It's an Ironman - it's not The Hunger Games!

I can't believe that in less than 12 hours I will be racing an Ironman.  Well at least attempting to finish one! :)  The past two weeks have been filled with strange dreams, and the race seemed like this far off, distant, very scary thing.  

Finally I told myself to stop it.  It's not The Hunger Games!  It sort of feels like it - we arrived Thursday and Friday and Saturday were filled with all sorts of preparations for the race, including a group ride, practice swim, pre-race banquet, athlete briefing, expo, etc, all in preparation for the big unknown tomorrow.  

But it's not The Hunger Games.  It's a race, and one where we can all come out as finishers.  I've done lots of races, I've been nervous before lots of races, and after tomorrow this will be another race I have done.  I remember freaking out the night before my first  Half Iron -- the thought of being out there for 6+ hours terrified me, the out and back lake swim terrified me, running a half marathon after biking 56 miles terrified me... the second time around (Musselman) I wasn't even phased.  I just went out there and had a great time.  

Yes, there is the possibility of not finishing.  Tomorrow is going to be hot.  The bad news is, it is supposed to hit 91 degrees right around 4pm when I will likely be towards the end of the bike.  The good news is, it's supposed to cool off a few degrees every hour during the marathon, so perhaps ONLY 82 degrees at the finish line.  

Tomorrow will be a long day.  And for it I am thankful.  I am most thankful to my amazing husband for supporting me through these long hours of training -- all 386 hours of training I have put in since January.  He has put up with an alarm clock permanently set at 4:50am, he has taken the kids for the entire day during my peak season 8 hour training days (yes, there were about three of those), and right now he is at CVS buying me toenail clippers because I left mine in Virginia.  I am thankful to my parents for their amazing support, for watching Susie and Jack during our tri-camp weekend and during races, and for coming down to Louisville to support me.  I'm thankful to my former boss who told me in December to stop talking about Ironman and sign up for one.  I'm thankful to my family for putting up with this Iron Dream for the past six months (even though I annoyed my brother to the point that he hijacked my iphone and reported on Facebook that I was retiring from triathlon.)  I'm thankful to my experienced Ironfriends who have given me many words of advice during this training cycle.  

Here we go.  Game on.

You are ready....

... as ready as I'll ever be.

Reality is coming.   I took a look at my training diary today, and when the race is over, I will have hit 2000 miles of cycling, 100 miles of swimming,  and 1200 miles of running since January.   I still am having trouble sleeping at night, wondering how my body will handle this ultimate test of endurance.  Veteran Iromen (and Ironwomen?) tell me that at this point, all I can do is trust my training and race plan.

This was posted on one of the IM Louisville forums.  I need to keep reading it every time I freak out.  (Did I mention that I am tossing an turning every night unable to sleep?)

You ran in the snow. 

You rode in the rain. 

You ran in the heat. 

You went out when others stayed home. 

You rode the trainer when others pulled the covers over their heads. 

You have survived the Darwinian progression that is an Ironman summer, and now the hardest days are behind you. Like a climber in the Tour de France coming over the summit of the penultimate climb on an alpine stage, you've already covered so much ground...there's just one more climb to go. You shift up, you take a drink, you zip up the jersey; the descent lies before you...and it will be a fast one. 

Time that used to be filled with never-ending work will now be filling with silent muscles, taking their final, well-earned rest. While this taper is something your body desperately needs, your mind cast off to the background for so very long, will start to speak to you. 

It won't be pretty. 

It will bring up thoughts of doubt, pain, hunger, thirst, failure, and loss. It will give you reasons why you aren't ready. It will try and make one last stand to stop you, because your brain doesn't know what the body already does. Your body knows the truth: 

You are ready. 

Your brain won't believe it. It will use the taper to convince you that this is foolish - that there is too much that can go wrong. 

You are ready. 

Finishing an Ironman is never an accident. It's the result of dedication, focus, hard work, and belief that all the long runs in January, long rides in April, and long swims every damn weekend will be worth it. It comes from getting on the bike, day in, day out. It comes from long, solo runs. From that first long run where you wondered, "How will I ever be ready?" to the last long run where you smiled to yourself with one mile to go...knowing that you'd found the answer. 

It is worth it. Now that you're at the taper, you know it will be worth it. The workload becomes less. The body winds up and prepares, and you just need to quiet your worried mind. Not easy, but you can do it. 

You are ready. 

You will walk into the water with 2000 other wide-open sets of eyes. You will look upon the sea of humanity, and know that you belong. You'll feel the chill of the water crawl into your wetsuit, and shiver like everyone else, but smile because the day you have waited for so VERY long is finally here. 

You will tear up in your goggles. Everyone does. 

The helicopters will roar overhead. 

The splashing will surround you. 

You'll stop thinking about Ironman, because you're now racing one. 

The swim will be long - it's long for everyone, but you'll make it. You'll watch as the shoreline grows and grows, and soon you'll hear the end. You'll come up the beach and head for the wetsuit strippers. Three people will get that sucker off before you know what happening, then you’ll head for the bike. 

The voices, the cowbells, and the curb-to-curb chalk giving you a hero's sendoff can't wipe the smile off your face. 

You'll settle down to your race. The crowds will spread out on the road. You'll soon be on your bike, eating your food on your schedule, controlling your Ironman. 

You'll start to feel that morning sun turn to afternoon sun. It's warmer now. Maybe it's hot. Maybe you're not feeling so good now. You'll keep riding. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep moving. After all, this is just a long training day with valet parking and catering, right? 

You'll put on your game face, fighting the urge to feel down as you ride for what seems like hours. You reach special needs, fuel up, and head out. 

By now it'll be hot. You'll be tired. Doubts will fight for your focus. Everyone struggles here. You've been on that bike for a few hours, and stopping would be nice, but you won't - not here. Not today. 

You'll grind the false flats to the climb. You'll know you're almost there. You'll fight for every inch of road. The crowd will come back to you here. Let their energy push you. Let them see your eyes. Smile when they cheer for you - your body will get just that little bit lighter. 

Grind. 

Fight. 

Suffer. 

Persevere. 

You'll plunge down the road, swooping from corner to corner, chaining together the turns, tucking on the straights, letting your legs recover for the run to come - soon! You'll roll back - you'll see people running out. You'll think to yourself, "Wasn't I just here?" The noise will grow. The chalk dust will hang in the air - you're back, with only 26.2 miles to go. You'll relax a little bit, knowing that even if you get a flat tire or something breaks here, you can run the damn bike into T2. 

You'll roll into transition. 100 volunteers will fight for your bike. You'll give it up and not look back. You'll have your bag handed to you, and into the tent you'll go. You'll change. You'll load up your pockets, and open the door to the last long run of your Ironman summer - the one that counts. 

You'll take that first step of a thousand...and you'll smile. You'll know that the bike won't let you down now - the race is down to your own two feet. The same crowd that cheered for you in the shadows of the morning will cheer for you in the brilliant sunshine of a summer Sunday. High-five people on the way out. Smile. Enjoy it. This is what you've worked for all year long. 

That first mile will feel great. So will the second. By mile 3, you probably won't feel so good. 

That's okay. You knew it couldn't all be that easy. You'll settle down just like you did on the bike, and get down to your pace. You'll see the leaders coming back the other way. Some will look great - some won't. You might feel great, you might not. No matter how you feel, don't panic - this is the part of the day where whatever you're feeling, you can be sure it won't last. 

You'll keep moving. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep eating. Maybe you'll be right on plan - maybe you won't. If you're ahead of schedule, don't worry - believe. If you're behind, don't panic - roll with it. Everyone comes up with a brilliant race plan for Ironman, and then everyone has to deal with the reality that planning for something like Ironman is like trying to land a man on the moon. By remote control. Blindfolded. 

How you react to the changes in your plan will dictate your day. Don't waste energy worrying about things - just do what you have to when you have to, and keep moving. Keep eating. Keep drinking. Just don't sit down - don't EVER sit down. 

You'll make it to the halfway point. You'll load up on special needs. Some of what you packed will look good, some won't. Eat what looks good, toss the rest. Keep moving. Start looking for people you know. Cheer for people you don't. You're headed in - they're not. They want to be where you are, just like you wanted to be when you saw all those fast people headed into town. Share some energy - you'll get it right back. 

Run if you can. 

Walk if you have to. 

Just keep moving. 

The miles will drag on. The brilliant sunshine will yawn. You'll be coming up to those aid stations fully alive with people, music, and chicken soup. TAKE THE SOUP. Keep moving. 

You'll soon only have a few miles to go. You'll start to believe that you're going to make it. You'll start to imagine how good it's going to feel when you get there. Let those feelings drive you on. When your legs just don't want to move anymore, think about what it's going to be like when someone catches you…and puts a medal over your head... all you have to do is get there. 

You'll start to hear the people in town. People you can't see in the twilight will cheer for you. They'll call out your name. Smile and thank them. They were there when you left on the bike, and when you came back, and when you left on the run, and now when you've come back. 

You'll enter town. You'll start to realize that the day is almost over. You'll be exhausted, wiped out, barely able to run a 10-minute mile (if you're lucky), but you'll ask yourself, "Where did the whole day go?" You'll be standing on the edge of two feelings - the desire to finally stop, and the desire to take these last moments and make them last as long as possible. 

You'll hit mile 25. Your Ironman will have 1.2 miles - just 2KM left in it. 

You'll run. You'll find your legs. You'll fly. You won't know how, but you will run. The lights will grow brighter, brighter, and brighter. Soon you'll be able to hear the music again. This time, it'll be for keeps. 

Soon they'll see you. Soon, everyone will see you. You'll run towards the lights, between the fences, and into the night sun made just for you. 

They'll say your name. 

You'll keep running. 

Nothing will hurt. 

The moment will be yours - for one moment, the entire world will be looking at you and only you. 

You'll break the tape at the finish line, 140.6 miles after starting your journey. The flash will go off. 

You'll stop. You'll finally stop. Your legs will wobble their last, and suddenly...be capable of nothing more. 

Someone will catch you. 

You'll lean into them. 

It will suddenly hit you. 

YOU ARE AN IRONMAN! 

You are ready. 

You are ready

What if...

Tuesday I made a big mistake.  I started reading race reports from people who did Ironman Louisville the last time there was a major heat wave, and 26% of the field either DNS or DNF.  (Sidenote:  Currently Accuweather is predicting a race day high of 87 with rain... which to me sounds absolutely wonderful.  Still 9 days out, and the forecast for Saturday is a ridiculous-for-running-a-marathon-at-4pm high of 92 degrees with blaring sun...)  And news articles where people didn't just not finish... they died.  I ended up going to bed terrified, tossed and turned until 3am, had to miss swimming in the morning because I didn't think I could function on 2 hours of sleep, and then spent the entire day thinking about What Ifs.

In Ironman Louisville 2011 a man died in the first 8 minutes of the swim. Athletes helped him to shore, but he had drowned after possibly having a heart attack in the water.  There have been countless stories like this -- in fact, just last week in the NYC Ironman the same thing happened. This summer alone there have been at least 8 drownings in triathlon, and I read that statistically there are 18 per year in the US.  I'm not sure how much swimming experience these people had, how much open water experience, etc.  I grew up swimming in a lake, I did my first open water swimming at Camp Aloha  when I was 14 (across thee lake swim), I carried lifeguard certification for five years, and I don't tend to panic in the water.  Still... the stories are scary.

A little less scary but still disappointing -- I read a race report of a woman who trained hard and was doing well until the 15th mile of the run, and then her body just gave out on her.  This was in 2010 when the temperature was well over 90 degrees.  And she wasn't someone who lacked in running volume -- in fact, she was a 3:30 marathoner. I just can't imagine how I'd feel if I worked that hard and then my body quit on me at that stage in the race.  It happened to someone in our Tri-Club last month, as well -- except he was at the 18th mile.  Just about finished.  And they pulled him off the course.  His day was over, just like that.

And then there is always the bike failure what if.  What if my chain breaks?  What if I flat... or double flat... or a spoke breaks....

What if what if what if what if what if?!?

9 days.

A few thoughts as this training comes to a close...

I officially hit my taper this past Tuesday.  The 20 mile runs and 112 mile bikes are out of the way.  The next time I will hit those numbers is on race day.  I forced myself to finally swim 2.4 miles in the pool yesterday - it was the longest swim of my adult life - so I've done all the distances  (2.4 mile swim, 26.2 mile run, and 112 mile bike) during the 30 week training plan.  So now we'll see if I can do all three of them in one day!

My Race Day Plan

Two weeks ago I was terrified.  Now I'm ready to get this party started.  I have no idea how I'm going to feel 8 miles into the run.  The longest run I've done after a 5+ hour bike ride was a little less than 7 miles.  It wasn't too bad, but I wasn't racing on the bike, and I knew that I was only running for an hour.

Time goals?  Not really.  I guess under 14 hours would be a goal, but since I may or may not blow up in the run I'm not going to hold my breath.  And who knows what will happen on the bike... I'm saying a big prayer for no mechanical failures, but I did flat the last time I rode that course.

My race plan is to get in line for the swim early enough that I'm not last in the water -- since it is self seeded that's going to be pretty early.  I just don't want to risk missing the bike cutoff, since as stated above, who knows what can happen... no flat tires, no flat tires, no flat tires!  As for the bike I'll try to keep my heart rate around 130-140ish, which should be a slower pace than Musselman, and to not hammer on the hills (which I have a tendency to do.)   I also know I need to really make sure I drink the Perform drink throughout the course.  It looks like it should be close to 90 on race day (much better than close to 100, but still hot) and also remember to do some salt tablets and gels.  The marathon -- I just hope I don't crash and burn.  This will be my 9th marathon and there have been a couple where I did crash and burn.  Granted, one of them I was pregnant with Jack and my digestive track told me it was not having it at the 15th mile so I walked 8 miles.  I think that ended up being 5:36. The other one I broke my foot at mile 17 and ended up with 4:53.  I'm going to start out with 10 minute miles, making sure to really hydrate and replace calories in the first few miles, and hope I can keep it there but I would not be surprised if I can't.

It's going to be a long day.

Something that has been on my mind

Last week while I was at the beach I saw a news article online about a triathlete in upstate NY, very close to where I did Musselman, who was killed riding her bike the previous Sunday morning.  As it turns out, she was one of the women I raced with just two weeks prior.  I have no idea if we chatted or stood in the finish shute together.  I do know she was, like me, a teacher, a mother of two, and someone who likedsolo long rides at sunrise on Sundays.  A couple in their early 20s was driving home from a long night of drinking and partying -- the woman in a car and the boyfriend on his motorcycle.  He attempted to pass his girlfriend on the right, where the cyclist was riding on the shoulder.  He knocked the bicycle in front of his girlfriend's car, which ended the cyclists life.

What a senseless tragedy.  My thoughts and prayers are with her, her husband and their two children.

I think of all the solo long rides I have done this summer, and how that could be any of us.  I met a couple from near Charlottesville at the Lousiville training weekend and the husband told me he trains almost exclusively on his trainer bike because he is afraid of getting hit by a drunk driver.  This just makes me sad.  I don't think I'd be doing this race if my long rides were reduced to sitting on a stationary bike in my basement.  Although the training has been tough, the beauty I've seen on the 4-7 hour rides is the reason I love being on my bike.  I've seen gorgeous sunrises, horses, bales of hay, mountains, fields of flowers, rock quarries...

I guess that's just what it is... every time you get on a bike, you're at a risk, because you and a few pounds of aluminium are no match for a big black SUV .  I wear my helmet, I follow traffic rules, and I guess that is all I can do.

Some thoughts on the training

The volume of training in this program is insane.  The ONLY reason I was able to do this with two kids is because the peak training came when I was not working and I have a fabulous husband who took the kids during the 4-5 ridiculous long ride/ brick days.  Had I been working, my poor children would have been in daycare 5 days a week and then not seen me for 6-8 hours yet ANOTHER day of the week.  Even the weekdays were intense since most days had workouts with two disciplines.

I think marathon training is going to seem like a walk in the park, time wise.  I can actually finish just about all my sessions before work.

Will I do this again?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  We'll have to see, and if I do, the race date will have to be  chosen with this in mind (yes, this the whole reason I'm doing IM Louisville despite the brutal heat factor - the date just was the only one that worked for our family.)  I have loved the training - well, most of it --  but it has also been all consuming.

I do think it has increased my mental toughness.  Most of my long rides and bricks have been solo.  I've done a few 16-18 milers all alone, and many many 8-10 milers in 90 degree heat with only my itunes for company.

Ironman Lousiville, here I come.

Priorities

I'm supposed to be on Peak Week for my Ironman training.

I'm on vacation with my family at the beach in North Carolina.

So... peak week isn't going to be peak week.  There will not be a 100 mile bike ride.  There will not be any lap swimming.  I tried that Monday and it took 40 minutes to drive to the pool.  Not worth it.

I will bike (30 miles or less) and I will run.  I will even do an 18 mile run on Saturday, since I can still be back at the house by 10am.  But I will not devote this week to training.

Sometimes your priorities have to be your family.  And spending time on the beach.

That is all.  Back to my vacation.

Tired

Here are last week's stats.

Total Workout Time:  About  19 hours
Total Running Time:  About  6 and a half hours
Total Cycling Time: About 8 and a half hours
Total Swimming Time:  About 3 and a half hours

Mileage:  189

I am tired.

Yesterday was a big workout day -- I biked close to 95 miles and then immediately ran another 6.5.  I actually felt okay afterwards -- I met Jamie and the kids for a post-brick recovery meal at Whole Foods, then I took Susanna shopping at Trader Joe's, made dinner, put the kids to bed... I felt pretty normal.  Today  is supposed to be a rest/ catch-up-on-laundry-cleaning-and-everything-else-I've-neglected day.  And so far... I have had a nap.  I tried to do a little bit of reading while Jack had his nap, but I fell asleep instead.  When he goes down for his afternoon nap, I might sleep again.  Right now he is throwing the folded laundry I never put away around TV room and I am letting him.

I am really tired.

Two more weeks of this insanity training and then I hit the major taper, which I think will be a nice way to spend my final weeks of summer holidays.  I have also tried to fix my long runs and rides so they don't happen while we're at the beach next week, other than a long run on the last day we are there since I can wake up super early for that and then relax on the drive home.

I am really, really tired.

HOWEVER -- it was a successful week of training and if I can do what I did this weekend -- run 16 miles on Saturday under a 9 pace, and then cycle 96 miles and brick run 6 at a little over a 9 pace -- I am pretty sure I can finish the race, barring any illness/ disqualification/ bike failure.

So I will take three weeks of mad training and feeling really, really, really tired.  We're almost there.

Musselman 70.3 Half Iron Triathlon: Race Report

Amazing Race.  Really.  I'm doing this one again -- hats off to Woolsports and Race Director Jeff Henderson for pretty much the best race organization I've ever experienced.   Everything was top notch from the pre-race communication, easy expo, pre-race meeting, fantastic and environmentally friendly goody bags and race premiums, post-race with food catered by Wegman's, a local produce farm, and homemade ice cream, and a family friendly venue at Seneca Lake State Park with a swimming beach, spray park, and stellar playground.

I chose this one because it was the only half distance I could find that fit my timeframe for Louisville and was within a 7 hour drive.  Jamie wanted to do a shorter distance and they had a sprint on Saturday (not to mention a super sprint on Friday, and two kid's triathlons on Saturday... Susanna is ready to race when she turns 6!) so we could each mind the kids while the other raced.  (in all honesty though, his race was about a quarter the distance so he deserves a medal for the 8 or so hours he spent from when he dropped me off at transition until I retrieved my bicycle....  I'm sure that was exhausting.  It also stormed for half of my race so that nixed the plan to spend the morning at the spray park and beach... they didn't get to go there until about 11am.  Not to mention we had to get the kids up at 5:45 and they didn't go back to sleep until hours later...  yup, he is Super Daddy.)

The Swim
Jamie had raced the day before and the water temperature was 77.8.  Saturday was a hot day and I was secretly hoping the race would not be wetsuit legal.  I wanted to practice sans suit for Louisville but I didn't want everyone else having the neoprene advantage.  At 6:30 they made the final call... water temperature was 78.5.  Booyah!  There were a lot of unhappy faces and some people chose to wear them anyhow (this disqualifies them from any awards.)  The gun went off and I ran as far as I could and then we were in the water.  I kept getting kicked in the face/ swum over/ people grabbing my feet etc.  When I would come up for air, often I'd get a mouthful of water instead.  I can see why people have panic attacks in the water.  It didn't help that right before we took off, the announcer commented that this lake was 660 feet deep.  Nice!  Anyhow I kept trying to find people that were my pace to draft off their feet.  I eventually would catch them and would have to find more feet to follow.  The swim began in the lake and then went up a canal to a boat ramp.  The first buoy seemed to take forever to appear, and then the second, forever again.  When I got to the canal I started to see blue swim caps, meaning the fourth wave swimmers had caught up to me. I realized my swimming technique had been pretty pathetic, likely because I was concentrating on not swallowing water or getting kicked in the nose, and so for the final third of the swim tried to concentrate on my form. Which is hard to do when you have to keep your eye on the buoys so you don't end up swimming the wrong direction.  My final thoughts -- "This isn't hard, but this is really boring and really long.  I am really glad I do not have to swim twice this distance today.  The Ironman is going to feel really, really, really long."
Final swim time:  43:13.  Only two minutes faster than my first 70.3 despite three days of masters swimming per week since January.  Ugh.  Must work on technique.  Must work on technique.

T1
2:27.  Not bad. Drank a bottle of Hornet Juice, pulled on my socks and shoes, put on my (borrowed - THANKS TUAN!) Aerohelmet and took off.  I think whatever time I would save swimming with a wetsuit, I make up for in T1 not having to take it off.

The Bike
This triathlon is known for it's beautiful course through wine country, but today was overcast and yucky.  I wasn't too upset though considering the temperature was a good 15 degrees lower than what I had been training in.  The elevation profile pretty much goes uphill (but not steep, aside from one hill reminiscent to the many I saw on the Louisville course) until mile 17, is downhill until 28, then there is another climb til 38, another downhill to 44, then pretty flat til the end.  My bike computer stopped working a few days ago so I have no idea what my speed was for pretty much the whole race.  I just concentrated on keeping my heart rate at a steady 150 and figured that was a decent zone to finish strong in the run.  About an hour into the bike it started to rain... and then thunder... and then monsoon.  I've never biked in a storm before, and we were heading right into it.  Crazy wind.  Then lightening... two seconds and ground shaking thunder.  The sky went black.  The next lightening strike was in the field next to us and the thunder was instantaneous.  At that point I started to get really scared.  I got as low as I could in the aero position and prayed.  I wasn't sure what to do... keep racing?  We were in the middle of nowhere.  I could crawl in a ditch but I wasn't sure if being in a ditch with rushing water was the safest thing either.  I decided to just keep on going.  The rain was insane.  The force of it was whipping my eyes and  I wished I had my open water goggles... no joke.  I passed an aid station and stopped for the first time -- I had skipped the first one.  "Heed?  Water?"  they asked me.  I guess they were not so concerned that my life was in imminent danger.  I filled my aerobottle with Heed, grabbed a couple of Hammer Gels and pulled out again.  Eventually the rain stopped, and I passed a sign that said "Mile 30."  I looked down at my watch and saw that I'd been biking for 1:34.   Really?  I never thought I'd finish the bike in under 3 hours, but I only had 26 miles left.  I decided to push it til the end.  I had plenty of water in my 42 oz bottle so I skipped the rest of the aid stations and hammered away until we got to Samson State Park.  They had warned us at the athlete's meeting that the road was rough.  I wasn't prepared for how rough it was.  Potholes, cracks, bumps, and unsealed pavement.  For the next four miles.  I counted 5 people changing flats, so I took it easy and was cautious, and thanked my lucky stars when I made it out of there with my tires intact.  Then I hit a nice downhill and hammered away again.  I was pleasantly surprised when I saw the 50 mile marker and noticed I still had about 30 minutes if I wanted to break 3 hours.  I pulled into transition and my watch read 2:55:26. That's over 19 mph.... it was definitely a fast course, and I will not get anywhere near that for Louisville with it's ridiculous climbing, but I'll take it today!

T2
My shoes were SOAKED... and my socks... ugh.  Some smarter people had put their shoes and socks in Ziplock bags.  Not I.  I put on my drenched Nikes, race number, drank another bottle of Hornet Juice, downed  a Clif Shot, and headed off.  Time:  2:33... not really sure how my T2 was longer than T1.

The Run

My runs have felt horrible all week so I wasn't sure how fast to take it.  I had a general time goal to have my pace under 9 minute miles, and decided to go by heart rate rather than pace and try to keep it around the upper 150s for the first half and then upper 160s for the second half.  The first three miles were pretty flat and I was trotting along at about an 8 minute pace.  Then the first ridiculous uphill came. The course went through the town of Geneva, literally up stairs.  The run course was tough -- miles 3-8 were almost entirely uphill, and it was getting hotter (maybe 80 degrees?  Pretty cool compared to what I'd trained in but after 4 hours of racing it still felt tough.)  There was amazing spectator support and lots of homeowners standing in their yards with hoses to cool us off if we so desired.  I so desired.  I was careful to take Heed (energy drink/ electrolyte replacement) at every aid station so as not to have a repeat of the National Marathon.  I had also brought along my own Clif Shots, but when I reached down for the third one I realized my second two had fallen out of my race belt.   So I had to use whatever they had at the aid station, which scared me because race nutrition is an issue for me on the run and I had never practiced with Hammer Gels, but they seemed to work fine.  In fact, I didn't cramp at all the entire race.  I got to mile 7 and saw the monstrosity of a hill we had been warned about.  This was worse than the stair climb.  NO ONE was running this baby.  It had an 80 foot elevation climb in about a third of a mile.  Check it out (the red is the run course.)

Thankfully there was a guy playing steel drums at the top, which at least motivated me to keep moving forward.  I reached the top, started running again, and saw that mile 8 still clocked in below a 9 minute pace.  I knew the rest of the course was downhill and I could probably finish in under 1:55 if I kept a good pace to the end.  I did pretty well on the downhills, around an 8 minute pace, but when I hit the flat section at 11 I was really, really tired.  My heart rate was about 165, and I couldn't get my legs to move fast enough to get it any higher.  The last two miles felt really, really long.  My pace had slowed considerably - maybe I was up to 8:40s.  I was thrilled when I finally saw the 13th mile marker and I started to book it.  Now -- here is my ONLY complaint about the entire race.  It was NOT .1 miles to the finish.  Oh no.  I sprinted and looked down at my Garmin and a tenth of a mile had passed and I still was not across that finish line.  In fact, it was a good distance away - I'd stay the finish was a quarter mile from that 13 marker.  Ugh!  But I made myself keep going and throw up my hands at the finish line like I see in all those Ironman finish photos instead of looking like I'm in deep pain and about to throw up like I usually do in finisher photos.  Final run time:  1:50:48.

Overall Results:

Race goody bag -- with things that are actually USEFUL!  Shampoo
and conditioner, all natural peanut butter, a stuffed mussel for
Jack and Susanna, AND gourmet dark chocolate (eaten before
I could get a photo.)

Jamie and I have matching tech shirts and
can be twins on the drive home tomorrow.

Race medal are from recycled bicycles - how cool?!?

It turned into a beautiful day and we hit a fabulous winery that was on the bike course.  I finally got to see this view instead of fearing for my life.