Woke up at 3:23am after dreaming about chasing down a horse in a field. Ate some oats, sugar, bananas, apricot jam for breakfast; dressed up in my swimsuit and warm clothes; took a last look in the mirror (is this the last time I'll see my face?); and made the short drive from Budget Inn where I was staying (I have low standards) to the athlete parking garage. Dropped off the bags down yonder near the finish line, and moseyed over to one of the first school buses to leave the area. Races that start with a school bus ride are always fun. I sat next to Linda from Salt Lake, who worried about how she might crash on the bike. Some athletes smelled really stinky in the small space.

T1 at Sand Hollow. Pumped up the tires. Dropped more stuff in my bike gear bag. Defogged the swim mask. Chatted with Adela. Elliot & Kevin. Jockeyed for johns in the slow bathroom line (men vs. women). Shivered as I changed out of my warm clothes into my wetsuit. NOT looking forward to the cold water. Left my socks on to walk down to the water's edge. I had not even dipped my toe in the water ahead of time, because I already knew what it'd feel like. Cold is cold. (Well actually there's breath-taking-away cold, and then just cold. Kim said it was just cold, and I think she was about right. It wasn't breath stealing cold.) Begrudgingly shed the socks and eased into the water 7 minutes before the start. I had drank a ton of water before so I'd have plenty of wetsuit warmth, nice home comfort as i paddled to the staging area. Some BS from announcer about who's gonna be an ironman. And boom! We're off.

I think this was the most mosh-pittiest swim I'd ever been in. Not sure if that slightly higher percentage of men participating had anything to do with it (they can hit HARD), or if I had just seeded myself far too much in the middle of the crowd. Frothy cold water, kicking feet and hands. I protected my face like a boxer, and watched where I put my hands. The water was non-descript green, and I didn't even really notice the visuals for the first 2/3 of the swim because I was focused on the other swimmers. 1000m to the first buouy, and all the swimmers piled on top of each other making the round into the sunshine. Note: orange and yellow swim caps blend with yellow buouys in the sunshine. But there's a whole crowd to follow, so who's wasting time?

By about an hour in, I looked at my watch and noticed I was a bit bored/tired of the swim. The fray had died down a bit, and I was cold. I told myself to check the pretty scenery, and I took a couple peaks at it. "Pretty mountains."

The last bouy turn to the shore took forever. You could see the boat ramp, it looked only a few minutes away, but took much longer. Such relief to get to ground! I was surprised to see a volunteer standing in the water to fish us athletes out, and help us stand up. She must have been cold! I hit the ground running, or tried on numbish feet. Wetsuit stripper did his job. I hit the changin' tent with dysfunctional hands. Jen's "The Claw" is about right. I felt like an amputee without use of my fingers, and I shook uncontrollably from the cold. The volunteer wrapped, strapped and zipped me up in my wintery warm cycling gear, and I was on my way with my bike.

This was my first time seeing this bike course. I had decided the day before that driving it wouldn't help me any. It would have helped about 3 months ago. But I wouldn't remember it well enough to ride the hills any better, and i already knew about hills Nasty #1 and #2, plus Surprise Attack near Veyo Volcano. (All on the 45 mile loop we did 2x.)

I didn't really know about the rollers on the first stretch of 22 miles from T1 to St. George, but they were all fine. I couldn't really feel my legs - I knew I was spinning them pretty well, but my muscles weren't registering in my mind. One of my first big hills I geared myself out of granny gears and the chain dropped off the back, just like it had when I rode with Kim a week before. Oops. From then on, I was super careful about moving into the granniest gear in the back, for fear of the dropped chain.

What made this course hard was the 10 or so miles (x2) on the back side of the course that had super rough pavement. I'd compare it to at least as rough as Usery loop, if not rougher in places. That pavement, with a little bit of wind and a little bit of hills, was a recipe for a nice slow drain of energy.

So a ton of people passed me on the bike. I knew this would happen, so no surprise. Bill from Camelback had advised me to expend the majority of effort on the uphills and recover on the downs. For a good part of the ride I was thinking this was bad advice, even though I tried to follow it. It's a narrow line between spinning with higher power up hills and burning your remaining matchsticks. I passed folks on the ups and they passed me on the downs, and I thought they had a better lot of it. But this made for some good camraderie - as the yoyo-ing allowed me to say howdy to Lori and a few other folks taht i met.

Nutrition consisted of sport beans, fruit leather, aid station bananas that I smashed into my face without peeling, some gu chomps and powergel blasts, a mini-payday bar, and my own potent salty beverages: gatorade endurance formula with nuun mixed in. (I kept the mix in my own bike bottles.)

The Veyo Wall (Nasty Hill #2) was not as bad as I expected. Both times at the bottom there was a couple grisly old guys egging riders on at the bottom that made me smile. At the top was a sigh of relief. The first time up the wall, the wind was playing with one pesky strand of hair that kept getting in my face. (I had left my hairclips in the car I left in Flagstaff.) At the next aid station i got to, I asked for a pair of scissors. The volunteers proffered a little dinky multi-tool knife, and when they saw what I was looking to do, one girl quickly took clips out of her own hair and gave them to me. I have to thank her now for not having a really funky haircut. (Especially right before graduation!)

The ride back into town was heavenly and very much needed. Even on the first loop I thought my legs were feeling a bit too fried, and I tried to spin some blood back into my quads. Hit 45 mph which was my max max speed!

The prettiest part on the course was on the cruise back in at a spot right after something called Diamond ___ ... You followed around the bend and saw a rock formation that looked like Jabba the Hut. Huh! How bout that.

On the 2nd loop I saw Jen at the top of Veyo wall. "We made the cutoff!" she said. I was very glad of this too as it had definitely been a huge concern. If the wind would have been strong that day, I'm not sure how it would have gone down!

Coming back into town on the 2nd loop, I wasn't sure if I hadn't overdone it for myself. I queried my legs as to whether they had any juice left, and they both said, "No." I tried to fuel up as much as I dared on the return trip into town, and mentally pursuaded my legs to recover.

Hit T2 running. I remembered to grease up my feet in the change tent this time. (Changed socks unlike at Cozumel, which was a mistake to not do.) Tied my long sleeve running shirt around my waist, which now I wish I hadn't lugged over 26 miles, since I never put it on. Decided not to carry any running foods with me, and just live off the course. Popped 4 endurolytes for good salty measure. Remembered my Garmin, and it finally registered the satellites .3 mi into the course.

The run course was fun because the 2x out-n-back nature of it allowed you to see everyone on the course a few times. I really liked people watching, cheering on folks I knew. (I seemed to surprise Andy out of his reverie every time I said "Go Andy!") Saw Dean twice. Looked for Kim and Adela, but after a loop figured out what had happened. That Lisa woman from Camelback Coaching who I met before the swim passed me with her blonde frizzy hair, and I passed her later. Saw Josh, Jen, Dean's friend Fish, and Dr. Banas. Saw Chuck from Landis. As folks started walking, they slightly became my motivation to keep running. Folks walking up the big hill on Bluff St. seemed to provide an excuse for other folks to walk. But I refused to take the bait.

I created a mental machine for myself on the uphills that consisted of two parts. 1) a cog system (don't know what to call it) like what rollercoasters use to push the roller train up a big hill and 2) a pulley system that anchored at the top of the hill. It tied in at my waist, and pulled me up the hills. As cheesy as this was, i seriously hooked into this system for all those big mean hills.

The other thing I did for myself is slowed myself down at the beginning of the run. Coming off the bike I always want to run fast to shake out my legs. I did this at Cozumel and then burned up at mile 15. This time, I forced myself down to 11:30 pace (thank you, Garmin), since I knew I could sustain this pace the whole way.

For nutrition I queried my stomach at each aid station. I rode that edge between fine and too much food just about the whole race. Alternated between broth, coke, oranges, occasional gatorade, and grapes the whole way. But I really wanted pure sugar.

The volunteers were amazing, and they told us how we were amazing. Amazing! Without a doubt, the frequent aid stations with their enthusiastic volunteers made the course pass a lot faster. A mile seemed like nothin. The evil dog-leg out-n-backs (Insult and Injury Rd's) were even not as bad, because you knew there was an aid station right on the other side. Also helpful were the plentiful port-o-johns, as I had to stop 4 times.

The sky slowly burned out to dark. Man, it was pretty amazing out there on the blacktop surrounded by red rocks, swirly winds, big hills, tired athletes, and peppy volunteers! With dark came the overly bright generator lights that blind you at one moment and cast a long shadow when you pass them. I was still running when dark fell on the 2nd loop. I felt good about the 8-9 miles remaining to my run. I knew I had enough in the tank to make it back, and it was just a matter of knocking out the miles. The other athletes walking turned into pensive zombies in the dark, and they were my goal posts.

Coming down Bluff St for the last time, I was pretty much smiling. "A couple miles left!" i'd tell a volunteer, and they eat that stuff up. Cheer you on.

Diagonal St (1.5 mi before finish) was eerily quiet, and I picked up the pace a bit. Where's the finish and the noise? That last mile took forever. But finally, you make taht last turn, and see the folks cheering. I debated stopping to fix my hair for the photo, but decided my backwards hat and glowy necklace halo would just have to do. A strong push to the finish line, and it was done!

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/32171854

So this is what I've gotten out of this race. This race was hard enough to make me question my ability to cope. Yet I coped. Some people live through cancer and come out with a new perspective on life. This isn't quite cancer, but it's some sort of Hurt taht you sign yourself up for. When you meet the challenge and come out strong, you create a reserve of mental strength inside yourself that you know you can draw on for future challenges. (Or at least I do.) The real challenge for me is to find new trial / challenges to put myself through now, because I don't know that many other races could test me in the same way. And repeating the same challenge to just go faster is less difficult than the first time you try it.

I would especially like to thank Kim for being a great training partner throughout this season. I wouldn't have made it this far without her. Also would like to thank Dean and Adela for their company, and Elliot & Kevin for supporting. Thanks yall!



Photos:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/robin314159/sets/72157623864067619/det...