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Ironman waits for no one. So when the alarm went off bright and early on Saturday, September 20, I sprang out of bed, nervous, but ready.
I had probably had one of the best nights of pre-race sleep ever, thanks to the Merlot and an early turn-in, with the exception of a midnight wake-up due to incoming text messages. As soon as the phone alerted me to a message, I was wide awake. After responding to another Ironman friend of mine, who assured me that he never sleeps well the night of a race, I finally fell asleep until the 3am alarm.
As I padded downstairs, I wondered how many of my housemates were up and moving. Soon the hubby joined me to make espresso (2 shots, please), as I devoured my pre-race meal of a Peanut Butter and Jelly waffle sandwich. Soon after, we were all dressed and ready to drive to the shuttle parking lot. . . ready for the day to begin.
We reached the shuttle parking lot before 5:00 am. In fact, it was 4:44 am, on the dot.
As we pulled into the parking lot, something must have brushed against my phone to turn the screen on. When I looked down to turn it off, I saw this:
One of my constant, long-distance cheerleaders (and a total inspiration to me) during my IMMD training has this "thing" for 4s. I snapped a quick picture of my screen and texted it to her. Little did I know that "4" would follow me through the day, as a beacon of hope and a reminder to keep pushing.
The shuttle ride was quiet, as most pre-race gatherings are. A bus full of nerves moved through the quiet streets of Cambridge that would be alive with cheering crowds in a few hours. As we pulled into the Transition Area parking lot, I had to tell The Reporter goodbye. Only athletes were allowed in transition, so all family members and spectators were asked to wait "on the outside". We parted with plans to meet back up prior to the swim, but without designating a location.
The hubby and I took off in different directions to load our bikes with fuel (Tailwind Nutrition in my bottles and Luna bars in my bento box) and try to find a bike pump to inflate our tires. It was too dark at that point to get a good look at the water, so I busied myself with other pre-race preparations and tried to push the thoughts of the swim to the corners of my mind to ease my nerves. As I organized my supplies, the loudspeaker announced that the water temperature was a chilly 72 degrees, meaning that the swim WOULD be wetsuit legal! (76.1 is the cut point) Soon bikes were loaded, tires were filled, bike and run bags were checked for all of the necessities and special needs bags were dropped at the designated locations. All that was left was to slather ourselves with body glide (to prevent wetsuit hickeys and chafing), trislide (to ensure a quick exit when the wetsuit strippers did their job), and sunscreen (to protect our skin on a 6+ hour bike ride with little shade).
As we prepped I spilled my pre-race nervous talk all over the hubby. I was worried. . . about the swim (Would it be choppy, windy? Would there be a current? What if I get in trouble? Will I make the 2:20 cut?), about the time cut-offs on the bike (1:30 pm for the first lap--57 miles-- and 5:30 pm for the second lap), about the time cut-offs on the run (9 miles by 7:40pm, 18 miles by 9:50 pm), about the midnight race finish cutoff (Several people told me that a good "predicted" IM time is to double your 70.3 time and add an hour--crap. That meant 15:30 for me. . . Would I make it?), about possible GI issues (IM can take a toll on your tummy as hubby found out last year and take a grown man from a run to a crawl in a matter of minutes.), about mechanical issues (What if I get a flat tire??). . . what if? He gently reassured me that I could do this race. I just had to keep making forward progress. . . no matter what. Then he politely shut down any more nervous talk and told me it was time to find the Reporter and line up for the swim start.
Our meet-up plan with the Reporter failed since we didn't have a prearranged meeting spot. Once we dropped our "morning clothes" bags in the collection boxes, it was time for the National Anthem and soon the paratriathletes would be entering the water. Any chance for a pre-race swim/warm up was nixed when they announced that the swim course would not be open for warm ups. . . there just wasn't time in order to have an on-time start. At the time, I was disappointed to miss out on a swim warm-up, but in retrospect I am not sure that I would've been so confident getting into the water if I had felt the "chop" of the Choptank River prior to "go-time".
The swim was a "rolling start"--part of Ironman's new "swim safe" initiatives. Instead of a mass start of 1700 athletes taking to the water, we were to line up according to predicted swim finish times and trickle into the water in groups. Since the hubby placed himself in the 1:10 and under group and I was conservative and stayed behind with the 1:30-1:45 group, we wished one another good luck, shared a quick kiss and parted ways. That would be the last time we would see each other until late in the day on the run.
As soon as the hubby walked into the mass of wetsuit clad athletes, I heard someone call my name. . .
The Reporter and Coach E's wife had found me! It was just the face that I needed to see--my fearless girl who loves the swim more than anything--to boost my confidence and remind me that I CAN do hard things. She begged for a pre-race thumbs-up and the fear was written all over my face. . .
After a quick hug and kiss from the Reporter and a hug from E's wife, I took my place in line and waited to enter the water.
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| Photo by: Ironman Maryland via Facebook |
The Swim:
I had no idea what to expect from a rolling start swim, much less a swim with 1700 of my closest friends. As I walked toward the boat ramp, I could see that athletes were funneling into the water, through the slip area and out into the river. I could also see how choppy the water was. It was a far cry from the white capped waves of the previous night, but it wasn't the smooth bathtub-like water of Jordan Lake on my home turf. The further I walked onto the ramp, the more I realized. . ."this is REALLY happening". . ."I am about to swim 2.4 miles and begin an IRONMAN". . ."What the Hell am I thinking??"
Before I knew it, my toes were wet. I stepped forward and my ankles were submerged. My calves, knees, thighs. . . I walked into the water nervous, yet confident. . . scared, yet excited. And then the Choptank began to earn it's name.
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| Photo from: http://www.elizabethkreutz.com/ |
By that time, I was making progress and looked to my right at the buoy I was passing. 4. Buoy number 4. That 4 stood out like a neon sign, reminding me that I could do this swim. Suddenly, I made a decision. If I wanted to finish this race, I was going to have to put my face in and GO. . . and I did. Right before I started swimming at buoy 4, I had looked ahead and noticed a large group of swimmers pulling away and out of reach. Was I last? I put my head down, rode the chop and swam, and soon I found myself on the heels of the group that had just seemed out of reach. I was making up time and feeling good. Sure the salt water burned my nose and throat, like a constant neti pot cleansing, but the feeling of gaining speed outweighed the challenges of the swim.
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| Photo by the Reporter |
The second loop proved to be just as challenging as the first and maybe more mentally taxing. My game of numbers and time played on in my head as I hoped to beat the 2:00 mark (My practice 2.5 mile open water swims had clocked in at an average of 1:27, so I knew I wouldn't be anywhere close to that.), but my heart just wanted to make the cut-off. The number of swimmers decreased as people exited the water and entered transition, making those of us left in the water feel exceptionally slow. I had kind of settled in to a group of swimmers that were my speed, and my confidence grew as I rounded the last turn buoy and headed in. As we approached the shore, I noticed that the water was shallow enough for walking, but I swam all the way in, hoping that my legs would be getting plenty of work later in the day.
1 hour, 59 minutes and 29 seconds later, I stepped across the timing mat and heard my name over the speaker. I had done it. I had met the swim cut off and finished a pretty challenging swim course. In fact, when discussing the swim on the course later in the day, many athletes mentioned the rough conditions and the fact that their personal GPS devices logged the swim anywhere from 2.7 to 2.9 miles in length. No matter what the distance, though, I had done it.
My wetsuit was promptly removed by the strippers and I called out my race number "394" to the "bike bag" station. I was handed my bag and directed to the a white tent.
T1:
As I mentioned in my last post, all "transitions" or changes would take place in a changing tent. There is no bike-side transition in Ironman, mainly because so many people elect to change clothes throughout the race, but also for volunteers and personnel to have the opportunity to check on the well-being of the athletes. The women's changing tent is not for the faint of heart or the modest. There are rows of chairs waiting to be occupied and people stripping off clothes in every corner. Upon the advice of several Ironman finishers, I had elected to wear my trisuit for the entire day. After doing multiple century rides in my tri shorts, I knew I would be comfortable, and to be honest, I really didn't want to take the extra time to change clothes--putting clothes over a wet body is not my idea of fun. Therefore, my bike bag only contained my tri top (I only wore shorts and a sports bra under my wetsuit), shoes, helmet, a Luna bar (which I promptly shoved into my mouth after downing two cups of fresh--not salty--water), injinji socks, a towel, and sunscreen. After toweling off and eating, I pulled my tri top over my head and enlisted the help of a volunteer. I can't say enough positive things about the people who volunteer for races. Many of these people are triathletes and understand what your day entails, but many are just good hearted people, out there to help. I had help pulling down my jersey and I asked to be sprayed with sunscreen, again. As soon as she sprayed my neck, I felt a familiar burn of "wet suit hickeys". I had missed a spot when applying body glide and now I was going to play the price. She quickly coated my arms and legs with sunscreen and after 6 minutes, 27 seconds in transition, I was off to retrieve my bike and begin a 112 mile journey.
The Bike:
After having driven the bike course on Friday with Dave and the hubby, I knew what to expect (a pancake flat course with one small hill) and when to expect it. As I ran from transition, pushing my bike, I heard the familiar voice of Coach E's wife wishing me well. A perfect pick-me-up to get me started.
As I rode out of town the course was congested with cyclists. Fearful of the dreaded "drafting call" (you must keep 4 bike lengths between you and the bike in front of you, and lots of other details that are too boring and technical to write here), I watched the people around me for an indication of how fast they might be riding. As soon as I felt comfortable, I began to pass people in order to set myself up for a good speed on the bike.
I felt good about the bit of cushion I entered the bike leg with, but the numbers game played on in my head. I had set a goal for myself to maintain an average speed of at least 15.5 mph for the 112 mile ride. I knew that I may face some wind and road challenges, but if I rode like I had trained, 15.5 would be attainable. About 12 miles into the first lap, I was feeling good and finding my groove. We circled through the local high school and that's where I saw #teamSims, cheering and smiling. I can't even express how much their enthusiasm lifted me. I was feeling confident that the ride was going, just as planned. (Meanwhile, the hubby was out on the ride after a great swim--he got a flat tire at mile 2--oops. . . who changed those?--but was asking everyone he saw if they had seen me to confirm that I had safely made the swim cut off. Much to his disappointment, no one could confirm my time, so he was left to wonder as he rode.)
The only mishap I had encountered so far was that my Tailwind nutrition had settled to the bottom of my aerobottle, making the first few sips pretty salty and gritty. Fortunately, it didn't impact me negatively and I just rode on, planning on 200 calories per hour, alternating liquid and solid nutrition (Tailwind one hour followed by Luna bars and water the next--repeat until you reach 112 miles.)
At mile 27 it was time for a bathroom stop and a water bottle refill. I kindly told the volunteers that I was going to duck into the port-a-john, if could they please grab a bottle of water for me I would refill when I was out. As soon as I stepped out of the potty, a well-meaning volunteer looked at me and said, "So, are you like the last one on this first loop?"
Um
Yeah
You just don't say that, sir.
I informed him that I most certainly was not and there were plenty behind me. At that point I was averaging over 16 mph, I had passed the area of "standing water" that wasn't, yet--because of tide schedules, and I was feeling damn good. I was not going to let his comment ruin my time.
As soon as I remounted my bike, I sped away at 19mph and didn't slow down until the next turn. As I neared the end of the bike course a familiar sound approached from the rear. Full disk wheels roared past as the first few groups of speedy men were finishing their second lap in the home stretch. I would be lying if I didn't say it was a little soul crushing to watch people turn left toward the bike finish as I rode straight for the second lap. However, after a glace at my speed, I knew I was right on track to finish in plenty of time.
As I approached the high school a second time, it was time to refill my nutrition at the special needs bags. I had no idea how this process worked, as I had only watched the pros on TV at Kona ripping the bags open with their teeth and refilling on the go. For a girl who can barely drink and ride, stopping was my only option. I took a few minutes to have the volunteer reapply suncreen while I refilled my bottles with Tailwind and ate another Luna bar (Lemon this time). Unfortunately, the water for my bottle was at the end of the line at the aid station, so I had to stop, once again, to pour water into my bottle before I could go. Before I left the water stop, I asked a volunteer what time it was. . . 12:44. Not only had I beat the 1:30pm bike cut off, but I had also added to my time cushion for the remaining cuts.
I thought that the second loop would be predictable, like the first, but I didn't count on the increase in wind and the ponding water on the roadway due to high tide. The wind impacted my speed slightly, and I was suddenly thankful for all of those weekend long rides on the NC coast.
I approached the ponding water with trepidation, unsure of how to attack it, worried of falling. I unclipped both shoes and rested them on my pedals as I rode through each puddle. The first few weren't so bad, barely even sprinkling me with water. But the last few soaked my feet, especially my left foot. Thankful that it wasn't worse, I pedaled on to the next aid station.
The same man who had asked me if I was last, once again approached me as I refilled my bottle. I kindly told him that he would be working a while longer, as there were more people behind me. He gave me a wink and apologized for his previous comment as he helped me refill my bottles.
The remainder of the second lap was a bit lonely. On a ride of that length, you tend to find a group and stick with them--but not too closely. I played leapfrog with several athletes, but I really just enjoyed the moment of the ride. Sure, my body was cranky, especially my ever fussy left hip, but I was doing something that most people would never dare to try and I was going to enjoy every freaking moment.
After passing the 100 mile mark, I knew I was safe for the last bike cut off, unless something went really wrong, so then the marathon calculations began as I finished up my ride. How fast would I have to run/walk to make each cut off? Could I do it? As the bike course headed into town, it intersected with the run course and I saw a familiar face right away. My online friend Big Dave was on the run and looking great. We exchanged a quick "hi" and I pedaled hard to finish up. I still hadn't seen the hubby, and wanted to let him know that I was doing this crazy Ironman thing!
Seven hours, eight minutes and twenty nine seconds later, with an average speed of 15.68mph, I dismounted my bike at transition, gladly handed it off to a a bike handler to rerack, headed to the "run bag" area to retrieve my gear, and entered the changing tent once again.
T2:
As soon as I sat down in T2, I noticed that I was not alone. There were tons of women just finishing the bike. One asked for the time and the head volunteer said "4:15". We all cheered, knowing that we had seven hours and forty-five minutes to complete the marathon. I quickly changed my shoes (but not my socks--bad move), stocked my pockets with fuel and had the volunteer spray me with sunscreen. Before pulling on my 70.3 visor that I had worn throughout training, I made a wish that I would be able to "trade it in" for a 140.6 at day's end. After seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds, including a port-a-potty stop, I headed out on the run, hoping to see the hubby and our other friends on the course.
The Run:
The run is always my favorite part of triathlon. It is like dessert--saving the best for last. I knew that my training runs had been strictly four minutes of running and one minute of walking and that I should stick to that plan as long as possible, but once I got moving, I realized that I felt good--really good. And since I also knew that things could go south quickly, I decided to run as much as possible before taking a walk break.
The flat run course was an out and back configuration (3 times), so as you were running out, you were able to see athletes headed back in the other direction. I was certain that I would see the hubby on the run, so the first three miles flew by as I looked to my left watching for him to pass by in the other direction. I began to see my house mates, one-by-one, but no hubby.
As I approached the second aid station, I heard music and felt the energy of a great group of volunteers waiting to sponge me down with cold water, refill my water bottle, or hand off a cup of pretzels. Suddenly, I heard a voice over a microphone say, "And here comes Mrs. Leventhal!" Bewildered at who would know my last name on the course (Our first names were on our race bibs and I heard "Go Erin" all afternoon and evening!), I approached the aid station with confusion. Suddenly I recognized Trisilk, another online running community (#F3) friend who had taken the red-eye from Vegas to cheer on Big Dave, Dave, the hubby, me, and lift up countless other athletes on the run course. I couldn't have seen him at a better time. A quick hug and high-five and I was on my way.
Not long after seeing Trisilk, I FINALLY saw the hubby. Neither one of us could have been happier to see one another on the run course. We had both made it that far, and things were looking good time-wise, and health-wise, for both of us. No crummy tummy for the hubby, and strong legs for me. After we exchanged a quick kiss and some positive words, we both went on our separate ways to complete the run. He was much closer to the finish line than I was, but I knew then that we would both make it.
My nutrition had been on-point, taking in calories and hydrating as planned. But about six miles into the run, I decided that I really didn't want any of the nutrition I had stuffed in my tri top. My water bottle of cocogo had been hot when I took it out of transition, and luckily the ice on the course helped to cool it off, but the pocketfuel naturals (usually my favorite) and honey stinger waffles that were waiting for me to ingest were not appetizing, at all. I suddenly decided to just eat off of the course. My GI system was ok, I had plenty of time to finish, and I was really tired of eating "sweet". So I began eating at every other aid station--chips, pretzels, coke, and ice. I still drank my cocogo for electrolytes, but the salty goodness of the chips were a welcome change from a sweet-filled day. As soon as the sun began to go down, the aid stations were stocked with the nectar of the Gods--Hot Chicken Broth. It was just what I needed and wanted.
My miles on the run clicked by effortlessly. At mile seven, as the course wound through the downtown streets of Cambridge, I saw the reporter and #teamsims. I was so excited to see them and exchanged high fives as I ran past.
I settled into a nice walk-run pattern and after dark. I chose to run the lighted portions of the course and walk the darker areas. At mile 18, I had access to my "special needs" run bag which I had stocked with extra fuel, a fresh pair of socks, a headlamp and hand warmers. Knowing that I had already abandoned my own nutrition, I had a choice to make. . . leave the things I had in the bag in special needs to be thrown away, or try to stuff some of it in my pockets to use at a later time. I decided upon the latter, filling my jersey pockets to the brim with goods. I did leave insignificant things in the bag, but my injini socks and brand new pocketfuels were not about to meet the trash can. My back pockets looked like a mobile convenience store and felt like it too. Walking was fine, but as I ran, everything bounced around, and finally I resorted to placing a hand on the side of my jersey as I ran to keep it steady. I knew I could tolerate it for the final 8 miles, so I kept run-walking through the dark.
My last lap on the course was just as peaceful and enjoyable as the first two. Many people were walking at this point and I overhead several say that they were ready for it to be over. I was just soaking it all in. I think I was praying and thanking God every other minute, so grateful to have the opportunity to experience this. Sure, I was tired, but I was still out there and I was going to finish.
The home stretch to the finish led runners down the main street of Cambridge, once again. Spectators were street-side in bars and diners, watching the athletes. The final turn to the finish was at the end of a long section of cobblestone road. The first two times I reached this point, I had to turn right to stay on course and continue running, but the last turn took you left and to the finish. A crowd stood at the turn and cheered no matter what, but their cheers were deafening when someone finally took that left-hand turn.
As I ran that final stretch into the finish, so many thoughts of disbelief filled my head. I couldn't believe that I had completed something that had once felt so big and unattainable. I couldn't believe that I had the courage to take that leap of faith and register for something so daunting. I couldn't believe that I had smashed my goal time and felt good doing it. But as the disbelief washed away and reality hit, my heart was full of joy. I had succeeded. I had done it.
I ran the finish chute alone, able to take it all in and listen to this:
ERIN LEVENTHAL, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!
Fourteen hours, forty-four minutes and seventeen seconds after my toes skimmed the water on Saturday, September 20, 2014, I had finished.
But really, it is just the beginning. . .
2.4 mile Swim: 1:59:29
T1: 6:27
112 mile Bike: 7:08:29
T2: 7:29
26.2 mile Run: 5:22:23
140.6 Miles FULL of Smiles: 14:44:17
