We arrived in Madison after a painless trip, and head out for our first date of what will be remembered as our second honeymoon. It's a bizarre experience to have multiple days, with no agenda but rest and get ready for a race. We fell in love with the city. It is nestled between two lakes, with historical State Capital buildings, a glorious university campus, and a plethora of pubs and restaurants, bookshops, pop-culture shops, and coffee houses. Our only pre-race prep included a morning swim, and Andrew went out for a tour of the course and a pre-ride for a short section. We otherwise read books, and did a comparative review of the many contemporary restaurants. What a life!
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| State Capital in the centre of town. |
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| Our favourite breakfast spot. |
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| Posing for photos....a second honeymoon needs photos right? |
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| Lake Monona was stunning morning and evening. |
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| Finding our cruiser bikes for when this nonsense is finished. |
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| Farmer's Market on main street. |
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| Look like a good pre-race meal? |
Eventually it was time to rack the bikes and get in the game. I went through the motions of packing transition bags, preparing fuel bottles, and numbering bike and helmet. While Andrew paced out the transitions to ensure efficiency, I poured over the route maps looking for short cuts home to ease out when required. One part of me was dedicated to self-preservation and prepared an exit plan. One part of me was beginning to bubble with excitement, with the possibility to that this could all go very well, and my body would magically overcome discomfort and fly over the course. I went to sleep with no race nerves. Even the lightning and torrential rain overnight didn't give me qualms. In the morning we ate our rice cereal, and my main goal was to keep the energy up for Andrew's sake. I reminded him not to worry about me. I would only do what was safe and fun. The lake was choppy, and it was chilly to bare our skin for body marking. We squeezed through the crowd and popped into Lake Menona with the plan of waiting on a little duck dock not far from the start. We sat side by side on the dock with the music swelling, as the sun rose over the lake, and watched the thousands of wetsuit clad swimmers begin to cluster along the deep water start. After a quick kiss and good luck wish, Andrew swam ahead and was gobbled up by the crowd. All of a sudden I felt very small among this group and felt fear creeping in. I forced myself to smile, cheer, and manhandle my fear into excitement. I waited for the canon to fire.
The swim was pretty similar to most IM swims. Most of the time was spent fighting for some space, getting knocked and pushed, but generally coming out unscathed. All that time in the lake spent developing a smooth efficient swim stroke seemed a little futile, however those regular lake swims gave me the advantage of confidence in the choppy water. Prior to the swim it seemed insignificant that I was mistakenly given a green hat at registration. Mid-swim I desperately wanted a pink cap. It would identify me as a woman, and perhaps I wouldn't get pounded on as hard. At one point I got squeezed between two massive men. They pounded on my back and head, until I could drop out behind them. I swam to the left of them. A minute later as we approached a large vinyl buoy marker, I wished I was on their outside. I got pushed completely under the buoy and felt my panic rise. I swam deep under the buoy, popped up safe and sound and sprinted away from these two, fuelled by adrenaline. The most exciting thing for me during this swim was catching my first intentional draft from a better swimmer. Andrew and I had practiced this numerous times, with him swimming up past me, and me working to stay on his feet. In the past I would drop off quickly, not confident of keeping up the faster pace. This time I figured that I had nothing to lose, and it worked! I came out of the water feeling really good about my effort, and so glad that I got the opportunity to join in.
Swim: 1:13
Transition in Wisconsin includes running up a helix ramp to go up four floors to the top of the Monona Terrace conference centre. Even through the wall of noise created from hundreds of cheering people, I was keenly aware that nothing hurt...not knees, not anything. Game on. I wizzed through transition, got on my bike and flew down the highway on a high. Heading out towards the beautiful farm land, I felt invincible. Hills came and went, and my light road bike seemed like a great choice. I didn't over-think the fact that my body felt good...I just switched gears mentally, stayed focussed on nutrition and pacing....until about 40miles. That initial euphoria was wearing off. My legs were beginning to get grumpy on the hills. I was most comfortable standing but couldn't sustain that for every hill. I had about 10 minutes to make an important decision...would I do the second lap? I could hear my Dad's voice in my head, and my response "Yes Dad, I think I have the maturity to stop if I'm getting hurt". Things were getting blurry at this point. The discomfort of the effort, managing nutrition, and knee discomfort were flowing into one another. At the junction to the second lap I felt my bike turning the corner with nothing concluded. I just kept spinning and ignored the question. It seemed easier that way.
I've been to eleven Ironman events. The spectators in Madison are second to none. Highlights included fun signs "Does this bike make my butt look fast?", having college boys sprint up the hill in gold banana hammocks printed with "Go hard or go home!" I didn't mean to look...really. I loved the 8 year old girls with the synchronized back walk-overs. I loved the old people lined up along the road side in wheelchairs ringing bells, and the old man who peered through his cataracts wishing me "Godspeed". As each hill pitched up, the crowd squeezed in around the riders and willed them up. At one point I felt tears well up, as I thought I may have to walk the hill. My desperation must have been obvious as two young men sought me out and banged their drums with each pedal stroke. Their look of satisfaction when I reached the crest of the hill made me smile.
Back in my own company on a quiet stretch of road I reassessed my situation. High emotion means only one thing for me...time to eat. I dropped the intensity to a crawl and got in a banana, two gels and a whole bottle of water. Fifteen minutes later I felt like I had super powers. The return trip back to Madison was zippy and fun, and the helix back up to transition was over in a flash. Back in the conference room, I put on my runners and hat and head back out for the marathon. A big unknown.
Bike: 5:56
My goal was to be honest with myself throughout. I honestly felt no knee pain for 5miles. My intensity level felt low. I was breathing every 4 steps to control the pace, but kept clocking off 8minute miles. I slowed down to 8:30min/miles thought it was too good to be true. I saw Andrew coming back into town after his first lap and was so happy to see him running so well. We had discussed what it meant if I saw him at different points. He was on track for a rock solid race. He was more worried about me though, and look pretty surprised when I told him that I felt great! I passed 5 women in my category in the first 6 miles. Reality set in after a climb up over the Observatory. Running up was no problem. Coming off the hill, the familiar knee pain came back. At first I thought I could just walk every descent and carry on. But once the knee was irritated there was no going back. The length of time that I could jog began to shorten at each attempt. It came down to 2-3 minute sections of shuffle, then back to a walk. On my way back to town I heard my Dad's voice again, and realized that it was time to bow out. The turn-around is steps from the finish line, and my hotel was in sight. The problem was that I couldn't find a gap in the barricades. I just kept walking back along the route to find a gap. The gap didn't come for about a half mile. As I made my way off the course, I had the sudden realization that it wasn't hurting to walk. I just lost my excuse to quit. Being slow was not an excuse to quit. It was time to complete a second lap in whatever manner that I could. I've got to admit, my competitive side didn't really enjoy being passed by young and old, lean and chubby. I did love watching other people reach the depth of their souls to keep moving. Some people looked to the spectators to give them energy, while others were tucked away deep in their own world of hurt looking at no one. I got to see Andrew one more time on his final stretch to the finish. He was clearly hanging by a thread, and I wanted to give him my extra unused energy. I made sure he knew that I was safe and happy, and with a shift of a smile he finished his own battle.
My own finish came nearly an hour and a half after his. I have never walked the final mile to the finish chute. People were so warm and so happy for me. One sign read "I'm a stranger, but I'm so proud of you." Fighting the tears, I had a laugh reading the next ones "Smile if you peed your pants today" and "WTF, where you been?" Their congratulations and pride in a stranger finishing the task reinforced my decision to complete. Building on the emotions of the day, I thought of my dear mother who was not so different than me. She needed exercise and adventure as much as me, and slowly lost that ability as she battled Parkinson's disease. She would have given anything to have such a moment. I said out loud to myself "Because I can"...the motto of the day.
Run: 4:41
Race: 12:03
