The Road Ends Here

"The thrill is not just in winning

But in the courage to join the race"

My Ironman Journey ended 8 hours and 53 minutes into the race when I missed the time cut-off at mile marker 85 by 6 minutes...

2,500 people swimming in the reservoir whipped up more chop than I would have ever thought possible and created 'perfect storm' conditions for a sensitive inner ear that has waylaid me for days after sailing or diving trips. I made it through the 2.4 mile swim in just under 2 hours but when I tried to run up the boat ramp at the waters edge, I weaved and bobbed like a drunken sailor. If one of the helpful volunteers hadn't grabbed my arm, I'm sure I would have splatted face down on the concrete. Still trying hard to focus and shake off the 'ick' feeling, I found my bike bag and headed toward the changing tent where the medic came by twice to check on me. I told myself I could get thru this and hoped for a clear head once I got in a few miles on the bike. I continued changing, put on my bike socks, shoes, helmut, and gloves, sprayed on some sunscreen and went to find my bike. My transition time, from water's edge to bike mount line, took 13 precious minutes.

Once on the road I was so happy to see my family, Taylor, Charlie, Berkeley, and Berkeley's boyfriend, Tim, who had all volunteered to work as sector 1 bike course marshals.  I had to give them each a quick fly-by hug and an "I love you, thank you for being here!" The first 20 miles of the bike course were lined with friends who had volunteered and it was such an amazing boost to my energy level to see their smiling faces and hear their words of encouragement. But the seasick feeling was not going away and by the time I came to the first aid tent at mile 10, I had to stop and get off the bike. I was still pretty wobbly, so the volunteers grabbed my bike and lead me to a chair. I sat there for a few minutes and tried to compose myself and talk myself through it while I took a couple bites of banana, "Come on, you're only 10 miles into the bike, you've got a long way to go. Get back on the bike and pedal."

I'd love to say that my head and stomach miraculously cleared up and I went on to have the ride of my life. But that's not what happened. Unbelievably, the roads that I had trained on for months and knew like the back of my hand all tilted up, up, up. The downhills that I would usually jet down became slow as molasses. What was happening? Each time I tried to drink the sports drink, it tasted like rotten eggs. Each time I tried to sip water, I could feel it bubbling in my stomach threatening to come back up. I knew I'd get dehydrated if I didn't drink but forcing liquids down was miserable.

My only thought was to keep going, if I could just get through the bike maybe I'd feel better on the run. At some point, out on the open plains east of I-25 one of the other riders asked an aid station what the cut-off time was, made a quick calculation, and stopped riding. I thought he was crazy. It's only 10 miles away, of course I can ride that in 40 minutes. As I made the final turn westward I could see the I-25 overpass, I told myself I just have to clear that and I'll be heading to the finish line... As I crested the last of the false flat rises, I saw the flashing lights of the sheriff's patrol cars under the bridge and as I pedaled forward, I saw them raise their hands flagging me down. My race was over, I had missed the time cut by 6 minutes.

Riding the sag wagon to Boulder High School was the hardest part of the whole day. I had tears in my eyes seeing all the Ironmen on the course pedaling and running their hearts out. It's going to take awhile to get over this one but I'm glad I gave it a shot. On any given day, chance and circumstance can trump training and preparation and today was not to be my day.