I’m now officially an “Ironman.”
Though I did a 140.6-mile distance triathlon
in October (the glorious Beach to Battleship), that race wasn’t Ironman-branded
and didn’t have all of the dotman craziness.
That really shouldn’t matter.
B2B
was a spectacularly organized race in a beautiful location with amazing
volunteers, and the distances were still 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike and
26.2-mile run.
Apparently, I’m more of a
sucker for corporate branding than I thought, because something still felt
missing.
So I registered for a “real” Ironman, Ironman Mont-Tremblant
(“IMMT”), in Quebec. The race was on August 18. Besides the logos and booming tones of the
famous voice-of-Ironman Mike Reilly (more on him later) announcing your name as
an Ironman at the finish line, this race offered something else B2B
didn’t: a tough course. B2B featured a point-to-point swim, with the
current, meaning you could float on your back and still beat the swim
cut-off. Better yet, the bike course and
run courses were pancake flat. I know it
makes me sound like an asshole to say the B2B race was too easy, but….. IMMT
was not easy. No fun swim current towing you into the finish, a seriously
hilly bike with a wind bonus, and some (though not many) hills on the run.
Training
I did not anticipate when I signed up for IMMT that the year leading up to the race would be
comprised of one horrendous disaster after another. I took nearly two months off of training this
spring to care for my sister as her cancer overwhelmed her body. She passed on April 20. I also lost my beloved dog, Sadie, and Annabelle,
the cat I had for 18 years. These are
just the lowest low lights. As I
continued to train and race after all of this, I realized the emotional effect
was as if I was strapping on a 50-pound weight for each effort. Racing and training had always been my
release for emotional pain, but that wasn’t working anymore.
I also did not anticipate that this summer would pose the
most non-Jill-friendly training conditions possible: stormy, hot, humid with a helping of a massive
new project at work requiring all of my evening and weekend time. On bike, I am not a natural climber. I have extreme difficulty at high-percentage
climbs. I knew the only way I could
tackle the hills at IMMT was to
spend a lot of time practicing on hills. What actually happened was that conditions
forced me to do almost all of my bike training on my trainer at home, and when
I could get out, I rode on flat roads near my house.
As I closed in on the race, I compared my training and
progress to that of B2B, and I knew I was falling far short.
Pre-Race
So, Mont-Tremblant is absolutely beautiful.
What a spectacular location for a
triathlon!
I drove up the Tuesday before
with my niece,
Allison, so we got to
enjoy the town for a few days before the real race stuff began.
Mont-Tremblant couldn’t be more triathlete
friendly.
The roads and shoulders are
baby-bottom smooth, and the locals are encouraging and respectful to runners
and cyclists sharing their roads.
And
there’s lots of great food.
|
Ashley, Sue, Heather and me at the pre-race dinner |
I really enjoyed that food until I got a good look at the
bike course. A two-loop course, and the
hills at the end of each loop were just ridiculous. I rode some of what the athlete’s guide
called the “easier” section of the course, and I had a lot of trouble. My anxiety about the race was at its zenith
when I realized I was in the last swim wave, giving me only 10-1/2 hours to
complete both the swim and the bike or be disqualified. Properly prepared, this wouldn’t have been
an issue, but I knew I wasn’t there.
The venue was magical, however.
The race organization was outstanding, and
the town was overflowing with Ironman pomp and circumstance (parades, fireworks, signs
everywhere welcoming us, etc.).
My
friend
Ashley and I went to dinner the
night before the race with her family, and we got to meet
Mike Reilly,
who was incredibly friendly and encouraging.
I told him to spare his voice, because he would have A LOT of names to
reel off before he’d get to mine.
|
Mike Reilly! As Ashley said, this had to be a good omen.
|
The day before the race I tried to fuel up for a long
day.
Without getting graphic, however,
let’s just say the fuel didn’t take, and I finished the day with no nutrition
and some dehydration.
I was terrified,
and even the reassuring words of my amazing coach,
Jack Braconnier,
didn’t calm me
down.
The Swim
Don’t you just love a race that starts off with a cannon
blast, fireworks and Canadian fighter planes doing fly-overs just for you? The water was perfect. Clear and about 70 degrees. My time goal for the swim was 90 to 95
minutes. I felt comfortable in the
water, and I was swimming on course. At
times, I felt I was going too slow, but I was swimming in the wake of another
swimmer, and every time I tried to pass her I couldn’t, so I figured the slowness
was just the effort I was saving myself by wake swimming. I learned this was not so when I looked at my
watch while I was exiting the water.
Swim 1:46:57. With a long
transition, I was already at the two-hour mark when I got on my bike.
The Bike
Each lap of the bike course was really broken down into four
sections.
The first, the
Montee Ryan
had a couple of tougher rolling climbs.
Then you hit an out-and-back on Route 117, which also had rollers, but
they were more gradual.
You then got a fun
little jaunt through the
village
of Saint Jovite, which
had lots of fantastic crowd support.
Back through the
Montee Ryan to get to
Chemin Duplessis,
about five miles out and five miles back to the next loop or the finish.
The “out” on Duplessis is a Sisyphean
nightmare of a road, with constant climbing of percentage grades all the up to
17%.
I got through the first hill.
Then I did the second.
At the crest of the second, I had to stop,
lean over my bike and gasp for breath for a few minutes before I could move at
all again.
That’s when I realized I
couldn’t get up the rest of the Duplessis “out” portion on my pedals.
I did what I really, really did not want to
do, which was dismount and walk the bike up the next few hills.
|
Can you tell how excited I am to start the bike? |
The “back” on Duplessis almost made up for the out. Those were the most fun descents of my
cycling life, done on a combination of beautifully paved, debris-free, straight
roads. I cracked the 40-mph barrier for
the first time ever, and had a blast doing it.
I hit special needs going into the second lap and jammed
down as much food as I could.
While
winds weren’t a factor in the first lap, the winds were blasting you in the
face no matter which direction you turned on the second lap.
It was 86 degrees out with no shade on the
bike course, so these were hot winds, making a hard course just plain
stupid.
While I hate headwinds, and I
actually yelled at the wind a few times, it didn’t slow me down that much.
My split for the second lap was only a few
minutes slower than my first.
Ten hours
and nine minutes into the race, I pulled into T2, absolutely ecstatic that I
survived the ride and was allowed to continue to the run. Bike:
8:09:15 (for context, my bike time at B2B was
6:48, and I felt like I was holding back through the whole B2B ride).
I spent another 10+ minutes in transition,
and off I went for the run.
The Run
I was so happy to be off the bike that my joy fed my legs,
which actually felt pretty good. I
started running, and it wasn’t miserable, even though it was still really warm
out. Here’s how the run went:
Mile 2, past the hills to get out of town:
Legs:
“Hey, this
isn’t bad at all!”
Brain:
“Lots of time
to finish, though it is warm out.”
Stomach:
“Remember
me?”
Mile 4, on the trail:
Legs:
“Still feeling
good!”
Brain: “It’s starting to cool off a bit.”
Stomach:
“No.”
Mile 6, still on the trail, nearing the first turn to get
back into town:
Legs: “Hey, we can do this!”
Brain: “I like this trail.”
Stomach:
“No means
no.”
Mile 7, after the turn:
Legs:
“Still going!”
Brain:
“Thank you,
sun, for dropping.”
Stomach:
“Ok,
seriously.
I should not have to tell a
woman who has required the care of a gastroenterologist since age 11 to heed me
when I am unambiguous. Stop. Running. Now.”
Upon which, I switched to power walking. Happily, I can
power walk fast, and I can sustain it for really long periods.
So, even walking
19 miles, I managed to
cover
26.2 miles
in under five hours and 40 minutes.
Run
5:39:33.
|
Googly eyes heading into the finish |
The Finish
The last quarter mile of the race is a sharp downhill,
through a finishing chute in the ski village.
As I passed into the village, I heard a “GO
JILL”
roar from my friends, who had already finished, showered and fed in time to
watch me pass.
Though just about
11pm there was still a huge crowd
cheering me all the way down the chute as I ran to the finish line.
I crossed, threw my arms up and heard
Mike
Reilly say those magic words, “
Jill Sterbakov,
YOU
ARE AN IRONMAN!”
The lady handing me my medal looked very
familiar, but standing right behind her was
Allison,
who had been volunteering at the finish line.
I threw my arms around
Allison,
and she escorted me through.
She then
informed me that the woman who put the medal around my neck was
Mary Beth
Ellis, who won the women’s race
much earlier in the day and is the favorite to win the world championship this
year.
One of the things I love best
about triathlon is the camaraderie of the athletes and the support from the
pros and elites for us mortals.
It has
become a common thing for the winners of championship races to come back and
bestow the finisher’s medals on the athletes coming in at the end of the
race.
So I did it. My final
time was 15:56:58, more than two hours slower than B2B, but just surviving this
one was the real victory here.
Big thanks to Allison, for escorting me through this race, Jack for coaching me, my friends for encouraging me and the race volunteers who were just spectacular all the way through. Congratulations to my friends Ashley, Sue, Dan, Shawn, Cindy and Heather for finishing IMMT!