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 Swim
Comments: Race start/swim organization was poor. It was physically impossible for 1600 athletes to get through the narrow arch, down the beach, into the water and to the starting buoys in 13 minutes. I do remember how insanely cold the water was when I got into it. Quite a few athletes swam far ahead of the starting buoys before the official start--there was no corralling or marshalling. And the starting horn began when at least a third of the athletes had not been able to make it anywhere near the start line yet. Even though they'd delayed the start time, it was still pitch-dark at 7:15 and impossible to see where we were going. I wasn't at the start buoys before the horn, either, but I just took off after everyone in front of me. I got off to a good, fast start and held on to it. The water was taking my breath away but I figured I'd warm up eventually (ha). Once the sun came up, it was incredibly clear, beautiful water and I saw fish, starfish, sea urchins, big rock and coral formations and gorgeous crabs on the bottom. The rugby match was not bad at all; about what I expected. I had my goggles knocked off twice, and it was amazing to tread water for a moment and look around at the sea and sea of bodies and take it all in. What a fantastic experience. Had a little room so I backstroked a couple strokes, and then, what the hell, did some fly. (Earlier on was a bit of breaststroke, just to cover the medley). This second time was just past the halfway mark. There were roughly a third of the bodies ahead and two thirds behind. I still hadn't warmed up, but suddenly it felt as if I'd swum into a freezing cold patch. Maybe I did, or that was the first sign of trouble, but I just got so, so cold, and that feeling was not to go away until well after my race was over. I was stiff all over, had a hard time breathing and simply turning my arms over. A lot of people were passing me where none really had before. It irritated me that people were cutting the buoys, and I mean by 50m or more (they had at the first corners as well). Starting ahead and buoy-cutting could easily have made it a 3500m swim. I felt sorry for people who were really gunning for a Kona slot and playing by the rules. Despite all that, I really enjoyed the swim. The day was beautiful, the water was gorgeous, and I swam in tremendous gratitude to be alive. I savored every moment. These pictures (yes, I'm buying and replacing them) tell the tale. I'm looking at my hands to make sure they're still there because I really can't feel them at all ... and I turn them over to look at the other side!   What would you do differently?: So where do I even start or end with this one? :) I will say in my next IM attempt, there's no reason not to go for it on the swim. I don't think I'm going to blow myself out on the swim, and it's over so quickly anyway.  Transition 1
Comments: This did not go well. It seemed glacially slow to me, and it was. I needed the volunteers' help to do nearly everything (such incredible people, thank you) since I just couldn't feel my hands and kept fumbling and dropping everything. Once I finally got out to my bike, it then took me a full minute or more to get my helmet on because I couldn't feel the clasp to click it shut. A volunteer standing by did it for me. What would you do differently?: Maybe it would have made a difference to get fully dry, warm up, and put cold-weather cycling gear on. It would have taken forever, but might have saved my race. On the other hand ... I don't even own cold-weather cycling gear! This picture, too, pretty much tells it.   Bike
Comments: Wow. Well. I had trouble from the get-go, but I've GOT to warm up EVENTUALLY, right? ;) I discovered many amazing things en route, like it's very hard to get anything out of your Bento box with frozen fingers. It is also very hard to suck up anything out of your aerobottle with frozen lips. It's also quite tricky to do bottle discards, pick-ups and refills with your left hand if you're right-handed and have never done it that way. It's hard to shift, never mind to pedal, when all your muscles are rigid with cold. At 26km, when I was finding it hard to breathe, I pulled over and took a hit on my inhaler (thank God I remembered it). But I kept hammering away. I knew it was going to get better! The other major difficulty I had (will likely always have) is lingering and chronic osteoarthritis from the chikungunya (Swahili for "you're screwed"--actually it means "bent over" as the disease often cripples people). Damp cold is definitely unfavorable for it, and trying to race in damp cold is really really really unfavorable for it. I was in a lot of pain. Not normal race pain. Muscles seized up and joints feeling like they were being stabbed pain. I kept asking myself, "Is this as bad as when you had dengue?" No way! Not even close! There's a reason they call it "breakbone fever." Because that's what it feels like. Chikungunya's worse and your bones really might be breaking. And besides, I just KNEW I was going to warm up! :) Sometime! It was a pretty miserable 45km out, especially since it's a "false flat" uphill most of the way with a headwind. This was only miserable because of my personal condition. It was a fantastic, ideal bike course, not pancake flat, but pretty flat (other people say it has rollers, but ... uh ... no) and you will not find a smoother, faster surface to ride on anywhere. Towards the end of the 45km out, you hit the tunnel, which is VERY exciting as it's a screaming downhill into it, and just when you hit heart-attack death-mode speed, it's a gradual uphill for a while (some say 12% grade for a few km but I think not. More like 6-7%, possibly 12% for some short bits) and then the turnaround is right there. It was poor not to have any markers or signs for distance on the bike course at all. Most racers have Garmins or computers, but it doesn't matter what those read--you've got to travel the distance and course marked out, and if it isn't marked out ... The 45km back was much easier with a net downhill and slight tailwind. It is also easier to whizz on the bike when whizzing downhill and it tends to fly out back instead of giving you yellow socks. Hopefully I nailed some people in the huge draft packs that were flying by me. To be clear, there's legal drafting (you can even leapfrog within rules of 12m distance, 25sec pass-completions), but what I saw was NOT legal drafting, and when a bunch of guys in the same team jersey are doing it, that's just shabby. I did think the bike course, unlike the swim course, was overall well-marshaled (you can't watch everyone all the time) and I saw a lot of people in penalty boxes. At the same time, it was incredibly exciting to be passed by all the pros and marvel at their incredible cycling ... and pace booties :) ... as they went by towards the end of the first lap. Incredibly irritating that there were no signs or markings whatever that the turnaround was coming up, nor that it was THERE ... I overshot it and only realized it when I saw a chalk (not big chalk, not big marking, literally just like someone wrote it hopscotch-style on the road) word FINISH with an arrow pointing ahead. So I had to get off, wait until the path was clear, walk back squeezed up against the side of the path with a bunch of bikes coming at me into the finish until I was back at the turnaround to get on my bike again. Later I found out this happened to quite a few people (not just my usual race-course idiocy and hypothermia setting in); it was simply an unmarked bike course. I believe this is setting out on the second lap:  Things start getting fuzzy here. Had a hard time breathing again and knew I needed to pull over, which apparently I did at Bike Special Needs where wonderful jobaxas here from BT was encouraging me. I remember a lady with short brown hair (I think? Is that you?) but don't recall anyone or anything else from there, or if I took any liquid or food on board. Apparently, I didn't look good and wasn't very positive, and I'm so sorry about that! I *loved* the volunteers and they were all amazing, to a person. I do remember later on in the course Nigel screaming at me coming the other way and what joy that was! I was having a really hard time focusing on the road and was having to put out what seemed a monumental effort just to keep moving forward in a straight(ish) line. I also knew I had to put in a similar or better time on lap 2 to come in about 15min ahead of the cutoff. I wasn't thinking clearly enough to wonder why the hell it had been so hard just to go so slowly on the first lap anyway. But finally, again, the tunnel! Must be nearing the turnaround! Genuinely afraid I'd lose control of my bike, but had no idea how to slow down, so I didn't. When I hit the turnaround (5-10km later, I think), the official yelled TWO HOURS TEN MINUTES TO TRANSITION, and I thought, no problem, as I'd made nearly the exact same time this lap out, and had done the return in 1:55 last lap back. So I still had a 15-minute cushion. But things went from fuzzy to mostly blank here. I remember another one of the last riders I was playing leapfrog with, a woman, rode briefly alongside as she was passing and said something to me. I remember the road whizzing by underneath my wheels. I remember thinking I should be finishing the food in my box but most of it was still left, and I needed to drink something. I remember being startled to find myself on the shoulder, or towards the center of the road. I vaguely remember being followed by a SAG wagon. I definitely remember the SAG piglet pulling alongside me and saying something, which I didn't comprehend, but I recognized the look in his eyes, and I knew it was over. I was thinking I must not have made a cutoff (although I'd clearly made the last cutoff by a fair margin and knew there were riders behind me). I don't remember actually stopping, but from what he told me later, once I got off the bike, I was literally frozen; couldn't move or talk, didn't know my race number (it was only everywhere on my body and bike, and I'd been posting it on my blog and Facebook and saying and writing and sticking it everywhere for days), and took a very long time to answer basic questions like what was my name and where was I from. I remember riding in the truck and being wrapped in a big fleecy blanket and tons of Mylar and the heat being on full blast. And I remember the piglet showing me his camera, on which he'd taken this really super grand-vista, long-road rearview shot of my butt. I want that picture! [ETA: well, well, well ... you'll never guess what showed up in my inbox this morning. See below. WAY below.] He also told me I was actually making good speed while he was following me, 15kph-ish up the inclines and 30-35 on the flats/downhills, but I was weaving all over the road and slowing and speeding up in strange spots. I was still having a hard time breathing in the truck, too. I was more coherent when we got to transition and the med tent, and I kinda felt fine (or at least a lot better), but again (from what people who were there told me after I got clearer), didn't really know where I was or what I was supposed to do or say, and still took a very long time answering basic questions. That's also when I started shaking and chattering violently and the medical staff stripped me down and re-wrapped me, mummy-like, in a ton of blankies and more Mylar. Only my nose and eyes were peeking out. My temp was 34C (93.2F) when I came in, and that's after already having been wrapped up and superheated in the truck cab. They told me my skin was blue and my eyes were deep red. Pretty! I was right about one thing, though ... I DID warm up eventually! :) They finally sprung me loose, in really flash new clothes (big baggy red Volunteer shirt and some kind of loose leggings), but they still took me in an ambulance to where the shuttles would be leaving for the finish line at St. Kilda (45 road km away). I waited in a nice warm McDonald's for the next shuttle, which would be a few minutes. Meanwhile, a very lovely piglet approached and asked if he could do anything for me. I looked at him, noted his loveliness, and said, "I'd like a cheeseburger meal and your company, please." He smiled, went and got me the meal and himself a coffee, and sat down and chatted with me while I ate. He's a Brit in Oz and could absolutely not comprehend that it was possible, and that there were crazy people like me who would try to swim 3.8km, bike 180 and run 42.2 in one day. Had I been able to, and had I not looked and smelled like a long-homeless person, I would have given him a big melon press. I went to the bathroom, was happy that me and my pee were fine, but was shocked at how bad I still looked--looked like I had a bunch of burst blood vessels in my eyes, and lips and hands still looked like someone had taken a blue marker to them. But I really did feel okay (muuuuuch better after piglet. burger.) and the British fellow helped me onto the bus that had arrived. What a darling! By the time we got back to St. Kilda, I was surprised at how good I felt. Other than getting Popsicled, I was actually in much better shape going into this race than I thought. Transition 2
 Run
Post race
Warm down: The post-finish collection area (a basement parking lot) was total frickin' shambles, though. The transition bags and bikes were coming in long after the athletes. Nor could the volunteers (bless them, absolutely not their fault and they were working so hard for so long) process the ones that were coming in fast enough other than to put the bags in giant heaps and just line the bike boxes up (so you couldn't read the race numbers on them). I really can't imagine having busted my gut to finish an IM and then have to wait two hours for my stuff to arrive, then paw through piles and walk up and down long rows of bike boxes so I could get my stuff and bloody well go home and shower/sleep, already. Oddly enough, people kept asking me to help them, and then I realized I was wearing the big red Volunteer shirt they'd given me in the med tent. So since I felt fine, I volunteered! I helped people find their bags and get their bikes out of boxes (which had been all sealed up with packing tape--GRRRRR!). More than a couple hours later, my own stuff still hadn't come in yet either, and some race poo-bah had decided there had better be pickup tomorrow, so I headed back to the apartment, too. Security, by the way, was pretty much nonexistent at that point. I, or anyone, could have wandered out with anyone else's bike and stuff. So much for all the pre-race ultraprecautions. I wonder if they really did have people staying in that car park all night. Not that it would have mattered, because they weren't paying much attention to checking anyway. When I got home, this crazy orange cat darted in after me and I was too tired to do anything about it right away, so he just made himself right at home.  He was super friendly and cuddly, but somehow sensed that when I was holding him and heading for the door it was different, so he bit me. I opened the door and we had a very mean stare-down before he realized I was all post-IM don't-eff-with-me business, then he pfffted, and stalked out. Super volunteer! :) Almost as good as a finisher's shirt, though probably not quite as useful.  The next day, sweet wonderful beautiful Nigel piglet helped me get my bike (helped ME! Get MY bike! Silly piglet!) I was very excited as his Australian passport had just come in (he's actually a Brit! What is it about these marvelous Brit-Oz piglets?) ...  He then took me to the most marvelous coffee shop for lunch, where I disdainfully picked the green stuff out of my otherwise droolworthy salmon sandwich. Not a fan of green stuff. Super food and coffee, though! And then to his LBS for a meet-up with ... CROWIE AND RINNY!!!!! I asked them to sign my melons. Crowie tastefully signed just above, although he did rest his forearm on my melon in order to get traction to scribble. :) CROWIE AND RINNY TOUCHED MY BOOBS! ON PURPOSE! YAAAAAAY!   I mentioned what an incredible honor it was to watch their very beautiful bums go by me on the bike, and everyone laughed.  That night was the awards extravaganza (that's really what it was, and it was great) and banquet/party (it was, and it was great). Another brilliant evening in the company of my most favoritest Melbourne piglets ever, Nigel and Joe, and Nigel gave me a lift home after. What limited your ability to perform faster: You mean, other than dread diseases, not training, and hypothermia? I seriously gotta cut some blubber down. It was paradoxically probably very helpful on this particular day, but since I'm ensuring that my next IM is warm if not hot, extra weight and insulation is NOT necessary. Event comments: There was a lot about this race that was stellar, which I've mentioned, and a lot of important stuff that was downright dismal, which I've also mentioned. So overall: average, although there really wasn't anything average about it. Pretty much it was either awesome or crap. As far as the whole experience goes, though, in my book ... this has been one of the greatest times of my life. I had a ball, and carry with me a host of riotously good memories and not one regret. Best of all, as I said, is YOU sharing this with me ... all along the way, and during this particular trip itself. The support, love, encouragement, sharing, and celebration you all have given me is priceless. I cherish it, and you. I will say I'm kind of puzzled by it all. I tried to do an IM I wasn't prepared for, and I got cold. That's pretty much it. Profile Album Last updated: 2011-08-28 12:00 AM
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Australia
51.8F / 11C
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Age Group = F 35-39
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THANK YOU to thousands of people (and quite a few animals) who contacted me with good wishes about this race before and after. Big THANK YOU to those who have supported me for years. Biggest THANK YOU to my sister Tina for making sure I've scraped through the last 35 years alive, and to Nigel on BT who took this particular IM journey with me and has seen to my every need here in Melbourne. {{{MELON PRESS}}} to all!
4 Ironmans I've signed up for, done majority of training for, and finally I got to actually race in one! Woohoo! In the two years leading up to this race, I had 14 bouts of serious illness or injury, including dengue fever, chikungunya (makes dengue seem pleasant, and have lasting osteoarthritis), typhoid fever, pneumonia, bruised ribs, and concussion. I was last in an emergency room on Jan. 15th. So the training was a little less than optimal. I seem to be missing that entire base and build period. I was well-trained for a sprint, decently for Olympic, okay to finish HIM, and big-question-mark for an IM.
So I'm overjoyed to have started and gotten as far as I did. All of it, even the last two years, has been a tremendous experience and I wouldn't change a thing. The best bit is the incredible people and love I've gotten to be part of throughout.
In typical Yanti style, I didn't pack until the day I was leaving. Two hours to go and this is what my spare room looked like (never mind the living room):
I also had a very irate cat who was refusing to let me put things in the suitcase. And then ... the electricity went out! (Storming as usual). Awesome! So I was swearing, sweating, hopping, working by flashlight and candlelight ... finally, all was ready to go with 2min to spare and I used that for a shower. Then the cabbie that showed up in the driving rain informed me that the trunk was broken ... c'mon, laddie, we're Indonesian, we can get that giant bike box and suitcase in the rear seat AND four clowns if need be!
The trip was a comedy of errors, too, but suffice it to say I've completely changed my mind about strength training for Ironman. Of COURSE you need to do strength training to pack, unpack, haul, clear customs, multiple airports and otherwise deal with all your luggage in a relatively short period of time. Due to other normally bizarre circumstances bound to happen in tri travel, I also wound up hauling all my crap up and down these stairs multiple times. Please note that they are almost, but not quite, wide enough to accommodate a bike box. (!)
That, and the enormous amount of walking you do pre-race, needs to be taken into training account. For all that, I was totally unprepared.
I do terrible, terrible things to hotel rooms. And I mean, within seconds. The only dif between this pic and the true post-seconds pic was that I'd put my bike back together.
Welcome to beautiful Melbourne! Friendliest piglets of anywhere! I saw this grand marquee dozens of times and it tickled my tummy always.
Beginnings of the finish line. The "Slow Down" sign was funny ... and it it was up all weekend! What does it mean, near a finish line? Weather looking increasingly ominous, and I keep wearing all the clothes I own and taking a dozen hot showers a day to warm up.
Now THAT'S a sign (painted on the run path)! (However, Nigel did say I would have gotten lost on the mary course, and with my penchant for getting lost on even very clearly marked courses, perhaps it's just as well I never got to it).
Here's your sign ... I know that word is supposed to mean something to me, but ... Schedule ... Schedule ... hmmm?
Ah! Now HERE's a sign I understand and like!!!
And another one even more--it's got my name on it! Very cool.
I'm bumbling about the expo when suddenly my name rings out and I am assaulted first from the rear and then full frontal--it's the pro and my beloved friend and inspiration AMANDA BALDING! Now I feel right at home.
And here's the man Lukie himself!
Two of my very favoritest pro piglets ever. Oh, slurp. :)
As I'm buying a half dozen cartridges (need to pump up bike tyres just to get it going ... account for premature shoot-offs ... and a couple extra for the race), someone else yells my name: it's Joerg piglet FROM BALI standing right next to me! Wow! I really am home! We'd been texting and would have met up, but what luck. (And yes, there is an Ironman brand stand-up paddleboard).
The expo was great and I got killer deals on Power-nutrition and tri clothing. I heard from multiple-Ironracers that this was one of the best expos ever.
The BT Piglets Dinner ... and finally meeting NIGEL!!! (Across from me, and then there's Stephen, swiss_tri, and across from him Michael, whom I sat next to on the loooong shuttle ride race morning as well).
At the Friday night Carbo Dinner, Nigel brought me TIM TAMS and MINT SLICES (making good on a training promise) ... what a piglet!
As we were leaving the Carbo Dinner (which sucked and was very badly organized, but I won't go into it), Michelle Mitchells (who I inexplicably don't have a pic of me with!) was trying to get in, and security wouldn't let her! So she called me over and asked me to vouch for her--ha ha ha! Me to confirm one of the pro triathletes! She was another one who had greeted me at the expo and had so very kindly offered to sherpa for me after the race. WHAT A GAL!
I got to meet Joe (cottoneyes), who was a tech organizer for the bike, whom I fell in love with a long time ago over a feisty challenge group. Here we are at the Palais Theatre for the pre-race show, one of Australia's oldest and finest theatres ... the location, and the show itself, were truly extravagant. Great stuff from IM. And I was in a piglet sandwich. Doesn't get better!!!
That night, I finally get Red Robber pieced back together--good thing because he needs to be checked in tomorrow! Really simple but effective setup. What could possibly go wrong? ;)
Quite a lot with race organization and logistics of having start/transition and headquarters/finish 45km apart, as it turns out. Saturday afternoon I went to the shuttle area to have my bike loaded onto a truck and me onto a bus to go down to transition for bike and bag check-in.
I waited a reeeaaaally long time for that bus to depart. Not what I wanted to be doing late the day before the race. Coulda been worse--Joerg piglet was told at the expo (on THURSDAY, even) that there weren't any shuttle tickets left (we had to pay $40 for that privilege) and he had to get his own bike down to check-in. He wound up riding it down. The day before the race. With his transition bags. Worse yet, there were DOZENS of empty seats on the bus and they weren't checking tickets. And after the 45km ride down, there were a lot of people doing a lot more waiting there for their bikes to arrive (which, inexplicably, were lagging hours behind the buses).
So I bunked down on the cold concrete as well and made some new friends. The friends were awesome. The TWO HOUR WAIT out in the cold on a sidewalk for my bike on race eve? Not so much.
Hey! There's Freddie! (Frederik Croneborg, a 70.3 specialist pro triathlete, and of course, another dear friend ... doing his first IM, too! He smashed it, despite having had flu ... flu, not cold, the week before. What a guy!)
FINALLY! The bikes! The handlers were literally dropping $15k Shivs from the trucks any which way--only that thin cardboard box between the bike and the tarmac. At that point, I started laughing uncontrollably. What a mess.
Security at transition was VERY tight. All numbers, people, bikes, and transition bags were checked and re-checked, and they took about a dozen photographs of my bike (no joke) before I could go in.
Wow! So cool to see my name there on my spot!
Seeing the sea of bikes there was truly awe-inspiring. Delightfully, there was a sand-sculpting exhibit next door. (Just a small corner of the whole area shown)
Traffic on the 45km back to St. Kilda was horrendous b/c of race setup and many race vehicles on the road ... I didn't get back until nearly EIGHT O'CLOCK. EIGHT O'CLOCK with a 3am wakeup for the race, and having spent most of the day sitting out in the cold and hours on a bus. And I was by no means on one of the last shuttles back. Poor athletes!
GAME DAY! (Finally!) I had a fierce battle with the toaster over my Pop Tarts, but I got all the pieces back.
Finally ready to go. I look like a bag lady all bundled up, which is just as well as St. Kilda is a pretty crappy neighborhood at night and I saw 7 hookers on my way to the shuttles (that damn 45km back to start/transition again!).
Back to transition ... I asked a piglet to borrow his pump, and he gallantly offered to pump my tyres up for me (yes, we are talking about a bike, actually) ... his eyes went pretty wide when he saw me stuffing a condom and cash into my saddlebag. Well ... if the race goes pear-shaped, may as well have some fun, right? ;)
Dearest Joe came to find me and wish me good luck. {MELON PRESS} And best of all, after I got out of transition and was waiting around in my wetsuit--I saw Nigey Pie! So we waited together for race start with his wife and zipped each other up and whatnot. Could not ask for a better friend or pre-race setting.
No access to water to warm up beforehand. Not good either, but oh well. The pros got off to a rip-roaring start and immediately the age groupers lined up for their start ... all 1600 of us had to go through the swim entry and exit arch, onto the beach, into the water, and the 100m or so out to the deep-water swim start in 13 minutes. (pic taken day before)
This was the most magical moment ... for both of us ... Nigel and I linked arms so we wouldn't get separated, and solemnly shuffled in the quiet crowd, arm in arm, towards the arch, towards the beach, and into the cold depths to begin our first IM race together.