I was trained up to the max for this race. My hope was for a sub-13, maybe even 12:30. Things had gone as well as I could have hoped for all along, save for the death of my mom. In a way, I was bemused that my body hadn’t broken down very much along the way, which, in retrospect, may have been a foreshadowing.
It’s a long way to Florianapolis, Brazil (south of Sao Paulo) from Chicago. I tried getting the distance from Google Maps, but it can’t give me driving directions. I didn’t plan on driving, anyway. I know it’s at least 5,000 miles.
I left on Tuesday, 5/23, at 11:00AM from my house, and 3 flights later, arrived in Florianopolis on Wednesday, 5/24 around 4:00PM (Brazil is 2 hours ahead of Chicago). Sans bike. But I wasn’t worried—at least I had my clothes. Several athletes did not receive their clothes for 3 more days. One girl had been in town since Monday and didn’t get her stuff until Friday. When I picked up my bike in Sao Paulo to clear customs, I saw that one of the airlines had mangled the case. Nice. I just hoped my aerobars were OK, because it was the corner where they were seated.
I didn’t get much sleep on the overnight flight from Miami to Sao Paulo (I flew Chicago to Miami; Miami to Sao Paulo; Sao Paulo to Florianapolis through Curitiba). Breakfast and dinner were provided for us at the hotel, so after a late dinner, I fell peacefully asleep. Around 11:30PM, I received a phone call that my bike had arrived, and did I want to come down and get it? Hell no. I’ll get it in the morning. I got 9.5 hours of sleep that night, the most I would get the entire trip.
Thursday, 5/25 morning, I went into the Atlantic for a little swim. The water was beautiful—flat and cool. About 68°. Not murky or anything, but I could feel something in my hands when I was pulling. When I was almost finished and near shore, I tried to see what it was. I couldn’t see anything! So I decided to pull and close one of my hands and capture whatever it was. When I stood up, it looked like I had 2 glass spheres. I figured on them for jellyfish, and I was right. Thousands, or perhaps millions, of them were washing up on shore. But they didn’t seem to sting (another foreshadowing), so I just laughed and got out.
I unpacked my bike and nothing was broken, and put it together. My little Bitch would be ready to go.
I went for a 30 minute run later in the day, and felt really good. REALLY good. I was running at a good clip with a really low heart rate.
Finally, I went and rode with a couple of guys I met from Lafayette, Louisiana (Charles and Axel). It was a fun ride, albeit not part of the bike course. Lots of giant speed bumps and some cobbles.
On Friday, the ocean had kicked up quite a bit. It was very windy, and I decided against swimming, but still got in a short run in the morning. Once again, I felt great running, and I ran further and faster in 30 minutes than I had the day before on the same route. I thought this was a good sign.
Saturday I woke up and my throat was quite scratchy. I thought it could be anything—minor exposure to the local water (which I never intentionally drank, but there was some on fruits and vegetables), sea water, whatever. But it was noticeable, yet I thought it would pass overnight.
Nope. Saturday night (night before the race), I woke up at some point and my left arm was itching like crazy. After scratching it all over for a few minutes, I figured I’d better get up and see what was going on. I had huge welts in 4 places on my left arm, a new one forming on the right, and a few on my forehead. I didn’t freak out, but I was very concerned. A little over 10 years ago when I was still married, we were in St. Thomas, USVI, and I got bit by some local mosquitoes, and one bite was near one of my eyes, which promptly swelled to the size of a racquetball ball, nearly closed. So given I had been bitten by some Brazilian insect, I was concerned about my face and my allergic reactions. So I then pulled the sheet over my head to keep whatever it was away from my face. At one point I heard the thing right by an ear, and I think I managed to kill that one. This little episode just set the stage for a series of problems. At the same time, I noticed that my throat was beginning to close up, and swallowing was not easy. Oh well, carry on, just try and sleep a little bit.
I think I slept 7 hours or maybe not—it was hard to tell how long the scratching went on. I looked at my arms, and the welts had dissipated somewhat and didn’t itch too much, but I had 3 nice bumps across my forehead that looked like giant pimples to me. At least my eyes seemed OK. If I had gotten bit around them, making my goggles fit would have been difficult.
As I got up and did my race morning stuff, I noticed I was a little dizzy. My throat still felt like crap, and there was a trace of a cough beginning to take hold. Great. I could tell just from this that I was probably not going to have the day I was trained for. Oh well, just take things one step at a time and see what happens.
I went downstairs for breakfast and asked for some advice from an Ironman veteran—Danny, from New Mexico. He’s a really fast guy, but also extremely nice, and I figured he had to have done at least 1 Ironman while sick. He told me to just start out even slower than I had anticipated, to not get consumed by thoughts of being sick, and to be optimistic that things would clear up during the race. All very good advice. Better than saying, “You’re basically screwed.” I took the “start out even slower” advice to heart—knowing my body was already fighting off something, trying to go at my anticipated race paces from the get-go probably wasn’t a good idea.
I also noticed that despite getting sufficient sleep, that I just didn’t feel as awake as I usually do. It didn’t dawn on me until the next day that it was because my sinuses were very clogged up. I have NEVER had a sinus infection, so this was a first for me. It felt like someone had screwed a vise to my head. Oh yeah—complete with a nice headache, for which I hemmed and hawed, and then finally took 2 Extra-Strength Tylenol, because I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I didn’t want to take any NSAID’s or anything else. I figured my body would just have to deal with some minor pain control and a commitment by me to kick it down a notch or two.
When I got to the beach start area, I tried my best not to give away to any other athletes how poorly I felt. I have this thing that it doesn’t do me or anyone else good to know that I feel like shit on a race day, although, this was by far, the shittiest I have ever felt. And not just on a race day. I am going to the doctor today, this is nasty stuff! At any rate, I’m standing on the beach feeling dizzy. Not falling over dizzy, but like I had been drugged or something. So when the gun went off, well, here we go, let’s see what happened.
I started way to the back knowing I was going to have a crappy swim, got in, and the water wasn’t glassy the way it had been the day I did a practice swim. That combined with me being dizzy to start with was not a good combination, plus the headache really hadn’t abated too much. Whatever. I needed to try and get somewhere now, and I wasn’t good with quitting just yet.
The course was shaped like an “M”, and we started on its right. The right side or first half of it was longer than the second half. The first out part had 3 buoys marking 900 meters. Not really a lot when you think about it, but at least you could tell where you were going. When you turned to make the diagonal back to shore, there were ZERO marker buoys, which made it interesting, but there was a hot-air balloon on the beach which was the only thing you could use to sight. I could tell the current was pushing us back towards the start area, but oh well, what are you going to do.
I couldn’t believe I was “swimming” in the condition I was in, yet something kept me going. As I exited the water to run around, part of me said just stop right there, but then I found myself back in the water. I could also tell I had been stung by the jellies on both hands, but the stings didn’t really hurt—they just felt like blisters that were slightly annoying.
There was only the end marker buoy for the second half of the “M,” and it was hard to find. So now there were kayakers blowing whistles trying to get people on course. I waited a few seconds to verify where I was going, and then got back to swimming and immediately got kicked soundly in the nose. My goggles went up my head (but not totally off), and man that hurt like a sonofabitch. I had to stop and feel my nose to see whether it was broken or not. It didn’t appear to be, so I put my goggles back on and kept going. The way back was a huge cluster fuck, as the current continued to push those heading for shore into those going out, but somehow we were making it back to shore. I noticed during the second half of the swim that I had absolutely no power in my arms. It was an odd feeling, since I usually feel quite strong in the water, no matter how fast or slow I am swimming.
When I stood up, I noticed that my vision was fucked up, and played “one eye at a time” to figure out that I had no contact lens in my left eye. I looked in my goggles, and it was in there. Amazing! Even though I had packed a spare set in my T1 bag, I didn’t want to lose this one (they aren’t exactly cheap), and I was having a shit day anyway, so I figured I’d get it out in transition. I had to make hand signals at the wetsuit strippers to not futz with my goggles since there was something in there. Amazingly, I was able to jog towards the changing tent, and my body let me know that 1) my throat was just about closed up; 2) I was going to be coughing all day; and 3) the dizziness was going to continue. Oh well, just keep going. You can’t always get what you want. I didn’t come 5,000+ miles to give up this early.
I don’t know how long it took me to get that contact lens out of my goggles, and frankly, I didn’t care. But when I finally did, I rinsed it with water, popped it in my eye and it felt fine. Beautiful! After that, it took all of about 2 minutes to get my helmet, shoes and sunglasses on and head for my bike.
Of course, it was disheartening to see so few bikes left in transition, but I had plenty of time to finish this bitch in under 17 hours, so I’m going to keep going. As badly as my throat felt, I was still going to obey my rule of no drinking or eating for 15 minutes, to give my body time to settle. Well, I had spent at least that much time in T1, so I guess I could have drank something right away, but you know how anal retentive I can be.
The weather, at least, was beautiful. 60’s when we started, and it felt like maybe 70 as I started the ride. And no wind! Could this possibly be? A gift from the gods to make up for, in part, the awful way I felt? One thing at a time. Just ride the bike. At least I knew this was something I knew very well how to manage.
I settled into my first 2 hours of very easy power. Looking down at my meter, I was going over 20MPH at very low watts. That gave me something positive to focus on. Once we got away from town, the winds began to pick up, little by little. I was drinking on schedule, and all things considered, didn’t feel too poorly (although my throat hurt whenever I swallowed Gatorade). The race had the best flavors of Gatorade on the course—mango, citrus, tangerine. That was a nice thing to have considering how my day was going.
It wasn’t too long before the winds picked up quite a bit—about 2.5 hours into my ride. Post-race, athletes estimated them at 10-20MPH steady. I knew what to do, and I just kept pedaling. At one point, a film crew was filming my feet pedaling. That gave me something to focus on for a bit. I continued to feel dizzy while on the bike, and kept telling myself to not fall off the bike. My heart rate was unusually elevated, and not because it was a race. That told me that my body was working hard to fight off the infection. I ended up peeing 7 times during the ride (my actual ride time was 6:43, I guess not too bad for sick girl and headwinds), which was a new thing for me (not peeing on the bike—I’d done that before, but never to this degree). I think I was drinking the right amount of fluid, but oh well, ya gotta go, you go. I noticed that people had trouble with the wind—I did, too, but I forced myself to stay in the aerobars, as sitting up is counterproductive into a headwind. I also had 2 roadies with me most of the way—I heard there were many who thought how nice to have parts of roads closed—yet I worried several times they might cause me a penalty. Speaking of which—there were race officials all over the place—because of the course layout, they could keep circling in maybe a 10-mile area, so they really didn’t need that many draft marshals, yet there was more than adequate coverage.
There were several times during the bike when I wanted to give up and quit, but all I could think was I have no fucking clue where I am in relation to my hotel, let alone that I’m in Brazil! So that kept me going. My neck muscles were very tight, predictably, from all the aero position and very few climbs, but my leg muscles felt like they were on autopilot. I guess all that training paid off somehow, even though I couldn’t perform up to my expectations.
When I got to T2 and took off my bike shoes, my feet felt pretty abused. But I’ve learned from doing this a few times that that’s normal, and slipping into the running shoes would actually feel good, and it did. I told the volunteer to throw away my bike socks (I had fresh ones in my T2 bag). She made me confirm it, and I said, “YES, PLEASE GET RID OF THEM!” They were disgusting. I also changed into running shorts, decided to make an actual pit stop in the porta-potty before I exited for the run course, and in the short while I was in there all I could think was how the hell did I get this far today? Since I had such a crappy swim and was out in the back of the bikers, I didn’t get to see many people I had met, but I was looking forward to seeing them on the run.
As I began the run, my legs didn’t feel all that bad. They shouldn’t have—I hadn’t given the effort on the bike that I was capable of (although amazingly, it wasn’t that much less when I look at the wattage numbers). But I could tell this was going to be a big struggle. I still wasn’t convinced I had it in me to finish, but I just kept going. I didn’t come 5,000+ miles to not finish the race, did I? I noticed right away that the bridge of my nose hurt, and it seemed to be caused by my sunglasses. When I removed them, I could feel caked up blood on my nose. What the hell? I guess that kick in the face was pretty hard. When I touched the bridge of my nose, it hurt, and I just hoped I didn’t look too badly. Oh well, you can’t always get what you want.
Now that I was upright, the dizziness was much more apparent. Clearly, my balance was messed up no doubt by the infection being in my sinuses and probably the Eustachian tubes. Side note—when I was very young, I had recurring ear infections, so I am all too familiar with the structures inside my head. I still had a good headache going, my nose hurt, my throat felt like shit, so at least I had all that going for me.
I saw so many people I had met on the trip during the run, and most of them looked really good—Lisa, Danny, Peter, Dino, Axel, Charles, Peggy, Cathy. When they would ask me how I felt I’d say I was sick, but I’m sure they thought it was normal racing GI distress. I fucking WISH that’s all it was! My stomach was actually fine all day, and I was extra careful to make sure I was hydrating, taking in salt, etc. I think I peed 4 times during the run, so at one point I said a special “thank you” to my kidneys for continuing to function.
After about 15K, I could tell my legs were not going to do what I commanded them to. My entire body felt like it was shutting down. Never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that I would continue going in an Ironman feeling this way. I have read reports of other athletes continuing under poor conditions, and never imagined how they could keep going. It was around this time that I decided I had promised my mom that I would finish, and so I was going to do it, no matter what it took. Throughout all of this, I remembered to thank the volunteers, and try and crack a smile when I saw someone I knew.
When I had about 15K to go, I saw Peter coming towards me. It was his first Ironman, and he looked absolutely great, and was having a great race, from what I could tell. As he came next to me, I heard him say, “OH MY GOD.” At the time, I wasn’t sure if he was commenting on his own effort or if he was making a comment about me. The next morning when I asked him about it, he told me I looked like shit. It was nice to have some confirmation of how poorly I really was doing. It’s tough to put it into words, and it’s even difficult for me to write this down. I’m sure there are others, who have felt worse in an Ironman, and maybe I’m a wimp, but I wouldn’t wish even half of how bad I felt on someone else.
With 10K to go, I knew I was going in. Believe it or not, when I got off the bike, I had a glimmer of hope I could still come in at 13 hours, but when I saw that pass, I knew it was going to be a long day. So my next objective was to beat my second best Ironman time of 14:20. Well, I just barely squeaked by in 14:15. How about that?
When I have read about other athletes doing “a death march” in an Ironman, and they are coming in maybe 1-2 hours below their abilities, in the past I would laugh and think, “Oh sure, that was a death march, huh?” But now I know what it’s like. So I am trying to feel good about a 14:15 being a death march for me, and it’s going to take a few weeks for it to sink in, but I’m sure it will come. So you can’t always get what you want, but if you try (and try REALLY HARD) sometimes, you get what you need. I needed that stinking medal, and knowing I could tough it out.
Shortly after I finished, I walked my crap over to this hospitality house that was set up for those of us who had traveled with Endurance Sports Travel (Ken Glah’s company). Thankfully, they had good food for us there, and we could get our bikes and ourselves transported to our hotels by van. I went into the bathroom to clean up a bit, and when I saw my face in the mirror, I now knew why people were looking at me funny once they could see me in the light. My nose was half black and blue, there was blood where my sunglasses had sat, and my eyes looked like I was stoned. I should have gotten a picture of myself at that point, although if you look at my finisher photo, you can sort of see it in my eyes.
A lot of people had great days—there were some amazing first-time finishers—Peter, Theron and James—some good PR’s and some others who didn’t get what they wanted, but they still got what they needed. Like me.
I will be seeing a doctor today, as I seem to be getting progressively worse (yet I can tell this will go away), I will rest up, and at some point I will begin moving around again. I pretty much decided the day after the race that I would go to Ironman Florida, hope that I would be healthy on race day, and see how I can do. It makes for one really, really long training and racing season, but I know that I am extremely fit, and that I will be fine lying low for a few months. I have a lot of riding planned (I still LOVE riding my bike), a few shorter races (in which I hope to kick some major ass), and then I just want to enjoy my summer.
I feel very fortunate that I was able to go to Brazil and do this race. I met some of the finest people you can imagine, and I hope to stay in touch with many of them. Great athletes who are great people. In the end, that is what this is all about. Showing us who we are and what we can become and accomplish no matter what is thrown in our paths. I still have 2 functioning (not 100%, but still working) lungs, 2 powerful legs, and 2 arms that I believe really DO know how to swim. I still have loving family members and friends, a coach who believes in me, and my own sense that I am doing the right things for myself. Life is still very beautiful, even in the face of adversity, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else!
I think the following verse from the Rolling Stones song is very appropriate. Those of you who know me well will see the connection:I went down to the Chelsea drugstore
To get your prescription filled
I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy
And man, did he look pretty ill
We decided that we would have a soda
My favorite flavor, cherry redI
sung my song to Mr. Jimmy
Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was "dead"
I said to him
You can't always get what you want, no!
You can't always get what you want (tell ya baby)
You can't always get what you want (no)
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You get what you need
Oh yes! Woo!
BADA BING, indeed!
I was trained up to the max for this race. My hope was for a sub-13, maybe even 12:30. Things had gone as well as I could have hoped for all along, save for the death of my mom. In a way, I was bemused that my body hadn’t broken down very much along the way, which, in retrospect, may have been a foreshadowing.
Folks, I was sick. Not race sick--"sick" sick. I caught some virus on Thursday before the race, was miserable when I started, dizzy all day (which is a lot of fun on the bike), sore throat, congested sinuses, headache, blah, blah, blah. But you are probably thinking, "Hey, she should be able to deal." My energy was sapped, and although I made it through the bike, my run ended up being a death march. But, that was still my 2nd fastest Ironman overall, so what that tells me is that I do have a sub-13 in me, and I will be going to Ironman Florida to prove it.
