As I
sit down to reflect on the events of last weekend’s Ironman 70.3 (my first half
ironman triathlon), it feels like it was a lifetime ago. I spent a whirlwind few days in Lake Stevens
and to be honest, I remember little more than my four day fling with
theweathernetwork.com, absent-mindedly watching a string of movies I’ll never
be able recount, and the almighty and enigmatic feeling of running up that
finishing chute. I highly recommend it.
This is not a fable. This is my reality.
I
once knew a girl who couldn’t run 3km. The first day she attempted this
“milestone” distance, she almost threw up and had to walk home.
I
once knew a girl who agreed to run 10km in a team at the 2008 Noosa Triathlon. As
she anxiously awaited the arrival of her cyclist team mate, her nerves were so
debilitating she had to squat down in transition for fear of fainting, and put
her head on her knees for fear of throwing up.
I
now know a girl who can run a half marathon. Not only can she run a half
marathon, but she can do so after first swimming 1.9 km and then biking
90.
One
week on, being able to reflect and realize how far I’ve come is truly
satisfying.
It’s a funny thing, perspective.
I
decided a long time ago not to compare myself to anyone else. As hard as this
may be for a perfectionist of my caliber (I say this in jest), I found that comparing
myself to others only exacerbated my own feelings of inadequacy in the
triathlon realm. I compete in triathlons
(and other sporting events) to challenge and motivate myself, to live a healthy
life and to confront my fear of failure. I also have an insatiable desire to
cross as many things off my bucket list as possible.
I am
certainly not outwardly competitive. I know plenty of people who are shamelessly
competitive, motivated by a desire to defeat others. I have absolutely nothing against
this form of motivation, but it just doesn’t do it for me and it never has. Having
said that, I don’t see my attitude as ‘defeatist’ either. I’ll never be “the
best”, but I’ll be my “best”, and I’m
perfectly content with that.
Lake Stevens … it’s no Kona?
Yeah,
you’re right. It’s no Kona. Although not an Ironman myself I can safely say
being engaged to an Ironman and having lived, breathed and survived Busselton
and Cozumel (and now Canada, in five weeks) by his side, I get it. Ironman – a
world of never-ending loads of washing, sinks full of scummy water bottles,
entire weekends of training, ‘surprise’ GU in places you’d never believe,
six-plus months of alarm-interrupted sleep and the aroma of ‘sweaty man’ (we
live in a basement apartment in Vancouver, after all) embedded in practically
everything you own (nb: no amount of Febreze will ever combat ‘sweaty man’). You’d think it would be easy for me to
appreciate my own achievements, hailing from a world that lives and breathes
endurance sport. Conversely, having to remove myself from the “Ironman bubble”
was a challenge in itself. It would have been easy to cast the events of the
past week aside. To my Ironman fiancé and my other Ironman and marathon-running
friends, a half ironman would seem like a training day and, at times, I
couldn’t help but let that feeling of inadequacy creep in. When you’re
surrounded by likeminded individuals who have their own goals, achievements,
gifts and talents it can be really hard not to compare your own. Hang on;
didn’t I just say I stopped comparing myself? Clearly, I’m a work in progress.
At
the end of the day, I was simply forced to take a step back, remind myself of
the girl who couldn’t run 3km, reflect on the past nine months of dedicated
training and realize just how many people there are who will never get to
experience the combined feeling of relief, joy and satisfaction that is pushing
yourself to an absolute physical limit and living to tell the tale. That will always be the best feeling, no matter
the length or nature of the event.
The swim, bike, run.
I
woke up early on Sunday morning, eager to get started. I had, in fact, been
eager to complete the event for the two weeks leading up as I was getting tired
of the recurring nightmares I was having – being pulled out of the swim, not
being able to get my wetsuit off and getting one, or numerous, punctures. Also,
I was pretty much just sick of the training (rather, the training in less than
conducive Vancouver weather) and ready for the glory day. After all, training is never the glamorous
part.
I
think I had a combined four hours of sleep – I had been drinking so much water
in the name of hydration, I would’ve been best placed to sleep in the bathroom.
Bladder aside, I was a bundle of nervousness, albeit controlled – not the kind of
nerves that make you want to throw up, pass out, or both (see above). Thankfully our accommodation was located right
in the centre of town so at 5 am we made our way down to transition and the swim
start. I lathered myself with body glide
and gracefully slid my wetsuit on. I lie. Putting a wetsuit on is not at all
graceful. It’s downright ugly and exhausting, even with ample body glide.
 |
| Wet-suited up! |
I
didn’t have a goal time for my race. My goal for my first half ironman was to
finish. In doing so, I wanted to make sure I enjoyed the experience and didn’t
go so hard trying for a particular time that I exhausted myself and would then
forever look back on my first half ironman with sadness and disappointment. I
know I sound like a “mum”, but I wanted to enjoy myself, and I wanted to have
fun. This philosophy worked a treat for me in the end, as I finished in 7 hours
and 14 seconds. If I had a goal time I might’ve been disappointed – 14 seconds
past the hour! But I finished – I was as happy as could be!
Swim
Mine
was the third wave, and first of the age group waves. We started three minutes
after the pro women, so in my mind I was going to swim so fast I’d be able to
bridge the three-minute gap and sit right in the wake of Mirinda Carfrae. This
did not happen. Nevertheless, I had a great swim – I actually really enjoyed it
for a change. I swam completely alone for 75% of the leg. For this reason I
thought I was swimming the slowest 1.9km in the history of the universe and I
assumed everyone else had passed me. Whenever these negative thoughts crept up
I just pushed them back and told myself that everything was as it was meant to
be. Having my own space and not having to endure kicks to the face or leg grabs
meant that I was able to get into a great rhythm. A buoy guideline on the
bottom of the clear lake also helped a great deal – I only swam straight into a
buoy once! My eyesight is not so good, you see. In the end, I was 10th
in my age group – not bad!
Bike
After
exiting the water and having a minor domestic with my wetsuit, I was off on the
bike leg. Although Mother Nature wasn’t smiling upon us, I embraced the
weather, pushing the negative thoughts back (as I had done in the swim) and
focusing on the positives. The weather: steady rain – so similar to Vancouver.
Why was I thinking negative thoughts? This weather is my bread and butter!
 |
| Out of the swim and off on the bike! (Notice the wetsuit is now half in the garden!) |
In
the weeks leading up to the race I was struggling with my riding. I had lost my
love of cycling (doing 90% of my cycling training inside on the wind trainer
while it rained and snowed outside didn’t help) and I was particularly nervous
about being able to comfortably ride the 90km without suffering bad leg or back
pain, which had hampered my training previously. I can honestly say the bike
course, a “moderately hilly”, scenic one
loop through outer Lake Stevens and surrounds, was absolutely beautiful (though
a little miserable, given the steady rain) – the views, the peacefulness… and
my love of cycling was rekindled. My newfound love was tested four or five
times throughout the bike leg as I challenged the hills. I witnessed a few
crashes, plenty of punctures and a couple of near misses between competitors
and cars (the majority of the course was open to traffic; a minority of Lake
Stevens locals do not, it appears, like cyclists). Nevertheless I plugged away,
passed virtually no one (only a couple of mechanicals and maybe a 70 year old
man), didn’t take in enough nutrition and everything was in its right place.
Just the way I like it.
Run
Although
unequivocally my worst leg, the run is my favourite. Why? Because it’s the
glory leg. Plus I also know it’s the leg where something bad is least likely to
happen to me (i.e. I can’t drown and I can’t crash, get a mechanical or a
puncture). The moment I racked my bike,
slipped my sneakers on and gingerly shuffled off, passing beneath the “run
exit” sign, was the moment I knew I’d return in roughly two and half hours to
become a half ironman. There was no doubt in mind (thank you, positivity!).
The
start of the run, a two-lap course throughout the town and along the lake, was
a little painful. A big steady incline (which I had to run up, because my
support crew had already made it back from the bike course and were cheering me
on – I couldn’t disappoint even though I desperately wanted to walk) didn’t
help matters but after about three or so kilometres I had managed to work
myself into a steady run. Someone should’ve reminded me to Google “miles to
kilometres conversion” before the race. I am a terrible mathematician and my
negligence here cost me dearly. I actually think if I was able to convert each
section to kilometres, it would’ve been easier to motivate myself between mile
markers. Nevertheless I made it through the first 12km relatively unscathed.
 |
| Run time - high fives! |
There
were about four hills on the run course in total. I also forgot to do my hill research
here and again, suffered a little. Strangely enough (or kind of sickening, upon
reflection), as the run wore on, the more suffering I felt, the more I enjoyed it.
On the few occasions I walked, it was almost as if I was purposely delaying the
inevitable - allowing myself more time to soak everything up and really embrace
both the experience (with my fellow comrades) and the magnitude of what I knew
I was about to accomplish.
Half
way into the second lap things started to fall apart just a little. My left leg
started playing up and a bone in my right foot was killing me. I was also
absolutely starving (which I had never experienced in training before) – I can
only assume as a result of lack of nutrition on the bike. I felt a little
broken. Not mentally, just physically. Funnily enough, the ability of my mind
to comprehend the pain and suffering seemed to diminish as the race wore on. The longer I ran, the more enjoyable it
seemed. This may go a long way to explaining how so many people can push themselves
to finish even longer endurance events like Ironman, ultra marathons etc.
By
the time I turned the corner and approached the finishing chute I thought I was
going to vomit and/or faint - in a really good way. A culmination of everything
I had been through with my training and sickness in the months leading up hit
me and I felt a massive wave of relief. True to form I crossed the line
following my own version of a sprint finish (I always like to sprint the end)
and was greeted shortly thereafter by my wonderful (and very vocal) support
crew.
 |
| Approaching the finish line of my first 70.3 - a long time coming! |
 |
| Race day role reversal! |
 |
| Sweet finish line rewards - foil capes and medals! |
Jerry’s Natalie’s final thought …
If I could impart any advice from my first experience at
half ironman triathlon, it would be the following:
Clarify your goals and expectations – know why you’re there
and what you’re doing it for. Stay positive – don’t sweat the small stuff.
Remove yourself from your version of the “Ironman bubble” and make sure you take
time to comprehend what you’ve achieved.
“What would you do if you knew you couldn’t
fail?”
When
I first signed up for Lake Stevens Ironman 70.3, I had this quote in my mind. I
love this quote, because it makes me keep challenging myself. Now I’m officially a half ironman, what’s next
on the agenda? Maybe a marathon. Maybe an Ironman. Who knows? But for now,
Ironman Canada is only five weeks away. It’s time to put my support crew hat
on. After all, these scummy water bottles aren’t going to wash themselves …
