When a race doesn’t go the way you had hoped, it’s always tough to explain it afterward. Not that it requires explanation to anyone but myself– most people I know who support and encourage me in this sport are either so far removed from it that they are awed by the mere fact of my participation, or else they are triathletes themselves and have a first-hand understanding that some days simply don’t go as planned. But how do I explain it to myself? How do I stomach the reality that, as good as I felt in the lead-up to the race, as much as I had deep inklings that this might be “my day”, the race where my years of experience coupled with my competitive fire would culminate in the performance of a lifetime, it was not to be?
On race morning, I felt the usual nervousness and intensity of being on the brink of a day filled with unknowns. Chris, my race-week Sherpa, shepherded me through the pumping of tires, final gear preparations and emotional encouragement. I was excited but also focused, relishing in the benefit of being a course veteran as I embarked on my 2nd IM Coeur D’Alene adventure. My nerves completely disappeared the moment the cannon went off and I hit the water. With my wetsuit, neoprene cap and booties, plus a lake temperature of 59.5 degrees, I was perfectly comfortable, never once feeling cold over the entire 2.4 mile swim. I was, however, a bit dismayed at how crowded the swim felt. Granted, any Ironman mass start is going to be a battle for turf, but the chaos and clambering seemed to drag on much longer than usual this time. There was a whole lot of accidental smacking, jabbing and punching going on, and after whomping another woman hard on the back of the head I was karmically rewarded with a rock-solid crack on my own skull from a man’s forearm and watch.
When I finally exited the water after the 2nd lap, I assumed my swim had been decent, though probably toward the slower end of my predicted range of 1:15-1:20. I honestly thought something was wrong with my watch when I glanced down and saw a time of 1:28! Right then and there I realized how dangerous it is to go into an Ironman with a specific goal time, as I had already eaten up most of my time buffer and would need to pull off a flawless bike and run in order to meet my dream goal of 11:30. Not the best way to head into another 10-11 hours of racing.
One of the more humorous parts of my day occurred as I disengaged from my wetsuit. I purposefully avoided the row of “strippers”, volunteers who, two-at-a-time, peel wetsuits off of triathletes who lay on the ground, roll back and allow the strippers to peel away their suits. I’ve never tried this – I’m too concerned that once down on the ground it would be too difficult to get back up, plus I’ve never had much trouble getting out of a wetsuit on my own. So I stopped several feet shy of the strippers, pulled one leg out and was about to step out of the second leg when I noticed a volunteer running toward me. An elongated “Nooooo!” came out of my mouth as he grabbed my suit and tried to pull it off me, promptly pulling my feet out from under me and causing me to land flat on my ass in the transition area grass. Some other words came out of my mouth (and they definitely were not the traditional “Thanks so much!” that I try always to confer on the volunteers) as I scrambled to get back up, gather my gear and head to the transition tent. If, by some random chance that particular volunteer is reading this now, I am profusely sorry for cursing at you!
Out on the bike, I didn’t feel the energy and enjoyment that usually inhabits my race days. Instead, I felt cranky. Cranky that my swim had been only 1 minute faster than last year, when conditions were nightmarishly choppy. Cranky that even though I had peed during the swim I already felt the need to go again, my bladder being squashed painfully as I pedaled along in an aero position. I spent the entire first lap of the bike dealing with this discomfort, and after a few futile attempts to go whilst riding I went against my own best advice and decided to make a pit stop. My quick in and out at the porta-potty was the smartest move I could have made, saving me the time of trying to ease up and relax while on the bike and also providing immediate and welcome relief. Instantaneously I felt better, and I remember thinking how true it is that you can feel completely wretched during some parts of the race and then turn it around to feel amazing. Of course, the opposite is also true.
I tried to pick up the pace on the second bike lap, and while I didn’t feel that I was riding poorly, I just lacked the zest and fire necessary to kick myself into high gear. I also noticed that I wasn’t loving up the experience in the same way I have in my past two Ironmans. I wasn’t hating it, but I just wasn’t experiencing that same magical quality that I’ve felt before. I’m sure some of that has to do with having raced this course once before – while there’s definitely value in experience, there’s also nothing quite like the experience of your first time.
As in most long-course races I’ve done, I adjusted my goal times throughout the day. For awhile on the bike I thought I could at least hit the 11:45 mark, so long as I could power through the last stretch of twists and turns and then the downhill straightaway into town. Of course, the moment I turned onto that straightaway I was smacked square in the face with a headwind that turned my power into a pathetic 14mph pace. By the time I made it to T2, I was bargaining with myself to throw down a 4 hour marathon and salvage a sub-12-hour finish.
Finally, heading into the marathon I felt good. It only took a mile for my body to adjust to the transition and I found a quick but comfortable pace. My stomach was trouble-free, which I attribute to a nutrition strategy of solely gels and sports drink the entire race, no solids to muck up my digestive system. And best of all, I was able to relish in the support of my friends. There was Jonna, a pal from my Specialized days, screaming her heart out and high-fiving me on my first, and each subsequent lap through town. Chris was waiting for me right where I needed him most, just past the crowds as I left the surging energy of downtown and headed into the neighborhoods and long lakeside stretch of the run. He ran by my side for a few minutes, offering much needed encouragement and confidence as I vented about my performance thus far, stated aloud my new goal, assured him I was finally feeling good and listened to his updates on our sponsored athletes and friends. Partway through the neighborhood section I knew I would find Ben, Cindy and Scott, industry pals whose rental house is in a prime location on course, the same place they were positioned last year. I made a point of running strong every time I passed them, and their incredible enthusiasm helped propel my strength far beyond their sight. Also on course was Coach Muddy, a legend in the triathlon world not only for his coaching prowess, but even more so for his love and support for his athletes. Although I’m not coached by Muddy, I’m fortunate to call him a friend, and the support he’s given me on multiple race courses has been critical.
Through the first half of the run, I continued to feel fabulous. Luckily for me, running is the strongest of the three disciplines, which means I tend to pass people all along the way. Not that I’m really competing with anyone but myself at that stage of an Ironman, but there’s an undeniable ego boost from running continuously past fellow competitors. I churned out the first 13 miles in about 2:05, and assumed that with the addition of cola (which I allow myself starting at the halfway point) I’d have the extra kick necessary to negative split. But for the first time, the cola that I love during a long-course race, that in fact I long for during the first several miles, let me down. It didn’t have any negative effect, and I’m sure it did contribute to keeping my stomach well-settled, but its magic boost just wasn’t there.
I’m not really sure at what exact point I slowed, but while I never once walked I became acutely aware that a sub-12-hour finish was at least a few minutes beyond my grasp. Once again it was time to readjust those goals, and I pleaded to myself to push hard enough to beat last year’s time and set a new Ironman PR. At least I could relish that small accomplishment! Finally, at mile 23 I found the fight that had been eluding me all day, and I kicked up my pace to a near sprint. But a lesson in humility was mine as I saw the clock pass 12:11 with just shy of one mile to go. I continued to surge through town, finally savoring the crowds and smiling big as they all cheered for a strong finish that I’m sure, from the outside, looked like the race of a lifetime. For me, my final time of 12:18 felt painfully runner-up-ish.
But a beautiful thing about Ironman is the understanding that whatever the initial goal, the true importance lies in the achievement of completing the race start-to-finish, and of listening to and remembering the things you learn along the way. Sure, I felt the sting of disappointment for a brief while that evening and in the days immediately thereafter, but it quickly faded. Though I admit to thinking, somewhere out there mid-bike, that I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to do another IM race, I have faith that I will eventually lay claim to that perfect day. I know two distinct ways that I can work to improve my performance and experience. First, I’m certain I came into this race somewhat undertrained, and if I really wish to pursue a specific time goal, I would be wise to hire a coach and take the whole thing just a smidge more seriously. But even more importantly (and perhaps at odds with my previous statement), I believe I’d benefit most from more mental conditioning, focusing on keeping the time out of focus and the intention and enjoyment top-of-mind. So whatever the goal for my next race, the preparation needs to be properly aligned.
And yes, there will be another Ironman in my future. My desire to do-over and do better is too fierce to ignore. But it will be well down the road, at a time when I feel freshly eager to enjoy all of its pain and glory. For now, I’ve earned some time for rest and reflection, and I plan to enjoy every step along the way.