Race Report: Ironman 70.3 Augusta, 9/29/13

Where to begin, where to begin...

In the days leading up to this race, I went from terror to doubt to resignation.  I figured I had done the best I could in terms of training, and the only way to see that was to just get out there and do it.  Being my first long distance triathlon, I know that my fear stemmed from the uncertainties: what would my body do, what would my mind do, would I drown, wreck, or cramp up?

Driving to Augusta, I was a ball of nerves.  My heart raced, my stomach fluttered, but it was all in a very good way.  I was excited to get there and I was finally excited to race.  As we drove through town toward the convention center (am I the only one that thinks that Augusta just might be the Detroit of the South?  I mean, there were dozens of abandoned buildings and store fronts!), I practically wanted to jump out of the car and run toward the expo.  The closer we got, the more bikes and Ironman bumper stickers I saw, and I wanted to sing, “I am actually doing this!”, but I kept my composure, lest I look like some kind of triathlon dork.  It was, after all, a race expo, not Comic Con.

I went to athlete check-in (it still makes me giggle to think that I am an ATHLETE), signed my life away to WTC, and got my beautiful blue wristband.  Talk about a badge of honor!  It was like being let into some very exclusive club, and I was giddy like I had just been handed a free puppy.  Then, on to collect my swag bag which, in my humble opinion was sort of pitiful.  The bag that our “swag” came in is beautiful and great and all, but where were the Gu samples, the Clif bars, even coupons for a free beer at the local pub after the race?  But, I digress.  I didn’t come for the free samples of Biofreeze, I had come to do an Ironman race!

Getting the wristband, no turning back now!

I dragged my husband and kids through the expo, including the Ironman store, where I emptied our bank account on a Finisher t-shirt, a water bottle, an Ironman visor, and cowbells for my kids/cheering section.  I also got to see some old triathlon friends from home, which helped to ease my nerves just a bit.

As the hours ticked away, and after I made the pilgrimage to transition to check my bike in (which involved a 1.2 mile hike from the swim start with my son...ant bites and sliding down hillsides were featured prominently, along with some good memories made with my favorite teenaged boy in the world) and we got checked in at the hotel, we went to dinner, and I began feeling oddly at peace with everything that was happening.  I was relaxed, feeling good, and had arrived at the point of just wanting to be in the race.

I slept like a baby, and at 4:15, the alarm sounded, and it was time to get it done.  I ate - half a peanut butter sandwich, a cup of Greek yogurt, and half a cup of coffee, along with a bottle of water and banana in the car on the way to transition - got myself dressed, and got my bleary-eyed children out of bed and to the car.  My husband dropped me off at transition so that I could unload my gear by my bike, and then I took the shuttle (actually a school bus) back to the swim start, where I met up with my family.  All before 6 a.m.  You gotta love living on triathlete time!

Then came the wait.  My swim wave was #14, and it left at 8:24.  The first wave - the pro men - left at 7:30.  We watched the pros leave from a bridge overlooking the Savannah River, and I tell you, watching those pros swim is impressive (and pretty intimidating).  After that, I had time to use the bathroom one last time, wriggle into my wet suit, eat a Huma Gel, and take a few photos with the family.  By that point, it was only a few minutes before shove-off.  Thankfully, I had run into a friend who was in my swim wave, and we were able to chat as they queued us up to pile on to the dock before the race start.  It really eased my nerves to have someone to talk to in those last moments!

Do I look like a triathlete to you?

It was finally time for our wave to approach the start line (the dock)!  We were not allowed to dive in, so rather than standing and taking a feet-first plunge, I decided to sit on the edge of the dock so that I could get my feet used to the water.  The water was 69 degrees, a little chilly, but not that bad at all.  Suddenly, our gun went off, and it was go time!

Wave 14 swim start

I hadn’t had any real warm-up time, so I decided to start slow and let my shoulders loosen up a bit.  I knew the swim would be faster than in other races, because we were swimming with the notoriously strong current of the Savannah River.  Within about 200-300 meters, I felt good enough to dial it up, and I was able to swim a good, strong stroke.  We all had a good amount of room to swim, and I only bumped into a few people along the way.  It was much less chaotic than any other race I have ever done.

My husband says I'm in there somewhere!

As I swam, I tried to sight the buoys to my left.  When I hit buoy number 8, I knew that I was almost done, and I felt like I had only just gotten in the water!  As I made the slight right turn toward the final buoy at the boat ramp, I realized that I felt really darned good.  I made my way up the boat ramp, and began the long jog to transition.  The transition area at this race was kind of labyrinthian, in that you had to snake up one side, then enter the area, then find your row, then find your bike.  I am happy to say that I did not get lost in transition once during the day!

In T1, I took time to dry my feet well, throw my wetsuit, goggles, and cap in a bag, and then I was off!  My family was waiting for me at the bike start to cheer for me, and it was beyond amazing to see my kids’ smiling faces. 

**I purposely did not try to rush through either T1 or T2, because I wanted to do everything to guarantee my comfort and nutrition.  My T-times were ok, around 6 and 8 minutes respectively, but I definitely know where I could trim seconds in the future.

Now came what I knew would be my ultimate test of the day: the bike ride.  I really don’t enjoy sitting on a bike from more than about an hour, so this was not only going to test my fitness, but it was also going to test my mental and emotional strength.  And it proved to be so much more than I had ever anticipated.  Weatherwise, it felt great.  Except for the requisite headwind that seemed to be present for about 70% of the ride.  Then there were the hills.  The damn hills.  What seemed like dozens of them, spread out over 56 long and arduous miles.  Long, slow inclines that never seemed to end.  Rapid descents that were actually fun and relieving.  And sharp points that felt like actual mountains rather than hills.  My top speed of the day was 37 miles per hour, which I hit briefly on a descent.  My slowest speed? An embarrassing 5.2 mph on this one short but brutal hill toward the end of the bike course.  We had just come down a good descent, took a corner, and this hill smacked us in the face.  Nobody that I was riding around saw it coming.  One poor woman and her bike tipped over because she couldn’t spin her pedals fast enough to keep climbing.

Pretty much the only time you would catch me smiling on the entire bike ride!

With each passing hill, from about 20 miles into the ride, I could feel my back getting a little worse.  Then my left hip.  Then my left IT band, which NEVER bothers me.  There was a point on one particularly long incline that I actually considered dismounting and walking my bike up the hill.  Of course, I realized how silly that was, and just soldiered on.  As much as I was hating the bike ride, I never EVER wanted to quit.  I wanted to be done, and I even told myself that it was the LAST time I would ever ride a bike, but I never even thought of throwing in the towel.

Aside from the hills, there were the bumps in the road to contend with.  I thought the roads here in Florida were in pitiful condition, but they are nothing compared to the roads in South Carolina.  It was bad enough having to dodge other racers’ litter - water bottles, bento boxes, power bars, gels, etc. - but the bumps were just awful.  I know that is what contributed to my back pain during the race.  I would say that about 30-35 miles of the roads were so bad that I thought for sure that I was about to blow a tire at any moment.  Thankfully, I didn’t, but I saw plenty of people who did.  And there were plenty of sections, especially close to Augusta, that had had recent road repairs, so at least there was something to be thankful for.  Rapport among the athletes on the bike course was ok.  I briefly chatted with several nice folks, mostly commiserating about the hills and bumps.  I got passed A LOT, and I knew I would.  Most everyone did the right thing, announcing “on your left” as they approached.  But there were a few occasions when I nearly got run down by some meathead who couldn’t be bothered to have manners.  On the rare occasion that I passed another cyclist, I looked over my shoulder 2 or 3 times before passing, and almost always there was a cluster of bikes coming up behind me.  The course was crowded in a few spots, especially at the aid stations, so you really had to be alert the entire time.  There was no room in my plan for a bike wreck.

One thing that I was successful with during the bike ride was my nutrition.  Two bottles of electrolyte drink in my aerobottle, and a strawberry Huma Gel every hour helped keep me going.  Though, I did begin to feel actual hunger toward the end of the bike ride, which scared me a bit for the run.  I was ok, though, and made sure to take the Coke that was offered at the last few aid stations of the run course.  You wanna know what tastes better than just about anything on this planet?  Warm, flat Coke after having been working out for 6+ hours.  Don't believe me?  Try it.

As the bike ride blessedly came to an end, I knew from my bike computer that I had gone about 3 hours, 40 minutes, which is about what I had expected.  Slower than I should be, but considering I’d never biked any of the course, it was ok with me.  The most important thing was that it was OVER, and it was time to run a half marathon.

I racked my bike, changed my socks, put on my running shoes, race belt, and visor, and headed off to the maze toward the run start.  I stopped at the sunscreen tent and let them lube me up, which likely contributed to my longer T2 time, but I was glad I did.  The run course had lots of shade, but it also had lots of spots in the open sun, and I tell you, it was one gorgeous day out.  

I did my 60 second walk out of transition, like I had trained for, before beginning to run.  I went slow, which was ok with me.  In order to finish in 7 hours, I knew I had to run between a 2:45 and 3:00 half marathon.  This killed me, because my slowest half to date was Iron Girl back in April, and I did that in 2:23 while suffering from debilitating calf cramps.  But, I was more focused on finishing this race than setting any sort of land speed record.

I felt pretty good as the run began.  I was 2/3 done with the race, and most importantly, I had survived the bike ride!  I walked through the first water station, drank some electrolytes and some water, and moved along.  About 2 1/2 miles into the run, we were into downtown Augusta, and the crowds picked up.  The course support all day long was incredible, from the volunteers to the local folks who had come out, sporting funny hats and hilarious signs to keep the athletes moving, motivated, and smiling.  It was at this point that I looked up, and standing on one corner were my kids, screaming and smiling for me, shaking their cowbells at me.  In that moment, I was so overcome with emotion, and I could feel the tears welling up, and I wanted to just break down right there.  I knew right then and there that I was going to finish the race!  The emotions were powerful, powerful beyond words.  For my kids to see me pushing through the pain and exhaustion to reach a goal was humbling.  There was no way I wouldn’t cross that finish line.

Are we having fun yet?

I felt great for about 7 miles of the run.  Then fatigue really began to set in.  I started walking more and for longer periods of time.  I never wanted to quit AT ALL, I just wanted to be finished.  As I made the second loop downtown, I had noticed the crowds were a lot smaller than they had been, so the encouragement began to come from us athletes.  We were in the final stages of this journey together, and we lifted each other up.  We talked about how much food we were going to eat, how we couldn’t wait to have a beer, whether this was our first Ironman 70.3.  I congratulated a fellow 40-year-old woman, who promptly answered back with, “you go girl!”.  I watched as runners began to lose hope, and their physical strength, but never their spirits.  I was inspired by those around me, some much younger and some much older, who were out there doing it for their own personal reasons, reasons as important and huge as mine or anyone else's.  To be surrounded by that kind of  emotion makes you feel super human.  In the midst of the pain and the exhaustion (and the extreme hunger!), I had never felt more alive in my entire life.

Turning the corner at 11 miles, I could hear the finish line commotion, and I knew that it was inevitable.  I was going to finish the race, wow!  As I turned the final corner, a lady standing there shouted, “one more corner and you can SEE the finish line!” I picked it up.  All of the aches and twinges I was feeling were suddenly gone!  I rounded that last corner, and there it was: the finish chute!  Lined with people, and the gray Ironman carpet, it was a sight to behold.  I tore down the chute, and as I crossed the line I pumped my fists in victory.  It was an unbelievable feeling.

They know their mom is one tough old lady now!

All of the training.  All of the pain.  All of the time.  It had all led to that moment.  And it was so worth it.

I was ready all along.  

Ironman 70.3 Augusta 

Swim: 29:48

Bike: 3:40:32

Run: 2:31:44

Finish Time: 6:57:48

**My race wasn’t perfect.  I beat my goal time of 7 hours, but I know I could have done better, especially on the run, and probably shaved off at least 10 minutes.  But I hadn’t felt that kind of jubilation in a race since my very first triathlon two years ago.  So, after all of that talk about “one and done”, I think I want to go again.  

What's so wrong about being afraid?

Wow.  I've been gone a while.  All 2 of my readers have undoubtedly abandoned me, so I guess I am left to blog at a blank wall.  It has been a long couple of months, but here I am, a mere 10 days (10 DAYS!) out from the race that I have put my life on hold to do.  Ironman 70.3 Augusta is almost here, and I have to be at the starting line on September 29, ready or not.  Am I ready?  That remains to be seen.

I have been training.  Hard.  Hard for me, anyway.  Bike ride after bike ride, and run after run, and swim after swim have left me mentally and physically drained.  I've discovered new limits for myself, and I just hope that I will have the capacity to bust through them on race day.

I've made no secret to friends and family about just how scared I am to do this race.  And I have taken a bit of crap for expressing this feeling.  Among my favorite (note sarcasm here) comments are:

• What are you so scared for?  It's easy! I doubt you'll find a long course triathlete ANYWHERE that would say that what they do can be described as easy.
• Noone is making you do this.  NO shit.  I entered into this willingly.  I also entered into childbirth willingly, and I was scared to death of that the first time, too.
• It is supposed to be fun.  It is fun.  Otherwise, I would have taken up knitting (which would likely NOT be fun and end with me shoving the needles in my eyes from boredom) or raising chickens or puppies or something else.  But I like to race, and I love the finish line!  
• Don't give in to the fear monster.  New age crap like that really annoys me.

First off, let me begin by saying that it warms me when anyone cares enough about me to make an attempt to help me assuage my neuroses.  With that being said, it is obvious that you don't know me.

I am not a quitter.  I have not suffered through months of injury, given up weekends with my kids, and awakened at 3:30 in the morning for workouts in order to run in the opposite direction of this race.  I am not a fall-down-and-die kind of gal when things seem tough or frightening.

But, if you are afraid of something, it is OK to say it, write it, and feel it.  Boys and girls, fear doesn't define you if it resides in you.  Fear is just renting space until you kick it to the curb by showing it the door.

The fear that I feel is very palpable, and it is sitting squarely on my bicycle.  About halfway through my training, I began to experience terrible back pain during even short bike rides.  Soon, I was rendered pretty much immobile.  I couldn't bend over, reach, lift anything at all, or sit upright for even a few minutes.  Icing, heating, stretching, NOTHING helped.  Except for training.  Training - running, mostly - made the pain go away temporarily, but it would return a few hours after my workouts.  After having to take a week off from my training when the pain got unbearable - missing a few key long rides - I went to an Orthopedist, who x-rayed my back.  As it turns out, I have a stress fracture in one of my lumbar vertebrae, which I have probably had for years and years.  When the volume of my training jacked up, it irritated the fracture, and caused me the intense back pain along with severe sciatica.  I powered through workouts (medicated, mind you), despite the pain, and eventually the pain subsided.  I got my bike adjusted, too, which has helped tremendously.

Because my long rides have been so extremely painful, thanks to the achy breaky back, I am seriously dreading sitting in the saddle for 3 1/2 + hours on race day.  I worry that I will be in that same terrible pain, with no strength to do the most mundane things after I cross the finish line.  And it makes me wonder if all of this has been worth it.  So, you see, I'm not just a scaredy cat because it is new and unknown - that fear is there, of course - but I am afraid that I won't be able to do it again if I choose to.  I am afraid that my body is going to fail. 

But I will not quit the race.

What is so wrong with being scared of something?  Better yet, what is so terrible about acknowledging it aloud?  Fear is a powerful force, motivating even.  It's true, some people would avoid, run, and hide from fear.  But that's not me.  But I am also not going to ignore the "fear monster" that is lurking inside my head.  Ignoring it doesn't make it go away.  Acknowledging it means that I am ready to put up a fight.  Without the gloves.  So FEAR better be ready to rumble come September 29.

Do these rest days make me look weak?

All I wanted to do was train for this little Half Ironman race without getting injured.  Unrealistic?  Probably.  Too much to ask?  I suppose.  Inevitable?  Yep.

My back, to put it bluntly, is jacked up.  I've strained my lower back but good, and some days I can't even bend over.  Ironically, I feel great when I race and workout.  But the day to day activities of life are painful.  It hurts to stand, it hurts to sit, it hurts to lay, it hurts to reach, it hurts to walk.

I know exactly how I did it, too.  Such a rookie mistake.  I got a new saddle for my bike and I didn't get it properly fit on my bike.  In an effort to alleviate the complete and total numbing of my nether regions during long rides, I have turned the back side of my body inside out.  

My husband installed my saddle.  And no, I'm not blaming him, it's my fault.  When it comes to pain, I don't like to complain, and I figured the sit bone pain was normal, along with the achy lower back.  I figured it was just because I was sitting differently on the new saddle, and as my body adjusted, the pain would subside.  Boy, was I incorrect about that assumption.

I awoke one morning after a long ride and I could not get out of bed.  I couldn't bend over the sink to brush my teeth without having to support my upper body with my elbows.  I couldn't turn, I couldn't do anything.  And no, I didn't go to the doctor.  That's another story for another day.  But I did ice it, and I did spend several consecutive days doing agonizing yoga poses that weren't ordinarily agonizing.  I felt 100 years old.

So I've suffered through a few bike workouts, I've even raced a short sprint tri.  I felt great during and after the race, even the next morning.  But the aches crept back in my back.  And they haven't gone away entirely.  As I sit and type this, my lower back feels tightly wound.  

And now, smack in the middle of my half Ironman training program, I have missed several key workouts in an effort to get better and feel stronger, so that I can tackle the hell that comes in the back half of the training program, not to mention the 8 hours of hell that will come on race day.  I took 4 days off from training, luckily during a recovery week.  Yoga had become a daily routine again, and I realized that it never should have stopped being part of my daily routine.  And ice is my new best friend.

I'm finding that my social media does little to make me feel better.  Friends are training hard and strong, and I feel soft and weak.  Others inadvertently post comments about getting out there and killing it and crushing it and getting it done, as if I don't want to be doing those things.  I'm trying to tell myself that I have to live with this body for the next 40 years or so, and one damn race is just a speck in the grand scheme of things.  I am jealous of people who can bend over and pick something up from the floor and not think twice about it.

But I am getting better each day.  Those 4 days with no workouts (other than my yoga) were long and frustrating and riddled with guilt, but I am ready to face this week with mew eyes, a stronger back, and the determination to move forward in my quest to be half an Ironman.  So if those 4 days off make me look weak, so be it.  My body was screaming out to slow it down, take it in, and enjoy the ride at a bit slower pace.  The finish line at Ironman 70.3 Augusta will be there, and so will I.

Ironman Augusta 70.3 Training Log, Week #6

I am deeply entrenched into the training program, and it has successfully overtaken just about every aspect of my life.  Midway into the sixth week, I am starting to experience the telltale signs of training stress: the tweaks, the aches, the fatigue.  I am trying to stay focused, and keep my eyes on the prize.  The prize being that feeling of crossing the finish line and knowing that I have pushed my body and spent all of its resources without taking it all for granted.

Last week's training was tough, I'm not going to lie.  As much as I would love to sit here and say that I am coasting through each training session, I just can't.  Even the swims are tough, and those usually feel like a rest day for me.  The fourth training week was a recovery week, meaning the workouts were shorter and less strenuous than the week before, and I was successful at completing each and every minute of them.  Last week, the fifth week, not only put me back on the track, but it thrust me into the fast lane.  While I completed every minute of every scheduled workout of the week, I paid for it in pain and exhaustion.  The training plan seems to ignore the 10% rule, and my mileage was jacked up a lot more than that, particularly in the running department, arguably my weakest link in the triathlon chain.  

A rough 75-minute run on Sunday on a really hilly course has left me spent.  I worked through it during Monday's 60-minute swim, successfully completing five 500-yard sets intermingled with some 100-yard backstroke recovery sets, for a total of 3100 yards.  Yesterday brought a 60-minute bike ride, and my legs wanted nothing to do with it.  I got through it, at a glacial 14-15 mph average pace.

My hamstring is giving me fits again, and I am just so fearful of being injured.  I do not want to be the one who limps through a race for 9 hours.  I want to be the one who triumphantly completes the race, feeling spent but strong.  

This morning, the plan was to do a 60-minute interval run.  My husband and I were up and out the door before 5 a.m., and it became quickly apparent that there would be no intervals, and that 60 minutes was a laughable suggestion.  I came to the conclusion that I still have 10 weeks of training and that little Half Ironman triathlon to get through, and I'd like to do it injury-free, so we hobbled through a mere 30-minute run, choosing to listen to our bodies rather than pound through the pain.  Sometimes it is smarter to back off in order to be able to keep playing until the end of the game.

If it sounds difficult, it is.  If I sound beaten down, I'm not quite there.  The workouts are tough, but the gratitude I feel toward my body at the end of the day makes it worth it.  With as little time that we are given in our bodies, I think it is a shame to waste that time not seeing what they are capable of.  

Overall, I am enjoying the training.  Most days after a workout, I feel strong and pleased with my progress, even if I feel weakened and sore.  The aches and the tweaks are to be expected, I have done this enough at this point to know that.  What I need to continue to work on is my recovery and my nutrition, both of which are lacking.  It's difficult to take the time to stretch, roll, and rest when I've already taken so much time away from my family to do the workouts.  I suppose that I can swim, bike, and run through some of the fatigue and pain, but I will never be able to outpace that damned guilt.

Onward and upward!

Finding My Inner Shanti

Last winter, when I decided that I would run back-to-back half marathons, I knew that I would need a training program that would help me get faster, build endurance, and keep me from getting injured.  Well, I would be happy with two out of three.

I searched the Internet far and wide, wading through half marathon training programs that were either too simple, too complex, too ambitious, or too obviously developed by retired East German Olympic coaches looking to torture poor unsuspecting athletes-in-training out of a need to relive their glory days.  Alas, I became frustrated, mostly because none of them were flexible enough to fit into my life.  Because, yes, I deserve to run half marathons while still being a mom, having a job, and taking care of business.

Finally, I stumbled across this plan.  What I loved about it was that I ran 4 days per week, not 5 or 6.  And it was unique in that it incorporated yoga into 2 of the non-running days.  It was something different, and it looked interesting.

The plan didn't include specific yoga workouts, so I went searching online again.  I stumbled onto this place, which led me to a series of yoga workouts specifically for runners on You Tube.  They were short - 20-25 minutes - meaning I could get it done early in the day and get on with life.

Immediately after doing this workout a few times, I began to build speed in my running, my endurance improved, and my core got stronger.  I am now the proud owner of a 4-pack (childbirth be damned, I fear that the rest of the pack might be gone forever)!

Over the months I have begun incorporating other yoga workouts into my normal routine.  Core workouts, gentle hatha flow workouts (for rough days), and hip-opening workouts have helped increase my flexibility, reduce pain, recover from injury, and hopefully prevent more injuries.  I also credit it to increased running speed, and getting faster in the pool, too.

So, now I am kinda hooked on yoga.  I don't chant or talk about my third eye or anything like that.  But I do look forward to my morning and evening yoga workouts.  They bring me physical and emotional relief.  They allow me to clear my head, which is not a very easy thing for me to do.

If you can't afford to go to a yoga class, or if you don't like classes (like me), plop your laptop or iPad down on the floor, get on your yoga mat, download some yoga workouts, and get to contorting that body!  I promise you won't have to put your feet behind your eyes once (but what you do within your four walls is not any of my business!).  If you are lucky, and you stick with it, hopefully you will begin to feel stronger, more centered, and just generally better about your workouts, your training plans, and life in general.

Race Report: Iron Girl Half Marathon Clearwater, 4/14/13

Welcome to my first race report!  Bear with me, it's a long one!

Coming in to this race, I was injured, overtrained and just plain tired.  Yet, I hadn't trained for this race. How does that work exactly?  Well, this was my 6th race of 2013 so far.  I had trained throughout the winter for back to back half marathons in February, one Sunday followed by the next.  In January, I ran a 15k, where I PR'ed (1:26:56).  In addition, I logged over 100 miles in training alone in January.  I achieved a PR (2:03:46) on the first half at the Five Points of Life half marathon, and not a PR (2:11:46) at the second one at the Disney Princess half marathon.  Following that, I competed in a sprint triathlon, and then a 5k charity race in 1000% Florida humidity less than a week ago.  Since the two other half marathons, I had not run more than 8 miles, and I am nursing some plantar fasciitis, so I was sticking to running shorter distances and running a slower pace.  I feared that my body would rebel on me during the race, but I am not one to back out of a race that I have paid for.  I was hoping for a miracle.

Race morning was like any other.  Up at 4:30, a small cup of coffee, 2 cups of water, a cup of yogurt and granola and a banana for breakfast.  This is my tried and true pre-race meal, it never fails me.

My husband drove me to the race start, where I met up with a friend who was also running.  After taking it down to the wire while waiting for a porta-john, we got our warm-up in as we scurried to the starting line.  This actually didn't bother me, as it gave me no time to really think about the fact that I was woefully unprepared to be running the race at all.

The first mile had us traversing through a bit of downtown Clearwater, for about a mile.  It was merely a distraction for the runners, for as we turned the corner, the first bridge, the massive Memorial Causeway, was there waiting for us.  I can do hills without fear, and I didn't find the first trip across to be very taxing.  I was maintaining my normal 8:45 race pace and I felt great.  It was very humid, but there was a nice breeze off the Gulf, so I hardly noticed the stickiness.

I conquered the bridge, and as we approached Clearwater Beach over the next few miles, I was not only shocked at how good I felt, but it didn't escape my attention that I felt no foot pain.  Regardless, I decided to ease up on my pace, and dropped to around a 9:30.  I went into this not expecting to PR, and kept telling myself that under 2:30 was going to be a good time considering my lack of training.

The miles ticked away, and I made sure to stop at the water stations and hydrate to combat the humidity.  I walked for about 30 seconds through them, and all was good.  I made it over the second bridge, the Sand Key Bridge, running and feeling strong.  As we approached Sand Key Park around mile 5, I started to feel little tweaks here and there, but it was so far so good.  We looped through the park, and I saw my friend plugging away just a little bit behind me, and I felt pretty ok.

And then came Mile 7.

I could feel my quad muscles tightening, which was something new to me.  I tried to shake it off, and I began a run/walk/run thing in hopes of not totally blowing it.  The quad cramping subsided, but began to move down my legs, and into my feet.

Here is where I issue a strong word of advice.  Do not ever wear compression socks or sleeves for a long race, unless you have trained that way!  While I wore my sleeves for the Princess Half, and they did ok, I did recall my calves trying to cramp up then.  That should have been an ample warning to me, but alas.  So I wore them to Iron Girl, and I think it was the biggest running mistake that I have ever made.

As I approached mile 8, the sides of my calves began seizing up so badly.  I stopped to walk it off, and would try to run.  Whenever I started running again, I could feel my feet moving in unnatural directions as they hit the pavement.  My toes kept pointing out, yanking at my ankle muscles.  It hurt so bad, and I wanted to stop.  I couldn't run 15 feet without the cramps amping up.  It was so frustrating.

Mile 9.5, and the return over the Sand Key Bridge was looming.  By then, I knew there was no way I could run it, it would be a walking race from here on out.  I jogged/hobbled through the water station and hit the steep bridge, coming to a complete stop.  My legs, in unison, knotted.  I almost fell completely over.  I had to stop and try to work the kinks out.  I wanted to cry, and did a little.  Runners passed me, some of them in as bad shape as me, and everyone was supporting each other.  That got me over the bridge.  I was slow, but as I approached the acme of the bridge, I was able to carefully jog down.

At mile 10, I took my phone out of my arm band, and I texted my husband:

"3 more miles, cramping badly, legs seizing up.  I want to quit"

He replied: "Don't quit"

I walked most of mile 10.  As I approached the water station, this adorable little girl shouted to me as she handed me a cup of PowerAde: "You are awesome, Robin!" (we had personalized bibs) This lifted me up just enough to jog/walk for the next 2 miles, until I saw the Memorial Causeway, the behemoth of bridges.  You know, Florida might not have a lot of impressive hills, but they sure can build some bridges to make up for it!

Again, this would be a walker.  The same bridge that a mere 1 1/2 hours ago I casually jaunted over was going to be my undoing.  The cramping was so bad that I had to do stop on the side of the bridge to stretch.  And I hate bridges, they terrify me.  Heights nearly send me into a panic attack.  But, at this point, my legs felt like they had been tied in 10,000 knots.  Grasping the railing to stretch, I closed my eyes to avoid the view below.  I stretched the best that I could, and soldiered on.

The peak of the bridge never seemed like it would come, but as I reached it, I realized that the end was blessedly near.  I began to slowly jog on the downhill, and as we approached the corkscrew exit of the bridge, the cheers at the finish line propelled me.  Coming through the finish chute, I felt physical pain that rivaled chid birth (no exaggeration), and just pleaded with my legs to carry me over the line.  As I saw the line, the sight of my husband and kids and their cheering was almost more than I could take.

I crossed the line, took a bottle of water, received my finisher medal, and at that moment, everything stopped working.

I spotted my family waiting for me at the end, and I crumbled into my husband's arms.  All I could do was sob and tell him, "It hurts, it hurts..."  I hurt physically and mentally, and I knew that I had probably sidelined myself for a good while.

My time was better than I had expected: 2:23:03.  Under 2:30.  I am an Iron Girl!  I guess.

After the race, I found a shady patch of grass to rest on.  As my husband peeled off my compression sleeves, he commented that my lower legs were a pale, sickly white color, while my upper legs were bright red.  As I got further into the race, it appears that I was depriving my lower legs of blood flow, hence the severe cramping.  All the PowerAde in Clearwater wasn't going to help, either.  I could have really injured myself.  I learned a big lesson.

So, I am hanging up my running shoes for a bit.  My foot needs to heal.  My spirit needs to heal, too.  I feel like racing has become a chore, and I want to find that spark again.  I want to feel that thrill of the finish line, and that is going to take some time to find again.

Wherein I have to admit that I am human

I've been going along on the triathlon train for a few years now, and so far I've avoided major injury.  I've had a few minor things happen, ingrown toenails, lost toenails (a badge of honor for runners, don't ya know?), and a swollen foot here and there.  My maladies always seem to go away on their own, without me having to stop doing what I love doing (did I say I love it?  Yeah, I did!).

I've almost carried my infallibility around like a trophy.  I've watched other friends, even my husband, suffer from injuries that have sidelined them for weeks and months.  I've watched friends try to fight and compete through the pain.  I watched them wriggle with frustration at the thought of not being able to do this training run or that race.  And I've been there, nose pointed slightly in the air, thinking to myself, "what's the big deal about taking time off?  You want to be at least walking when your old, don't you?"

Because, how hard could it be?  To give up the thing that you DO, the thing that, for love and for hate, gets you out of bed at ridiculous hours to train, to race, to suffer, to rejoice?  Really, just give it a rest, and you will be back to normal.

Yeah, no.

It's easy to pass judgment when you've not run in someone else's shoes.

I trained all winter for 2 back to back half marathons.  While I wasn't training for marathons or Ironman races, the training was tough, and the training broke my feet badly.  The volume, the increase in speed, the pavement pounding, everything.  And I even did it the right way, I was careful to never increase my speed and volume too much per week.  And I didn't feel the effects of the training until well after the races were in the books, even though I feel that the races are where I cemented the injury but good.  So I just kept pushing.

Now, I have developed a nasty case of plantar fasciitis.  And it hurts.  More than I care to admit.  I feel old, I feel defective.

And now I have to face the fact that I am probably sidelined for a while.  I have to impose a hiatus on running (which, oddly, doesn't excite as much as I thought it would).  I have to heal, because I at least want to be walking when I am old.  And I look forward to the near future, when I can get out of bed at some insane hour to train, to race, to suffer, to rejoice.