camaraderie to the day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There is a section around mile 4.5-5.5 that is this straight shot up a dirt road that I definitely find to be one of the toughest parts of the race. In a year with clear weather, there's a dropoff on the left with stunning views, but today there was nothing to be seen but fog. In fact, it was becoming harder and harder to even see the couple of women in front of me! My legs were tired and the grade gets even steeper for awhile, and I felt like I was stumbling through the mist up the dirt and gravel. I think this was the segment when my ratio of run-walk was the lowest - I was only managing 50 or sometimes 60 steps running before I'd walk for 50. But I kept forging ahead, just continuing to move forward always being the name of the game. At the top of the slope the grade eased a bit, and I found myself able to run a longer bout to the top of the dirt road before the course turns and starts doing switchbacks towards the summit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">By this point, the weather was truly becoming ridiculous. I was still intermittently leapfrogging with 1 or 2 women but as soon as we'd separate by 20 ft you could hardly even tell they were there any more. People hiking or spectating would be totally startling, because you'd hear some vague cowbell or yelling over the roar of the wind and then all of a sudden a human would be in front of you cheering! I found the whole thing kind of thrilling, because it felt like some kind of epic scene from a movie - just you and the mountain, a battle of wills, fighting the elements alone. I couldn't really recognize any of the familiar landmarks from years past since you couldn't really see anything, so had no idea when we'd be coming up on a mile marker or another elevation post, and I thought about how glad I was that at least we were on a road and if all else failed I could still follow the center line and not just run right off the mountain. But all in all, the time seemed to be passing pretty quickly, and I was still happily moving along at a 70-100 steps running/50 steps walking clip. It's interesting because I think everyone has a different strategy for this race and I know some people view it as a badge of honor to run the whole thing...but I have to say, I passed at least 3 women who were running only using my run walk strategy, and I'm convinced it's the way that I can get up the mountain the fastest.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnV2XITHD0Hl3WHd7O1WjryQkOJvvIedITozLxZmmGNrOdkikItUl3ltLtUUUQUpOInpE7W4bJYoD8APxqj4Twls_yksn8kF8X9tVKgPuLdwGvpf6sHyvQQycuolx11RGZ0A8zQ/s640/DSCF0527-%2528ZF-7026-55986-1-003%2529+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnV2XITHD0Hl3WHd7O1WjryQkOJvvIedITozLxZmmGNrOdkikItUl3ltLtUUUQUpOInpE7W4bJYoD8APxqj4Twls_yksn8kF8X9tVKgPuLdwGvpf6sHyvQQycuolx11RGZ0A8zQ/w640-h480/DSCF0527-%2528ZF-7026-55986-1-003%2529+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span><div style="text-align: center;"> Smiling in the fog</div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's really impossible to describe the intensity of the wind and the lack of visibility for the last couple of miles of the race. I had slowly reeled in and passed one woman, and then similarly had been passed by another woman in a 603 jersey who I tried to keep in my sights, such as they were. At times the wind would actually be a full tailwind - let me tell you, a 60 mph tailwind is pretty damn fun, even when you're running up a 10% grade - but most of the time it was more of a cross wind which felt like it was threatening to blow you right off the mountain. It was also getting cold, and wet because of the fog, and somewhere around mile 6 I decided I actually needed to put the arm warmers I'd been carrying on, because I was not in the mood to get hypothermia so close to the finish line. I'm sure that would have been comedic if anyone could have seen it: my wet, cold hands fumbling around and trying to claw the damp armwarmers on while carrying my water bottle and keeping my walk break to a minimum. I eventually got them at least onto my forearms and figured that would have to be good enough for now. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I could still intermittently see my 603 friend ahead and had come up on and passed another woman after the arm warmer debacle. I knew we were closing in on the last mile. Thinking back on this stretch of the race, it wasn't necessarily that I felt tired as that my legs were just sick of fighting the grade. That muscular fatigue kept me coming back to those short walk breaks, especially when I'd run into sections of more like 12-15% grade. I mean, at that point, you might as well be walking and saving some energy, you know? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wasn't sure what the exact distance of the race would be this year with the new course, but once I hit the mile 7 mark I knew we were close. The grade of the hill "levels" out a bit as you get close to the summit, and so I tried to basically run that entire stretch. I remember this from years past, that going from 10-15% grade to "only" like 6-7%, you suddenly feel like a baby deer with no idea how to use your legs. But I was still moving forward and feeling pretty strong and capable. Usually you can see and hear the finish line from quite a distance away, but the fog was so thick I had absolutely no idea how close I was. All of a sudden out of nowhere, I could hear the finish line announcer's voice cutting through the roar of the wind, and the turn up the Wall was upon me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Wall is a section of 22% grade that ends the race, and every year I say I'm going to try to run it, and then I take about 10 steps and realize that's a fool's errand, and this year was no different. However, according to Strava it's the fastest I've ever "run" (climbed? power hiked?) that section, so I'll take it! I glanced at my watch and realized I was going to break 1:40, something I had absolutely NEVER thought that I would do this year, and that thought got me running again as soon as the grade eased slightly, through the fog, and across the finish line!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioF3LlGXrdx4-2aSuuWaAz_QCA6H4Tji7O2ZjkVnDiU08k964ijknWx5XKx2nEcs8u-X2JRmVg-FxSctsOZ05ndWIAYdPLMzQArYMt3j0I7NBqG2A7CEc6bsvFTBT0MfETieHoZw/s640/JRV_0322-%2528ZF-7026-55986-1-002%2529+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioF3LlGXrdx4-2aSuuWaAz_QCA6H4Tji7O2ZjkVnDiU08k964ijknWx5XKx2nEcs8u-X2JRmVg-FxSctsOZ05ndWIAYdPLMzQArYMt3j0I7NBqG2A7CEc6bsvFTBT0MfETieHoZw/w640-h480/JRV_0322-%2528ZF-7026-55986-1-002%2529+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"The Wall"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKNPpUL42agKmcQMs5-ov-e_Jr6tsHVbCog9zXEY4ceIrFTjfxUsYCB1colpr73TOpYi2RePq0fl81aYJ09gI0ybX7DdJGSyEk35cjiQohjhoreqdvYZfB4JTXlKNgCKlpAmCPAA/s640/DSCF0925-2-%2528ZF-7026-55986-1-001%2529+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKNPpUL42agKmcQMs5-ov-e_Jr6tsHVbCog9zXEY4ceIrFTjfxUsYCB1colpr73TOpYi2RePq0fl81aYJ09gI0ybX7DdJGSyEk35cjiQohjhoreqdvYZfB4JTXlKNgCKlpAmCPAA/w640-h480/DSCF0925-2-%2528ZF-7026-55986-1-001%2529+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I had to buy this finish line photo because it truly captures the insanity of the weather </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One of the best parts about finishing this race is you're immediately wrapped not in a space blanket, but a legit FLEECE blanket, which as you can imagine was much needed this year. I was elated with my race, but now came the monumental task of trying to find my friends. I knew Elise would have finished before me, and sure enough, out of the mist I saw a familiar high bun, and I was able to get her attention and reunite. We were both shouting over the wind about how insane the race had been, and since I figured we had a bit of time before our next friend would finish we decided we should go and take a picture at the summit sign, since for ONCE there was no line of tourists/hikers waiting there (gee I wonder why?)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIzkqUuFRmYF1aGC04VT5qlU8cen9QmXO01G-s03b1d-o92pHdX6KkR9Ru16fQd8DgmvadNTJsOuAC4_Z5B7Tp2aZfEQuaRSqRld9Q9GBg4o_800klGtTKRKlEjQT4J47KeyfkQ/s2048/20210619_101946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIzkqUuFRmYF1aGC04VT5qlU8cen9QmXO01G-s03b1d-o92pHdX6KkR9Ru16fQd8DgmvadNTJsOuAC4_Z5B7Tp2aZfEQuaRSqRld9Q9GBg4o_800klGtTKRKlEjQT4J47KeyfkQ/w480-h640/20210619_101946.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thank you to Mae, the 603 girl I was running behind, for this amazing photo...don't worry we were almost being blown over by the wind in this moment</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were pretty shortly able to locate Erin and Deepti, and began the process of attempting to find our car. This was definitely a low point for all, as we were all rapidly becoming VERY cold, the visibility still sucked, and we had no cell service to try to find our driver. We eventually located the car, but it was locked - again now we had the problem of not being able to call Shannon! But, we were able to reunite with her as well as Taylor, and finally got into the car to change into warm and dry clothes. A sweatshirt has never felt so MAGICAL.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />We also had some celebratory Treehouse beers and just relived the race and it's glory. Our two newbies both loved their experience and were totally up for returning, and so our GBTC Mountain Goat crew continues to grow every year! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZplqSLikR_p2P4tNs4KOQUO1kDZMellATMqxZ-vDCQzayoPoJKBdsFSUKgHoefaGMONHjzW55CbECyjkfj5JdNuLiFnl_GImqPeMmr5j5gtyDpSNR_g7MXawkXwrNMCLE_Oyqvg/s2048/20210619_104650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZplqSLikR_p2P4tNs4KOQUO1kDZMellATMqxZ-vDCQzayoPoJKBdsFSUKgHoefaGMONHjzW55CbECyjkfj5JdNuLiFnl_GImqPeMmr5j5gtyDpSNR_g7MXawkXwrNMCLE_Oyqvg/w640-h480/20210619_104650.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">View of the last stretch of the race - this was maybe 30 minutes after I finished, it's crazy how quickly the weather changes up there!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xBptPijNXevzrafHLMn0yGhvcgFgUrtR2mWoRfPZZmQc304KfhUET5qSeiexTgxlipv72RdO7uM59agXI7XdUEoRTGrnGTPVOETswWTpMA3ccGHJKqWNhUNZ7NuT7wiSTwZj2g/s2048/20210619_104806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xBptPijNXevzrafHLMn0yGhvcgFgUrtR2mWoRfPZZmQc304KfhUET5qSeiexTgxlipv72RdO7uM59agXI7XdUEoRTGrnGTPVOETswWTpMA3ccGHJKqWNhUNZ7NuT7wiSTwZj2g/w480-h640/20210619_104806.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Happy squad of mountain goats</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYwVLJfKOqiqYgUK8cp2CohZn2Wa10QdiEL-S0Jwl29xHzmABAb6VEiQACYMYqCr8H7sbAsYqfITMGWY7AzGyZ_3Oj4OaeZjViOfJpTC4lnrCHqLgF5rS5Q9pJsU2dR9WIv5q3g/s2048/20210619_110515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYwVLJfKOqiqYgUK8cp2CohZn2Wa10QdiEL-S0Jwl29xHzmABAb6VEiQACYMYqCr8H7sbAsYqfITMGWY7AzGyZ_3Oj4OaeZjViOfJpTC4lnrCHqLgF5rS5Q9pJsU2dR9WIv5q3g/w640-h480/20210619_110515.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">TREEHOUSE FOR ALL!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqyKWk9cwG_h4tteAZri6aQ6P76mhbSJmgH2bAOaNeoSBaMT6uSN5ItwrW4p-gcJaVBpBgremmGQsomQ_cN1rXuQrC7NAaQ1jQSB63Zvz3QVsVrjdhasl1JA81f1Tfe3E42VpGw/s2048/20210619_112632.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqyKWk9cwG_h4tteAZri6aQ6P76mhbSJmgH2bAOaNeoSBaMT6uSN5ItwrW4p-gcJaVBpBgremmGQsomQ_cN1rXuQrC7NAaQ1jQSB63Zvz3QVsVrjdhasl1JA81f1Tfe3E42VpGw/w640-h480/20210619_112632.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The clouds literally disappeared and I spent like 20 minutes just roaming around taking pictures because the landscape up there is just spectacular</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Overall, I'm SUPER happy with my performance at this race. I wound up 28th overall, which I am extremely proud of, particularly when I look at the women around me many of whom essentially only DO mountain running. I think that the bike and overall fitness from tri training definitely carried over to this race (as I mentioned Elise also crushed it), and I think the more times I run it the better sense I have of what strategy works for me and how to manage my effort and fatigue levels. Our team also was 4th overall, which is just awesome! Again, a bunch of Boston flatlanders showing up and doing so well at a mountain race feels damn good and says a lot about all of us as a team. And as a final note, I somehow managed to sign up for this race under my maiden name, which cracks me up, but it's nice that Audrey Zaferos gets another solid race performance under her belt lol. I love this race, and these mountains so much, and this was just another perfect day spent there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Mount Washington Road Race 2021</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>1:38:43 - 7.6 miles, 13:00 pace, 4700 ft of elevation, only one hill</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>28/442 (women's only race), 3/47 F30-34</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-16033366523079112822021-06-30T20:12:00.001-05:002021-06-30T20:12:24.608-05:00Powered by moose magic: White Mountains Half Iron 2021 Race Report<p>On Saturday I raced the White Mountains Half Iron Triathlon (70.3 miles), finishing as 7th woman in a time of 5:39 and change. While this wasn't as fast as my first 70.3 if you purely look at the numbers, I am INCREDIBLY proud of my performance and very excited with where I am at 12 weeks out from IMWI! This race was the race that really sucked me in to the triathlon world - after doing the relay in 2018, it was enough of a taste to know I wanted more of the triathlon life. After doing the Olympic in 2019, I knew that the half would be the perfect challenge to take on during Ironman training in 2020. We all know how that turned out...and so, here we are in 2021, picking up where we left off!</p><p>I was VERY uncertain of myself going into this race. Between the changes to the course which turned the run into a 5 lap death march with over 1000 ft of elevation, the fact that most days I honestly feel like I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to triathlon, and the fact that I just haven't really found my confidence on the bike yet this year, I had no idea how I'd perform. I also have been having a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that less than 2 years ago, a half iron tri was THE big scary goal and now I was somehow about to do the same thing without really having put any specific thought into my training cycle, not tapered, having run up Mount Washington a week before? I'm not saying that I haven't been training, because obviously I have, but this race just sort of came up on me so quickly that it almost never occurred to me that it was something I actually would have to do. My mind kept going to all the things I <i>hadn't</i> done - not enough runs off the bike, not enough long rides, not enough hill training. But finally around Thursday this week, as I was still coming down off the high of Mount Washington, I decided to take a new perspective. I had, as a non-mountain runner, hung right in with women who literally ONLY train for mountain races at Mount Washington. Why should this race be any different? My strength in running, and I think too in triathlon, has always been my endurance and my willingness to face down crazy conditions, never my speed. Why was I acting like this was any different? And so I wrote in my training journal "you BELONG in the mountains" and tried to make myself believe it.</p><p>Triathlon just has so much damn STUFF to deal with for races, and in between frantically trying to finish up all work tasks for the week, seeing patients (via telehealth), and doing a quick shakeout run on Friday I was racing around my house trying to gather all of my stuff for the weekend. The basics are one thing: race kit, helmet, bike shoes, running shoes, goggles, wetsuit (OK, that does sound like a lot by itself lol) but then you add in all the other stuff - flat kit! water bottles! hydration! sunglasses! towel for transition! fuel for all 3 disciplines and transition! and the odds of NOT forgetting something just seem to go down every second. I checked and double checked and organized things into bags and in the end I did not forget anything at home (my execution of using said items in the race, as we'll see, is another story) and we loaded up the clown car with Andrew, Joy, and the dogs, Bahamut the bike on the back, and headed up to NH on Friday afternoon.</p><p>The race had early bib pickup as well as bike drop off at transition on Friday night, which was GREAT- it was really nice knowing that my bike was already racked with one less thing to deal with on Saturday morning. I always get some serious impostor syndrome when I get to transition in tris, because everyone just seems so <i>serious</i> and everyone is walking around with these very fancy and fast bikes and fancy helmets and I'm just here with my little road bike that I bought for $700 in 2014, clip on aero bars, probably some coffee from my last bike commute on the frame somewhere. But again, I tried to clamp that feeling down and remind myself that having fast equipment does NOT make you fast - it's you that makes you fast. I had brought my bike pump and pumped up my tires, and laughed as a guy from a couple of racks over called to me "hello, magical competitor with a bike pump! Could I possibly borrow your pump?" We chatted for a little bit about the race, and this turned out to be super on brand for the weekend because as we'll learn in paragraphs to come, I was ALL about making friends at this race. </p><p>After a stop at the grocery store, we headed back to our ski chalet AirBnb and settled in for a night of relaxation. For the second weekend in a row I made my favorite pasta sauce for the group (legit 3 ingredients, nothing better) and realized that I probably should cook every night before a race because it gave me something else to focus on, and totally chilled me out! Or maybe that was the beer lol. We happily ate dinner and then organized our stuff and got ready for bed. Before going to sleep I took a few minutes to think about/write out my nutrition strategy, since that was something I hadn't thought about or practiced at ALL. I've been doing a terrible job of eating enough on the bike in training so far this year, and that was just another piece of the puzzle that I was nervous about, so writing it out on paper helped me to at least pretend I had a plan (SPOILER ALERT: the plan completely fell apart in T1 lol).</p><p>Just like last weekend, I woke up 40 minutes before my alarm which today was set for 4:50 am, so...yeah, it was an early morning. I tried going back to sleep but couldn't seem to, so ended up just laying there visualizing the race until Thunderstruck started blasting from my phone. I went through the usual morning ritural: banana, coffee, braid hair, make bagel, get your shit together. I think the number of items on the checklist also helps to calm the nerves, because when you're thinking about putting on race tattoos or adding drink powder to your bottles, you're not thinking about the race! </p><p>The light as we drove into the notch was just spectacular, with low clouds floating in and obscuring the top of the mountain. When we arrived at the transition area, the first thing I noticed was the WIND - it was cooler than I'd expected, but the wind was also pretty intense. Oh good, another thing to make me nervous! The thought of dealing with wind on the bike in particular was not something I was interested in, and I sent all my thoughts to the weather gods to please make it stoooop before I got on my bike. I was sort of laughing because I'd been complaining about how age group women always seem to get the hot pink swim caps at triathlons (like, come on, the masters men get neon orange! I want neon orange!) and yet I was wearing a hot pink half zip and carrying a hot pink water bottle, lol. I got my transition area set up, checking and double checking my gear and nutrition (NOT THOROUGHLY ENOUGH as we will learn), and eventually decided to head down to the beach. I had decided that I actually wanted to warm up for the swim in some capacity, or at least get in the water, before the start.</p><p>Elise and I got to the beach and I was somewhat terrified by what I saw...remember the wind? Well, the wind was blowing straight at the beach, and I swear there were just about whitecaps on the lake. Oh dear. Again, I tried to psych myself back up: I'm a confident swimmer, and being super fast wasn't the goal here. I knew I could handle the conditions, but just having ANOTHER challenge to add to an already challenging race was not what I wanted in life at the moment. So I decided to channel my energy into dancing around like a weirdo with Elise, commenting on how much I hate all the generic "fun" music that they play at races so much...like, if I never heard the song "Happy" by Pharell again I would be GREAT with that. At some point I decided that I needed to get in the water if I ever was going to. The temperature was actually OK - probably in the high 60s - but as I swam out in the direction we'd be heading the waves were every bit as bad as I'd expected them to be. My goggles kept leaking as I was hit by the waves, and for probably the 20th time this year I thought about how I need to buy new goggles since I've had my current pair since....2009, I think? #budgettriathlete over here. Oh well. Nothing to be done for it at this point. At any rate, after stroking back and forth a couple of times I felt acclimated enough and came back to the shore where I found the relay team girls and Gwen! We chatted a little bit about the waves and what we thought the day would bring, and soon enough it was time to head to our spots for the time trial start.</p><p>The usual perfunctory announcements seemed to take ages, and I was actually pretty chilly standing there in my wetsuit so found myself awkwardly dancing around once again. Someone sang the national anthem (I teared up, per usual) and then we slowly began making our way towards the time trial start. As number 81, I had a bit before my wave and continued bouncing/dancing around to try to keep warm as I watched the men go off. I adjusted my goggles at least 5 times as the women's line starts to move, and as I was coming up to the on deck circle I almost started laughing because what damn song came on the loudspeakers yet again? FREAKING 'HAPPY'! Uggggh hahaha. But it appropriate put me in a lighthearted mood as the volunteer waved me forward and I ran across the line and dove in!</p><p><b>Swim - 1.2 miles, 39:39 official (with run up to transition)/37:52 for just the swim component (1:47/100yd pace) - 46/132 OA, 11/41 F</b></p><p>One of the things I love about swimming is that the second you dive in, it's just you and the water. The sounds of the music, people, the weather - everything is just gone. It's like that scene in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire where they're going into the maze and the band is playing and people are cheering, and then the walls of the maze close and there's just silence. I love that triathlon starts with the swim because it's honestly the one discipline I don't have any nerves about. I know my abilities and there are really no surprises, I just get to get in the water and go. So, even though that today jumping in the water meant almost immediately getting blasted in the face with the most intense chop I've ever swam in, I kept calm and just got myself into a rhythm. From the get go, I felt really strong. I think in a way the choppy water actually pumped me up; I got it into my head that I was fighting Poseidon or something, and winning. Because of the cloudier day, I was also having a better time sighting than I usually do. Between the long line of swimmers who had started in front of me and maybe the fact that I knew all I had to do was swim directly against the waves and I'd be swimming straight, I was able to keep on course relatively well. I kept being surprised as I'd breath to see someone floating on their back or backstroking next to me, usually men. Apparently there was a section of the swim that was actually even shallow enough to walk, which people were DOING because of the waves - like, that would never even occur to me!</p><p>I got around the first turn buoy and now swimming crosswise/away from the wind I had to focus a little more on my sighting, but didn't have to worry as much about drinking half the lake every time I came up to breathe. The push towards shore was particularly nice, although the turn buoy was smaller than the rest and so was harder to see. Oh well, just follow the crowd, right? It's almost impossible to tell where you stand on the swim, especially in a time trial start, but every time I looked up and saw a swim cap that was orange or blue or some other color that I knew had started before me, I got a boost. I felt really calm and like I was putting in just the right amount of effort.</p><p>The turn to head into the second loop was by far the worst part of the swim - now the waves were coming at me crosswise and multiple times I either got a huge faceful of water or narrowly avoided inhaling a wave while turning to breathe. I was really pleased with how well I was able to just adjust and modify the way I was breathing to try to avoid the waves, and to not get too flustered when I did get hit or knocked out of my rhythm. I think that is one of my greatest strengths on the swim - I may not be the speediest swimmer, but I am just calm in the water and I honestly can't think of a time on a swim where I really was fazed by anything. I think that may change when I have to swim in a BIG race as I honestly hate being around people in any discipline except the run, but as far as weather conditions go I was pleased with how unbothered I was by the whole situation.</p><p>I headed into the second lap, more of the same. I still felt strong, still very comfortable at whatever pace it was I was swimming, and still found myself eating up more and more blue and orange caps. I got a little thrown off at one point when I couldn't find a buoy and realized I was just to the inside instead of the outside of it (that same buoy also apparently literally came untethered from its moorings and started blowing across the lake because of the wind lol) but realized I was on a straightaway and so wasn't cutting the course or anything. I continued on. I basically swam OVER a guy in an orange cap (weird) and could tell I was just about ready to be done with the swim when I started getting annoyed with getting stuck behind/near/around other swimmers. Gonna have to get over that before the Ironman! I snuck a glance at my watch as it hit 2000 meters, and was shocked that the time was just ticking over to 36 minutes. My PR for this swim distance is 38 high, so getting out of the water in such crazy conditions under 38 minutes was SHOCKING! </p><p>I clambered out of the water, always feeling like a land seal when I come onto the beach. It's so interesting because in the moment when I'm swimming I don't feel like I'm working that hard but as soon as I stand up and try to run up the ramp, I suddenly realize how much effort I was putting in! So I realized as I'm attempting to run up the ramp that I need to start getting my wetsuit off. I took off my swim cap and goggles and then started attempting to take my wetsuit off...but please picture this...I am holding my cap and goggles in one hand and for some reason decide to pull both arms of my wetsuit off at the same time, but I can't get either arm out of the wetsuit and I have no hands to assist...I AM NOW HANDCUFFED INTO MY WETSUIT. Now please picture that you're the girl who came SPRINTING by me up the transition ramp, as I am trying to use my freaking teeth to free myself from my wetsuit sleeve. I'm literally cracking up laughing as I'm writing this because it was just so utterly ridiculous but in the moment I was freaking out because I could NOT get out of the damn wetsuit! I eventually managed to free one hand using my mouth, and then was able to get the other arm over my watch and finally made my way into transition...this explains why there's an extra minute and a half tacked on to my swim split as I swear it took half a lifetime to get back up the ~150 meter ramp lol.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvyuyMNuarXiVIc3Hg0qpvPjwqMq1dofBlHxlg1sWuonhh5y5KVssAQLxRyCRmq3O1FMmsdTFwnZjc0PdU1y5hslGQ3kHPjhlEqPMdHjdtISrrG8YYo-akQfCgJCq2p0BIhrRsA/s1600/White+Mountains+Tri-10153.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvyuyMNuarXiVIc3Hg0qpvPjwqMq1dofBlHxlg1sWuonhh5y5KVssAQLxRyCRmq3O1FMmsdTFwnZjc0PdU1y5hslGQ3kHPjhlEqPMdHjdtISrrG8YYo-akQfCgJCq2p0BIhrRsA/w640-h426/White+Mountains+Tri-10153.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Pink swim caps make everyone look stupid" -Andrew</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Why do you have a weird grin on your face" -also Andrew</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Happily running out of the water...please notice the actual whitecaps on the lake behind me but also the GLORIOUS mountains!</div><p><b>T1 - 2:29, 14/41 F, 41/132 OA</b></p><p>I have one word to describe T1: shitshow. This is SO SLOW for T1, like what was I even doing in there, making a picnic? After the wetsuit debacle I just felt like a disaster of a human, and felt like I took twice as long as necessary getting the leg of my wetsuit over my timing chip. The guy a couple bikes down from me on the rack came in at the same time and we exchanged pleasantries about the ridiculousness of the swim. I started putting my socks on, realizing that my stubbornness of wearing mid-calf socks was not going to mesh well with the disposable ankle timing chips we had which I couldn't adjust after putting on (I hate this aspect of triathlon). I ended up just shoving my sock as far as I could under the chip and just left it at that and started trying to arrange my nutrition...at which point I realized that I couldn't find my stroopwaffle which I was planning to eat after the swim anywhere. "Where the FUCK is my stroopwaffle?!" I cried out to no one, as I rapidly realized that I needed to stop wasting time and find something else to eat. Luckily I HAD thrown a random half eaten pack of chews on my transition towel and figured the calories had to be about the same. It would have to do. I grabbed my bike and awkwardly jogged to the bike out line, all of my nutrition bouncing obnoxiously in my wet tri top, fiddling with my watch as I tried to change it to bike mode because I had stupidly decided not to use my bike computer. I felt like an absolute hot mess, and somewhere in here must have also managed to slam my pedal into my calf (I have a huge bruise there today). The bike was also the discipline I was most scared about, but there was nothing left to do but to do it. Hot mess or not, I finally made it out of transition and got to the mount line, and I was off onto the bike course!</p><p><b>Bike - 56 miles, 3:11:29 (17.5 mph), 8/41 F, 49/132 OA</b></p><p>Let me start this bike report by saying that I was 100% expecting to ride around 16.5 mph and I basically didn't look at my watch the entire ride so I am PUMPED about this split, especially given the elevation profile of the course (3300 ft<b> </b>of gain). I do think I'm probably capable of riding faster, but I still feel like I prefer to cruise on the bike in order to save something for the run. I think one day I'll have to really go for it on the bike and see what I've got left, but today was not the day for that. </p><p>The bike course begins with a slight uphill, followed by a 3 mile bomb run down a 10% grade hill. It's both a great and terrifying way to start the bike leg, especially coming out of a choppy swim. As I climbed the little uphill I tried to just shove my chews into my mouth and get my legs into gear for the next several hours of my life. As we began the descent, I found myself annoyingly bunched up with a couple of men who I forced myself to pedal and pass - even though I really didn't want to pass on this hill, there's nothing I hate more than feeling like I'm going to run into someone from behind on a downhill. About halfway down, I realized that I hadn't even started my watch! UGH! There was no way to do that safely in the present moment, so I had to just wait it out. So something fun that I do on my bike that I think I've discussed before is that I talk out loud to myself, a LOT. Sometimes it's just singing songs, sometimes it's just removing any filter, sometimes it's saying things to try to pump myself up, but it tends to happen more when I'm happy and in a good mood. So about halfway down the hill I found myself lightly pumping my brakes for no reason, and I yelled at myself out loud "there ARE no cars here! Why are you braking!" and something about shouting that at myself helped me to relax into myself and just let it go for the rest of the downhill.</p><p>At the bottom of the hill I finally managed to get my watch started and tuck the stupid strap that had been flapping around in, and I finally felt like I was pulling myself together. I reached back into my pocket to grab my first full pack of chews...and reached...and reached in horror as I realized that somehow my 3 sleeves of chews that I had in my pocket leaving transition had somehow become ONE. I literally don't know what happened - did they fall out while I was running out in transition? Did they fly out on the downhill? No idea, but regardless, they were gone, and my beautiful nutrition plan was shot. I was going to have to adapt.</p><p>While I had some nervousness about the changes to this year's bike course, I really hope they keep the new course as it was REALLY pretty, really safe (quiet country roads very very minimal car traffic with the exception of one short out and back section), and difficult but not insane. We headed out onto the first segment and were greeted with beautiful views of the back side of the Kinsmans and Cannon. I was grinning ear to ear as I rode by - it was just stunning. Also somewhat stunning was the sun, which had appeared from somewhere, and I suddenly wished that I had brought sunscreen as a man passed by me slathered in the stuff. Just another thing to shrug off! A couple of men passed me in this section but overall between the time trial start and people struggling on the swim the field was very spread out at this point, and for quite a long stretch I basically felt like I was just out for a training ride in a beautiful place. It always takes me about 10 miles on the bike to start to not feel crappy, but I started to find my groove. A couple of men passed me here, but I just kept reminding myself of how strong a swim I'd had and saying in my head (and also out loud lol) "well, I swam faster than them!" Anytime I would start to feel like I was putting in more effort than I wanted, I just told myself that I must be riding uphill, which actually turned out to be true! There were a couple of unpleasant steeper spikes along this section, but nothing that lasted more than a couple of minutes, it was more just the kind of gradual climb where your speed doesn't seem to match the effort output. But I wasn't even looking at my speed! I was just enjoying the day, bopping along, narrating my food struggles and the passing landscape ("that bed and breakfast is 'pleasantly full', how adorable!" "look at this nice tennis camp!" "HI HORSES!"). After the fueling debacle I knew I needed to eat, so I pulled out the clif bar I had on me and started munching on it, just taking a few bites whenever I felt hungry. </p><p>After awhile we left the small town section and entered the national forest, which was an absolutely gorgeous section of riding. I've developed an obsession with seeing a moose, which live in abundance in NH but I've never seen, to the point where my friends kind of make fun of me for it, and the quiet of the forest landscape made me convinced that even if I couldn't see them, there were moose surrounding me. Moose power! At this point I was riding completely by myself and couldn't even see the rider in front of me - luckily there are very few roads in this part of NH so it wasn't like I had any chance of taking a wrong turn. After a few more steeper humps, I reached the next turn leading into the bigger loop that we'd do. Right after making the turn a pack of about 4 people, 2 women and 2 men, came blasting by me (I still swam faster than all of you! haha). I had a bit of a moment of awe at how quickly they gapped me, but again reminded myself that I had to race my own race, and the path I was choosing was to keep my effort level in check. The next section was just plain FUN - definitely downhill on this gorgeous road next to a river, and I was finally getting into a groove and cruising. I finally caved and bought aero bars for my road bike this year, and while I really didn't expect to use them much at this race I found myself in aero a TON and really enjoying the position! Not only did my legs feel more efficient, but my back wasn't bothering me like it has been on rides earlier this year. I think I probably spent ~2/3 of the bike in aero position, which I'm very happy with for my first time out with the bars! At some point in here a guy came riding from the other direction who I now realize probably wasn't a part of the race, but anyway he yelled loudly something that I'm pretty sure was "SUNS OUT GUNS OUT!" which made me laugh. </p><p>There were a few minor climbs at the end of the river section, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that I was making up some ground on 2 men in front of me each time we went uphill. Muahaha. I definitely swing back and forth between being having no confidence on the bike and having a huge chip on my shoulder about how well I perform despite my low key equipment, and at this stage of the race I was definitely swinging toward the latter. We came off the river section and into a more rural area that was again quite beautiful in a different way - farms and rolling field, and much more open than the previous sections. The only problem with the openness was that this was the one point in the bike leg where the obnoxious wind started to make itself known. Again, I narrated my thoughts: "excuse me wind, you are UNNECESSARY, can you please just NOT do what you're doing...also can this uphill just not be the way it is? Ooh but I'm gaining on that guy again, heck yes! Hi donkey! Hi sheep!" Like, seriously, the amount of random things I just shouted into the world during this ride was just on another level.</p><p>By this point we were approaching halfway, though I didn't know precisely where I was due to not starting my watch at the beginning, I figured my splits were about 2 miles behind the actual distance. Around this time there were a few more somewhat difficult hills and I had to drop into my small ring for a bit, but I could definitely feel how much I've improved at climbing this year because while the hills were certainly difficult and not altogether pleasant, I wasn't really fazed by them - I just kind of put my head down, got up and over, got back in my big ring and got back to business. I'm still having some annoying problems getting back into my big ring, which only got worse once my hands got sweaty near the end of the ride, so that was a bit obnoxious but nothing I wasn't able to overcome. I was a little bit bored and could feel myself starting to strain a little bit at times, so I decided, as I do, to start singing out loud a song that just seemed to make sense at the moment...<i>take it easy, take it easy. Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy. We may lose, and we may win, but we will never be here again, so open up I'm climbing in, take it easy...</i></p><p>One one of the steeper climbs I realized I should probably stop singing as I was getting awfully close to another human (lol) and soon I came up on and passed a man (internal happy dance!) who shortly after pulled up alongside me. Now, here is another strange thing tht happens to me during triathlons: I get FRIENDLY. Like, would I ever speak to another human in a running race? Absolutely not. But put me in a triathlon and all of a sudden it's that Coke commercial where we're all holding hands and singing together. I think doing these races just makes me so HAPPY that I can't contain myself! So anyway, this guy pulls up next to me and we're riding along, he strikes up a conversation and I figured, why not? It was the midpoint of the race that always turns into the doldrums, and so we cruised along in aero, chatting. He was from Florida, and when I asked him what the heck brought him to the Whites he told me that he and his brother were trying to set a world record - I didn't catch exactly for what, but I think possibly longest streak of completing a half ironman every weekend? Craziness. We got to a downhill and he pulled ahead, as men on tri bikes tend to do to me on downhills, but as soon as we started climbing again I caught up almost immediately. "You're an incredible climber! I don't think I'm going to be able to keep up!" new friend said. "Yeah," I replied, not actually processing what he'd said for a moment. Then - "wait, you mean ME?!" Someone probably needed to wipe the grin off my face - I cannot stress enough how empowering having someone say that to me was, especially knowing that there was still significant climbing ahead on the course. </p><p>In the midst of said climbing I parted ways from my flatlander friend, and was pleased to note that I was over the 30 mile mark of the race. Overall this ride seemed to pass much more quickly than my last half iron ride did, maybe because the scenery and terrain were so pretty and interesting. That's the thing I do love about hilly bike courses - there's always something to do, a gear to change, position to mix up, something to eat, something to look at...it just makes the time fly by. At the top of the next climb we headed into a steep and winding downhill, and boy, did I feel like I was flying. I let out a whoop as I flew down the hill. My friend Elise always says that flying down a hill on a bike makes her feel like a kid again, and in this moment I totally understood what she meant. I felt joyful and free and strong, flying down the road, yelling into the wind, just me and the bike. It was amazing.</p><p>At the bottom of the hill we made a quick turn onto an out and back section; the out section was one of the sections of the course I enjoyed the least. There was a bit more traffic here, and I felt like we were riding into the wind. As it turns out we were also riding uphill, which explains a lot, but that was really the theme of this course - I kept wondering where the "hills" were because I was expecting this big, steep, get down in your low gear climbs. But really the course was much more about these long stretches where you were going uphill for 8 or 10 miles without even really knowing it. Luckily, a good chunk of these sections went both ways, and when I reached the turnaround point on the out section as I almost laughed realizing..."wait a second, was I riding uphill that whole time!?" The eternal mystery of false flats, I tell ya. You would think I would realized that every time I feel like I'm riding slower than I should be for the effort I'm PROBABLY going uphill, but I honestly hadn't even looked at my watch in miles so I didn't even know how fast (or not) I was going!</p><p>As I rode back on this section I started breaking down the rest of the course in my head. We'd ride back on the same road we came in on which I was starting to think might be mostly downhill, then the massive climbing section, then more climbing, then the dumb bike path and then back to transition. Really it was just a 10 mile countdown to the big scary KOM climb. Along this stretch I also saw Elise riding by on the other side and we exchanged hand signals of some sort - it was only later I found out that she rode the whole second half of the bike on a flat! No fun, but she was a champ for finishing so that her relay runner could run. </p><p>There was a pretty rude climb right after the turn back onto 116, which allowed me to make another pass on a guy who stopped halfway up the hill to deal with some kind of problem on his bike. By now, I was finally well into the groove and feeling like I wanted to roll...and I tell you, this section was truly some of the most fun riding I have EVER done in my life. Once over the hump, I got down into aero and just felt like I got on a rocketship. Was I honestly going that fast in the grand scheme of cycling? Probably not, but to me glancing at my watch and seeing 22 mph under any circumstances made me feel like I was absolutely crushing it. The giddiness and joy that I feel on the bike only multiples when I'm riding well, and by the time I reached the point where we met with the Olympic distance riders turning around, I don't think I could have stopped smiling if I tried. While it was a little bit jarring to suddenly have so many people around after riding basically solo for 2 and a half hours, I was bolstered by the fact that I was cruising by all of them, and I had PLENTY of people to cheer for. I started yelling at everyone, people I passed, people on the other side of the road, it didn't matter, they were ALL getting something positive yelled at them. I even came across a girl wearing the same kit as me, and awkwardly yelled at her "COEUR! GREAT OUTFIT!!" Awkward yelling at strangers was a big part of the day lol. </p><p>I'll pause here for a moment to talk about my eating, only because eating is SO important in these silly races and I want to share how I overcame the ridiculousness that was me losing half of my fuel into the abyss. The temperature was quite comfy for the race so I didn't find myself drinking excessively. I finished my first bottle of Skratch right around the midway point and I took a salt tab around mile 30. In the end, I think I drank 1 and 2/3 of a bottle, which is actually amazing because I'd been stressing about needing a THIRD bottle. I definitely do for Ironman, but happily not today. I had finished my clif bar and decided to follow that up with a Gu because I wanted caffeine, and the mystery flavor of chomps that had been salvaged didn't have it (it was also the lamest of the 3 flavors I had, and I'll admit I think I said AWWW and pouted a little bit when I saw my cran raz chomps weren't the lucky winner). I had also started in on the one pack of chews that I did possess, munching on 2 of them any time I felt a little hungry. But we were getting to the point in the race when it was time to bust out my magic bullet...my ace in the hole...if you read my Pumpkinman or Ironman reports you know what this is....PIZZARIA PRETZEL COMBOS! Look, I don't know what normal or serious triathletes eat on the bike, but I'll tell you what if my stomach can tolerate a delicious salty and fake cheesy snack after 2:30 of riding, it is the most glorious thing you can imagine. I had them in an open baggie in my back pocket and just would pull out 2 or 3 and chew for awhile, like a cow chewing cud, while continuing to ride and then eventually wash it down with some Skratch. I ended up doing this a few times until I felt sated, and I was SO happy! I felt like I'd needed the salt and I was definitely hungry; earlier in the day I really hadn't been sure I'd go for it on eating them at all, but once again when push came to shove Combos were there in the clutch (Combos, would you like to sponsor me? Slide into my DMs lol). </p><p>I was still having such a blast on this section but I knew that the good times were going to come to an end at some point, and they did as we made a right turn. I thought that the climb was going to happen immediately, but instead was treated to some little teaser hills and a bit of rough road, during which I tried to get clear of the pack of Olympic riders I'd found myself in. On one of the little climbs a guy riding next to me said something like "not your typical flat course, huh?" to which I replied "NOPE". But then again, I honestly think when you have to ride 56 miles are you really ever going to find a truly flat course? Maybe if you're in the cornfields of Indiana somewhere, but otherwise I doubt it. Whatever, like I said to my Florida friend, I'm not that fast on the flats so I make up for it by being a little engine that could on the climbs. </p><p>At the top of one of the hills we made a left turn which was actually terrifying because bikes were absolutely BLASTING down a hill from the right, and it took me a minute to realize that those were the sprint riders! It was a little awkward having to merge into these men going like 40 mph on tri bikes, but once I figured out what was going on I was able to do it. And THEN I saw it....THE hill. </p><p>Well, the king of the mountain was 100% as bad as advertised. A good half mile of 10-12% grade, you could see the parade of miserable cyclists slowly slogging up the slope from the bottom and knew that soon you'd have to be one of them. "Welp, here it is," I said to no one, and a girl next to me laughed. "At least they told us that this is it," she replied, gesturing at the big "KING OF MOUNTAIN" flag right at the bottom of the hill. I laughed, then put my head down and got gritty. Immediately, the climb was HARD. Get in your lowest gear and just grind, hard. On tired legs, this totally sucked, but I forced myself to just lock in and climb. I was passing people constantly, almost irritated in my head as I remembered that half of them were in the sprint race, meaning that they'd basically just bombed down a 3 mile hill and that's it. Um, excuse me, I've ridden over 50 miles already! Move, get out the way. I kept repeating in my head what my Florida friend had said. <i>You're an incredible climber. You're an incredible climber. </i>Some stranger told you that, so it has to be true, and now you get to prove it. Keep the legs moving, keep the cadence, keep grinding. </p><p><b>KOM - 3:38, 6.6 mph, 7/41 F, 30/132 OA (holy shit that guy might be on to something)</b></p><p>FINALLY, after what felt like an hour but was really only 3 and a half minutes, I reached the end of the steep KOM section, but the climb continued albeit at a slightly lower grade. I fiddled with my gears a bit and tried to keep the cadence going, eyes on the road ahead. I suddenly saw a girl on a pretty bike with a teal bike number (meaning a half athlete) ahead...in fact, it was the girl who'd been standing in front of me at bib pick up and whose gorgeous green and black bike I'd been lusting after...and no one could have been more shocked than me as I passed her. I was eating people up like nobody's business and again, no one was more surprised than me. And it was hard, yes, but I was still having FUN. I came up behind and passed yet another woman in the half, and I couldn't help but share the only thing I could think of with the world: "What is even HAPPENING right now?!!"</p><p>There isn't too much to say about the end of the bike, other than it's not my favorite. Everything was still uphill, and my hands were so sweaty from the effort of the climb that I was having a hard time getting back into my big ring. I had had some minor shifting issues for similar reasons earlier in the ride, but of course just talked out loud to my bike and told Bahamut he had to hold it together...and he did! This was totally just a problem of my excessive sweating. There also were now just way too many people for my taste, with all the sprint and Olympic athletes around, and again I found myself getting a little irritated with them because, GUYS, I have been riding for somewhere between 2 and 8 times as long as you, PLEASE LET ME LIVE MY LIFE! At the very end of the bike course there is this stupid section on a bike path, and I understand that there's no way to get back to transition otherwise, but man it is annoying. It's so narrow, the pavement sucks, and there's hardly any room to pass which is extra annoying when everyone is suddenly so bunched up. "I hate this damn bike path," I grumbled as we entered it, which some woman behind me replied "ME TOO!" There was really no way to ride this section fast even if I'd wanted to, so I ended up just staying in the high end of my small ring and kind of chilling out for the last couple of miles. Nothing wrong with that, I guess - might as well shake some of the junk out before heading off on the run!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskG1n5N-3iZxVf7fcT8Af5dUousldVBcWyX2-fl9BT-BqNJ2u-uwVe_B0N1zzH7CsoQvloDjHh1xvBbBkBWR7-shZA8lQxq6IzDbs4tZemVuaR8w8pfm6M7YOtTFuJtEuA5MibA/s1600/White+Mountains+Tri-20742.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskG1n5N-3iZxVf7fcT8Af5dUousldVBcWyX2-fl9BT-BqNJ2u-uwVe_B0N1zzH7CsoQvloDjHh1xvBbBkBWR7-shZA8lQxq6IzDbs4tZemVuaR8w8pfm6M7YOtTFuJtEuA5MibA/w640-h426/White+Mountains+Tri-20742.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Look at me in aero though!!! This is right at the end of the dumb bike path, so I had plenty of time to prepare for this photo lol </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">FINALLY we reached the end of the dumb bike path, and then it was just a quick cruise into transition. I hopped off my bike at the dismount line delighted - the ride had been wonderful, I'd had no mechanicals, I'd had a blast, and I'd overcome my fear of the course and my biking abilities as well as the nutrition snafu. I felt awesome as I ran my bike into transition, right behind yet another woman who I'd snuck up on on the bike!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>T2 - 1:27, 22/132 OA, 10/41 F</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">T2 went much better than T1. I suspect I can still lop off another 10-15 seconds somewhere, but whatever. I laughed because as my watch saved my ride it told me I needed 38 hours of recovery or something, and I was like, um, that's unfortunate, because as it turns out I need to run a half marathon right now lol. Joy was there and I told her how great the bike was, and told her Elise was about 20 minutes back (this would turn out to be wrong for reasons I didn't know about at the time). My hair was half falling out and I reached back to try to adjust it and realized the SADDEST THING which was that my race ribbon was gone! I had felt it untying during the bike and it must have gotten whipped off in the breeze, but I was SAD...I have literally worn that ribbon in every race I've done since like 2015 :(. But I told myself that if there was anywhere to lose it, it was on a fantastic bike in my favorite place...I'll get a new ribbon lol. Helmet off, shoes swapped, I used my new super cool triathlete race belt which I'll admit WAS faster than the nathan fuel belt I'd been using before, hoped I had most of my nutrition, and off I went!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Run - 1:44:38, 7:59 pace, 15/132 OA, 3/41 F</b></div><div><br /></div>During part of the bike I'd had a segment of a quote from the movie Boondock Saints in my head, in relation to run (paraphrased): "only then will you cross over into true corruption, into our domain." And here it was, the run, finally MY domain. The thing is, even as a runner the run is still the hardest part of the tri for me. Because even if it's the sport I know and love, it's still HARD, especially when you've got 4 hours of racing in you. Pacing becomes a moot point, steady effort and moving forward is the key, but yet there's always this magic about knowing that this is where I come from. The swim is an adventure, the bike is a playground, and then the run, hard as it is, is like coming home. <br /><p>I ran out of transition and immediately had eyes on the girl who'd come in off the bike right before me. She was wearing an old Coeur pattern trisuit (one which I'm now kind of sad I don't own - it was a pretty sweet black and green situation). She looked like she was running strong, and I was a little sad thinking that I might not be able to catch her. But, no matter, I had my own things to contend with. I'd kind of felt like I needed to pee starting around mile 45 of the bike, and I still haven't been able to convince myself to pee on my bike (I tried), so I definitely spent the first lap not totally comfortable. I told myself I'd stop at the porta potty and fix my hair, which had been falling out since the swim and was bouncing around oddly, on the next loop...and then proceeded to just keep telling myself that every loop until finally it was the last loop and I obviously wasn't stopping!</p><p>I mostly spent the first loop feeling good and trying to make note of all of the features that I would have to pass 5 TIMES (yes...a 5 loop course...no joke). The beginning of the loop ran briefly up and over a bridge, followed by a great downhill stretch. Then we left the road and turned onto a bike path, where there was a STEEP downhill...like so steep you can't really even run fast down it because you'd fall on your face...and then THE hill...over half a mile just going uphill on and on and on. Honestly on the first lap, it felt very doable! I was cool, calm, and collected, and being boosted by the fact that I was CONSTANTLY passing people, sprint, olympic, and half distance alike. It always kind of blows my mind in triathlons how I'll be running a pace that is essentially my moderate daily run pace, and just be passing, passing, passing. Even later on in the race when I wasn't feeling as great, the passes were a constant. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNFPfUzHd_XCbvnBeTfWPuHC_tegY9TMMYqGu77NooDuzNlLURkCpDXJntdCwY4fjjO3dT2ettG1uchO8WtMneqOw7xgkjhtbWh7SUOSAj0fteesISu0NkL0wrrOfxKsX_IT9dQ/s1600/White+Mountains+Tri-31458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNFPfUzHd_XCbvnBeTfWPuHC_tegY9TMMYqGu77NooDuzNlLURkCpDXJntdCwY4fjjO3dT2ettG1uchO8WtMneqOw7xgkjhtbWh7SUOSAj0fteesISu0NkL0wrrOfxKsX_IT9dQ/w426-h640/White+Mountains+Tri-31458.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Loop 1 vibes (they smartly placed the camera in the DOWNHILL section)</div><p>Finally, you reached the top of the hill and ran onto an out and back along the lake section of the bike path. This section was flatter in comparison to the massive hill, but still was slightly uphill in one of the directions (and to be completely honest I ran it 5 times and I still can't quite figure out which way was uphill). The way out to the aid station always felt harder, since I was trying to recover from the climb, but I actually think that might have been the downhill stretch. The folks manning the water station at the bike path turnaround were like my own personal hype train, and even on my first lap were yelling things to me like "look at that PACE!" Not gonna lie, I was definitely enjoying my status as strong female runner lol. The run back to the turnaround seemed to pass really quickly, and soon I was heading up over the bridge back into lap 2. I had laughed during packet pickup because the race was like "look, we gave you 5 rubber bands you can use to count your laps!" - yeah, as if I'd forget how many times I'd run up that massive hill! But my rubber bands were lost inside my wetsuit, and so I decided to just smile and yell out my lap number to a random volunteer standing at the turn. "Lap one, done!"</p><p>I'll admit that a lot of my memories of the run are a little muddled by the fact that I was really tired and focused on moving forward, so the timeline might be a little off here, but I'm pretty sure it was just after I crossed the bridge into the second loop that I realized I was closing on black and green trisuit girl. It didn't take long to realize that I was most definitely closing on her, and by the time we entered the climb for the second time I was able to make the pass! This was good in many ways, because now knowing that she could theoretically be on my tail at any time kept a fire under me to make sure I was still giving my best effort. I do think it's easy to get complacent when you're running faster than the majority of the people around you, and making this pass reminded me that yes, I was still in a race, and I needed to run accordingly!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1NGzzf7zA_r1795aW9nSqfm9VuCjin6YI3AXLEYGjGoARgy_Dwc0X8Xkxl83lQR7FwInlC9mRBUyA7a1sa2MJi_VWGki0IEk84FmL-9-8gh_dZZBPrYxn8cephSv7RYzic92Yg/s1600/White+Mountains+Tri-32447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1NGzzf7zA_r1795aW9nSqfm9VuCjin6YI3AXLEYGjGoARgy_Dwc0X8Xkxl83lQR7FwInlC9mRBUyA7a1sa2MJi_VWGki0IEk84FmL-9-8gh_dZZBPrYxn8cephSv7RYzic92Yg/w426-h640/White+Mountains+Tri-32447.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Loop 2, major downstep action but still smiling!</div><p>The second run up the hill sucked equally as much as the first, but no worse, and lap 2 passed in something of a blur. I was trying to focus on my form, staying tall, and trying to shout encouragement at as many people as I could. With 3 races going on at once and runners going both directions the bike path was a little packed, and it was a little irritating at times to feel like I got stuck behind someone for a second, but overall I don't think it impacted my race too much. I took a Gu the second time I hit the turnaround water stop because I'd forgotten my salt tabs (seriously, like where was my brain in transition? Everything was labeled and bagged and I just totally failed in the moment). I actually ended up taking 3 Gus over the course of the run which is disgusting and way more (obviously) than I would EVER consider taking in an open half, but I think after being depleted from the bike I needed more fuel. I have to say, my stomach stayed happy through the entire race and I felt like I did a good job of managing my hydration/salt needs as well. It wasn't wildly hot - in the 70s and cloudy - but definitely warm enough that I needed to be mindful of what I was taking in and how I was feeling. </p><p>I came through the turnaround and yelled at my volunteer friend again - "2 down, 3 to go!" I was still really in a joyful mood and my legs were still feeling good overall. This is where my strategy of kind of chilling on the bike was paying off - I definitely did not override it and I felt like my legs had plenty left to give. I was trying not to put too much stock in my splits, since I knew that there was still a long way to go and the fatigue bus was going to hit me at some point especially with the amount of climbing we were doing. I kept reminding myself "even effort", allowing myself to really roll on the downhill and trying to keep my stride as efficient as possible on the climb. It seemed to be working - I had slowed down slightly since my first mile, which had been fast, but was averaging out to just below 8:00 pace between the downhill and uphill miles which was exactly what I'd planned for on this course. After the first couple miles, I'd actually switched my watch to just show time of day since it didn't really matter what mile I was at - I had to do this loop 5 times, and that was the only thing that mattered. </p><p>As I was rolling on the downhill second of the 3rd loop, I came up behind a girl who I recognized as a girl who'd come blasting by me early on the bike course and who I'd never seen again. She looked like she was slowing a bit and so of course, like a shark scenting blood in the water. I went into kill mode. Here's the thing: before the race I had thought about how I've placed in my age group of every triathlon I've ever done. I knew this was a smaller race, but I wanted to do everything possible to make sure that I continued that streak today. Plus, I WAS still feeling strong! So I went bopping by, awkwardly yelling "Good job....everyone!" because she was running with a pack of a couple of guys...and I am awkward.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMStWB7uFLea9e6cBbvIdSYCiwixXcNhtd81qM4bLsk93Tp0v6Z9T2lINqAr-nXNVFx5W8Dlx0fF0CsotTuzQX23bKuFSrQlNX8s68BxipjHuHK5bd_Fb8qTmv3NkC6PcYgzV3HA/s1600/White+Mountains+Tri-33143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMStWB7uFLea9e6cBbvIdSYCiwixXcNhtd81qM4bLsk93Tp0v6Z9T2lINqAr-nXNVFx5W8Dlx0fF0CsotTuzQX23bKuFSrQlNX8s68BxipjHuHK5bd_Fb8qTmv3NkC6PcYgzV3HA/w426-h640/White+Mountains+Tri-33143.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I look aggressive in this loop 3 photo and it is 100% because I have that girl in my sights</div><p>Coming up the big hill the 3rd time was definitely the first time all day when my legs started to be like...ya know...it would actually be great if we could stop doing this now. Nothing dramatic, but some feelings of muscle fatigue that I definitely knew weren't going to improve with another couple of trips up this mini mountain. Still, I wasn't walking (definitely the exception rather than the rule in the field at this point) and I wasn't cramping, and I'd just passed a girl who looked to be around my age, and as tired as I was I was STILL having fun, because I just love this ridiculous sport.</p><p>I think I exclaimed somewhere near the top of the hill on the 3rd round "I swear to God this friggin' hill gets LONGER every time I do it!" But then the bridge would appear, I was at the top again. 2 more times up this damn hill. As I crossed under the bridge I recognized a familiar tri top; it was my friend from the bike! Now, let's just say that by this far into the race my brain really isn't working well at all anymore, and the brain to mouth pipeline just doesn't have a filter left in it, because that's really the only way I can explain what I did, which was to shout "HI FRIEND!!!" at this random man who I'd rode with for 25 minutes earlier in the day. WHY am I so awkward? I was just very excited apparently. I quickly ran away from my awkwardness and continued my trot down the bike path. There was a really nice little cluster of spectators right at the end of the bike path, and I enjoyed the cheers and cowbells whether they were meant for me or not. My water station hype train was still in full force - "GREAT pace! Wow!" as I made the turn and tried to hype my own self up for the next 2 laps. I saw Joy and Elise running on the opposite side as I ran back along the bike path, and we shouted at eachother. There was just so much joyful shouting going on at this race! And so many high fives, people cheering, people running and standing along this packed bike path without a mask in sight. It felt like the last 15 months had never happened, just a long nightmare, and we were all bursting out of our cages, free.</p><p>I came off the bike path and gave "my" volunteer a shout - "lap 3, way to be!" By this point, pretty much all of the sprint and Olympic athletes were done or heading to the finish, so things quieted down dramatically as I turned again into the 4th loop. Once again over the bridge. As I came up the hill, there was a photographer walking towards me, and I decided that this was my shining moment to ham it up. There are so few occasions in any running race when I'll grant anything more than a little smile for a camera - it's all serious business, all the way. But caught in the joy of the moment, of doing this thing that I for some reason love so much and doing it well, AGAIN, I couldn't do anything but throw my arms up in the air and grin like the happiest girl in the world. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqnpEIswOJxR18GnguqCn1jCaNXHXmwpZYMLz30kSG25NDEyHP4NfUPjl5ZeeHoNILuO9zLC59fdz5SQ8E6NsUPPefsgxrsRgT-tdV7LWubRsWIxY0g9EYgNKXUzKW14eh206Qw/s1600/White+Mountains+Tri-70047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqnpEIswOJxR18GnguqCn1jCaNXHXmwpZYMLz30kSG25NDEyHP4NfUPjl5ZeeHoNILuO9zLC59fdz5SQ8E6NsUPPefsgxrsRgT-tdV7LWubRsWIxY0g9EYgNKXUzKW14eh206Qw/w426-h640/White+Mountains+Tri-70047.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What I love the most about this photo is that it's 100% genuine. My smile is real, wanting to throw my arms in the air with joy is real, it's all real. It's been that way since that very first sprint triathlon all those years ago. Triathlon brings something out in me that running alone (or at least not run racing alone) just doesn't. I still don't exactly know what it is about tri that just makes me spend every race having so much damn fun, but whatever it is, it hasn't seemed to fade even as I've become more invested in and serious about the sport. Even running down women and putting down a run split faster than most of the men in the field, I was honestly and truly having an absolute blast.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, as much fun as my heart was having, my legs were starting to have decidedly LESS fun, particularly when it came to trying to stay under control on the steep downhill and then immediately climbing the endless uphill. I could feel the first flickers of cramping starting to happen in my left leg (always that damn weakling of a left leg) and I knew that I'd arrived at my stop on the fatigue train. The phrase that kept playing through my mind during the run as I watched the carnage of people walking, struggling, legs totally fried by the hills, was "war of attrition". I had known from the start that my ability to do well on the run was going to come down to my ability to outlast the fatigue and maintain through the hills without completely breaking down. With that in mind, I let myself have a short walk break on the 4th round of the uphill, just 20 steps counting just like I did at Mount Washington. I felt like I needed to save myself a little bit, otherwise loop 5 had the potential to be a pretty big nightmare, and I still had the fear of the 2 women behind me reminding me that I couldn't give back any more than I had to.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBeOiq_i9RejLnkUd9Bh6xVcc89wGdHolgwote9guYVyR221hMWErtUUe9eQlJmtTwCZM_XZLNXS8kvZKxKCT9Fg0e8Opk0qV2HFcLyv65qZIxE5HwcF3Czdx1x12MQsftRJGRTA/s1600/White+Mountains+Tri-33555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBeOiq_i9RejLnkUd9Bh6xVcc89wGdHolgwote9guYVyR221hMWErtUUe9eQlJmtTwCZM_XZLNXS8kvZKxKCT9Fg0e8Opk0qV2HFcLyv65qZIxE5HwcF3Czdx1x12MQsftRJGRTA/w426-h640/White+Mountains+Tri-33555.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lap 4 is a whore (is that a smile or a grimace? We may never know)</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The out and back happened; I walked at the turnaround just to take in a full cup of gatorade and some water, and then got right back to it. The past couple of laps I had been warm enough to dump water on my head, and I was definitely starting to feel like I needed to keep my electrolytes in check or cramps were almost a certainty. But as I ran back along the bike path, I felt a surge of excitement. All I had to do was do all of this ONE more time. One more time up the hill. I said that last part out loud, because a random man nearby burst out "only ONE!? I'm jealous!", reminding me once again that there were plenty of people out there who had a much longer way to go. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I rounded my turn "my" volunteer was gone, but I still shouted "last one, fast one!" to no one which was also hilarious because my last one was absolutely NOT going to be my fast one, but hey, it was going to happen, and that was what mattered. I check the time on my watch and realized that I had plenty of time to finish well before 1 pm, which was kind of shocking to me - I was absolutely convinced that I was going to finish this race over 6 hours given my perceived current fitness and the difficulty of the course. That thought gave me a boost as I headed up and over the bridge, one last time. Into the downhill, one last time. By this point my legs were absolutely ready to collapse, not in the painful lactic acid way of an all out race but just in this fatigued, quivering, muscles no longer have any interest in firing sort of way. My ability to give encouragement had diminished from shouting to a mumbled 'goodjob' as I passed other runners, all of my energy finally needing to be directed to the actual task at hand. I dumped a cup of water on my head at the last water stop and dove into the final steep downhill, and I just went a little nuts. There was no one around (or maybe there was, who even knows), and so out loud I said..."OK, you f&cker of a hill. SAY GOODBYE TO THESE! BECAUSE IT'S THE LAST TIME!!!" If you've ever watched Arrested Development you'll catch the reference, and I almost burst out laughing at myself because it was such a ridiculous thing to shout into the abyss. I put my head down and attacked the hill...for a bit, until my legs gave a hard NOPE about halfway up and I took a quick walk break. Then I ran again, most of the rest of the way, another quick walk to regroup, and then it was onward under the bridge and into the last out and back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The last out and back was a blur. I was still moving but definitely less quickly, and I could tell I was on borrowed time in terms of the cramps that seemed to be brewing throughout my left leg. I just had to keep holding on a little bit longer. I made the final turn, grabbed one last water cup, and took off back down the bike path. I was SO ready to finally make the turn for home! I yelled to no one "time to go!" as I made the left turn towards the finish, laughing at the girl with a giant sign on a hot pink posterboard that just read "GOOD." There was a woman in front of me as I started to run back towards the finish line, and for a second I wondered 'who the hell is SHE?!" before realizing that she was either in the sprint or the olympic. I passed her anyway, then ran side by side for a bit with a taller man. We had to run around the back of the transition area and as we did so the guy grimaced. "I've got nothing left!" he moaned, as I left him to his fate. I wasn't quite on empty yet, but I didn't have a whole lot more to give. I knew there was a nasty uphill into the parking lot to finish the race, but what I DIDN'T expect was the 200 meter stretch of dirt uphill that preceded it. I almost laughed - the old run course had included this dirt hill and it was almost like the race director had a sick sense of humor. "Oh, you missed the old course, do you? Did you miss THIS?!" I made an attempt to keep running up it, but my legs were not in any mood to deal with slipping and sliding on sand and gravel. "You've gotta be f7cking kidding me," I grumbled, half expecting the guy with nothing left to pass me at any moment as I slowed to a jog/stumble. I just really wasn't interested in having my left calf cramp on me so close to the finish, and the sand and rocks seemed specially designed to send my trembling legs into a seizing cramp.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">FINALLY we hit the end of the dirt road and came into the stupid, sharp, STEEP hill up into the parking lot. I've walked this hill every time I've done this race and today was no exception. No shame in my game - again, give me a time that's 10 seconds slower over my leg rendering me unable to run 200 yards from the finish any day of the week. But once I was over the steep hump, the finish line was basically in sight and it was time to run it in. The finish of this race is sort of funny, as you basically run through the parking lot, but then you finally see the really beautiful green carpet that leads to the finish arch. I was definitely fighting for it - looking at my finish video I'm definitely running TIRED up the last uphill - but there's also a huge smile on my face (what else is new) as I threw my arms up in the air once again and finished my second half iron triathlon!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTTMr1FCxyUGVhuYJsqRK3h_5Xt3CeRGOK48eImTYuuFiIWQB6ZUx9XkeMgUvwHQrxl4tEVRQrkeiAvIBm6Ls8-DjcXYy1OfuuSvVxfeibzXgzpAlkKqexOjnTdgOiADmHjMOZQ/s1600/White+Mountains+Tri-61162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTTMr1FCxyUGVhuYJsqRK3h_5Xt3CeRGOK48eImTYuuFiIWQB6ZUx9XkeMgUvwHQrxl4tEVRQrkeiAvIBm6Ls8-DjcXYy1OfuuSvVxfeibzXgzpAlkKqexOjnTdgOiADmHjMOZQ/w640-h426/White+Mountains+Tri-61162.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think this might be the best actual finish line photo of my entire athletic career?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was elated, but also completed exhausted after finishing. I wandered around trying to think of who I should even be looking for. My immediate instinct was "look for Andrew", but he was back at the AirBnb watching the dogs. Joy and Elise were still out on the course somewhere. I wandered around in a daze for a few minutes, trying to figure out what I wanted, when I spotted an Athletic Brewing Company tent. "Can I just...HAVE one of these?" I asked the guy. The answer was yes...and wow...ice cold non alcoholic IPA gave me LIFE in those immediate moments after the race. Forget the sugar free powerade (ew), this is what I wanted while my stomach settled. I still wasn't sure what to do while I tried to wait for my friends, but luckily a couple moments later I ran into Gwen! We discussed our races and the insanity of the swim, and I introduced her to the glory of Athletic. After awhile I walked down to transition to get a change of clothes because despite the fact that I had been hot enough during the race to be dumping water on myself, I was now getting cold! By the time I got back up to the finish area, it wasn't long before Elise and Joy came rolling in. We grabbed post race beers and burgers and hung out on the deck, reliving the glory of the day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I truly think it took a little while after the race for it to dawn on me how thrilled with the race I actually was! I had outperformed my expectations on both the swim and the bike, raced really smart, not screwed up my nutrition despite really trying to screw up my nutrition, and had a strong run on a VERY difficult course. For all of my stupid doubts about my ability to perform at this race, feeling like I wasn't ready, totally underestimating my ability to be strong and endure when it counted, I had come through in every way and had, yet again, had an absolute BLAST doing it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I sound like such a broken record, and I really don't want to take away from all the running races I've done and how much I love those, but there is something about these triathlons that genuinely makes me happy. I'm happy when I train. I'm happy when I race. Even though the volume of my training is so much higher than it was when I was only running, it very rarely feels like work. Even Andrew commented that I complain a lot less and seem a lot happier with training since I started doing tris a couple of years ago. It's hard, because I think part of makes it all so much fun for me is that it IS just that - fun. I don't take it too seriously, I don't go wild with workouts on the bike, I do what seems right for me and I see how it pans out in the race. I clearly have some inherent ability in the sport, so I worry a little bit that at some point I'm going to get stuck on getting faster and lose the joy in it. I have two friends who are convinced that I can qualify for Kona, if not this year than sometime in the future, and I completely brush them off partially because I don't believe them, but also because I don't want to suck away the joy that I've found in this sport by attaching myself to some arbitrary goal. I want to continue going out there and swimming, biking, running the best I can, using my brain to strategize and my heart to endure, and to just keep going out there and smiling my way through the whole damn course. Given my results so far, its kind of hard to argue with that strategy. 11 weeks to IMWI...LET'S GO. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>White Mountains Half Iron Triathlon (70.3)</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>5:39:32</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>31/132 OA, 7/41 F, 1/5 AG</b></div>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-31461767609162904822021-05-30T20:42:00.000-05:002021-05-30T20:42:37.265-05:00A happy ending after all: Miles on the Mohawk 10M Race Report<p>Let this be a lesson to myself in case I hadn't already learned it: the races that I go into with no expectations are ALWAYS the best. Today I ran a 10 mile PR, and I'm confident that if the race had been a half marathon that I'd have a 13.1 PR as well - I ran a smooth, strong, consistent race with some of the most even splits I've ever seen out of myself...oh, and did I mention that I didn't taper and hiked 25 miles during the past week, including 9 miles the day before the race? Because, YUP, that just happened.</p><p>Some back story: back in the wintertime Joy got an email about this new race going on in New York, which we thought would be a fun racecation weekend/vaccination celebration - which, with Massachusetts announcing it was fully open on May 29, it really turned out to be! I had decided that the half was going to be my goal race before we signed up for this, so it was always kind of a fun run/cherry on top of the weekend in my mind from the start. I won't recap the entire trip in too much detail here, but suffice it to say it was a TON of fun, and not at all the sort of activities that I'd plan on doing before a race that I cared about, lol. The weather turned out to be absolute trash with rain every single day, but we somehow made the most of the dry periods and saw a ridiculous number of sights including a run in downtown Albany, several waterfalls and state parks, several breweries, and an absolutely ridiculous 9 mile hike on Saturday which included rain, a porcupine sighting, ledgy cliff walks, and having to ford a river about 30 ft upstream of a 200 ft waterfall! We also didn't eat any snacks during our 4 hour hike and then went to a brewery immediately afterwards (we did consume 3 pizzas at the brewery, so that's a better example of prerace behavior lol).</p><p>My legs had felt pretty terrible all week, as Andrew and I had been hiking up in the Whites on Monday and Tuesday and the first hike of the year always just annihilates my quads and calves. I had legit DOMS until Wednesday, and then my legs continued to feel just fatigued and achy. By the time our hike on Saturday rolled around I was finally feeling a bit better, but still figured that the lingering fatigue of the week was not going to have a positive impact on my race. We didn't get back to our air bnb until like 8 pm on Saturday night and tried to figure out the logistics of the next morning. The 10 mile was a point to point, but we had to stop by the finish line to pick up our bibs (we missed all the pre-race pickup opportunities because of hiking and breweries...oops but also no regrets) and then Andrew would drive us ~2 miles from the start so that we could warm up. I ended up eating MORE pizza at 11 pm because I suddenly realized I was hungry and we hadn't eaten lunch. We watched the Bruins win game 1 of their series, the first full game in the Garden since COVID, which was absolutely electric - I actually got chills watching - and then headed to bed.</p><p>Race morning we needed to pack up the Air BnB, and in between I downed some kona cola nuun and ate a banana, and then munched on a bagel in the car. We were all a little stressed about getting our bibs on time but it turned out to be totally smooth. The weather was ridiculous at 48 and cloudy, but as you know if you've read anything on this blog before, I was HERE for it. Needing a throwaway shirt on May 30? HELL YES! It had been in the 80s the past week in Boston so it really felt delightful. </p><p>Our drive to the start worked out fabulously - we happened to drive by an aid station that not only had porta potties, but was almost exactly 2 miles from the 10M start. After using the facilities we waited in the car for a bit before setting off down the bike path towards the start. I was really thinking about how nice it would be to just do a chill long run at this point - I definitely wasn't nervous, but was more just like wow I don't FEEL like running fast right now. Jogging along sounded really nice at the moment. We got to the starting area, where the porta potty lines were atrocious (apparently the people who were supposed to come and open the indoor bathrooms at the historic site where we started never showed up), so as per usual I wound up nature peeing in an extremely awkward area off the road...pretty sure there was poison ivy in the vicinity but I don't appear to have been afflicted, so yay for that! We headed back to the starting area and surveyed the scene; there were some definitely fast looking girls around including a contingent from Central Park Track Club who appeared ready to roll (and they did! So fast!) As we shuffled into the corral I realized that I had forgotten my mask in the bushes! Derp...even though masks literally aren't required anywhere outdoors anymore, we were still supposed to be wearing them in the starting area sooo I was standing there awkwardly with my singled pulled up over my mouth, as if that was doing anything. It really added to the overall awkwardness of my vibe. But it was just so much fun being in a starting corral with Joy again! </p><p>We were lined up in rows of 8 that moved up and started about every 15 seconds, and soon enough we were on the line and off! It was an interesting difference in feeling from two weeks ago - then, I was just SO giddy and happy to be out there. Today I was again, really happy to be out there, but in more of an emotional way. Something about the songs on my playlist and the rush of being out here again, starting off at 6:45 pace and seeing how long I could hold it, starting a race just feeling relaxed and free, felt totally magical. I found myself tearing up at least 3 times in the first 2 miles which is just silliness, but it was what it was. Happily at the outset my legs felt fine, not like let's go balls to the wall amazing, but not concerning in any way.</p><p>The first mile was down a nice gentle downhill street, and then we turned onto the bike path which essentially made up the rest of the course. The course was really lovely - net downhill, but with enough flat sections and inclines to make it still feel honest and the bike path was really pretty! Once we were on the path, after making a few quick passes I latched on to a girl in a maroon lululemon tank top and an older guy in knee socks and gloves. My first couple of miles had clocked in around 6:45, and while I was pretty sure the downhill had helped me out a bit I was feeling relaxed and smooth, and so just tried to get into rhythm behind maroon girl as she seemed to be on a similar plane as me pace-wise. The bike path was quite pretty, and I just tried to let myself groove along, aiming not to work too hard in the early miles.</p><p>While the temperatures were cool and amazing (maybe low 50s?), it was definitely humid. The race was cupless so I actually had a bottle with me, which was amusing because it made me realize how much I rely on the water stations to dictate my drinking schedule! So, around mile 3 I was kind of like...uh...maybe I should drink? and just took a swig. It was actually kind of a pleasant surprise to just drink from a bottle and not just throw a cup at my face! I continued to stick like glue to maroon tank top girl. After about mile 3, there definitely wasn't the same ease to things as there had been the first few miles. We started encountering some minor inclines which I think woke up the feelings of fatigue in my legs, and while I ended up dropping the pace to around 6:55's, give or take, I definitely felt like I was slowing down more than I actually was. I actively tried not to look at my watch during this race and just kind of ran along by feel. I was passed by a couple of people who came blowing through from behind (I assume people who probably should have been in wave 1 but got stuck in the porta potty line or something).</p><p>Around mile 4 or 5, we encountered the end of the marathon runners running in the opposite direction, and because I literally cannot pass up the opportunity to cheer even if it's in the middle of my OWN race, I started yelling and whooping at each runner we passed. The girl in the maroon tank top totally gave me a side eye of confusion but I didn't care - I was cruising along, and those people had like 20 miles to go to my 6 - they deserved some positivity! Joy told me after the race that she had the exact same response and even threw some high fives across the bike path...amazing.</p><p>We headed into a more woodsy section, and by this point I was definitely noticing my perceived effort start to increase. Aerobically I felt completely fine (according to my Garmin, my heart rate was only in the 150s which I don't totally believe/almost hope isn't accurate because if true it means I was being LAZY) but my legs were absolutely starting to notice the effort. I eventually broke ahead of maroon tank on an uphill, which boosted my energy a bit, and was still managing to click off 6:55s at halfway. One thing that was really wonderful about the course was that everytime there was an incline, it seemed to be followed by a long/gradual decline, so just when you'd feel like "ugh, this feels hard", you'd have the opportunity to recover a bit. It really kept me in it mentally, and helped me to avoid the trap I think I sometimes fall into where I start to feel tired around 60% into the race and just totally give up. The forested bike path and the weather reminded me so much of all of the tempo runs I did this spring on a stretch of road along the Charles - for some reason, always in the mist or the rain. It just felt so fitting to be doing this race, running that same pace, in such a similar atmosphere, and I laughed a little bit thinking about how I LITERALLY had trained for this specific race. </p><p>I took my Gu at 5.5 with a larger swig of water - totally threw off my flow trying to do all of that at once but I managed to get into rhythm again pretty quickly. I don't really have too much to say about the next couple of miles. I was getting tired, and was sort of sick of putting in the effort, but I kept telling myself that not feeling like putting in the effort wasn't a good reason to stop putting in the effort, so I had to keep doing it. 6:55s were still feeling relatively cruisy (in hindsight, I think I could have raced even FASTER if I'd really been willing to go to the red line in the second half of the race, but I've come to terms with the fact that that's something I have a really hard time doing.) I was telling myself that I could cruise for 2 more miles to 8, and then maybe start trying to pick it up. The fatigue was definitely starting to kick in, though, and "cruising" slowed from 6:55 to 6:57 to 7:05. I'd been trying not to look at my watch, but when I saw the 7:05 split I was like oh, goddamnit. You didn't come this far just to come this far. So I beat back the laziness and the total apathy of my legs (which is probably the best word for it - they weren't like completely donezo or anything, they were just like ugh, but WHY. We are so uninterested in this task right now) and forced myself to hang on.</p><p>Luckily, there was a girl in front of me in a black top with a french braid who I had been slowly reeling in, and continuing that process was a welcome mental distraction for the final 2 miles. It had started sprinkling a bit, which actually felt wonderful, and I could practically sense the moment the caffeine and sugar from my Gu kicked in. We came off the bike path and headed up an incline which truly felt like we were getting onto the highway, at which point I managed to pass french braid girl, and then entered by far the most annoying section of the course which consisted of running back and forth through a couple of side streets before the last stretch on the bike path to the finish. I had managed to pick it up to 7 flat for mile 9, and I willed myself to just hang on for one more. One more and I get a goddamn PR out of this ridiculous year and training cycle and whatever. Come on come on come on.</p><p>Right after the mile marker we turned up what, again, was not a large hill by any stretch of the imagination but for some reason just made my legs balk, and I could feel my form totally dissolve - hunched trunk, shuffling gait. Nope nope nope. Get up tall, eyes up, you'll go down the hill on the other side. And I did! When we turned downhill I knew there was one more ramp and then flat to the finish, and I was confident that I could finish it out. And then, as I made the turn into the final stretch, it started DOWNPOURING.</p><p>I love to run in the rain. I find such a magic to it, and as I ran down this bike path knowing I wasn't holding anything back because I was so close now, it felt like magic. I knew that I had run a strong race, a race I was proud of, and I gave that last half mile everything I had to give (it was a 6:55, which is actually sort of perfect) I motored into the finish in the pouring rain, hands up, with a PR. It wasn't a huge PR, it's not one of those PRs that I think of as a "big one", like the half and the full marathon, but damnit who knows how many PR days you get in your lifetime, and this, in the pouring rain, after a week spent doing things I love no matter the cost to my performance, after this training cycle that I thought was a bust after the half two weeks ago went south, was one of them. </p><p>Maroon girl and sock guy both came in immediately behind me, and we exchanged high fives and pleasantries on a race well run. Upon stopping running it immediately became apparent that this was a COLD rain, and so after grabbing a space blanket I began jogging back up the course to go and find Joy, who showed up not long after and cruised in to finish well under 1:20. We quickly attempted to start cooling down, but realized that our original plan to run to meet Andrew at a park a couple of miles away wasn't going to be feasible because there was no pedestrian way across the river. Soooo mission aborted, and we hung out in a random parking garage while we waited for our amazing chauffeur to come and pick us up. </p><p>We changed in the warm car and headed off towards lunch and beers, and about 10 minutes out I decided to check the official results. I had 100% written off receiving any sort of award as soon as I'd seen the CPTC girls, so imagine my surprise when I discovered I actually was 3rd in my age group! I was a little mad at myself, because I hadn't even thought to check and so missed out on my pint glass award. Just goes to show that I shouldn't write myself off!</p><p>I feel like this race report is all over the place, but I will summarize by saying that I really ran a beautiful race. I NEVER run even splits - NEVER - and while today wasn't perfectly even the differential between my fastest and slowest mile was much less than my norm, and I ran the majority of the race right at the pace I ended up running overall. I'm really pleased with the way I hung tough even when the pace didn't feel "good" or "easy", and am extremely surprised with how well my legs were able to cope with the overall fatigue of this week. And I'm just so, so pleased to get my happy ending of this weird training cycle/COVID year - I had such a dream of coming out of the pandemic and proving to myself that I was stronger than ever and that all the work that I'd done in the dark of 2020 would come into the light. And even though it wasn't exactly how I pictured it, it <i>did. </i>Not to mention, I have a newfound confidence in my ability to handle different/more challenging workouts and training weeks than I have in the past, more confidence that sub 7 pace doesn't half to be scary and a half at that pace is just around the bend, and maybe even more importantly, that I can do it without sacrificing the other things I love to do. I have always prided myself on being a runner who loves to run, and wants to train hard and run fast, but is never willing to give up the other things I love to do for the sake of one pursuit. Some might say that that's a negative trait, but I'd argue that the satisfaction I got from running PR under today's circumstances trumps anything that an extra 15 or 20 seconds faster would have given me. It just goes to show what I've always said about myself: my best races never come when I psych myself up, taper, prepare. I want to be that athlete, have that intensity, but at the end of the day, I think I'm my best athletic self when I break free of my own expectations and stop building things up in my mind, and just go out there and freaking run. And if there are weird extenuating circumstances like "25 miles of hiking the week of the race" or "rain" or anything of that sort...well, I guess that's all the better. </p><p><b>Miles on the Mohawk 10M</b></p><p><b>1:09:07 (PR)</b></p><p><b>51/ 635 OA, 13/375 F, 3/51 F30-34</b></p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-48170730600132253242021-05-16T20:13:00.002-05:002021-05-16T20:21:35.628-05:00New Boston Half Marathon Race Report<p>I'm sitting here drinking a beer that I've been saving for my first race back, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping it would be a PR beer too - see last post. But it wasn't to be, and I am OK with that. I'm convinced that the fitness was/is there, the execution was as good as it could be, but too many pieces of the puzzle refused to line up for me today - notably the weather (though I hate to be someone who uses the weather as an excuse on a day that many would consider to be great running weather, but the truth is 60+ degrees and sun just doesn't work for my body to race optimally, and that's all there is to it). And you know what, those racing skills get <i>rusty</i> after a year and a half of disuse! But let me focus on a couple of things I'm really proud of about this race:</p><p>- Most importantly, even despite the shitshow that was the second half, I was SO happy to be out there, just doing the thing. I definitely caught myself thinking a few times that feeling this awful and dealing with cramps and missing times was definitely an argument for NOT racing, but honestly I wouldn't trade it for the world. </p><p>- Until the wheels fell off (which is sort of a separate problem), I executed my pacing PERFECTLY. I did not go out too fast - I went out 3 seconds under goal pace, and proceeded to run right at goal pace feeling relaxed and glorious for 6.5 miles. I'm convinced I can run the full distance at this pace one day.</p><p>- Despite an overall physical meltdown in the second half, I really managed to stay mentally positive in what might have been a really devastating situation in the past. Rather than beat myself up when things started to break down, I just focused on staying in the mile and trying to problem solve with what I could do to improve the situation. Also, by the last couple of miles, so many things had gone wrong that I actually started to find the whole situation <i>funny</i>, which I can't say I've ever thought before. Like, actually comically bad. So if comically bad for me is a 1:34 half these days, there are certainly worse places to be in fitness.</p><p>-I gave my best effort for 98% of the race, even when things were really spiraling down the drain. I had to stop and stretch out my quad several times, and had to walk through a water stop to get down some fluids, but the alternative to doing those things was either slowing down to a jog or dropping out, so I don't view them as moments of weakness as frustrating as they were. I had one moment where I feel like I walked because I was kind of giving up (mile 9 was nothing short of a disaster to the tune of 7:40 lol) but thankfully a girl passing me slapped me on the back and gave me some words of encouragement and snapped me out of it, and I definitely felt like I was able to rally a little bit at the end. </p><p>And as a counterpoint, a couple of things that I'd like to improve on:</p><p>- Just...figuring out how to deal with my body's response to "warmth". The race today wasn't <b>hot</b> by any means - I think it was approaching 60 at the start and probably in the mid to high 60s at the finish - and my perception was never really specifically "I'm hot". The problem was that something was off in my electrolyte/fluid situation and once I fall into that hole it's impossible to climb out of. The fact that my dropoff happened really abruptly and dramatically leads me to believe that there was basically a moment when I became dehydrated, and the fact that the water stops were pretty spread out and I wasn't able to get more than a sip from the first two lends to that theory (absolutely not a slight at the race by any means - I totally get having grab from a table vs. volunteers due to COVID). So I'd really love to figure out how to prevent myself from falling into that hole, or at least hold it off a little longer. Can I hydrate more aggressively the morning of the race, or in the days before? Salt tabs? Again, I'm never going to try for a PR in the dead of summer, but it kind of sucks that at the moment I basically have 4, maybe 5 months of the year where I can actually have any shot at racing well and the rest I have to write off due to this problem. </p><p><br /></p><p>OK, moving on to the actual race report! This race had a time trial start from 7:30-9, but since we were seeded by pace I was relatively far up in the field and so was assigned a start time in the first wave, 7:35. With an 80 minute drive to the venue, it was an EARLY morning. I was up at 4 am, ate my banana and started in on a can of iced coffee, braided my hair, and got out of there. Thanks to a last minute zipcar change I had to walk about a mile to get to my car, but it was actually quite pleasant - there's something about being out on the way to a race as the sun is coming up, when the streets are totally empty that I just love. The drive was uneventful, I was jamming to my playlist and we can mark down instance #1 when I almost cried for the day while jamming to some of my latest pump up jams, and I made it to Goffstown in perfect time, right at 6:25 which is what had been recommended for me to park. Perfect! I was in desperate need of a porta potty after drinking a full bottle of nuun (still not enough fluids, apparently...) en route and was delighted to find a random porta potty, not associated with the race, in the lot of a car repair shop on the way to the start. Secret porta potties for the WIN! I walked down to the starting area, and here we have instance #2 of me almost crying as I took in the sight of the finish line arch, runners milling around, music blasting through speakers somewhere. There's just something so special about the atmosphere of a race that you can't recreate on your own and I just felt overwhelmed to finally be back in that electricity after so long. </p><p>I picked up my bib and shirt, and then rearranged my bag before heading back towards the course to warm up. I ended up stowing my bag in some trees so I could use the secret porta potty post warmup, which turned out to be the move as the lines were nuts at the real ones by the time I got back to the start. I literally don't remember how to warm up? I figured 15 minutes was sufficient, and if not that was too bad because it was literally all I had time for. I returned to the secret potty, grabbed my stuff, and had barely enough time to change shoes and put my bag in bag check before we were being called to the start!</p><p>So obviously mass starts are not a thing right now, but Millennium is just killing it with their system of a time trial start - everything ran super smoothly but still "felt" like a normal race. We stood at our little cones in the starting corral area as announcements were made - Molly Seidel randomly was running this race I think as a workout? Which I thought was pretty cool. I was fiddling around with the laces on my shoes since I've only worn the Endorphin Speeds for a couple of workouts and was still a little nervous about pressure from the lacing. Swinging my legs out a bit and shaking loose. But also just sort of standing there in disbelief...like...I am here in this corral with all of these people, literally the most strangers I've seen in a year and a half, and we are going to do a race, and it's happening, holy shit. And then the national anthem played and I almost cried again! Because of course I did, and I knew I would. Just so much gratitude and joy to even have the opportunity to be here. I closed my eyes and just soaked it in. </p><p>Holy heck and then it was time to race! I had carefully crafted my playlist with a super specific order and so I knew what song I was going to start to: Kesha's "Raising Hell". I really can't wait to see the race photos, because we stood on the line until the little racecar lights turned green, and as I hit play I ran out of the start with a smile on my face, singing along, so. fucking. happy. (I bet in photos this looks totally ridiculous lmao). Now you'd think that this could lead to some stupid behavior, but no, I became a smarter runner during the pandemic, and I actually turned my watch to current pace mode just for the first mile, to make sure I did not go out like an idiot. And IT WORKED! I ran a perfect 6:48 for the opening mile. I was aiming for 6:50 pace overall, so that was beautiful. I felt relaxed, smooth, delightful. One small and extremely stupid wrench in my plan when I realized that the second song that was playing was not, in fact, the song that was supposed to be playing...because I am a DUMB DUMB, and left my specifically curated playlist on SHUFFLE mode. The first of many things that I would laugh at during the race...and probably an omen of things to come.</p><p>The course was a lollipop, with the first 5 miles running out, then completing a loop in Goffstown, and then running back on the same road for the last 4 miles. My goal for the entire out section was just to lock into a rhythm and cruise, which was exactly what I did. The course does have the unfortunate feature of running slightly downhill on the out and uphill on the back (like, can we switch that around next year?) but the overall profile didn't have a ton of elevation and I had convinced myself that it wouldn't have a huge impact. I'm still convinced it didn't, really, because there were other fish to fry, but I digress. I was bopping along, happy as could be. Because of the time trial start and seeding, there wasn't a ton of passing to be done, but I actually did mow down 3 or 4 people who'd started ahead of me, which was of course a confidence boost. I felt like I was exerting the perfect level of effort and the pace looked like exactly what I wanted it to be. 6:50, 6:50, 6:51. All systems go. The first water stop came relatively early, and because it required grabbing a cup off a table while moving at 6:50 pace I unfortunately managed to throw most of the water all over myself and get very little into my mouth, but I didn't worry because at this stage we were in the shade and I was feeling just fine. One thing I did notice somewhat (which I think turned out to be a BIG thing) was that the road was significantly slanted towards the left, enough to be noticeable while running. We could only run on the lefthand side of the road, so it wasn't really avoidable, but I think for me it took it's toll in ways I would see shortly.</p><p>Anyway, for the moment things were grand, and were about to get even more wonderful, because as I looked off in the distance I saw a couple of people cheering pretty aggressively, one of them holding a sign. Since the majority of "spectators" to this point had mainly been people taking a break from doing yardwork to clap a little bit, this was something new. And then I got closer and damn near burst into tears because I realized it was JOY AND ELISE! I actually clapped my hand over my mouth in the most theatrical gesture and shrieked YOU GUYSSSSS!!! My heart. My friends. That they would come all the way up to this race t the crack of dawn to cheer because they <i>knew</i> it mattered to me - in case you're keeping score at home CRY TIME #4! A guy who'd been running in front of me was kind of chuckling and I gasped "That was a SURPRISE!" to which he laughed "I guessed that" hahaha. I was in the hyperventilating try not to cry breathing stage of life for a couple of minutes, during which I looked down at my watch to see that I'd just run a 6:46, my fastest mile yet. Everything was going SO WELL!</p><p>*Spoiler alert: things would stop going so well very, very shortly*</p><p>About a half mile later, we turned off the main road and onto some kind of uphill, which was really the first time I'd noticed any sort of effort at all. Which was fine - I chalked it up to "no shit, Sherlock, we're going up hill" and forged ahead. But then the hill...continued. Continued into a stretch of road where there was no shade and the sun felt very hot. "That's OK," I reassured myself, "just get through this stretch, relax, calm down, you'll be fine". (proud of your self talk, self). However, positive self talk didn't mean squat when my left quad all of a sudden decided that it was peacing out of this party, and proceeded to absolutely seize up. Ummm....WTF? My first reaction was actually sort of confused...like, I was literally feeling fine? What is this about? I had taken a Gu at 5 and was definitely hoping for a water stop, but nothing that seemed to precede whatever the hell was happening. And I swear, I've had a lot of races where you take the slow slide down into oblivion, but this felt like I took a flying leap off a cliff and never looked back. All of a sudden, without warning, my body was just done. It was like the quad cramp set off some kind of alarm system where my legs were like "huh, oh no, we all should cramp up too!" and my stomach was like "oh no, I'm not happy either!" and my overall physiology was like "hang on a second, we don't have enough of either water or salt OR BOTH we're NOT SURE" and everything went to shit. Add the fact that I was stumbling down a desolate street with shitty pavement, and the fact that the entire pack of people who started before me and who I had previously passed swallowed me up, and it was not a good time.</p><p>I ran for about half a mile in this shambling gait still trying to parse out what the hell was actually going on with my leg before making a decision that deeply frustrated me but I felt was for the best to stop and stretch out my leg. At this point I still had a thought that if I could work out the cramp I could somehow get back into it, especially because that mile (where I literally stopped and stood still for at least 10 seconds) still somehow clocked in as a 7:12. But it soon became apparent that the writing was on the wall. Despite the stretching, despite grabbing water at another stop, the cramp wasn't going away. I had lost all fluidity in my gait and as soon as I saw a 7:2x for mile 8, I knew: I was fucked.</p><p>But what could I do? I wasn't going to drop out of my first race back, as appealing as that seemed. I had to try to find a way through it. So first I had to find my way through the nightmare of mile 9, by FAR the worst mile of the race. Checking in with all systems: left quad, still seizing, low back trying to join the party as well. Stomach: not happy! Hydration: poor! Core temperature: above nominal limits! Every little incline felt like a mountain, and once again my stupid left leg reduced me to a walk up one. This was really the place where I almost completely gave up. Thankfully, a girl who started behind me happened to come up on me just then, and gave me a pat on the back and some kind of encouragement. That woke me from my stupor and my little pity party. I could find my way through this; it wasn't going to be what I wanted or what I'd hoped for, but I could problem solve and salvage something of the situation. I started running again; by this point I felt like what I desperately needed was hydration. When I got to the next water stop I made the executive decision to walk through, drinking a full cup of gatorade (or actually I think powerade, which oddly I have never had in a race before? Blue flavor was sort of a nice change from lemon lime lol). This was clearly what I needed, because while I wasn't able to fully reclaim my sub 7 pace of the earlier miles, I really got back into things for miles 10-11, locking my eyes on the back of the girl who'd encouraged me and clicking off some very reasonable 7:1x splits. I had been thinking for a bit about what sort of signal I'd give Joy and Elise when I saw them again, and I think I just gave them a shake of the head and a "disaster!!", hopefully with a little bit of a laugh. It was just so amazing to have friends to look for on the course though, just another thing that kept me going. I took some more water somewhere in there, and then promptly got a side stitch, because, like, of course I did. This was around the time where things began to become comical. We've got leg cramps, nausea, side stitches, dehydration, oh and now my phone is wet and is randomly skipping my music around, there's Gu all over my hands, this is AWESOME, this is what I've been WAITING FOR! </p><p>We hit mile 11 and I was like OK, cool, you can DO THIS, and then my ridiculous leg seized up, again, and I had to walk, again. And thinking back on this now, I wonder, should I have just pushed through? I just feel like when I cramp like that I really...can't? My quad is sore as hell now so I know it was a real thing, but I hate thinking back on how many times I had to actually stop running during this race. Oh well. It happened. And in the actual moment, I was just like, you know what, it's fine, get it under control and get back to it. No pity, no sadness, just like...get through it, deal with it, get to the finish line. There was a lady sitting by mile 12 with a dog that was just cashed out on the ground, and I laughed and pointed and was like..."I wish I was doing that right now". I was gradually starting to reel in a guy who I had passed early and then been passed by, and that was a nice little carrot on the stick in the final miles. Don't worry...I passed him, then had to stop, AGAIN (this time accompanied by a nice shout of <i>FUCK) </i>and then just begged my body to pull it together for one last quarter mile and was able to get back ahead of him. I am sorry, random man, for being such an awkward end of race compatriot. By this point I was also starting to get unpleasant flickers of cramps in my calves and I was just praying that they could stay flickers for like...3 more minutes. </p><p>We finally came around the corner and into the finishing chute, and despite the utter mess of the last 6 miles I somehow found it in me to turn it on as I came around the corner. The good thing about the chaos of the second half of this race was that I had completely given up on a PR, a decent time, anything, and so I had no idea or particular attachment to my finish time. But let's finish strong, anyway! So I powered across the line in 1:34:08. Ah, it was far from perfect. 1:34, I think, is now my most ubiquitous time for the half. But you know, there are worse things in life than a 1:34 half being "disappointing". </p><p>I sort of wanted to vomit as soon as I crossed the line (lovely!) but managed to hold that in and receive my medal and some water, while ignoring the usual assortment of snacks that I never want any part of at the end of the race. Things I want at the end of a race: potato chips, soda/seltzer, a popsicle. Things I do NOT want at the end of a race (which are always there): banana, bagel, fruit cup, granola bar. I roamed out of the finish chute, pausing to thank the girl who helped me pull it together and congratulating her on her race, and plopped down in the grass, where Joy and Elise eventually found me! Now there are probably a bunch of times in the past when a race like today would have made me want to cry. Today it just made me want to laugh! Despite the time and the atrocious second half...I was happy. Happy that I'd put myself out there without fear and taken a shot, laughing at the fact that at least if I was going to blow up I was going to do it spectacularly. </p><p>BUT my day got even better, because after sending Joy and Elise off for the rest of their long run, I got to spend the next hour CHEERING FOR RUNNERS which we all know is my other favorite thing to do, and something that I sort of forgot I haven't gotten to do in a REALLY long time. This is so dumb, but do you know what the 5th thing that almost made me cry today was? I'm out there clapping, cheering, screaming, the works, and some guy sticks out his hand for a high five...and I literally was like oh my god I'm going to high five a stranger for the first time in two years. And it seriously felt like the best high five of my life. Like something so simple, so normal, and like yes, COVID is still a thing but I'm just so thankful for science and for the vaccine, and for the fact that today I was able to run a road race, to high five a stranger, to hug my friends. Stuff I'll admit I definitely took for granted until it was gone.</p><p>Joy and Elise and I met up at Kelsen Brewing and sipped some beers in the sun with some nachos and hot pretzels before heading home, and I've pretty much been laying in bed reading my new favorite cheesy fantasy novel series ever since. My left quad hurts like a B, so that cramp was definitely a real thing. And I know, without a doubt, that today wasn't an accurate representation of my fitness. But for today, that's OK. I was there in the arena, I took a chance and didn't let fear hold me back, and I found the positives when in the past I would have only seen failure. I hugged my friends, I high fived strangers, I ran a RACE today, and it feels so, so good to be back.</p><p>Oh and importantly, I ran a 10K PR today! Which you know what I am TAKING because there's an official split for it, and it's a 30 second PR, and my 10K PR is dumb. I suspect that I probably can run faster in the 10K, given that the first 10K of this race didn't feel hard at all...but whatever. So take that half marathon, I still got my PR! (42:41)</p><p><b>New Boston Half Marathon</b></p><p><b>1:34:08</b></p><p><b>76/833 OA, 23/516 F, 8/85 F30-34</b></p><p><br /></p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-77912146500937828352021-05-10T20:17:00.004-05:002021-05-10T20:21:16.267-05:00Race week? RACE WEEK!<p>The last time I stood on a real life starting line was Superbowl Sunday, 2020. </p><p>I remember goofing off with Taylor as we stood shivering, waiting for the national anthem to play, huddled in a mass of hundreds of bodies. I remember telling myself to play it cool as we pushed off the starting line, shouting at Taylor that I wished I'd brought my arm warmers as some cold wind blasted down the side street near Kendall, and forced myself to practice patience as I watched my teammates take off at low 6 minute pace. I had a plan, to finish strong, and I executed that plan to perfection. I ended up with my last mile the fastest, tying my 5 mile PR, and overall I was pleased. I remember cooling down with Taylor, Erin, and Elise, jogging in blissful sunshine on the bridge over Memorial Drive, giddy with the feeling of an effort and a race well run, and most of all the possibility of more. We all knew that we were just at the beginning of the season and that as strong as we'd performed on this day, we were just getting started. </p><p>If you had told me that day that I wouldn't race again for over a year, that pretty much no one would, that we were standing on the cusp of a global pandemic that would change everyone's lives forever, there's no way I would have believed you. My eyes were on the future, and it wouldn't be long before I impulsively would sign up for the New Bedford half, a race that I have a long love/hate relationship with, convinced I could run a PR. The race was cancelled days later and...well, we know how the rest of that story goes.</p><p>The past year has given me plenty of time to think about the why behind my running, and to reevaluate what my goals are/were and how I hope to achieve them. But more than that, and in a way that I never expected, running without knowing when I'd get to show up to a starting line again also set me free in a way I never anticipated. Suddenly, it didn't matter whether or not I did a workout, or how fast my long run was (not that it <i>ever</i> mattered necessarily, but certainly not in the last year). I didn't have to think about proving to myself or anyone else how fast I was, that I could run a good race, because there was no such thing. And out of this year of no expectations, no pressure, and nothing much to do besides run, I rediscovered the fact that I actually just <i>like</i> running in a way that I had almost forgotten.</p><p>I only admitted this to myself recently, but Boston 2019 truly did something to my relationship with running that I think it has taken the better part of the past couple of years to repair. The fact that I could train so hard, be so fit, do everything right, and come away with the latest in a series of awful disappointments just absolutely made me want to throw in the towel. My shift into the triathlon sphere was not a coincidence, and picking up a new sport where everything was new definitely helped to bring back some of the joy I'd been missing, but there was truly a part of me that wondered if I'd really be willing to put myself on the line to try to train and run fast at the longer distances again. I had discussions with friends as the pandemic wore on; friends talked about "moving on" from running or similar concepts. As months turned into a year and more, I found I had made my peace with what running had to offer me right now. I ran as much as I wanted, ran fast when it suited me, and enjoyed the tradition of "adventure long run Saturdays" which Joy and I have had going for almost 6 months now. </p><p>But then, something interesting happened.</p><p>After finally digging myself out of the injury hole that I'd found myself in from October to December, I realized that the amount of running I was doing "for fun" was...increasing. I was closing in on 50 mile weeks, something I rarely touch outside of marathon training and something I hadn't done at all since pre-pandemic. Not only that, I was in a good groove with cycling and swimming, and...here's the kicker...it all felt like fun. I was just bopping along, doing my thing, when one day I realized: I was actually training. I described it to my friends as the frog in the slowly heating pot: by the time things came to a boil, it was too late to jump out. So naturally, I did the next logical thing: I started doing some workouts. Little ones at first, my classic favorites of short fartleks at a pretty moderate pace. Then I started randomly doing tempo runs (which I should mention is a workout I DETEST and have never done willingly in my life). We started to build the long runs from 12 to 14 to 15. And for the first time in a long time, I felt that feeling of wanting to test myself, wanting to get on a starting line, just wanting to SEE what I could do starting to build up inside of me. The problem was, there was nowhere to do it. By mid-March I was fully vaccinated and genuinely starting to get <i>antsy. </i>I needed a race, and I needed it bad. </p><p>And then one day, I was scrolling facebook when I got a targeted ad for a race I'd never heard of, the New Boston Half. I investigated and discovered it's a race put on by a company that has been successfully operating races since the fall, being run on a new course in NH as a replacement for a race that they typically put on in MA (since we are ridiculous and road races are only FINALLY being allowed by the state). I scoped out the "flat" course and confirmed that for once, it appears that the race directors aren't totally bullshitting with that description. I closed the browser window. And then, we had a work happy hour and after 1 beer I came home and proclaimed to Andrew: "I think I'm doing a half marathon in May. In fact. You know what? I'm signing up RIGHT NOW" and proceeded to do so as my bemused husband looked at me with an expression that could only mean "oh god, she's back at it". <br /></p><p>Which brings us to today. </p><p>I signed up for the race at the beginning of April, knowing that my fitness was already reasonable, and for some reason got it into my head that I actually wanted to TRAIN for the thing. And so, over the past 5 weeks I've completed some of the best workouts of my entire life. I decided to focus my attention entirely on half marathon pace work, something I've never really DONE - I haven't run a standalone half for anything other than the purposes of a marathon tuneup since maybe my first or second half of my life? So I would set these workouts up for myself - 4 mile tempo, 3 x 2 mile HMP, 5K tempo followed by some speed - and look at them in terror, and then I would go out and execute them and just stare at my splits in disbelief wondering how the hell I had become this person who could do these things. But now, as we know, comes the true test.</p><p>Sometimes I think I'm just really bad at racing. I can have these amazing workouts, I can be super fit, but often when push comes to shove the end result just doesn't pan out for whatever reason. And I've been grappling with that fact, because objectively, I KNOW I'm in shape to run a half marathon PR. That's not a question. There are two questions: will I be able to execute? And just how far am I willing to go? With very few exceptions, my best races have been those where I've gone in with no expectations, totally fly by the seat of my pants, welp let's see what happens sort of attitude. And quite honestly, I do think I've got a hefty dose of that attitude to bring to this race - hey, first race after the pandemic, I'm pretty sure that's a get out of jail free card! On the other hand, I don't want to sell myself short because I'm too scared to actually try. And this, my friends, is my ETERNAL conundrum of racing!</p><p>I can't predict what I'm going to feel like on Sunday, what emotions are going to be running through my head as I stand with a bib number pinned on for the first time in 469 days, nails painted, race braid done, staring down a half marathon, my white whale of a distance. I'll probably cry, and I'll probably be nervous, but I'm hoping that I'll also feel fierce, calm, ready. Will I even remember how to race? (I'll tell you what, I DEFINITELY do not remember how to taper lol). But a thought occurred to me on a run last week: for me, maybe forgetting how to race is a GOOD thing. Maybe it's time to relearn how to race a half; how to be willing to stare discomfort in the face, to stand at the edge of the fire, and to say fuck it, I can keep going. I've not nothing to lose, nothing to prove, and I am just so damn grateful to get to be out there again, that I hope I can let that gratitude and joy carry me. </p><p>Look, I'm just going to say it: I am so sick of my half marathon PR being 1:3x:xx. I'm over it. I want my goddamn 1:29. And if I blow up trying to make it happen in my first race back after the pandemic, so be it, no one will blame me. I absolutely never would have thought that I'd be coming back guns blazing like this, especially in a distance that has eternally scared me. But I'm sick of putting these limitations on myself, telling myself I'm 'not good at the half', all this bullshit. I've been waiting a year and a half to have this chance again, and if that time has taught me anything it's that you can never take any race, any opportunity for granted, because you absolutely never know when it might come around again. So damn it, it's time to take a chance. </p><p>Holy shit, it's race week. </p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-75672017958182537342021-01-02T12:55:00.001-06:002021-01-02T12:55:12.436-06:002020: A short recap of a ridiculous year<p>It's almost comical looking back at my year-end post from 2019 and imagining the person I was then. Consumed with work drama, unsure of what to do with myself having not signed up for Boston, awaiting the Ironman training cycle to come and wondering how the rest of the year would play out. I was a little bit frustrated with my stagnant running, but excited about my decision to take the plunge into long course triathlon. So, uh, how did that work out?</p><p>I feel like I need to preface my recap of the year by saying that, on a personal level, I have been <i>extremely</i> fortunate this year. My job was unaffected (albeit with an extended foray into the world of doing PT via telehealth, which actually turned out to be not as awful as it sounded); my husband is also in a field where his income wasn't impacted by the pandemic. While I had what I am almost 100% certain was COVID in March (known prolonged exposure at work obviously before the mask-wearing days + symptoms that we now know are hallmarks of the virus, but at the time couldn't be tested because they were only testing those with travel history or respiratory symptoms), and it was absolutely the sickest I've been in my life, I recovered fully, and my family and close friends have remained unaffected. I live in a city where I'm able to have groceries and beer and pretty much anything else I could want delivered. And I have hobbies that have been possible to do all the way along, even if it wasn't in the typical way that I was used to.</p><p>So yes, I am extremely grateful for all of the above, but let's be honest, this year was a shitshow. From an athletics perspective, I am extremely proud of my accomplishments this year but also feel the sting of the lost races, training opportunities, and runs with friends (as I'm sure any athlete does). But for the sake of completion, I must do a by the numbers report! So here they are, the numbers of 2020:</p><p>Goals: I apparently never got around to setting any goals for 2020 other than finishing an Ironman, which is hilarious and a little bit prescient. So, hey, finish an Ironman distance, mission accomplished!</p><p>Mileage run: 1804. This is only 250 miles less than last year, which is slightly concerning given that I didn't train for ANY open marathons, spent the summer at lower mileage due to the need to balance running with the other disciplines of Ironman training, AND have spent the entire fall with a nagging plantar fasciitis problem that's caused me to cut my running down compared to what I'd like to be doing. So I'd like to ask my 2019 self, who trained for 2 marathons: what the heck where you doing? LOL.</p><p>I also biked almost 2500 miles, which is definitely a new record (and doesn't count trainer "miles" from last winter because I didn't have a smart trainer yet). Definitely hoping to top this one in 2021.</p><p>Highest weekly mileage: 53. Oh my lol. I think I had 4 weeks over 50 miles the whole year. But again, did a LOT of biking. Biggest week of running + biking was 223 (I think I did 2 long rides that week lol)</p><p>Races run: *insert crying emoji here*</p><p>Actual live races: 2 (I guess I should be grateful I decided to race twice in the early winter!). An indoor track mile at the GBTC invite, and a road 5 miler which actually was a great race in which I executed my strategy to a T and tied my PR. Went out on a high note, I guess?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRUE5mlyYZ3gb0KOe5hZu85I8gtn7y7OKBMKJaSACG75W6UPlvkooAczI-TQmwOE-je2OjuoSqPU_Gx62GpG6BhjxEqDCRDb3XUqG7aaCNKnlJwi2BCJGmSPtHNvc_bAl1UVnvw/s960/FB_IMG_1579465551140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRUE5mlyYZ3gb0KOe5hZu85I8gtn7y7OKBMKJaSACG75W6UPlvkooAczI-TQmwOE-je2OjuoSqPU_Gx62GpG6BhjxEqDCRDb3XUqG7aaCNKnlJwi2BCJGmSPtHNvc_bAl1UVnvw/w332-h443/FB_IMG_1579465551140.jpg" width="332" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Remember when we could take photos like this? (Jan 2020)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMk_QxTSsO-s8Xpqz9VdfHwFJAwyYf8K3ZME_lfp_jINSH4_RIzBSMIbjivRxG8Y9KIDD3eYavyPmihS4KYkDrHvfHjxnsLKFdK1uQXnLY51CBNQ5k0qHrFinCJOwGQ_wq4oNsdg/s2048/20200202_122646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="423" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMk_QxTSsO-s8Xpqz9VdfHwFJAwyYf8K3ZME_lfp_jINSH4_RIzBSMIbjivRxG8Y9KIDD3eYavyPmihS4KYkDrHvfHjxnsLKFdK1uQXnLY51CBNQ5k0qHrFinCJOwGQ_wq4oNsdg/w317-h423/20200202_122646.jpg" width="317" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or this? (Super Sunday 5 Mile in February, last race before the shitstorm began)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Virtual races/race esque situations: 4. The Yeti 24 Hour Challenge in May, a virtual road mile relay where I actually broke 6 on the roads for the first time, a half Iron tri, and and Ironman. Casual. </span></div><p>PRs run: I tied my 5 mile PR in an official race, and you know what, for 2020 I will TAKE IT</p><p>Proudest accomplishment: For once, that's easy: solo Ironman</p><p>Hardest race experience: Hah, well the perk of not having any races this year was that I wasn't forced to race in inclement weather at all!! My DIY half Ironman was probably the most challenging as I cooked myself on the bike and completely fell apart on the run. I learned an important lesson!</p><p>Best race experience: Again, solo Ironman. Tough to top that one this year.</p><p>Most ridiculous weather: As far as running goes, I'm going to give this award not to a race, but a run: a 15 mile run I did with two friends which was 75 degrees with a dewpoint of 73 at the START (any southerners reading this, I know, that probably sounds like NBD but for this northerner...nope). However, the true most ridiculous weather awards goes to the 3 consecutive weeks of 3-4 hour bike rides that I did in 90+ degree weather (because...I'm an idiot lol)</p><p>Biggest surprise race performance: Here, we'll give one to an actual race: tying my 5 mile PR when I was absolutely not in shape to do so! Yeah!</p><p>Number of falls taken while running: holy shit, I actually think I made it through all of 2020 without falling, and THAT, my friends, is a 2020 miracle! I fell on my bike twice. So it goes. </p><div style="text-align: left;">Memorable non-"race" athletic adventures of the year:<br />- Riding the Kancamagus highway in NH (70 miles out and back through a mountain pass with over 4000 ft of elevation)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMOghkyDBaFK8dBr1o8mchE7ryxYKf2No5fkvYVMEhm9JaivFUYieFjgdtInF-qaSmzbgEi8hFs01W31PNvLvK-KvOl_fnDGwagyDqLNoBqNEn03wORi4LLvbYH19Xel0kFMUUQ/s2048/20200808_113026+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMOghkyDBaFK8dBr1o8mchE7ryxYKf2No5fkvYVMEhm9JaivFUYieFjgdtInF-qaSmzbgEi8hFs01W31PNvLvK-KvOl_fnDGwagyDqLNoBqNEn03wORi4LLvbYH19Xel0kFMUUQ/w550-h412/20200808_113026+%25281%2529.jpg" width="550" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />- Running on 10+ new rail trails for long runs with Joy this fall</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2Z4eugagWVKxuDU7Pv48L9JB8cYmW7Z1_LdbFrmylcYIIejUfZq73bSySjm1hTxj6Iv1vSn1gVQQzZVUIou9fFPZ1C7OZQOLwkkUCi_kAEI3ONyRGhoG1SNJ33A5CeQ4qvXBSg/s2048/20201031_110439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMq9CtJ-lX_LnJMibot16_6lEd8UVMSr1KFjoKUhuVQJjFwoqmAtL4wXycnWu9-lo4fY-1N-MnQORO97-OFySxGwJHBO7Stu1ADM9gmRYMWMLoT6Vo4E0kFVReK6t1wq1DGRgOLw/s2048/20201107_114237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMq9CtJ-lX_LnJMibot16_6lEd8UVMSr1KFjoKUhuVQJjFwoqmAtL4wXycnWu9-lo4fY-1N-MnQORO97-OFySxGwJHBO7Stu1ADM9gmRYMWMLoT6Vo4E0kFVReK6t1wq1DGRgOLw/w294-h392/20201107_114237.jpg" width="294" /></a><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2Z4eugagWVKxuDU7Pv48L9JB8cYmW7Z1_LdbFrmylcYIIejUfZq73bSySjm1hTxj6Iv1vSn1gVQQzZVUIou9fFPZ1C7OZQOLwkkUCi_kAEI3ONyRGhoG1SNJ33A5CeQ4qvXBSg/w295-h393/20201031_110439.jpg" width="295" /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8qRDbZq9e3IpY_2BD0Q4WXeuoWNec5OUBFdv7G9yNkDcRdqscreqtB-jKzpgzYyFhNQjvj_l1tBnjx1ZWLIA7U1nTqggvhvyIxz-nqcoNmGZVLop5PBmb24P1Ezq3XRvP7JSGQ/s2048/20201114_125350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Running in the snow on Halloween We found out Biden won in the middle of this run</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTC0Xbx42iywTcchopjqfBw2fi-oCQisg5FJ5Nl3kevl5-EPf3zefZJ7fPJBiqTmU8UP9G90tGDGhiCz4DmLaEOmCVBVSdUbkUcy6hY18cicNs-DXHWzJl4mlQxeliBEjb__zsGg/s2048/20201114_125350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTC0Xbx42iywTcchopjqfBw2fi-oCQisg5FJ5Nl3kevl5-EPf3zefZJ7fPJBiqTmU8UP9G90tGDGhiCz4DmLaEOmCVBVSdUbkUcy6hY18cicNs-DXHWzJl4mlQxeliBEjb__zsGg/w365-h275/20201114_125350.jpg" width="365" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> This trail had MOGULS!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Acting as lead bike for Joy's virtual marathon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgPTCr7BCaTxzIlkN0egtZgJLiKht0tySl56RthM8laIlxsQQ5jAzgbEXsB3JKslmbn2OA0xO5cGc2Bhxlx9LLzNRkcSI0XNPQRKezoy0hqBp-qEyO1QUY4uEqXQdGwJMyx2YjQ/s2048/20201003_100423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgPTCr7BCaTxzIlkN0egtZgJLiKht0tySl56RthM8laIlxsQQ5jAzgbEXsB3JKslmbn2OA0xO5cGc2Bhxlx9LLzNRkcSI0XNPQRKezoy0hqBp-qEyO1QUY4uEqXQdGwJMyx2YjQ/w321-h427/20201003_100423.jpg" width="321" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />- My spur of the moment first century to Gloucester and back</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2YwC93Zu9y6CG7kVPSbEkoJWlm22ZDLGejT6f7km6CCby8X43rPZFaiFbkagLu0keC1qlabDTpwA3rwAEpPi5G9s3arhe_bE8fnHu5pNuvWmVbujmgzpCJ2DuvYEqoZz7BZWUg/s2048/20200706_145030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2YwC93Zu9y6CG7kVPSbEkoJWlm22ZDLGejT6f7km6CCby8X43rPZFaiFbkagLu0keC1qlabDTpwA3rwAEpPi5G9s3arhe_bE8fnHu5pNuvWmVbujmgzpCJ2DuvYEqoZz7BZWUg/w319-h425/20200706_145030.jpg" width="319" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />- A 3-state ride up the coast from northern MA to Maine including a dive in the ocean (also one of the worst heat/fueling bonks I've ever experienced lol)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipfIz-XvGKw91axivAeyqFZrwWjwTxSHtqHEP2EQxPX6QPlvkvyVuVQefevK-N6MTs7DZJfpoAIr52dkR7tg6PCmng-Ch0Q5Ls8RNHi8v7dwr6fuLeUAE8jlwlrSdtl8H81WXhYQ/s2048/20200726_133137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="429" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipfIz-XvGKw91axivAeyqFZrwWjwTxSHtqHEP2EQxPX6QPlvkvyVuVQefevK-N6MTs7DZJfpoAIr52dkR7tg6PCmng-Ch0Q5Ls8RNHi8v7dwr6fuLeUAE8jlwlrSdtl8H81WXhYQ/w322-h429/20200726_133137.jpg" width="322" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The place where I desperately veered off the road and dove into the ocean because I was so hot 😅</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">-The hilliest ride I've ever done during a trip up to NH, with a side trip over a covered bridge into VT</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5MTCqSpmoDalIpFQG9nENSzLIc3GHezBUUvLV33v3BSZPjlku1LKMN4K_bU7OvYEXypCKYCmmCN1JatpmmKAUZ9UGr_9vhBxS3-ixVkQjTTWILALZNbISHwFNzDjoQUslXFg4w/s2048/20200830_102843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5MTCqSpmoDalIpFQG9nENSzLIc3GHezBUUvLV33v3BSZPjlku1LKMN4K_bU7OvYEXypCKYCmmCN1JatpmmKAUZ9UGr_9vhBxS3-ixVkQjTTWILALZNbISHwFNzDjoQUslXFg4w/w318-h424/20200830_102843.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Running an auto road up a small mountain in NH during the peak of foliage season, one of the most beautiful runs I've done in my life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6JjwBItJ0FhE8gVBmwiRwKhFAhvsdHIK8tgFmM2RVTY2taECIIE-JewehFepUj05TBV6nENxphY6kyjbKTLL3wuXE7lYRIrV31W30UB0PytJongoieOsAMPUd9hx3dz_w5z1dA/s2048/20201011_092152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6JjwBItJ0FhE8gVBmwiRwKhFAhvsdHIK8tgFmM2RVTY2taECIIE-JewehFepUj05TBV6nENxphY6kyjbKTLL3wuXE7lYRIrV31W30UB0PytJongoieOsAMPUd9hx3dz_w5z1dA/w345-h460/20201011_092152.jpg" width="345" /></a></div></div><p>I think when I think back on running specifically in 2020, I definitely won't view it as the year I became a faster or stronger runner, but I absolutely became a better athlete on the whole. Having alternate modes of training (and not just as injury backups, but actual goal oriented training) took a lot of the pressure off on those days when for whatever reason running just sounded like a shitty idea. Sometimes because it was 90 degrees, or because I just didn't feel like it, or whatever. I still feel like I have unfinished business with open road racing but my continued dive into triathlon, and especially biking, absolutely kept me sane this year. When the walls felt like they were closing in around me, being able to hop on my bike and go on an 80-100 mile adventure made me feel like there was still something I could control and take back. I've also spent a lot more time running for it's own sake - exploring trails, hilly routes, places where pace becomes irrelevant - and not having the pressure of a race or a performance hanging over my head has brought back a lot of the joy to that sport. Triathlon "fast" is so different than open running fast! To be honest, the fact that I ran a 3:50 marathon at the end of an Ironman really excites me for the possibilities of the future, and how all of the endurance training I've been doing could bode well for some future running race performance. But that's not a 2021 problem, definitely more of a long game plan. </p><p>So of course, the question is...what now? </p><p>I saw a quote on twitter that I think summarized it best: "High hopes, low expectations". Realistically, the earliest I can see maybe getting to race is in June. I'm currently signed up for two races in June deferred from last year, Mount Washington and the White Mountains Tri. The race company that puts on the triathlon has been having races since August with time trial starts and distancing measures - something that's easy to implement in triathlon where time trial starts are pretty normal anyway, and this race venue is huge and can easily accommodate a distanced transition area - so I'm pretty optimistic about the prospect of being able to be on that starting line. As someone who works directly with patients on a day to day basis, I'm also hopeful that I can get the COVID vaccine within the next couple of months (there doesn't appear to be a system in place yet for non-hospital based healthcare clinics, which is....not awesome, but hopefully that will be sorted out at some point) which may make the logistics of racing particularly over state lines, easier. Right now road races aren't allowed in MA, and in the current situation I don't agree with traveling to race even in a "safe" race situation, but I really really hope that things will be different 6 months from now, and closer to where we were this summer when cases were low and it was relatively safe to travel within New England (with masks, etc). Obviously the BIG hope for the year is that Ironman Wisconsin goes off in September, and again that the overall status of the pandemic is in a place where I feel it's safe/appropriate to get on a plane. I'm optimistic about that. </p><p>In a weird way I'm actually OK with having 6 months to just build - I've been dealing with plantar fasciitis in my right foot since August, which got significantly worse in the fall and is only now (I think) starting to calm down. I'm sort of happy to have the time to fully address this injury (which I've run through all the way along based on the research I've done, but obviously at a reduced capacity) and put it in the rearview, as well as building some fitness on the bike in preparation for the real Ironman build which starts in May. I would LOVE to get on the start line for an open marathon this year more for fun/remembering what that distance feels like than anything else, but I'm not committing myself to anything yet. Right now, my focus is on building that base and trying to bulletproof myself from an injury perspective so that I can be ready to really train hard come spring/summer. </p><p>So...goals? Should we do them? Sure, why not!</p><p>- Get and stay injury free - this foot problem has been annoying AF and has impacted all aspects of my life because it's not like you can just...stop walking? So, hi, get your life together, Hatas, and then keep it together. 😂</p><p>- Finish Ironman Wisconsin (ideally the actual race this time...)</p><p>- Become a stronger cyclist - I am not quite sure how to quantify this because I don't have a power meter, but I guess just looking at speed I'd like to be riding 17.5-18 mph over comparable routes compared to 17-17.5 this year if can</p><p>- If possible: do an open water swimming race</p><p>- Do at least 60 minutes of yoga and/or strength training weekly. This is my latest iteration of the goal I set EVERY year to do more of the adjunct stuff and I'm hopeful that doing it this way will maybe make it stick? </p><p>- Run more trails/mountains/hills/runs where pace is completely irrelevant</p><p>I think that's enough for now. I'd love to set some PRs somewhere, somehow this year, but let's start with some achievable goals and go from there, shall we? </p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-48260468534771453672020-09-21T20:56:00.002-05:002020-09-21T20:56:52.841-05:00You Are The One You've Been Waiting For: Ironman Mystic Lakes 2020 Race Report<p> I AM AN IRONMAN!</p><p>That's really all you need to know, right? I honestly don't even know how to begin this race report, because I still think I'm kind of processing the whole thing...like, I DID it. Not only did I finish an Ironman, I finished an Ironman by myself. I had pictured this finish in such a specific way for so long that I worried that doing it alone wouldn't feel as important or as special, but in so many ways I actually think it made it even MORE special. I had more support from friends than I ever could have dreamed out on the course, got to swim and ride and run in one of my favorite places to do those things, and I got to do it knowing that every bit of this race was my own. I've thought a lot during this COVID era without real races about a line from Center Stage (yes, classic cinema I know): "I'm not dancing for them anymore, I'm dancing for me". I think over the past several months any athlete has had to come to terms with WHY we do this. Is it for medals, for competition, for the race atmosphere? I certainly love those things, but I've come to realize what I already knew: that I run, and do triathlons, because they give me a chance to do things that I never dreamed I could do, to set a goal and work to accomplish it, and to show myself what I'm made of. The bells and whistles, the competition, that's great too, but at the end of the day I do this for me. And doing a solo Ironman, man, what a great way to show myself what I'm made of. And so, settle in for what I'm sure will be an epic race report to go with an epic race (this race report took me over a week to write...so...buckle up lol)!</p><p><i>Prerace</i></p><p>The day before the race I was working from home and had to deal with not 1, not 2, but 3 MEETINGS which was...a struggle to say the least. My brain was uninterested in processing random updates from the state waiver program or doing scheduling or anything else for that matter. I was really excited to race, but I was also REALLY nervous. The 3 biggest things I was worried about:</p><p>1. Fueling - eating enough, not overeating, whether my stomach would cooperate, getting enough salt, hydrating well enough, if I'd need to use the bathroom...on and on</p><p>2. Mechanical - yes I know how to change a tire now, but I wouldn't exactly call myself an expert, and anything other than that or a dropped chain is pretty much out of my wheelhouse</p><p>3. How the HECK running a marathon was going to feel after 112 miles on the bike</p><p>I prepped the majority of my gear and food on Thursday night and must have rearranged and checked things 16 times. What stuff needs to go in what bag, what am I carrying vs. leaving at transition vs. leaving at my "aid station", how are we going to carry all this shit to the starting line...etc. Picking out what I was going to wear was easy, it was the rest of it that was tough! But thankfully that was one less thing to worry about on Friday, when my nerves were 100% ahead of my brain. Work finally finished, I went for my traditional 20 minute shakeout run and then headed to the grocery store for bananas and a post race beer. I wandered the beer aisle for awhile before setting eyes on the absolute perfect beer for the occasion: a beer depicting a runner on a trail running into the sunset called "Chasing Darkness". I didn't even know what type of beer it was (a very high ABV imperial stout, excellent) or the price ($29.99 for a 4 pack, oh my), it was just so perfect that I couldn't NOT buy it. Andrew and I headed home and proceeded to make my traditional 5 ingredient butter tomato sauce with pasta and breaded chicken for dinner - it was pretty wild, I actually can't remember the last time I was home the night before a big race. Boston 2019, maybe? So that was pretty nice. I enjoyed my traditional prerace beer (Lawson's Hopzilla), filled up my bottles and then relaxed while watching Frozen 2...despite it's many plot holes (thanks to Andrew for pointing all of them out lol) the music is great and Show Yourself quickly rose to the top of my list of inspirational songs for training this summer so it just felt right. With a 4:15 am wakeup call, I headed to bed by 10. I'm not going to say it was the most restful night of sleep ever - many of my classic "wake up and think the alarm is going to go off in 5 minutes but really you have like 4 more hours to sleep" moves, but what can you do? One thing I did NOT do was obsess about the weather, because the weather gods decided to finally hear my pleas: it was 55 at the start of the race and only got up to about 70 during the day, no humidity, no rain, and not much wind: honestly, about as good as you could possibly ask for for September 12 in Boston!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhroyZ90cD3G9lqG3Hxf2KWRQUiB3iFxMKLHmXo8DcOGqklkO3eVoiD2eid3F9PQOR-ac2dodyCXIfIjqqtaB6XDVVrmucEguGP__yRApm17vP60zgONxLyFbqmjgRRL4AOVcV4og/s4032/20200911_122225.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhroyZ90cD3G9lqG3Hxf2KWRQUiB3iFxMKLHmXo8DcOGqklkO3eVoiD2eid3F9PQOR-ac2dodyCXIfIjqqtaB6XDVVrmucEguGP__yRApm17vP60zgONxLyFbqmjgRRL4AOVcV4og/w480-h640/20200911_122225.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I spent an hour or so designing my logo and creating a bib, etc for this "race" because I am extremely cool (but TBH, I'm pretty proud of my sunrise-to-sunset logo!)</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8T6L21gft1pqPxC1TWzEf44U4cqLgOFcJXFaQChwdA-JMja4Rbe_k8reAY0Kg2SD5qoQZo0Uq62G0GXf8Mxa33iZSuR4-5BcP7BvS99q1ons4KoWRLe__wCY1_8F-0vuxlMqW1A/s4032/20200911_111939.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8T6L21gft1pqPxC1TWzEf44U4cqLgOFcJXFaQChwdA-JMja4Rbe_k8reAY0Kg2SD5qoQZo0Uq62G0GXf8Mxa33iZSuR4-5BcP7BvS99q1ons4KoWRLe__wCY1_8F-0vuxlMqW1A/w480-h640/20200911_111939.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">As with any race, you must have packet pickup. Volunteer was not impressed.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5NEino-wdpDhrnNd4AZVAOOq2wd3gMzB4rSQKNuB_PgCmOWDGVRGrJnOZb-NjmlS6a6DJ6e16rj2feLZo7U5DFPLyOvMi28ug3sdLO6gO2-Sa0SV7cQjWnNduJidMW5pQ_ITBw/s4032/20200911_182406.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5NEino-wdpDhrnNd4AZVAOOq2wd3gMzB4rSQKNuB_PgCmOWDGVRGrJnOZb-NjmlS6a6DJ6e16rj2feLZo7U5DFPLyOvMi28ug3sdLO6gO2-Sa0SV7cQjWnNduJidMW5pQ_ITBw/w480-h640/20200911_182406.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The "snack cooler" - spoiler alert, I only actually used 2 THINGS out of this ridiculous cooler</div><p><i>Race Day</i></p><p>Just like every other race day for the past 5+ years, race day began with Thunderstruck blasting from my phone. I was immediately awake and moving. Holy shit. It's Iron Day. When I grabbed my phone I saw a text from the night before from my sister, who for some reason had sent me the all time track honor role list from my high school. Turns out I'm still the 5th fastest 300 meter hurdler who ever ran at Wauwatosa West, LOL. It really got the day off to a nice start. I had purposely set the alarm early to give myself plenty of time to get myself together and so I puttered around braiding my hair, checking my bags again, and stretching out for a bit. I ate a banana and a can of cold brew coffee along with some water, and then ate my usual oatmeal with PB and brown sugar later at around 5:00. And I even had a real spoon to eat it with this time! Andrew wins the husband of the year award for waking up in the 4:00 hour and biking the 2 miles to the lake with me carrying an EXTREMELY heavy backpack full of all of my extraneous food. I hate waking up early on non-race days but there's something so completely magical about being awake and out in the world in the darkness when everyone is still asleep, knowing that today holds something different for you. Calm and quiet, with dawn just starting to break, we pedaled slowly to the start. I noticed as I rode that my bike was incredibly quiet - definitely a good sign. Also, yes, I had to ride my bike to the start of my 140.6 mile race, which is completely normal. </p><p>We arrived at the lake and I of course immediately needed to go and nature pee because #racedayproblems. I set up my "aid" area with all of the food and drink that I wasn't going to carry, which was a LOT. Spoiler alert, I used almost none of it, but I tried to have just about everything that I thought I could POSSIBLY want if things went south, particularly during the marathon. I think even having the option/knowing the calories were there eased my mind! I drew a cute little chalk finish line and then went back to setup my "transition" area which you may remember from my half iron race earlier this summer...you know, the extremely professional setup of my bike locked to a fence and my gear bag hidden behind some weeds? That's the one lol. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmop9cS2ksfPtuwrm-PIA2V6QLo3kAwex4HFeaJLG0HVnCuR-UhoH1m8zPHwLjJbxpBgRfjjmIRhS3g85NLgNMPYxmxqoo271XpEfHdKLZeDehf4Yy7BIENNKjhdfcgE6euz0GVw/s4032/20200912_055332.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmop9cS2ksfPtuwrm-PIA2V6QLo3kAwex4HFeaJLG0HVnCuR-UhoH1m8zPHwLjJbxpBgRfjjmIRhS3g85NLgNMPYxmxqoo271XpEfHdKLZeDehf4Yy7BIENNKjhdfcgE6euz0GVw/w480-h640/20200912_055332.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Finish line! Extremely profesh. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDirMpstqTCTIkJJ9wM_5Tyvdu_9ENx2XqUgzko00gbh0nOM9h6P5KAx_UcveGH2i7ybdcvnToKV-iiFsR01qboBt_Bu4GIt8CQYGfr4Xov8mNkg4Ew42eH91z0xG36SupIPu6w/s4032/20200912_060803.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDirMpstqTCTIkJJ9wM_5Tyvdu_9ENx2XqUgzko00gbh0nOM9h6P5KAx_UcveGH2i7ybdcvnToKV-iiFsR01qboBt_Bu4GIt8CQYGfr4Xov8mNkg4Ew42eH91z0xG36SupIPu6w/w640-h480/20200912_060803.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We return once again to the majestic parking lot fence transition area</div><br /><p>My amazing Reach the Beach teammate, John, who has done several Ironmans in the past, volunteered to support me during this race (who even does that? So amazing!) and was going to be swimming with me and then driving out to do a bottle exchange around the 30 mile mark. He arrived around 6 and was laughing at my transition area, having not realized that we don't own a car. Andrew was very helpfully saying things like "13 minutes" as he knew my planned sunrise start time, and so I finally got my wetsuit on and ate my 15 minutes before the start Gu and drank some water. Then Elise arrived! Again, freaking amazing friends, she got up at the crack of dawn to see me off for the swim and then was going to run around the lake before cheering at T1. Seriously, my friends are incredible.</p><p>Soon enough Andrew was into his 3 minute countdown and we got into the water, which felt balmy compared to the 50ish degree air temp! Water temp was around 72 degrees which is truly lovely swimming temperature, and wetsuit legal may I add. Now, if you read my half iron race report you'll remember that I got kind of emotional and sang the national anthem to myself to start that race because I love that tradition and moment at the start of races. With more people around, I felt like that would have been kind of weird and so figured I'd be starting this race with less fanfare - less emotion also didn't necessarily seem like a BAD thing when I needed to make sure to keep a cool head to get through this race. But then the most perfect thing happened: Elise said "should we play Shots?" (Shots (yes, by LMFAO/Lil Jon) is the theme song of our Reach the Beach team). And so instead of tearing up during the national anthem, I danced around in the water like an idiot to Shots to start my Ironman day, and it was absolutely perfect. In that moment I had no anxiety, no fear, no nerves, I just felt so lucky and joyful to be here and finally doing this thing, surrounded by these people. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFLJ0xOEZNPtPaI2AAFjEdPCaSnWjMOQay8CXkiEwRI0qxenNzo00Su1anAzbr8Pn_JYFr4qcKciCzWtdl3XICzRZmLKzdilEuddO23ZLcCV5lXdEWQMfgNMthrhKXPpM_vI9ag/s4032/20200912_061809.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFLJ0xOEZNPtPaI2AAFjEdPCaSnWjMOQay8CXkiEwRI0qxenNzo00Su1anAzbr8Pn_JYFr4qcKciCzWtdl3XICzRZmLKzdilEuddO23ZLcCV5lXdEWQMfgNMthrhKXPpM_vI9ag/w480-h640/20200912_061809.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I walk in the club, all eyes on me</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PZruUY2WkvcbJiNh7QZ2N15YxdGV4gRo9gy3TIFxsoFFcOhxUl64Vh_qHgnxGma-i4qm6VhCJgaVCbDw6zhBekpVju9yNavHONd3pDaEys6LW9XcoV2EkzH-12KSvApoJdWbZg/s4032/20200912_062117.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PZruUY2WkvcbJiNh7QZ2N15YxdGV4gRo9gy3TIFxsoFFcOhxUl64Vh_qHgnxGma-i4qm6VhCJgaVCbDw6zhBekpVju9yNavHONd3pDaEys6LW9XcoV2EkzH-12KSvApoJdWbZg/w640-h480/20200912_062117.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">LFG.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Then Andrew shouted "It's 6:21, BYE!" and I refused to be seen off with such little fanfare, so thankfully Elise jumped in with a countdown of "3...2....1....GOOOO!" And I dove into the water, started my watch, and I was doing a damn Ironman!</span></div><p><i>The Swim: 2.4 miles, 1:16:52 (1:49/100yd)</i></p><p>First I just need to say: this was a REALLY fast swim for me, especially given my extremely middling level of swim training this summer. I think training without a wetsuit lends a huge advantage when you get to wear one again in races - swimming just feels SO much easier. The swim was an area where I felt like solo racing was actually a huge advantage: no washing machine, no getting kicked in the face, no worrying about where the course actually WAS. Just me and the lake and reach and pull and count to 20 and sight, over and over again. My first 500 yd was, as always, the most challenging - there was mist rising off the lake and I couldn't see my turn buoy, and my goggles fogged up almost immediately. I also realized that I had forgotten my nose clip, which I've been using because I've been getting HORRIBLE nasal congestion in the evenings after I open water swim, probably from god knows what's in the lake. Apparently it's not an uncommon thing but I'm not used to it enough yet for it to be a habit to wear it. Thankfully I didn't have an issue for the remainder of the day!</p><p>Once I found the buoy I paused for a second to sort out my goggles, which really never gave me a problem after that thankfully. The second "leg" of the swim loop is by far the easiest to sight because there's a huge house on the far shore that's much easier to target compared to little sailing buoys! So during that stretch, I finally started to get into a rhythm. I kept trying to tell myself to stop gawking at my watch but I couldn't help but sneak peeks every time it buzzed another 500 yd split. When my second split was under 9 minutes, I knew I had a good thing going. The sun was rising over the trees in the east and every time I breathed I wanted to smile; it was absolutely beautiful. I just felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for this day, this place, and being able to undertake this ridiculous thing. I really love swimming and being in the water, and I find it incredibly peaceful especially without all the chaos that the swim is during an actual race. </p><p>I continued around the loop, swimming directly into the sun for awhile during the final stretch back towards the boathouse which was not the most enjoyable thing ever but I managed. I noticed that I was slightly short on distance for the first loop so decided to take the second loop wider so that I didn't have to do all kinds of silly out and backs at the end. Continuing on: stroke, stroke, count. Stroke, stroke, count. Once in awhile I would sight and notice I was swimming way off course but overall I felt like I had a better sense of where I was on the second loop and I pretty much decided that I didn't need to care about where the buoys were except for the one near the big house. Fuck sighting! This is my race, I don't have to sight or swim in a straight line! LOL. I definitely made a wider loop on the second lap which I discovered when I ran into some lilypads and was VERY startled...it seriously felt like myI hand hit a solid object like someone's boat or dock or something...nope, just lilypads. At another point I sighted and was like 5 ft away from someone's water trampoline...that sounds like fun, but not now! I never really got tired during the swim - I felt really strong and in control the entire time, which I think is the perfect way to feel when you're on the first and shortest leg of a very long race. My left ankle started to bother me a little bit from all the kicking as it tends to do because I swear I have no ligaments left there, but I was able to modify my kick a bit and it eased up. I got up close and personal with my cormorant friend who hangs out on the buoys again and kept an eye out for bald eagles...yes...just birdwatching during an ironman swim, AS ONE DOES. </p><p>The second loop seemed to pass really quickly, although as far as I can tell I pretty much perfectly swam even splits for the two loops. I realized when I was getting back near the boathouse that I needed a little extra distance so I made some awkward circles and then swam back to shore - stopped my watch with a PERFECT 4225 yards, you can't get any better than that! John was so nice and motivational and was like "you were FLYING! and I mean, for my current swim abilities, I kind of was! The swim complete, it was time to head to T1 and prepare for the longest leg of the race: the bike!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE1DYh5jQ4DmMKKFTsDKY8MiMNLNfAFybx4TFPcB6Y4BVfvi2IRAByivVp7c2MNNNs7jqNuKallSrYILnv3vYbix3J9goIA0I3E_4TYDPxuxhyphenhyphen986Z8hK3bWiZcwT3l9KksTQ29g/s4032/20200912_073810.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE1DYh5jQ4DmMKKFTsDKY8MiMNLNfAFybx4TFPcB6Y4BVfvi2IRAByivVp7c2MNNNs7jqNuKallSrYILnv3vYbix3J9goIA0I3E_4TYDPxuxhyphenhyphen986Z8hK3bWiZcwT3l9KksTQ29g/w640-h480/20200912_073810.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Struggling out of the lake lol</div><p>T1 - about 10 minutes</p><p>I took my sweet time getting out of the water and leisurely headed over to my transition area - rushing through transitions was NOT going to be a thing today. Got out of my wetsuit and talked to Andrew while also throwing random things for him to carry home. Thankfully John had brought sunscreen (OOPS I did not) so I slathered that on, got all of my food on board while eating a Honey Stinger waffle, and just really tried to make sure I had everything I needed for the next 6-7 hours of my life to be spent on a bicycle. I bid John farewell and confirmed our handoff spot, kissed Andrew goodbye, and mounted up on Bahamut for 112 miles of fun!</p><p><i>The Bike: 112 miles, 6:35:59 riding time (6:46:57 total time with stoplights,bathroom and aid station stops), 17.0 mph</i></p><p>My bike course was a multiloop course, starting with the small 5 mile loop around the lake and then heading out to do 2 larger loops in Concord before returning to the lake to ride loops on loops on loops for the final 65 miles. My goal for the beginning of the ride was to stay relaxed, not stress about pace, and EAT - literally the one thing that was drilled into my head by my more experienced Ironman brethren was "do NOT underfuel on the bike". With that in my mind, I took off on my first "warmup" loop around the lakes and almost immediately ran into Elise! I whooped and waved my arms and continued on. A couple miles in I noticed a woman in a SRR jersey and with a virtual Boston bib - turns out their whole club was doing their virtual marathon around the lake! And so I got to do my other favorite thing: I got to cheer on these runners as I rode. Again, this was something that just perfectly set the tone for the entire day. Instead of anxiously wondering how the next 100 miles of riding was going to go, I was giddy with excitement both for myself and for these other 10 people who were also doing something completely insane, and people were clearly so genuinely grateful to have some encouragement as they ran a marathon alone. The energy was completely contagious. It didn't hurt that it was also an absolutely BEAUTIFUL morning...high 50s, sunny, no humidity, amazing. </p><p>I completed my loop and saw Elise again which gave me a boost as I headed out into the beginning of my first real loop. Heading out I got stuck behind a bulldozer going very slowly which was awkward, and I sort of yelled at it for existing, but thankfully soon enough I was able to get off the main road and away from the traffic. The only significant hills on my course were within the first 15 miles which was perfect - I was feeling really fresh, my bike felt smooth, and I was ready to just relax and cruise up the hills. The first long hill, Johnson Road, I took in my lowest gear and tried to just keep my heart rate down. I could tell I was in a good mood because when I'm in a good mood on my bike, do you know what I do? I talk to myself, out loud, like CRAZY. When I'm grumpy or tired or just not feeling it I just put my head down and get it done, but when I'm happy on my bike I feel like the whole world needs to know it and I just find myself shouting random things into the breeze. It's weird, for sure, but who's there to hear it? So I crested the double hump of Johnson Rd and said to myself "only one more big hill, and that's it!". I am actually not a terrible climber and don't really MIND rolling hills, even if they're large, but it was still nice to know that was in the rearview mirror. I got stuck at a couple of stoplights in this section, which I knew was a possibility, but I just used them as an opportunity to get some fuel in. My fueling plan was pretty simple: big drinks at the 5's, gu chomps and a smaller drink at the 10's, and "big food" (Clif bar, waffle, Combos, etc) at approximately 45, 65, and 85. I did end up modifying this strategy slightly as we'll discuss later but overall I am actually REALLY proud of my fueling - I was nervous about it the entire time but I think I did a really excellent job based on how strong I felt overall throughout the race.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixz3gIHasCpLu2of_awvfNcAhmdqpvMpEj80AQ7jyQeGFTEELsAr1qdoYzeC2wn1gq055h9-KreF7Yk0yjNQWMkb1l8-3FxDNnfIV4zN_TNknlMwQp3ct0W5JkNtNQ5bYMzOVoZg/s2280/Screenshot_20200921-211139_Video+Player.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixz3gIHasCpLu2of_awvfNcAhmdqpvMpEj80AQ7jyQeGFTEELsAr1qdoYzeC2wn1gq055h9-KreF7Yk0yjNQWMkb1l8-3FxDNnfIV4zN_TNknlMwQp3ct0W5JkNtNQ5bYMzOVoZg/w304-h640/Screenshot_20200921-211139_Video+Player.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Happily heading out to the bike course, screenshot c/o Elise!</div><p>Back to the bike course, something fairly silly happened: I rode past a construction site of some sort that had a very large crane, and I felt the need to say out loud "that's a big ass crane". Well, my brain decided to take "big ass crane" and convert it to the song it had heard most recently involving the word "ass"...and that song is WAP. I am not joking, I wish I was, I spent the next 6 hours of riding with a nearly constant refrain of "from the top, make it drop..." etc running through my head. It WOULD NOT LEAVE. Of all the absurd songs to have stuck in your head, I think this might be tied with the time I somehow got The Wheels on the Bus stuck in my head during a marathon as the most ridiculous. I also saw a huge pack of turkeys during this stretch and screamed "HI GOOD MORNING TURKEYS ENJOY YOUR DAY" because I just get really excited about seeing animals when I ride...lol. </p><p>I made my way onto Grove Street, which despite one fairly large hill is actually one of my favorite roads to ride - nice smooth roads, minimal traffic, and it's rather pretty to boot. I once again kept my effort on the lower side climbing the one major hill in this section; I just figured it was so early that it didn't make sense to burn myself out on one climb. And soon enough I was headed into the first of my big loops, one of my favorite loops, between Bedford, Carlisle, and Concord. I continued to focus on eating and drinking - John had told me that I should try to finish my 2 bottles by the time I met him for our exchange around mile 32 - but it just seemed like SO much liquid to take in. I tried not to worry about it too much - it was cool, and I wasn't sweating much - and focused on finding a nice groove and effort level for the first loop. </p><p>At this point, things were really clicking, and this loop is a section where riding fast is definitely possible. Looking back I probably could have gone faster on the first loop, but I think in a race of this distance discretion is definitely the better part of valor. There was so much race left to go, and I knew that feeling good at this moment meant absolutely nothing for how I might feel in an hour, or 4 hours, or 6 hours! So I kept my effort at a pretty moderate level and just had an absolutely WONDERFUL time on that first loop. I said hi to the two little miniature horses who I always see on this loop. I SCREAMED when I saw some goats which are not usually there (literally: "OMG, GOATS! HI GOATS! GOOD MORNING!" I swear one of them looked at me with disdain...lol). I tried to think of some other songs to sing to get WAP out of my head but my brain just kept on circling back to "get a bucket and a mop...." etc. Good lord, why. I remembered that there was a Porta Potty on the second leg of the triangle of this loop, which I was very happy about because I was already kind of feeling like I needed to pee. I decided I'd hold off until the second loop, after the bottle exchange, and kept cruising down Lowell Rd. There were tons of cyclists out and I waved at every one, feeling like I had this secret: psst, did you know? I'm doing an IRONMAN right now! </p><p>I came through the Concord rotary and headed onto the third leg of the triangle; only 5 miles until John and the bottle exchange! I still was maybe only 1/4 of the way into my second bottle and I tried to take the opportunity to take as much of it in as I could. It was made more difficult by the fact that I was now REALLY looking forward to that porta potty (things to learn for next year: learn to pee on the bike) and I was simultaneously trying to get myself to chill out because I had just posted a couple of 5 mile splits on the order of 18.5-19 mph which I told myself I was NOT allowed to do. I know my current cycling abilities and I knew that the better end of my abilities for 100+ miles was in the low 17 mph range. Going any faster than that would be setting myself up for absolute disaster on the run. I think again this is where being in a solo race was actually SUPER helpful. In a race where I would have had people blowing by me on the bike, it would have been soooo easy to go too hard on the bike because I was trying too hard to compete. Not that competing was ever my goal, but when you're in that situation shit just happens and you let the adrenaline of competition run away with you. Because I was quite literally riding my own ride, I could calibrate with myself and keep my effort levels in check totally based on how I was feeling, not on what the heck was going on around me, and I think for my first shot at this distance that was actually a blessing for executing the thing well. </p><p>Soon enough I was hitting the 30 mile mark, nearly 2 hours in already and almost time to meet John! When I got to our handoff spot I initially couldn't find him but spotted him over on the other side of the road. At this point I was still feeling GREAT and giddy, and I told him so. I downed some more of my second bottle and then grabbed my next two, to the amusement of a random bystander in his driveway who joked "I'm pretty sure I saw him slip something in those, watch out". Hey, my first random spectator! I probably stopped for under a minute and cruised out of Bedford and on to the second loop.</p><p>By this point, my thoughts were almost completely consumed by how badly I needed to use the bathroom. I literally could not think about anything else besides reaching the damn porta potty, which was like 8 miles, or nearly half an hour, away! So I just put my head down and proceeded to ride way too hard, nearly 20 mph, for the next few miles in an effort to not pee my pants - retrospectively, I don't know why I didn't just pee my damn pants? Had I been in a real race I almost certainly would have. So, pros and cons of solo racing: you probably will pace better, but you'll also waste time actually stopping at a porta potty instead of just peeing on the bike by yourself on the road lol.</p><p>Finally, like a mirage, the magical porta potty emerged. I practically threw my bike on the ground as I staggered over the gravel - what a waste of energy and a total loss of momentum! Again: need to learn to pee on the bike. Despite my relief, I feel like the whole situation, and possibly overdrinking had really thrown my whole body askew, and the next 10 or so miles were actually some of my least favorite of the entire race. They were also actually the ONLY time all day when I was at all concerned about not being able to finish. I noticed I was feeling kind of hungry, so as soon as I got back on my bike I ate a Honey Stinger waffle and then, for good measure, decided to take a salt tab. But I still didn't feel great - I still was kind of hungry, and I also just felt TIRED - not physically, like my legs were still fine and pedaling away, but like I could just close my eyes and fall asleep on my bike. To be fair, I HAD been up since 4 am, but it seemed odd and more of a sign that something was amiss. Later, when I reached Concord and had to stop briefly, I felt super shaky and unpleasant when I put my leg down, almost lightheaded. I started trying to go through the mental checklist of what the problem might be. I was almost positive it was NOT dehydration and if anything I was wondering if I maybe wasn't a little hyponaetremic because of how much I'd been drinking and how LITTLE I'd been sweating compared to basically all of my training rides. I definitely wasn't thirsty, and so I decided to take a break from the drinking plan for 5-10 miles and see how I felt. </p><p>Now, just because I didn't want to drink at that moment didn't mean I didn't want my bottles, and so you can imagine my displeasure when, around mile 42, my front water bottle cage decided to try to make a break for freedom as the top screw holding in in place straight up popped off my bike. I had LITERALLY tightened that screw on Friday; I'm guessing it's probably stripped, but regardless I just heard a clank and then a clunk and was horrified thinking something had gone terribly wrong with my bike. Nope, just the water bottle cage, but still a pretty significant problem - I can't really drink out of the back cage while riding, and I still had at least 4 more hours of riding to go. With a litany of cursing, I got off my bike and tried to find the rogue screw, but it had rolled off into the abyss somewhere, never to be seen again. Shit. I stood there for a second taking stock of what I had that I could possibly use to try to fix this problem. Maybe I could use the duct tape that was currently holding my flat kit to my bike? (Related: I need to just invest in a storage bag for my bike so that I don't have to duct tape my flat kit to my bike like a loser lol). But I wasn't convinced that the duct tape would hold. What else...what else...did I have a rubber band? I searched my pockets -no, why would I have a rubber band in there? And then I remembered: I HAD ONE ON MY WRIST! I had put it on as sort of a play on the fact that at a real Ironman race you have a wristband that denotes you as an athlete. And my stupid fake rubber band wristband was my salvation! I wrapped and twisted it around the top of the cage and miracle of miracles, it held. It held through 70 more miles of riding and as far as I know is still holding now...which reminds me that at some point I'm going to have to replace that screw haha.</p><p>Well, crisis averted, and as far as I could tell I had only lost a minute or two, though it felt like a lifetime. But I still didn't feel awesome. I definitely felt better, and a little more awake thanks to needing to problem solve on the spot, but still just off. There was so much race left to go that I needed to solve this problem and I needed to do it now. So I decided to bring out my ace in the hole, salt and calories all in one delicious package: Pizzaria Pretzel Combos. I would like to give a huge shoutout to my stomach, which seemed perfectly content to accept without question whatever crap I decided to throw at it during this race. And while the combos were extremely logistically challenging to eat (think: attempting to open a baggie, and pull out one combo at a time so as not to choke, while also keeping one hand on the handlebars to steer and brake...), I tell ya what, they did an INCREDIBLE job of fixing whatever my issue was. By this point I had turned for a short stretch on the Minuteman bike path, which was exactly as terrible of an idea to include in the course as I knew it would be. I literally had to come to a complete stop at one point behind a pack of children, not ideal. But on the flip side, I did get to cheer for some more virtual Boston people, and I tried to just accept it as a forced chill out break before heading into the second half of the bike. By the time I made the turn off the path I could feel my energy returning; my urge to shout random statements into the wind was back. I had solved it! Combos had solved it! Let me tell you, every single Ironman in my future will absolutely include both Combos and rubber bands carried with me on the bike, because those two things together just might have saved my race.</p><p>I hit mile 55 with it's delightfully large down hill and said to myself "halfway! Halfway is...good. Better than not halfway." Extremely wise and useful words, I tell ya. And then I turned onto the lake loop and finally got a few minutes of reprieve from WAP, because all I could think of as I made the turn was Everybody Wants To Rule The World..."welcome to your life...." Because this loop was literally going to be my life for the next 7ish hours? That is too many hours to think about all at once, so I just tried to get my head on straight and think about the only think I could think about: one lap at a time. Don't think about the run, the run is 3 or more hours away, and the only thing you can do about the run right now is not be an idiot on the bike. So stay on the bike! Stay in the moment! Don't screw up your fueling, don't hammer, just ride. </p><p>There were still 2-3 people finishing their Boston races when I arrived back at the lake and so I tried to hype myself up by cheering even MORE aggressively for them. And they all kind of looked at me like I was insane? One woman seemed very grateful but the rest looked at me like I had grown an extra head, which is sort of fair because I have felt that way about spectators at mile 20 of a tough marathon as well. I kept my eye out for John, who apparently was on the exact opposite side of the lake from me for essentially the entire ride and was riding faster than me but not fast enough to catch up 😂. I tried to plot out when mentally and physically I should stop for fuel - I still had almost a full bottle left at mile ~56 when I entered the lake loop, and I decided I would try to hold off until 75 or so to stop and refill my bottles, keeping that carrot on a string for myself. In the meantime, I forced myself to eat a Clif Bar, which I sang a little song about, something like "this tastes like dirt but I'll eat it anywayyyy" because it ABSOLUTELY tasted like dirt in the moment but I knew I had to eat it, so I did. Oh well. I think eating things when you absolutely are not interested in eating things is kind of an essential feature of long course triathlon. </p><p>The next 3 loops were uneventful. WAP reappeared in my head, which was unfortunate, but I couldn't seem to do anything about it. "Hey brain, how about we sing a different song?" "OK sure...here's the lyrical version of WAP that's going around on TikTok!" Sigh. I wasn't riding particularly fast or slow, but holding steady with splits in the mid to high 17s which is right around 17 mph, and that seemed fine. It was definitely getting harder and I was starting to get a little sick of being on my bike, but overall nothing too dire. I stopped and refilled my bottle with Gatorade and grabbed my other two sleeves of chews, got rid of some of my wrappers and trash, grabbed some Cheez Its which I didn't end up eating, and took another salt tab before heading back onto the loop. </p><p>People keep asking me what the hardest part of the race was, and I think about miles 80-100 of the bike were it. I feel like I've heard that before, that mile 85 of the bike is just a bad place, and I definitely believe it now. The first lap after my refuel was OK, but for the next 20 or so miles I felt like I was having to pull out every mental trick I knew to try to talk myself into another loop. I kept trying to do math and figure out how many hours I had left, but that was making things WORSE because the math said I still had over 2 hours to ride, and that sounded awful. I'd liken the experience to something like mile 16 of a marathon: you're pretty damn far in, but you are also pretty damn far away. It also probably didn't help that the math I was doing was a) incorrect and b) pointless. The conversion from pace to time just was not working for me, and on several instances I talked myself into thinking I was going to ride a 7:30 bike leg before realizing that my math was completely incorrect. At a certain point I literally just had to say to myself "stop trying to do math when you're tired because it IS NOT HELPING". Other things that weren't helping: when I pulled out my margarita Gu chomps, which I was excited for, I bit into one and it was stale feeling and just tasted like plastic. I assume since I got them from Amazon that they were just sitting in some warehouse for God knows how long and took on the taste of their own wrappers, but I swear it felt like I was chewing on a Barbie foot. Cool, cool. As I needed these stupid chomps to stick to the fueling plan, we got to file that under "things I ate during the Ironman that I did not want to eat". During one of these unpleasant laps I also got to deal with a driver pulling out of a parking spot and then proceeding to just sit in the bike lane...for reasons. I shouted some not very nice things at them in front of several people getting ready to go hang out by the lake...it was a dark place, OK?? My butt hurt and my back was bothering me and my legs were sick of just doing the same motion over and over, and the tops of my feet were hurting from pushing against the tops of my bike shoes, and just, blah. I tried not to think too hard about the fact that I still had hours more of this to go and just tried to get out of my seat now and then, change gears, change cadence, change it up as much as I could while still moving forward. </p><p>Through all of this my pace had definitely slowed but was holding relatively steady in the high 16s/low 17s for each 5 mile loop. I tried to do some semi-productive math by thinking of how many miles I had to go and then breaking it down 14 different ways to see which version sounded the most appealing. "OK, so if I have 35 miles to go, that's really like riding 25 miles and then just 10 miles! And then 2 miles but that basically doesn't count, right?" Or, "I'm going faster than 20 minutes a lap, but even if I did slow down that far, I only have an hour and 20 minutes after this lap". Slowly, slowly, slowly the number of laps I needed to ride dwindled. I had promised myself a stop at the porta potty at mile 100 because I figured I'd want to deal with any bathroom related issues before starting the run. Getting off my bike, I practically fell over as I staggered across the gravel, and all I could think for the remainder of the ride was how in the everloving heck am I going to run a marathon???</p><p>But finally, there I was, with 7 miles left of the ride. I feel like the last lap should have felt more triumphant than it did, but by this point I was so in my head about the fact that I had to run a damn marathon that I hardly even noticed what was going on. However, I did take a few moments to have a little gratitude moment for NO MECHANICALS (aside from the stupid water bottle cage, which, look, if something was going to go wrong with my bike I'll accept that)! I finally encountered John as I headed for the little out and back to make it a full 112 miles - he was now running, because of course he was! As I pedaled back to the boathouse he was coming towards me yelling "you're done!? Holy shit! You're so fast!" Which is adorable because he can ride significantly faster than I can, but it still gave me such a boost. I turned into the boathouse drive and cruised back up to my transition area, and the bike leg (and my longest ride ever) was complete!</p><p>Fueling for posterity: Had a total of 5 large bottles (probably only drank 3 entirely but drank most of the others): 3 were normal strength Skratch, 1 was slightly watered down Skratch, and 1 was Gatorade. 5 packs of Gu chomps. 1 Honey Stinger waffle. 1 banana peanut butter Clif Bar. 2 servings of Combos, 2 salt tabs. I feel like I read a lot of race reports where people do all their fueling with liquid (John was surprised at how much solid food I was planning when I shared my race plan with him), but honestly my stomach was solid throughout the ride and I felt like I absolutely needed the change in flavor/texture to actually keep from feeling ill. But no nausea, no digestive issues - aside from the struggle midway, I think this plan worked well! I believe I probably could have benefited from a few more calories (and some caffeine would not have been a terrible idea) during that 85-100 slump, something to consider for the future.</p><p><i>T2 - ~ 10 minutes (it absolutely did not feel that long but I guess I must have taken my sweet time lol)</i></p><p>I got back into transition and took a few moments to steady myself before slowly trying to sort out my fuel and clothing while mentally wrapping my brain around the fact that I was about to run a marathon. Helmet was replaced with hat, bike shoes replaced with Kinvaras, bib number was donned because I'm cool like that, race belt was packed with Gus. John came running in around then and tried to tell me that I had been riding 18 mph (I was not but I appreciate it anyway!) and I reassured him that I was happy with my ride regardless of what the actual pace was. This whole marathon thing, however, aggggghh, I was terrified! How was this going to feel? I just think I've run so many awful marathons in my life that I'm a little bit scarred by the idea of running under anything less than perfect conditions haha. But when I voiced these thoughts, John, ever the wise man, looked at me sort of incredulously and was like "but...you're a runner. A strong runner. This is what you do! You'll be fine." I sure hoped he was right. Enough dawdling; I looked at my watch. 2:15. That left me 4 hours and 13 minutes to run a marathon to achieve my goal of finishing before sunset. "I don't know if I can do that, but I'll try!" I said to John. "Guess I better get going..." And with that, I headed out of the parking lot, off into the great mystery that is an Ironman marathon.</p><p><i>The Run: 26.2 miles, 3:51 and change, 8:50 pace</i></p><p>Not gonna lie, I am SUPER proud of this run. I am also 100% convinced that I can run an Ironman marathon faster...maybe even much faster. Dangerous thoughts. But we're getting ahead of ourselves...back to the race at hand. </p><p>I took off out of transition feeling great, and honestly just very happy to be off my bike and doing the thing that I know how to do. As unfamiliar as the specific situation was, when it came to the sport this was finally familiar territory. I knew how efforts should feel, how they should not feel, and how to manage a wide variety of extenuating circumstances on the run, and that knowledge did buoy me a bit as I set off. About 3/4 mile down the road, I ran into Andrew and our dog, and I decided to stop for a second to say hi to them both and also to sort out my playlist, which I wasn't sure was shuffling as it should (another solo race perk: an absolutely banging run playlist. Farewell, WAP, see ya never). Then I started laughing because John was literally behind me YELLING at me that I couldn't stop already! Hah! I said to Andrew "John's giving me shit, gotta go!" and headed off onto the loop. I honestly had no clue what pace I was running and was pretty amused when I saw my first mile was an 8:15...inclusive of dilly dallying with my dog for probably at least 30-45 seconds, whoops? And all I could think was that I felt ASTONISHINGLY good. The turnaround from getting off my bike like "am I going to walk this marathon" to running 8 minute pace and feeling like I was jogging was bizarre, but amazing. I think it was a combination of successful fueling on the bike, my body's innate knowledge of how to run, and just utter happiness to be finally doing the thing that I actually know how to do!</p><p>The run course was easy to break up into chunks: 5 loops, a mile at the end. That's it. And the first loop FLEW by. I clicked off 8:00 miles and couldn't believe how good I was feeling. I felt smooth, easy, relaxed, and like I could do this all day, pretty much the polar opposite of how I expected to feel coming off the bike. I swear, though, there's something about running off the bike that just works. As insane as it seems, I think maybe everything is just well warmed up and firing in a way that somehow makes running feel easier? I knew that feeling this good couldn't possibly last, and in fact actually worried to myself that I was somehow going out TOO hard, but everything else was telling me that I was running at an appropriate effort, and if I could bank some time in the first half of this marathon, why the heck not? In a perfect shuffle serendipity, one of the first songs that came on during this loop was "Into the Unknown" (yes...from Frozen 2...). It was so fitting - I really felt like I WAS entering unknown territory. Did I sing out loud a little bit? I'll leave that to the random person doing yardwork who may or may not have heard me to say...😂 Somewhere around mile 3 a car honked and someone screamed at me and I saw sunglasses out of a window - it was one of my friends! I had sort of withheld the fact that I was doing this from most of my friends until the day before when I finally decided to inform our running friend group text that "...hey...so I'm doing an Ironman tomorrow..." I absolutely did not expect anyone to spend their Saturday showing up for my imaginary "race" let alone cheering for me for an ENTIRE marathon, but I tell ya, I have some amazing friends. As I came around by the beach parking lot there was Aly and her husband, cheering like crazy! I really couldn't figure out what to do with myself when people cheered so my reaction just tended to be waving my arms awkwardly in the air and yelling WOO! haha. Then I saw Brenda in her mini, screaming out the window! I felt just an enormous wave of gratitude for my friends. I think one of the most amazing things about the friendships you make through sports is having this avenue to loudly and emphatically support each other. Over the years some of my absolute favorite memories have been of races that I spectated or cheered for, and my friend group is such that if we're able to spectate another one of us at a race, we will BE there. It just was so special to have that part of the experience even this unofficial "race" and was really a big part of what made it feel real and special and important. </p><p>So maybe that's why starting my second loop after seeing my friends was one of the few times all day that I really got a little emotional - something I expected to happen way more! I think for the most part during the day I ended up being so focused on the task at hand that I didn't have time or energy to get emotional about it, but heading off on the second lap after this great first loop, feeling strong and supported and for the first time sort of understanding that I was going to finish this thing, I almost started crying....only to immediately force myself to stop because I quickly realized that it was extremely difficult to breathe when becoming emotional...hahaha. OK then, back to business, and on to loop 2. There's one small but fairly steep hill around mile 1.5 of the loop, and I could tell that my heart rate was spiking WAY too high when I ran up it on loop 2 - easy decision, I'd walk up it on subsequent loops. This was definitely one of those choices that was informed more by my mindset of making sure I could finish than even how I actually felt physically in the moment, and I think is a great example about how not being in a race was maybe a detriment to my strategy on the run. In reverse of the bike, I think with competitors around I would have been more likely to skip some walk breaks, not dilly dally when I saw my friends, etc. That being said, it's impossible to know whether doing those things was what allowed me to feel so strong all the way through the marathon! I'm curious how my strategy will change next year with the difference in environment. Either way, in this case I was happy to take a more conservative approach to ensure that I would be able to finish what I started. I was still vaguely worried about fueling - I took a Gu at the 5 mile mark and was carrying a bottle of Skratch, but wasn't sure how I'd feel in another 10 miles. That was really the theme of the marathon: "OK, you feel great right now, but what about the next lap?"</p><p>I could tell I was sweating more and getting "warmer" (again - high of 70 degrees and dry basically felt INCREDIBLE, but you know how it goes) so decided I'd stop to refill my bottle at my aid station at 10. I was also starting to crave something other than salty/sweet foods and figured I would open my lemon/lime soda as well...bubbles sounded appealing. I had slowed a little bit in the second half of the lap, to closer to 8:15 pace, but still very much ahead of where I'd expected to be at this point. I rolled up to my snack cooler and got to work refilling my bottle and cracking the soda, which did indeed taste DELICIOUS. I also took another Gu because I felt like I should though I was not interested at all. As I was doing my aid station thing, who did I see coming up the path but Jade and her husband! Jade is a college teammate who recently moved to Boston and I was pumped to see her! We chatted for a little bit and she asked me how I was feeling. I thought for a second and offered "um...like I REALLY don't want to start running again". And it was true! The stop had really killed my momentum and I was suddenly aware of how fatigued my legs actually were. Ugh, well that could only mean one thing...time to go! I'm sort of amazed actually seeing that my split for this mile was only a 10:12 (compared to 8:20 moving time ) - I was stopped for under 2 minutes, but it felt like forever!</p><p>I had decided that I would stop to use the bathroom on this lap, basically at the halfway point, so that was a nice target for the next 3 miles. I'd suspected that laps 3 and 4 were going to be the most difficult due to that classic "you're a ways in but you have a ways to go" marathon problem, but the 3rd lap was actually not awful once I got into it. Down at the bottom of the lake, I saw Aly and did some more arm waving, and she asked me if I needed anything because they were going to the store. I racked my brain....I had so much in my snack cooler, what did I need? So I decided to shout my first gut reaction: COKE! With the prospect of ice cold caffeine awaiting me on the other side of the lap, I set off for lap 3. I was definitely starting to slow a bit but kept chugging along at a generally reasonable pace, still in the mid to high 8's. About 2 miles into the loop, I passed a woman who I had seen multiple times on the previous loops, running the opposite direction as me. Since we were now on the order of running 12-13 miles around this lake I became curious if she, like me, was currently running a marathon. So...when I crossed paths with her again I decided to shout "Are you running a marathon right now?!" She replied "....yes..." and I completely lit up and SCREAMED "FUCK YEAH!! ME TOO!!" And it was so awesome, because the entire rest of the time we were out there, every time we saw each other we gave a thumbs up or a wave or a "you got this". It was almost like having someone in the race with me! The discovery of my marathon brethren was definitely a pick me up, and I happily headed towards the halfway mark with Springsteen blasting in my ears, singing along..."for the ones who had a notion, a notion deep inside, that it <i>ain't no sin to be glad you're alive</i>..." (Love the entire Born to Run album, but I think Badlands is actually my favorite Springsteen song). God, I was so glad to be alive. So glad to be here and having this day that just felt like such a celebration, regardless of the insanity that the rest of the year has been. I could have this thing. I could refuse to let anything stand in my way or take away this chance and this choice that I'd made for myself over a year ago. <i>You spend your life waiting for a moment that just don't come...don't waste your time waiting...</i></p><p>The porta potty stop at mile 13 was quick, in and out, and I was back on the road towards my friends and my Coke that awaited. Up at the top of the loop I ran into Jade again and did some more awkward fist pumping and "woo"ing - I'd love to know what the people walking their dogs or having dinner in their homes thought about this random idiot running multiple laps as day turned into evening. I took a walk break to take a salt tab down and get some more fluids in as I was definitely thirsty. This was also the section of the race where my brain was tired and starting to latch on to random shit in the environment, such as a house in this section that had put out a very aggressive wine barrel wine rack with a "FREE!" sign at the end of their driveway...by this point I had passed it at least 8 times between the bike and the run and was in a goofy enough mental state to think about how actually, if I had a car, maybe I'd come back for this completely impractical wine rack? I rounded the turn into the nice downhill, had to veer into the road a bit to avoid some electrical work going on and kind of laughed to myself...how crazy was this cop directing traffic going to think I was when he saw me two more times this evening?</p><p>I reached the beach parking lot and my friends, now with their dog and toddler in tow, and COKE! I know they typically have it flat at races but let me tell you, ice cold, fizzy, sugary, cola-y goodness has never tasted so sweet. I walked a little bit while drinking and thanking my friends. They asked how I was feeling and I was sort of non-committal - I think I said "not terrible" lol. My friend Aly made the excellent point that "you have literally like...an hour and a half, and then you're an Ironman!" 90 minutes seemed both an eternity and an instant, but either way it seemed doable. I trotted off with my water bottle in one hand and my coke in the other.I got sick of that setup pretty quickly, so I dropped it behind a guardrail by my aid station and promised I'd come back to get it later or grab another drink if needed. I got a bit of a side stitch probably from swigging it too quickly, but that passed thankfully - my only minor "GI" issue of the day, and caused by my own insistence on drinking more of a carbonated beverage than was probably wise. I guess they serve it flat at Ironman races for a reason... </p><p>So now I was at 15 miles, on the loop that would bring me to 20. This was the lap that I had expected to be the hardest, and it certainly was, but it never felt impossible. I saw Jade and Tim again in the middle of the "backstretch" of the loop and did some more arm waving and "wooing" although it was now accompanied by a self-deprecating "ugh, I'm DYING!" Rumors of my death were highly exaggerated, but my legs were definitely starting to be less enthused about the prospect of more miles on top of the 130 that they'd already covered today. There were definitely a few extra walk breaks on this lap but I kept them short and sweet. I realized that I had skipped taking a gel at 15 because of the Coke, so I hunted down one with caffeine and took that. Caffeine just sounded like a GREAT idea - anything to give me just a little bit more energy. I tried not to think too much, and to just keep moving - one foot in front of the other, don't you dare try to do weird math to figure out what time you're going to finish in just keep going. Keep going. I saw my marathon friend again, both of us definitely moving a little slower than before, but we gave a thumbs up and kept on moving. The impractical wine rack was still there. The electrical work was still happening. The sun was getting lower in the sky, golden streaks across the lake. I got another amazing round of cheers from my friends, who had now been joined by yet another member of the crew! And soon enough my watch indicated that I'd reached the 20 mile mark. 1 lap to go.</p><p>I for some reason had found myself craving water and MORE soda and so I decided to stop at my snack cooler to do one last refill. Well, turns out I didn't actually zip up the cooler, and turns out if you open a soda in an unzipped cooler there will be ANTS. So there were ants everywhere. It was delightful. But I dumped some Sprite into the cap of my water bottle and took it like a shot because I really wanted it, and then refilled my water bottle and prepared to head out. I totally zoned out for a second and was like...cleaning up the area, dumping out the Sprite, and I got about 20 seconds into that task and then was like, holy shit, nope you can do that LATER, right now you've gotta GO. And as golden hour emerged, I headed off into my last loop. 6 miles to go, 70 minutes before sunset, and I knew: I had it. I was going to do it.</p><p>I had told Andrew that I'd text him when I had 5 miles to go and I decided I'd pull out my phone walking up the little steep hill and then try to run it the rest of the way in. But before that, I tried to savor it as I headed out into the last loop. This was it. I had completed so many laps around this loop, not only on this day but in training, tempo rides, easy runs, swimming at 6 am. I know this loop better than practically any route I've ever run. The golden light was beautiful; there's no better time of day to be out there than that golden hour before sunset. And as I approached the bottom of the loop, thinking of all of this, it was at that moment that Show Yourself came on my playlist. And out of the whole day, this was the moment when I finally let myself get a little emotional. For every training cycle since I've started listening to music while running, there have always been a few songs for each cycle that just come to be the anthems for that race. They aren't necessarily always pump up type songs and often times I can't really explain WHY they're the anthems for a race, they just are. They're the songs I end up listening to time and time again when I'm finishing a tough run, the songs that when they come on during an already-great effort make me turn up the speed and just fly, and songs that will forever be tied to a specific race and moment in time - the work that went into it, and the race itself, good or bad. For this Ironman, 3 songs really stood out, and one was Show Yourself. First off, the song is amazing and Idina Menzel is amazing, but also, from the very first time I listened to it I connected the lyrics so strongly to the idea of finishing an Ironman this year. And my favorite line: <i>show yourself, step into your power. Grow yourself into something new...you are the one you've been waiting for all of your life, oh, show yourself, let me see who you are...</i> As I listened to those words at mile 21 of a marathon in an Ironman, an Ironman that I was doing by myself without the lights and the crowds and the brand and the competition but simply because I wanted to see what I was made of, it really just brought everything home. <i>Here I am, I've come so far...</i> It was really just a moment and I felt every bit of the song - so strong and powerful and proud. At the top of the hill I texted Andrew. It was 5:54 pm. "4.5 miles to go. I think I'm gonna make it." And with that, one more deep breath, and I set out to complete the task before me, so many miles in the making. I would run it in. </p><p>There's really not too much to say about the rest of the lap. The light was golden and magical, and I was running. It wasn't fast running; it was a run that many other versions of me would probably scoff at, but for mile 135+ of an Ironman it felt like flying. Each landmark passed one more time: the house with the unicorn balloon. The country club hill. The porta potty. The turn into the neighborhood. I wish I could say something more profound but I felt like my mind and my body had detached from each other. My body knew it did not want to continue but my mind kept saying just to that hill. Just to that house. Just a little longer, just a little more, don't listen to the lies that you're telling yourself that you can't, because they're wrong. That has always been the allure of Ironman for me; that it seems so entirely ridiculous and beyond the realm of what any normal human would attempt that you somehow know that what's going to see you through to the finish isn't just being physically strong enough to do it, it's also overcoming your mind and that rational part of your brain that says <i>this is insane, this is not reasonable, we cannot continue to do this right now</i> and find the part deeper down that says <i>I don't give a shit what you think we can do right now, we're doing it. </i></p><p>I came to the turn into the downhill; THE WINE RACK WAS GONE! I had a little moment of joy for whoever had decided that that wine rack fit perfectly into their decor. Downhill felt good, but still, hard. Everything was hard now, and I didn't care. 2 miles to go, and I would be an Ironman. When I think about these moments, the thing I remember the most is the light, just the most perfect golden light hitting the edges of the trees, the water, my face. I have always found golden hour to be the most magical part of the day (Andrew claims there's no such term and honestly I can't remember the first time I heard the phrase 'golden hour' but it's easy to picture: right before sunset, when the sun is slanting through the trees and just for a while, everything is bathed in gold). I kept running and kept thinking about the light, how beautiful the light was, and how completely lucky I was to be here in this moment and running in this glorious light. </p><p>My dreamlike state was rudely interrupted by my watch, which abruptly bleeped a low battery warning and then, shortly thereafter, DIED. Is this a joke? I started to try to pull up Strava GPS on my phone and then was like, no. I know where the turnaround for the mile is, and I know that I'll do it. It was almost fitting that in this DIY race, even the timing was based only on the time on the clock when I started and finished. As I approached the boathouse lot, I heard what to my ears sounded like the biggest crowd I'd ever heard: all of my friends, plus Andrew, had gathered and were screaming, cowbelling, all there to bring me home. It was absolutely amazing. "ONE MORE MILE!" I shouted, waving my arms, and headed out into my final out and back, 139.6 miles down, one to go.</p><p>The screams of my friends faded away, and it was just me and the road and the golden light, one more step and then one more, then one more. My legs were just exhausted and yet at the same time I still felt strong. Still it seemed like the distance between me and the tree that was my turnaround point had expanded from half a mile to the circumference of the planet. The run out to the turnaround felt like it took FOREVER, as it always does when you're forced to run past your finish line before actually running towards it. But finally, here it was. I turned for home.</p><p>For whatever reason, I had always pictured finishing an Ironman to be this epic, bombastic thing - and who knows, maybe in the actual race setting, it is. I always pictured some massive surge of emotion and crying my way to the finish line. But there were no fireworks, no music, no crowds to hype, just me and the lake and the trees, looking to any passerby like I was just another runner enjoying a beautiful evening on the lake. It was such a quiet, personal joy that almost took me by surprise by how wonderful it felt. I had taken out my headphones now and was just running in silence, legs aching to be finished but mind almost wondering how it was possible that this could be over so soon. My watch was dead and I was running free, just allowing myself to savor the last few moments of this day and this gift that I had given myself. They say you never forget your first of any type of race, but especially the big ones, and no matter what I wanted to remember this feeling. I had earned an Ironman finish line, whether it was on red carpet in Madison or at the end of a driveway in Medford. No matter what, today was mine.</p><p>I made the final turn, 100 meters to go, and my cheer squad of 7 might as well have been 200 for the roar that went up. Cowbells and screams, a group of dog walkers staring and wondering what on earth was going on as I ran with everything I had left towards that chalk line on the ground. Arms waving, beaming smile on my face, and filled with love and gratitude for this sport and my friends and my life, I crossed that line, real or imaginary, and 12 minutes and 14 seconds later, I was an Ironman!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWhWzC_iMP8Wyj9m6FEwBhKpDkAkcK3cVR1_7ByjBJ_2_ZqpBRPCW094SE5nb-0_iWvVO7fpZJxZkSKSxZ4RDZm3_QwUdZ-AyIWrRIoMgkHEeh0IzLgnrU6ZdYqlbe6HmbJYV2Q/s2280/Screenshot_20200921-210354_Gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWhWzC_iMP8Wyj9m6FEwBhKpDkAkcK3cVR1_7ByjBJ_2_ZqpBRPCW094SE5nb-0_iWvVO7fpZJxZkSKSxZ4RDZm3_QwUdZ-AyIWrRIoMgkHEeh0IzLgnrU6ZdYqlbe6HmbJYV2Q/w304-h640/Screenshot_20200921-210354_Gallery.jpg" width="304" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoPW1YMpCzBbSa6BF3ytTiOqPFPrMvZqVvUV8_MtLyvZOu9DHvQJR8h8J6t2bJ_CtwI7Om0y5wnrG2t0CJ6pEyaXStTqFUneA4coM3yM3M3V1yUoNw_veyqfQUA-b4MnQ1AZnbw/s2280/Screenshot_20200921-210337_Video+Player.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoPW1YMpCzBbSa6BF3ytTiOqPFPrMvZqVvUV8_MtLyvZOu9DHvQJR8h8J6t2bJ_CtwI7Om0y5wnrG2t0CJ6pEyaXStTqFUneA4coM3yM3M3V1yUoNw_veyqfQUA-b4MnQ1AZnbw/w304-h640/Screenshot_20200921-210337_Video+Player.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The best feeling. (Also thankful for friends who captured this moment via Instagram stories!) My favorite thing about these actual videos is one of my friends in the background yelling "HOLY SHIT YOU DID IT!!!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After explaining to the dog walkers and another random passerby what ridiculousness I was up to, I proceeded to sit down on a rock while my friends milled around me being the amazing people that they are. I was eternally grateful to Aly and her husband, who offered to give me a ride home (poor Andrew had to drag the rest of my transition crap on his bike, I LOVE YOU HUN!) We all hung out and I just sort of basked in the glow of being finished as the sun began to set over the lake. Yes indeed, I had finished before sunset.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3EKyb53TzKOLLJCUGyofyitLhlROfEF96WR0gNqL7h52rkWwMUj0uBBMskTGp3qfb3IiiuSALWf1ItZsTc1PqvsBoBcjIx9uFGqJLHTfnK6mZtdOyN8faRYSzIxB_KyiwhCqIQ/s4032/20200912_183851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3EKyb53TzKOLLJCUGyofyitLhlROfEF96WR0gNqL7h52rkWwMUj0uBBMskTGp3qfb3IiiuSALWf1ItZsTc1PqvsBoBcjIx9uFGqJLHTfnK6mZtdOyN8faRYSzIxB_KyiwhCqIQ/w640-h480/20200912_183851.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Top of the podium, smiles for days, and it's still light!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdL37TnCKErNJawNjcCqKOqZDRHzDvXq1TPxO5UwgdHsfWZ2c6wxVKGX02-vukJOSTdsylPZHsi0GiW5jzx3ChyphenhypheneO6mL_flvYdKUDy60AY3mZf17FP2wCEDa1mmKZHZJpActv2TQ/s4032/20200912_185442.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdL37TnCKErNJawNjcCqKOqZDRHzDvXq1TPxO5UwgdHsfWZ2c6wxVKGX02-vukJOSTdsylPZHsi0GiW5jzx3ChyphenhypheneO6mL_flvYdKUDy60AY3mZf17FP2wCEDa1mmKZHZJpActv2TQ/w480-h640/20200912_185442.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The best human</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1DuqIA2MU5U3YjzXBqBYgSmS65mvnsZkiP-1snFgi8a_P1TVlX3LBuT4KoUIZ8A82em1e_h8JgpNDlgOXX7U0CZS55yjsoFp8EN6hsqWjHhNIViFORQVZTXtpwnvFI4pW5U7OQ/s4032/20200912_190001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1DuqIA2MU5U3YjzXBqBYgSmS65mvnsZkiP-1snFgi8a_P1TVlX3LBuT4KoUIZ8A82em1e_h8JgpNDlgOXX7U0CZS55yjsoFp8EN6hsqWjHhNIViFORQVZTXtpwnvFI4pW5U7OQ/w640-h480/20200912_190001.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The BEST cheer squat (socially distanced obviously!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My post race situation involved beer, a shower, eventually eating pizza (my stomach said no to anything except beer for ~3 hours post race) and basically pinching myself that I wasn't dreaming that I had just finished my first Ironman. I couldn't believe it. Not in the sense of I didn't believe I could physically accomplish this goal, because I always said I wouldn't start this race if I didn't think I could finish it. But all the other stuff: I couldn't believe that I had decided in 2008 that I'd do an Ironman in 2020, and then I actually was at a point in my life to sign up for my first Ironman in 2020, and it was going to be everything I ever dreamed, but then there was a global pandemic and the race was cancelled and despite that, I decided to put in the work and put in the planning and make this happen for myself. THAT is what I couldn't believe. That, and the fact that in my first shot at the distance I had managed to achieve every single one of my time based goals and had no major failures - it was like somehow I just knew that despite all the rest of the bullshit that 2020 has brought, that this day was meant to be amazing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have a little postcard in the room where I ride my trainer that I got with some running shirt I ordered a bunch of years ago. It reads:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Not because you have to.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Not because you should.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Not because someone asked you to.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Only because you could.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I was reading those words on my trainer back in January, I had absolutely no clue how true they would ring this year - I mean, come on, if you'd told any of us back in January that races wouldn't be happening from March onwards, we would have laughed! And some people ran amazing 5K PR time trials and some decided to explore new trails and some tackled crazy ultra challenges and others just ran for fun. And me? In 2020 I became an Ironman. Because I wanted to, and because I could. And it may not have been that red carpet capitol finish line I always pictured in my dreams, but I'll be damned if a boathouse parking lot with a faded chalk line on the ground wasn't even better. That being said? I cannot WAIT for IMWI 2021 :D</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ironman Mystic Lakes</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">12:14:xx (140.6 miles swim/bike/run)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1st overall, 1st female, 1st AG (that definitely qualifies me for Kona, right? ;) )</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-25126115752828181942020-09-07T18:30:00.003-05:002020-09-07T18:30:49.308-05:00Some taper musings....because it's IRONMAN WEEK!<p> I've imagined what the finish of my first Ironman would be like for so long.</p><p>I imagined it in 2006, when I stood in the pouring rain out on the run course, cheering for these people who as far as I could tell were completely insane, but with a tiny spark inside asking if maybe someday I could be one of them.</p><p>I imagined it a few years later, during my first sprint triathlon, when I spent the entire race in complete disbelief of how much FUN I was having, and how I couldn't wait to do it again.</p><p>I imagined it when I started following triathlon blogs, and reading people's IMWI race reports over and over again, alternately wondering how they could DO such a thing and at the same time wondering if I could do it to. (I actually went back and found one of these race reports recently and it made me cry! I think that's part of the reason I continue to keep this little blog going, because maybe someday someone will read a race report of mine and be inspired to do something someday.)</p><p>I imagined it when, almost 10 years later, I sporadically decided to do a sprint triathlon and I remembered that feeling.</p><p>And I've imagined it throughout this entire, insane, stupid year that 2020 has been. On the trainer in the winter, when COVID hit but it still seemed like there was plenty of time, during winter long runs and getting up early to swim. I could close my eyes and picture this: the start, at Monona Terrace, a day full of possibility. And the finish: the capitol, the red carpet, the roar. I've pictured that scene in my mind so many times, even as March became May and May became July and it became clearer and clearer that that finish line was not going to exist this year, that there would be no red carpet and cheering college students and the lights of State Street, I still dreamed. </p><p>Did I ever, in all those years since I became aware of what Ironman was and spent a day wandering the city in the rain trying to get as close to it, to be as much a part of it as I could, dream that my first Ironman would be undertaken alone? That my finish line would be a random line in a parking lot? That I would in all likelihood need to ride my bike to and from my event venue? Certainly, I did not. Then again, I don't think anyone among us could have possibly predicted a world pandemic and the subsequent insane ride 2020 has taken us on. </p><p>When IMWI was officially cancelled back in July, I wasn't exactly sure what I should do. A part of me wanted to just pack it in and relax for the reminder of the summer, but in the end I realized that I had already put in way too much work NOT to have some kind of culmination to it all. And so I kept training, albeit at a more relaxed and far less rigid capacity. I did rides I never would have imagined (an 80 mile tri-state ride from Newburyport, MA to York, ME on a 95 degree day and riding the full Kancamagus Highway in the White Mountains are two highlights). I did scenic long runs with friends and never once worried about pace or doing a workout. I (finally) learned to fix a flat tire! I survived one of the more miserable Boston summers I can recall in recent memory. I pretty much just didn't do workouts in any discipline - I focused solely on volume which I think is allowed when your race is 140.6 miles! And over time, a plan came together for me to attempt to complete an Ironman on my own. And it's happening this coming Saturday.</p><p>I remarked to my mom a couple of weeks ago that "I feel like I'd be freaking out if this were a real race, but since it's just a thing, I'm not!" Those words would come back to haunt my when I did, in fact, become immersed in the glories of a taper freakout over this past weekend. It's a different type of feeling in this case, because unlike most races the question is not "how fast can I do this?" but "CAN I do this?" But deep down, I don't think I'd be attempting it if I didn't think that I could. </p><p>With how my training has gone, I think I have a pretty good idea of how the swim and the bike will go. I am a very middle of the pack swimmer but in training I've been ridiculously consistent to the point where I think I can honestly say that my swim will be somewhere between 1:18 and 1:25 whether it's good, bad, or mediocre. Similarly on the bike, my pace is almost always between 16.5 and 17 mph on the course that I'm riding (6:30-6:45 for an Ironman bike)...and no, I don't plan on blasting the bike like I did in my half "race". Oddly enough, the real wildcard here is the run! Because I have literally no idea what it's going to feel like to run a marathon after 112 miles of biking. None. I can pretty much guarantee that it's going to be harder than I can imagine, and that it's going to take longer than I expect (my goal is ~4 hours). But who knows? The other wildcard is fueling - I still have NO idea how to fuel for a day of this length. The second half of the bike and the entire run are loops around the lakes (~5 mile loop), so I'm going to have a special needs area with literally EVERYTHING I think I could possibly want...soda, cheezits, sour patch kids, peanut butter pretzels, the whole shebang. I don't want not eating enough to be the thing that screws up my day but that's definitely the thing I have the least experience with, so it's going to be a delicate dance.</p><p>I start at 6:20 am on Saturday. Finishing in a boathouse parking lot with no spectators besides my husband definitely was not how I pictured my first Ironman finish, but I suspect it will be just as meaningful, if not more so. (TBH I am prepared to cry throughout the entire last loop of the marathon lol). </p><p>Ironman Mystic Lakes. LFG!</p>Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-19964821974403106932020-07-01T19:41:00.001-05:002020-07-01T19:41:54.041-05:00Baby, keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice: 70.3 Mystic Lakes "race" reportAs I've shared before, virtual races are not something that have been super motivational to me during this period of coronavirus ridiculousness. Like, why would I try to run a PR for a running race when it won't "count" anyway? (I'm starting to think that the idea that doing a thing only "counts" if it happens in an official race capacity is kind of dumb, but whatever). And as I mentioned in my last post, I was not planning on racing this solo half iron tri adventure attempt in any capacity. I truly didn't think I would have the motivation to put in race level effort on my own, with no competition, no fanfare, no one even aware of the fact that I was racing except me. But somehow as Saturday approached I found myself so excited about the idea of "racing" that I started to crave my traditional pre-race rituals that it feels like it's been years since I've done. I laid out my gear and race kit. I painted my nails. I found a ribbon that matched my singlet. And I went to bed on Friday night with nervous energy like I haven't felt in ages, the energy that the next day I would be Doing Something, What exactly that something was, I wasn't sure yet.<br />
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But at 4:50 am the alarm went off and I was up and into my usual race morning routine, including iced coffee and oatmeal and braiding my hair. One of the delights of DIY racing is that your start time is your pick - hey, you want to spend an extra 10 minutes unloading the dishwasher before you head out? Go for it! Feeling like you want to use the bathroom one last time? Sweet! I was aiming to start the swim between 6:00 and 6:30, so I left the house at 5:45 for the ~15 minute ride to my venue. Yes, that's right...I had to bike to the start of my "race" with all of my crap loaded into an old Boston gear check bag on my back (I am such a pack rat when it comes to that stuff, and it was actually perfect for this purpose!). I dropped a frozen bottle behind a ledge on the bike path to exchange on the run later on, and went on my merry way. It was a beautiful morning, calm and clear, and when I got to the lake I really just took a moment to soak it in.<br />
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Not a bad venue, if I do say so myself</div>
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I set up my extremely glamorous transition area which involved locking my bike to a fence and hiding the rest of my stuff behind some weeds and hoping that no one would want to steal a plastic bag that contained smelly running shoes and Gu. I got my wetsuit on around 6:10 and decided I would try to start at 6:14, 14 being my favorite number. I stood at the edge of the water, looking out at the lake. I could almost feel everything that would be happening at a real race going on around me - the murmur of voices, last minute adjustments to wetsuits and swim caps, announcements being made over loudspeakers. But instead, it was just me, in the silence of the morning, not a soul in sight besides a woman who had set out in her kayak a few minutes before. And I did something that was a little cheesy but just felt right: I stood there, staring out at the water, and I quietly whistled the Star Spangled Banner. The national anthem at races is always something that gets me sort of emotional, not from being patriotic really (lord knows I'm not very proud of this country at the moment) but because it's this moment of stillness before this big event. Whenever I listen to the anthem at a race I always feel like I use that time as a moment of gratitude for being there at a start line, for being able to do the thing. I have a feeling when real racing finally returns that feeling is going to be multiplied. But in this moment, all alone, about to do this thing for no other reason than because I can and because I wanted to, I felt that exact same feeling. It surprised me! But it was lovely. I don't think I realized how much I missed that feeling, that odd mix of gratitude and anxiety and anticipation all balled up together, until exactly that moment, feeling it again.</div>
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And so I waded further into the water and I gave myself a little countdown, and whispered "go" to myself, and the "race" was on!</div>
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<b>Swim - 1.2 miles, 38:08 (1:48/100yd)</b></div>
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Within 2 minutes of starting to swim, I knew that I was not, in fact, just "doing this to do it", and that I was actually going to be putting in something resembling race levels of effort. I love open water swimming but I've pretty much felt like a slug in the water all year so far, and this was the first time I'd felt like I had some semblance of "speed" (please note I am still decidedly a middle of the pack swimmer but with no formal training I feel pretty solid about that). The water was so calm and the sun poking over the trees was casting a beautiful golden light that hit my hand with each stroke. I settled into a rhythm of 25 strokes and sight, which felt amazing. I've gotten bad about looking at my watch while swimming since getting a Garmin that actually tracks open water swimming semi-accurately, and so I tried to avoid doing that and just SWIM. I hit my first diagonal in the fastest 500 yd I've swam all year, and then swam even faster for the second 500. In some ways I think being alone in the water made me swim faster too - I have a buoy, was wearing a wetsuit, and I knew the lady in the kayak had seen me go in, but the fact remains that solo open water swimming is not the safest of activities. So I was kind of like, alright, you have a task to do, do it, and get out (although it was so lovely out there I would have happily swam another 1.2 miles). There isn't really too much to say about swimming - there was none of the jostling for position or getting kicked or trying to sight a buoy that you'd have in a race, which I didn't mind one bit. I got into a good rhythm and just went with it. I did sort of laugh during my last segment when I actually nearly ran into another swimmer going out into the lake! It's like a real race! Hah! Another nice perk of DIY racing is you can stop your watch at EXACTLY the correct distance and call it done - and I can tell you in a typical tri I DEFINITELY swim extra because of my terrible sighting, lol. This time was very similar to my Pumpkinman time from last year, and while that time was definitely impacted by me being a hot mess in terms of sighting, I also had swam a lot more prior to that race. So overall, I felt great about this swim!</div>
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Swim, check, also really stupidly pleased that my swim cap matches my race top because that's just the way I am...</div>
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<b>T1 </b></div>
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I didn't time transitions (HECK YEAH DIY RACING) so I took my sweet-ish time getting out of my wetsuit and taking a couple of photos while getting myself ready for the bike. One of my favorite parts of the day occurred at this point - a guy out on a run came through the parking lot heading for some nearby trails; he looked at me (half ready to bike with a wetsuit laying on the ground next to me) and sort of paused and was like..."are you doing a full triathlon today?" And I was SO stupidly proud to be like YES I AM! LOOK I HAVE A SPECTATOR! Hahaha. I bagged up my wet gear and got into my biking socks and shoes, made sure I had all my food, took a couple of drinks of water and headed out! </div>
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We offer only the finest and most secure transition area here at 70.3 Mystic Lakes. I don't know what the dirt/plant matter on the ground is but it was EVERYWHERE</div>
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<b>Bike - 56 miles, 2:59:28 (18.7 mph)</b></div>
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Not gonna lie: I am PUMPED about this ride. Faster that I've ever ridden in any situation except a completely flat 11 mile time trial at last year's Whaling City Sprint, over a fairly long distance! My riding is definitely coming along and I'm really proud of the work I've put in on it this year. That being said, I knew throughout this ride something that proved to be true (though not necessarily for the reason I thought): I 100% sabotaged my run with this ride. But, I knew that would be the case and I really didn't care because I wanted to prove to myself that I could ride like this. And those are the choices we have to make sometimes in races, yes? The course I created included several loops of the lakes (a very nice 5 mile loop with no significant traffic), and a lollipop incorporating the popular Minuteman bike path as well as one of my favorite loops of all time, the Bedford-Carlisle-Concord triangle. I've finally learned that I can't trust how my legs feel in the first 5 miles of a ride, and so despite feeling pretty sluggish coming off the swim I was pleasantly surprised to see a decent 5 mile split show up on my watch. I literally said aloud "OK, so we're doing this" (and then proceeded to get Ten Dual Commandements from Hamilton stuck in my head). But again, if I had any doubt that I was racing, it was now gone. I was. It was a thing. It was time to see what kind of fun I could have on the bike.</div>
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I purposely planned the bike path section of the course early because it gets CRAZY crowded and frustrating to ride later in the day - as it was, I was shocked at how many people were out at 7:30 on a Saturday! Still, it was more of an athletic crowd versus the small children learning to ride bikes and massive packs of walkers who show up later on, so everyone was pretty much solo or in small groups and respectful of the rules of the path. The majority of the way out to Bedford is a false flat slightly uphill, and I think my first 5 mile split on the path was actually my slowest of the day. But after awhile I got into it, and I found myself grinning as I felt like I was flying along the path. As I passed riders and other runners, all I could think was "they don't know I'm racing!" It was like this super fun secret I had - super silly, but super fun too. </div>
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By the time I arrived in Bedford I was pretty excited to leave the path and enjoy the loop section of the course, which basically combined all of my favorite country roads. I felt strong and powerful, yet overall controlled. One issue I did run into was that I was NOT hungry in the slightest - I was really having to choke down Gu chomps at my 5 mile intervals and I definitely think I underfueled on the bike as a result. One of my goals for this "race" was to get some data bout my fueling, so this was all good info! The roads of Carslisle and Concord were quiet and beautiful with only a few cyclists to share with. I pleased myself by passing a group on the nasty little uphill into Carlisle (again...they definitely did not know this was a race haha) and enjoyed the quiet and shade of Lowell Road, aka one of the best roads of all time. I was feeling good after hitting Concord Center and heading into the last leg of the lollipop before returning to the bike path. This was around the halfway point and I realized I had only drank maybe 1/3 of a bottle of Skratch and a couple of Gu chomps, which I knew wasn't enough, so I forced myself to eat half a Clif bar and drink most of the remainder of that bottle. It was not the best strategy but I was trying to balance the need for fuel with avoiding gut rot on the run, and I figured with about 90 minutes still to ride I'd have time to digest.</div>
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On Bedford Road the most AMAZING part of the whole day happened: I SAW A FOX! This absolutely majestic creature ran into the road not far in front of me and I swear, looked me right in the eye before bounding off into a graveyard. I, ever the adult, SCREAMED to no one "OMG A FOX! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!" Animal sightings will always excite me and I've only seen a fox in the wild once in my life, so it just felt like a beautiful omen for a beautiful day. </div>
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By the time I reached the end of the loop section, I was definitely starting to feel like I had to work a little harder to maintain the pace. This is really where I made the conscious choice to throw the run in the toilet - in an actual race, the smart move here would have been to ease off the gas just a little bit, focus on making sure I had enough fluids (time would tell that I did NOT) and saving something for the run. But in this particular moment and situation, I simply did not care. I wanted my fastest bike split at the cost of whatever it took. And so I kept pouring it on as much as I could, back onto the bike path, though the little side roads, past the alpaca farm and down the screaming downhill (where I happily did not hit a stoplight) back onto my lakes loop for the final 10 miles. Except...I thought I only had to do 2 more full loops around the lake, but actually it was 3! Womp. Oh well. The 5 mile lakes loop honestly goes by so quickly and I know it so well that you could have fooled me that it took almost another hour to finish the course after I returned to the lake. Every time I would think that I was slowing down another 5 mile split would prove me wrong. And when you're going fast and you know it, there's nothing to do but try to keep going fast, and that's what I did. Finally, after a last out and back, I cruised back into the parking lot and stopped my watch at 56 miles exactly for a new half Iron bike PR! </div>
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<b>T2</b></div>
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I was HYPED. I was also TIRED. The idea of running 13.1 miles did not sound particularly appealing, especially as it was now 10:15 in the morning and the temperature was above 80 degrees, which generally does not bode well for my running experience even when I HAVEN'T been riding a bike all out for 3 hours. But...I was into the thing, and I was going to see it through to the finish. So after finishing my second sleeve of Gu chomps and drinking some water, I headed out to finish the damn thing on the run.</div>
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<b>Run - 13.1 miles, 1:55:30 (8:48 pace)</b></div>
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HOT MESS EXPRESS ALERT! Oh my. All I can say about this run is that I never thought I would relive the last 10 miles of Hot Boston 14/16/17/19 by my own choice but THAT is basically what this felt like...running the last 10 miles of a marathon where you're overheated and dehydrated and there is just nothing that can save you. I felt pretty good, if a little leg-wobbly, for the first mile...and then almost immediately I realized the direction this day was heading in. I think I've experienced this situation enough times that I know exactly what the feeling of heat fatigue, for lack of a better word, is, and it's so hard to explain - there is nothing specifically problematic that I can pinpoint. Nothing hurts, I'm not necessarily feeling the sensation of being hot or thirsty, my stomach is OK. But everything in unison is just saying "nope. Absolutely not. We're done here." and there is just no physical way I can overcome it. I suspect it also might be closely related to my being such a salty sweater - my clothes were already coated in salt by this point in the day and I hadn't been doing as much as I could have to replenish. I only ended up taking 1 salt tab on the run and probably could have used 3-4! But anyway, whatever the reason, I was feeling some kind of way, and I basically was just like, welp, if this was a real race, or a hot marathon, or whatever, how would you handle it? And I handled it the same way I have: by walking when I needed to, by trying to take in fluids when I actually felt thirsty, by taking Gus and salt. </div>
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As I passed by my house on my first loop, it occurred to me that what I was doing really had no point and that I could absolutely stop at any time, because this was stupid and maybe I was going to have to walk the whole second loop? But I did not. Because I couldn't. One of the songs that I've really been enjoying this training cycle is "Physical" by Dua Lipa. There's a line in the song that's "Baby keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice". I think about that line a lot, because it really feels like it sums up this summer of training. Is there a point to all of this? Is there a race at the end of it all? Who knows, and probably not, but you just have to keep on dancing because what other choice is there? And in this stupid, self-supported, made up race, I was doing this for no one else besides me. And I wanted to be true to myself and true the spirit of what I created, whether or not it was particularly fun in the moment. That's also why I walked and kept my watch running as opposed to just stopping my watch and gathering myself, like I would on a normal run. I wanted to be true to the spirit of my "race", because that's really all we've got right now. I also can only imagine what the now packed bike path thought of this salt-covered woman just stopping and walking and trying to shovel Gu in her face...lol.</div>
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Time passed, I kept slowing down and having to walk more often, but that was OK! It was almost done and I was going to do it, and that was awesome. My phone got sweaty and started randomly skipping songs and then decided to turn off my bangers playlist and start playing "It's Quiet Uptown" which...why?? No!! I ate a small Slim Jim that I had brought, because SALT! (This has worked on the bike before, it was...not optimal while trying to run.) At one point on my second loop there were two cops on horseback on the bike path for some reason, and I literally thought I was hallucinating when I saw them...that basically summarizes how things were going at this point. But there were only 2 miles to go and damnit, I could at least get this shit done under 2 hours, right? So I shuffled my way along, again trying to picture what I looked like to an outsider (like roadkill and/or a crazy person I imagine), and FINALLY I was on the final road back to the Mystic parking lot. I was not going to run a single step beyond 13.1 miles so when my watch hit 13 I set my eyes on a tree that could serve as my "finish" line up ahead, and to absolutely zero fanfare whatsoever, with no spectators besides a couple out for a stroll along the lake, I finished my second half Iron distance triathlon!</div>
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<br />Total time: 5:33:08 (transitions not included)</div>
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I was SO depleted that I barely convinced myself to get back to the parking lot before sitting down. I was completely disgusting, caked in salt and sweat and sunscreen and lake water and random bits of Gu, but I was HAPPY. It just felt like it had been so long since I had that "finish" feeling - the Yeti challenge just didn't quite have that same feel - and despite the lack of music pumping through speakers or balloon arches or fans of any kind or any post race food other than the warm dregs of a water bottle and a discarded Clif bar half from the bike, this somehow felt real. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RZvuRt7FmBqLEVZ7pT6ZoKJPSaBme-5YzX2YDDfQiuYLXNuuyhHdBGhbfZXFmx_UcnFcpLURFROhqkjKAcVLSkjp94-xGZ31i7fvMK3LbYod6szcgRvytPgixlbUpfOeHkIWKQ/s1600/20200627_123334.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RZvuRt7FmBqLEVZ7pT6ZoKJPSaBme-5YzX2YDDfQiuYLXNuuyhHdBGhbfZXFmx_UcnFcpLURFROhqkjKAcVLSkjp94-xGZ31i7fvMK3LbYod6szcgRvytPgixlbUpfOeHkIWKQ/s640/20200627_123334.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Dead.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOxzFOQxUa8r-joxVG0XV0GLuT7FIp4zPoKk9YCcPQt8-9fUdm6OQWpueWsZyvbqJMWtJapB3pxtdW7w7zrcIFshw9QIa1nLWTN3OXociniszRTu2OEiLX8aJrP33H1qpsRFipbA/s1600/20200627_123005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOxzFOQxUa8r-joxVG0XV0GLuT7FIp4zPoKk9YCcPQt8-9fUdm6OQWpueWsZyvbqJMWtJapB3pxtdW7w7zrcIFshw9QIa1nLWTN3OXociniszRTu2OEiLX8aJrP33H1qpsRFipbA/s640/20200627_123005.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Look, I made the podium!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOb5Cx1qVAUz18vYdbak36Lhjwubm3IYJsmqeCHgRMsJ8E5U-Bb_kG3inlCXyt0AlOm3juiCdOGFXuyFGy8fcLxjtWTaxi3b9PFuv9tkUFYJ-x_4ma2E_VIXnBd4AqEoQlIOLggQ/s1600/20200627_123852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOb5Cx1qVAUz18vYdbak36Lhjwubm3IYJsmqeCHgRMsJ8E5U-Bb_kG3inlCXyt0AlOm3juiCdOGFXuyFGy8fcLxjtWTaxi3b9PFuv9tkUFYJ-x_4ma2E_VIXnBd4AqEoQlIOLggQ/s640/20200627_123852.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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What a lame post race party. There WAS a golden retriever puppy with a life jacket that had a shark fin on it...so at least there's that. </div>
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So as the final ridiculous component of this "race" day, I had to load up all my crap and then RIDE MY BIKE HOME. Yes, it's only a 2.5 mile ride, but I swear it was the longest 2.5 miles in history. I almost swerved into a curb at least twice and almost fell off my bike trying to stop at a light. It was grand. But I made it home, and immediately lay on the floor in front of my air conditioner and drank the sweetest Sierra Mist I had ever tasted. After awhile, I ate some leftover pizza, had a beer, then took a nap. In many ways, it was just like a normal race day. </div>
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So, in summary, I don't know if I'm going to get to do an Ironman this year. Or race, period, this year. But I learned that maybe the bells and whistles of a race maybe aren't always what makes something a thing. Maybe....the thing is the thing, you know? Maybe it's knowing what you have inside of you and letting it out on a random Saturday because why the hell not. Maybe it's burning out your legs on a fast bike split because you actually HAVE a fast bike split in you. Maybe it's waving to foxes and heron and imagining randos on the bike path as your spectators, because the importance of those things is really all in your head anyway. Maybe, just maybe, you do the thing because you love it. For no other reason than that. That's why I'll keep training this summer, Ironman or no. Because interestingly enough, a friend of mine might be hosting an IRONMAN Mystic Lakes in September if his race gets cancelled. I never thought I'd entertain the idea of doing an "unofficial" race for my first attempt at something so big and important to me, but after this experience, honestly? I'm not ruling anything out.</div>
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Ironman 70.3 Mystic Lakes (inaugural, possibly only race?)</div>
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5:33:08</div>
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1/1 OA, 1/1 F, 1/1 F30-34 :) </div>
Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-52954627198932068152020-06-24T19:29:00.003-05:002020-06-24T19:29:58.065-05:00The temperature's rising, it isn't surprising: 13 weeks outThis was a very weird training week because I wanted to go hiking with Andrew on Saturday, and that basically required cramming all of my training into 6 days (5 of which were work days). It was a true test of my scheduling puzzle solving, but I made it work. AND we made it up to New Hampshire for the first time this summer!<br />
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Monday - Recovery run Mondays are the new thing. 6 miles very easy. Slowest recovery run (aka....most appropriate recovery run) I've done in quite some time and it was lovely. Legs felt better afterwards than before, which is always a good sign.<br />
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Tuesday - A kind of lazy 90 minute ride (commute included) in the morning...yes I'm describing an hour and a half of biking before work as "lazy", what is wrong with me. But I took the path of least resistance loop near my house (minimal hills) and then also rode it kind of slow. Whatever, I keep reminding myself that more riding is more riding.<br />
<br />Ran 2 miles with a patient (yay!) at work, then did an unintentional 5 mile progression from 7:30 down to 7:05 when my legs decided to show up after work. Then rode home.<br />
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Wednesday - By far the weirdest thing of the week: A LONG RUN BEFORE WORK ON A WEDNESDAY? I'm sorry did we enter an alternate universe? Now, granted, I currently have the luxury of not having a commute most days of the week which buys me an extra hour, and my current long run is only 12 miles. BUT STILL. This was really new territory for me. I decided randomly to go to the Charles (I honestly don't love running there that much strangely) and it was a really nice morning. Definitely am learning that when I run in the morning in the summer, I start the run super dehydrated, then start drinking from my bottle (because I carry water now, like an adult/not idiot), and by mile 4-5 I start to feel pretty good. I tuckered out at the end of this run but it was decent overall. 12 miles.<br />
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Thursday - The most lovely 45 minute morning open water swim. Discovering that there's a lake near my house that's appropriate for OWS has been a dream come true, and it was even more beautiful when it looked like glass at 6 am. Rode there and back on Andrew's bike for a negligible number of miles. Had thought about running in the afternoon but it was very hot and I had a lot of work to catch up on, so skipped it.<br />
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Friday - I was SO over the work week by this point and it was hot again, so I was kind of dreading my afternoon ride. I also literally wrote in this post that I skipped my morning run...which...I did not! Clearly it was a super memorable 6 miler lol. But then my former work pal/triathlon/run buddy texted asking if I was riding and suddenly the prospect seemed SO much more exciting! Things are still very slowly opening up "post" COVID so this was only like the 2nd group fitness activity I've done in months and the first time I'd seen this friend since March. We were originally going to ride some hills but the road was blocked due to construction, so we took it as a sign and just had a leisurely and chatty ride around my most favorite Mystic Lakes loop. Then we went swimming! Just a quick 1400 yd; I was pretty pleased to be swimming the same pace as I did the day before (this time without a wetsuit). Easy bike home. Good day.<br />
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Saturday - HIKING! A great day up in the mountains hiking our "home" mountain Potash (we hike it every year because it's truly one of the most wonderful little hikes you can imagine), some driving on dirt roads through a thunderstorm, and then a second summit on Mt. Israel. 8 miles total hiking and 3200 ft of elevation is not a bad day at all in my book. Also it was HOT. Beers and our first outdoor dining experience of the year/first time dining out since early March followed. Pretty much a perfect day.<br />
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Sunday - A 70 mile ride in 90 degree weather, AS YOU DO! To be completely honest I was dreading this. I woke up feeling dehydrated, sore, and just awfully uninterested in spending 4 hours on my bike in the blazing sun. But I got myself out there (which is somehow a LOT easier to do with riding than running...not sure what that says about running haha) and told myself I could ride easy. I ended up with one of my faster rides of the year so far! Nutrition/hydration were definitely challenging and something I'm still working out on the bike. The first half of the ride my stomach felt really off and the idea of eating anything was really uninteresting, so in the end I only ended up eating 2 sleeves of Clif chomps over the course of the ride which I feel is...probably not enough. But I was able to make a pit stop at a Walgreens and drank the GREATEST seltzer of my life at halfway as well as refill my bottles, and I think that got me over the hump. I somehow talked myself into actually doing a 25 minute run off the bike also which...it was 90...this really shows how committed I am to this triathlon thing...but it was fine. Legs actually felt much better following this ride than they did after last week, and I felt much stronger on hills. Progress, progress!<br />
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So not counting hiking, this was a 14 hour training week! And I'll tell ya, it does NOT feel like it. I remember this from last summer and I'll say it again: for whatever reason, triathlon training doesn't feel like work to me, it honestly just feels like fun. Not every single moment, obviously, but like even when I'm doing a stupid run in disgusting humidity it just feels...more fun. Riding and swimming ALWAYS feel fun. Maybe someday when I actually try to get faster vs. complete the distance, it won't...but I kind of doubt that. I LOVE this sport, with all of it's silliness and intricacies and need to maneuver your schedule 19 different ways before you find a way to fit everything in. I love it. And that's why I'll keep training for it even if I don't know what's to come as far as actual races are concerned.<br />
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BUT, speaking of that, I am doing something fun/silly this weekend: I'm doing my own personal half ironman! I was supposed to be racing one this weekend up in NH but obviously that wasn't meant to be, so I decided it would be fun to do one of my own. How often do you get to race on your home course/a course you choose (...never?). I am absolutely not viewing this as a race in any true sense but just as a good opportunity to tackle a long training day and work on my nutrition a little bit. I did sign up for a virtual race because I wanted to support a local race management/triathlon company (and honestly I kind of wanted the swag?) but that was more as a gesture since I was planning on doing the thing anyway. I've actually had way too much fun coming up with my course and I'd like to imagine any race director would be impressed....so I present to you, Ironman 70.3 - Mystic Lakes! (I am such a nerd)<br />
Race date: 6/27/20<br />
Race start time: 6 am<br />
Number of participants: This is a super elite race open to only ONE participant. Spectators welcome.<br />
<br />Swim course - You'll complete a 1.2 mile swim in scenic Upper Mystic Lake. Sight the large mansions on the western shore and keep an eye out for the bald eagles which have been known to nest and hunt near the lake. You may even spot a friendly duck or two! The swim is an out and back course beginning at the Medford Boat Club ramp consisting of 2 diagonal legs with a turnaround at Sandy Beach.<br />
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Bike course - The bike course begins with a clockwise loop of both Upper and Lower Mystic Lake before heading out in a lollipop fashion on the historic Minuteman Bikeway. Get a taste of Revolutionary history as you ride past the Old Schwamb Mill, Lexington Green, and other historic New England sights...wave hello to the horses as you pass! After 6 miles on the path, you will exit into Bedford and embark on a scenic loop through Carlisle and Concord, featuring rolling hills, scenic pastures, and historic downtown Concord. You'll return to the bike path for approximately 4 miles before completing a short jaunt through Lexington countryside and return to the Mystic loop. Complete another 2 loops of the lake, finishing with a final sprint through a rotary and back to the boathouse to complete the bike.<br />
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Run course - This 13.1 mile course is a two loop course that includes every runner's dream word: flat. Run primarily on quiet bike paths and side streets, this course skirts the scenic Mystic Valley Parkway and features sights such as Spy Pond, Arlington town center, and the Alewife MBTA station. There will be an aid station at mile 4.5 and 9.5 of the course featuring Gu and Gatorade as well as cheers from a friendly local puppy.<br />
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Finish celebration - each participant will be presented with all you can drink beer as well as homemade ice cream. Awards will be given to the first and last athlete to cross the finish line as well as the athlete who sings the most amusing songs while on the bike.<br />
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Sponsors: most local breweries in the greater Boston area, Whipple Hill alpaca farm, Topper the Dog<br />
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So...I'll be sure to let everyone know how THAT goes!Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-76635368892007182552020-06-18T20:43:00.000-05:002020-06-18T20:43:02.880-05:00IMWI: 14 weeks outI'm still dreaming, damnit. Here's my belated training post from last week.<br />
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Highlights from this week: A long run AND a ride WITH FRIENDS!<br />
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Monday: 6.1 miles easy AM. I definitely forgot how triathlon FORCES you to take your easy days easy. But it's actually great! Also, this was the first day of the rest of my life, aka the day I decided to become a morning exerciser.<br />
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Tuesday: 80 min bike (22 miles) AM - about an hour ride + my commute; bike commute home PM (6 miles). Tuesdays are the only day I'm going into the clinic at the moment and bike commuting is the best in the summer anyway, so my new Tuesday thing is riding for an hour (eventually more), stopping home and grabbing my backpack, and then riding to work. It's great! I rode up a nasty hill near my house for the 3rd time in a week which is just silly, then took a relatively easy route home. I also ran a mile with a patient at around 9 minute pace during the day because I am lucky enough to have a return to running patient right now...THE BEST!<br />
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Wednesday: 7.1 miles running AM with a little fartlek workout (8 x 1 min on/1 min off). In an extremely odd turn of events I decided randomly during this run to do a workout...an urge I have not felt in MONTHS and an urge I don't think I have ever felt at 7 am. I am truly becoming a new person! Didn't keep track of actual pace but looks like the on segments were around 5K pace. Also did this on a relatively busy pond loop so had to keep my buff up pretty much the entire time (that is still a thing here in MA) which definitely upped the challenge.<br />
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Thursday: 90 minute bike AM including hill reps with a friend from my Reach the Beach team! He is a pretty hardcore triathlete and has been given me a lot of advice over the past couple of months. I had commented on a Strava workout he had done on this absurd hill which I've somehow never encountered even though it's like 2 miles from my house....next thing you know we were arranging to ride it together the next morning, lol. As my Grammy would have said, this hill is "something else again". It climbs 313 ft in under a mile! Probably should have found this while I was training for Mount Washington but glad I know it exists now. Actually the descent was sort of worse than the ascent...scary bombing down a 10% grade into an intersection. Then we went out on the bike path and John attempted to teach me how to be a part of a group ride. I was pretty pleased that he felt like I could probably hang with the group he usually rides with - all very experience triathletes!<br />
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Friday: Split 7 mile run PM with a swim in the middle - ran not quite 5 miles to take the long way to my local lake, swam 2000 yds, then ran 2 miles home. The swim was kind of trash - it was hot so I didn't wear a wetsuit which = slow swim to begin with. There was also a pretty significant wind which was blowing waves into my face the entire way back AND I apparently didn't tighten the nozzle on my swim buoy enough because it was filling up with water. Very very slow. But I just find swimming so great that I didn't even care!<br />
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Saturday: 11 mile long run on Prudence Island with FRIENDS!!!! New England is slowly reopening with a lot of precautions in place (masks, etc) but we are now at the point where going for a run outdoors with 3 or 4 people seems like an OK idea. This was the 3rd year a few of my teammates and I have made a trip to this lovely island off the coast of Rhode Island, where we do a 10-12 mile long run on the beautiful and quiet dirt roads before we take the ferry back to the mainland. Last year at this run I remember I was just figuring out how biking impacted my running and I felt TERRIBLE. My legs were much more cooperative this year, and we were also lucky enough to have absolutely spectacular weather for June - low 60s with low humidity. We also went to brunch outdoors afterward (my first time at a restaurant since early MARCH) and what a delight. Never thought I would be so overjoyed about a pitcher of sangria and just shooting the breeze with some friends in the sunshine after a long run.<br />
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Sunday: LOL the silliest day ever. I somehow got talked into being a part of this virtual 26 x 1 mile relay that my club was doing on Friday night. Never mind the fact that I haven't done speedwork in like...forever...and I'm biking 100+ miles a week...I'm in? So I ran a flat out mile on the bike path near my house and a) managed a sub-6 (5:58) which b) is actually a road mile PR because I've never broken 6 on the roads before! LMAO! It was also extremely, extremely hard. I don't want to know what random passersby were thinking of me. But I achieved, and with that done, I did what anyone woudl naturally do which was to go home, change shoes, and head out for a 75 mile ride! This was my longest ride ever by nearly an hour and quite honestly I was a little nervous about it but it turned out extremely well. I still have a lot of work to do on the nutrition/hydration front but I managed almost 4.5 hours on the bike, by myself, without anything dramatic happening or feeling upset that I was on my bike at all. It was pretty great! The thought of running a marathon following that + another 2 hours is completely terrifying, but hey! That's what the next 3 months are for, right? I hope so...<br />
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Totals: 36.5 miles running, 120.4 miles riding, 2000 yd swimming. Total training time 13 hours!<br />
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Definitely started finding the groove with how to schedule and manage workouts this week. Doing shit before work makes SUCH a difference....this is seriously going to change my life (yes, I hear you all you morning runners being like well DUH). I also forced myself to stick to my plan this week (with the exception of the surprise mile time trial lol) and that definitely helped things go more smoothly. I felt like I recovered much better this week and never felt too beat up, which was a positive!<br />
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Goals for the upcoming/in progress week:<br />
- work on long ride nutrition<br />
- get a second swim in<br />
- fit all of my training into 6 days so that I can go hiking on Saturday!Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-82446933715074792652020-06-09T20:28:00.001-05:002020-06-09T20:28:22.355-05:00Maybe (?) Ironman Training: 100 days outI bought myself a fancy pen and paper training log this year to help me plan and organize my #Ironman2020 campaign. It actually seems really stupid that this was the ONE year I actually purchased a log, because as we all know, nothing in 2020 has gone as planned. Several months ago, I went into my log and counted backwards from 9/13/20, to 100 days out from Ironman Wisconsin. That 100 days out day was last Friday. Currently, there is only one race on my calendar that has NOT yet been cancelled, and that race is Ironman Wisconsin. Now, for the past month or so, I've started vaguely shifting to a more triathlon-oriented training format while basically reminding myself that the race probably is not going to happen. I mean, can you imagine a race with thousands of people occurring14 weeks from now? It's hard to picture. But in the last couple of weeks I've tried to reorient myself and more think about it in terms of: but what if it does?<br />
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So, because one of my favorite things to do is read race reports and blogs of people who've been there before me, I'm adding myself to the choir of "Ironman training blogs". Sure, blogging like this is probably at least 5 years out of fashion, but hey! I figure if the race doesn't happen I'll at least have this to look back on as a grand experiment of what worked and what didn't. Apparently we should know 50 days out from the race if it's on or not, so that's almost 2 months to keep training as if the thing is going to happen. In the meantime, I have two nice built in process goals: build up to a century bike ride, and build up to a full Iron distance swim. Now, it should be said that I have no idea what I'm doing. I know pretty much nothing about bikes. I ride a road bike which is already a disadvantage, and I learned recently that there are aspects of my bike itself that are even more a disadvantage ("you only have 9 gears?" the bike repair guy asked, somewhat puzzled). I still need to learn to change a flat tire. I don't know anything about power meters or watts. But honestly, THAT is the thing that has drawn me to biking over these past few months: I know nothing about it other than how it feels and my perceived effort. I forgot how fun it was to remove data from the equation! I also apparently am still running way too much and not biking enough. Maybe that will change as the weeks go on. But for now, this is what I'm doing, and I'm having fun doing it!<br />
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My general framework that I'm aiming for these days is 3 days biking (probably should be 4, but I'm clinging to my extra day of running right now), 2 days swimming, and 5 days biking. So obviously, some of those days need to be doubles. I'm still learning and working out how to best schedule everything around my normal 8:30-5 job and attempting to be a decent wife and participating in dinner once in awhile, and getting enough sleep, and on and on. So to be honest, last week wasn't amazing! But I learned from in and we continue onward.<br />
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<b>Week of 6/1/20 (15 weeks out from theoretical Ironman)</b><br />
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Monday - 5 miles recovery after work (8:16). I did my longest bike ride ever on Sunday and my legs were TRASHED. I forgot how triathlon demands that recovery runs actually be recovery runs! It's almost like that makes sense lol. Sort of squeezed this in between work and cooking dinner and Zoom dance rehearsal and it didn't work out great.<br />
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Tuesday - Bike commute to/from work, 11 miles total. Total fail of a day. I had meant to run in the morning, then changed my mind and decided to run after work near the office (I've currently been going into the clinic 1x/week on Tuesdays). It should NOT have surprised me that I ended up working until after 6 and then had no desire or time to run afterward. Rode home, chalked the day up as a loss, and ended up continuing to do paperwork until almost 10 pm. Ugh.<br />
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Wednesday - Run, 6.2 miles moderate after work (7:49). Again, this was an example of what happens when I go off script and start messing with my plan. I had planned to bike, but then discovered it was Global Running Day + wanted to make up for the previous day's missed run, so I ran, and I felt AWFUL. Should have just stuck to the plan.<br />
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Thursday - Run, 7.1 miles easy-ish before work (8:01). Another pretty terrible run! I really think it took until almost the end of the week for me to recover from the weekend prior which featured a hilly long run and the previously mentioned long ride. It was also super muggy which has never been my jam. The day was redeemed somewhat by a quality open water swim after work in Mystic Lake. 1.1 miles at a reasonable pace; I still don't know how to sight for shit and was too scared to swim the path I wanted because there were sailboats in the way, but it felt great! Also biked to/from the lake (7 miles total). Dealing with open water swimming without a car is sort of a production but it's the life I live.<br />
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Friday - Bike, 25.8 miles after work (16.5 mph). Tackled a hill that I accidentally ran up one time in the distant past and had sworn off ever since. It was just about as bad as I remembered! This 25 miler is kind of my standard short hills route; 1600 ft over 25 miles is nothing to scoff at. Pretty warm. I had planned to run either in the morning or after the bike and I did neither (not sticking to my plan was sort of a theme this week)<br />
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Saturday - Run, 12.1 miles (plus an extra mile later on, 8:01 pace) Turning over a new leaf in life, I got up BY MYSELF at 5:30 in the morning to drive to Concord to run. I actually got there TOO EARLY for the Walden parking lot which I found kind of ironic, but it worked out OK. Despite absolutely disgusting humidity with a dewpoint of 71 this was actually a pretty enjoyable run! I checked out a trail that I hadn't run in awhile and it was just great - packed dirt and pretty flat, with a side trip to a trail on a gorgeous marsh where I saw a muskrat AND a frog. I was definitely struggling with the humidity in the last couple of miles but I got some solid payoff - stopped at the car, grabbed my swim buoy, and ran up to Walden for the first non wetsuit OWS of the season. And let me tell you....diving into 70 degree water after a muggy run just might be the best thing EVER. The swim was super slow and leisurely but that was fine. Ran back to the car and got home just in time to return the Zipcar.<br />
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Sunday - Bike, 63 miles (16.8 mph, which seems to be my go-to bike pace). I was absolutely not feeling this ride in ANY way at the beginning and made some dumb errors that didn't help (dropping nutrition, navigational errors, overdressing). But somehow everything worked itself out and by hour 2 or 3 of the ride I was happy as could be. I still haven't quite figured out why I can manage to spend 4 hours on a bike without complaint and it feels like it goes by so quickly, but that's what's been happening lately. This was also a very hilly ride with some strategically placed hills that I hate so my legs were pretty donezo by the time I got home. Somehow still convinced myself to go out for a run off the bike (4 miles @ 7:34) which turned out to be my fastest and best feeling run of the week! Because my legs are idiots, apparently.<br />
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Totals: 4hours 52 minutes running (36.8 miles), 6 hrs 37 minutes biking (108.9 miles), 1 hr 11 minutes swimming (2 miles), 12 hours 32 minutes total training time.<br />
Elevation: 1027 ft running, 4065 ft cycling<br />
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Lessons learned this week:<br />
- STICK TO THE DAMN PLAN. Every missed workout or bad workout this week was directly related to me making a change or skipping something and then trying to work it in later.<br />
-Related to the above, if you skip a workout, it's like keys in hot lava: it's gone, man. There's really no room to be "making up" workouts when there's barely enough time in the first place.<br />
-Getting up early in the morning will help with A and B<br />
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Things to work on in the coming week:<br />
-Do shit before work/in the morning<br />
-Keep experimenting with gearing and fueling on the bike<br />
-Don't get mad at your legs when they don't want to run fast. They are tired and that's not what you're training them for right now, after all :)Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-73383707561499428702020-05-03T22:11:00.001-05:002020-05-03T22:11:18.370-05:00Yeti 24 Hour Challenge "Race" ReportWhen I last posted (you know, back in February...) I said that I was planning on writing race reports for all of my races this year! At that time, I didn't have a ton of races on the schedule to begin with, but I had plenty of things that I anticipated jumping into in the spring. And then...well, we all know what happened next. Up until that point, I had worked my way into a fairly solid training routine - I had actually gotten my mileage up into the 50s and was doing workouts and long runs regularly, although I wasn't really sure what I was training for. It was almost like I went on Boston-training autopilot despite not being signed up for the race, and I actually was having a lot of mixed feelings about that, watching my teammates get super fit and sort of wishing I was motivated to do the same but also not having a race to aim towards. But I was doing a pretty good job of keeping my eyes on my Ironman base, getting to the pool every week and working out on the trainer semi-regularly. I had planned on racing the Hampton Half the first weekend of March (which I really regret NOT doing because it would have been my last opportunity to race for....um....awhile...) but didn't sign up because I ended up being invited on a work trip to South Korea that would be a week and a half before the race. Which, you know, was super exciting! Until it got cancelled the day before I was supposed to leave as the result of...you guessed it...COVID 19. At that point I was really blase about the whole thing and would have been totally comfortable with international travel - knowing what I know now, clearly it's a good thing I didn't go! But still a bummer to have that opportunity, which was really a pretty wild confluence of events, taken away.<br />
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In the end, I signed up for the one race I promised I would NOT do in 2020, the New Bedford Half. I was pretty nervous about how I'd perform as I knew I hadn't exactly put in PR training. Then again, I've run some of my best half marathons off some pretty shitty training, so I figured there was a chance of a solid performance - conditions which always make me nervous. I almost didn't have to be nervous for too long, because the Tuesday prior to the race we found out it was cancelled. As I said to my friends, NOT what I meant when I set that New Year's resolution. That was the week that I look back on as the turning point when things really started hitting the fan - stuff was increasingly getting cancelled, schools were cancelling student placements (still missing my PT student who I was supposed to have through June), and my clinic was starting to think about what we were going to do if clients no longer felt comfortable coming in. We ended up basically doing a full pivot to telehealth during the following week - a week during which I felt really run down and had some pretty unpleasant GI symptoms, but which I chalked up to stress and anxiety. That is, until I got REALLY sick the following week. Did I have COVID? We may never know (well, hopefully they'll figure out an antibody test that actually works and I can know someday). All I know is it was the sickest I've been in my adult life, with the worst headache, back pain, and fatigue I've ever experienced for a week straight. Not fun at all, and served to kill any momentum I'd developed with training. Once I felt better I started running again, but fairly halfheartedly. I'll admit I really went through a few weeks of feeling like everything was totally pointless. I saw teammates and friends who were continuing to train like beasts and run fast, and that somehow made me feel worse - like if I really loved running or really wanted to be the best I could be, I SHOULD be finding a way to continue to act as if I had a race on the horizon. I realized and continue to realize that this is flawed thinking and everyone needs to deal with this in their own way! And as it turned out, my own way turned out to be something completely unexpected!<br />
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The idea of "virtual" races is a total turnoff for me - I have no interest in running a solo time trial and calling it a race. Because, duh, that's a time trial, and not a race! Races involve racing, with other people, who are actually in the same space at the same time. As I mentioned, I also have had minimal desire to run fast in any capacity. But last weekend, somewhere in the depths of social media, I saw something with the hashtag #yeti24hourchallenge. I clicked it. What was this? Not a race, exactly, but sort of a personal Ragnar relay, involving running 5 miles every 4 hours for 24 hours. Huh. I continued scrolling, but the idea wouldn't leave me. I created a memo in my phone called "Stupid running things I have pondered during the quarantine", where I essentially planned out how I would do this challenge, if I were ever to do such a thing, which I obviously would not. No, not me. Why would I do that? It was so stupid, so arbitrary, so pointless! And yet the idea wouldn't let me go. I felt this excitement bubbling up that I truly hadn't felt in months - one of the best ways I've heard the frustrations of this period of life described is that it's stolen the big highs of life and has replaced everything with shades of gray. You're healthy, you have a job, life is OK, but where are those moments that really excite you? Hard to find. So as I kept thinking about this stupid challenge and I envisioned myself doing it, I couldn't stop. It was something in color. And so, the next day, I blurted out to my husband "I think I'm going to do something stupid next weekend..." And there was no turning back.<br />
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Because of the nature of this challenge I had the opportunity to pick my start date and time, and believe me I pondered what the optimal setup would be. Would I rather run at 1 am or 3 am? Would it be more advantageous to put the night legs in the middle or at the end? In the end, I decided to start on Friday at 5 pm, after work. This would put my night legs in the middle which seemed to make sense to me, and would also make it so that I was really only messing with one night of my life, not two. I became very excited about planning my outfits and even did a race braid (Andrew made fun of me for this but YOU KNOW WHAT...it's been 3 months since my last race, I need to make sure I still remember how!) I didn't have a strategy other than completion, so was basically aiming to run easy pace throughout. The clock struck 5, and off I went!<br />
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<b>5 pm, Leg 1: 5.14 miles, 7:42 pace</b><br />
It was 60 degrees and humid when I headed out for my first leg, which was unfortunate mainly because we're all being forced to wear masks outdoors at the moment and I'm not enjoying it in the the best of times, let alone when temps start to rise. But I was psyched to be out there and starting this ridiculous challenge! I chose one of my favorite 5 mile loops to start and this basically just felt like an everyday run - which it was! I felt like I took this lap out a little hot and kept trying to warn myself to slow down or I'd never make it through all the miles ahead. With my weekly mileage typically around 35 over the last month I wasn't really sure how 31 miles in 24 hours was going to go. I also have barely been running under 8 minute pace recently, so 7:40s felt like OMG SPEED lol.<br />
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Not bad at all (also yes I do own 6 different buffs and coordinated them with my outfits for each leg...why do you ask?)</div>
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As soon as I got back, I drank a bottle of strawberry kiwi nuun and ate 2 buffalo chicken tenders and 2 slices of pizza...FUEL OF CHAMPIONS! I wasn't quite sure how the whole eating thing was going to work but my stomach is generally pretty solid and I figured 3 hours was long enough to digest as long as I didn't overstuff myself. Watched 2 episodes of Fringe with Andrew, drank some more water, ate a couple of Clif chews, and got ready for leg 2.<br />
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<b>9 pm, Leg 2: 5.36 miles, 7:48 pace</b><br />
This was the loop I was least certain about my route for. It was obviously dark at this point and I actually rarely run from my house in the dark...almost all of my winter evening routes are commutes from work. Most of my home routes traverse more poorly lit areas and bike paths and I couldn't really think of one that I was totally comfortable with. So I ended up doing a double loop of the two major roads near my house, which ended up working out perfectly! This was actually the loop that I had anticipated enjoying the least, partly because of the boring route and partly because it was a night-ish leg but not a true night leg. However, it actually ended up feeling smooth and delightful, and felt like it went by very quickly. Weather was still very humid and actually raining on and off at points. I wore my reflective vest but didn't turn the lights on...I wasn't going to be crossing many streets and I wanted to walk the line between safety and drawing attention to myself as an insane person roaming the streets after dark. I only saw like 3 people on this loop and it was delightful to be able to go mask-free for awhile...it also gave me the opportunity to yell the "FUUUUUCK" from the song Rockin' The Suburbs out loud which gave me a good laugh.<br />
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Pseudo night leg complete, also very sweaty...like what is humidity??</div>
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When I returned from this leg, my two primary goals were hydration and sleep. I drank a bottle of Skratch because I figured some calories would be a good idea, and then tried to sleep. Luckily, as my Reach the Beach teams will attest to, I am GREAT at falling asleep in short bursts as needed. I was able to sleep from 10:00-12:30 and woke up with my alarm HYPED for the next leg...because....NIGHT LEG! I was also absolutely starving and ate about 3/4 of a slice of pizza before heading out...as you do.<br />
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<b>1 am, Leg 3, 5.31 miles, 7:35 pace</b><br />
In my Ragnar experiences, the legs that I always dread initially and end up LOVING are the night legs. There is something so bizarrely wonderful about running around in the middle of the night! Of course, in a Ragnar, there are hundreds of people around doing the same thing as you...in a solo running challenge, not so much. I feel very comfortable and safe in my neighborhood but there's still a certain element of risk to running solo in the dead of night, and so I think there was an extra layer of nervous energy going into this leg. I had also planned a couple of treats for myself as a tribute to my RTB team, and so had a beer waiting as a "rest station" on my porch (a good use of this random watermelon beer that's been sitting in the back of our fridge for ages) along with a light up thunder stick which I planned to take for my last part of the leg. My route for this leg was simple, boring, and the safest I could think of: laps around my block. Not exciting in the least, but it got the job done! As the laps progressed my mood also progressed from mildly nervous to happy to downright giddy with delight. At one point I was really startled because I saw what looked like a human figure standing in a window. On second glance, it was a huge STUFFED BEAR! I stopped for some beer with about 1.5 miles to go and ended up turning the rest of the leg into a progression, stopping one more time to grab my light up thunder stick. Shout out to the bus driver who definitely saw me sprinting around the block with my light up stick and probably thought I was on drugs.... This leg was also magical because as you can imagine, I did not see a single human...which meant NO FACEMASK and it was a glorious run of freedom for that reason alone.<br />
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This is so stupid, this is so fun. </div>
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I drank ~half the beer, ate the rest of my slice of pizza, and calmed down Topper who went NUTS when I returned home at 1:45. I was pretty wired from the night leg giddiness but I knew I needed to get some more sleep, and again my talent shown through. It took a little longer to fall asleep this time but I'd estimate I got another couple of hours, 2:15-4:30 or so. Just had to pretend I was lying in a random field in NH, just like Reach the Beach...lol</div>
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<b>5 am, Leg 4 , 5.40 miles, 7:46 pace</b></div>
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This was definitely the most mentally challenging leg. The 4:30 am alarm was...ugh. I don't know why I thought it would be light out by the time I left for this leg, but it was very much not, and I struggled to find what I needed in the darkness. The temperature had dropped overnight from the 60s to low 40s, so I ended up wearing a long sleeve, which I had to find. I was also trying not to wake up poor Andrew, who had most DEFINITELY been woken up by Topper's alarm barking after my 1 am leg. I had originally selected a pure out and back on the bike path for this leg, but upon realizing how dark it still was I decided to stick to the main road for the first section and then join the bike path as it got lighter. My legs were definitely NOT awake for the first mile of this run, and when I saw my first split was 8:08 I was like, oh, yup, OK, here it comes. This was more the pace I had been expecting to run all along! Turns out, it was really just the fact that I was running slightly uphill, into a headwind, and was still half asleep, because things started to feel a lot better as the run progressed. I've been mainly avoiding the Minuteman bike path lately because it's been SO packed with people that a mask is definitely required and I find myself just getting annoyed with people's lack of social distancing. But at 5 am on a Saturday? Not a soul in sight! It was really lovely and peaceful...maybe I should run at sunrise more often? Downhill + tailwind + waking up = picking it up the second half of the run. I got a particular kick out of the fact that the last song on my playlist was called "Here Comes the Sun" (not the Beatles song) came on just as I turned into a vantage point where I could actually SEE the sun glowing orange over the horizon. It was fantastic.</div>
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Warning sign about social distancing with the glory of spring trees at sunrise. I definitely think I was adequately distant from anyone else</div>
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This is definitely the photo where my lack of sleep is most evident lol. </div>
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I originally thought maybe I'd just stay up after this leg, but within about 10 minutes of getting back it became evident that that would NOT be the case. I pulled out a bagel to eat later, drank about half a bottle of nuun, and then crashed - think this was the hardest I slept the whole time, from about 6-8 am. Woke up, took the dog for a walk, ate my Iggy's bagel with butter, drank a tiny amount of coffee, and got ready to head out for leg number 5.</div>
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<b>9 am, Leg 5, 5.20 miles, 7:42 pace</b></div>
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Leg 5 was by far the worst my legs felt throughout this entire challenge. I think it was probably the running -> sleeping -> running -> sleeping and not doing a great job of stretching or really doing anything to promote recovery in between, but the muscle fatigue and stiffness were very real starting off on this leg. I kept trying to internally remind myself again that I could slow down? But no matter what I did 7:30-7:40 seemed to be the order of the day. This leg was also somewhat unfortunate in that the route I selected was relatively popular and so I ended up having to keep my mask on the entire time, which was slightly miserable. It was only about 50 and sunny, but felt WAY warmer, and I swear having something over my face triggers my whole body to be like "OMG we are hot! Need to sweat more! Need to tell her we're hot!" even when it doesn't need to be that way. It was a good route for the circumstances though; an old morning route (because I never run in the morning now lol) which I could basically do on complete autopilot. I thought a lot on this leg about how grateful I am to my years of cumulative running to be able to do something like this basically on a whim. It's pretty cool that I could just wake up one day and decide to do this ridiculous thing at a pretty good pace, and know that my body would handle it. This run also reminded me why 5 miles and change is my FAVORITE bread and butter run distance. It's just long enough to feel like a real run but short enough that even if you're not feeling great, by the time you start to feel meh you only have like 2 miles left, which feels like essentially nothing. The amount that I love 5 milers is definitely problematic when it comes to marathon training and I SHOULD probably be running 7-9 miles every day, but you know what, they've gotten me this far and I'm OK with that. The fact that the distance of each run was 5 miles was actually one thing that drew me to this challenge! </div>
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I really nailed it on the coordination of this outfit (and you can't even see my socks, which literally are from the same set as the singlet...I'M SO COOL lol)</div>
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It almost felt like I had a ridiculous amount of time after this leg without that whole "sleep" thing to worry about! I ended up drinking some iced coffee and just lounging around reading for awhile. I also placed an order for beer delivery so I would have some treats following my final leg. I think I ate 2 more Clif chews? Finally, it was almost 1 pm, and time to head out on my LAST leg of the challenge!</div>
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<b>1 pm, Leg 6, 5.15 miles, 7:24 pace</b></div>
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By this point the temperature was approaching 70 degrees and sunny, and I was nervous about how my legs would react given how shitty they'd felt on the preceding leg. I mean, not that it mattered? But now that I was 5 legs in and had only run a solitary mile over 8 minute pace, I was sort of stupidly invested in keeping that way. And so, I did the logical thing, which was to run my last leg FASTER than any of the preceding legs, because I am dumb. It did not feel easy in the slightest. I kept reminding myself that even though it was a different set of circumstances than a straight race, this was STILL the furthest I had ever run in a 24 hour period and it was not super surprising that my legs were like WTF is wrong with you. The route I chose to finish with is my new standard 5 mile loop, which runs down Marathon Street about a half mile from the end which I thought was appropriate. About halfway through the leg one of my friends called (while also on her run) and so I finished the challenge feeling like I was running with a friend - a feeling I really miss, by the way! And so, many hours and many miles later, I was done!</div>
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<br />But wait...because I am ridiculous, and my total distance in the "official" section of the challenge was 31.6, and I REALLY wanted to run my age...I went inside and got Topper, and ran another half mile to finally finish things off. It was a pretty anticlimactic "finish" but I was pretty happy, especially with how consistent I'd been throughout the whole challenge. And then I spent the afternoon reading and enjoying a beer on the porch! What a great day.</div>
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In summary, I LOVED this experience! It was completely different from anything I've ever done before, coming the closest to a Ragnar relay but without the teammates to keep you motivated. I definitely felt better physically than I expected to given my current training load so that was a nice surprise - I may not have much in the way of speed right now, but I'm not lacking for endurance! While I'm not really counting it as such this was technically my first ultra distance event since I rounded the miles to a full 50K. And I have to say...the thought of trying an ultra seems a lot more tempting now than it ever has in the past. For whatever reason the idea of running faster than ever just isn't that interesting to me right now...but the idea of going further? I think I can get behind that.</div>
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Yeti 24 Hour Challenge</div>
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32.15 miles, 4:06:56 moving time (7:40 avg pace), 21:55 elapsed time</div>
<br />Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-21936160884895931792020-02-02T20:45:00.000-06:002020-02-02T20:45:00.716-06:00Super Sunday 5 Mile Race Report 2020One of my goals for 2020 is to write more, and in that spirit I'm trying to be better about writing at least a quick race report for all of my races this year! I already missed one (raced a mile at the GBTC invite a couple weeks back) but better late than never. I think realizing that I don't need to write a NOVEL about every race will maybe help with this goal.<br />
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Anyway, today I ran the Super Sunday 5 Miler in Cambridge. This is one of my favorite local races, and one that I do every year. I did it back in 2010 when it was a 10K in Seaport, and then followed when it moved to Cambridge in 2015. I did the 5 miler from 2015-2017, then did the 5K for a couple of years (where I ran my PR in 2018!). The course is definitely a fast one and there is consistently great competition at the race, plus they have a solid post-race party and donate profits to a cancer research foundation...all in all, really a great race! While I enjoyed the 5K the past couple of years, this year the 5 miler was a USATF Grand Prix race so I supposed that I should hop back in that distance. GBTC had a fantastic team of ladies racing at the event and it's always a blast to run with friends!<br />
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For some reason I have never just run from my house to warm up to this race, which is dumb because it's 3.5 miles away. I did that today, which worked out great! Met up with Taylor, Erin, and Elise and we took care of bag drop and then awkwardly sauntered away to drop the remainder of our layers in a planter. It was so fun pulling up to the start corral and having like 12 GBTC ladies surrounding me! I can't remember the last time we had a women's team that was quite so big - it's really exciting and makes me happy since we went through a few years we were really struggling to recruit new women. Great to have some new faces at a variety of levels!<br />
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Without much ado (they kept the pre-race remarks blissfully short this year) we were off! For some reason I had decided to run without arm warmers, which I typically would do in today's weather (35 degrees, minimally windy) but apparently I've gotten even more immune to cold because aside from about 5 minutes of regret during the first mile when we turned into the wind, I was comfy! The majority of our pack pulled away from me at the start, and I hung back with Taylor trying to stick to my plan: DON'T FLY AND DIE. My only goal for the race was to have enough left for a fast last mile. I truly had no guesses as to what I would be able to run, although I knew I wasn't exactly in peak fitness - I was anticipating something around 6:45 pace overall. After coming through a little hot for mile 1 (6:22, which I definitely saw on my watch as 6:36 lol...I completely made that up) I settled into a nice groove at around 6:40 pace. One of the great things about this course, especially since they redid it slightly this year, is it is essentially two straightaways. You run out for 2.5 miles, then you turn around and come back on a different road. That's it. It's great for locking into a pace and being able to see who/what is ahead. Around mile 2 I pulled ahead of Taylor, and was feeling decent heading into the turnaround.<br />
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Focus at the turnaround; photo by coach Tom. Also, yes, I was listening to music...yes I used to judge people for this but honestly I have now found that it makes my racing experience SO much more enjoyable and I am convinced I run faster...so I stick with it when I choose to. It's better than technological doping with Vaporflys (of which I saw MANY pairs at this 5 mile race....), right?</div>
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This part of the race I had a bit of a hilarious internal monologue with myself, and was also a great reminder of the importance of SPECIFICITY of training. You see, I was running around 6:40-6:45 pace, and it was feeling exactly how I want that pace to start to feel for me, which is around 10 mile or half marathon effort. Which, you know, is a minor issue when you are running in a race of half that distance! I actually had a little talk with myself that went something like "you aren't in the place that you should be for a race this short right now"....to which I responded to myself "yeah, but I don't really WANT to be in the place right now!" And so I didn't go there. I stayed in the somewhat comfortable zone for miles 3 and 4. Certainly looking back, I wish I'd had a little more mental drive to push harder and go deeper into that pain cave, but the fact of the matter is, I hardly ever race short distances anymore because 1) they are painful! and 2) I'm training for essentially the polar opposite...given that situation, I can't really blame myself for not really remembering HOW to run a short race!</div>
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There's a nasty little uphill before the 4 mile mark, and once we crested that hill I knew it was time to boogie. I was curious to see what I'd have left in the tank but I knew it was something, and I'll tell you what, this was the most fun I've had in the last mile of a 5K-10K race! It's almost like if you don't go out too fast and don't pace like a total dumb shit, you can actually have something to turn on the gas at the end! I was definitely at the red line by the time I finished but was able to make some solid passes before the line, coming across in 33:24. I located my speedy teammates and high fives were exchanged all around; Taylor came in shortly after me and we went to grab our stuff. Now, here's the hilarious part: my run uploaded to Strava, and it was telling me I had 1 matched run...I went and looked, only to find that my time was within a SECOND of my PR from 2017! At no point anywhere during the day had I thought that I was in the ballpark of a PR (nor, apparently, did I have any idea what my actual PR was? LOL). On Strava I was a second faster than 2017, but officially I was a second slower...honestly, 1 second, I'm going to call it a win (just like I did when this EXACT same scenario happened to me at New Bedford a couple of years ago...I guess I should care about my PRs more?)</div>
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We went out for a little cooldown and then enjoyed drinking some beers in the sun afterward...post race times with teammates are really just some of the best. All in all I'm quite pleased with this performance! It's hard to be mad about matching a time I was THRILLED with back in 2017 when I haven't gotten any younger and certainly haven't been focusing on the shorter distances in the 3 years that have passed since then. In fact, I think I really used my wisdom to my advantage in running a much smarter race than I have in the past! I was also really happy with my overall emotions surrounding this race - within the race itself I was very in the moment and I was never particularly worried about what time I was going to run or who was ahead of or behind me. I just stayed in the race and did it! Overall, a great day and a great race! I'm starting to get excited about the build ahead...stay tuned. </div>
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Super Sunday 5 Mile - 33:24 (we're going to call it a PR tie!)</div>
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461/1519 OA, 100/? women, 26/224 AG</div>
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GBTC 4th women's team (not that I contributed to that at all!)</div>
Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-55625968238199409452020-01-16T19:51:00.003-06:002020-01-16T19:51:42.332-06:00A sort of 2019 review2019 has come and gone, and it was definitely an interesting year of running I didn't run a lot of PRs. I didn't have a lot of outstanding races. I had way more disappointing/frustrating performances than would mark an ideal year of running. And yet, somehow, when I look back on 2019, my primary thought is "what a great year of running!" In fact, I had to go back and look at my goals that I set at this time last year and realize that I actually achieved almost NONE of them to realize that as far as running performance goes, 2019 was mediocre at best. So why is my overwhelming feeling one of gratitude and excitement to push forward? Number one, it was a year free from injuries, which I think will ALWAYS put things in a positive light as I've had some years where that was not the case. I ran 2061 healthy miles this year and really had very minimal downtime due to any kind of physical issues. Secondly, I think my decision to finally take the plunge into triathlon has changed my view of running at a fundamental level. While running was often times harder and slower during the triathlon training season, it was also something that it hadn't been in awhile: FUN. By offloading the pressure of performances that I could compare myself to, I really rediscovered the fact that at the end of the day, I run because I LIKE it and because I love the way it makes me feel, and sometimes I do love to go fast and race well. I think I've carried that feeling into the beginnings of 2020 and I have to say, it feels really, really, good.<br />
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So I'll do my usual by the numbers rundown as it's fun to compare these year in and year out, but I also want to highlight some of the moments this year that I look back on as times when running was just joyful, and wonderful, and when I felt everything that I ever want to feel from this sport. Some of those moments include:<br />
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- Moments on every leg of Reach The Beach, which I unfortunately never really got around to writing about. On my first leg, I took off and felt like an idiot when I crossed the first mile of my 8+ mile leg in 6:50 pace...and then I never looked back. I remember the pace feeling effortless, running next to this stunning lake as the sun began to slant through the trees, and just thinking wow, here it is, this is why I do this. I remember turning a corner and seeing the sun, golden hour, across a field as "Gravity" by Steven Kellogg and the Sixers played through my headphones, and smiling because everything was right with the world. And looking down at my watch at some point and trying to remember what my 10K PR was, because as it turned out I was about to run one in a Ragnar relay leg. And then, later, a 9 mile night leg fueled by chili and cheese curds, taking off holding a glow in the dark thunder stick, and absolutely blasting like a wild woman through the night despite the leg I'd run only a few hours prior. Grabbing a beer from my teammates on the middle of some New Hampshire road at 3:30 in the morning, spilling it all over myself because I refused to slow down, because this was just too much fun. I never wanted that leg to end. And finally, starting my final leg in a downpour, holding a Ron Burgundy bobble head, and sprinting out of the parking lot of whatever random school the transition was held in with a giant grin on my face. My legs were so, so tired, and I wouldn't be able to hold the pace for long, but I was loving every last second of that downpour. So much pride and joy and happiness for what I was capable of came through for me that weekend, and the best part of it all was that absolutely no one cared if I ran fast or not - I was doing it because it was fun, and that was all.<br />
- Running a 6:xx mile up Heartbreak with Elise on one of our first long runs for Boston, and feeling like I was completely invincible<br />
-The moment during Black Cat when I finally looked at my watch at around mile 7 and saw a 6:55, and it felt GOOD. And pretty much every subsequent second of that race as I kept rolling and realized that I was running so far beyond anything I had ever done before - almost running a half PR, and then running another 7 miles. The final turn for home with no one around me, city streets and "Take Me Home" blasting...I will think of that race everytime I hear that song. Definitely my best race of the year and probably one of the best races of my life. I need to give myself more credit for that race this year. It wasn't Boston, it wasn't a marathon, but damn it, it counts.<br />
-Every single second running through Brooklyn in the NYC Marathon. Many other moments throughout the course too, but mostly, Brooklyn. Getting to scream at fellow runners until I lost my voice after the race.<br />
-Starting the run leg of Pumpkinman with a shit eating grin on my face because I was FINALLY in my own domain, and finally appreciating how much it meant for that to be true.<br />
-Any and every race experience where I got to cheer for my friends and run spectate like an insane person<br />
-One of the last runs I did before Pumpkinman, with my legs feeling really good for some reason and just cruising down the dirt bike path on a glorious day, soaking it all in<br />
-The rainy run that I did in Big Sur when I snuck into the state park and just for a moment had the trails and the redwoods and what felt like the entire world all to myself<br />
-All of the runs where I got to explore new places on foot, from the Nashville greenway to the canyons and hills of San Francisco to the UVA campus<br />
-The tempo run that I did at night on the Charles during my NYC cycle, when I somehow held pace effortlessly despite the dark and the wind, alone on the river and feeling unafraid and instead invincible<br />
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There are obviously many more than this - so many runs where I felt good for no reason and just went with it, so many runs that I ended with a smile and such gratitude for being out there and doing this thing. And again, maybe that's why I still feel like this year was such a success. Running has always been, and will probably always be, about the journey for me, not always the end result.<br />
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BUT for the sake of completeness, here is my "by the numbers"/goal review of 2019:<br />
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2019 GOALS<br />
- Complete a half iron triathlon - ACHIEVED! And achieved in spectacular fashion, if I do say so myself. I would consider coming in 3rd amateur and 5th overall in my first attempt at the distance, and falling enough in love with long distance triathlon to sign up for an Ironman an achieved plus! LOL<br />
-Run as close to 3:05 as possible in the marathon - UGH, NOT EVEN CLOSE. I kind of don't want to discuss this one. We're going to put this in the category of "unfinished business". I would say the marathon wasn't kind to me in 2019 but it actually kind of was, because NYC redeemed the distance for me by putting it in a different light. But as far as marathon speed goes...2019 was not my year unfortunately.<br />
-Run at least 2 "atypical" distance races - ACHIEVED! I raced a 10 mile, 20 mile, Falmouth's random distance, and the usual intriguing RTB distances so I will call this a success.<br />
-Run at least 3 mountain and/or trail races - PARTIALLY ACHIEVED. This one got thrown off the rails a little bit as I became more invested in triathlon, and not getting picked for Mount Washington also threw a wrench in the plans. However, I did at least run one trail race (right after Boston, lol) so I'll at least give myself credit for the attempt.<br />
-Run a smart race at Boston and enjoy it - UGH NOPE. I did attempt to run a smart race but...it didn't help. And I didn't enjoy it. AT ALL.<br />
-Run a 10K PR - TECHNICALLY ACHIEVED!! While I didn't actually race a 10K this year, I beat my 10K PR twice during Reach the Beach, and though it is unofficial I'm still calling it a win for the purposes of this goal!<br />
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3/6 achieved, 1/6 partially achieved, 2/6 not achieved...well, that's actually not as bad as I thought!<br />
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And now, the numbers/superlative awards:<br />
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Mileage run: 2061 miles, in addition to >1000 miles on the bike and a good amount of swimming...I feel GREAT about these numbers.<br />
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Highest weekly mileage: 70.7 for one week during Boston training, otherwise very little above 60<br />
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Races run: 19, one more than last year!<br />
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New races run: 10 (same as last year somehow!)<br />
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AG/overall awards: 2nd woman x 2 (small 5Ks FTW), 3rd woman x 3 (counting 3rd amateur at Pumpkinman for this one), 1st AG x 2, 3rd AG x 2)<br />
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PRs run: 2...10 mile and 20 mile. Both of these were pretty significant but still...generally not thrilled with my performance at the more classic distances this year.<br />
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Proudest accomplishment: Just really absolutely crushing it at all of my triathlons this year, but particularly holding my own on the White Mountains bike leg on a CRAZY hard course, and my overall performance at Pumpkinman. I think I'm generally incredibly proud of becoming a triathlete while doing it my way (ie still running pretty normal mileage, not buying crazy fancy gear, etc) - something which I plan to continue to take with me into Ironman training.<br />
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Hardest race experience: I experienced a HIGHLY unfortunate number of extremely humid races this year. The obvious contender for most horrid race maybe EVER was obviously Boston, but Falmouth was also pretty terrible. The Whaling City Sprint was the first race I've ever considered the possibility of heatstroke in a 5K (90 degrees and humid)<br />
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Best race experience: A tie! Pumpkinman and NYC Marathon, wildly different in terms of performance but both win this award for the amount of joy I felt while racing both of them.<br />
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Most ridiculous weather: While Boston's weather was TRASH and definitely odd (downpour --> 60 and humid --> 70 and sunny) I have to give this award to the Whaling City Triathlon, and the entire fact that I did a RACE on the hottest day of the entire year.<br />
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Biggest surprise race performance: White Mountains Triathlon, for sure. By the time I got to Pumpkinman I had a better sense of my abilities (and was pretty close to the mark on my predictions) but White Mountains really surpassed ALL my expectations.<br />
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Number of falls taken while running: I think 2, but one very memorable run in which I broke my phone but miraculously NOT my teeth!<br />
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So, that wraps up 2019. I have many more thoughts as we head into 2020; I'm still sort of grappling with the fact that I'm not running Boston and I'm trying to figure out what exactly I AM doing while I wait for the real triathlon build to begin. But I'm extremely excited about the new challenges that the year will bring, and I think once I get through the winter a lot more of that will start to become clear. In the meantime I'm just doing what feels good and kicking off the year, as we always should, with an indoor track mile...because why in the hell not?<br />
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The year in races:<br />
Super Sunday 5K (20:10, 4th OA/1st AG)<br />
Old Fashioned 10 Mile (1:09:36, PR)<br />
Tom King Classic Half (Nashville, TN! Run as workout, 1:33:17)<br />
Black Cat 20 Mile (2:22:14, 3rd OA, PR, best race of the year)<br />
New Bedford Half (1:32:59)<br />
Boston Marathon (3:35:11, trash)<br />
Rescue Run for Marine Mammals 5K (trail race, 22:23, 3rd OA/1st AG)<br />
Westfield 5K (20:00, first time I've ever run a round number!)<br />
Harpoon 5M (33:21, the day after the Westfield 5K, team was 3rd OA)<br />
Back Bay Mile (6:09, I completely forgot I did this race lol)<br />
White Mountains Olympic Triathlon 1500yd swim/40K bike/4.2M run (9th OA, 1st AG)<br />
MADACC 5K (in Wisconsin, so humid/hot, 22:09, 2nd OA)<br />
Whaling City Sprint Tri 400 yd swim/11.2M bike/5K run (3rd AG)<br />
Falmouth Road Race (51:59, this was horrid)<br />
Pumpkinman Half Iron 1.2M swim/54.5Mbike/13.1M run (5th OA/3rd amateur/1st run split)<br />
RTB! Leg 1 8 miles in 55:08, leg 2 9.2 miles in 1:02:24, leg 3 4 miles in 28:05<br />
Newport Half (1:34:35, 3rd AG)<br />
NYC Marathon (3:26:26)<br />
Hoppy Holidays 5K (21:35, 2nd OA)<br />
<br />Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-24054992475852658882019-11-17T21:44:00.000-06:002019-11-17T21:49:40.265-06:00You crowd, you cramp, you're still the champ, amen for NYC: NYC Marathon 2019 Race Report[This took FOREVER to finish because I've had an insane couple of weeks since this race, but I'm so happy to say it's finally done and out in the world. Kind of hard to believe I've written 15 of these novel race reports now, but I'm so happy to have them to look back on!]<br />
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I fell in love with New York City the first time I ever set foot there.<br />
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I had just finished 6th grade, and I felt like the luckiest kid on the planet to get to travel to the big city for a national dance competition. As a young dancer, making it to Nationals for the first time felt like Making It. We stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria, which sounded fancy, and I will never forget stepping out of the taxi from the airport, into the lights, noise, smells of the city, and just feeling this...energy. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. And I knew, in my 11 year old heart, that I loved this place.<br />
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And so, NYC has continued to call me back as the years and decades have rolled by. Each time dance nationals roulette landed on New York, my heart soared - no offense to Vegas or Orlando (actually whatever I'll offend those cities happily), but neither could offer anything close to what NYC did. When I was about 14, I competed in a tap dance to a song entitled "NYC", from the musical Annie, at nationals in New York. I vividly recall the music swelling as we moved into our final kickline, feeling so full of happiness I thought I might burst. I lived in Manhattan during the summer of 2012 while completing my first physical therapy student rotation. As far as the clinical went, I struggled - turns out acute care PT was not the path for me. But as for the rest of the summer? Pure magic. Living alone in a one room studio on 103rd and Central Park West, knowing no one, I spent that summer exploring the city that I had come to know as mine, whether I lived there permanently or not. At that time, I was in an off phase from competitive running, but I still spent many miles looping through and exploring Central Park. I once sprinted from my apartment to Times Square after the shittiest day at work in an attempt to score tickets in the Book of Mormon lottery, grinning like a maniac all the while. When I was 29, my long term relationship crumbled, and with nowhere else to turn I impulsively booked a bus ticket to NYC, then spent essentially my entire life savings on a ticket to see the original Broadway cast of Hamilton. The relationship mended (heck, we're married now!) but that weekend remains one of my favorite gifts I've ever given myself. It doesn't matter why I'm there, who I'm with, or what else is going on in the world, when I step off a train or a bus or a taxi and into the whirlwind vortex that is New York City, I feel like I'm home.<br />
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So you would think, given my extremely strong feelings towards this place, that at some point in the past 10 years I would have contemplated running the massive marathon that's held there every year. I did enter the lottery a few years ago without success, and then just sort of gave up the idea. There were other races that didn't cost $300 or require running with 50,000 other people, and anyway, most of the race was outside of Manhattan proper anyway. For whatever reason, there was no strong allure. And then, I had a dream. Literally. I dreamed that I ran NYC in 3:05:26. As dreams go, the course was certainly much different than the real one, involving stairways and fire escapes and cutting through buildings, but I woke up with a smile as I remembered the time on the clock. A couple of hours later, that morning, I got an email from NYRR that registration was open for the marathon. Only then did it occur to me: I had an automatic time qualifier. And as they say, the rest is history.<br />
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I knew going into this marathon that my training would be...unconventional, to say the least. My fall season goal race wasn't actually a running race at all - after the disaster that was Boston, I sort of said to hell with the marathon and decided to become a triathlete, and as it turns out trying to train yourself from 0 to a decent 56 miles on a bicycle requires sacrificing some hours on the road. From June through September, I averaged between 32-38 miles per week, with a couple of outliers in the 40s but nothing over 45. Long runs were held to 10-11 miles with one accidental 15 miler in the mix, and generally as summer came into fall I felt extremely globally fit, but not particularly in great running fitness. I took 4 days off after the half ironman, promptly raced 21 miles over 24 hours at Reach the Beach, and then dove into my mini marathon cycle. I knew I didn't have the time to spend on attempting to bring up my top end speed, so track workouts were not a priority. Instead, I tried to build mileage and the long run as quickly and safely as I could while also maintaining my sanity. In the end, here's how the mini-cycle shook out:<br />
Week 1: 40.3 miles, included a short tempo workout, long run 13.5 easy<br />
Week 2: 46.9 miles, 11 mile MLR on Thurs, long run 20 miles with a 2/1 x 4 workout (this should have been a 50 mile week but my adductor was pissed after the long run that definitely was beyond my current fitness)<br />
Week 3: 50.7 miles, no MLR because I had to do my long run on a Friday, long run 18 miles relaxed<br />
Week 4: 55.3 miles, slow/terrible 10 mile MLR, long run was 21 total with a half marathon in 1:34 + some slower miles for cheering/pacing<br />
Week 5: 52 miles, 10 mile MLR with 5 mile tempo (one of the best workouts I've ever done), long run 16 miles with 2/1 x 4 workout that felt great<br />
Week 6: 44.2 miles, a not great tempo workout, and a 12 mile long run<br />
And then a week of taper. So...not a lot of mileage, but I did the best I could with the tempos and long runs. I knew there was an off chance that I could run out of my mind and PR or something, but that seemed unlikely...my gut instinct was that on a perfect day something just under 3:20 was possible, and 3:20-3:25 seemed very doable. The fact that a PR was really never on the table was actually quite wonderful because it took ALL the pressure off. Still, I was nervous - would I even be able to run a reasonable time, or would this be an embarrassing outing? The thought of another 3:35 performance was almost too much to bear (not disparaging anyone who runs that time! But 25 minutes slower than your PR is...a lot). So I set my number 1 goal as having fun, and secondary to run a qualifying time that would put me in a relatively good position to return to Boston in 2021 (because I obviously hate myself, lol).<br />
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I headed down to the city bright and early on Saturday with Joy, who joined me for the weekend to cheer (do I have the best friends or what?) The moment I emerged out of Penn Station and into the crisp light of a fall morning in New York, all of the feelings that I just described came rushing back. I did a dance like a 5 year old and was practically spinning in circles with glee.<br />
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Taking photos in a crosswalk because I'M HERE</div>
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The first order of business was to head to the expo, which was much less overwhelming than Boston's but still a project. Joy commented that she actually wished that she were running the marathon, which I found hilarious because I still couldn't quite wrap my brain around the fact that <i>I</i> was running a marathon the next day. Were we sure this was real life? I don't know if it was the extremely short nature of the training cycle or the fact that I had always viewed this race as more of a celebration but I definitely didn't feel like I had to cover 26.2 miles the following day. Still, I got some standard photos at the expo, purchased my Gu (yup, didn't even have Gu for the race yet...lol), got my nuun bottle, and then pretty much got out of there. I didn't buy ANYTHING extraneous, which is shocking. But I honestly wasn't wowed by any of the official gear, and unlike Boston there wasn't any other race specific stuff. I did end up buying the race photos, as you'll see, which I do feel sort of makes up for my lack of spending at the expo.</div>
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Please recall my tap dance background as you look at this picture lol</div>
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The old "find your name on the poster" shot</div>
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Giggling because at this point they were asking small children about their advice for the marathon and the girl's advice was "it will be over...eventually!"</div>
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We ended up going to Rattle & Hum for lunch, because I apparently gravitate towards that one place when I'm in the city and also because I didn't feel like wandering about looking for an appropriate lunch. I had a pretty great turkey club and some pretzel bites along with a couple of tasters of some interesting beers (a bahn mi inspired sour = fascinating). Then we hopped on the Q train to Brooklyn, where our Air BnB was located. It turned out to be a really interesting and eclectic apartment, with lots of unique artwork and an interesting layout. It was also in an EXCELLENT location, about 3 blocks from the subway I'd need to take in the morning (and also the course itself) and close to Prospect Park, which is where Joy and I headed for a little shakeout run.</div>
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A random guy jogging by saw us struggling to take a selfie and offered to take our photo, and I have to say he nailed it! Nice framing, guy! </div>
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I definitely didn't feel awesome but when do you ever feel awesome the day before a marathon? Again, that specific situation hadn't fully sunk in. The rest of the afternoon we just kind of hung out at the apartment; I went to the grocery store that was a couple of blocks down to get some last minute items including tupperware and PLASTIC SPOONS for my oatmeal so that I wouldn't have to steal kitchen items from my Air BnB host and abandon them on Staten Island..lol. Finally remembered that you need silverware to eat oatmeal, which has only taken me like 2 years to figure out. We went out for dinner at a local Italian spot which was cozy and very nice, where I ate chicken parmesan which is apparently my new thing. We headed back to the apartment where I sorted out my last minute preparations (drink the traditional prerace beer, paint my nails, organize my stuff, set up my oatmeal...etc). Daylight savings time is a blessing, since my 4:27 wake up call would feel like 5:27, but still by 9:45 or so I felt like I should probably head to bed. Nothing left to do but get up in the morning and race!</div>
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Please note the AMAZING cheetah socks which I bought to match my Kinvaras (after much waffling back and forth I decided that I wanted to stick with what felt most comfortable and wear the Kinvaras vs. my Freedoms for this race. But then, the horror...I don't have socks that match! A frantic runningwarehouse.com spree on my Tuesday morning commute solved that issue and quite frankly I think it was an excellent choice)</div>
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Race day! I got maybe the best night of sleep I ever have before a marathon, waking up only once (interestingly right at the time change at 2 am) and despite my ridiculous stress dream that my socks had transformed into slipper socks, I woke up feeling refreshed, 20 minutes before my alarm, at 4:07 am. I lay awake in the darkness, thinking, waiting for the first strains of Thunderstruck to come blasting through my phone and for race day to truly begin. It felt surreal. I still don't think I had wrapped my head around the fact that I was running a marathon, and truthfully I probably didn't until halfway through he race. I knew that my run volume was low and my marathon specific cycle was short, but that mindset actually allowed me a sense of relative calm as I went through my morning routine. I wanted this day to be a celebration of all that I loved about the marathon before I took a break from it in 2020. A chance to wash the taste of Boston out of my mouth and maybe for the first time to truly enjoy the experience of a marathon, not just the time on the clock. Whatever I ran today, it would be enough. After a brief snafu with my food prep - our host did have a microwave, which I had pondered during my 2 am wakeup, but it wasn't functional! Luckily a teakettle + water = good enough oatmeal for me. I also forgot to buy brown sugar and so made do with some random agave syrup I found in the kitchen...again, seemed good enough! I walked to the subway in the dark and the quiet, briefly crossing the course I'd be running later on. In the R train station, an eclectic mix of runners in throwaway sweats and other humans of New York awaited the R train. It was silent as we rumbled underground; I sipped my can of coffee as men and women in Tyvek suits and worn sweatpants shifted in their seats awaiting the call for the Whitehall Station. We emerged from the subway to the glow of massive blue letters announcing the STATEN ISLAND FERRY, along with the most chipper volunteers who seemed to have no purpose other than to wish us a good morning, a good day, good luck. We were funneled into lines where our bags were sniffed by the goodest working doggos...heart! In the ferry terminal I encountered a highly unusual sight: a lengthy line for the men's bathroom, and NONE for the womens! I felt like I was in a parallel universe! I munched on a banana while waiting for the call for the 5:45 am ferry. As we walked down the gangplank, I remember just being absolutely delighted that I was taking a BOAT to my race! On boarding the boat, the first thing I saw was the glow of the Statue of Liberty in the distance, bright against the dawn light just starting to emerge. I'm not even going to lie, I got emotional! Again, I just love this place so much, and I just felt so completely grateful to have the opportunity to do what I was doing today. (Something strange happened with the formatting here, and I dont know how to fix it!)<3 5:45="" a="" about="" absolute="" also="" am="" an="" and="" any="" around="" as="" ascended="" assume="" ate="" attempt.="" await="" baggage="" banana="" be="" because="" been="" beginning="" boat="" but="" call="" chaos="" comes="" darkness="" dawn.="" day:="" day="" delight="" does="" doing="" earlier="" early="" emerging="" end="" energy="" ever="" experience="" eyes="" felt.="" felt="" ferry.="" ferry="" first="" for="" fortunate="" from="" glanced="" good="" had="" halfway="" happen="" happiness.="" heard="" horror="" hundreds="" i="" in="" into="" island.="" it.="" it="" journey="" just="" let="" liberty="" line="" lines="" listening="" love="" loved="" low="" marathon="" me="" men="" mode="" moment="" morning="" most="" murmur="" my="" next="" no="" of.="" of="" often="" omen="" on="" once="" one="" our="" out="" p="" palpable="" part="" place="" pr="" quiet="" race="" regarding="" relaxed="" restroom="" right="" room...when="" room="" runners.="" s="" several="" she="" sign="" situations="" smooth="" snaked="" so="" staten="" statue="" stories="" taking="" tell="" terminal="" that="" the="" then="" there="" thing="" this="" times="" to="" towards="" transportation.="" transportation="" up="" ve="" waited="" wake="" walked="" was...the="" was="" we="" well="" welled="" which="" while="" window="" with="" without="" women="" worth="" you=""></3></div>
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The ferry ride itself was uneventful, about half an hour of gazing out the window at the statue and the skyline beyond, finishing my coffee, and listening to the guys next to me talk about Maurten and how "I set a 6 minute PR in my half marathon, and it was totally because of this gel and my shoes. I mean, I trained a lot better too, but there's NO way it was all the training". LOL! Why not give your training some credit, man? As an aside, never will you ever see me in Nike's "magic" shoes. First of all because I don't believe in spending $250 on shoes that you can essentially race in once, but second of all because if I can't run a time without the help of a carbon plate, then maybe I just can't run that time! And that's OK with me. Anyway, we disembarked at Staten Island just as the sun was beginning to rise over the city. Again, I was just shocked by how few people there seemed to be - it was rather delightful for the biggest marathon in the world to feel so small! I used the restroom again (seriously, if you see a rest room with no line at ANY point in the morning before a marathon, you just take advantage of that shit, no questions asked) and then wandered out onto a promenade. There was 1 other person out there and I almost gasped at what everyone else was missing out on. The sun was rising on a clear, stunning day, light reflecting off the Freedom Tower, the skyline still aglow as night turned into day. I took a moment to just stand in the silence and look at it, and I smiled. There was no questioning it: today was going to be magic.</div>
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Back inside, people were hunkering down on the floor, I assume with the goal of waiting as long as possible to have to stand outside. I personally just wanted to get where I needed to be, and so I headed towards the buses - but not before stopping in a random souvenir shop and buying Chapstick! This was really the first weekend of truly fall weather with dry air, and my lips had been feeling terrible but I hadn't had the opportunity to locate any lip balm. What better place than on the way to a marathon? I sort of chuckled to myself at the silliness of it all but my lips were SO happy. On the way to the bus we passed by the happiest bunch of people trying to bring people to Jesus you ever did see, smiling and shouting "Run to WIN! Run to JESUS!" and while I won't be converting any time soon their energy was truly delightful. Got on a bus (literally New Jersey city buses) without really waiting at all and ended up in the far back corner. The bus ride seemed to take ages, as they always do. I drank some water, ate a couple of ginger clif chews since my stomach was feeling a little unsettled, and chatted with the guy next to me who had run several times. I told him a little bit about the Boston course ("Oh, is that race hilly?) and he told me about a nightmare morning he'd experienced in the past at NYC when he took a later ferry, waited for an hour for a bus, and then the bus ride to the start village took 90 minutes (it should/did take 30 minutes in my experience). NO THANKS. You can bet I'll be on the 5:45 ferry no matter how long I have to wait in the village if (when) I run this race in the future. </div>
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We arrived at the fort around 7:15 and after a brief security checkpoint I was walking up into the fort. I wasn't really sure where anything was so just followed the signs to the blue village (there was a village for each start - green/orange/blue) where I AGAIN walked right into a porta potty with no line?! What parallel planet was this? I'm so used to spending like 17 hours at Boston waiting in line for the various porta potties along the way that this was just shocking. It actually felt pretty chilly at the village! Great vibes for racing, but it took a bit of effort to stay warm. I felt for the people who clearly hadn't thought this part through who were wandering around in shorts and these crappy plastic ponchos that they were giving out. I found a sunny spot and proceeded to eat my oatmeal, which was the least shitty 2 hours-cold oatmeal I've ever had! I actually didn't have trouble getting it down and was very happy about that. They were giving out handwarmers, so I stuck one in each glove (I somehow had the foresight to bright gloves for the village, which is very unlike me) and one at the back of my neck, which actually provided some really nice heat. Then I wrapped myself up in a mylar blanket from some long-forgotten Boston and I was perfectly cozy! I didn't bring any entertainment for the village, so just passed the time by scrolling through Instagram, people watching, and taking selfies. </div>
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V. proud of remembering to bring a spoon, also please note my CLASSIC crushed velvet ensemble. Shoutout to the Davis Square Goodwill for that gem of a jacket.</div>
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Cold! Which when you know you're going to run a marathon = happy! </div>
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I had heard that we would be called into corrals about an hour before the start (for me, 9:40) so I elected to return to the porta potty line at 8:20 to ensure I had enough time. Now there was actually a line, but it was maybe 10 minutes...again, no big deal when you've had the experience of waiting 50 in the the Boston village. I still had some time to kill which I spent in truly the best way possible...at the THERAPY DOG CORRAL!! Yes, they literally had a little pen with therapy dogs and their handlers, and I will never turn down the opportunity to snuggle with a dog at any point in my life, including before a race. They were adorable, and also total hams.</div>
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I cannot even.</div>
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His parka!!</div>
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Just as I completed my puppy time, we were called to the corrals. I got rid of some aspects of my throwaways but was still pretty chilly so hung onto my crushed velvet jacket and pants. I thought the way the corrals were was so great - basically you went into your corral "box" (still in the start village) which was essentially just another waiting space - there were porta potties, etc. I got in the porta potty line (AGAIN) because you just literally can never be too sure. Then I stood around for about 15 minutes trying to decide when was the right time to get rid of the rest of my throwaways. In the end, I took off my pants and gloves but hung onto my jacket and headband right up until the bridge. Finally at around 9:20, we were released onto the bridge. As per usual, I suddenly was struck with a dramatic urge to pee...here is where the corral system is amazing: as you walk towards the start, you walk through all of the other corrals...which are all lined with porta potties! I popped in and out of one in the B corral and was finally really ready to go. I took my lemon lime Gu with 15 minutes to go and then just let the energy of the crowd flow through me. </div>
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As we approached the ramp, music was BLASTING, the sun was brilliant, and the bridge loomed ahead with 26.2 miles of running to follow it. The energy was absolutely electric, and when I first stepped out onto the ramp and the bridge came into view ahead, let's just say I'm glad I was wearing sunglasses because I again teared up with happiness. It was so BEAUTIFUL! The bridge and the people, the police blasting the music, the city beyond, the fact that we were basically standing on a freeway on ramp...all of it was glorious. I started a tradition a few years ago of writing a word on my arm, just above my watch, that I want the race I'm about to run to be about. It took me awhile to think of what the perfect word was for this race, and I ended up with "delight" - because I wanted to delight in every moment and every piece of this experience. Standing on the ramp waiting for the start, delight and joy were coursing through me. I kind of felt like I was going to a carnival or something, not running a marathon! I've been trying to put my finger on what made this marathon so spectacular and one of the things I've landed on is that the energy is just SO different from, for example, Boston. At Boston, people are excited to be there, but in general they are also quite serious about the endeavor. At New York, sure, people were serious - and I was far enough up in the corrals that I knew that everyone surrounding me was a solid marathoner - but there was this energy of just pure joy that had a different feel to it. Like even though I assume many of us had done multiple marathons, there was this aura of "Hey, guys, can you believe it? We're running a MARATHON. How cool is that?" And you could hardly turn your head without hearing a new language being spoken - in the village, announcements were made in I think 4 different languages? - and I saw runners from Sweden, Germany, France, Australia, Mexico...the list goes on. It was an incredibly cool international vibe. A Broadway actress sung the national anthem (of course!), announcements were made, and then there was the cannon and "New York New York", just like I knew that there would be, and we were moving off towards the start.</div>
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The start</div>
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<b>The Bridge</b></div>
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According to my watch it took 4 minutes from the time the cannon sounded for me to cross the start line - a start line which, I have to add, was almost comically small for the pomp of the event, nothing more than a timing strip and a small arch on the right hand side announcing "Start". In keeping with my plans to make this race all about the party, I had decided to listen to music. This is a VERY divisive topic and I read so many reports that strongly recommended not doing it "because the crowds are so great!" As we'll get to later, I was more than capable of enjoying/hearing the crowds while ALSO enjoying the best playlist I've ever made in my life, so to those who judge me for my headphones I say...pshaw. I waited until the last strains of Sinatra's voice were echoing into the distance, then pressed play on the song I had selected to start my race. It's a song they play during the Gameday show on college football Saturdays, which I only recently discovered is an actual song (it's called Silver Scrapes if you want to hear what it sounds like). As I ran up that bridge with thousands of people around me, this song blasting in my ears, the city skyline ahead, I burst into a smile that did not leave my face for the next hour and a half. The sunlight, the skyline in the distance, helicopters flying alongside the bridge, the energy of thousands of people starting out on a journey. I wanted to reach out my arms and just capture the feeling. </div>
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The first mile of the race has the largest elevation gain of the entire race, but there was so much happiness coursing through me I felt like I could have been running downhill. I purposefully relaxed the first mile, easing in and soaking in the moment. I took to the right hand side of the bridge since Joy had told me she'd be on the right in Brooklyn, hurdling abandoned Biofreeze ponchos and feeling a sense of mild anxiety about the guy in front of me running in a bathrobe, belt flapping in the breeze and threatening to trip him. I hit the mile marker in 7:45 - perfect! Up ahead, I noticed a woman in a shirt with the New York Times logo on it and the name "Tali" taped across the back. Wait a second...I ran in college with a girl named Tali, who now works at the New York Times! I pulled up along side her and kind of awkwardly looked sideways before turning off my music and incredulously shouting "Tali?!!" "AUDREY?!!" Seriously, what are the odds of running (literally!) into someone you haven't seen in 10 years during the first mile of the world's largest marathon? We briefly chatted - she had just run a PR at Chicago and so was running for fun, and I mentioned that I had the same goal. "Just wait until Brooklyn", she said "It's unbelievable!" Meanwhile, a random guy running near us was loving this event, and literally said something like "That was AWESOME!" as we bid our farewells and I pulled ahead. Thanks to adrenaline, downhill, excitement, and serendipity, mile 2 was a 7:00...which is in fact the fastest mile I've ever run in a marathon. WHOOPS! But my thoughts about it could be described the same way I'd describe the 10 miles that followed: I knew it was a bad idea, but I was having too much damn fun to care. </div>
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<b>Brooklyn</b></div>
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Brooklyn. I could attempt to write thousands of words to describe how much fun I had running through Brooklyn, and it would never be enough to describe the feeling. I have run so many races in my life, and I have NEVER had as much fun in any one of them as I did during the 10 miles I spent in Brooklyn. After the stupid second mile, knowing I was making bad choices but not caring, and without the weight of time goals or expectations, I felt utterly and totally free. In the notes I wrote the day after the race, the first line is: <i>BROOKLYN. FUCK YES. PARTY!! High fived EVERYONE!</i> This is not an exaggeration. I've definitely had my share of high fiving kids at Boston and whatnot, but at the end of the day my focus has always been on racing and the minute that hamming for the spectators becomes tiresome, I stop. In Brooklyn, I was on some other level all together. I ran my way down the right hand side of the course, literally finding every opportunity I could to high five, yell, fist pump, whatever, with an enormous smile on my face all the while. Hard as I tried, I could NOT stop smiling, nor could I stop running at a pace that I knew was well beyond my capabilities. I was doing the exact opposite of what I had said I would do (be patient!) and doing exactly what everyone says not to do (get sucked in to the crowds and the flatness of Brooklyn!). I knew that, 100%. And I didn't care. I said after the race that I probably added 5 minutes to my time with my silliness in the first half of the race, and I wouldn't trade the experience for all the minutes in the world. I was so, so happy and it was bursting out of my heart and my face and my legs to the point where I couldn't slow down even if I tried. Miles 3-5 were all around 7:25, "that's too fast, you said 7:40s", I thought. My attempt to slow down resulted in a 7:15 mile 5. That was the point where I completely gave up on running any sort of smart race and just gave myself over to the fun of it all. All I could think was <i>this, this is why I run, this is why I do all this stupid shit, because THIS is amazing, THIS is so fucking fun, THIS is being present and alive. </i>Brooklyn is a blur of hands held out to high five; tiny sweaty palms of 5 year olds, gloved hands of elderly men, signs saying "touch here for power". Cowbells and bands with drums, a saxophone playing somewhere, the occasional shout you could hear within the roar: let's go BOSTON! YEAH BOSTON! FUCK YEAH BOSTON! And on for miles and miles. I felt like I had finally been invited to some kind of party that I hadn't known how to get to. 15 marathons and I finally realized that at the end of the day, I do this because I love it and because it's FUN. </div>
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Brooklyn, a summary. </div>
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I somehow had the wherewithal to remember to take my first Gu at 5 (Triberry) At mile 7, I saw Joy and Allison cheering and I literally threw my arms up and SCREAMED at them "THIS IS SO FUCKING FUN!!" At this point I was still cruising pretty comfortably in the 7:20s-30s, although there was starting to be a little flicker of I Notice This Is Effortful somewhere in the background. This didn't bode particularly well for 90 minutes down the road, but that was a problem for future me to deal with. Right now, I was still in the midst of the Brooklyn party. Random things stand out in my memory: A guy with an inflatable Trump doll and a sign with instructions to "Punch The Trump for Power!"...if ONLY I'd been closer to that side of the road! A building called The Audrey. Someone quoting Lizzo with a sign that said "You're 100% that bitch" and I was like YES I AM! Somewhere in here I took my second Gu (Lemonade Roctane) and was taking some water, really just a sip or so every station. I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of difficulty I had getting into/out of water stops, as this is always something that seems to be a massive pain at Boston and I assumed that this being a bigger race that the situation would be worse. But really, I had no problem getting what I wanted and getting out of there! At one point we were running down a shady, tree lined street full of brownstones - maybe around mile 10? - and I was decidedly starting to feel like my legs were headed into a less pleasant place than the one I'd been living in. Right around that point, I saw a man standing relatively quietly, with a relatively small sign compared to the other spectators, that said: "You are beautiful and free". And I almost started crying! And then, a few moments later, the song "YALA" by MIA came on my playlist. That song is a jam, and is one of only a couple of songs on the playlist that wasn't just a techno/EDM song. It fit SO perfectly with my Brooklyn party mood and it instantly picked me back up as I had myself a little jam session at mile 12 of the marathon, to the tune of a 7:24 mile! Unfortunately, like any party, this one was going to have to end at some point, and the point was coming up rapidly as we began to approach Queens. </div>
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<b>Queens</b></div>
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The half marathon mark of the race is on the second bridge of the race, between Brooklyn and Queens, and I don't know if it was realizing the Brooklyn party was over or just the fact that I had run 13 miles at a good clip, expending a ton of extra energy with my party time, but it was just about exactly at the half marathon mark when I realized the good times were over. Just very abruptly on the uphill heading onto the bridge my legs lost all the spring that they'd had for the previous 13 miles in what felt like an instant. I came through the half marathon split at just under 1:39 and one thing was very clear: my plan to negative split was NOT going to be a possibility. In that moment I thought <i>OK, we're shooting for a 3:25 and that's just fine. </i>And I continued onward. I don't have a whole lot to say about Queens itself. You aren't there very long, and I think I mostly was just trying to manage the rapid downturn my legs had taken and readjust for the second half. At some point in here I also took a cup of what I thought was water but turned out to be Gatorade, and it didn't go down super well. Oh well, no matter. I ran a couple of 7:45s, and that was fine. I took a Gu at 14 (espresso love). And then we hit the Queensboro Bridge.</div>
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Queensboro Bridge is the one everyone talks about. I basically dismissed it all. I didn't even know what the bridge looked like until I was on it but all I had heard was that it was quiet, and that it was a nasty hill at a bad time. The first part I wasn't concerned about as I had my bangers playlist going for me. The second? I had looked at the elevation profile and thought, a gradual uphill, mile 16, come on, how bad can it really be? Well, as it turns out, when you went out too fast for your fitness...pretty freaking bad! Almost immediately as we started heading onto the bridge I started to think uh oh. Far too many people were moving past me like I was standing still (people who, I assume, are smarter than me but probably ALSO had way less fun in Brooklyn, so who's the real winner here?) The bridge that you run on is under another section of the bridge, so you're kind of in this cave and it felt like a sadness cave to me. I tried to look around and grab some happiness where I could find it: a subway train clattering across the other side of the bridge on the right, the full glory of the NYC skyline on the left. A couple of people were pulling off on the skyline side of the bridge to take selfies - just a bridge too far for me (heh!). Hitting mile 16 at 8:21 was a pleasant surprise in some ways (I literally felt like I was running 10 minute miles) but a major gut check in others. If I had already crashed so much with 10 miles to go, what was the rest of the race going to be like? My state of mind wasn't so much upset at my current state as concerned about my future. Reaching the crest of the bridge was a blessed relief, and while I still didn't feel amazing heading down the other side it was certainly an improvement from the ascent. And now it was time to enter Manhattan, to make the fabled turn onto 1st Avenue which I had read about as a "deafening roar". I turned off my headphones, for some reason had a very clear image of Des Linden making this same turn an hour earlier pop into my head, and prepared to be deafened.</div>
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<b>1st Avenue</b></div>
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...but I wasn't deafened! What the heck! I don't know, I think the reviews of the crowds at this section really overstated things a bit. People were cheering, and maybe we were in a weird lull or something, but it just really wasn't that loud! I'm starting to think that all of the race reports I read in the week prior to the race were sitting on a throne of lies, because the other thing I swore I read was that 1st Ave was a slight uphill all the way. JK! It's slightly downhill! In this particular moment this was probably a great deception, because I started to feel better on what I assumed was an uphill, but it would come back to bite me later on. But either way, as we hit the long straight stretch of 1st Ave, I was starting to hurt. I knew that I needed to dig in here because if I continued on with 8:20s and higher, I risked the chance of my BQ time, my one moral victory goal, slipping away. So I told myself to woman up and tried to put my head down and groove. I'm really proud of my mental toughness in this stretch - it would have been easy to lie down and die after that mile on the bridge, and I was definitely hurting enough to do so. But I knew I had more than that and I owed it to myself to hang on as best I could, even if it wasn't perfect. Having been unimpressed by the crowds, I found myself more in the middle of the road and just tried to put my head down, listen to my music, and grind. I definitely went weaving all over the place from this point forward; the roads were super wide and really not that crowded, and my brain sometimes decides that maybe I'll feel better if I just go run over there instead! Happily, whether it was the downhill, the mental toughness, or the fact that I kept trying to fake it til I made it and smile at the crowds whenever I felt my worst, I did manage to find some sort of rhythm for the 3 miles on 1st Ave, hitting in the vicinity of 7:50 for the stretch. Seeing 7's appear on my Garmin gave me a boost - as I like to say about the runs where you know you're running too fast but you want to see if you can keep running fast, "speed begets speed". I thought perhaps that I could hang on to this rhythm and wind up with something in the low 3:20s, but all that mattered was continuing to move forward. As best I could, I kept trying to look around and soak it all in. The buildings. Billboards. The blue of the sky. Sunlight shifting through the buildings and across the street. Somewhere on this stretch people were drumming, and a Strava "Kudos" station included a line of people with orange foam "thumbs up". I kept telling myself that I was still having fun. Cardio wise, I felt totally fine, but my legs, which I knew would be the limiting reagent given my limited mileage, were getting ready to give up the ghost.</div>
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1st Ave Instagram vs. Reality or, how I'm trying to pretend I feel vs. how I really feel lol</div>
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<b>The Bronx</b></div>
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Oh boy. The Willis Street Bridge, I think it's called? SUCKED. This was 100% the point in the race where my legs were just like "you're done, son" and I knew the remaining 10K was going to be a battle of will. I don't know why the uphill onto the bridge just felt so very, very uphill, but it did. The way I would describe the Bronx is as follows: 2 minutes of awesome followed by 5 minutes of suck. The crowds in the Bronx were WONDERFUL and dynamic and exciting - I think there was a marching band? Drums of all sorts! Blasting music with the base pumping! And from time to time during this stretch of just over 2 miles, I would feel GREAT. Like when I ran past a group with an enormous banner that said "RUN HIM OUT OF OFFICE" and I decided to jump on that hype train and yelled and gave a fist pump, and in return got an absolute ROAR of approval (more deafening than 1st Ave if I do say so myself, go Bronx). Then there was a tight corner that I ran around where I high fived like 7 people and that just lifted me back up. But then 5 seconds later I would be back in the pits of despair because my legs were just like...do not want. DO NOT WANT. My muscles were balking at even the slightest hint of an uphill and I could tell that the final push into the park were going to be rough. Now let me just say: having your legs crash out in a sort of normal way in a marathon? Still 8000X BETTER than the way it feels heat stroking in a marathon!! Like, I'm not going to pretend it was all sunshine and roses, but at least I felt like I was sort of in control of the situation. I could lean into the pain to a degree and could keep running, at least, although I did slow to a walk for a few moments at one of the water stops because I started feeling really lightheaded and dizzy. I think I was dealing with some kind of minor electrolyte imbalance - per usual, my salty sweating always gets me, and the air was so dry that I think I may have actually been drinking more than was strictly necessary because I felt like my mouth was full of cotton. I actually wished that I had taken some salt that spectators were handing out earlier on the course (literally like restaurant salt packets) but I ended up just taking my last Gu a little early instead (cold brew Roctane) which definitely seemed to help the lightheaded feeling. By this point I had completely stopped looking at my watch all together, but knew I had slowed after the 1st Ave resurgence. In fact, aside from the awful mile up the bridge, I would end up running exactly 8:14s with one exception all the way into the finish...when I looked at my splits later, I almost laughed at the consistency. Hey, at least when I fell off, I didn't KEEP falling off the cliff...I was just clinging on to a lower ledge somewhere by my fingertips, hoping the grip would hold until the finish line. The last bridge from the Bronx to Manhattan was by far the least momentous of the 5, but was made memorable by 2 factors: a random woman sitting by herself with a megaphone yelling "you've reached THE LAST BRIDGE OF THE NEW YORK CITY MARATHON! I've been sitting here all morning just to tell you that!" to which I again waved my arms in the air and gave a yelp of happiness, and a confetti cannon?! The confetti cannon, in my current mental state, was more confusing than anything else. It was almost like a mirage. Is that confetti? Where is the confetti coming from? Lol.</div>
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<b>5th Avenue</b></div>
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Back in Manhattan, here we are, with 5 miles to go. I had been checking my overall time and starting to get a little bit concerned that, with the combination of how bad my legs were feeling and the number of minutes I'd already let slip away, I could be at risk of losing the sub 3:30 that was LITERALLY my only goal for this race. I consoled myself with my usual sloppy mental math of "you could run 9:30 miles from here on out and still go sub 3:30" and soldiered on. My notes from the day after the race say "5th Avenue: good for 9 seconds and then WOOF". You see, based on my understanding that 1st Ave was a gradual uphill, my mental logic dictated that "if we were running uphill going uptown, we must be running downhill going downtown!" Alas, said mental math relied on 1st Avenue actually BEING uphill, which, as I have mentioned, it was not. Now, the first couple of miles on 5th Avenue were relatively flat. I felt in a rhythm at what ever pace I had found my way into, and I was banging out my 8:14s as best I could. Harlem was a lot of fun with more loud music that I could hear even over my playlist (I don't care what anyone says, I really enjoyed having my playlist and could totally still tune into the crowds. They were loud. I could hear them. It was great.) I had somehow found my way to the left side of the road (like honestly, how/why do I need to wander around the road so much in these big races) and was hunting down the mile markers like they were my only hope in the universe. By this point, both of my calves were starting to cramp pretty unpleasantly, and I mentally patted myself on the back thanking myself for choosing to run in my Kinvaras instead of my Freedoms which are hard on my calves on the best of days. Honestly, I think wearing the Freedoms could have ruined me those last 5 miles and I'm so glad I let my brain win out over my ego/feeling like I need to wear "racing flats" for the marathon. Plus, I got to buy my new favorite socks! </div>
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Anyway, back to the situation at hand: it was rough, and getting rougher by the second. It's been a minute since I ran a marathon where it was just regular old legs giving out that got me (vs. getting heat stroke or just having the race of my life) and I kind of forgot how unpleasant it is! Yet somehow, at the same time, I was happy about it. I didn't come to New York to have the best race of my life, I came to have the best race I could have under the circumstances. All I wanted was to have a blast and leave everything I had on the course. And despite the fact that pain was seizing through my calves and threatening to stop me cold in the middle of the road, I wasn't giving in to it. I was moving slower than I'd like, sure, but I was moving as fast as I could. Every time I thought about how nice it would be to walk I shut myself up and tried to find a spectator to latch onto, or a street sign, or a damn pigeon...anything to convince myself, just a little more. </div>
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At some point I glanced off to my right and saw trees, and I was honestly so out of it that I was confused for a second before it dawned on me that the trees to my right were, in fact, Central Park, and that we were within 5K of the finish line. So close, and yet so far, as mile 24 would prove. Mile 24 is one of those things that people don't talk about like the Queensboro Bridge, but they allude to it like an elephant in the room that you just don't want to discuss. "Oh, 5th Avenue". 100 ft of elevation gain over a mile doesn't seem like a lot but when you're running this long, straight stretch at mile 24 of a marathon, wondering when in God's name you're actually going to get to enter the damn park, it feels like Mount Everest and a lifetime. This uphill was the point where my legs just decided they couldn't hang anymore. I don't know if it's because my last several marathons have either been perfection or such disasters that I spent the better part of the second half walking, but I truly had forgotten how BAD mile 24 can feel. My calves were seizing to the point where I felt like one questionable step was going to send me falling to the pavement, and my quads, calves, back, everything else felt like joining the party. I was riding the pain train and I was trying, desperately, to love every minute of it, but the hill just seemed to keep going on, and on, and on, eternally. We were back in Manhattan now, my happy place, but all I wanted to see was Columbus Circle. My mental math kept up - 30 minutes to run a 5K - but the window seemed like it was getting shorter and shorter. Was I really going to be happy if I ran a 3:29? Finally, somewhere in the middle of the mile, I couldn't do it anymore - my left calf seized and I was reduced to a walk. Randomly, there was someone with an inflatable Pikachu up ahead on the left maybe 50 meters ahead. I told myself, you can walk to the Pikachu and then you HAVE to run. But not 10 seconds into walking, a guy in a Tracksmith kit tapped me on the back as he ran by. "Come ON, Boston, let's GO!" he shouted. For a split second I thought, no. I can't. And then: God damnit, yes. Yes I can. And I was running again, the Tracksmith sash fading into the distance. To that random guy, whoever he was: thank you.</div>
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Not totally sure where on the course this photo was taken but I think it's somewhere around 22-23 based on the orientation of the buildings and the look of desperation on my face. Of note, this is the first time I've ever raced a marathon in sunglasses and I LOVED it. I felt so protected lol. </div>
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I continued on, step by step, each landing more and more careful as I knew if I stepped the wrong way my calf was going to cramp up completely and I would be done for. Past Pikachu, past more signs, past the mile 24 marker, and finally, finally, turning right into Central Park. Finally, I've made it home.</div>
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<b>The Park</b></div>
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As soon as I entered the park I tried to orient myself to where I was, how many hills remained, anything to make this part of the course that I know and love so much an advantage. Unfortunately, I almost always ran the park counter clockwise (and this was also 7 years ago), but it was a pleasant mental diversion thinking "OK, now at some point you're going to run down Cat Hill...but was there an uphill or downhill prior to that?" The fact that we actually got to run down some REAL downhills in the park was glorious, and in my mind I picked up the pace in majestic fashion. In reality....I ran more 8:14s! Hahahaha. Truly, though, I was riding the pain train in every way possible and I just kept praying that my calves in particular would hold out for another 2 miles. After the incident on 5th Ave, I was done walking. It was everything I had from here on out.</div>
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STRUGGLE BUS. I actually remember seeing this photographer at the same time as I was sticking out my tongue in struggle and thinking "lol, there's gonna be a photo of that". And lo and behold...</div>
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Somewhere in the park, I almost started laughing because the one extremely random song I had added to my playlist (a death metal song that one of the Milwaukee Brewers used as their walkup this year) came on and it was just SO perfect for mile 24.5. Everything was awful but also beautiful. I was dying but also so alive. I was in so much pain but it was perfection. As I kept glancing at my watch I knew that all I had to do was hold on, and I wouldn't run a 3:25 but I would be damn close. And I kept on. Where the FUCK was the turn out of the park, where was Columbus Circle? The miles had now stretched into what felt like eons. Somewhere around mile 25, Joy SOMEHOW managed to lock eyes with me from the sidelines, screaming, and I gave her what I thought was a smile or perhaps a grimace, but apparently looked like a death glare! I think I gave a similar look when I crossed the photo op mat at mile 25...</div>
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STRUGGLE IS REAL</div>
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At long last, like the light at the end of the tunnel, the turn out of the park approached. Past mile 25, a mile to go. A mile that felt like an eternity, but also felt like home. Central Park South, now known as the longest street of my life. I have never wanted to stop, walk, lay down, anything as badly as I did on that stretch. But there were people screaming BOSTON, and I was running in the shadows of skyscrapers in this city, my favorite city, "the greatest city in the world" as they say in Hamilton, and I would NOT give in. This was for me. It wouldn't be my fastest marathon but it was mine - on my own terms with no weight of expectation, no goals, no pressure, only freedom and joy. And despite the pain I FELT it. I already knew as my calves screamed that one more step and I'd be locked in plantarflexion forever and my quads threatened to lay me out on the ground that this one was special, that I wanted to do it again and again and again.</div>
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In a tunnel of sound and shadow, I rounded the corner, the skyscrapers and silver globe of Columbus Circle rising above me, and I smiled. I was there. It wasn't perfect, but damn it, it was enough. Eyes up. Rise up. Finish it. Turning back into the park, where you know it's over, and I've run these roads enough times to know exactly where I am. I ran them as a college student jumping in a random 10K while my sister danced at nationals because why not, as a PT student during the summer where I learned who I was, as a 20 something wondering if who I thought I was with someone was still who I'd be without them, and as a 30 something knowing that I was. And now, here I was, running them again, this same loop through Central Park. No matter how old I am, what distance I'm running, what stage of my life, I know this: when I'm in this city, I'm home. </div>
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And it's one last push through the park, one last beep of my Garmin that comes well before one last mile marker, and when I look at my watch I know that I've done everything I can and that it's going to be enough for now. I put everything I have left into that last 0.2 miles, 7:29 pace and it feels like a full on sprint, willing my calves to give me 30 more seconds, now 10, now 5, and finally, I cross the line with relief, with pain, with joy, with delight. And literally the INSTANT I cross the finish line, the final song on my playlist ends. That final song (The Hum by Dmitri Vegas) also happened to be the FIRST song I played on the first real long run of this cycle, when I was like, OK, we're doing this. Seriously, was this meant to be or what??</div>
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3:26:26. I may not have run the exact time I dreamed, but I did run the perfect number of seconds</div>
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I can't remember ever feeling so elated about running a time that was 15+ minutes off my PR. As I made my way through the (eternal, neverending, 9th circle of hell) finish chute, there were so many ways I could have felt if I had been basing my life only on the time on the clock. Disappointed, meh, accepting, whatever. Somehow, and perfectly, I was just delighted. I had done this thing! It had been messy and painful and with a training cycle I knew didn't quite add up to greatness, and yet I had hung in there, had a BLAST, stayed mentally tough, and gotten my damn moral victory of a BQ that, in all likelihood, will get me into the 2021 race (because...I hate myself lol). And I had done it all in this place that just means so much to me, always has, always will. It was, in a word, magical.</div>
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Approximately 9 hours later, I finally made my way out of the park (seriously, people are NOT exaggerating when they say the post race process of NYC takes almost as long as the race itself). At one point I attempted to sit down on a curb because I was just so sick of walking but immediately was stricken with an INSANE calf cramp and had to work a little of my PT tone management magic to avoid having someone call for a wheelchair. After that, I found I was just extremely nauseous and only just managed to avoid puking in a planter by sitting down on a random sidewalk for a few minutes while I attempted to figure out where Joy was. </div>
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In the midst of my nausea I took this photo, which I really like!</div>
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Eventually I made my way back to Columbus Circle, where I met Joy by the large globe. She, as well as my family, were a little tentative in asking how I felt about my race - probably because it was clearly so far off my PR, and I don't think anyone believed me when I said my goal was just to have fun. So everyone was pleasantly surprised by my happiness and delight - in fact, I was downright giddy. We made our way to a local pub where I downed a couple of beers but couldn't handle food yet. In the midst of this, I had an idea: one of my former patients was running the marathon in an incredible comeback story. I had secretly hoped I could cheer for him but knew it would be along shot, but I also love cheering with an insane passion, and was still riding some kind of life high. And that's how I wound up back in Central Park at 4 pm, cheering like a MANIAC for the marathoners still racing. </div>
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Literally an insane person</div>
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If there was anything that could have made my day even better than it already was, this was it. Joy and I literally lost our voices going absolutely INSANE for the hundreds of people still finishing. Once in awhile someone would be walking, and we would go nuts for them and they would start running again, and it would almost make me cry every single time. People kept looking at me with my medal like WTF, this girl already ran the race and she has the energy to be out here cheering?? It was just so magical. I literally could have stayed out there all day. And THEN, I actually saw my former patient!! I am not sure I've ever felt so proud of and lucky to be in the career that I'm in. Getting to witness someone who built themselves back up from something devastating and came so far in the 6 months we worked together finish a freaking marathon was unlike anything I've ever experienced - I was SO proud and inspired and overjoyed that the universe aligned to let me actually be present for a small part of that moment. </div>
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Finally, with an overflowing heart, no voice, and legs that felt like logs, I headed back to Brooklyn. Joy and I ended up wandering to a local pub, where the owners of the pub bought us a round, and then to a great little brewery (Strong Rope Brewery) where a random Brooklynite bought me another round! How nice is that? All in all, I ended the day aglow in a feeling of joy, contentment, and pure happiness. This was everything I could ever hope for from a marathon day. And maybe this was the day I finally realized that PRs are wonderful, and training to run fast is a lot of fun, but there is glory in the non PR days too, and sometimes the best days are defined by more than just the time on the clock.</div>
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I said when I signed up for New York that it was a one and done situation, and let me tell you, now having done the race, that is NOT a true statement. Not only do I feel like I could really run a PR on this course if I was in great shape, but I truly think the magic of the city gives me something extra special, something that even a place like Boston, my real adult home, can't give. I don't know how to explain it except in the immortal words of NYC from "Annie":</div>
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<i>NYC</i></div>
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<i>You're standing room only</i></div>
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<i>You crowd, you cramp</i></div>
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<i>You're still the champ</i></div>
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<i>Amen for NYC</i></div>
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New York, I freaking love you. Boston, I GUESS I'll see if I can find something similar on your course in 2021...</div>
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<b>NYC Marathon 2019</b></div>
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<b>3:26:26</b></div>
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<b>5271/53515 OA, 851/22716 women, 179/3449 F30-34</b></div>
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Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-30146259182539765292019-09-15T21:36:00.002-05:002019-09-15T21:36:13.406-05:00Finally think I found what I'm chasing after: Pumpkinman Half Iron Triathlon race reportI found myself thinking in the weeks leading up to this race about how long it's been since I really did something new. Something where I didn't know what my abilities were, that was completely beyond anything I had ever tried before. For the majority of the last 10 years, my athletic life has consisted of marathon, rinse, repeat. All other races were background noise and if I performed well in them, sure, that was great, but the marathon was it. And don't get me wrong: I love running, and I love the marathon. I still think I have more potential at the distance and I still couldn't be more proud of the work and performances I put in during 2017-18. But honestly, Boston this past year just broke something for me and I realized that I needed something new...not leaving running behind, but just mixing things up and seeing my athletic pursuits from a new angle. Enter: triathlon. I have tossed around the idea of doing a half iron triathlon for probably 5 years now, and each time found reasons not to. My primary reason was "because it will mess with my marathon training". So this summer, with zero interest in training hard for a marathon (yeah, I AM running NYC in 7 weeks but that is more of a curiosity/experiment situation than anything else), I finally took the plunge. And I tell you what, I have had more fun during this summer of training than any summer I can think of. I still ran a lot, but the pressure that I've always put behind running was gone. I rediscovered a passion for swimming and being in the water that I had completely forgotten about when I became and adult. I embraced the beginner's mindset and the fact that I still have SO much to learn (especially about bikes. LOL. I seriously don't know anything about bikes.) I came into training with no preconceived notions of my ability and just kind of took things as they came, especially on the bike. I didn't follow a specific training plan but applied marathon and running principles to the process, trying to make sure I did enough of the things I was weaker at (biking!) while keeping plenty of time for running...based on other triathletes I follow on social media, you could call my plan a VERY run heavy plan...and I'm OK with that. :) This plan also left me with a whole lot of questions about how I would perform on race day...I truly didn't know!<br />
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All this being said, my rough goals for the race were as follows:<br />
#1 goal - FINISH!<br />
C time goal: under 6 hours<br />
B time goal: 5:45<br />
A time goal: as close to 5:30 as possible<br />
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I did pretty well on the nerves front for most of the week leading into the race, but by Saturday the ridiculousness of the task before me (5-6 HOURS of racing) hit me like a wrecking ball, and I got SUPER nervous. I couldn't focus on anything and spent the majority of the day checking and rechecking my packing list and attempting to watch college football, but mostly just scrolling aimlessly through my phone without actually seeing anything. Luckily, I was able to do a lot of training with my friend and former colleague Elise, and we drove up to Maine together later in the afternoon. We both realized that we were mainly nervous about things we couldn't control (crowded swim, mechanical issues on the bike, etc). Thankfully, one thing we did NOT need to be nervous about was the weather, as the forecast was absolutely spectacular for early September - highs near 70, low humidity, no wind. We then proceeded to find the most delightful little sports pub to have dinner, and over the course of a beer and some chicken parm my nerves melted away! We got back to the hotel and one of the best things ever happened...Joy and Taylor were doing a half marathon in Rhode Island, so they were also staying in a hotel down there on Saturday. We received a HILARIOUS hotel room dance video from the two of them and obviously had to respond...let's just say that our rendition of "Old Town Road" had me laughing so hard I was almost crying. We facetimed after and it was just so amazing getting to cheer each other on from afar...I love my teammates so much. With an early wake up call ahead, we got our gear situated for the morning and then went to bed! I definitely had some trouble falling asleep but once I did I slept quite well until the alarm went off at 4:30 am.<br />
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Gear ready to go! </div>
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At zero dark thirty we were up and at 'em, going through the typical pre-race routine. Race outfit on, hair braided, gear checked (again), start trying to eat. I had been patting myself on the back for how good at gotten at packing race breakfasts (I had oats, a tupperware of brown sugar, a jar of peanut butter, and a banana to create my usual pre-race breakfast)...however Elise and I soon realized that it had not occurred to either of us that you need some form of silverware to consume oatmeal...lol. We ended up crafting spoons out of cardboard (this was actually more effective than my infamous foil spoon of Boston 2019), maybe 3rd time will be the charm on actually remembering to bring something to eat with! I ate half a Clif bar as soon as I got up along with a can of cold brew coffee, then ate my usual oatmeal/PB/brown sugar/banana mixture in the car on the way to the race. There is going to be an obnoxious amount of nutrition detail in this race report because that was an aspect of the day that I was very nervous about and that I felt went VERY well, so I want to remember it for future reference!<br />
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The struggle is real lol</div>
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After a short drive on winding country roads and blasting pump up jams, we arrived at the race in darkness. I still get struck by imposter syndrome a little bit when I pull into a triathlon and see all these gorgeous, gorgeous bikes, but that was not my biggest concern today. On the way to get our chips we encountered a precious German shepherd puppy named Luna, which really set the morning off on the right foot. We went to get our packets and chips, and let me tell you...this race knows how to do SWAG! Everyone got a lightweight backpack, nice fitted t-shirt (I've noticed triathlons tend not to give out tech running shirts...it occurs to me that triathletes actually don't wear those types of shirts that often, so it kind of makes sense? Anyway I actually love having race shirts that I can wear with jeans.), water bottle, stickers, and a koozie, along with some cute items from sponsors (first aid kit -random but great). Finishers also got a medal that doubles as a bottle opener, a long sleeved tech finisher shirt, and an amazing post race meal. Just...WOW. So armed with all of our new stuff, chips, numbers to stick on various items, we headed back to the car to get the bikes, and then headed to transition. We had an AMAZING transition spot, literally right in front of the bike in/out, which means no awkwardly running through transition with your bike. So clutch. So there I am, setting up my stuff and feeling my anxiety rising, when the girl setting up next to me comes over and says something like..."this is weird...but you're llama something, right?" Her name was Rachel and she was/is a reader of this blog! It was so hilarious and random (particularly because I feel like maybe 2 people read this blog currently?) and again really set a nice tone for the whole day. She was really nice and also as it turns out super fast! Hi Rachel, if you still read this, you're awesome! I feel like setting up transition has gotten easier the more of these I've done, and it wasn't long before everything was in its right place. There was still about half an hour before we had to head down to the beach, so I went to watch the sun rise over the pond and then hit the porta potty again before getting my wetsuit on and heading down to the water. I also want to note: the swim caps that we were given were SO NICE. I feel like this is a really silly thing to comment on but I was impressed lol.<br />
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Transition situation</div>
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Sunrise with the mist rising off the pond was absolutely magical</div>
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In my mind I had envisioned doing some kind of warmup swim but that never really came to pass; by the time we got down to the beach there was pretty much only enough time to walk in and feel the water temp (68 degrees, lovely) and then come back out for the national anthem. Again, not usually something I comment on but the national anthem was really cool - several times the singer paused at the end of the phrase and you could hear it echo back across the lake and like...chills. I got a little teary actually, as I sometimes do during the anthem before a big race. I always feel in that moment so much gratitude for being able to do what I'm about to do, and an appreciation for what a big deal it is to do it. We waded into the water with the rest of the under 45 women and without much further ado we were sent off!<br />
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<b>Swim - 1.2 miles, 38:25 (1:50/100 yds), 3/9AG, 22/95F, 76/201 OA</b><br />
Goal/anticipated: I was prepared to be happy with anything between 35-40 minutes, but was hoping for closer to 35<br />
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Welp, I did not expect the swim to be my toughest/least enjoyable leg of the race, BUT IT WAS. Oh, it was. My first issue was the start/swim to the first buoy. I had never experienced swimming with such a large group of people before, and maybe I seeded myself a little closer to the front than I should have but HOLY SHIT it was just insanity. I was getting whacked, slapping people's butts, twice I went to breathe and had a giant mouthful of water go down my throat from someone kicking next to me...I know that's kind of the way it goes but it made it really hard to find a rhythm. In addition to that, the first buoy was set at sort of a strange angle from the shore and we were swimming DIRECTLY into the sun, so even with my attempts to sight I had no idea where I was going. I figured I'd just follow the sun and follow the pack and sort it all out once we got past the first turn. I sang some Madonna to myself for some reason ("get into the groove, boy you've got to prove your love to meee...") and was just so happy to finally see and turn around the first buoy. Once we got on this long straightaway, it was a lot easier to sight and the pack spread out a lot more. I was a much happier camper but still felt like I wasn't finding my usual rhythm - I think after the initial clusterfuck my body was just all out of sorts. Thankfully, one of my strengths as a swimmer is just that I am really comfortable in the water and don't get anxious, so while I was pretty sure I wasn't swimming as fast as I wanted at least I wasn't losing my shit. I sighted well on the long straightaway; I had some difficulty once we made the turn back to shore to finish the first loop but was able to correct pretty quickly. I took a peek at my watch at the turn buoy to start the second lap and was at 18 minutes, pretty much exactly where I wanted to be. And THEN all hell broke loose. I tried to line myself up with the first buoy but once again it was straight into the sun and I couldn't even see it. To complicate matters, now swimmers from the Olympic distance had started and they were swimming towards a different buoy, set to the inside of the one I was aiming for. I somehow basically started swimming into the middle of the triangle until I hit a kayak; I popped up and literally had no idea where I was, had to ask the kayaker which way to go, and then had to swim perpendicular to a whole mess of Olympic swimmers to get back on my course (and somehow got confused for a second time in the process)! I have no idea how much time I wasted with all this fuckery but it was at least a couple of minutes...note to self...WORK ON SIGHTING and swimming in a straight line. Once again my rhythm was totally broken and I was so inefficient until I got to the first turn because I was sighting every 2-3 strokes in an effort to not get off course again. Once I made that turn I knew I'd be fine, but now I was just annoyed and ready to get the hell out of the water. At least by this point the field had spread out a bit, but I still made some contact on the last leg of the triangle. As usual, I had no idea when to stop swimming and stand up, and once I stood I just sort of meandered my way out of the water with limited urgency lol. It definitely could have been worse but I was hoping for a stronger swim - I also think as a moderately strong swimmer to begin with, I do have room to get faster here...I'm never going to swim 27 minutes like the crazy elites, but I'd love to see if I can work my way down under 35 next year!<br />
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<b>T1/Hill Climb Thing</b><br />
This race has an extended T1 because you climb a ridiculous grass hill back up to transition. It's cute, and they actually give out a special award for the fastest people up the hill, but I had already decided before the race that it would be a waste of energy to even attempt to jog up it and so I devoted the hill climb to trying to get my heart rate back down after the absurd swim. My legs felt TERRIBLE coming out of the water - I felt like my hamstrings were working way harder than usual while swimming so I don't know if I was just flailing around or what. There were wetsuit strippers somewhere but I decided that if I lay down on the ground I wasn't getting back up, so I just went on my merry way. It took me 1:41 to do the hill climb - really not that bad considering I just power walked...I don't think the extra 15 seconds I'd have gained by jogging were worth it. The rest of T1 took 2:21, which has been about my norm for swim to bike transition. I had decided prerace that I was going to take the extra 20 seconds to put on calf length socks (I regret nothing) and I think just really wanted to double check everything before heading off on the bike. I also chugged a bunch of water. I noticed that a decent number of bikes were gone from the rack, so I knew I had my work cut out for me. I mounted up on Bahamut and I was off!<br />
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Everyone else seems to have taken advantage of the wetsuit strippers, maybe next time...</div>
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<b>Bike - 53.31 miles, 2:53:36 (official results say this is 19.4 mph but pretty sure that's incorrect; per Garmin 18.4 mph), 2/9AG, 17/95F, 81/201 OA</b><br />
Goal/anticipated: My A+ goal was to squeak under 3 hours, A goal was around 3:08 (17.5 mph)<br />
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As I set off on the bike, I almost burst out laughing because through the speakers was blasting this AWFUL song, "Mmm Yeah", that I did a terrible dance to a few years ago. Between that and finding some humor in the "WTF just happened" of the swim, I was in a pretty good mood heading onto the bike course. We were almost immediately in farmland, riding past some horses and GOATS, who I obviously squealed and said hello to. The first 10 miles of the bike though, were kind of rough. I've learned that it usually takes me at least 5 miles to get into a rhythm and actually feel good on the bike, and that time seems to double when I'm coming off the swim. It didn't help that the majority of miles 4-10 is up a long incline, which I was aware of having looked at the course before the race but just conveniently...forgot about once I was in it. I also still struggle a little bit having to deal with people when I ride, figuring out when/who to pass, etc so the fact that these miles were more crowded was challenging as well. I ate my Honey Stinger waffle at mile 4 along with some Skratch. I wasn't really looking at my watch (as a triathlon noob I only have a running Garmin so I get splits every mile which is just...TMI on the bike lol) but I wasn't feeling that great and at one point I did catch a glimpse of a split and it was SO slow. To the point where I literally shouted into the abyss "WHY AM I RIDING SO SLOW?!" It was also really hard to sort out how much I wanted to push on the bike, since I knew overdoing it could lead to disaster on the run. This internal dialogue went on for a couple more miles, and then I came to a conclusion: I'm not having fun right now, and I WANT to be having fun. So I forced myself to rearrange my mindset, stop worrying so damn much about my pace, and just ride. Sing a song. Shout weird shit into the wind. Whatever I could do to get me back in a happy place. And it worked! I was also having some, erm, saddle issues, but I was sort of like, welp, sorry, there's nothing I can do about that!<br />
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Literally laughing my way out of transition as "Mmm Yeah" plays</div>
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At some point I looked at my watch and realized that I was nearing the 18 mile mark, but hadn't been riding for an hour yet. Wait a second...does that mean...I'm actually riding 18 mph?! I know that in the grand scheme of triathlon that's really not that fast, but having spent the whole summer trying my best to eke out an 18mph average for a ride and never quite getting there, I was thrilled to the point of shrieking "18 f&cking miles per hour!" into the breeze. But still, lots of time to go. After the first 12ish miles, the majority of the rest of the course was a super pleasant double loop without too many turns and pretty mild rolling hills. It was delightful riding, and I found myself really getting into a rhythm. At some pointed I decided to start singing "Shots" every time I took a drink (so...every 4 miles lol). I randomly got this Lil Jon/children's TV show mashup (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5KxZ5Lc_YA">this...lol</a>) stuck in my head and started singing the Lil Jon part aloud...I'd like to think a couple of the guys who went flying by on their aero bikes heard me singing profane lyrics to myself hahaha. I sang "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go", because something made me think of Zoolander, which obviously made me think of that song. It was really my own little bike DJ party adventure out there haha. Throughout the first loop, I spent a lot of time right around the same people - there was a guy doing the aqua bike who I kept passing on uphills, would lose track of him, and then he would come bombing by me on the downhills...I probably saw him 15 times during the bike. Somewhere around mile 23 or 24, we passed a house whose occupants were having an amazing morning, sitting in Adirondack chairs and drinking bloody marys while cheering on the cyclists. I thanked them for cheering and told them their drinks looked great, and for some reason then proceeded to almost start crying! For some reason, that was the moment that it just dawned on me that I'm DOING this. I'm really doing this!<br />
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I kept on with my nutrition plan, taking a few big drinks of Skratch every 4 miles and 2 or 3 clif chomps every 7 miles. I had a little trouble getting the gingerade ones down as for some reason they seemed stickier than the other flavors, which I wasn't prepared for (at least they taste good, since I bought a box of 24 sleeves of them...lol). Between miles 25-30 or so I felt like there were suddenly a lot of people around again...I kept playing leapfrog with a girl in an MIT tri kit, another woman in a pink Coeur top who I had sort of been going back and forth with since the start of the bike, and of course aqua bike bro (who was probably like 50 but shall forever be known as aqua bike bro). I felt like I was caught in a conga line and eventually summoned up the courage to just make a big move and see if I could get past everybody. And...it worked! For the next 10ish miles, I basically had the road to myself- literally to the point that I was occasionally questioning if I was still on course. There was one guy that I could see wayyy up ahead, but otherwise it was just me, my bike, and the road. Also amusing: somewhere around mile 30, I sort of zoned out for a second and shifted my left shifter (down to my small ring) instead of shifting within my big ring...as soon as I did it, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to use the left shifter again. This had happened during a ride last week and apparently is just due to my shifters being old...luckily, I knew that there weren't any more major hills on the course although the grinding sound that my bike now makes when it's in the lowest gear of the big ring is kind of annoying...oh well, it's just a sound, no big deal. I felt very smooth and in control throughout both of the loops. I knew I was riding fast (for me) but didn't feel like I was pushing too aggressively, so it seemed like a good level of effort - I'm sure this is something I'll continue to learn more about as I gain more experience in this sport! When I took my chews at 35, I decided that I was sick to death of sugary foods (perhaps it was the fact that when I took my last handful of cran-razz chomps, all that came to mind was a vodka cranberry...) and that at 40 I was going to pull out my ace in the whole...yes, I had brought a small handful of the delicious snack of PIZZA COMBOS on the off chance that I just really wanted a salty snack. I sang a little song about it..."5 more miles...then time to eat some comboooos". I was also quite pleased when I hit mile 36 under the 2 hour mark -still holding 18+ mph pace! I tried to do math and realized that I only had another hour of riding to go...then I was like actually, scratch that, because an hour sounds like a LONG time lol.<br />
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But that last hour actually went by really quickly! I did indeed eat my Combos, which I had awkwardly wrapped in a cup wrapper from the hotel (this was surprisingly effective) at 40. They tasted amazing, but afterward my stomach felt a little sketch. I got a little nervous...the idea of dealing with stomach cramps for a half marathon sounded unappealing at best...but then I drank some Skratch and got some quality burps out, and immediately felt much better. All in all I only ended up drinking about 36-maybe 40 oz of fluid on the bike? At the very end I felt like if I drank much more I was going to start feeling sick, so I figured I'd deal with hydration at the aid stations on the run as needed. The last 5 miles I was VERY ready to get off the bike, but we got to ride down a lovely road with the most BEAUTIFUL horses standing in a pasture, as well as running in parallel with the runners for their first/our last mile which was great - I was cheering for everyone and they responded in kind. I also realized as we made the turn for the last stretch that I was not only about to meet my crazy sub-3 goal, I was going to smash it!! I passed one last aquabike woman just before transition and made it to the dismount line. No mechanicals, no stomach issues, no problems...except a RIDICULOUS hamstring cramp getting off my bike! On to the run!<br />
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<b>T2 - 1:39</b><br />
1:30-1:40 has been about my going rate for T2...much more of a quick in and out than T1. I quickly stretched out my hamstring, swapped my helmet for my hat, put on my race belt, grabbed another swig of water, and got out of there. Last leg, here we go!<br />
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<b>Run - 13.1 miles, 1:40:37 (7:41 pace), 1/9 AG, 3/95 F, 19/201 OA (lol)</b><br />
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Heading out of transition with happiness in my heart</div>
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THE RUN! I was overtaken with such happiness to have made it through the preceding events without any major problems and to finally be doing the thing that I know how to do well. So I bombed down the hill out of transition with a smile on my face and not a care in the world to the tune of a ridiculous 7:05. I knew that wouldn't last, but it really set the tone for the rest of the run - my goal was to keep the effort level on par with a moderate effort run, as I figured my legs wouldn't tolerate much more. This was the best thing: in comparison to a typical half marathon race effort, the pace felt EASY, and my delight in being in a running race but not actually having to go to the red line was on full display (as an aside: this probably means I'm capable of a faster run leg in the future, but at this moment in time I really didn't care). I'm pretty sure every endorphin my body could produce was flowing through my body and I was flying high through the first few miles. We passed a field full of cows, including some babies, and I literally shouted aloud "OMG, COWS! HI COWS! YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL LOOK AT THE BABY COW!" The first 5K floated by in a haze of delight. Shortly after that, I realized that this course was hilly </div>
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AF, which for some reason I was not anticipating. When you're headed out on a double out and back and just keep encountering hill after hill after hill, it's easy to get a little beaten down by it. While I can't say I was overjoyed by the hills, I felt strong at the pace I was running and decided to just try to keep it rolling until I couldn't anymore. One of the best parts about the double out and back (combined with being a strong runner by triathlon terms) was that I was constantly passing people and people were constantly coming from the other direction. In my giddy state, on the way out of the first loop I literally said something or cheered for EVERY single person I passed or who was coming the other way, and SO many people were doing the same! I'm not sure where I got the idea that triathletes were kind of snobby, because I had the polar opposite experience during this race. There was very little crowd support on the run but with all the runners cheering each other on it felt like we were creating our own cheer squad...it kind of gives me chills just to think about. Because I was motoring along at a pretty good pace and I imagine I looked like I still had some gas in the tank, I was on the receiving end of a bunch of really nice "looking strong" and "crushing it" type comments. At one point a guy said something to that effect to me, and I sort of laughed and was like" well, this is the one thing I ACTUALLY know how to do!" </div>
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One amazing thing about this race, which I think all summer races should adopt, was people handing out ice cold sponges at the aid stations along the course. There was this adorable little girl handing them out around mile 3, and I was sort of like "why yes I WILL take a sponge" when she offered me one. It wasn't really hot, but 70 degrees feels warm when there's no shade and that cold sponge felt like HEAVEN. The second half of the out to the turnaround felt like it took a small eternity, and I was already kind of dreading having to do it again. Still, my splits were encouraging; I was generally sticking around the mid 7:30s, much to my surprise and delight. I was still enjoying cheering people on around me...in particular there was one girl in an MIT kit who I think I passed on the bike who was really friendly and cheerful when I would see her going the other way, and I also had a nice high 5 with my new friend Rachel, who was ahead of me after crushing it on the bike (she would go on to take 2nd overall!). I took a Gu at around 4 miles and continued taking a little bit of water at each station - I think there were 3 on each loop. </div>
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Somewhere around mile 7 everything started to hit me a little bit, and it seemed like the second turnaround was NEVER going to appear - in fact, I asked some random spectator standing in a field where the turnaround was, lol. Somewhere along here I finally saw Elise coming the other way - we high fived and she shouted to me that she had gone off course on the bike...noooo! I also finally found the turnaround, took ice sponge kid up on her offer once again, and headed out into the second loop. Things were definitely becoming a grind, and I was losing the energy to cheer people on...so was everyone else, and you could tell the mood had shifted from "YAY" to "let's just get this DONE." There was a particularly nasty hill around mile 9 that just seemed to last all day, but as I had done with all the others so far I just put my head down and got up it. That's one of the greatest gifts I've found about running in triathlons - because you've done all this crazy stuff beforehand, pace has no meaning...it's totally about effort, and taking the numbers out of the equation makes it SO much easier to keep my head in the game and just do what I can do. You'd think this would be something I had learned already in running, but for some reason the comparison game always gets me in straight up road races. I think taking that pressure away is where a lot of my joy has come from in triathlon, and I was feeling it despite the fatigue. At the top of the hill was an aid station and I walked for a second to get a full cup of water down along with a Roctane (the new cold brew flavor which was GREAT). Then I was back to trucking. At this point the mile markers were appearing about 1/4 mile before my watch said they should, and I had a background curiosity about whether the course would be short or if the markers were just wrong (spoiler: it was just the markers!) </div>
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I approached the final turnaround, which was in a little cul de sac where the neighborhood had gone ALL out for the race - there were tons of cute yard signs, a big sign advertising "THE OASIS" on the traffic island, and lots of people out and about cheering. An adorable young boy (maybe 5 years old?) offered me something and I was like "no thanks, but I LOVE your dinosaur outfit!" With 3 miles to go, I knew this was not only happening but happening WELL. A race vehicle briefly tried to squash me against the curb around mile 10.5 - I didn't really have the brainpower or drive to go around the vehicle so I just kind of made a woeful noise to which the guy in the car noticed me and apologized...he thought I had already gone ahead. I knew the way back was mainly downhill until the finish, so I was hoping I could just ride things out and that my legs would hold on for a couple more miles. On my way back, I came up behind a girl who was moving pretty well; I tried to read what age group she was in (another thing I love about triathlon - everyone has their age written on their calf so you know EXACTLY who you really need to hunt down and who you can sort of ignore if you want). I thought it said 33, and I hadn't seen her on the bike. "Well, maybe she's in the Olympic, or on her first loop", I thought. "But do you really want to take that risk?" the dumb competitive side of my brain replied. "UGH, NO" I internally replied, and shifted into a higher gear to get past her. Based on the fact that I finished 50 minutes in front of the next person in my age group, I'm pretty sure it was one of the earlier options, but you can never be too careful, ya know? </div>
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On the way back I grabbed some flat Coke from the aid station, which I have ALWAYS wanted to do...it tasted delicious although it did leave a less-than-awesome taste in my mouth for the final stretch. I did my best impression of picking it up throughout the downhill section, although truth be told I didn't have much left to give. Finally, after 60 something miles of racing, my legs were just gassed. I also started getting a truly awful cramp in what I initially thought was my left calf, but actually turned out to be the arch of my left foot. I'm not sure if I was electrolyte depleted (let's be honest, probably) or if I had been holding my foot awkwardly on the bike and it was now paying me back (also probable), but it was REALLY unpleasant and got to the point where I actually couldn't push off at all for the last mile - if I pointed my toes at all, my foot would lock up into spasm. Not fun! Even less fun when for some sadistic reason the last mile of the course is uphill! As I passed through the aid station for the last time, my foot seized and I had a strong urge to curse loudly, but SOMEHOW managed to hold it back to a "FRICKIN' A" because there were multiple children around...lol. Really proud of my self control on that one. The last mile was really just a battle to hold things together and mainly to keep my leg from seizing up on me. I was sort of following this guy in a white tri top up a neverending hill and at one point again had to walk for a second because my foot was cramping into a ball. But then I looked at my watch, said out loud "You LITERALLY have less than 5 minutes left of this race, you can deal with this for 5 more minutes, now stop being lazy and GO". And I went.</div>
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Finish line where are youuuu</div>
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The final chute was hilariously a very steep downhill, on grass, and I felt like an awkward robot heel striking like crazy because I was afraid if my foot seized up on the downhill, I was going to wipe out and ain't nobody got time for that. As the finish line clock came into view I saw 5:2x...which assuming the clock was counting from the 7 am start, put me at UNDER 5:20. I was in SHOCK. I had been pretty happy with my individual performances in each event so far, but hadn't really put the pieces together up until that point. I ran into that finish chute beaming.</div>
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So happy and also so trying to not push off my left foot at all</div>
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<b>5:18:16, 2/9 AG, 3/93 amateur women, 5/95 OA women, 37/201 OA</b></div>
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I got my medal and finisher shirt and then, for lack of anything better to do, wandered over to the results tent. I was somewhat curious as to where I'd placed in the grand scheme of things as I hadn't been passed by ANYONE on the run and felt like I had been passing quite a lot of women. My eyes immediately went to the AG place, and I was thrilled to see that I was second, as one of my random outside goals knowing this was a smaller race was to place in my age group. But then my eyes shifted to the overall women's placings, and I scanned down...1, 2, 3, 4....5. 5TH OVERALL WOMAN?! </div>
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I don't know why, but that was the piece of the puzzle that put me over the edge. I wandered off into the grass and sat down and just started crying tears of pure happiness and elation and exhaustion and wonder. I had done a hard thing. I had done it well, particularly for a first timer. And I had loved every single second of both the process and the product. What could be more wonderful than that? In training for this race I recaptured a joy and delight in just going out and seeing what I'm capable of that I for some reason had lost in the endless marathon grind. To then have validation on top of that that what I'm capable of is actually pretty damn good was just...a lot to take it. I'm still having a hard time describing the feeling but suffice it to say: I was on top of the world.</div>
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Elise finished not long after me and we headed to the post-race meal (AMAZING Thanksgiving dinner style) with pumpkin beer, and the awards ceremony. The awards ceremony brought more surprises: they did a special award for the age grouper who was fastest in each event, and as they're reading out the female run winner a part of my brain was like "huh, I think that's the time I ran?" Sure enough, it was me! I literally was like WHAT?! and got up just laughing to go get my award. Then, I re-learned another neat thing that I had forgotten about triathlon, which is that when you enter as an "elite" you're in a whole different category - there are separate podiums for "elite" and amateur/age grouper. So instead of winding up on the AG podium, as I had assumed I would, I got to stand on the overall amateur podium and let me tell you...I will claim that doing sports is all about competing against myself and that winning this is not what drives me, and I will say that a lot of the time that is true...but I also will tell you that I was grinning like a crazy person getting to stand on a damn overall podium in my first half iron triathlon ever. </div>
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During my last brick run of the training cycle, the song "Alive" by Krewella came on my playlist and for some reason just really spoke to me as an anthem of this training cycle. I had tried to listen to it so many times during the week leading up to the race that I would have it in my head for the run leg, which actually worked surprisingly well. Some of the lyrics are as follows:</div>
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<i>Come on make me feel until the pain don't matter</i></div>
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<i>Every second here makes my heart beat faster</i></div>
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<i>Finally think I found what I'm chasing after</i></div>
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<i>All alone, just the beat inside my soul</i></div>
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<i>Take me home, where my dreams are made of gold</i></div>
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<i>In the zone, where the beat is uncontrolled</i></div>
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<i>I know what it feels like, come on make me feel alive</i></div>
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Training for and experiencing this race has made me feel like I'm chasing after exactly what I should be. I love this sport. I love that I was bold enough to try it. And I can't WAIT to see where it takes me next.</div>
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In case you were concerned that I had completely given up running, though, I was a part of a Reach The Beach relay teams and did some of the best running of my LIFE in a no pressure environment on the back roads of New Hampshire, and I have half and full marathons lined up in the next 2 months (in other news: I'm insane). If anything, I think triathlon is going to make me a better runner...so no, I'm not done with the marathon yet. But that, I think, is a story for another day. In the meantime, I'm not signing up for Boston this week because I don't have a qualifier for next year. I'd sarcastically thank the weather gods who made Boston 2019 such a miserable disaster, but I think maybe I should be thanking them for real...that experience was a big part of what made me finally pull the trigger on this triathlon in the first place, and as a result...I do have something to register for tomorrow. And as it turns out, it's just a little bit bigger than Boston...stay tuned. :) </div>
Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-54254779395394778122019-07-27T14:32:00.001-05:002019-07-27T14:32:48.093-05:00Whaling City Sprint Tri Race ReportAKA, the most successful race I've ever had in the heat (*probably because only 1/3 of it was running*)<div>
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Back again with ANOTHER triathlon race report! My dad was in town last weekend and naturally, I decided that a fun thing to do would be to get up at 4:30 in the morning and drag him an hour+ out of the city to watch me do a race. What I did NOT count on was the fact that this race would be held in the midst of a horrid heat wave - forecast temps in the mid 90s with high humidity - on a course with no shade. FUN, yes? I had also talked Joy into the splash and dash event, and she texted me the day before like...uh...are we going to die tomorrow? Time would tell.</div>
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I also didn't have the greatest couple of weeks of training due to a variety of factors including travel and houseguests, but felt like this would be a good opportunity to get back into the swing of things before the big push into the half iron in September.</div>
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I slept horribly the night before the race, partially because it was 85 degrees in our apartment and partially because I was super anxious for some reason about getting to the race in time. Not about the race itself, mind you - I was really committed to the idea of just doing this as a training stimulus and for "fun". I got my bike into the Zipcar and picked up my dad at 5:15, and we enjoyed a peacefully traffic-free trek to New Bedford...if there's one time of day I actually enjoy driving, it's early in the morning on a weekend when I essentially have the road to myself. We made good time and I busied myself with checking in, getting body marked, and doing all the random extra shit you need to do for triathlons that you don't need to do for a running race. It was a little nerve wracking when they decided to play the national anthem a full 30 MINUTES before the start of the race (even the volunteers were very confused...) Once I got my stuff set up in transition I felt like I could finally take a breath, and I hunted down Joy and we headed for the swim start.</div>
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Still rocking that "take off the tire and put the bike in the backseat" life. I actually did buy a bike rack finally, but the idea of getting it properly set up at 4:30 in the morning was too anxiety provoking for me to deal with this time around</div>
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Yeahhh we are not wearing wetsuits today, thank you very much</div>
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The first wave went off at 7:30, and after several waves of various local triathlon teams (part of the race was a "team challenge"), I was lining up for the time trial start. Ready or not, here we go!</div>
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<b>Swim - 400m, 9:00, 2:03/100yd, 10/21 in division</b></div>
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Gah, I'm a little disappointed in this! I think the distance might have been slightly longer than 400 m, but this was not a great showing in terms of division place. I think that my swimming is stronger over the longer distances, because I could have gone all day at this pace but I'm not sure how to swim "fast" yet (not sure if I really ever care to learn how to swim "fast" lol). Anyway, I ran into the water and dove right in, because the 72 degree water felt INCREDIBLE. So cool, so lovely. I did make a couple of errors that I think I can improve on for next time: I went off course IMMEDIATELY which probably cost me a few seconds, and I stood up WAY too early at the end of the swim and the awkward running in knee deep water also slowed me down. I think I also just sort of forgot that the swim was so short and settled into my usual pace - probably should have pushed more, but oh well! I felt good, and otherwise, this was fine. Once I got over my initial path failure I did a pretty good job of sighting, and I only got caught up with another swimmer once. Luckily, the swim is an extremely minor part of a sprint triathlon so, meh. I was sad to get out of the water and back into the blast furnace of heat...not even 8 am and we had already hit the 85 degree mark.</div>
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<b>T1 - 2:32</b></div>
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There was a pretty long run up to transition, during which time I got to see my dad and Joy...was super confused as to why Joy wasn't in the water yet but apparently they ended up delaying the splash and dash start. I think I did a slightly better job of getting my shit together here than I did at White Mountains, but definitely still an area for improvement. I also definitely underestimated how challenging it would be to put my crop top on when I was wet from the swim, so that was probably a wasted 10-15 seconds of untwisting my clothing. I headed out of transition to volunteers shouting "HYDRATE ON THE BIKE!" and headed off on the double loop bike course.</div>
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<b>Bike - 11.4 miles, 35:34, 19.2 mph, 4/21 in division</b></div>
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I'm SO PROUD of this bike!! I feel like I have no clue how to push on the flats so I was very pleasantly surprised by my performance here. I've also never had a ride over 18 mph average so on that account, hell yes. I always prepare myself mentally to just have a zillion people flying by me on the bike, but once again that was not the case here. In fact, because of the time trial start, waves, and a two loop course, there were a variety of people already out on the course that I was passing left and right. The first few miles didn't feel great - I think I'm realizing that it takes me a few miles to get warmed up on the bike, especially out of the swim, and that I should never trust how I feel until at least mile 5. After awhile though, I started to find a rhythm. Things were helped by the fact that I found a random girl who I ended up playing leapfrog with for the entire ride - it was fun! She also had a very snazzy racing uniform and it was motivating trying to stay with her each time she would make a pass. I still feel like I have a hard time choosing appropriate effort on the bike, so in this case I really just tried to focus on maintaining a steady effort and steady cadence, and making as many passes as I could. I also got to see Joy out on the run course, which looped past the bike course - running in the blasting sun looked fairly miserable but I tried not to think that far ahead. I kept drinking every couple of miles and wound up going through an entire bottle of Gatorade during the ride, which I think was a really smart move. I'm always amazed at how competitive I get on the bike - I think maybe it's because pace just has no meaning to me and the only metric I have of how I'm doing is how many people I can pass? Anyway, let me just say that it's a pretty great feeling to go blowing past a man on a $4000 triathlon bike. I know that having a good bike can be important in improving in this sport, but it's nice to know that it isn't EVERYTHING. </div>
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I still just wear running shorts on the bike like the noob I am</div>
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The second loop went by really fast, and before I knew it I was pulling back into transition right behind my leapfrog friend. Aside from nearly getting sideswiped by an overzealous older man, I didn't run into any traffic issues and felt like I was able to ride my own ride, so...success!</div>
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<b>T2: 1:23</b></div>
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Not much to report here. Swapped shoes, swapped headgear, dumped some cold water on my head, and got the heck out of there.</div>
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<b>Run - 3.1 miles (a little long), 24:39, 7:58 pace officially, 2/21 in division</b></div>
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AHAHAH this was HORRID! Truly one of the worst runs of my life and I just couldn't even bring myself to care. It was so. hot. I passed my bike friend almost immediately out of transition and set two goals for myself for the run: don't walk, and don't die. At the first aid station out of transition I grabbed a cup of ice and shoved half of it in my bra, half of it in my hat, and just tried to chug along. By this point it was nearly 90, and the run course has exactly zero shade. Running along the ocean is lovely, but not exactly conducive to happiness on a hot day. I also quickly realized that I had blown out my legs on the bike (I can't figure out how not to do this?) and muscularly I had very little left to give. Still, in the triathlon world, often times if you're not walking you're passing people and I found myself passing, passing, passing, left and right. I only was passed twice, and both times it was by INSANE women in their 50s, both absolutely cruising! Good on you, ladies. I trudged along at somewhere around 7:45 pace, just laughing to myself at the absurdity of it all. I drank some Gatorade. Nothing really helped. I'ts 90 degrees, like, what can you even do? With a mile to go we headed towards a fort, and as I passed a woman she said something like "wow, you still have gas in the tank! Go girl!" I was like ummm not very much gas but I guess I'm still moving! It's just a very strange feeling running easy run pace in a race, passing people like crazy, and just not caring about how slowly you're going. I could tell I was getting dehydrated and I was truly just ready to be done. As we turned towards the finish line I glanced at my watch and realized that at only 2.65 miles, there was going to be some kind of stupid out and back to do to get to a 5K. And uggggggh there was....an out and back on a pier with the sun continuing to blaze, all sea breeze gone, just 100% misery. I tried to look at the turnaround to see if there was anyone in my age group coming up on me, but honestly I'm not sure I would have been able to do anything about it even if there were. FINALLY we were heading onto the grass towards the finish line, and I summoned the saddest "kick" of all time to finish the race in 1:13:06.</div>
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I kind of just wanted to fall over at the finish but I made my way through the chute to get my medal and water bottle/cold towel (a really delightful perk of the races from this company). I had heard that there were going to be ice baths at the finish but I didn't know where they were and didn't feel like searching, so I just wandered around and eventually found my dad and Joy. </div>
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After taking a few minutes to decompress I wandered over to the results table, where, to my absolute surprise and delight, I learned I had snuck my way into the age group rankings with 3rd! It's really hard to tell where you are in the general scheme of things with the wave/TT starts, especially with all of the team groups starting earlier, but I hadn't anticipated being able to place at this race due to it being a bigger race and people from so many actual triathlon teams being there. I was also pretty pumped that it was basically having a good bike that got me on the podium - the work I've been putting in is paying off! (Even though I still think I have a lot of work to do on the bike.) Joy and I went and jumped right back into the ocean for awhile, which honestly was the best part of the day. I had also joked in the morning about the absurd number of beverages I had with me (2 water bottles, a Gatorade bottle, a larger bottle with nuun, and an iced coffee) but I ended up drinking almost all of them...stupid high sweat rate and eternal dehydration. My dad also seemed to enjoy himself and I think was extra excited that he got to see me up on the podium.</div>
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It's so fun getting to stand on an actual podium! Why do road races not believe in these?</div>
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All in all, it was a really fun day and a great experience racing in less-than-ideal conditions, with the added bonus of having a strong day in the discipline I feel least "good" at. This was also a great motivator to get back into the swing of training generally - I'm still struggling a bit with the fact that there is just no time/energy to run the type of mileage I'm used to when I'm also trying to fit in 40 mile bike rides and swimming, and I definitely need to work on running off the bike even though it's the least pleasant thing of all time, but man oh man I just can't seem to get enough of this silly sport. I'm not quitting running though! I promise! I can do it all! ;) Running PRs just might not be my focus right now...at least not until after September of 2020. Until then, I think I've got plans....(cough, cough....Ironman...cough)</div>
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Whaling City Sprint Tri (400m swim/11.4M bike/5K run) - 1:13:06</div>
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105/469 OA, 28/225 women, 3/21 F30-34</div>
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Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29143125.post-35750461087378808332019-06-26T19:13:00.001-05:002019-06-26T19:13:21.253-05:00White Mountains Olympic Triathlon Race ReportOn Saturday I competed in my first Olympic distance triathlon, and I think it's safe to say that I've been bitten hard by the triathlon bug. Running will always be my first love, but over the past couple of years I've frequently found myself frustrated with the training/competition side of it, frequently finding myself feeling like I was putting in a ton of effort with very little to show for it on the race course (or at least, not as much to show for it as I felt there should be). Out of this ennui, combined with some colleagues who were either intrigued or already fully entrenched in the triathlon life, came the idea to finally jump into the sport of triathlon for real. I did a sprint like 10 years ago at the behest of my then-boyfriend, now husband, and I relit the spark last year with another sprint, but I had never fully committed to a longer distance race that would actually require, you know, training! A wetsuit! Actual bike shoes! I signed up for this Olympic race all the way back in November, knowing full well that it's known as one of the most challenging courses around, and hoping that I would like triathlon in practice as much as I did in theory. My boldness paid off in one of the most truly fun race experiences I've ever had (it also didn't hurt that I blew my expectations out of the water). I loved every second of this experience and I absolutely can't wait to do it again. <div>
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We stayed over in North Woodstock the night before the race with my friend Elise, who was racing, and her boyfriend, and race morning was a giddy wave of trying to make sure I had everything (so. much. equipment.) and figuring out where to go and what to do. The organizers of this race do an absolutely outstanding job and everything ran super smoothly from start to finish, including the WEATHER which was absolutely perfect...sunny, dry, and 60s. If I were doing a longer road race I'd have been alarmed at that forecast, but knowing I needed to go swimming and then ride my bike while wet first? 60s sound great to me. Elise and I were both balls of ridiculousness and I'd like to think our significant others were entertained. Time seemed to fly by with getting our bibs, putting on number tattoos, setting up transition, using the porta potty (my nervous peeing was less of a concern at a triathlon because of that whole swim thing....TBH it was amazing), and finally heading down to the beach to await the swim start!</div>
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My sherpa on a glorious morning</div>
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Number tattoos are EXCITING and we are NORMAL</div>
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Transition area all set up</div>
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At the beach we did a quick dive in to sample the water temperature and then anxiously awaited the start. I was literally more excited than I think I have ever been before a race - it was just such an incredible morning and I couldn't wait to swim in this beautiful place and then just see what the rest of the day would bring. I felt such joy and gratitude to have this opportunity and I wanted to enjoy every single second. At one point I just awkwardly jumped in the air and slapped my legs and yelled "I'm SO excited to swim in this lake!" and somehow Elise and I are still friends, so I guess she was entertained. The pre race meeting brought some depressing news: there was roadkill on the bike course and it was a MOOSE :( :( :( This was sad but also kind of hilariously ironic, as one of my life dreams is to see a moose in the wild. Elise mentioned that this was like a fairy tale where you get 3 wishes but you mess up the wording somehow and so it comes out totally dark and twisted...thankfully, I think things must have been cleaned up by the time we actually got out there, because I didn't see anything.</div>
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Here's a picture of me at the swim start. You can tell it's me because I'm the giant loser in the front row bending down to look at the minnows in the water, bahahaha. </div>
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After a couple of waves went off ahead of us, it was time to head down to the water and get rolling. At 8:39 the horn sounded, and we were off! </div>
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AM Fuel: Peanut butter banana Clif Bar ~2 hours before race, banana ~1 hour before race, lemon-lime Gu (no caffeine) ~20 minutes before start</div>
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<b>1500 m swim: 32:40 (1:30/100yd) - 3rd in AG, 11th female, 43rd OA</b></div>
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This was my first swim without a time trial start, but with a staggered group start (all women under 40 in my case), I wasn't too worried about getting caught in the washing machine at the beginning. After running a few feet into the brisk 59 degree water, I saw everyone in front of me and decided it was time to do the same. The water was BRISK - I swear they announced at the start that it was 65 degrees but my face told me otherwise...it was cold! I knew that once I could find a rhythm I'd get used to it and sure enough, after a couple of minutes it was no longer an issue. It was definitely more challenging to sight the buoys and find open water than I'd planned on, but I feel comfortable enough in the water that it was easy to just stay calm and find a lane. Once I got in the zone, I was in the zone! I definitely could tell that I was swimming harder than usual, and I got a little nervous initially because my arms were feeling fatigued pretty early on, but it never really got any worse and so I just fell into my rhythm and stayed there. By the time I got to the first buoy the pack had separated out nicely and I had plenty of open water to swim in. Around this same time my goggles started fogging up, which initially I could deal with but I eventually had to stop for a second and de-fog them as I literally couldn't even see the buoys, let alone the people from the waves ahead that I was starting to pass, and I couldn't handle another full lap in that state. The second lap I basically just spent the entire time thinking about how much I loved being out in the water (and intermittently about the fact that I was hungry and looking forward to my stroopwaffel in transition...), trying to soak in the beauty around me every time I sighted, and just enjoying the feeling of powering through the water. These sound like ridiculous things to be thinking in the midst of the race, but I honestly knew I was swimming just as fast as I could and that was going to be good enough. Soon enough I was gliding through the shallows, and then up and running up the ramp to transition! I apologize to the little girl holding out her hand for high fives on the ramp, I really WANTED to high five you but my hands were busy trying to unzip my wetsuit and claw off my swim cap, so I hope my smile was enough! </div>
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Andrew's view of the swim from up on the bluff. Is this even real life?</div>
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<b>T1: 1:57</b></div>
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I feel like this transition was sort of slow, partly because I had never practiced doing it quickly and partly because I was TIRED after the swim and at one point I feel like I was just sort of staring at the ground in a daze pondering what I needed to do haha. My wetsuit came off pretty easily, and I was able to get my socks and bike shoes on in reasonable time. I think my biggest struggle here was that I attempted to eat a stroopwaffel, which was extremely dry and just was not going down smoothly...I could barely swallow it without water and after awhile I decided to just stop wasting time and shoved the thing in my back pocket to eat once I was on my bike. Helmet, sunglassess, life sorted...OK, off to the bike!</div>
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Fuel: 1 honey stinger stroopwaffel (ate 1/2 in transition and finished in the first couple miles of the bike)</div>
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Still trying to swallow a stroopwafel, probably.</div>
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<b>40K bike: 1:26:17 (17.3 mph) - 1st in AG, 14th female, 67th OA</b></div>
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The bike was by far the event that I was most nervous about, as well as where I felt I had the most to lose in terms of time/places. Between the outrageously difficult course, my minimal training on large hills, and my beginner's knowledge of shifting between chain rings (seriously, I learned how to do it 2 days before the race), I knew that the bike was likely going to be a "hold on and do the best you can" sort of scenario. But as it turns out, like everything else in this race...it was a blast! The course started with an enormous, 3 mile long 10% grade downhill, and while I was initially terrified of this I got over it quickly and enjoyed flying down the hill like a kid on a sled, giving my legs a break and trying to get my heart rate down. Unfortunately, when a course starts with a zillion feet of elevation drop, and it's a loop course...there's pretty much only one place that you get to go from there. And that place is UP. </div>
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As soon as we stopped going downhill and I actually had to start pedaling, my legs felt pretty crappy. Looking back I think I'll just chalk this up to the confusing transition between swimming and biking, and that it took my legs awhile to catch up. It probably also didn't help that almost everything that looked like it was "flat" on this course was, in fact, going uphill at some rate or another. And I mean, going up large, long hills on a bicycle is hard AF. I don't want to understate the fact that it was so hard, and I would love to get stronger on the bike so that I can go faster! But the sun was shining, the temperature was perfect, I was out on my trusty bike named after a dragon, and sooner rather than later I started actually making some passes. Life. Was. Perfect. We hit a nasty uphill, and after dropping to my small chain for the first time, I immediately passed 2 men. What! While I did get passed by a few men (and two women) on the bike, they were all exclusively on downhills and by people riding very fancy, very expensive bikes. And you know, you can't do anything about that. We rode through a cute little town where people were out cheering, and I was having such a lovely time that I smiled and thanked basically every single person I saw. My legs still didn't feel outstanding, but I didn't care - everything was amazing. At some point I made a poor choice of trying to eat some Gu chomps while starting an uphill and basically lost all of my momentum while also trying not to choke - note to self, uphills are not for fueling. </div>
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<br />Then we hit mile 10. And oh my sweet summer child....I learned later that this hill is called "3 mile hill" and you'll NEVER GUESS why they call it that...this thing was an absolute monster. It was so monstrous as to be comical. And so, I said (out loud) such things as: "well, at least we're by a little stream!" and "we're all in this together" (sung from High School Musical). It was uplifting to look ahead and realize that EVERYONE was going the exact same slow as molasses pace as me - in fact, in a shocking turn of events, I passed 3 people during the hill. As I rode past one woman, I had the odd urge to apologize to her for passing her on the hill? Instead I think I blurted out "IS THIS EVER GOING TO END". This hill and my baby ring were my life now, and all I could do was keep chug chug chugging up to the top. </div>
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FINALLY we hit the crest, and were rewarded with a downhill with the "trucks could go off the road"/steep grade sign. As it turns out I enjoy just talking to myself while on my bike, because once again, aloud, I said "I'm gonna enjoy the SHIT out of this grade!" And I did! And then another hill loomed. And once again, I started singing: "Hi ho, hi ho, back to small chain we go!" What....is wrong with me lol. Basically once we hit the halfway point of the bike I turned into some kind of giddy ball of happy energy. The views off into the mountains were just incredible, and I just found myself in such a place of awe and gratitude for this gift of being able to do what I was doing. I am not normally someone who gets super sappy mid race, but here in my happy place doing this ridiculous but wonderful thing on the most gorgeous day, I just felt so, so grateful. At one point I sang out again "I f*cking love this downhill, I f*cking LOVE MY LIFE!". It was a lot. The endorphins were extremely high, is all I can say about that. </div>
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Eventually, after a stretch on a kind of crappy road (but that was also the "flattest" section of the course), we made a right hand turn onto a larger highway - beautiful, smooth pavement....and also the thing I had been pretty much dreading - 9 miles of gradual uphill with no relief until the finish line. My initial thought was oh shit, 9 miles is a looooong time for my quads to tolerate what's going in right now. But then I forced myself to find a rhythm, locked my eyes on the blue and black trisuit of the dude in front of me, and just pedal on. I got a song with a good beat in my head and again, because apparently when I'm alone on a bicycle I just lose all semblance of a filter, started singing: "Oh baby, come on and say it now, just let the words come out, tell me you love me..." A couple of men on tri bikes passed me during this stretch but quite frankly, who cared about the men. Me and blue and black #242 also started playing a little bit of leapfrog, as I oddly found myself channeling some level of competitive energy. On my bike! I was definitely thinking a bit about how I might be screwing myself for the run by pushing as hard as I was, since I could definitely feel quite a bit of fatigue building in my quads and calves. However, I sort of figured that with the absurdly hilly course that fatigue was going to be there no matter what - no sense in holding back. </div>
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This is insane in all of the best ways</div>
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The very end of the bike was on sort of an obnoxious bike path, and with 2 miles to go I was very much ready to be off of my bike. I finally became annoyed by my friend #242 who had passed me again, so I passed him and another gentleman before finally making the turn back into transition. Being back on the road and knowing I has made it through the bike was SO exciting - I knew that I had outperformed my own expectations, and all that was left was a 4 mile run...a tough 4 mile run, to be sure, but finally an arena where I knew would be my time to shine!</div>
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Fuel: 2 x 2 Tropical Gu chomps (150 calories + some caffeine), 16 oz 50-50 mix of Glacier Freeze Gatorade and H20</div>
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<b>T2: 1:24</b></div>
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My brain was slightly more on in T2 although I definitely did a very inefficient job of racking my bike - things to practice for next time! It felt like I was there for much longer than I was and people definitely do this transition much faster (this was actually my slowest overall placing!) so I think transitions are definitely an area where I could use some practice/work. Shoes switched, hat on, run belt donned, grab a Gu, we're outta here!</div>
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<b>4.25 mile run: 33:22 (7:46 pace) - 1st in AG, 4th woman, 28th OA</b></div>
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I could summarize the run in one sentence: running off the bike, especially a bike with 1800 ft of elevation gain, IS REALLY HARD. But as I ran out of transition I had a smile on my face. The greatest thing about running in a triathlon is that it allowed me to completely ignore my pace and run 100% for place and competition. I knew that anyone who was behind me at this point in the race was unlikely to pass me, and also that this was my opportunity to make some moves after the bike. My plan was very straightforward: just keep moving, and make as many passes as you can. The first mile is somewhat downhill, and while I felt like a noodle I just bopped along, eyeing up the people in front of me. There was another woman about a minute up who I definitely thought that I could pass, otherwise all of the nearby competitors were men. I hit mile 1 in 7:09, which I was pretty happy with, but I also knew that I'd been running downhill and that probably wasn't going to be sustainable (ding ding ding, correct answer!) But who cares - the name of the game is keep moving forward.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxEMIA0YH5b1-WyIbmtxZ_pERTHzTXD9wLP95hywIEyvCNjJB2dchTocKuTyo3ycpWoQaZN2movkIX9TE7VEWZig_AjEnyG2gF89iJT7gpGTcZLP36ZBYBNvNz4u7NzX2GEPePg/s1600/White+Mtn+Tri+2019+RUN-10231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxEMIA0YH5b1-WyIbmtxZ_pERTHzTXD9wLP95hywIEyvCNjJB2dchTocKuTyo3ycpWoQaZN2movkIX9TE7VEWZig_AjEnyG2gF89iJT7gpGTcZLP36ZBYBNvNz4u7NzX2GEPePg/s640/White+Mtn+Tri+2019+RUN-10231.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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Smiling! And also...beauty!</div>
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The remainder of the run course absolutely sucks, but knowing all I had to do was run 3 miles to finish seemed so easy compared to what I had done during the prior too hours that I was able to keep myself in a really positive head space throughout the entire run. I knew I wasn't running fast at all - probably closer to "moderate" run pace than any pace I'd ever race 4 miles at - but it was such a great feeling to just not care about that, because all I could do was give it as much as I had after the bike. The really awful section of the run is an out and back over multiple short but extremely steep inclines and declines, and having passed my first prey I started hunting down other women who seemed close enough to pounce on. There was another woman within sight and I could tell that I was gaining ground on her, so my new objective became: just pass that woman. I also started counting women as it began to dawn on me that I was much closer to the front of this race than I was to the back! We ran down a huge hill to the turnaround, where I nearly knocked a sign over hitting it as I made the turn, and then climbed back up to the bike path. It was slow going up anything steep with my quads that had been annihilated by the bike and were begging for mercy, but I was able to keep on moving forward. I managed to get past my new target on an uphill, and it was a nice feeling to know I was unlikely to see her again...unlike in road races, no one is really picking it up for the last mile of a triathlon! It was certainly an unusual sensation for me - cardiovascularly, I felt like I was out for an easy jog, but muscularly my legs just had nothing to give. Clearly, this is an aspect of the bike-run transition that I could stand to work on. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiykKoRTsQC57Nul4QAOJwRbxC6kXADCZWr2HkNLN7ZRTDcvQjtQnCSLAytDNxTjIvE9joU8NI2LqcItS8EzFSQ061q9Y4vkcUK1AP5ZngWhVY9K-f9j_Iyr-78UECwZEkfPzDMg/s1600/White+Mtn+Tri+2019+RUN-10236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiykKoRTsQC57Nul4QAOJwRbxC6kXADCZWr2HkNLN7ZRTDcvQjtQnCSLAytDNxTjIvE9joU8NI2LqcItS8EzFSQ061q9Y4vkcUK1AP5ZngWhVY9K-f9j_Iyr-78UECwZEkfPzDMg/s640/White+Mtn+Tri+2019+RUN-10236.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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I dunno, why wouldn't this be fun?</div>
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We crossed back to the other side of the highway and began a little looping section that's the "flattest" part of the run course. I passed a guy here who was cramping up and tried to offer him some encouragement as I went by. I was running pretty damn slowly at this point, 7:45-7:55 (if you'd asked me I would have guessed 9 minute miles, that's how sloggish it felt) but I was still having a blast - in fact, at one point I passed a volunteer who said something like "alright, still smiling!" and I was like "actually yeah, I'm having an amazing time!". I knew the last mile of the run was an absolute bear, but I also knew all I had to do was climb the hill of gravel, then climb the hill into the parking lot, and I was going to absolutely crush this thing. I slogged up the half mile gravel hill, cursing whoever decided it wasn't worth it to pave this section of road on the ski hill. I managed to pass another man as I willed myself to the top of the hill. Every uneven section and little pothole and muddy rock felt like a complex problem that my legs were having a harder and harder time solving. I almost laughed when my watch showed my 4 mile split: 7:46, coulda fooled me, these feel like 10 minute miles! We finally turned the corner and SURPRISE! it's another GIANT hill up into the parking lot. This time my legs just totally gave up and I actually had to walk for a second up the steep grade, but then I pulled myself together and kicked (hah) across the parking lot, onto the carpet, and before I had time to think of something interesting to do for a finish line photo, I was done! </div>
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Run fuel: salted watermelon Gu</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZSnsTFh3xymSYwFMOiNFv3k1VShK_lzF6YEcPxunFyQUQ9IIm-ktiLrWsbb7Y_TN2EncIAY2u-A9lAzYo3MQbiObfhV0mcejQGM6-MTh7HZ6hjkPn4jJ9_0isk3lR5BRSAT34tg/s1600/White+Mtn+Tri+2019+FINISH-10414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZSnsTFh3xymSYwFMOiNFv3k1VShK_lzF6YEcPxunFyQUQ9IIm-ktiLrWsbb7Y_TN2EncIAY2u-A9lAzYo3MQbiObfhV0mcejQGM6-MTh7HZ6hjkPn4jJ9_0isk3lR5BRSAT34tg/s640/White+Mtn+Tri+2019+FINISH-10414.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Can we also just talk about all of these FREE PHOTOS? This race is amazing.</div>
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I was on some other level of giddiness when I finished, and while my legs were completely exhausted I was high on type 2 fun and endorphins and life. Andrew and Elise's boyfriend reported that she was about 20 minutes back from me starting the run, so we wandered around to find a good spot to wait to cheer her in. In the meantime I went to get my results printout and almost lost my mind when the little sheet printed out and showed: top 10 women. 1ST IN AGE GROUP. It was like deja vu - 10 years ago at my first sprint triathlon, I went in with no clue of what I was doing and won my age group. Here I was a decade later, and it happened again! I was shocked, thrilled, pumped, and PROUD because not only had I executed the race about as perfectly as I could have imagined, I did it with so much joy. There were moments on the bike when I could swear I was just going to explode with the happiness that I was feeling. I don't exactly know what it is about this sport that makes me feel this way, but whether it's the lack of expectations or comparisons, the fun of having a beginner's mindset, or just the overall weirdness of the sport itself (like...you have to change shoes during a race...) it's something I hope I never stop feeling. I'm certainly not giving up on running, but discovering a new sport feels like such a gift at this stage of my running career - bringing me back to the idea that racing is fun, something to be grateful for, something to find joy in, not something that subtracts joy from your life. Of course, discovering something that I seem to have some natural ability for certainly doesn't hurt - surprise age group placings are probably just as addictive as many drugs, and when you've experienced it once, you want to keep experiencing it again and again. But for now, I'll always remember how my fun I had during this race, and how much I just loved the experience of doing what I was doing, and I'm going to try to carry that with me into future training and races - whether it be just running, or triathlons, because let's be honest...now that I'm in, I'm in for good.</div>
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<b>White Mountains Triathlon (Olympic - 1500m swim/40K bike/4.25M run)</b></div>
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<b>2:35:38</b></div>
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<b>39/173 OA, 9/67 F, 1/11 F3034</b></div>
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Audreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00701483453296295755noreply@blogger.com1