Hillary Biscay’s Blog

After a three-month training camp in Switzerland, I arrived back on home soil last Thursday night, just in time to get ready for the first part of what I had affectionately termed “The Midwestern Double.” Having spent nearly all of 2008 abroad, I eagerly anticipated my upcoming visit to the Midwest and its corresponding reunions. Race weekends in the States are always like big reunions for me; probably because I race so often, when I go to these events, there are friendly faces everywhere.

My visit to Louisville did not disappoint in this aspect; I even had an extra boost last weekend, as my roommate from my freshman year at the University of Michigan, Jen, came to spend the weekend and see me race an ironman for the first time. She is one of my dearest friends and was also my teammate on the university swim team; I think she was a bit surprised when she came to bike check-in with me and people were coming up to say hello and asking for pictures, etc…She was telling everyone that she knew me twelve years ago when I could hardly stay upright on my campus bike, and that in fact she and my other teammates would watch me attempt to ride it and take pictures of this sight just for kicks! Having my own little cheering section on the sidelines meant so much to me; I am quite accustomed to going to most of my races solo, so it was very special to share the ironman experience with one of my old swimming friends.

Having a big TBB contingent in the pro field also made for a fun event; it really did make it feel like “just another day at the office.” I loved standing on the dock, waiting to jump into the water, and being able to joke around with Lilly (Kristensen), AJ (Andrew Johns), and Big Sexy (Chris McDonald). We all noted how it felt just like morning swim squad; I couldn’t resist but to throw in a “Which way are we circling?” for good measure (Half the squad is accustomed to circling one way in the lane, and half the other, so we end up having this discussion every single morning before we get in the pool.).

Somehow I managed to get the choice spot in the water in Sunday morning’s “swim squad”: on AJ’s feet. This is always a good place to be, but I have never before managed to hook onto a ride of this caliber in a race. It made for what was probably my best ironman swim to date. I didn’t get out with the lead guys in the first couple hundred meters, and instead was on the losing end of a slugging match with Big Sexy. But I was able to disentangle myself from the chaos, move to the outside, and then cane it to get onto the group of three guys (AJ, Chris Hauth, and one other) that had broken away up ahead. I then proceeded to spend most of the swim about three meters off the back of them; I think it had something to do with not being able to tell just how close I was (or wasn’t) unless I lifted my head out of the water, because with my head down, I could see nothing but opaque brown—not even my hand in front of me. Hauth, our fearless leader, took us way wide, out into the middle of the river, possibly because last year this would have been advantageous because of the currents. This year, however, I think it just made for extra swimming. At some point towards the end of the swim, when the media boat got a bit close to us, the third guy with us seemed to want to have a moment of backstroking glory; I didn’t have time for these antics, so I went around him and at that point AJ, Chris, and I took off. I threw myself a mini-party while running into T1 with these two boys in sight. For once I felt like I had not underachieved in comparison to what I do in the pool in training; I was thrilled to finally have a swim that was more consistent with the work I had been doing.

I set out on the bike to smash myself. What else is there to do? The Louisville course has essentially 10 miles of flat, and we do them twice: heading out of town, and then back in at the end of the ride. I knew I had to enjoy them while they lasted, because during the rest of the ride, I would either be going up or down. Thankfully, I felt pretty decent for most of the ride. Just after mile 25, the freight train called Lilly came past me and off she went. Heather (Gollnick) and Bree (Wee) passed me somewhere around mile 40, and then took off a couple miles later. I just focused on what I could do and trusted my new-and-improved cycling, assuming that most would be “spending tokens they didn’t have,” as we say, if they were going to put a bunch of time into me on the bike.

I spent the rest of the ride biking in fourth position; it was lonely out there at times, as there were stretches during the first loop, and then for the entire ride back to town, where I could not see anyone in the distance. The second bike loop, however, provided plenty of friends, as we overlapped with the age groupers quite a bit. I then managed to get in their way—and I apologize for any near-crashes I may have caused—while frantically trying to peel a banana, shift gears, and get up a hill during this stretch. Of course I dropped my chain in the middle of the hill and then had a fight with my bike on the side of the road! It might have helped if I had surrendered the banana, but I was desperate to shove down any calories I could get my hands on after the special needs folks had just looked at me like I had three heads when I asked for my bag, which contained half of my calories for the ride. Nevertheless, these incidents now fall into the realm of “minor annoyances,” as by now I have experienced both numerous times before during ironman races. And really, I don’t think I would know what to do if I was out riding without chain grease smeared all over me—just ask my training partners.

I felt strong through the end of the ride and was excited to get off of the bike and run. During the out-and-back section within the first couple of miles of the run, I was pleased to see that all of the girls ahead of me were within a few minutes. Everyone was looking good, and I knew I would have my work cut out for me to move into the top three . . .

But once we headed out through downtown towards the first of the two run loops, the carnage began. Heather had started the run a minute ahead of me, and in her usual fashion, had increased this gap in the first couple of miles. However, just a couple miles later, I could see her coming closer and closer to me. Her husband Todd was yelling that Bree was walking up ahead . . . Apparently it was quite hot and humid, and people were having all kinds of issues. Before the turnaround on the first run loop, I had passed Heather and Bree, and was running in second. As much as I wanted to catch her, I must say I was so impressed with my training partner, Lilly–in her first ironman back after having baby Astrid last December– rocking the ironman shuffle steadily in the lead. It was awesome.

Heading back towards town on the first loop, I started to feel not so special myself, but it was clear that this was not an ironman “run”: it was a death march contest. Normally the folks who are already out on the run course at this point in the day are the ones who can move along pretty well; I’m not sure I have ever seen so many of them walking. I have to be honest—it was a very tempting sight. It’s times like this that my “no walking in ironman” rule comes in handy. After thirty ironmans, I wasn’t about to break the streak now just because my legs felt like lead weights, and I wanted to vomit, then jump into a pool of icy cold water. It just wouldn’t do. So I carried on with my own death march for the middle 13 miles, during which I generally felt pretty terrible. During this stretch, Heather , being the tough chick that she is, recovered from her own issues to pass me back. And then she and I both got a little surprise in the form of the eventual race winner, Mariska, running past us just before the last run turnaround.

I started into the final few miles towards home in fourth again. I am not sure if I felt better at this point, or if it was just an illusion, because most everyone else felt worse than I did. In any case, I convinced myself that I was moving better, even though it seemed like hours between mile markers. In these last few miles, I had the opportunity to really give it to myself, as Lilly, who had been over 5 minutes up on me a few miles earlier, appeared in the distance. I gave everything in one last attempt to get that top-3 finish, and I think came within :38 at one point, but couldn’t do it. Again, I want to congratulate her for an awesome effort and say thanks for pushing me along all day!

Louisville was an epic race! It was so cool—although exceptionally painful—to have such a close race at this distance. The top four women all ended up within 5 minutes of each other; although I was bummed to end up on the wrong side of the podium, I was happy with my performance. I finished knowing that my form is good and that I would be ready to get on the right side of the podium in Madison next Sunday!

I just want to thank a few other people who made last weekend awesome: my friends Katie and Mike for taking care of me again, Scott with the WTC for putting on a great race and putting up with me, Regina for letting us completely take over her home, and AJ for coming straight out to encourage us on the run course after having to pull out of the race. And for their continuing support, I want to thank my sponsors: Splits59, Team TBB, ORCA, PowerBar, Newton Running Company, ISM, Cervelo, and HED.

Last Sunday, as I was walking down to the shore of Mirror Lake to start Ironman Lake Placid, one of the age group athletes next to me posed a question: “So, Hillary, do you have some special recovery secret that allows you to do two ironmans in one week, or are you just a genetic freak?” I didn’t know this man, but apparently he had heard about the stunt I was about to attempt, racing just a week after doing the Quelle Challenge Roth . . . My first thought was, “I wish my coach were here to hear this”—because he would have been laughing that the athlete he thought was likely not talented enough to make a career as a professional triathlete was now being mistaken for a “genetic freak.” What I wanted to tell this guy was that if he wanted to see “genetic freak,” he ought to take a trip to the mountains in Switzerland and check out a few of my training partners; I also wanted to tell him that no one was asking me questions like this the last time I did this race—three years ago—during my first season as a “pro,” when I took 6 hours to do the bike course, and barely squeaked into tenth place.

Instead, I told this guy that we’d see that day how “miraculous” my ability to recover really was: I said that I may well end up walking it in at fifteen hours. This one-week-apart deal was an experiment—uncharted territory for me: the closest proximity in which I had ever raced two ironmans was the three weeks in between Ironman UK and Ironman Wisconsin last year. I did assure him, however, that I would finish one way or another!

Knowing that, I saw this day as a celebration of my fitness and of all of the training that enabled me to even attempt this feat; the way I saw it, racing was a win-win situation for me, because every mile that day was a step towards a personal record. Although I was uncertain about what sort of legs my little experiment might yield, I quite enjoyed cruising around pre-race feeling like it was just another day at the office, and (only sort-of) joking with my mates, “Another Sunday, another ironman…”

So off I went for another day at one the one of the world’s most beautiful “offices”: Mirror Lake. I could swim all day in there! At about halfway through the first of the two swim loops, I was able to rid myself of a number of unwanted passengers, and then pick up the pace to catch a couple of caps up ahead in the distance. I arrived up there and realized that one of these guys was my friend Jonas (Colting), who is a consistently good swimmer. It was reassuring; I hooked on and cruised in with them. As I ran through the arches to begin the second loop, the clock read 24:55 or something like that . . . We got to swimming again: a group of four with Courtney Ogden doing all the work (Thanks, mate.). But apparently some bloke wanted to fight me for Jonas’s feet, because he punched me hard on top of the head; and then when that did not deter me in my pursuit of a reliable pair of feet, he punched me in the face and knocked my goggles. I did not know this bloke, so I did not want to sit on his feet: I knew that at least Jonas would not screw up this swim and lose our pace! But at this point my head hurt pretty badly, and I wasn’t keen to take another blow, so I fixed my goggles and grudgingly got behind this guy.

Besides this minor incident, the swim was fantastic and I felt great, thoroughly appreciating my new sleeveless ORCA wetsuit. However, once we turned to head towards the finish on the second lap, all hell broke loose. It was at this point that we had to start passing masses of age groupers, who had started 10 minutes behind us. We were weaving in and out of the buoy line, trying to find the clearest path; I tried to crash into as few people as possible, assuming that if I was lapping them, the last thing these swimmers needed was to be run over. Anyways, it was mayhem, and thus no surprise that our second swim loop was a minute slower than our first. Still, I emerged from the water a couple of minutes ahead of the next woman. It was all good, even though–as if to remind me that I had just done this exact thing 7 days earlier–it was pouring rain.

This was my 30th ironman, and yet only the second and third occasions on which I would race in such conditions were occurring just a week apart! As I ran through the already-muddy transition area, I could hardly believe it. Immediately I thought, “Well, at least it isn’t as cold as it was last week!” And “Thank god for my new Oakleys with hydrophobic lenses!” Although one of my goals for this notoriously mountainous course was to be as brave as I’d ever been on the descents, I noted that the downpour would add an extra element of technical difficulty to the bike course: I was going to fine-tune even more skills than I had anticipated! Time to HTFU.

I was very pleased to feel like I could get moving on the bike much more quickly than normal. My legs felt quite fresh, and for once it didn’t take me the entire first half of the ride to hit a good pace. Of course it was hard to tell how I was actually going, since I wasn’t getting any splits and could only ever see pro men. Essentially, it was just the relentless, pounding rain, the mountains, and me, trying to smash myself–hoping that this would force the other girls to do the same if they wanted to keep up. The one out-and-back section of this bike course comes late in each of the two loops, and during the whole ride, this was my only check on my competition. On the first loop, by the time I acquired this perspective, I was happy with what I saw. I think I had such traumatic memories of the last time I raced here—of being absolutely dominated by this bike course, and watching every girl and her sister fly past me, that I half-expected it to happen again . . . So I was just biking around all day with a big grin on my face because this course felt so different this time–and I think I was just in shock that I was actually holding onto my lead.

According to the clock on the lead vehicle, I hit halfway on the bike in just over 5:20 pace…At this point, I knew that, especially in these conditions, I was having a good ride. During the second lap, I continued to enjoy the novelty of the relative lack of people passing me—I think that only one amateur guy caught me during the whole ride (although they started 10 minutes back)—and also kept thinking thankful thoughts about all of the very cold, rainy rides I did with my girls back in Switzerland . . . My time checks at the out-and-back were still good; in other words, it looked as if Kim Loeffler, who was riding in second, was in about the same place that I had seen her during the previous lap.

However, soon after this time, I started to feel something to which I am unaccustomed in ironman rides: I felt like I was blowing up. Usually at this point in the ride, I am feeling stronger by the mile, since I have probably just managed to start riding okay at the halfway point: I didn’t even know I was capable of blowing myself up on the bike! Good to know . . . When I turned to start the long, mostly-uphill last 15-ish miles back to town, I was wondering if I would even make it there. My biking legs were d-o-n-e. Luckily, I have learned by now that biking legs and running legs are two different things, so I knew I had a chance to get moving again as long as I could make it to T2 . . . I employed all of my coach’s “what to do if you blow up on the bike” strategies, and kept reminding myself that I probably was not the only one feeling like I was going backwards during this last stretch of the ride. If I was hurting, everyone else probably was, too. Although it seemed to take forever, I eventually arrived at T2, having biked a 5:30, which for me was still pretty decent on this course in the pouring rain.

I went out on the run with a lead of 8 or 9 minutes (although I didn’t know how big it was, and I was pretty sure that it must have been less than that with the way I rode those last 15 miles). Running through the town of Lake Placid is such a cool experience because it is always filled with enthusiastic fans. And unlike the previous weekend in Roth, the rain in Placid did not subside for our run, but there were still plenty of people bringing their energy to the sidelines. These spectators made me smile in spite of the fact that I felt pretty terrible during this first run loop. My legs were fine, but my stomach was not; over the course of the last couple of hours, I seemed to have grown a beer belly. It turns out that it’s actually pretty uncomfortable and difficult to run with one of those! I just tried not to think about it and to focus on taking in all of the energy from the crowds and the entertaining situation in which I found myself: leading an ironman (This was only the second time I have ever held the lead off of the bike, so I still get pretty excited about it!) when everyone probably expected me to be crawling by this point (Okay, bad joke, given that I have literally been there—but you get the idea.) . . .

Sure enough, somewhere around the halfway point of the run, my stomach seemed to have settled a bit. It was then only a few months pregnant . . . I am not sure if I actually acquired more energy, or if it was just renewed by the sight of Kim about :45 back at the 12-mile turnaround, but somehow I was able to dig in a bit. Kim is a nice girl, but I wasn’t quite ready to serve her up an ironman title on a silver platter: she was going to have to work for it. I had been feeling so bad that I hadn’t been looking at my mile splits, so I can’t say whether I actually sped up, or whether Kim went through a rough spot–but somehow, after she had taken back 7 or 8 minutes in the first 12 miles, I managed to keep her at about :45 back for the next 8 miles. In order to do so, I left everything I had out on the relatively flat out-and-back section along River Road, not yet allowing myself to think about the hills I would have to climb on my way back to town.

Yet somewhere around 20.5 miles, after leading this race from the start for over nine hours, I was finally overtaken by Kim. I tried to latch onto her, but the gap kept increasing. Once again, I had thoughts of “How the heck am I going to make it back to town?!” However, one of the benefits of this being ironman #30 was that, somewhere along the way, I had learned that no matter how impossibly distant that finish line seems, or how bad I feel, I will always get there eventually . . .

I reminded myself again of the inevitability of the finish line when I was confronted with a little surprise while climbing the first hill on the way back to town: a flying Caitlin Snow, who had been minutes back at the turnaround just a few miles earlier. She was gone in a flash, and I realized that she was moving so quickly that Kim was likely due for a shock as well (Sure enough, Caitlin cranked out a 2:59 marathon to win the whole thing.). Besides the fact that my legs had gone on strike, these last few miles were exceptionally challenging because my forward motion was often more like “wading,” rather than running (Well at this point, mine was more like what I call a “fitness jog” anyways.). It was pouring, and it seemed that numerous rivers were crossing the road in our path, sometimes consuming my entire shoe.

It was an epic day in so many ways . . . In spite of my pain, I smiled my way into the finish in third place (9:58), finally taking a second to appreciate setting a new precedent, and accomplishing something I wouldn’t have even dreamed up a couple of years ago.

I want to say “thanks AGAIN” to Mike and Katie, my New York hosts and amazing friends, and all of my sponsors: Splits59, Team TBB, ORCA, PowerBar, Newton Running Company, ISM, Cervelo, HED, and Oakley. “The Double” was one of the greatest experiences I have ever had, and it wouldn’t have been possible without your support.

This past weekend, I finally had the privilege of competing in a race that I have been wanting to experience for years now. Germany’s Quelle Challenge Roth is one of those legendary triathlon events about which we hear so many stories: of the sport’s epic showdowns, world records, and of a race atmosphere unlike any other. The women’s field for this year’s QCR was looking very much like the Hawaii Ironman World Championships, so I knew I was in for a race that would live up to all of the hype; I might have been in over my head, but there was no question that I was going to have the full Roth experience, and I was ready to embrace it.

Race morning I woke up to face an element conspicuously absent (because apparently it has only occurred once in the race’s history) from all of the Roth lore: foul weather conditions. In this case, we had pouring rain, and a forecast for this weather to continue at least until we were to begin our marathon. I couldn’t help but laugh and smile, thinking, “the tougher, the better.” I had raced ironmans in similar conditions before. The rain might slow things down, and make less likely one of those rare opportunities for a PR, but I generally assume that the more extreme the race conditions, the better the race suits me.

Our race began at 6:20 AM with a wave of about four hundred people. This race is so big that there are a couple of hours’ worth of wave starts in the canal. Ours was comprised of the pros, the fastest amateur men, and all of the women. It was cozy but not insane. Nevertheless, I managed to get beat up and have a nice, red, goggle-shaped abrasion around my eye to show for it. Apparently, I also got off to quite a slow start because at one point when I stopped briefly to fix my goggles, I saw a bunch splitting off well up ahead of me. It was a big bunch, so I realized that my present company was not my swim group, and thus I had better figure out a way to get up to the pack up ahead….This move ended up requiring a significant solo effort for several hundred meters, until I reached the first turnaround and was able to join every man and his dog in the most massive front pack I’ve ever seen (Pete Jacobs and Kieran Doe were off the front on their own, and everyone else was here.).

There were enough girls in this group that being in it didn’t do much for me, and I started the ride without any sort of cushion between myself and some of the good biker chicks. Thus I had no choice but to follow coach’s orders, which were to “not try to go with the Belinda Grangers of the world on the bike; do my own ride, and then get back to that 3:20 run.” My first bike lap quickly got lonely, as there was even a time when I literally couldn’t even see anyone in front or behind me. This presented a challenge at the times when the rain was coming down so hard that I could not read which way the arrows on the turn signs were pointing me until the last possible second (And then of course there was the obvious challenge for me of cornering and handling my bike on very wet roads—good practice.).

Staying focused and motivated during this first lap in the relentless rain was sometimes difficult; thoughts of having to go through it all again one more time could have been overwhelming, but I tried to stay in the moment and focus on the bright spots. So the more miserable the conditions became, the more some sick part of me thought, “How cool is this that I get to participate in this race on this epic day!?! We’ll be talking about this one for years.” And I thought about how this day was adding to my breadth of experience, and would give me a mental edge the next time I faced crazy race conditions– the way that Ironman Wisconsin ’06 had done for me on this day.

One of the big highlights of the ride came near the end of the first lap, at Solar berg, the famous Tour de France-type climb in QCR that everyone talks about. The entire road is covered with people (tens of thousands on a sunny day), who you literally must ride straight into, as they scream uncontrollably and jump out of your way at the very last second while you climb the hill. It is intense. I should add here that all of the beautiful little towns we rode through on the bike course had their own outdoor parties going on, and the crowds were awesome. Everyone said that this year’s race had far less spectators than normal because of the inclimate weather, but I wouldn’t have been able to tell from my first Solar experience. I was really nervous that I was going to crash with all of the chaos, so I tried very hard to stay focused on the top of the hill, but I had the biggest smile on my face the whole way up. Once again I was reminded of how lucky I was to be here in Roth, and of all of my friends at home who would love to have this same opportunity.

The second bike lap was a happy time. First, I passed T1 and I realized that I was going to have friends on this lap, because there were relay athletes just beginning the bike ride. Suddenly there were other cyclists in sight and some for me to try to pick off. Then at the 90-km mark, Leanda Cave passed me, and I realized that I wasn’t in as much of a no man’s land as I had thought. It is a bit hard to tell how I’m going when I have no idea where the other girls are and no computer on my bike, so this was a nice progress check. I gained further motivation when I was able to pass her back about 35 kilometers later. At that point, I felt like I was really almost home, so I tried to put it into another gear and get as many minutes as I could before I hit T2.

I arrived at T2 in sixth place, with Belinda, Yvonne, Erika, Gina, and Rebekah (Keat) ahead of me. I would have been thrilled with sixth in this field, but I wasn’t throwing myself any parties just yet, as my run had just failed me in five consecutive ironmans, and I knew that Leanda, Charlotte Paul, and some other strong runners were behind me. This marathon was to be the test of whether our “return to the old school” with my run training was working.

I felt like I had the fitness to push from the start, which was uphill for a couple kilometers after the first one. I dialed in 3:15 marathon pace and held that for 15 kilometers. Being able to hold a steady pace was progress, as this steady ironman shuffle mode had escaped me for several months. Then between 15-20 kilometers, I started to tighten up a bit, and I hit halfway on 3:21 marathon pace. Tightening up with over 21 km to go was a bit disconcerting, especially since at the first turnaround there were three girls behind me who would be ready to run over the top of me if I didn’t execute a solid run.

I reminded myself that I could only do what I could do on that day, and that if I could hold myself together and run in the low 3:20s, it would be a good day for me. If the other girls were able to bust out some amazing runs and pass me while I was going this pace, good on them; I could only worry about hitting my target. Still, kilometers 21-30 were not pretty, and there were some 5-minute kilometers in there.

But around kilometer 30 we hit the second and last out-and-back section and chance to check out the competition. The sight gave me a major boost. The three girls behind me had massively decreased the gap I had on them at the last turnaround. My math skills were not great at this point, so I wasn’t sure how much more time they could realistically make up in these last 12 kilometers, but I didn’t care to find out. I started having flashbacks of the last 10 kilometers in Hawaii last year when I seemed to see every woman and her sister fly past me, my position dropping from 15th to 20th in this short stretch. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!” screamed a voice in my head. I had visions of going from 6th to 9th in the last few kilometers of this race, and I did not like them.

Somehow these visions gave me another gear that allowed me to get my very-tight hamstrings in motion and legs turning over. My last few kilometers were frantic. I was unprepared for the masses of people—every man and his dog, kids, and their bikes were literally on the run path, and had to be dodged. I had a couple collisions. And although I wasn’t looking at my pace on my watch, I was running so scared that I even tried to sneak a couple glances behind me. With the masses of humanity on the run path, though, they weren’t able to give me much comfort. So when I hit the finish stadium (which is amazing, by the way), I was still totally unconvinced that sixth place was mine. I had to ignore the cute kids who were there to greet me with flowers and keep on trucking throughout the entire lap of the stadium. As it turned out, I had a few minutes gap at this point—oops!

I crossed the finish line in sixth place, with my best iron-distance finish time of 9:24.My marathon split was a 3:22—not my fastest, but a big step in the right direction, and confirmation that we’ve figured out the sort of run training that best suits me. My best friend Belinda was there by the finish line, having done an incredible personal best of 8:58, and during our conversation, I began to fully appreciate the epic nature of the race in which we had just taken part. That is, she was fourth—and yes, I am talking about the women’s race—in an 8:58. Even with the awful conditions on the bike course, two women, including one of our very own teammates, Erika Csomor, had broken the world’s best iron-distance record that Paula Newby Fraser set on this very course in 1994. Talk about getting the full Roth experience . . .

Thank you so much to Felix and the whole Challenge crew for putting on an event unlike any other; I cannot wait to return for more next year. Thanks also to the Weiss family for welcoming my friend Jon and I into their home and for providing so much other support during race week. And for their continued support, I want to thank my sponsors: Splits59 (www.splits59.com), Team TBB, ORCA, Newton Running Company, Powerbar, Cervelo, HED, and ISM.

This weekend I have another adventure in store: as I write this, I am on my way to Lake Placid, New York, for Ironman Lake Placid. I will be competing this Sunday, just seven days after Quelle Challenge Roth. The closest I have ever raced two ironmans was three weeks apart, so this “double” is a new challenge for me; consequently, I’ve been more excited about these races than I’ve been for a race in a long time (not that I was hurting for motivation, but somehow the idea of two in a week seemed to double my excitement for each one of the two). I am feeling nice and warmed up now, after last weekend’s race, and am eagerly anticipating Part Two . . .

Last week I had the privilege of returning for the third time to one of my favorite races: Ironman Brasil in Florianopolis (a.k.a. “Floripa”). Brasil was my fourth ironman of 2008, and as always, it provided me with some valuable experience, and plenty of fun along the way.

One of the most important things that I’ve learned in ironman racing is to expect the unexpected, and be prepared to deal with it. My race in Floripa took a course that was virtually entirely the opposite of the way I expected it to play out, but because I have learned this lesson many times over, I am happy to say that it hardly fazed me. Speaking of being off course, swimming this way explains how my entire race began in an unexpected fashion: with my emerging from the swim four minutes down on the race leader! What was ironic was that I’d spent the better part of the swim throwing myself a party for bridging a gap by myself to get onto what I thought was the front group, when it broke away after the second buoy. I saw Galindez and Sabastchus there, and thought I was sweet once I got into the pack. However, with the usual scarcity of buoys on this course, coupled with a strong current on race day, our group apparently swam well off course. I have never before seen a “59” on the clock upon emerging from the water at an ironman; the swim was long, but not that long!

Another lesson I’ve learned in the 26 ironman races that preceded this one is that it is a long day out there. This sounds obvious and not even worth stating, but what I mean is that—again, probably obvious—it should be treated as such. I’ve seen that the final outcome of the day often bears no resemblance to the initial shape of the race’s first few hours, and that one must be patient. So I set out on the bike to ride a steady, hard pace, while not rushing to make up four minutes. Thus I found myself riding in second position through the entire first lap of the bike, and finally taking the lead from Carla Moreno (2x Brasilian Olympian) at about kilometer 95. I had felt pretty strong throughout most of the first lap of the bike, but continued to feel better as the race went along. Once I had the lead, I set about extending it as much as possible. I found it pretty easy to remain focused even though I had caught my target; the race course was changed this year to include a number of out-and-back loops along the oceanfront, and this format facilitated checking my progress relative to the other girls. It was a fun game, and I also thoroughly enjoyed the novelty of the police escorts I acquired along with the lead; I haven’t been in this position many times yet in my career, and their sirens blaring through every intersection made me feel pretty special. I finished the ride with a lead of nearly 9 minutes over Fernanda Keller, who had taken over second place.

I knew I would need every minute of it! Fernanda is a strong runner, and seems to get even better when racing on her home course. The first half of the run course in Floripa takes us over some unique hills, including one which is allegedly a 25% grade, while the second half of the run is largely flat. I also enjoy the novelty of these hills, simply because one doesn’t often experience run courses like this over the ironman distance.

Despite the entertaining nature of the run course and the enthusiastic spectators, it turns out that losing a 9-minute lead off the bike—especially in a matter of 19 kilometers—isn’t so fun! Yes, Fernanda flew past me at kilometer 19, and went on to win handily. I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you: my run was not good. In fact, my runs have not been good all season. I might not have been frustrated with my fifth second-place professional iron-distance finish had I felt like I had run well; in that case, I would have done well for me, and at the end of the day, that’s all I can ask. But I was frustrated that the gains I’d made in run speed in my training had not translated to the race course.

The positive news is that my coach and I have learned from this and we are going back to my old-school run training. It was a painful lesson, but an important one. And I’m very excited about what I might be able to do if we can get my running sorted, because I learned in Floripa that I might be able to ride one day, too! This was the first time I have held the overall lead off of the bike, and have ridden the fastest women’s bike split in an ironman.

In case you can’t tell, I emerged from this race feeling highly motivated; luckily, I was able to head straight to Leysin, Switzerland afterwards to join my Team TBB teammates for summer training camp in the mountains, and get straight to work. I am a happy camper.

I want to thank Latin Sports and Endurance Sports Travel for making it possible for me to participate in their fantastic event once again. EST not only facilitates a friendly and fun race-week experience, but they make it easy for me to be able to focus on doing my job without having to worry about any logistical details. In fact, the airlines lost my bike in transit to Brasil, and it seemed as if locating it became a full-time job for the EST girls for three days, until their persistence finally brought my P3C back to me! Thank you, thank you!! I hope to be able to return to Floripa again in 2009 and see everyone again.

And for their continuing support, I would like to thank my sponsors: Splits59 (www.splits59.com), Team TBB, Cervelo, ORCA, PowerBar, ISM, HED, and Newton Running Company.

This will be short as there really wasn’t much to write home about, as they say . . . I won’t sugarcoat it: Sunday was not my most brilliant or fun day at the office. And my mediocre performance was a bit hard for me to take because I had just finished a great training block and knew I was the most fit I’ve been in a long time. Tempe brought us a fantastically challenging race day, with 30-mph headwinds on the bike and temperatures in the mid-nineties–just the sort of extreme conditions that I love. I won’t make excuses for myself; it will suffice to say that I simply didn’t have it–whatever “it” is–all day. I was emotionally and physically flat, and my performance reflected that.

The good news is that I have some idea as to the circumstances that had me in this state on race day, so with any luck I can avoid putting myself in this situation again. Furthermore, even though the work that I did the last couple months didn’t really manifest itself on April 13, I know that it hasn’t disappeared, and will come to fruition in an upcoming competition.

Race day did have some very bright spots, however, as is inevitable when I am doing what I love–albeit not as fast as I would prefer to do it! Having my family and so many friends enthusiastically supporting me along the course brought many smiles to my face over the course of the day–and my girlfriends Emily, Colleen, and Ashley were rocking awesome homemade tie-dyed ”HTFU” shirts! There were also so many other amazing athletes and spectators who took it upon themselves to cheer loudly and offer lots of positive comments. Thank you to everyone who kept me going through some tough spots on Sunday!

Sunday was a huge day for some of my friends and teammates, and their success made my day, too. While I ran through T2, I heard my mom calling my name from the side of the transition area, as if she had something to tell me. I looked over at her, and she yelled, “Bella and Stephen BOTH won (Ironman) South Africa!” She knew that I had heard her by the huge smile that came across my face at the thought of Stephen taking his first victory, and Bella being able to chalk up another one on the same day–how cool is that for an engaged couple?! I’m not sure if I was more proud of them or of my mother–God love her for being the anti-tri dork–for remembering that they were racing, getting ahold of the results, and relaying them! It was quite a moment.

Then we had a couple other highlights right there on the Tempe course: my teammate Erika totally dominating the race and taking her first Ironman victory, and my dear friend TJ putting forth an amazing second-place effort and narrowly missing his first victory.

For my next Ironman, I will return to one of my favorite countries and races for Ironman Brasil, on May 25th. I am looking forward to a few weeks of good hard work here at home and then to “having another crack”, as Belinda would say . . . Thanks so much to my fantastic sponsors for their continued support: Splits59, Team TBB, Newton Running Company, ORCA, ISM, Cervelo, HED, and Powerbar.

For years I have heard stories about the epic ironman race in Langkawi, Malaysia. These horror stories of Ironman Malaysia generally include anecdotes about suffering and challenges of a more unique and extreme nature than those of most Hawaii Ironman tales. After hearing enough such accounts, I decided that I needed to experience the sea lice, oppressive heat and humidity, dehydration, blisters, and errant monkeys and mopeds for myself this year.

It was, in fact, everyone’s war stories from this race that made put it on my must-do list…After all, the appeal of our sport lies in its inherently challenging nature, so Malaysia sounded like the ultimate experience: an ironman with bonus challenges. I didn’t bother to explain this concept to the local triathletes who I met at registration; they asked where I was from, and when I told them, one man replied, “On Saturday you will know our weather. You will be like roasted chicken!” “That’s why I’m here, mate,” I thought–but figured that might be a strange concept to explain . . . It’s what I call “getting my money’s worth,” or “getting the full ironman experience.”

Roasted chicken indeed. The heat and humidity during the last few hours of the bike and first half of the run were some of the most extreme I have experienced in a race. We did get some cloud cover for the last half of the run, so to be fair, I think we could have had the opportunity for an even more thorough test. But last Saturday was a sufficiently valuable challenge for me for this year.

The swim was just the way I like it: no wetsuit! What I didn’t like was some bloke sitting on my feet for the entire 3.8 kilometers, whilst tapping them periodically, yet not attempting to go around me. After checking at halfway to see if he was my teammate Luke (who has been known to enjoy a free ride in the past, but was actually a buoy ahead last weekend!), I realized that I didn’t know this guy, and thus that I couldn’t trust him enough to just flip over and make him take the lead. So I just pushed on . . . My ORCA RS1 speed suit served me well, and I emerged from the ocean a few minutes ahead of the other women.

I set out on the bike to heed the advice of veterans of this race, like my best mate and training partner, Belinda Granger. She said this was not a race to be “raced,” and I wasn’t about to assume that I knew better or that I could beat this race. So I rode out of town over the hills conservatively and then through the first of the three loops the same way. It was on this first loop that I became acquainted with some of this bike course’s unique challenges, as I occasionally found water buffaloes and monkeys crossing the road in front of me. But they were the least of my worries: most of the course was open to traffic, which, unlike other courses that might be partially open, means that we essentially had to fend for ourselves amongst cars, mopeds, bicycles, and traveling food stands that may or may not have chosen to travel on their designated lanes of the road. On the second lap, I actually had to stop and unclip, then beg my way through cars in a traffic jam that had taken up all of the lanes of the turnaround intersection; that was definitely a new iron man experience. Now back to the riding…I cruised through lap 1, and then picked it up a bit on lap 2, as I felt surprisingly strong and felt that I could maintain a decent “comfortably uncomfortable” pace.

During the last 60 kilometers of the ride, I gained an understanding of what people mean when they claim not to be able to get their nutrition down. I’d felt pretty sick at various times in the 24 ironmans that preceded this one; but knowing that caloric intake is essential to maintaining strength throughout a race of this duration, I always shoved the calories down, no matter how unappetizing. This time it seemed that every time I took in calories, they immediately returned to my throat, and I felt worse than when they went in. I am not sure if it was the heat affecting my body or making my drink go rotten, but in any case, it was the most sick I have been in one of these races; I backed off the pace, lost time, and did not do a good job for setting myself up for the run, as I took in about half of the total calories I should have on the bike. I finished the ride in third, as Belinda and Yvonne had both come flying past me during the first half of the bike.

Yes, I was becoming acquainted with Langkawi’s weather. My first of the four run laps was a very weak jog marked by vivid fantasies of cold water, which I would get to fulfill all too briefly each time I hit an aid station, had a drink, and grabbed cold sponges. This race provided a fantastic opportunity to practice one of my favorite ironman tactics, which I call “fake it til you make it”: I did my best to smile when I saw someone I knew and encourage my teammates when we crossed paths. Unfortunately, in this race, the only thing I place I was “making it” to was the finish line . . . Actually, I believe this strategy is foolproof, and I did feel progressively stronger as the run went along, but I could not hold off the Japanese girl coming from behind. The roasted chicken herself ended up in fourth place, having found what she came for: lots of “bonus challenges,” resulting in bonus pain and suffering. I would have liked that pain and suffering to have yielded me a podium finish, but instead it earned me a reminder of how much work I have to do before October 11th. That would have to be good enough.

The real highlight of the day was seeing Belinda take a very hard-earned and validating victory. I never cease to be inspired by the sort of dedication and discipline she employs in her daily pursuit to become a better athlete; besides her being my best friend and training partner, Belinda’s example reminds me of the many little things that I could be doing better in my own preparation . . . And we are now back to preparation here in the Philippines. Next up: Ironman Arizona.

I would like to thank my sponsors for their support: SplitsFiftyNine, Team TBB, ORCA wetsuits, Newton Running Company, Cervelo, HED, and Powerbar.

One of the benefits of being trained by Brett Sutton is that I can turn up to the start line of any ironman race in the world and have the confidence that comes with knowing that I have trained just as hard, if not harder, than any one of my fellow competitors. Because I am a glass-half-full kind of girl, I convinced myself that Challenge Wanaka would be an amusing novelty for the fact that I would have the unique experience of standing on a start line without this preparation and the confidence that comes with it. Yes, in my 24th ironman, I would have the opportunity to have a sort of new experience–to deal with the challenge of a pre-race month that included elbow surgery, blood poisoning, 3 weeks out of the water, and very restricted training. Rather than stress about changing this situation, I figured that the best thing to do was to appreciate being forced to learn how to race under a new set of circumstances.
Thankfully, I expected to feel, as my coach would say, “like a dog’s breakfast,” because I spent the first couple hours of the race wondering if I really had lost it–my health, my strength, any ability to race…After swimming the 3.8-km feeling like I was stuck in a block of ice, I wasn’t able to pedal with any more ease for the first 30+kilometers of the bike. I spent these 30 kilometers diagnosing myself with everything from DVT to chronic fatigue. My coach had decided that this race would be my first hard workout back to proper training, and we trusted that the measures we had taken in restricting my training would have me alright to do so by this time–but maybe I had been kidding myself, I thought. My body certainly didn’t feel right!
But there was nowhere to go but forward, so I just kept pedaling, considering that it was possible that I might feel this special for the next 9 hours–and I would just have to deal with that. Luckily, somewhere about 40 kilometers into the bike ride, my body started to remember how to ride a bike. I was able to ride the next 100 kilometers at a steady effort. I had no idea what this effort was yielding–in terms of outcome–because the first part of the Wanaka ride is a big 140-km loop. And with about 120 individuals in the race, I didn’t see many people all day! The last 40 kilometers of this ride are a hilly out-and-back stretch, so while I was not moving so quickly over this last stretch, it was nice to finally get some feedback by sighting the other competitors.
I was in second, which I figured would be a miracle if I could hold onto, but the run was a big question mark for me. I had only done a handful of short runs in the weeks leading into the race, and I wasn’t convinced that I’d be able to run more than a few kilometers. So when I started running, no one could wipe the smile off of my face for the course of the entire marathon, because I was just so thrilled to be running at any pace!
I didn’t have a “race” gear, so the marathon was a steady jog, or whatever one would call it, but I loved every minute of it. The run course at this race is my absolute favorite; it is not often that we have the privilege of running half of an ironman marathon on trails, nor do we ever get to take in scenery as beautiful as the lakes and mountains surrounding Wanaka. And the road section of this race offers a similarly unique number of hills for us to climb! But the locals provided us with amazing support, many of them setting up cold showers for us in front of their homes along the course. We also had an epic run turnaround and finish, along the main street downtown, in front of the pubs and cheering crowds. By some miracle, I ended up finishing in second place, and my body seems none the worse for wear for having done this long training day.
I want to thank the organizers of Challenge Wanaka for putting on a stellar event–one of my favorites. I absolutely cannot wait to return next year! And I also want to thank all of my sponsors for their continued support: SplitsFiftyNine, Team TBB, Cervelo, Powerbar, and Newton Running Company.

My brief holiday time with my family didn’t exactly turn out as I had planned. Before our family Christmas in St. Helena, I went home to LA for the SplitsFiftyNine launch event, and ended up in the operating room having surgery on the elbow that I injured falling during the 50-mile off-road run last month.

My elbow was swollen for about four weeks following the race, but appeared to have finally healed. Then, for some strange reason, during the course of the swim-bike session I crammed in before my Wednesday flight to LA, the elbow decided to grow into an huge, red, shiny, painful, alien-looking thing. Thanks so much to my cycling friend Pericles for looking after me for those four hours on the bike, and also to my friend Bruce at Fairwheel Bicycles for helping me on the other end! These guys have been life-savers many times over…So anyways, by the time I landed in LA, I was not well, and it was clear that I had an infection in my elbow which had spread to my bloodstream and was making me sick. It was not pretty; Jon refused to look at it because he was convinced a gremlin was about to be born out of my elbow!

To cut a long story short, the infection continued to spread and make me ill to the point that the orthopaedist decided last Friday that our only option was to have surgery to cut the mess out of my elbow. So that’s what I did with my Friday night! I was knocked out and as far as I know, everything that needed to be cut out, was. Of course the thing is totally wrapped up, and I can’t even handle looking at it.

Because of the infection, the incision must be left as an open wound that has to be “packed” and re-filled with dressing every day until it closes. Thankfully–but not for him (It is quite a painful process and I nearly passed out the first couple times we had to do it.)–my father is an ER doc, and he was able to perform this job while we were on family holiday. Because of the open wound, I can’t swim until this process concludes, which of course is a bit of a bummer after the swim block I have just put in. But there is no point in dwelling on what I can’t do; instead, I am just making the most of each day and looking at this time as an opportunity to take my cycling to the next level with the extra energy I have to put more intensity into each session.

I’m not very good at proper “vacations.” Sometimes I hear triathletes wish out loud, “If only I could take a vacation without my
bike…” I don’t understand it. Over the past couple years, I have had the pleasure of exploring countless locales all over the globe by foot or by bike. Now I don’t feel as if I fully experience the feel of a place without traversing it by my own physical exertion.

So when I planned my off-season east coast visit to see my sister and my cousins, I set about finding a way to ensure that I really gave it to myself during my trip. The JFK 50-mile ultramarathon seemed a brilliant choice. There is nothing I love more than a long run, and I’ve long been fascinated with endurance runners and ultramarathons; I read everything about the sport that I can get my hands on (I’ve just finished Pam Reed’s The Extra Mile—very interesting.).

The JFK run is the oldest ultra in the U.S.: 2007 was its 45th running!While most ultras seem to have 60-100 participants, JFK fills to capacity months in advance, and this year had over 1400 starters. I’d been hearing about it for years, and figured it would provide the perfect setting for a big workout that could expedite the get-back-in-shape process.

The point-to-point race starts in a small town in Maryland, about 70 miles outside of Washington, D.C.–so as you can imagine, mid-November in this area was bloody freezing to me! I wore two layers, including tights and long sleeves, all day. My friend Doug enjoyed pointing out that this would have been more clothes than I’ve worn in the last two years combined. Ha…

The race started with two miles straight uphill on the road that took us to the historic Appalachian Trail. I was really looking forward to the Appalachian Trail because of its famous scenery. Unfortunately, that sentiment in itself reveals how unprepared I was for this bit of the race: these 13.5 miles were so rocky and treacherous that I didn’t dare look anywhere other than a couple of feet ahead of me on the single-track trail. In fact, the minute my mind strayed away from exactly what I was doing at that moment, I would trip or roll an ankle.

Surprisingly, I managed to stay upright on this trail, but I attribute that mostly to my extreme caution, which seemed to have everyone and his brother flying past me–especially on the downhills. There was very little flat running during this stretch; instead, I was essentially just jumping from rock to rock on very steep uphills or downhills for 13.5 miles. Some of these proper ultrarunner folks made it look so easy; the way they flew down these hills, I’d have thought they were running on a road. Much of the group did the energy-conservation thing and walked the steepest hills, but I wasn’t about to change my ironman no-walking
rule just because I wasn’t in an ironman!:) So I would make some headway on the uphill bits, only to lose twice as much on the next descent.

I knew we exited the Appalachian Trail at about mile 15.5. Although I wouldn’t allow myself to “break the seal”–meaning, look at my watch–before then, there came a point at which it seemed like I had been running for so long that I should have passed mile 15 long ago…Finally, we came upon a volunteer on the trail, who said, “Bottom of the trail, 1
mile down.” I tried to see where this might be, but all I could distinguish were a couple of switchbacks stacked very closely on top of each other, which appeared to lead me down the edge of a cliff. The good news was that I might not fall hundreds of meters if I tripped, because I’d be impaled by a branch first. Sweet.

Somehow, I emerged unscathed (just wait–this won’t last long) and briefly felt the tension in my muscles dissipate as we ran into a field of cheering spectators. At this point, I allowed myself to check my watch, and discovered that 15.5 miles had taken me…two hours and fourty-four minutes! No wonder I felt like I should’ve passed 15 miles long ago… This was followed by another disturbing revelation: these first 15 miles had done a number on my quads. I felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to them, and I had 35 miles to go?!

Well, that was the state of affairs, and dwelling on the reality of it certainly wasn’t going to get me through the next 35 miles any more quickly! I pushed that thought out of my head straightaway and replaced it by focusing on what I needed to do to help myself along: eat! Mile 16 was, I think, the second aid station–just wanted to clarify for all
of the triathletes, since we are accustomed to full-service aid-stations every mile. The aid stations came mostly every 3 -4 miles over the rest of the course. Thus, nearly everyone carries a bottle, and at each aid station, one must stop to refill the bottle and to grab whatever one wants to eat. The hardcore folks all seemed to have support crews to give them their special bottles and food where needed, but I was there solo, and then again wasn’t in a battle down to the minute, either . . . Back to the race: I grabbed as much as I could carry, and shoved down a banana and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as I ran.

The next stretch of this race was 26 miles on a flat, hardpacked dirt path along the C&O Canal. For me, one of the highlights of this race was all of the beautiful multicolored leaves covering the trees on the course–we don’t get those in Arizona or California! The only problem is that inches of these leaves covered the path on which we were running; thus we never actually saw this dirt path, or where our foot would land in our next step. So while this 26-mile stretch was hardly rocky like
the Appalachian Trail section, of course I and my low-to-the-ground ironman shuffle managed to make contact with an obscured rock at an inopportune moment. Yes, at about mile 20, I tripped on a rock and went flying. The problem with hitting the ground after 3+ hours of treacherous running was that every muscle in my body seemed to seize up to the extent that I wasn’t entirely sure how I was going to get up out of the leaves.

Luckily for me, I had just run a couple of miles with my friend Frank, a veteran of this race, and he had only recently told me to go ahead. So he came upon me on the ground in time to drag me up and carry my water bottle for a bit while I limped along. He was also kind enough to pick leaves off of my now-bloody clothing.

Unfortunately, Frank and I had parted ways again by the next time I had a close encounter with the foliage at mile 30. And the guys I had recently picked off seemed all too happy to run right past me as I dealt with muscles that had grown increasingly disobedient over the past 10 miles; getting up off the ground was very challenging.

I must’ve been in a bad way when I hit the mile 34 aid station, though, because I remember just grabbing whatever calories I could get my hands on while a volunteer helped refill my bottle…then forgetting about the bottle and running off, while thinking I was eating the cookies I had just picked up, but instead actually eating my last gel–which I meant to save for a gap between aid stations. I also couldn’t be bothered to differentiate between the gel and the leaves that were stuck to my hand thanks to fall #2 and the remains of a previous gel…

Nevertheless, once I did eventually eat those cookies, I must’ve found a sugar high. I was suddenly able to fast-forward in my mind to mile 38 and thought, “Only 12 more miles!” Up until this point, I had chosen to ignore as much as possible all mile markers, instead thinking, “You are lucky enough to be able to do one of your favorite activities–running–all day. And you WILL be running all day.” Suddenly, it seemed as if I was almost done, and I began to feel exceptionally perky. Miles 35-42 were the highlight of my day. I’m not sure if I actually felt great or if I just felt a lot better than I thought I should after 35+ miles of running…

At mile 42, however, this race transitions to the road for eight final hilly miles–just for some bonus pounding right when I needed it most. Until mile 45, the pounding was made tolerable by thoughts that the end was near. At that point, however, I came to the depressing realization that the end was not coming quickly enough!

The last 3-mile countdown seemed longer than the last 3 miles of any of my recent ironmans. I noted the irony in the perspective shift: 12 remaining miles in an ironman marathon seems like a big chunk, whereas in this race it had seemed like nothing; yet 3 remaining miles in an ironman is the homestretch, and today the last 3 of 50 were interminable! My muscles were d-o-n-e; I felt like I was just throwing one leg in front of the other, one step at a time. I knew I’d get there eventually…

And I did. Eight hours and fourteen minutes after I started, I completed 50 miles of running. I finished to find that I seemed to have grown an extra right thigh; I had a huge, bruised, swollen mass on the side of my leg, which explained why I’d felt
as if someone was stabbing me there with every step I took!

Between this injury and the impact of 8+ hours of running on my legs, the pain did not subside upon crossing the JFK finish line–far from it, in fact. I had not been this sore since my first Ironman–and I’m noeven sure that was this bad! For two days following the race, I could only hobble, and had to make use of all sorts of rails, ramps, and anything else to keep me upright. While I was traveling, random people in the airports were offering me assistance with my bags and airline personnel wondered if I was one of the passengers in need of a wheelchair….I told these nice folks that I was really fine: “Don’t feel sorry for me–I did this to myself!” And I’d do it all again….

Last weekend I was finally able to experience the Hawaii Ironman World Championships as a professional—and what an experience it was. Kona was my eighth and final iron-distance race for 2008, and the third in my eight-week racing binge. This was my first World Championships as a pro, and it provided an invaluable learning experience that has me counting the weeks til next year’s race—50 ½, for those who are interested!

I had raced in Kona as an age-grouper in 2002 and 2003, and while some of my friends who had professional experience had explained a bit to me about the dynamics of the pro race, being part of it gave me great insight into where I need to improve strategically and physically. The differences between the pro and age-group races in Kona begin from the obvious—the rules: the pros have a 15-minute headstart and thus swim with a group of 100+, rather than 1700; our draft zone is 10M, rather than 7M. So with less people in close proximity on both the swim and bike, theoretically there is less room for error. And this time, of course, I would face a whole new level of competition; even in all of the other ironmans throughout the year, we never encounter this concentration of top ironwomen in one race.

In the swim, I paid for a slow start and ended up in the third big pack; luckily, I was able to see the gap to the next pack open up and cane it to get up there about halfway through the outbound leg. I thought I was sweet until I realized that I had in fact been in the third pack; I thought that for the effort I had just put in, I had surely moved myself to the front group! We were well on our way back to shore when I made it to the front of this pack, and the front group wasn’t in sight! My attempts to go off the front didn’t get me very far, and I emerged from the water with a few girls ahead of me, and about 1:30 back of the group I would have liked to be swimming with.

It wasn’t an ideal position, but I knew I still had a bit of a cushion before the “freight train” containing many of the best cyclists and race favorites would roll by. While common sense maintains that 112 miles is a distance that required pacing, etc., I’d been told that if I wanted to be competitive in this race, I needed to ride the first 40km like an Olympic-distance race…not that I would really know what that would be like! My best Emma Snowswill impression got me through the loop in town and onto the Queen K just before the freight train came by. These girls were moving, and I was thankful for that 3-minute cushion I had to prepare for their arrival, because I felt ready to up my pace again to keep them in sight. All was sweet for a few minutes until we reached an aid station and the pace changed; I had no more speed for the next level it took for the group to reform. And that is how I found myself biking alone all day…

I experienced brief disappointment at losing sight of “the big girls,” but dwelling on that wasn’t going to get me anywhere! So I filed that moment away, along with that 1:30 on the swim, in my list of “to improves” for next year—and moved on. There I was, facing 100 miles of exposed road, with not much in sight (clouds being conspicuously absent) besides lava. Oh yeah, and there was that running race to follow, but that was certainly not something I was going to think about for 5 more hours. So I flashed back to all of the time trials I had done on the hot, windy, lonely Mission Road here in Tucson; I remembered to trust that just putting my head down and giving it to myself would get me somewhere, even though there might not be anyone around against whom to gauge my progress. With that perspective, I avoided any significant mental “lows” during the ride, and in fact some girls did come back to me.

I couldn’t wait to run. I was fortunate enough to have many friends and family in Kona to support me, so I had lots of friendly faces that I looked forward to seeing on the course. The first couple miles of the run were not pretty–as is normal for me–and all of the people cheering provided me extra incentive to employ the old “fake it til you make it” strategy. So I limped along, smiling, pretending that I felt like a million bucks. And before I knew it, I realized that I no longer felt terrible; in fact, I did feel like a million bucks! Now lest anyone who was watching start thinking that I am totally delusional, understand that it’s all relative; surely I still looked like I was crawling–at best. But by ironman #23, I have been through enough deep, dark places during the run that when I feel—as my coach would say—just “slightly better than a dog’s breakfast,” I start thinking I’m Lori Bowden!

So I was having the time of my life out there, running along from about miles 2-15. One of the highlights of my day was crossing paths with my teammates, Belinda, Chrissie, and Rebecca, who were all in the top 10–with the ultimate being seeing Chrissie cruising along the Queen K (chatting with people as if out for an afternoon stroll while running a 2:59 marathon) with just a few miles to go, and such a lead that I knew her victory was secure. During this time, I even found myself in about 15th position, which was my ultimate goal for this race. Of course my priority is always to do my best on the day, and I knew that this race had probably 25 girls who had the physical capacity to finish in the top 10—so my best on the day might very well have also landed me 25th. In that case, I would have to be happy with that effort. But in my wildest dreams, I thought that if it happened that everything came together on the day and I ended up in the top 15, it would be icing on the cake.

Everything was fantastic until I was climbing out of the Energy Lab and my legs decided they weren’t too keen to keep moving along at the pace at which they had been. Now that was unfortunate timing. Well, it was unfortunate for me, but not for the 4 or 5 girls behind me who came flying past in about the last 10km! Those last several miles were a nice little reality check for me; I am accustomed to being able to gain time—not get passed—at the end of the marathon. But that’s at other ironmans—not Hawaii, when all the girls are there, and so many have better runs in their back pockets than I do. I moved to 20th as we turned down Palani with just a couple miles to go.

Filing away another item on the “to improve” list for next year, I screamed at myself in my mind: “No more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” That was quite enough! I couldn’t stand to see any more women go by, but I knew Kim Loeffler was still back there somewhere, and I was having flashbacks to her pass with 3km to go at Ironman New Zealand earlier this year. I knew I couldn’t take anything for granted until I crossed the line, and I don’t think my smile during the home stretch on Ali’i was fooling anyone! Every step was excruciating, but in some sick way I knew that these depths of pain and suffering are a highlight for me, and I had better appreciate it, because I wouldn’t be having another iron-distance race for three months. I did manage to hang onto #20, in a time of 9:56.

It was not a brilliant race, but I was content in knowing that I had left everything I had out there! I would have been altogether thrilled with my performance if I had managed to hold my run together during the last 10 miles, but for whatever reason, I was physically unable to finish as well as I should have. So I was disappointed with that part of my race, but I was happy with a number of other pieces of the day, and emerged having earned a whole new level of ironman experience.

I am indebted to so many people for their support during race week. I had a last-minute crisis on Friday morning when on my last pre-race ride I crashed my bike to avoid being hit head-on by a car that turned across my lane on Kuakini. My bike and I were not in great shape. Jack Murray from Jack and Adam’s Cycles (Austin, TX) came through at the very last minute and made my bike better than new, and his expertise alleviated much of my stress about this drama just hours before bike check-in.
And also majoring in crisis management was my super iron-sherpa, Jon, who dealt with broken bikes, food and coffee needs, all of my other pre-race details. Besides the aforementioned incident, my pre-race week was stress-free and fun, thanks in a large part to his company; also thanks to my best friend Colleen for serving as Ironman “maid of honor,” as she named herself, and hanging out like a good old-fashioned slumber party the night before the race (which enabled me to not think about the race and actually get some sleep!). This ironman was one of my most special because of the attendance of a big group of extended family and many other friends as well.

My sponsors ensured that I came into the World Championships with all of the best equipment. Splits:59 (www.splits59.com) provided me with “happy skirts” and lots of other great pre-race clothing, as well as my favorite training and race gear. Thanks to Oakley, I had sunnies to match every outfit! For the non-wetsuit swim, I had the benefit of wearing ORCA’s new RS1 speedsuit. Thanks to Cervelo and Blackwell Research, I enjoyed every technological advantage on the bike: I rode the P3C with a pink ISM seat, Blackwell 50/100mm carbon dish wheel combo, and the new Blackwell carbon base bar and extensions. Newton Running Company provided my beautiful PINK running shoes. And last but definitely not least, I am so thankful and fortunate to be a part of Team TBB; I am completely humbled and inspired to be part of this exceptionally focused and high-achieving group.