The Dotman Cometh

The surrounding circumstances and exact time period are fuzzy to me now, but I do remember how I felt the first time I learned about the Ironman triathlon.  A relatively new convert to fitness addiction, I was on the cusp of preparing for my first marathon, which I was attempting because I wanted to achieve what I believed was impossible for me.  And then someone, I don’t remember who, told me of a race that begins with a 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bike ride and capped off with 26.2 miles of running, all in a 17-hour time limit.  While I don’t remember the details about how I acquired this knowledge, I remember precisely how I felt when I got it.  I was enraged.  What kind of psychotic lunatic would dream up such a thing, and who were the masochistic idiots participating? 

I’ve since learned of other endurance events that either parallel or exceed the insanity of an Ironman.  The Badwater Ultramarathon is a good example – running 135 miles through Death Valley in temperatures up to 130 degrees.  The Western States 100 is another moronic undertaking, a nasty 100-mile trail run with many thousands of feet of vertical climbs.  Of course there are the other activities of weekend warriors lacking mental stability, such as climbing Everest or competitive free diving. 

These types of events only earned a quizzical headshake from me, no anger.  When I first learned about the Ironman, I thought I was pissed because I felt that an event that extreme in some way diminished my own ultimate accomplishment, the marathon. However, since I didn’t have this reaction when I heard about Badwater, which is essentially five marathons strung together in the desert, I think it’s something else.  I was angry because I believe I knew, even then, that I was on the hook.  Yes, though at the time I was overweight and running 12-minute miles, I knew the Ironman bug had been planted, and I was pissed because I knew it would hurt.

Since that time, I’ve come farther in my athletic pursuits that I ever imagined I could. I’ve run six marathons and dozens of shorter races.  I managed to get my half marathon time under two hours and my 10-mile time under 90 minutes.  I’ve even become competitive in my age group in local 5ks, assuming the fast local middle-aged women decide to sleep in.  I’ve now done a few sprint triathlons, two Olympic tris and two half Ironmen events.   

A full Ironman is an entirely different pursuit.  While the distances are only double the half, the preparation and event itself are exponentially more difficult.  A training plan I looked at recently, designed not for elite athletes but for regular mortal working people, commands two hours of training per day on weekdays, six to seven hours on Saturday and three to four hours on Sunday.  You get one day off of training per week, so you can lay slackjawed on your couch while cursing your diseased brain.  And the race itself has a 17-hour time limit. If you finish in 17 hours and two seconds, you count as a DNF, the much feared athlete acronym for Did Not Finish.  You are not allowed to draft on the bike.  You are not allowed an iPod on the run.  You are not allowed to have people on the course hand you things unless they are official race volunteers.  You have to figure out how to get enough nutrition on the course so you don’t curl like a ball on some roadside because you’ve run out of fuel.  You will suffer.  A lot.  This is a race that essentially began as a bar bet from some navy seals.

I’ve been stumbling sort of ass backwards toward this goal for the past few years.  Last fall, after Poconos 70.3, I decided I really wanted to try to do a Full.  I don’t really know why.  Maybe I’m still trying to impress the child I was, the chubby, awkward, clumsy girl who couldn’t run, couldn’t jump, couldn’t climb.  My greatest athletic contribution prior to my thirties was helping members of the swim team pass math in high school.  Maybe completing this event will finally get that “you can’t do this stuff” voice out of my head for good.

After much research, I decided on Panama City Beach in 2013.  It’s considered a good first-time event as an “easy” Ironman, meaning no ridiculous elevation changes on the bike or run, a relatively calm swim, and less likelihood of extreme heat despite its location, because the race is in November.  I chose 2013 to give me time to improve my swimming skills beyond the boulder-like level they’re at now, to get more comfortable with my bike and to acclimate myself to ramping up my training to a higher level.  I would go down and volunteer at this year’s race and scope the course.  It was all so reasonable, well, at least for the circumstances.

And then while I was racking my bike at Eagleman 70.3 this year, a woman I knew from other races told me that she was trying her Full this year, on October 20 in Wilmington, North Carolina, at a race called Beach to Battleship.    While not an Ironman branded event, the distances and rules are the same.  As soon I was told there were still slots available, the wheels started turning.  Even while I was suffering through the 96-degree run at Eagleman, I was latching onto B2B.  

So it looks like my Full is happening.  This year.  In sixteen short weeks.  I haven’t officially registered yet, but I have sought out training resources and started building my calendar around it.  I have a hotel reservation.  I would register right now, except the fee is non-refundable, so I will wait as long as possible.  I hope this will quell my inner beast.  Whether it does or doesn’t, Badwater’s never happening.  

The Big One

Anyone remember last year when I put all that time and effort into training for the Poconos half Ironman, only to have it converted to a duathlon at the last moment due to weather? Even without the swim, I was proud of the achievement, because I still cycled 55 hilly miles and followed it up with a 13.1 mile hilly run and, even more importantly, I raised $3,000 for the American Cancer Society by doing so. I was thrilled with the result, and walked away from it convinced that I would complete a true 70.3 race and also that I would maintain a long-term commitment to DetermiNation, the endurance program supporting the American Cancer Society.

A week ago, I finally completed my 70.3. The venue was Cambridge, Maryland, which is along the eastern shore. I walked into this race grossly undertrained, having only been out on my bike three times at a maximum distance of 38 miles. I also had no training week longer than seven hours, and most hovered in the five-to-six-hour range.

Because of my thunderstorm problem, I swore that if there was no threat of these, I would not complain about any other type of weather condition. So I won’t complain that it was 96 degrees with blasting sunshine on race day.

The day began with the swim that started at 8:00 am. Because the water temperature was under 76.1 degrees (by about a tenth of a degree), we were permitted to wear our wetsuits. I thought it was the wetsuit that made me feel so good about the first part of the swim. Then I made the turn to come back into the finish and I realized it wasn’t the wetsuit. I had been swimming with the current. Now the current was trying to push me back toward Delaware. And it seemed like it was succeeding. Based on the items in my sight line, I swam in place for at least 10 minutes, except for a few brief periods in which I was moving backwards. I finally figured out a way to actually move closer to the finish line and very slowly made my way there.

After spending too much time in transition peeling myself out of the wetsuit and coating myself in sunscreen, I took off on the bike. But first, a few words about the bike. I love my bike. I did a whole post about my beautiful Scott road bike. It’s a solid, serious machine. My sweet little road bike, however, had to share rack space at Eagleman with nothing but super high-end triathlon specific bikes with wheelsets alone worth at least $3,000. So while I was out on the road, making great time on my ride, I kept hearing the telltale “foof foof foof” of a Zipp wheel that lets you know one of these sleek bastards is coming up to pass you on your left.

The first two hours of the bike were great. At the two-hour mark, I was already at 39 miles. I was also officially on my longest ride since October. And then I fell apart. The headwinds hurt. My body hurt. I was thirsty and my feet were burning because of the hot ground. And it kept getting hotter and hotter. That’s just a notation, not a complaint. The last 17 miles took me an hour and 13 minutes, but I pulled back into transition just a little past 12 noon.

I dawdled in transition and didn’t start running until 12:15. The run course at Eagleman is basically a long, straight out and back. Your visual stimulation is farmland, and not the interesting kind of farmland with cows and horses, but lots and lots of fields. It is on asphalt, and is 13.1 miles without a hint of shade. And it was 96 degrees. Not that I’m complaining. I almost managed to run the first mile. A bit short of the mile marker, I had to start walking. The first water station came up shortly after, and I greedily grabbed two cups of water, two cups of gatorade and a cup of ice. This is when I realized I was in trouble. I tried to start running a few times, but just didn’t have it in me. The good news is I’m so frequently late in getting places that I can walk really, really fast. And that’s what I did – I walked. I finished the half marathon in 3 hours and 47 seconds. That is 40 minutes slower than the half marathon in the Poconos and an hour and two minutes slower than my personal record (set this year) at this distance.

I finished the race with a time of 7 hours and 17 minutes. This was a little slower than what I hoped for, but I was just happy to complete it at all. The race left me with the feeling that I can do this again and beat this time, and that eventually, I can do a full Ironman with the right training.

But it wasn’t the big race. My most important race of 2012 is coming up this weekend. It’s a triathlon. It’s not a half Ironman or a full Ironman. Instead it’s a shorter distance, an Olympic (.9-mile swim, 24-mile ride, 6.2-mile run). Why so important? Because this is the one for which I am raising money for the American Cancer Society. For this one, I am again on the DetermiNation team. Ironmen races and marathons are nice, but unless they are funding cancer research, providing lodging for people undergoing treatment, providing rides to chemo and support groups and all sorts of necessary services, providing advocacy for cancer patients and more government research and funding, then they are really just for fun. There is no athletic event that will mean more to me than crossing the finish line on behalf of the ACS, because of all they have done and continue to do to help my sister, the millions like her, the millions more who love people like her, and the billions more who should never get cancer in the first place.

So, yes, I did my 70.3, and it hurt and it was challenging and it was a big accomplishment. Even if I do a full Ironman this year, however, it’s this Sunday’s Philly Tri that is my apex of 2012.