So. . . What Happened? (Or my 70.3 Race Report)

When organizing my own 70.3 (Half Iron Distance Race), the one request that was universal from the support crew was a later wake-up than the 3:30am call we had for Raleigh 70.3.  They didn't have to tell me twice.  Saturday evening I organized gear and made the final calls/texts to set-up the big event and we agreed on an 8:00 start time, which meant a 6:00 wake up (MUCH better ).  But when 6:00am rolled around on Sunday morning, there were so many things to be done!  Kids to feed, snacks to pack, bikes to load, and ice towels to soak!  We got a late start, but I was surprisingly calm through it all (well, as calm as I typically am when herding children anywhere!)

As we drove to the lake and I was reviewing plans with the hubby, I suddenly looked up to see not one but two familiar cars on the road in front of us.  My brother and his girlfriend, as well as Coach E's wife and daughter were making their way to the lake to support, cheer and even take part in portions of this little crazy Sunday morning (and afternoon) I had planned.  I couldn't stop the tears that sprung into my eyes.  Every single person that was on the way had sacrificed their Sunday the previous week to stand in the blazing hot sun at Ironman Raleigh 70.3.  And here they were again, for little old me.  The love and support I felt at that moment continued throughout the day as I was reminded over and over again of how wonderfully blessed I am with supportive friends and family.

Coach E had checked the lake conditions after the torrential downpours our area had received on Friday night and had reported that there would be some debris on the lake in spots, but it would be safe for swimming.  As we drove across the first of many bridges leading to Ebenezer Point (our home base for the day), I noticed the debris on the water first, but the hubby called my attention to the conditions.  The entire lake looked like a sheet of glass.  He said, "You couldn't ask for more beautiful water this morning" and he was right.  After the rolling waves and white caps of the previous week and that terrible swim, this was perfect.  This was what I needed to get my head back in the game and slay this dragon.

After pulling into the parking lot and getting last minute details nailed down with my crew for the day, I set up T1 and T2 in the back of the Honda Pilot.  (For those of you that are not familiar with triathlon, T1 and T2 and simply transition areas.  This is where the athletes rack their bikes, keep their supplies for each leg of the race and change equipment between disciplines.) I laid out bike shoes and helmet, tri top and running shoes, visor and water bottles.  I had a box full of nutritional supplements and a cooler full of water bottles to keep me going and pointed these out to the group, so the hubby and friends would be able to find what I needed. (For Raleigh 70.3, I had trained with the products that Ironman would use on the course, so I didn't worry with packing my own things that day.  When I decided to attempt this on my own, I had to fill in some holes with things that would have been available on the course.)  At last, I pulled on my wetsuit and headed toward the lake.  Coach E has a 1.2 mile course that our group of friends uses for training, but due to the recent rain and the lack of beach at the far end, we had to adjust the course and start at the near end.  Four laps.  Four laps around the buoys that marked the NO WAKE ZONE would be my 1.2 mile course.  Four seemed like SO many, but I was here to do this.  I had not pulled everyone out of the comfort of their beds to watch me give up.

The hubby, my brother, Coach E's wife and I entered the water and made our way to the start point as the rest of the crew watched from the shore, keeping the kiddos entertained as this long adventure was about to begin.  Waiting in the water was Molly with my kayak support and reassurance that if anything went wrong, she would be an arm's length (or a little more) away.

We reached the starting point and I took a deep breath (and maybe stalled a minute). . .

3. . .2. . .1. . .

Started my watch, put my face in the water and started swimming.  The hubby had been right.  The water was amazingly flat and it didn't take long for me to reach the first buoy and turn to start my first loop.

The first loop around the buoys was about getting comfortable and finding a rhythm.  The four of us who were swimming each kept our own pace, staying pretty close together for the first loop and eventually  spreading out for the remainder of the swim.  Molly stayed close by in the kayak, but my goal for this swim was independence.  I didn't want to stop or rest or use her for assistance in any way.  I knew deep down that I could do this swim, and was ready to prove it.  One by one I counted down the laps.  And one by one they seemed to get easier and more effortless.  I later remarked to the hubby that I could honestly say this was the first Open Water Swim that I had absolutely no fear or panic and could actually think of something besides swimming while my face was in the water!  Lap 2 brought a sense of freedom and a chance to focus on breathing and gliding and moving forward.  I was feeling confident and excited that I was half-way to the finish of the swim.  At the start of the third lap, the sound of a boat motor roared through the water and as I turned to breathe, I saw the watercraft quickly approaching the swim area.  As it came to a halt just outside of the buoys, it brought wake and waves to the water and memories of the previous week's terrible swim to my mind.  However, the thought was fleeting.  As the first wave rolled by, I was able to stop my panic before it took over and decided to breaststroke and watch the water until it had calmed.  The rolling waves stopped as quickly as they started and I was able to resume my swim finishing laps 3 and 4 with a new sense of confidence.  As I rounded the last buoy, Molly called to me, "Hey, check your watch," but I wasn't ready to look yet.  I felt that I had been faster than the 1:20:12 that I had posted the previous week that resulted in my DNF in Raleigh, but I wasn't sure how much faster.  I finished out with a quick sprint to the swim area to exit the water and finally took a sneak peek. . .

00:56:57

WHAT??

I had finished the swim almost 24 minutes faster than I had the previous week.  I was elated and didn't mind letting everyone present know of my success.  Last week the shore of that lake was filled with cries of disappointment, but this week I filled it will squeals of joy.  I knew I had it in me.  I had logged pool time that was comparable, but the pressure, the time limits, the rough conditions of the previous weekend were too much for my panic-filled mind to process.  This was the "me" that had trained.  This was the time I had trained for.

After a celebration and a triple check of my watch to make sure it was really working and that was really the time I swam, I ran to the car to transition to the bike portion of this adventure.  I quickly pulled on my tri top, grabbed my bike shoes, visited the bathhouse, and put my water bottles on the bike.  Coach E and the hubby were ready to accompany me on my 56 mile ride.  The kiddos and our friends waved us off and planned to meet us at a "water bottle hand-off point" to replenish our supplies.  As we turned out of the parking lot onto the main road, Coach E explained that he had figured out a route that would take us to the 8 mile marker from Raleigh 70.3.  We would turn around there and ride the same course I would have ridden last weekend up to the 35 mile marker. Once we reached that point (which is where traffic picks up and the roads become more dangerous without official "race" markers) we would turn around and head back to Ebenezer.

I was familiar with a large portion of the ride since I had completed several training rides in the area.  There were some nice stretches of flats, some great rolling hills and a few challenging climbs (and quick descents on the return trip).  The ride was actually enjoyable and the boys let me take the lead, set the pace, and drafted off of me from time to time.  I am not typically the leader when we ride, so this was a new experience, but I knew that this was my ride to pull, like it or not.  Our one and only "aid station" was located at the same point as an aid station from the week prior.  As we approached, I could hear the sound of cow bells and yelling.  Molly and the kiddos had set up on the side of the road and were ready with chilled water bottles from the cooler and bonk breaker bars.  We stopped just long enough for me to eat (a new goal is to fuel while riding--easier said than done), kiss the kiddos, and swap out bottles.  Soon we were off again.  The out and back nature of the ride made the second half seem to fly by even quicker.  Runkeeper estimated my distance at 56.55 miles (Elevation gain of 2521') in 03:40:04, but given the aid station, traffic and stop signs, my watch read closer to 3:45.  (Yes, I would love to be a faster rider. . .  goals.  GOALS!!)

As I rode the 56 miles, the hubby remarked about how quiet I had become.  I admitted that I was worried about what was to come. . .  the run.  Typically the run is my favorite part of triathlon, but it was hot, I had to run 13.1 miles ALONE, and did I mention that it was HOT (88 degrees).  As soon as I dismounted my bike, pulled on my running shoes and swapped my helmet for a visor, I began to question my sanity for putting together this little challenge.  I mean, what did I have to prove?  Why was I doing this anyway?  But I pressed on, knowing that I was so close to what I set out to do.

Amazingly I couldn't convince one person of my support group to run the half marathon that waited for me, baking in the sun.  Not one.  I left the parking lot alone, keeping a decent pace, but reminding myself that there were still many miles ahead of me.  The course for the run was not preplanned.  I had an idea of where I needed to go to make the distance, but I wasn't sure exactly what it would look like.

I had gone about a half mile when the hubby drove by on his way to pick up more bottled water and gatorade.  I was so hot and doubtful.  But he had a cooler full of ice towels and words of wisdom to help me keep moving forward.

**side note: Ice towels are awesome.  I am SO glad that I thought ahead and stuffed clean small towels in the cooler filled with ice.  I was able to swap them out as needed and refresh them when they weren't icy anymore.  I highly recommend them.  Seriously**

After picking up supplies, the hubby and Coach E rejoined me (in their cool, air-conditioned vehicles) on a quiet little country road.  They would drive about a 1/4 mile and stop until I reached their vehicles, offered assistance (ice towels, water, gatorade, endurolytes, anti-fatigue tabs, gu chomps), made sure I was ok, and then drove forward for my next stop.  Sometimes I passed them by with a wave or thumbs up, other times I paused to replenish.  The run was lonely with the exception of their presence and I am so very thankful that they were there to keep my spirits high.

I was able to keep a consistent, albeit slow, pace of 10:55 for the 13.1 hot, hilly miles (854' elevation gain) I covered.  There were no crowds, no loudspeakers, no cowbells and no marked paths.  I dodged traffic and used street signs to pace my walk/run as I ran over the bridges that I had previously biked earlier in the day.

My 70.3 mile journey ended on the road that led to the beach where my swim had begun Seven hours and twenty-nine minutes earlier.  I was alone when my GPS clocked 13.1, and honestly it was a perfect ending to the day.  I took a few seconds to be truly thankful.  Thankful for finishing, thankful for second chances, thankful for friends and family, thankful for my body and what it can do, thankful for ice towels, incredibly thankful for my hubby and thankful for my stubborness and mindset of not being finished.  I had done it.  Sure, it wasn't an "official" race, but it was good enough for me. . . for now.  I had finished what I started.

I continued further down the road and found my little family--the hubby and kiddos, Molly and Coach E.  A length of toilet paper was stretched between The Reporter and Molly for my finish line.  With hands raised, I ran through and knew that I had finally Finished.

And I knew that this was only the beginning.

My 70.3

Swim: 56:57

Bike: 3:40:04

Run: 2:24:01

Total (on my watch after transitions and aid stations): 7:29:20 

                           

Finish What You Started

After being stripped of my timing chip at the end of a difficult and disappointing swim at Ironman Raleigh 70.3, I sat crumpled and crying in my wetsuit while the race volunteers dismantled T1around me.  I watched as each bike rack was broken down, placed into a truck and readied for the next race in the series.

As soon as my tears subsided, I pulled out my cell phone and started scouring the internet for races.

 I wasn't finished.

I had lived in anticipation of this day for nine months and I was crushed to think that weeks of training were all for nothing.

I wasn't finished.

However there was nothing to register for that would be financially or logistically possible in the immediate future, so I settled on waiting to register for a Fall race and maybe add a few shorter races to my summer.  I tried to quiet my anger and sadness by telling myself that I would enter this next training cycle even stronger than I had started the last one, hoping to find peace in that thought.

But then Monday came.

While the hubby enjoyed a well-deserved and needed rest-recovery week, I felt lost.  I didn't need to rest.  I hadn't completed the mileage that I set out to do.  In fact, I NEEDED to run just to get out all of the frustration of not being able to race. So I planned an early morning workout of boot camp and a run on Tuesday morning.

When I returned home from that run and began to get dressed for work, I turned to the hubby and said, "Hey, what if I just go do 70.3 on my own this weekend and treat this week as another taper week?"  I fully expected him to tell me that I had totally lost my mind.  Who just plans their own 70.3?  I went on, "I mean, I don't know what to do with myself.  I'm ready to race.  I'm ready to complete this distance.  I'm NOT finished!"  I continued by telling him that I had thought through most of the logistics on my run that morning  and even though it would be tough and I would need his help to pull it off, I thought we could make it work.  When I finished talking, I expected him to tell me that I was really crazy and there's no way we could pull it off, but he didn't do anything of the sort.  In fact he was fully supportive.

That's when I started making phone calls and drawing up plans--I was going to need some help.  First I called a friend with a kayak to accompany me on the swim.  Since she had been my saving grace when I exited the water just 2 days before, she knew how much completing this distance meant to me and was on board.  Then I texted Coach E.  He knew the lake and surrounding areas and would be able to help me figure out an exact bike and run course.  Coach E knew my triathlon journey and was there for my disappointment on Sunday.  When I asked him what he thought of the idea, his reply was "How soon can we do it?"

For the remainder of the week I did my best to follow my taper plan, keep my nutrition in check, continue to check-in with my support crew and monitor the weather for a Sunday morning 70.3.  Tapering for a second week in a row was more frustrating than I had imagined, but I kept reminding myself of the big picture.  Nutrition was tough due to "End of School Year" goodies and parties, but I did the best I could.  The support crew was all in, calling and texting to firm up plans.  The only thing that could derail this plan was the weather, and it almost did.  On Friday a tropical system came through, dumping rain in the area and we all feared that the lake would be a mess on Sunday morning.  Coach E came through with a quick drive by the lake on Saturday and gave us the green light for Sunday morning, so I gathered my gear, ate my pasta, and went to bed at a reasonable hour, praying that I could follow through and finish what I had started.

INF

I've never been a risk taker.

I like the expected.

I am happiest in my comfort zone.

But when I entered this world of Triathlon, I left my comfort zone on the shore of the lake and began to experience what it felt like to push my limits a little at a time.  With each race came a new challenge--a tougher course, a steeper hill, a longer distance--and as these challenges increased, so did my comfort and my desire to push further, go faster, and take risks.  On August 31, 2012, I took the biggest risk of all since I started this crazy journey in 2009--I registered for a half-iron distance race.  In triathlete speak, this is known as a "70.3" race meaning that it consists of a 1.2 mile swim followed by a 56 mile bike ride and a 13.1 mile run (When you add all those distances up it totals 70.3 miles).  I remember the sense of bewilderment I experienced after entering my credit card number and calling the hubby to confirm that he had registered, as well.

Nine months would pass from the day I clicked "register" until race day.  Nine months of training that would include hundreds of miles of cycling and running, countless laps in the pool, endless hours on the bike trainer, multiple trips to the lake, and nightly stretching and foam rolling, all while carrying on with the daily responsibilities at work, keeping our household running, and supporting the hubby during his training, as well.  There were road blocks along the way including several visits to the Sports Med Doc for knee pain and foot pain which led to my first pair of custom orthotics in April, as well as an 8-week hiatus from swimming due to impingement syndrome in my shoulder that only went away after a cortisone injection.  Along with the physical toll that training for longer distances can bring, emotional and psychological challenges can be just as tough.  For every runner's high, there is doubt and questioning.  For every great workout, there is a challenging one that tests you to find the good and learn from the bad.

However, no amount of training can prepare you for the heartbreak that happens when things don't go as planned on race day.  On June 2, 2013 I stood in the water as the gun went off for my swim wave and I began the 1.2 mile open water swim in Jordan lake to start what I thought would be my first 70.3 distance race.  One hour and twenty minutes later, I completed the swim and emerged from the water, only to be informed that the course had closed five minutes prior and I would be unable to complete the race.  My timing chip was removed and I was instructed to remove my items from the race venue because I was no longer able to move forward in the race.  I sat in the parking lot in my wetsuit crying (and screaming at times), feeling crushed, heartbroken and sick.  Along with several other swimmers who did not meet the "cut-off time", I finally gathered my things, with the help of two amazing friends, and made my way to a friend's vehicle to make the long, sad ride back to Raleigh to retrieve my other belongings.

Meanwhile, my hubby was somewhere on the race course after a fantastic swim, thinking that I would be behind him on the bike course.  It wasn't until he pushed his bike into T2 (transition from bike to run) that he learned that I was no longer in the race.  His face fell when our eyes met, but we both knew he was there to race and finish strong--which is just what he did.  The remainder of the day was bittersweet.  As I cheered him on and waited nervously at the finish for him to cross the line and receive his medal, I fought back tears of disappointment (for me) and joy (for him).  The flood of tears and emotions repeated as each of our friends crossed the finish line and I looked on, no longer a participant, now a spectator.  My heart ached from the emotional toll of the day, but my body ached because I didn't have the opportunity to do what I had trained long and hard to do.

Monday morning I woke up, not only sad but angry.  As much as I wanted to move on, something lingered in the back of my mind that I could not let go.  I knew several weeks prior to the race that my age group of women would be entering the water to swim in the next to last swim wave (wave 20 out of 21).  Race policy states that the swim course closes one hour and ten minutes after the start of the last swim wave.  In essence, the earlier you get in the water, the more time you have.  In fact, I looked up race results and saw that women (and men) in earlier swim waves had swim times 2 minutes, 8 minutes, even 18 minutes longer than my time.  Anger rushed over me as I read through the results.

My results for Raleigh 70.3 read 0:00:00 for my time across the board in all areas, indicating that I did not complete any areas.  But the truth is, I did complete something on June 2.  I completed an Open Water Swim (which has always been my most difficult discipline both physically and emotionally).  And, if given the chance, I feel that I could have completed the remainder of the race.

So, I'm choosing NOT to see this race as a DNF (Did Not Finish), but to see it as an INF.

INF?

What?

Yep.

I'm Not Finished.

Not even close.