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4月23日 No shortcuts, eh?Quote of the day: There are no shortcuts to any place worth going -- except this one...to my new blogsite.
See you there.
4月19日 In the Wake of the DNF I had planned to write some wise-acre entry about the "lessons" I learned from my DNF -- after all, that is what is expected from peeps who set up some big goal only to come up short. We all have to save face, keep going, stay strong, etc., etc.
But I found this article on Tri Kahuna's blog. Please, friends and family, read this article. It begins to give a picture of Sunday, and of Ironman, but more importantly, about why a lot of us even bother. David Whiting (the author) is right: Ironman is nothing (says the girl who DNF'd). It's just a small piece of an even bigger picture.
4月17日 Ironman Arizona 2007DNF
Did not finish. Ugh.
I knew I was in trouble when the forecast called for 18mph winds on race day. I figured I could keep a 15-16mph pace, which built in a two-hour "grace period" before the bike cutoff--leaving room for a little wind, mechanical problems, etc. I would just grit my teeth and keep pedaling until they made me stop or I managed to finish, which is exactly what I did until my tragically ironic end...but I will get to that in a bit.
This was my first attempt at an Ironman. I will own the fact that I did not train as long or as intensely as I should have, but it was still an AMAZING experience! Even with the DNF, I still feel good about my race-day effort and with the audacity to even sign up for such a thing. Plus my dad caught the bug, and if all goes well with his shoulder surgery this summer, we may enter Ironman Arizona together in 2009. (Wouldn't THAT be something?!)
Swim
The swim takes place in Tempe Town Lake, which looks more like a river or a canal. As such, there is not a beach start like in other Ironmans, where you get to stand on the beach or waist-deep in water before the cannon goes off. No, at Arizona, you jump off a dock and swim about 200 yards, under two bridges to the start line where you tread water until the start. The swim and deep-water start aren't so bad -- it doesn't take much to stay afloat in a wetsuit. It's the jumping off the dock -- taking the plunge, as it were, that's seemed daunting to many. The announcer kept trying to get people to move more quickly about that part, calling us all out for standing around on the dock. I admit that it took me three passes before I finally got in. On the third try, I collected myself, went and sat down at the edge and plunked myself into the water. Not nearly as bad as I was imagining. I was ready to go.
Slalom?
Sighting on the way out (to swim in a straight line) was a little rough. The sun was just coming up, which made the buoys hard to see. I decided to just "swim toward the light" but I didn't bother orienting the sun (which should have been in the upper left side of my goggles) until about 3/4 of the way to the turn-around. I weaved in and out of the bouys like a world-class skier. My swim time was 1:48 -- undoubtedly because I actually swam 3 miles with all that zig-zagging.
Then onto the bike...
Remember the two-hour grace period I talked about? Well, that two-hour "grace-period" did not leave room for the actual 30mph HEADWIND with 45mph GUSTS that I faced heading back into town on every loop. Because of the permits the race organizers had to get to close the roads, there were actually 3 cutoffs on the bike: the usual at 5:30pm, one at 4:15pm at the turnaround back to town on the third loop, and one at 3:00pm -- you had to start the third loop before 3:00 to be allowed to continue. After the first loop, I knew I wouldn't make it. It took almost twice as long as I had planned. The winds in Arizona are not unlike the winds here in New Mexico. They come up strong in the middle of the day and get progressively stronger until the sun goes down. I knew that wind would blow harder and I would just be getting more tired as the day went on. BUT I KEPT GOING...all the way until they took my chip.
As I came into town, I asked spectators the time. When this blond woman finally said "three o'clock," and I still had another mile to go, my heart sank. (But let's face it, even if I made the first cutoff, there would be no way for me to make either of the next two cutoffs.) One neat thing for spectators at IMAZ is that the athletes pass through this one intersection about 12 times. For the bike, you come through the intersection, go out and back across the Mill St. bridge, and through the intersection again to start another loop or head back to transition.
The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat Within 50 Yards
When I came into the intersection after my second loop, I was already starting to cry. Then I crossed the timing mat at the far end of the bridge...and no one stopped me. I thought, "Hmmm...maybe I'll get to keep going!" So I did. Then I approached the intersection again. And this official-looking man in Ironman garb stood in my path with his arms extended out in a T -- to keep me from going on. I was the first one they stopped. They guy just seconds ahead of me got to keep going. At this exact same moment, Rutger Beke from Belgium was crossing the finish line which was literally 50 yards away. The announcer exclaimed over the cheers of the crowd, "RUTGER BEKE, YOU JUST WON YOUR FIRST IRONMAN!" That's right. The first guy across the line did it at the very instant that my chip was being removed, providing a heartbreaking if not ironic soundtrack to the images of me getting off my bike and walking off the course in tears.
I watched the video of this last night, thinking I might post it here for entertainment value...mmm maybe next year. I'm still a little raw about that moment. After getting off the course, I had this long, lonely walk back to the transition area (alongside the finish chute while they interviewed Rutger about his win). About halfway, this man named Dean Schmidt of Houston, TX saw me crying and walked along with me. "What happened out there?" he asked, innocently. And very melodramatically I sobbed, "I couldn't ride faster than the wind!" He said a lot of things that were comforting (which I can't really remember except I know they calmed me down). And then came the Big Question: "How long have you been training for this?"
At this, I chuckled and said, "Heh-heh. Only since January, so I shouldn't be too surprised that my day ended like this."
He laughed, too, and let me use his phone to call my dad.
I had imagined that if I didn't finish I would be inconsolable, but I was pretty much done crying by the time Colin and my Dad met up with me. I did give race day everything I had. But I know that I did not do the same for training. If I had, I think I would have been really heartbroken then. Really, from this side of the finish line, I think my overall journey was not tough enough or long enough (I gained and lost the same 7 pounds repeatedly throughout my training), and to fail after giving about 60% isn't really that tragic. It's just a waste of money.
Gratitude after 78.4 miles
Here is where it is VERY tempting to say something like "Oh yeah, if it weren't for the wind, I would have been all over that Ironman." Um...no (though I do think I would have had a better shot at it). As I rode the course, I passed people experiencing all ranges of crises, from flat tires, to road-rash-inducing crashes, to vomiting, to head and eye injuries, to unknown calamities requiring stretchers. I may have been fighting a mean wind, but I was still relatively healthy, no mechanical problems, no gastro-intestinal issues. And there's no telling what other obstacles might have presented themselves if it hadn't been the wind. Soooo...I guess I'm grateful that my biggest problem on Sunday was the wind.
Also, your race number has your name printed on it. So a lot of the people who passed me on the bike wished me luck by name. "Hey Krissy, good effort," and, "Keep it up, Krissy! You're doing great!" and "Hey Krissy, stay strong!" I can't even begin to tell you how sweet it was to hear such personal encouragement from strangers while out on the course alone. My favorite was that last one -- "stay strong" which someone said as I battled that nasty wind on the second loop and my spirits were really sinking. Seriously, the wind was so bad coming back to town, that I couldn't wait to get to the sections of the course where we briefly had a crosswind. After one of those stretches, I turned right to continue following the course -- right back into the headwind and even wailed out loud, "AAAAGGGHHH! NO MORE!" Despair at last.
Of course, I have to mention how grateful I am that my dad and Colin were there to support me, encourage me, cheer for me, and still be proud of me when I didn't finish. It's seems cheap that they only get a few lines on this blog, but my feelings about this run deep and are indescribable.
What's next?
 Now I MUST do this. I start training for next year's IMAZ in two weeks, after I recover from Sunday. Since I didn't get to the run, I can already start up with that. (I'll treat Sunday as a long swim/bike brick.) The volunteers who slather up athletes with sunscreen -- bless their hearts -- missed a pretty big section under the criss-cross straps I was wearing (I look like I backed into a grill), so this means I'll have to do my swimming inside or at night for a while until the burn heals, but after a week off. (My swim technique was all over the place from the adrenaline when the race started -- I aggravated an old mountain biking injury from last year when I separated my left shoulder after going over the handlebars and landing on it and my head.)
LOTS more weight- and hill-training are in store for me this year. Plus, Iowa City is only at 650 feet, so in addition to any potential wind, which I will just assume will be there, I will also have to overcome the change in elevation (Tempe's at 1100 and the course climbs to 1550ft).
Also...
 No, I won't race Wisconsin this year...I will volunteer and get a sense of the course (it's 3+ hours from Iowa City) and then I'll possibly do it after I have avenged myself at Arizona.
So there it is. 4月6日 One Week To Ironman...Alright, Dinah's starting to come around with the medication -- time to FOCUS!
I cannot believe that in ONE WEEK I will be in Tempe for this race! Even though I had the prolonged hiccup in my training, I still feel pretty good about doing this. That might be foolish, but what else do I have left at this point? Something's gotta get me in the water and keep me from drowning.
I've got my bib number -- 2133 -- so you can keep track of me on race day (because I just know you'll be on pins and needles, clicking "refresh" every 5 minutes).
Swim 2.4 Miles
I have never entered a race this big (~2000 peeps!), and it's been 10 months since I wore my wetsuit (good Lord, I hope it fits -- I should probably check that out today) or swam in open water. I have, however, been swimming this distance in the pool. I can get myself pretty worked up at the start of a race, so I'm mostly concerned that I remain calm enough in the beginning not to drown myself or throw up in front of everyone. It would also be pretty sweet if I can manage to get through it without a getting a black eye.
Bike 112 Miles
Oy. This will be the longest part of my day. I have spent 8 hours on my bike before...but I haven't been on it much in recent weeks (I know, I know). Of all things, I think my neck and shoulder muscles will have the hardest time, followed closely by my mind. (The scenery will be good, but after three loops, it is a long time to spend with yourself...)
 Run 26.2 Miles
Okay, I have no illusions about running every step of the marathon, but I am wondering at what point I'll begin singing out loud. I usually hum something in my head to regulate my pace, and I'm sure I'll be able to keep it together for a while. But at some point, I'm just going to have to belt it out to keep myself occupied.
 Brag for the Rest of Your Life
I guess this is where I'm s'pose-da say what my goals are (like times, etc.)...I really just have two goals:
1. Cross the finish line upright, possibly running/skipping
2. Finish
If I can't have the first one, I'm willing to settle for the second one.
Prepare for the Worst
Not to engage in any stinkin' thinkin' or anything, BUT I should also be prepared to not have a meltdown in case something happens to prevent me from finishing this race.
 *SIGH*
There you have it...I hope I will have grand things to report when I get back.
4月5日 Parenting?
A lot of the time when you hear people say they don't want kids they say it's because they're too selfish (the adult, not the potential kid...but hey, them too, right?). Now, I'm as selfish as they come, but the reason I'll probably never have kids is because I would be _REALLY_ bad at it.
Dinah has been in and out of a stupor for the last week. I'm still waiting for my vet to call me back, but the thought of taking weeks to figure out the right dosage on her meds is awful. She just sits on her blankies with intermittent blindness all day and night. I can coax her into eating in drinking by priming her with some bread, but this morning even that wasn't working.
I've noticed that at night, she doesn't really sleep right away but sits with her head up in the dark for a while. The last two nights, I slept with her on the couch. When she has seizures, she howls and usually pees. The first of the two post-med seizures she had this week, she actually pooped her bed too. So here's what I think it means to be a parent: I'm willing to be pooped and peed on in the night if holding her will help her sleep. I guess I have that going for me.
Now this is "just" a little dog...I can't imagine what I'd be like with a little _person_. If I don't worry myself into the grave, then I'd end up being the biggest sucker on the planet. When Dinah's herself, she is really cute...and she knows it. She's too cute to discipline. Part of me wonders if she's putting me on (not walking around, indifferent to _certain_ snacks) so she can get babied.
But the bigger picture is...why do people get pets at all? You know going in that they will break your heart...unless you're 80 and then it's a 50/50 shot at who will go first. I think I've lost about 2 pounds of water weight with all the crying I've done about this girl.
I just want my happy little dog back!
4月1日 Call Me MUSH-Mael You'd think I would learn...
Here's how I imagined today's race: I would run along, trying for a sub-11:00 pace. My Nemesis (aka: GeekGirl) would be ahead of me, but always in sight. Then I'd get on the bike. Since it would literally be my first time on the bike in 3 weeks (I was sick...then lazy), I had no expectations other than GeekGirl leaving me in the dust to figure out what kind of pace I'd be able to hold on my own. Then, into the pool, where I'd probably do the 500m swim in about 10 minutes.
Here's what really happened: I ran along...said "good morning" to GeekGirl and leap-frogged a couple times before I passed her for good. I reached the turn-around on the out-and-back at 14:44 -- a sub 10:00 pace!!! Thrilling! I couldn't believe it. GeekGirl wasn't far behind, and I knew she'd make up the time easily on the bike. I ended up doing the 5K run in 30:06 -- a 10:02 pace.
About 18 minutes into the 15-mile bike, she passed me, as expected.
Right here is where I'd like to say "it" happened. But there was no moment, per se, as much as there was a gradual seeping of gloom into my race and air out of my back tire. I admit that I thought the ride seemed to be going a little slow, and that I was working pretty hard for not much payoff, but I really believed it was because I'd been off the bike for so long. After all, I had made sure to properly inflate both tires before the race. The course was rolling, and I thought that my worthlessness on hills was complete. My sinking average speed was matched by my sinking morale. My thoughts jumped ahead to Ironman and a wave of despair washed over me. There's no way I'll even make the bike cutoff. Why am I doing this? That is going to be a long, miserable day that will end very, very badly. Namely, me in a crying heap on the pavement. Then, with 3 miles left, the athena in the purple shirt who was at least 5-8 minutes behind me at the turn around whizzed past me. So I looked down between my feet and sure enough I had a mushy, black donut wrapped around my back wheel. It was a bittersweet moment, to say the least. Bitter because dangit! I had a slow leak and didn't bother to stop and check it out. Sweet because woo-hoo! it wasn't because I had no legs. With so little left to go, I decided to just tough it out rather than stop to do anything because my tire skills have proven disastrous and time-consuming in the past, so why run the clock any more -- or risk having to drop out after all that?
After transition, I ran to the pool through a blur of well-wishers -- more out of embarrassment than any need to hustle. I think the water must have been over 80 degrees. I really like our pool tri's in the desert because the swim comes last to cool you off. Not today. It was neither cool nor refreshing. My spirits hit rock bottom. Then at the end of the first lap, I looked up and saw Colin at the end of the lane cheering me on. It was a pleasant and much-needed surprise. Exhausted from the bike ride, I flopped around in the pool for a swim of 11:16.
I finished with a time of 1:57 -- disappointing, since my goal was 1:45. But I was happy to be done, and I went straight home...to wash my hands of the whole dirty experience. Just kidding. I just wanted to lay down.
Post-Race
1. Epsom salt bath
2. Lunch with Dad
3. Nap with Dinah
4. Blog
5. Happiness |
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