We waited in very organized groups for our swim waves to start. I was in Wave 6, which was men 14 to 24, and women 30 to 34. We all had red swim caps with our race number on them. There was a volunteer holding a red flag, so we stood in front of her. Promptly at 7:20, exactly as advertised, we were moved across the timing mats and into the water, waist deep. I noticed some very young and fit looking guys behind me, and I switched places with them. This put me in the back row, but right in the middle. I was kind of hoping to get banged around a little to prepare for my mass start at Rev3. I ended up in rough water from all the people swimming around me, but there was no contact, except for someone bumping my feet.

I felt like I was swimming right for the yellow turn buoy, but oddly enough, there was hardly anyone around me. They were following the little orange guide buoys, and I wasn't. Swimming the quarry has given me good practice sighting on something far away. I had picked out a bright kayak next to an anchored sailboat, which were on either side of the buoy. I did start to get nervous when I was really alone in the water, but I knew I was swimming the right way, so I just kept going. After about 4 minutes, maybe more, maybe less, I realized I forgot to hit start on my watch. I treaded water and hit the button, checking to make sure it started.

It was a giant triangle we swam, and I felt like I was giving it just enough gas to do well, but not so much as to be gasping for air when I finished. As I approached the beach, I started kicking a little harder and thinking about my feet. I usually stumble a little when I get out of the water and try to run. I was trying to prevent that by getting some blood back into my legs. I swam until my hand hit sand. Then I curled up, planted both feet very firmly on the bottom, paused a second, and stood up. I felt steady. I started running.

Nothing.

On my way into the beach, I had been thinking to myself, "Socks. Bandana. Helmet. Shades. Grab bike. Go."
As I was coming up the beach to the grass, I saw David and the kids, which was great because I thought they might still be sleeping. They cheered for me. The kids looked sleepy. David said, "Hey, do you know where the camera is?" I puffed, "Yeah, above the couch where the diapers go." That little exchange struck me as funny, and I smiled all the way to the next set of chip mats. I rounded the corner and headed straight for my stuff, picking out my bright yellow and orange towel right away. Socks: on. Bandana: on. (These two are luxury items that just make me feel more comfortable. I have a system for putting them on very quickly, so it's worth it to me.) Helmet: on (You can be disqualified for even swinging a leg over your bike without your helmet fastened.) Shades: on. Grab bike. GO! I headed out to the bike mount area. Lots of people were screwing around getting their shoes clipped into their pedals. My shoes were already clipped in. I jumped on top, pedaling with my socked feet on top of the shoes until I got up some speed and slipped my feet into my shoes while cruising down the road.

Nothing. (4th in AG on T1)

This was where I was going to shine today. I could feel it.
We made a right turn onto the trail system, and I immediately started getting passed by people. I was passing folks here and there, but they were people who were pedaling in running shoes on flat pedals, or otherwise looked less fit than me. Patience. Patience. Whiz. There went someone from my age group on a yellow bike. I will get her later.
We went about 6 miles on the flat, straight, shady trail. It was a good opportunity to get my head about me.
Then we made a left and went onto a major county road, which was completely shut down for the bike. A two-lane highway, completely shut down. Amazing. This town is amazing.
For the first time, I checked my speed. I had just been going along at the amount of effort that I thought was good. I was doing 21 mph. Awesome. I knew I had to average 19.4 to make my goal of a 3-hour bike.
We came down a bit of a descent and I could see people holding out bottles. This was the first of several fluid stations. I decided to try to get bottle of water. I didn't really need one yet, but I wasn't confident in my ability to grab a bottle from someone's hand at 15-20 miles per hour.
Good thing I practiced. The force of the stationary bottle against my moving hand was too much. I couldn't get my fingers to curl around it and grasp it before it was already gone, bouncing on the road. Bummer. Better luck next time.
I kept up my tough pace. I felt good. My speed was GREAT. I was still being passed, but I was passing a lot of people, too.
As I headed on, I saw a police motorcycle coming in the opposite direction. I didn't think much of it, but then I saw a cyclist behind him. This was the race leader, heading back on the course. Wow. Cool! I had only been out riding for less than an hour, and this person was heading back in. Another aid station appeared, and this time I successfully grabbed a bottle of water. Sadly, it was a tad bit too tall. I could fit it in my bottle cage a little crooked, with the sports top sticking off to one side where it didn't fit under the top tube. I have an unusually small bike, though.
We made a turn to the right onto another two-lane highway that was also completely closed to traffic.
I was focused. Ferocity. My saddle was getting really uncomfortable, though. With almost no climbs or descents, and miles and miles between each turn, all the subtle shifts of the body that relieve pressure on the seat did not happen. I had previously ridden 92 miles in shorts with pretty thin padding with no problem, but this course was killing me. I shifted my weight slightly again and kept pedaling. I told myself if I pedaled harder, I'd put more weight on the pedals and less on the seat.
I saw my friend Amy, who had already hit the turnaround and was on her way back, she swiveled her head a bit and smiled. Then I came up behind Julie, whom I had met at the swim start. She lives in Dublin and works at a country club near my house.

At an hour and 20 minutes, I could see flashing lights and activity up ahead. I thought it looked like the turnaround, but I didn't think I could possibly be near the turnaround yet. I told myself the turnaround was not the exact halfway point, so don't get too excited. Nevertheless, I was psyched! Yeah! I pulled a graceful U-turn at one hour and 24 minutes. On the other side of the turn, I grabbed another bottle of water to replace the one I used.

I was bracing myself for a bit of a headwind, thinking maybe I had a tailwind on the way out. There wasn't really anything though. I had seen one flag at a farmhouse, perfectly limp.

All the way back in, I just tried to maintain my speed, and eat and drink as much as I could. I couldn't choke down a second Clif bar, but I did drink another bottle of Gatorade.
I saw Brenda, who was our neighbor at the campground and is also on BT. She was doing GREAT! This was her first HIM, and I was at almost 2 hours before I passed her. At the next
aid station, I slowed down a bit and grabbed another bottle of Gatorade. It had the weird sports top that twists. I thought it was open already, and shoved it down into my refillable top Profile Aerobottle, which nests between my aero-handlebars and has a straw that ends right where my face goes. Unfortunately the Gatorade bottle top was not open. When I squeezed, nothing happened. As I pulled it back out, the whole top came off my aero bottle, and I even dislodged a part of the cap. I pulled that part off and stuck it in my Bento box where I keep my food. I wrestled the Gatorade bottle away from my lid, slowing down all the while. Then I twisted the Gatorade open and tried refilling again. I closed the lid (or what was left of it) but I still had an empty Gatorade bottle in my hand. I was long past the bottle drop zone, where you are supposed to dispose of litter. I really didn't want to litter the course. It's both against the rules and pretty rude to a town that was being so nice to us. I held onto it, awkwardly, for more than a mile. Then I saw some road barricades that looked like they had been put up by the race company. I tossed my bottle against one and rode on.

When we finished the big out and back section and headed off around the reservoir, I finally realized I could check the mileage on my bike to figure out whether I was going to make my 3 hour goal. I was at 2.25 hours and had less than 10 miles to go. Awesome! Yeah! I'm totally going to do this, and EASILY!

The last 10 miles had turns and climbs and descents, which was a huge relief for my butt. I hurtled through the end of the course, past the campground where we spent the night, past the marina, and into a crowd of people. There were signs for the dismount line, so I got my feet back out of my shoes and pedaled with my feet on top of my shoes. I glanced over and saw David and the kids sitting by the edge of the road. They started cheering for me. I did a graceful flying dismount and ran with the bike into transition. David looked at his watch and said, "2:45!?!? WOW!" My bike timer also said 2:45. I was thrilled. I said, "I KNOW!!!" and gave him a big grin.

Now I was thinking: Helmet off. Jersey on. Shoes on. Grab hat and race belt.

Nothing

I flew into T2 feeling terrific. The euphoria masked any heaviness in my legs. I racked my bike back in its spot and tore off my helmet. I carefully put on my jersey as efficiently as possible, despite my sweaty, sticky skin. Shoes were on in a couple seconds. I took my Garmin off my bike and stuck it on my wristband. I took a few seconds to hit reset and switch it to running. (My total race time was still on my cheapo yellow stop watch on my right wrist.) I stuck some salt tablets in my jersey and took a second to decide what food to take off my bike onto the run. I decided against the Gu, since they would have some on the run course. I took the last half of my Clif bar and stuck it in a pocket. Grabbed my hat and my race number, attached to my race number belt, and headed for the road.

Make decisions about what food to take on the run before T2. Don't put Clif bar into a pocket that will later contain melting ice.
2nd in AG on T2

The euphoria of the bike wore off quickly as I discovered the run course was not nearly as flat as the bike course. I never stopped running, even though a lot of folks were walking the first hill. At one mile, we passed the first aid station. Amazing volunteers were ready with Gatorade, water, ice, and towels dipped in ice water. I took a towel to cool my head, but then dawdled as I tried to figure out what to do with it. I ended up turning around and giving it back.
As we approached the first turn, there was marking on the pavement telling the people in the sprint distance race to turn around and head back at the 1.5 mile mark. Some of the other Endurathon runners were looking a little glum, reading it. I announced, "Turnarounds are for sissies!" and got a laugh out of a few people.
At the mile 2 aid station, I decided just to dunk my bandana in the ice water they were using for the cold towels. This was much more efficient. I grabbed a cup of water and a cup of ice. I dumped the ice in the back pockets of my jersey to keep cool, and drank the water.
I met someone going my pace and struck up a conversation. This guy said he probably would end up walking most of it, but I managed to get him to run 3 miles with me. Just when I figured I wasn't going to get him to run another mile, my friend Paul came past me. I caught up to him and we ran together. He had a serious time goal and had to keep laying down pretty quick miles to make it. We had some good conversation, but I was concerned his run pace was going to make me sick, plus he didn't seem like he was going to slow down at the aid station for long enough for me to soak my bandanna and get my ice. So at the next aid station I let Paul go ahead, and I made a new friend. He was older, but when I asked him his goal, he said it was to keep running the whole time. He was wearing a Little Smokies shirt (my last HIM that was really hard) so I knew he wasn't kidding around. His pace was steady, so I decided to stick with him and see how it went. We had some really great conversation, and the miles flew by. I barely ever looked at my watch to see my pace. I knew I was going to make my 6 hours, so I wasn't too concerned. I just wanted to avoid disaster, which means overheating. We started to see some people who were not doing well. I also met Greg from BT. He joined our pace and ran with us through the turnaround at 6.5 miles. We were three abreast. Then he ran into someone else he knew, and four abreast was just too much, so he and his other pal dropped back and I stuck with my new friend, who said his name was Jock. He was 66. We walked the aid stations together. Each time, I got new ice for my jersey pockets. It seemed to be working. I also took a salt tablet from time to time, and occasionally some Gatorade or a Gu. Jock has a triathlon coach, so he was telling me about his experience with her, and the kind of plan he was doing. I talked about my plan, and my life, and the kids and David. We talked about bikes and compression socks. We talked about the guy we saw as we were nearly finished with the bike who was WAY behind everyone but was wearing a fancy aero helmet and had a bike with a disk wheel. Jock said a couple times that he was probably slowing me down, but I felt like our pace was steady, and felt like it was less than 10-minute miles. The aid stations seemed like they were coming up all the time, although we did start running again later and later. We would usually pick and landmark and say, OK, we'll start running when we get to that sign, or whatever. The things we chose got a little farther away each time, but we always got started again each time. When we got to mile 11, Jock said there was no way he could break 6 hours, unless we started running 5-minute miles. :-) I think he got a little discouraged. I was started to have a weird pain in my lower shin on the left side, which is really unusual for me. I had experienced tightness in that muscle the last few days, but nothing like pain. I checked my total race time and noticed this was going to be a little closer than I thought, and I had better stay steady. I hadn't pressed start on my race watch at the beginning of swim, and I wasn't sure how many minutes I was missing. I wanted to be safe. Just as I thought about speeding up, we saw a guy standing on the side of the road, bent over. I asked if he was OK, and he said he was cramping all over. I told him to get some salt, and we pressed on. At mile 12, Jock said I should go ahead if I wanted to.
I said, "I think I may have a little left in the tank. I'll see you at the finish."
I gave it a little more gas, and had a great last mile. I didn't stop at the last aid station at mile 12. I felt like I was flying to finish, despite the hills on that part. As I crested the last hill, I saw the finish line, very close. I sprinted in (realizing if I could sprint, I probably should have run a bit faster!) and saw David and the kids. They were cheering and hollering. I crossed the line and they announced my name.
A volunteer removed my timing chip from my left ankle, the pain in my leg disappeared. Oh. Duh. I had the chip strap on too tightly and my ankle must have swollen a bit in the heat.

I grabbed a Gatorade and then turned around to find Jock, who was coming across the line.

Then I reunited with David and kids, and our friend Amy (who had finished 45 minutes earlier, despite starting right next to me). I went and got my free food and also my personalized receipt tape with all my times on it! Wow! I've never had anything like that before. This thing is ORGANIZED.



David said he and the kids were waiting for me to finish the run, and thought I might have a really fast run, too, so they had been there awhile. His fastest Half-Ironman is 5:50, so he said he was totally prepared for me to crush that time, and he would have been really happy for me. But as time wore on, he started getting hopeful that maybe his record would stand. He kept looking at his watch, and looking down the road. I showed up around 5:48 (total time). He cheered for me, and the kids cheered. He yelled, "GO MOM!!" and then after I passed, he glanced at his watch and said, "Rats." Nora said, "Dad, why did you say 'Rats?'" And he said, "Well, I think Mommy just beat my time." He said some lady nearby burst into laughter.

So my final time was 5:50:35, 9 seconds faster than his. (His bike course was much harder and hillier, to be fair.)

Could I have run faster? Yes, probably, but there's always the risk of going too hard and getting sick or dehydrated or overheated and not being able to recover. I think I made good decisions.

A teensy bit harder. Don't prioritize conversation over ideal pace. Loosen chip strap if I feel pain in my ankle.

Food, sitting around talking to people.
Later, shower, compression socks, lay down to rest, dinner.


Walking the fine line of heat/etc.


Amazing organization. Amazing amazing.