I was reminded of something the other day. Every success starts somewhere, and things don’t always come easy. I was sitting around with a group of friends, and we decided to scour the internet and see if we’d done a race together back in the day. Thereby we found the result of my first triathlon, circa 2008:
Granted I changed a tire for the very first time in that race but, regardless, I got 100th out of 150 women. One hundredth. Every success starts somewhere.
Ten years later…Saturday, I completed my first Ironman. WTH? That’s impossible! Ironman is for superhumans. Not for people like me–middle aged moms, working full time, and trying to navigate at least somewhat sanely through life. But I did it! And not only did I finish, I smashed it.
But it didn’t come easy. I worked hard for that. I put in the hours–hours which I took from my kids, my job, my husband. Man, I was surrounded by heroes who picked up my slack. I’m humbled.
It all sounds like rocking preparation for a race in Houston, TX, right? I wasn’t sure. I did all the things, but could I really finish respectfully? Would I even know how to fuel in 80 degree temps?
IM Texas has a rolling, self-seeded start. I expected this to be a cluster. 2500 nutty triathletes self-seeding? I expected mayhem. Turns out, I was wrong. I got in the front, rolled right into the water with Bri Gaal (superhuman training partner and dearest friend), swam to the outside and found clear water. We swam stroke for stroke the entire swim, and really didn’t hit much mess until the backside (some sloppy swimmers running over us from the side) and in the canal, which I’d liken to a dishwasher with all the water sloshing around in such a small space. My favorite part, though? The volunteers who pull you out of the lake and up the steps to the T run! No trying to find my land legs on my own for this swim! Wonderful. Oh, and total bonus was this text afterwards from a swimmer teammate from college (I dove at the University of Kentucky and, um JSYK, divers can’t swim):
I felt like royalty. I had two volunteers doing everything for me. “Please put on my shoes. Can I have that chamois cream? Oh, water? Sure, don’t mind if I do.” I realized I was getting a little too comfy in there when I saw Bri run out of the tent. Thanks to her, I got in gear and ran out too. I missed the sunscreen tent, though. Um, oops. What can I say? I was busy gesticulating frantic happiness to a friend working in transition. I was. Doing. An. Ironman! Holy crap!
The bike was my second area of apprehension. For all the usual reasons: too many people, slower swimmers hammering by me on the bike trying to make up time, silly mistakes and potential crashes, penalties, etc. But I was rested and the course is FAST, so it was going to be totally fun, too! At first, things were pretty spaced out. The road wasn’t too crowded, and I could do my own ride. As more people entered the course, though, that changed. Packs formed. Pelotons formed. You can get the idea here: pic.twitter.com/TWUgRKbQJ6 (they aren’t even in aero!). At one point, I saw a pack of people with 4 women tucked in, all in either my age group or the one above. I let them go. I came to do an Ironman; I didn’t want to draft my way through the bike. For the first loop on Hardy Toll Road, things were manageable. Packs would roll by fast and move on. But by the second loop, smaller groups formed too, and they would work like crazy, go around me and then pull up out of aero, drink, and talk. So, I’d drop back out of the draft zone behind them and slow down. A few times I passed back so I could ride my own pace but every time I did, they surged, passed me and again, slowed down. It was so frustrating, and I was disheartened that there were no marshals doing anything about it. I’m proud of myself for staying out of it. But because of all the mess and constantly dropping back from groups, I didn’t bike as hard as I’d have liked. My final FTP was only 62%. But my bike was respectable, and I was still happy (that is, to get off and run 😉 ).
There was a super long run around into T2 (I took my shoes and socks off and did it barefoot; no coordination here for a flying dismount), but again I had two dedicated volunteers to get me together and out on the run. It was awesome. In the madness, I missed the sunscreen station again, but shortly into the run found a woman putting sunscreen on her baby who kindly squirted some in my hands; she saved the day.
I can’t say enough about this course. It was hot, but it was pancake flat. That was fantastic. I’m not used to running on concrete, and that took a toll on my legs, but the lack of hills made up for it. Second, the fans are insane. And I mean, possibly in some cases clinically insane. Right out of transition, I ran through the Moxie Multisport cheer group. That’s these certifiables: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ngl_D4YmGoo. It was incredible, frightening, and hilarious all in one! After that, there’s some shaded running, some sunny running, some running through a lakeside neighborhood of the biggest homes I’ve ever seen–where the kids line the aid stations, and then back to the canal where the fans are out of control. In Hippy Hollow, I was chased by hippies banging on metal trashcans. In the Hoka zone, I think I high-fived about 30 people each lap. Kids cheered for me by name, adults cheered for me by name. It was a real high, and a hell of a way to round out an Ironman. Three loops. Each a little slower than the last, but at the end of the day a great marathon.
I saw 10:15 on the finish clock and was ecstatic that I’d done so well. I did a 10:15! But I forgot that the clock was for the pro start. After I came down the chute, I saw my husband who announced, “Oh my god, you went 9:59!” I lost it. What an incredible day. What an accomplishment. I freaking did it!