Ironman 70.3 Muncie - Triathlon

Though this was the longest distance swim I've done in a tri, that was my best. I was very, very comfortable from the get-go, which that usually takes me several minutes to find my groove.

I was so comfortable, so confident, I said to myself, "Yeah, you got this."

I got kicked more than usual, but it was a longer race than usual so that makes sense. The worst part of the swim, other than the blinding sun, was when someone kicked me with their heel in the right goggle. My already tight goggles were hurting and that was sooo painful. Luckily, the pain subsided and I do not yet have a black eye ... yet.

Go faster ... much faster.

Had a hard time getting off my wetsuit, but, frankly, not as hard as I'd expected.

I hate the bike. There, I said it. I myself wonder why even do triathlons if I loathe it so much, but for some reason, my heart belongs to tris.

Miles 20 to 28 were hard because the turnaround seemed "just up ahead" and it never came. After the turnaround, it felt like my brake was engaging some on my front right tire. Stopped to check it out, but I dunno. When I got going a little faster, I did not notice it. Maybe it was just in my head. No support vehicles in sight when I needed them, but plenty around when I didn't. Of course.

The miles from about 25 to 35 were the hardest. I was so far behind in the bike that no one was around, so I cried that entire time. "I can't do this" and "I suck" permeated my brain. In fact, I imagined myself at one point getting off the bike, picking it up over my head and hurling it to the ground in frustration. I decided, instead, to just cry some more.

I got over it and soon found myself keeping pace with a couple women who had passed me. We got out of the rolling hills and I started feeling a little better.

At this point, no one had passed me. Knowing that I would be writing about the race in my column next week, I came up with what I thought was a catchy headline, "Nothing 'left' to say." It's a play off of how when people pass you they say "On your left" but because I passed no one, I couldn't say it. But I ended up passing two guys and one girl so my headline was a no go.

Besides the miles described above, the last eight were actually the hardest — by far — with the last two being the worst. I tried to cry again, but was out of tears. I've never been out of tears before.

An existing pain in a muscle behind my knee flared up pretty much from the beginning of the bike, and I thought for sure I could not go on as I was finishing the bike.

I spotted my husband, Gary, a few yards before Transition and yelled, "I don't think I'm going to do the run!" I literally didn't think my right leg would hold out on me.

Right before I headed into Transition, a woman was walking back out to her car wearing her big, bright, red finisher's medal. I thought, "Uh, uh. I'm not leaving without one of those," and I motioned to Gary that I'd do the run after all. At least I'd give the run a shot. If the pain got too intense, then I could reconsider, but I'd come too far to stop otherwise.


Train more, get a lighter, better bike, get a women' saddle.

I ran/walked the first couple miles and then walked about five of them with a couple different folks. I was soooo tired. At the turnaround, I started running again, tossing in a few walks.

I was starting to get worried that I wouldn't finish in time. At every mile marker, I asked the volunteers for the time. I was going to finish in time, by George.

With five minutes left before the cutoff, I crossed the finish line with a very smiling husband on the other side snapping my photo.

This took me about 30 minutes more than my regular half marathon, but it seemed to fly by much more quickly.

Strength train and train for speed.

Stretched, hugged Gary, ate a banana, took a couple bites of a hamburger, but really didn't have an appetite. I took a drink of pop (tired of Powerade and Water), but it burned my lips — which were apparently sunburned.

Went and got my stuff out of Transition, loaded up the truck and stretch for a few minutes after that.

The night before, I tried on my race T-shirt, but it was so tight Gary and I joked that it must've been a kids T. Already at my heaviest race weight, I felt like a porker when I put that on. So, as we were leaving the race, I asked the ladies manning the T-shirt booth if I could exchange my medium for an extra-large. They said the company had accidentally shipped them kids T-shirts instead of women's, asked me what size I wanted, and handed me the right T. They told me not to worry about retuning the kids T. A ha!


Not training enough, not being stronger physically (got the mental toughness down), and not training for speed.


What an experience. I'm glad I got a HIM under my belt after six seasons. Now, I don't know what I'm going to do with my days.

That was such a humbling experience, especially starting out my tri life as a BOPer and moving up to a MOPer over the last few years, only to become a BOPer again yesterday.

No matter the status, I'm still so proud of what I accomplished on the course that day — which just happened to be my birthday.