Short version:

I used to have two legs but now I only have one. I started the beach2battleship half-iron triathlon and tapped out 9.75 hours later, 5 miles short of the finish line. It was fun.

Long version:

My coach told me to get my beach2battleship half race report out in 24 hours for those of you who are interested. This seems like a really daunting task because I can’t even figure out all the emotions swimming around in my head, let alone explain them to other people.

This race has been a long time coming. The seed was planted in October 2006, when I was running along a dark bike path next to Daren and told him I wanted to do Ironman Florida in November 2007. He asked me why, and my answer was something to the effect of “because it’s hard.”

So, on I go to train for Ironman Florida. Training for Ironman Florida was indeed hard. On a typical weekend in summer 2007, I would wake up at 5 a.m., make pancakes, don spandex, hop in my car, listen to crappy 80’s music, and be riding my bike down High House road in Cary, NC before the sun was up. A hundred or so miles and several hours later, I’d hop off the bike, enjoy a brief jog, take a shower in the back of the bike store where I worked, and spend the rest of the day selling bikes before crashing out on the couch and imbibing prodigious amounts of food.

On July 21^st 2007, I missed my long ride and work because I decided to sleep in…for a month. Friday, the day before, I sudden cardiac arrested in the swimming pool at NC State. I’m no doctor, but suffice to say that crap goes downhill fast when your heart stops beating for extended periods of time. I got off pretty lucky, though, and bounced out of WakeMed a scant 55 days after I rolled in, only one knee down. I didn’t even need new kidneys (contrary to what Mean Kidney Doctor told me), which, hey dude, I’ll take what I can get.

Side note number one: my friends are really crazy. Normal friends would have held my hand, rubbed my back, and brought me baked goods. Now don’t get me wrong, some of these things did happen, but while I was still comatose, my friends had already taken the liberty of planning my comeback to triathlon. So instead of recalling quiet niceties spoken in tones fit for a hospital room, I only recall people saying “Don’t worry, we’ll have you a running leg in no time” and asking questions like “So when are you getting back on the bike?”

Suffice to say that it was never an option to stop competing in triathlon. It took me a couple of months to learn how to walk without falling over, but after that I could move on to bigger and better things like swimming and biking and eventually running.

Side note number two: I had a lot of help along the way. Wes Hall and Richard, who I met at Ironman Florida, both helped me get going in the pool. Ossur and the Challenged Athletes Foundation teamed up to get a me a running leg, and Brian Frasure helped dial it in. Mike Lenhart, Sarah Reinertsen, and Scout Basset fielded tons of questions about the logistics of training and competing as a newly minted challenged athlete.

Sometime in early 2008, I decided things were coming together alright, and I’d probably be able to race a triathlon or two in the summer. Apparently I have a problem with dreaming big, because I decided somehow that it would be a great idea to sign up for the beach2battleship half-iron distance race. My coach Daren must be crazy, too, because he didn’t try to tell me otherwise…he just served up training plan after training plan to help me along.

Fast forward to October 30^th. I’d spent all summer doing long rides on Saturday and long runs on Sunday, just like the summer before. I was riding my road bike down Waynick Blvd. in Wrightsville beach with a tailwind, and I decided there was no place I would rather be. I knew the race coming on the 1^st would be hard, but I didn’t care.

My race strategy was as follows: swim along merrily with the current (1.2 miles), pedal 56 miles whilst snacking on PopTarts and Lance crackers, and try not to die or give up on the run (13.1 miles).

Saturday morning, I woke up early, ate peanut butter and banana on a wheat bagel, had some crappy coffee, and went to T1 to set up my leg at the swim exit. It was cold. My mom, my friend Lindsay, and my coach helped me get everything set up. Lindsay and I went back to my hotel room, I squeezed into my wetsuit, and we went to the swim start.

We sat in the car and listened to great songs like “Paper Planes,” “Gold Digger,” “Dragonstea Din Tei,” and “Ghetto Supastar.” I crutched over to the swim start wearing a sweatshirt and one sock with my wetsuit. I saw my physical therapist whose job it was to move my carcass around in MICU, and we chatted it up. I hopped into the water before my swim wave took off, and rolled out with the “Masters Clydesdales.”

I exited the water approximately 33 minutes later, and was considerably colder than when I had started. I popped on my running leg, and trotted off to T1. Slid on some arm warmers, one leg warmer, and took off on the bike. It took me about 40 minutes to warm up after the bike, but once I did, the ride was quite enjoyable. The bike took about four hours, and I wasn’t last. Some fast people doing the full passed me towards the end of the bike, but they were very friendly as they blew past me.

I think I was a little foggy coming off the bike because my T2 time was really slow. It was very loud, and people were encouraging. About 400m away from T2, the crowds and noise faded, and I was standing still on the road wondering what the hell I was thinking.

Daren came up and convinced me to move in the forward direction. We made it 0.5 miles very slowly, and Mike Lenhart came up behind us. Without Daren and Mike (and the promise of cookies available at all aid stations), I wouldn’t have made it to mile 1.

I didn’t really have any running left in me. Maybe it was a combination of tired legs from biking, undertraining for the run, and mental burnout. The run amounted to Daren and I walking along chatting it up, with me having mental ups and downs like clockwork every single mile, but ultimately being excited enough about cookies to make it to the next aid station.

At mile 3-ish, we were walking through downtown Wilmington and there were a lot of people. Everyone seemed very impressed that I was walking slowly with a prosthetic leg and they were encouraging, shouting things like “You’re so inspiring,” or “Keep it up. What an inspiration.” I was grumpy, but Daren told me I should smile anyway. So I did…a little...sometimes. The racers that kept passing me said the same, but I was nicer to them because I figured they actually knew a little about what I was doing. One guy does stand out. He was racing, and blew past me with an enthusiastic “Keep it up, you’re F**KING AWESOME!!!” I liked that guy. Simple, elegant. I told Daren that I’m a simple person, and profanity and jokes about flatulence will get me every time. This revelation was key to me making it to mile 8.

At mile 6 I wanted to stop for sure. Daren convinced me to keep going some more. I think it was at mile 6 that he lured me to mile 7 with the promise of explaining why boys feel the need to impress women by having loud tailpipes on their cars. Shoot, the answer to one of life’s great mysteries was enough to keep me going. During the meantime, he regaled me with stories about flatulence. I think we must have been a sight to see for other racers, because I was limping alone piteously slowly, but I kept laughing out loud at Daren’s stories. Anyway, I made it to mile 7 and learned why boys think it is a good idea to impress women with loud cars.

I was happy to make it to mile 7 because it was a little over half of the run. I wanted to go to mile 8 because I’ve ran 7 miles before, so I thought it would be a good goal. I’m not sure how I made it to mile 8. I do know it was getting dark and cold. I think there were probably more flatulence stories. Like I said, gets me every time.

I made it to mile 8. By this time, it was 9.75 hours after I had began swimming, and one hour after the official race cutoff time. I was pretty tired and pretty sore, so I decided to tap out. I stand by my decision.

One of Daren’s friends who is obviously much more intelligent than myself said “[The] goal should not be defined by the distance traveled but the athleticism, bravery and intelligence displayed along her abbreviated path.” So I’m good with that.