It's taken me a long time to gain enough perspective on this race to be able to write about it in a productive manner. Even two weeks out from race day, I was still disappointed in my performance in a way that completely ignored its context and failed to see where I had been strong and brave and unwaveringly focused on the finish line. I always say that racing is where we find out what we're made of - that's literally the title of this blog - and I think that might've been especially true for this race.
The Weeks Leading into Race Day
I will admit that I had a spectacularly bad attitude leading into the race. It didn't start that way. It started with me crying at the mere thought of the Olympics and realizing how much I'd been missing the stories of competition and digging deep and achieving something truly incredible. It started with me remembering that those stories exist on every Ironman race course and that I really, really missed those stories of regular people digging deep and becoming absolute fucking heroes. It started with me thinking that I had been re-virginized by the long, Covid-induced break from racing and I WAS GOING TO BE AN IRONMAN! as if it was actually my very first one. So, yeah, I started off pretty fucking excited to return to a race course.
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| My M-Dot tattoo, inspired by IM Hades '15 |
Then the weather forecast started changing and the race day temp started creeping up and up. Pretty soon it had hit 101 degrees, and I started having flashbacks to IM Coeur d'Alene 2015 (a.k.a. IM Hades, the original) which was 105 degrees and apparently had left me mentally scarred and traumatized. At that point my attitude went very, very negative and even though I knew I needed to, I just couldn't get my head out of that "oh. hell. NO." space.
I'll be honest, I kinda wanted to bail on the race. Maybe more than kinda. I just had a hard time believing that the 2021 hotter-than-hell day could possibly be less awful than the 2015 hotter-than-hell day, so why on earth would you show up when you know it's going to be that bad. And I did - very momentarily - flirt with the idea of just not showing up. But, aside from the fact that my whole family was coming out for the race and we were going on vacation afterwards, which certainly would've made bailing on the race a little more complicated, I also knew that bailing on a race because the weather was going to suck is just not how I roll. I don't fucking quit.
And since any goals for race day had gone out the window with the arrival of the ridiculous race day forecast, No Fucking Quitting also became one of the few remaining purposes for the event. I didn't feel like I could create goals around splits or paces or even No Fucking Walking, but Keep Moving Forward and No Fucking Quitting are my true north and when all else disappears, that's what's left. It didn't feel like a lot to lean on leading into race day, but it turns out it was enough.
The Race
I never really succeeded in turning around my attitude before race morning. The best I was able to achieve was some solid disassociation. But even with a less-than-stellar attitude, I was still so subconsciously happy to be on a race course that I started tearing up as I approached the front of the swim start queue and prepared to enter the water.
The swim was actually pretty good! The water was about 70, which is just perfect
for me - not too cold but no worries about heating up in the wetsuit. I went out pretty strong, which I don’t normally do, but settled
in within about 500 yards. And then I just swam. I didn’t have any
expectations or goals, because I have swum 1:12:xx for four Ironmans no
matter if I was loafing it or working hard, so I just swam and figured
it’d likely be 1:12 again and even if it was 1:15 that was fine too. To
my surprise, I came in at 1:11 - so exciting!
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| Photo by @ginamarie_photography |
So I over-biked. I didn't have the patience to cruise and be comfortable and stick with my plan and save some legs for the run. I was pushing forward, not outrageously hard but just a bit harder than I should have. And when I was on lap two and the highway was feeling like the fifth circle of hell, that urgency to get the bike done kicked in even harder. I put my head down and pedaled and was passing people like crazy. All I could think about was needing to be off the bike as quickly as
possible.
And then I was off the bike, and I was on the run course, and pretty much immediately it was not going well. If anything, I maybe even felt worse than I'd expected. I
started off with the intention of just running really slowly and
finding some sort of stability in a forward pace that I could sustain.
That was what I had told my athletes to do, and it seemed like sound
advice. That worked for I’m guessing at most three minutes. There was an
aid station right away and I needed to fill my handheld water bottle
and fuck it was really fucking hot. I really tried to find some momentum, but micro run/walks was the best I could do ... running for 20 or 30 or 40 seconds, and trying not to walk much
more than that. Running in the shade, walking in the sun. Hitting every
hose and sprinkler the incredible residents of Coeur d’Alene had set up
on the course.
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| Photo by @ginamarie_photography |
I knew that I was dehydrated, and now, with the perspective of a few weeks of distance from race day, I also know that my core temp was elevated. I knew I should get some fluids in, and I thought I was doing that, but I wasn't getting in nearly what I needed to pull myself out of a hole. I also knew I needed to manage my core temp, and I dumped so much ice in my shorts that I was a little worried that I’d given myself freezer burn. But I never managed to do everything I need to do at each aid station. I was so focused on Keep Moving Forward that I ended up compromising on grabbing water and Gatorade and ice and filling up my handheld bottle with water or Gatorade and ice, only doing one or two of those things at each aid station when I needed to do all of them.
At about the half-marathon mark I hit a wall and my
micro-run/walk intervals were over. I at least wanted to walk quickly, but sometimes I had to slow
down my walk pace because the "fast" walk was making me a little woozy. This was also when the water from all those
amazing hoses and sprinklers was suddenly too cold. I didn't know what
the fuck that was about, because the air temp was definitely still in the 90s,
but I was pretty sure it was a bad sign of something.
It turns out the wooziness from walking quickly and the cold skin, which was what made the water from the hoses and sprinklers feel too cold, were signs that I was bordering or on maybe actually having heat exhaustion. But I didn't know that. I did know that people - LOTS of people - were puking or getting medical
attention practically everywhere I looked on the run course, and I was desperate not to become one of those people. So I stayed laser-focused on Keep Moving Forward and water and Gatorade and cola, and you-can-do-this and just-to-that-next-corner, and not turning into
a person vomiting on the side of the course.
Funny thing was, during all of that misery, Not Fucking Quitting never even entered my consciousness. Or I guess more accurately, the entire concept of quitting was never part of my reality on race day. It simply never entered my mind. As awful as I felt and as slow as I was moving, it was only ever Keep Moving Forward. In the middle of it all, with zero perspective on what my body was going through and the general stupidity of being on a Ironman course and maintaining forward momentum for way too many fucking hours, Keep Moving Forward seemed like a pretty low bar. But now, having a better understanding of just what I had to do to Keep Moving Forward, I realize that fighting for every ounce of forward motion doesn't always look like what you think it will look like.
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| Photo by @ginamarie_photography Titled "OMG My Legs Are Running" |
So I Did It - I Finished
At first finishing didn't feel like much of an accomplishment, given that I'd walked most of the run course. Also, finishing was always the only option on the table, so I didn't give myself a lot of credit for accomplishing that. In the "finding out what you're made of" department, all I saw was the miles of walking, which felt like a judgment on my ability - or lack thereof - to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. This is an area where I'm often hyper-critical of myself, so it was very reflexive to see that first.
Over time, I've been able to see that what I'm made of is, in fact, Keep Moving Forward and No Fucking Quitting. It's in my DNA, it's my true north, and it's central to my entire being. And on days when it's 101 and I'm bordering on or maybe actually having heat exhaustion, it's why I sacrifice my feet and ignore bad signs of something and get to the finish line, no matter what. And that's something that I can be proud of.