Ironman Louisville 2009 video

So I totally balled my eyes out through this entire thing. Pretty standard. Congrats to my friend Kevin who made it in the video with a finish line fist pump. I'm very jealous. No one captured my finish line fist pump and I'm pretty sure it was awesome.

http://www.ironmanusalive.com/RaceVids/imlou/RaceVid-2009-LOU-low.wmv

Sad News

It is with great sadness that I wanted to report that my best friend Amanda's mom, Carol Feltman, passed away on Saturday after a 20 year battle with cancer. My thoughts and prayers are with Amanda and her family.

In happier news, I was notified by the Janus Charity Challenge today that the amount of money I raised in the Charity Challenge qualified me to receive an additional $750.00 from Janus for the American Cancer Society. Yippee! Thanks again for all of your donations!!

37 Ironman Louisville athletes participating in the Janus Charity Challenge raised over $321,000 for our charities. Unfortunately, I was not able to surpass Michael Pluimer a 37 year old engineer from Raymond, MN who raised $71,824.25 for Justice For All and an additional $30,008 for the Christian Reformed World Relief Committee. He received an additional $10,000 for his charities from Janus and a free entry into another Ironman. Seriously guy?! I'm very impressed. I never knew that engineers had friends. But for the record, I beat him by nearly 2 hours.

I know you are all, ahem, anxiously awaiting my race report -- I assure you that it is forthcoming.

597 is OUT

I have been assigned bib number 597. I guess I'm pretty happy with that. It's a solid number. I have been told that the numbers were assigned by age -- youngest to oldest. So when bib number 3320 passes me things aren't exactly going as planned.

If you are really bored on Sunday and you want to track my process (or lack thereof), there is an athlete tracker available at http://ironman.com/events/ironman/louisville/?show=results

On the left hand side of the page you will see the 2008 athlete tracker. On race day a 2009 athlete tracker will pop up with a link.

Check me out in the morning and then go play 18 holes (or what the hell, play 36), clean the house, watch the entire season of Lost, go out for a nice dinner and drink a couple cold ones, then check me out again -- hopefully I will have made some progress.

#597 is OUT. Next stop Louisville.

THANK YOU

A SUPER HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who donated to my Janus Charity Athlete efforts!! I am very happy to report that I have exceeded my goal of $2,500 for the American Cancer Society! I could not have reached this goal without each and every one of you. A special shout out to the Raad Family who donated about 1/5 of the total funds raised.

That being said, I am still more than happy to take your money! I have to report to the Janus Charity Booth at the race expo on Saturday to report my final numbers. Janus is contributing an extra cash donation to the charity of the athlete who raises the most money. From my research, there is a Janus charity athlete who has raised over $20,000 -- so if you have any extra 17K sitting around throw it my way! I hate being outdone. :-)

Ironman Fun Facts

Average yearly HH income for Ironman entrant: $161,000
Estimated value of bicycles in transition area: $2 million
5 men are attempting Ironman Louisville who are ages 70 - 76

Water - supplied by Louisville Water Company:
Bike Course: 42,240 bottles (24 oz) That's 14 per athlete
Run Course: 37,000 bottles (34 oz) That's 12 per athlete
Finish Line: 9,000 bottles (500ml)

Police: 625 different police shifts for the race, just in Louisville, not counting Oldham County (no wonder the IM entry fee was $550!!)

Total Volunteers: 2,600
Including:
60 for body marking
35 in kayaks on swim course
100 other swim monitors
30 assisting with gearbags
60 in changing tents
75 per bike course aid station
30 motorcycle volunteers
100 bike "catchers" in transition area
50 per aid station on run course
100 at finish line
5 vans on the bike course picking up non-finishers

6 DAYS

The Delicate Science of the Taper

It's taper time! Taper and I have a love/hate relationship. Obviously I love not having to workout 30 hours a week and wake up at the crack of dawn on a daily basis, but at the same time not working out 30 hours a week and waking up at the crack of dawn is terrifying.

The idea of the taper is to reduce your workouts enough so that your body recovers and is fresh on race day. The trick of the taper is to do it early enough that your body recovers, but late enough that you don't loose the base that you've built.


I think high school cross country jaded my idea of the taper. Every year our cross country coach would taper us to peak at the regional cross country meet and every year we would peak one week early at the district meet. Every year it was devastating. At that point I basically decided tapering was a bunch of BS.


I know I need to get over my taper-phobia. Joe tapered me for both the Boston marathon and Muncie and I did well at both so there is no reason to believe my Ironman taper is not going to work. I guess all of this extra time just gives me one more thing to worry about!

Great Buckeye Challenge - Race Report

So I thought the best thing to do one week before my first Ironman would be to race. Makes perfect sense, right?

I woke up at 3:45 a.m. (which is generally my favorite way to start the day) and headed to Springfield, Ohio. I got lost several times, which is pretty standard, but still made it to Buck Creek State Park by 6:00 a.m. Picked up my race gear, set up transition in the dark, and headed down to the lake to do my pre-race 2,500 meter swim. Yes, 1.5 mile swim BEFORE the race. Although I was signed up for the "sprint" triathlon -- it was more of a pick your own adventure race for me. I was going to get in a long swim before the start, do the "mini" distance bike (25 miles), and finish with the sprint run (5K). Basically, I was trying to get in a good (but light) workout and get another mass swim start under my belt.

Did I mention it was 54 degrees? Although the race was wetsuit legal I did not wear one because I likely would not be wearing one in Louisville. I did NOT want to get in that water. It was 7:00 am and the race did not start until 8, so there wasn't a single person swimming. I was happy to find the water much warmer than the air. Unfortunately, the water was ABSOLUTELY disgusting -- worst I've ever swam in. There were giant (2x3) brown bubble amoebas all over the lake. They brought back memories of my college geology trip to the Madison sanitation plant with Dr. Totten. I'm quite certain those same giant brown bubble amoebas were floating in the waste tanks at the sanitation plant. Awesome. I found myself spotting a lot more than normal to dodge the bubble amoebas (yes, that is a technical term).

As with all of my open water swims, about 20 minutes in I heard the dreaded scratching noise. Every time I open water swim by myself or in small groups I hear this scratching noise underwater -- it sounds like snakes slithering along the bottom of the sandy lake, their scales scratching the sand as they move. This concept is further confirmed by the hundreds of little holes I see at the bottom of East Fork when I swim there. Luckily I couldn't see the bottom of this lake, so I didn't see any holes to further freak me out.

I have never actually asked anyone what the sound was -- in fear that they would confirm my surmisal. I mean, I seriously have almost had panic attacks swimming in East Fork lake -- the scratching getting louder and louder, presumably closer and closer, complete with visions of an 8 foot snake with giant fangs extending its body out of the water and hovering over my body ready to strike. You think I'm kidding -- but I'm dead serious. I can't seem to block the image of the fanged snake when I hear the noise. The noise in conjunction with the images makes my heart beat out of my chest and I instinctively begin swimming as quickly as possible in the hopes that I will escape an attack. So far it's worked. The sound generally stops after 30-45 seconds.

I finally mentioned the snake scenario to my friend Heather -- she laughed at me. She convinced me that I was actually hearing boat motors, not snake scales grinding against sand. I believed her because I am always swimming among fishermen at East Fork. But Heather, I'm not buying it anymore. There was not a single boat on that lake. Snakes. I am hearing snakes. Giant, scaley, fanged, snakes.

Or maybe it's a snakehead fish. I am never watching the National Geographic channel again. The special on snakeheads scared the crap out of me.

I finished my pre-race swim and made my way to the beach where hundreds of other athletes were waiting to start. I stayed in the water as long as possible to avoid freezing on shore -- but not long enough. Race officials made everyone get out of the water before the start. Upon exiting the water my teeth were immediately chattering. It was 54 degrees and I was standing there soaking wet without a towel waiting for my wave to start. Although I was in the 4th wave of athletes to go, 8 minutes on shore was all it took for every muscle in my body to tighten up and I got a HORRIBLE cramp in my calf. I hit the sand and worked it out the best I could, but it was still threatening to implode as I entered the water.

The swim (and really the entire race) was generally uneventful. I was elbowed several times in the head during the swim, and swallowed entirely too much water - but I am starting to feel much more comfortable swimming. I know I'm not a fast swimmer, but I'm confident I can make it 2.4 miles.

I exited the lake, ran up a steep incline littered with goose crap, and made my way to transition. I was in and out quickly and on my bike. BURRRRR. Wet clothing + 20mph bike =FREEZING. Again, every muscle in my body tightened as I tried to keep myself warm. I was worried about a repeat calf attack, but about 10 miles in I started warming up.

I wasn't riding fast or slow - I was just riding. No need to do anything stupid a week before the goal. The entire ride I was just waiting for someone to tell me I missed my turn. My calf was labeled sprint -- but I was riding the mini course. I wanted to put a sign on my back that said "just ignore me." I got passed by alot of riders -- mostly men, but some women. I will never cease to be amazed at how fast people can go on the bike. Apparently I have no power, because people absolutely blow by me. I can't imagine what they are doing to train, because I feel like I worked my butt off trying to improve my bike and I'm still getting killed.

I had another quick transition onto the run. From the look of my bike rack I was nearly the last sprit tri person back into transition.

I was totally embarrassed the entire run. I only saw 3 other people on the run with Sprint on their calf. I SWEAR I'm not this slow -- I swear I did a longer bike! I got in a nice tempo run, but nothing too fast. I ended up running about 25 meters behind the female mini winner and since we were going about the same pace everyone was cheering me on -- encouraging me to try to catch her. I just smiled, and hoped they didn't notice I was actually in the sprint race.

The entire experience was rather bizarre. I've never done a race, but not really raced. Regardless, I got to practice transitions and swimming with hundreds of people -- you can't practice that on your own.

That's it. No more practice runs. It's game time.

So That Sucked

Sunday was a very important day. A trip to Louisville for a brick (85 mile ride/16 mile run) on the Ironman course. I had never actually seen the course, so Sunday was highly anticipated.

5:45 alarm; protein shake (with oatmeal, Endurox r4, frozen berries, milk, a banana, and a little Hersey's syrup) and a bagel with peanut butter; cooler packed with cold drinks, snacks, and ensure; my gear bag and bike, and I was on the road by 6:30 am. The drive down was uneventful, I sipped on a water bottle, tried not to throw up, and rocked out to Van Halen and Jackson Browne. I made it to downtown Louisville in record time and easily found our meeting area -- a parking lot next to the great lawn (Ironman transition).

Our group was small but mighty -- four Ironman participants (I was the only female), my coach Joe, his girlfriend, and another participant's wife. We all quietly prepared our bikes for battle upon arrival -- I had four Cliff bars unwrapped in my Bento Box, three full bottles of Nuun and an extra canister of Nuun tablets. We cruised about a mile up the road to check out the swim start. I don't think they could have picked a more appropriate place to start a triathlon -- at a dock beside Tumbleweed, a Mexican restaurant. The dock was approximately 200 meters long and is shielded from the main waterway by a small island. The Ironman vets pointed out benches along the dock where they said athletes would sit after the horn went off, still pondering whether they were actually going to start the race. The race is a time trial start, so at 7am the first athletes jump in the water and everyone follows -- a couple of athletes every few seconds.

The water was absolutely disgusting. I'm talking black coffee dark with giant logs and other garbage. I'm pretty sure if I stuck my hand an inch under the water I wouldn't be able to see it. Awesome.

Around 8:50 a.m. we took off. It was a glorious day -- if you were in hell. Full sun and temperatures reaching 96 degrees - easily the hottest day of the summer.

I was very nervous about riding the course. My scouting reports said it was VERY hilly. It's not really the climbs that I mind (although they take alot out of you), its that I don't have the weight to carry me downhill and I consistently get blown away on downhills.

My goal for the ride was twofold: (1) not to get dropped -- because I had no idea where I was going; and (2) to pay attention to the course, my gear changes, rough roads, big hills, and sharp turns. I don't want to get stuck in the wrong gear in the wrong place on race day and I have a tendency of forgetting that I'm in my big ring until I'm halfway up a giant hill, wasting my legs.

Joe disappeared into the distance within 2 minutes. I stayed close behind two of the guys in our group and rode at a nice 19-22 mph pace. We stopped around the 25 mile mark to wait for the last guy in our group. At that point Joe circled back around and told me I wasn't allowed to stop -- he would circle back at the turns and make sure I didn't get lost. I was happy to hear it because I wasn't used to stopping on my long rides and I wanted to simulate race day as much as possible.

I must admit, I was not expecting a particularly scenic ride through Louisville, but I was pleasantly surprised. The route was absolutely charming. Horse farms everywhere, white fences as far as the eye could see, and GINORMOUS estates atop green pastured fields. I've never had a horse gallop beside me as I was riding, but it was pretty damn cool. The course was rolling, with virtually no flat areas to hammer, but the nightmare hills I had imagined in my head never materialized. Thank God. The route I had been riding in Northern Kentucky was definitely more challenging with steeper longer hills. I'm so glad I trained on the tough stuff.

There were Ironman riders all over the course and it was VERY cool. Even though I obviously didn't know any of them, I felt like I knew all of them -- like I belonged there and like they belonged there. Some waved, asked where I was from, wished me good luck, but most appeared very focused -- lost in their own worlds, probably, like me, nervous as hell.

I actually felt really good -- some burning on the hills, but that's to be expected. Around mile 35 Joe started looping back to be sure I made the right turns. It was getting REALLY hot. The nice thing about the bike is that you always get a breeze, but I could feel my arms absolutely baking in the sun and sweat was dripping off the front of my helmet hitting my aerobars in an annoying little rhythm. Around mile 50 we stopped at a gas station and bought a gallon of water to refill our bottles. From there it was a straight shot back into town, and I found myself riding on my own. Joe, of course, was miles ahead of me, and the rest of the crew was behind me and out of sight. Two of the guys were Ironman vets, so I felt pretty good about how I was riding. Unfortunately, the 35 miles back into town were straight into a pretty strong headwind. I tried not to think about the looming 16 mile run.

With about 15 miles to go I started getting uncomfortable. The traffic was REALLY heavy, the lanes were narrow, and my butt wanted off that seat. I hate riding in traffic, especially in strange cities and there was so much traffic I was sick with anxiety. Cars were flying by and I was holding on for dear life. About 8 miles out another rider, not from our group, caught up with me. We chatted about our training and he gave me some advice on the swim. It was like we had known each other for years, even though I never even got his name.

I pulled into the parking lot at the end of the ride and felt great. It was hot, but my legs felt good - they weren't heavy and I was ready to run. I changed into my shoes, choked down 3/4 of a cliff bar, took some endurolyte pills, sucked on some ice, and drank a 5 hour energy. Joe gave me a fuel belt with two small bottles of Nuun and we were ready to roll. The rest of the group was still on the bike course, so we took off.

My scouting report on the run course was that it was flat -- and it didn't let me down. With the exception of several VERY small inclines (onto a bridge), the course was totally flat.

Joe and I chatted about race day specifics, how I felt, what kind of pace I should run -- but the conversation ended soon after it started. I looked at my watch about 3 miles into the run and was convinced I wouldn't make it to mile 4 without walking. I was suddenly flooded with self-doubt. Why am I doing this? I CAN'T do this. In fact, there is not a bone in my body that wants to be running right now. I am not going to do this. I've doubted myself many times during marathons, triathlons, and hard training days -- but never like this. This was real. In exactly thee weeks I would be running on this very street -- or would I?

Both Joe and I were silent -- he was running on the street and I was on the sidewalk. We had already passed through the high rise buildings downtown and were on the outskirts of the city. My legs didn't hurt, I wasn't breathing heavily, but I have never ever ever been so hot and miserable in my life.

I was starting to freak out. I didn't swim today, I only rode 85 miles, and I can't even run 4 miles?!?! There is absolutely NO WAY I am going to be able to do this. Running is supposed to be my thing -- this is the one part of the event that I actually know how to do and I can't even do it!

This is absolute insanity. It is 3:30 on Sunday, it's 96 degrees outside, and we are in the middle of a heat emergency. I have absolutely lost my mind -- this just isn't safe. I'm not really sure why, but I kept going. I can't even tell you how many times I contemplated stopping -- every 10 seconds? One foot in front of the other. I wanted to stop but I knew I couldn't. Generally when I try to block my brain from negative thoughts I repeat the mantra "relax and flow." I've been doing it since high school, same mantra. But today I found myself saying "What does not kill you will make you stronger." Running in this weather was going to kill me.

I tried to focus on my surroundings, keep my brain from telling my body how much this sucked. The area was a little seedy, run down homes, vacant buildings, trash on the ground. This is just depressing.

Joe shouted over to me the first words in what seemed like eternity - "How do you feel?" "Like shit" I responded.

We passed the University of Louisville -- several students on porches drinking beers. The cars along the street were all parked cockeyed -- with the back ends in the grass and the front ends on the street. Looking at the cars gave me something to focus on other than my growing despair. Was I hallucinating? What was the deal with the park jobs? Were they trying to conserve space so they could fit more cars along the street? Was everyone wasted last night when they drove home? Was this a frat thing? A southern thing? Pondering the possibilities kept me occupied for a mile or so.

I started trailing Joe -- about 5 meters behind him. He wasn't running fast, but I was running even slower. My face was caked with salt and sweat was pouring into my eyes. I began to focus on the burning in my eyes instead of my exhaustion.

By some miracle we got 8 miles out, where we found a life-saving drinking fountain and refilled our bottles. I convinced Joe it was time to turn around. I popped some sports beans in my mouth, hoping that some calories might help. Immediately I had a giant ball of sticky goo in my mouth that I couldn't swallow. I felt like I was going to throw up. The heat was making me nauseated. My body didn't want anything other than cold liquid. We walked for a minute -- both trying to swallow food before starting up again. This is not going to work on race day -- I have got to find some other source of nutrition that doesn't take so much effort.

I have run in serious heat before -- I can remember several cross country practices in August at Hanover out in the fields running 1,600 and 1,000 repeats that were, what I thought was as bad as it could get. This was worse. Even the infamous - hardest workout ever that our coach had coined "whose your daddy" didn't top this. It was just so flippin hot. It was taking everything I had just to keep upright. I couldn't even panic anymore because my brain wasn't functioning.

Around mile 12, only a few miles from town, there was a mirage in the form of a red pick up truck. It was Don (one of group) who decided we might need some cold beverages. The second Joe stopped he cramped -- badly. He was screaming. This dude looks like superman and he was screaming in pain grabbing his leg which was visibly convulsing. Awesome. My legs felt okay -- I wasn't cramping. I was just totally and completely exhausted and dizzy. I have never been so hot in my entire life.

At this point Joe said something I never thought he'd say "I think we've had enough." We gingerly climbed into the back of the pick up and rode back to the great lawn. The entire way back Joe's legs convulsed -- and my quad started shaking as well.

When we returned to our cars I immediately put on some flip flops and chugged my ensure. Joe made me a fabulous tonic water/grape juice concoction. The idea of sitting in my car with the air conditioner was a glorious thought and it motivated me to hit the road. I wanted a shower stat.

As if I hadn't already had a fabulous day, I got stuck in two separate traffic jams on my way home - extending my 1.5 hour trip to 3 hours. Luckily, I had Nina and Ashley to keep me company. Nina and Ashley were the two white tiger cubs that were airbrushed onto the tailgate of the pickup truck that I sat behind during the second traffic jam. If you look carefully, you will notice that their names are beautifully scribed below their bodies. The tiger cubs were nestled among jungle foliage with a dark sky overhead. I was mesmerized by their beauty. It doesn't get much better than that -- other than maybe a pack of wolves howling at the moon.

I learned an important lesson today. I really need to dig deep down inside and ask myself why I am doing this and be able to answer that question when I ask it on race day. I will certainly hit the point in the Ironman, like today, when I want to quit. When I can't imagine anything more painful or horrible, and it's at that point that I need to know what to tell myself in order to push through. Days like today really make me wonder - Why AM I doing this? but I think the real question is Can I do this?

Less than three weeks until race day. It can't get here soon enough. Finish or not -- at least it will be over.

One World Triathlon - Race Report

One more olympic distance tri (1,350 meter swim; 40K bike; 10K run) under my belt before Louisville.

The One World Tri took place in downtown Cincy -- right in my backyard. Surprisingly, my favorite part of the race was the swim! I was shocked. I usually absolutely loathe the swim portion of the triathlon. Not only was I nervous about my first time swimming in the Ohio River, but this would be my first race without a wetsuit (the water was 81 degrees so wetsuits were illegal). My wetsuit is definitely my security blanket, because it's basically like wearing a life jacket -- its very buoyant.

We started from the Boathouse -- there is actually a flight of stairs hidden away right below the restaurant. I was in the second wave of olympic distance athletes. The race was pretty thin on olympic distance female athletes -- there were probably only about 25 of us. We made our way down the stairs into the river for a treading water start. I had never done a treading water start, but I loved it. We all lined up with the buoy (which was not an easy task with the current pushing us down river) - had PLENTY of space, so there was no one in front or behind me, and when the siren went off we took off without any problems. I always get kicked or elbowed at least once, but not this time.

The water was absolutely beautiful. SERIOUSLY!! I could see the bottom (didn't spot any metro bus sized catfish) and since I breath to the right I knew exactly where I was at all times as I made my way along Sawyer Point and eventually the Serpentine Wall. I must admit, there was something very cool about swimming in place I run/bike by on a daily basis. I loved going under the bridges, and swimming through the giant concrete circles in front of the Serpentine Wall where they used to showcase cars during big events.

We exited the water right in front of the Showboat Majestic at the boat ramp. The ramp was slick and covered with moss - but there were volunteers there to pull you up and prevent you from slipping. I made my way up the steep slope and onto the grassy portion of the serpentine wall to transition. Grabbed my bike and was off without any problems.

The bike portion of the race went along Columbia Parkway and down around the stadiums. It was a two lap course for the olympic distance. After a few pedal strokes my legs already ached. A 20 mile run the day before a race is definately not ideal. Around mile 9 my worst nightmare happened. Mechanical difficulty. I cranked my gears too hard going from my big ring (downhill) into my small ring (up hill) for the last big climb on the parkway. I popped out of my chain and my bike immediately hit the breaks. I was able to pop out of my pedals just as my bike was going down.

I am NOT a bike person. I ride the bike. I don't know anything about the bike. I know this is a major problem. I should know basic bike maintenance - it comes with the territory. I'll get right on becoming a bike guru in all of my free time. Luckily I had popped a chain before, so I was able to get it back on my small ring and hopped back on the bike. I felt like I was on the side of the road for an eternity -- but it was probably only 3-4 minutes. The bigger problem was getting back into my pedal clips on a pretty steep incline - my hands were also completely and totally black from the chain grease. The rest of the ride I was totally pissed - I lost the group of girls I was riding with and it was totally my fault.

I was still thinking about the chain as I came into transition. I changed my shoes, grabbed some sports beans, and left transition without my number! About 50 meters outside transition I realized what I had done and turned around to grab my number and start again. Not cool. The run was very comfortable for me. We ran along Sawyer Point, into Friendship Park, and over the Purple People Bridge. It was two laps for the olympic distance. I run these areas all the time, so I knew exactly what to expect. I was able to pick off a couple girls, and by the second lap realized I was near the front (its really hard to tell where you are in a race when people are doing multiple laps, and some of the athletes were sprint distance). Unfortunately, by the time I figured out I was in second place, we only had about 400 meters to go before the finish. I ended up second overall by about 40 seconds. It was a small race, so it really wasn't a big deal, but it would have been nice to say I won something. Damn chain.

Official time 2:37:59
swim: 20:54
bike: 1:25:46
run: 48:55

After crossing the finish line I grabbed my gear and rode 5 blocks back to my place. Ate a quick PB&J, refilled my water bottles, stocked my Bento Box with cliff bars, and was back out on the roads for a 6 hour bike ride. By this point it was noon and the sun was blazing. After starting my day at 5:30 am, I finished it around 6 p.m. -- completely and utterly exhausted.

Some people have asked what I eat when I'm training - my daylong workout extravaganza provides a good platform to share:

5:30 AM (prerace): Kashi protein shake (with one cup milk, banana, and frozen berries) and half a bagel with peanut butter; propel

During race: one water bottle of Nuun, packet of sports beans before the run, half glass of water and half glass of Gatorade on the run

After race: glass of Gatorade; PB&J

On 6 hour ride: 4.5 bottles of Nuun; 3 endurolyte pills ; a diet mt. dew; 3 Cliff bars (half a Cliff bar each hour)

Immediately after ride: Ensure chocolate protein milkshake

Dinner: chicken tetrizzini, 5 bean salad, bowl of chocolate ice cream

Bed: SKINS - compression tights that reduce the build up of lactic acid. LOVE THEM and wear them to bed all the time.

Why Am I Doing This Again?

This week is brutal -- I didn't think I would ever say this, but I am NOT looking forward to my weekend.

Monday: 2,000 meter swim, 1 hour bike
Tuesday: Brick: 40 mile bike (+ 3x giant hills) , 6 mile run
Wednesday: am: 3,500 meter swim; pm: 10 mile run
Thursday: speed bike 25 miles
Friday: am: 3,500 meter swim; pm: 7 mile run
Saturday: 7 hour bike
Sunday: One World olypmic distance tri (1,350 meter swim; 40k bike; 10k run), 2hr40min run

Muncie Endurathon (Half Ironman) Race Report

My first true test of endurance required a stop in Muncie, Indiana for a Half Ironman tune-up before the real deal. Despite being half the distance of what I will ultimately do in Louisville (1.2 swim, 56 bike, 13.1 run), a Half Ironman was going to be a serious test. It's a true milestone and I'd be kidding myself if I didn't admit that I was worried. If I had trouble with the half, that's all I would be thinking about going into the full. Regardless of my physical abilites, this race was essential for my mental health.

My dad and I drove up to Muncie on Friday afternoon. After multiple, ahem, detours, we made it to the Prairie Creek Reservoir where everything was going down on Saturday. The water looked calm and clean, the transition area was huge, and the surrounding roads appeared to be pretty flat. I was sufficiently satisfied with the set-up, so we jumped back into the car and drove into downtown Muncie for the race expo.

The race expo was at the Muncie convention center in downtown Muncie. I'm a huge fan of the great state of Indiana, but I strongly recommend staying away from downtown Muncie. It was one of the most depressing cities I've ever seen. The expo itself was not very big, but given the number of athletes it had some decent gear. I've been spoiled by the Chicago and Boston marathon expos, so its hard to put it into perspective. I picked up my packet, got body marked, sat through the mandatory pre-race meeting with about one hundred other athletes, and headed to the hotel.

As an aside, I need a moment to vent. One of my biggest pet peeves is the sizing of t-shirts at athletic events. I am a female athlete. I workout a million hours a week. Don't insult me by giving me a GINORMOUS t-shirt. I am not a big girl!! I cannot wear a men's size small. Yes, I understand that the majority of people who do triathlons are men, but that is no excuse. I don't care about the stupid metal or the plaque, I want the damn t-shirt!! The t-shirt is the badge of honor, but I can't wear it when it comes down to my knees!! Come on people. Get with the program. Bill and Bob and Fred have t-shirts that fit them. I should receive a t-shirt that fits me. Get gender specific t-shirts or endure my wrath, my emails, my race evaluations. One of these days you'll get sick of me complaining -- or at least I hope you will. Until that day - anyone want t-shirts? I have dozens. Sure to impress your friends.

The closest hotel I could find (and I booked in February!) was in Anderson, Indiana about 30 minutes from the race site. We checked in and headed to The Olive Garden for dinner. Pasta with marinara and chicken breast, salad, and breadsticks. Pretty boring. I try to keep it as bland as possible to keep my stomach happy on race morning. After dinner it was bedtime, lights out at 8:00 p.m.

My alarm went off at 4:15 a.m. Brutal. Breakfast consisted of a Kashi protein shake with berries, a banana, oatmeal, and milk (I even brought my own blender) and a half of a bagel with peanut butter. Eating on race morning is one of my least favorite things to do. I'm not a breakfast person in the first place, and with pre-race nerves I have to basically force feed myself.

We quickly packed the car and were on our way to Prairie Creek Reservoir by 4:50 a.m. We arrived at the site around 5:20 a.m. It was completely dark as race officials directed us into a grassy lot with flashlights. Athletes moved silently and methodically in the dark, pumping bike tires, filling water bottles, and gathering their gear. Luckily my dad had a flashlight, so I grabbed my back pack of gear and my bike and we headed to transition.

This was the largest transition area I had ever seen. More than 600 athletes were participating in the half ironman with several hundred others competing in Aquabike (swim and bike legs), relay, and sprint events. With the help of the flashlight I found my numbered rack and started to set up my gear. My rack was all female athletes, just the way I like it. I don't know why, but I feel like I get attitude from some of the male competitors, and I rather not have to deal with racking my bike next to them. I helped several people find their numbered spots with my flashlight and we all chatted nervously. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only crazy person in the world training for these events, and it's nice to see so many other athletes to confirm that I am not, in fact, out of my mind. I double checked my gear several times and headed out of transition to return my empty gear bag to the car.

As we walked back to the car all we could see was a line of headlights. It was like the scene from Field of Dreams -- a country road with an endless line of cars marked by their headlights -- all waiting patiently to enter the grassy lot. I had about an hour until race time so I sat in the grass and pretended to stretch and returned to transition a couple times to check my gear.

Up until this point, I had worn a wetsuit in all of the small triathlons I competed in. In order to be what they call "wetsuit legal" the water temperature has to be under 78 degrees. Signs at transition indicated that the water was 77 degrees and wetsuit legal. Still, I planned to go wetsuitless in preparation of Louisville. Since Louisville is on August 30, the water has never been wetsuit legal, and I knew I needed to practice without it. Despite the fact that I feel like a giant marshmallow flailing my arms when I swim in a wetsuit, it is supposed to make you faster, and it certainly prevents you from drowning.

I found my coach Joe in transition. He was checking out my bike to make sure I was ready to go (he was also racing himself). Despite my plan to go without, he convinced me that I should wear my wetsuit. I don't argue with Joe. He looks like superman. I just do what he says like a good little minion. (Yes, my goggles are on upside down and yes, I am a consummate professional).

The weather predicted low 80s and scattered storms, but the clouds were clearing and I could see blue sky and the sun starting to peak out. So much for those storms - or so I thought.

By this time it was nearly 7:00 a.m. The first wave of swimmers would start at 7:00. I was in the 6th wave (red cap wave) - starting around 7:20 with females under 39 and men 20-24. I was not happy about having to start with guys. Especially 20 year olds. I much rather get kicked by a female then some 22 year old college dude. I covered myself with body glide (which helps get your wetsuit on and off), got into my wetsuit, and walked down to the beach. The first wave was already in the water and I gathered with the other red caps. Before I knew it we were being ushered into the water. I was trying to relax, but my heart was beating a million miles an hour. In order to swim well you need to relax, the last thing I am when I swim in a muddy, bull shark infested body of water with hundreds of other bodies, is relaxed. The water wasn't very cold, but unlike the day before it looked pretty choppy. I looked out into the distance, trying to spot the turn around - a sailboat that seemed to be a million miles away.

The bull horn sounded and we were off. I waited toward the back as the guys went balls to the walls diving into the water. The scariest part of triathlon, in my opinion, is the first couple hundred meters of the swim. I'm not scared of the water, but open water swimming is another totally different. Am I going to get kicked in the chest and get the wind knocked out of me? Will someone elbow me in the face and crack my goggles? What's actually IN this water? You can't just stop and regain your composure like on the bike or the run. If you stop you drown.

Things started badly. My goggles weren't properly sealed and immediately I had water in my eyes. After a mid-water adjustment I was off. It usually takes me about 400 meters to get into a rhythm. The only rhythm that would be had today was the waves beating the crap out of my body. No question the worse open water swim I've ever had. I never relaxed. I was very uncomfortable. I was taking in alot of water because the waves were larger than what I was used to and I was having a hard time spotting the target sailboat. I passed a pontoon boat after about 400 meters with about 7 swimmers hanging onto the end. USAT rules allow you to hang on to boats along the course as long as the boat is not making any forward progress. At least I wasn't the weakest swimmer out there. I felt like I was in the water for an eternity, swimming in one of those endless pools but not actually getting anywhere.

Once I made it to the sailboat and started to head back to shore I felt I little more confident. Unfortunately, the waves only got worse on the way back. I only breathe to one side and it just happened that on my way out I was breathing away from the waves, but on my way back in I was breathing into the waves. I had to stop twice and tread water after I started choking from breathing into a wave. At this point the next wave of athletes was catching up to me. I still saw some red caps, but I was being invaded by silver caps (40-50 something men). One of the things I hate is when a swimmer comes up behind you and their fingertips hit the back of your feet. It's not a hard hit, and it's much better than being kicked in the face, but it totally freaks me out. For a split second I imagine Jaws or his sea creature buddies ready to pounce from behind. Yes, I know I was not swimming in an ocean, but I'm still deathly afraid of Jaws. Really nice for staying relaxed.

I was thrilled to hit the beach and make my way up the hill to transition. I always feel a bit discombobulated coming out of the water, and I was breathing rather heavily. More from nerves than the actual exercise. I was having trouble unzipping my wetsuit and the 40 year old guy behind me noticed - "Can I help you with that?" he said as we jogged up the hill. "Please!" As he unzipped my suit I thanked him "No problem! I've always wanted to undress a good looking young thing." Awesome.

Once in transition I found my bike and started the chore of taking off the wetsuit. I suck at taking off my wetsuit and no amount of body glide seems to make it easier. I ended up on the ground pulling the thing off. I loaded my tri top with two Cliff bars (chocolate chip and white chocolate macadamia nut), two packs of sports beans (lemon lime), a pack of gum, and a canister of nuun (lemon lime). Slipped on my spikes, buckled my helmet, and I was jogging out of transition with my bike. Clipped in and I was off. Breathe.

After a few small rolling hills I found myself on a pancake flat bike trail. I easily reached speeds of 22 mph with my cadence in the mid-90s. I was relieved that my legs felt fresh and ready to spin. After a few miles on the bike path we were directed out onto the open road. Te roads were all completely closed to traffic which helped me to relax and concentrate on my cadence. I was getting passed (as I always do on the bike), but surprisingly I was also passing people (which I never do on the bike). I was determined to keep my head in the race and remain focused on my cadence and speed. I generally have a hard time staying focused on the bike find myself day dreaming and loosing speed. Instead, I focused my attention on who was passing me (all of the athletes in triathlons are body marked so you can tell what age groups they are in ) and on my cadence.

About 15 miles into the bike my coach Joe passed me. "Good job Katie. Aren't you glad I told you to wear your wetsuit!" he shouted as he flew past me. Yes Joe. Thank god I wore that wetsuit. Without that wetsuit I think I would be at the bottom of that reservoir.

The course was basically an out and back, except for a short portion at the end, so soon after Joe passed me the first male rider was coming back on the other side of the road. I thought to myself - "seriously guy?" He was like 40 miles ahead of me. Ridiculous. The first female rider flew by shortly after that. Wow. Her thighs were as big as my core. Well maybe not that big, but you get the idea.

The wind was terrible. I was only able to go 14-15 mph and was getting very frustrated. Several times I found myself going off the road as the gusts blew my bike around like it was nothing. I held onto my aerobars for dear life. I was genuinely scared to reach for a cliff bar, in fear that I wouldn't be strong enough to hold of the wind with one hand. I made quick grabs for food immediately following large gusts.

I have a really REALLY hard time eating anything of substance when i'm exercising, but I knew eating those Cliff bars was essential to maintaining energy. I ate 1/2 of a Cliff bar at a time, approximately every 20 miles and hated every second of it. I had to chew on the same piece for 20-30 seconds before I was able to swallow anything. To add to the difficulty, I am also addicted to gum, especially when I'm riding and running. So I had a hunk of Cliff bar in one hand and my gum in the other as I maneuvered my gears and the wind. Disgusting. I know.

Not even a minute after I cleared the turn around at the half way point I felt a few drops of rain. Then I heard thunder. Uh oh. Next thing I knew I was in the middle of an absolute torrential downpour. It was raining so hard it felt like little pellets of hail on my arms. It was raining sideways because of the wind, and only minutes after it started the road was already spotted with puddles. I saw lightening in the distance. Awesome. A female rider rode past "beautiful day for a ride" she screamed. I had never ridden in a storm like this, so needless to say I was very nervous. I have only really been seriously riding for several months, so I'm not entirely comfortable on my aerobars and I'm definately not comfortable taking turns. Luckily most of ride was completely straight, with very few turns, so I only had to slow to a near stop a few times to make turns.

My experience has been that after torrential rain, it generally stops raining all together or at least slows to a drizzle. Not so much. Throughout the ride the rain let up a bit, but 10 minutes later would unleash again. I was able to munch on wet cliff bars in the brief intermissions.

There were water stations along the bike course, but I only needed to fill my bottle at the last stop. Riding 20 mph and grabbing a water bottle from someone with one hand, in the pouring rain and not throwing yourself off balance is quite the trick. My timing was terrible. I needed to fill my water bottle but I had just opened a cliff bar and had gum in the other hand. With my mouth full of Cliff bar I grabbed a water bottle from a soaked 10 year old kid on the side of the road. I think I about took him out as I rode by, but the pass was successful and I was looking forward to reaching the end of the bike leg and getting my butt off that seat.

The last 10 miles of the ride were the worst. I was so ready to be done. My legs were tired and I was very uncomfortable. The road was patched all over the place, witch made for a very bumpy ride and made it difficult to build any speed. The wet road made the imperfections hard to see and I felt like I was weaving back and forth along the road, substantially slowing my pace.

I generally feel rather defeated as I come in from the bike, but today I felt great. I was 2/3 of the way through my first half ironman, I actually passed some bikers, and I did it all in a tsunami. I jogged through transition and found my spot. I grabbed my Garmin, slipped on my absolutely soaking wet flats, and buckled my race number. After a quick stop at the port-o-let I was off. I was totally stoked to be running (despite the 10 pound weights I had on each foot). I don't particularly like the wet shoes part, but I absolutely LOVE running in the rain. My best track and cross country races were in the rain, and the conditions only helped my confidence as I started out. As I started my run a guy was finishing right next to me. Unbelievable. I wasn't even mad at him! I was excited to run.

I immediately started picking people off. Generally my legs feel like bricks coming off the bike, but today I felt awesome. About a mile in I passed a group of 5 men running together "Did you just ride those 56 miles? You look fresh as a daisy!" "Show off!" another shouted. I laughed and kept motoring along.

The course had rolling hills, but they were small and I found that the downhills were easily getting me up the uphills. I was consciously holding myself back, telling myself to keep it under control. My right calf was a little tight, but other than that I felt amazing and really wanted to put the hammer down and take off. Relax, I kept telling myself. Your body has never done this before, the last thing you want to do is blow up with 5-6 miles to go. So I continued along at a steady pace.

I was abosolutely having a blast. I don't even feel this good in sprint and olympic distance triathlons. What is my deal? I felt giddy. The run was an out and back so I was watching all the runners headed back my way. Lots of people yelled out to me "you look strong" "you go girl" - their encouragement only fueled my desire to take off.

The race support on the run was amazing. There were fluid stations every mile. The poor volunteers were completely soaked to the bone. It's one thing to be out in a storm if your racing, its an entirely different thing when you're handing out water for hours on end. They were handing out water, Gatorade, GU packs, ice cold towels, and flat coke. I alternated water and Gatorade every two miles. I was running through the aid stations, only taking a sip or two of fluid.

I love picking my favorite race volunteer. I love when volunteers are entertaining. My favorite volunteers were the 20 something Mormon guys (clearly on their "mish"). They were at mile 5 /8 and were wearing black slacks, dress shoes, button down shirts and ties - with their name plates. They were completely, and utterly soaking wet but they were running around like crazy - yelling out to runners so they were prepared with their fluid of choice and jumping all over the place. They had giant smiles on their faces and you could tell they were having a blast. I loved them. Their energy was contagious.

It was raining steadily during the run, but around mile 5 the sky opened up once again and another torrential downpour ensued. The reaction of the runners and volunteers gave me goosebumps. Almost simultaneously everyone around me cheered - guys were fist pumping and spreading their arms to the sky. I started to laugh. Don't get me wrong, we were all very happy that the rain was keeping the temperature down, but we were all running with giant weights on our feet -- not to mention wet shoes mean BAD blisters. I was running past guys who were litterally ringing out their tops. I know we were all thinking to ourselves, "I'm already slightly deranged to do this in the first place, but doing it in a thunderstorm? You've got to be kidding me." I love triathletes.

When I reached the turn around I had a huge cheesy grin on my face. The anticipation of finishing was killing me. I knew I was going to make it and I felt like a million dollars. There was no doubt about it. I had the best runner's high of my life. As I passed athletes I always checked their calves to see what age group there were in. Around mile 8 I came upon a tall gentleman moving along at a good clip with "70" on his back right calf. I got goosebumps. 70? Are you kidding me? 70, just meant he was in the 70-over age group so he was at LEAST 70 and he had been in front of me for the majority of the race. I'm not much of a talker when I race, but as I passed him I said "You're amazing." Instead of taking my compliment he quickly shot back "No I'm not, YOU'RE amazing, look at you fly by me."

I was quickly approaching several Illinois jerseys. Again, I'm not a talker, but if I'm going to pass a guy in an Illinois jersey I'm gonna say something. The first guy had a "50" on his calf. "Go Hoosiers!" I said as I passed. "Go Hoosiers" he responded, laughing. Well that was easy, I thought to myself. The next Illinois jersey I came to was a guy with a "20" on his calf. "Hoosiers don't get beat by Illini " I said as I passed. No response. I looked back -- he was not amused.

With 4 miles to go I started to feel like it was Christmas morning. I didn't feel pain. I wasn't tired. All I wanted to do was run fast. Very fast. I started to pick it up but kept it under control. "Katie, your body could still blow up" I kept telling myself. With about a mile and a half I couldn't take it anymore. I started running at about a 7:00 minute mile pace. Fans dotted the last 800 meters and ringing cow bells got my heart pounding. Up over the last hill with the finish line in sight I kicked it in with a giant ridiculous smile on my face. I was fist pumping and jumping up and down and having my own little party in the chute. The teen-aged boys who were collecting chips were laughing at me.

I've run in dozens of track meets, cross country meets, road races, duathlons, and I've run 3 marathons. Hands down this was the most accomplished I've ever felt at the end of an athletic event. Not only was I relieved that I COULD do it, I was ecstatic at how much fun I had actually doing it. I have been in pain for the past couple months from all the training I've been doing. I've also been absolutely exhausted, both physically and mentally. But today I felt amazing. Less than 2 months until the real deal, Ironman Louisville, and I was going to be able to do it. I was sure now.

The picture to the right is Kevin and I -- Kevin did the Endurathon (much faster than me) is also doing IM Louisville.

Here is a breakdown of my race (1.2 mile swim; 56 mile bike; 13.1 mile run):
191 females

507 males

304/698 athletes
50/191 women
swim: 45:17 (426)
bike 3:04:16 at 18.2 mph (535)
run: 1:41:03 at 7:43 pace (93)

I'm clearly not a swimmer or a cyclist - but i'm still happy with my times. The next month and a half of training is going to be intense. Now I'm ready and super excited!!

Grandpa Teaser

Training for an Ironman is a very selfish endeavor. I had absolutely no idea that the training required for an Ironman would absolutely consume every aspect of my life. I have virtually zero time for anything other than working, training, eating, and sleeping. I train every single day of the week -- usually twice a day, requiring me to wake up around 5:00 am 4-5 times a week. I try to go to bed by 9:30, but even then I don't get enough sleep. I'm always tired and my body always hurts. I never see or talk to friends and the only time I see my family is when I'm mooching a nice home cooked meal. Basically my social life is nonexistent. Weekends disappear with 7 hour bike rides and training races. But it will be worth it in the end -- or so I keep telling myself.


In an effort to make this less about me and more about what's really important in life -- doing tiny decent things -- I signed up for a charity athlete program to raise money for the American Cancer Society. Although I don't always FEEL lucky after a 7 hour hour workout, I know that I am very lucky to be healthy enough to even be able to train and compete at the level required for an Ironman event.


I have completed three marathons (Cincinnati '02; Chicago '08; Boston'09) and always wanted to be part of a charity runner program, but decided to wait until I did the Ironman because I absolutely HATE asking people for money. My timing is impeccable -- with the current state of the economy I couldn't have picked a better time to ask for your money. But I'm going to do it anyway.


My Grandpa Gene, or Grandpa Teaser as I called him when I was little, passed away from pancreatic cancer on December 26, 2005. I miss my grandpa very much. He was diagnosed very soon after returning home from my law school graduation. I'm so grateful that he was in Bloomington to see me graduate -- I have very fond memories of that weekend.

When I think of my grandpa I picture myself waiting patiently beside his bar watching him make Shirley Temples with lots of cherries --they always tasted better when grandpa made them. He also taught me to play golf (his sport of choice), and we played many heated games of hand and foot. Grandpa didn't like to lose. He had an absolutely contagious laugh, and he loved his family more than anything in the world.


Grandpa Gene recognized my passion for running and competing. In high school and college he would often send me newspaper clippings from his local paper about exceptional runners in the area and write encouraging notes before big meets. It meant alot to me that he took an interest in something that he knew was a passion of mine. I know he would be proud that I'm training for an Ironman and would want to hear all about it. I am going to do my very best to make him proud on August 30.

Cancer has also had a profound effect on me through my best friend Amanda. Amanda's mom has been living with brain cancer since 1986 and she went into a nursing home when Amanda was 18. I am in awe of how strong Amanda is and what she has accomplished and I wish that her mother could have seen her oral argument at the moot court finals, graduate magna cum laude, and run the Chicago marathon. I can't imagine being without my mom during such important life events. The fact that Amanda's mom has lived with brain cancer for 23 years is a miracle and her story is an inspiration.


Please help support more than just my dream to become an Ironman -- help me to make a positive change in the lives of others. Everyone deserves a chance to lead a happy, healthy, cancer-free life. Please make a donation to the American Cancer Society.



Please visit my Janus Challenge webpage to make tax deductible donation:

https://www.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=296230&lis=1&kntae296230=9D79D7419E32434B8A76C04BDF1D56C5&supId=258884510

Boston Marathon - Race Report

Although I have been training since November, I consider the Boston Marathon to be the event that launched my hardcore training.

Marathon morning I woke up around 5:00 a.m., well before my 6:30 alarm. I dozed in and out of sleep for a bit, but with my stomach churning and my legs anxious, I was up and ready to go – but not before checking the weather for the 50 millionth time in the past 10 hours. I was more stressed about what to wear than the marathon itself. I had decided to go with shorts, but I couldn't decide between the long sleeve, short sleeve, or tank. I REALLY wanted to wear the tank – my race mentality is the less clothing you wear the faster you feel. I decided to bring several clothing choices and make the final call once I met up with the group. A handful of Kashi, a chocolate power bar, and a banana, and I was out the door.

The Boston Marathon starts in Hopkinton which is 26.2 miles outside of the city, so runners take yellow school buses from downtown Boston to the starting line and the athletes village. I, however, am way too important to ride a yellow school bus. Not really -- its my coach, Joe, who is in fact too cool to ride a school bus (he is the one wearing sunglasses inside during our group shot), so we took a private car. “We” is the Running Spot training group. The Running Spot is the shoe store in Cincinnati for serious runners – they also have marathon training groups. About 20 of us made the trip from the Nasty and we were going to do it right and forgo the yellow school bus.

On the trip to the starting line everyone chatted – low voices, nervous with anticipation. After polling the group I decided on a short sleeve shirt. The decision had been made and now I could relax. The ride seemed to take FOREVER – I tried to pretend like I wasn’t paying attention, because I knew I would have to run the entire distance we were driving, but I was definitely nervously checking my watch. When we arrived the group scattered. Most of the group brought gear bags to store excess warm weather clothing that could be picked up at the finish line. I choose to go bagless – having to worry about “stuff” made me nervous. Instead, I was warmly dressed in throw away gear and looking HOT. Grey sweatpants with a matching grey sweatshirt – head to toe grey is what is hot in the streets these days and I was rockin it. Grey sweatshirt and grey Abercrombie sweatpants from the 8th grade. Seriously.

After a walk through the athletes village (a local high school with thousands upon thousands of runners sprawled out on the school grounds stretching and just generally making me nervous), my group dropped off gear bags and we headed for the pot-o-let line. Don’t be fooled, properly navigating the port-o-let line is an acquired skill. Pre-race port-o-lets present a very stressful situation. You don’t want to get in line so early that you have to go again before the race, but then again you don’t want to wait too long and have to rush to the starting line. My strategy is just to get in line go to the bathroom and get right back in line, continuing this fun game until it's time to make your way to the starting line.

The starting line was nothing like what I had imagined – we were in what looked like the equivalent of Cheviot. Modest single family homes flanked narrow roads. Many homeowners had card tables set up in their front yards with free running necessities – band aides, gatorde, powerbars, and bananas. I made my way to my proper starting corral – I was in the first wave of runners (top 13,000 in the first wave with a 10 am start time and second 13,000 in the second wave with a 10:30 start). My number, 11811 (I know you’re jealous of my awesome palindrome number) put me in the 11th corral. My corral was filled with mostly 40 year old men with a few females who appeared to be my age. The corral filled quickly and I shed my sweatpants. I was calm and ready to get the show on the road.

The gun went off and we all stood still. After a couple minutes we started walking. I couldn’t see a thing and had no idea how far we would walk before we got to the starting line. Clothes were flying through the air and I watched a volunteer get clocked in the head with a sweatshirt.

Finally we reached the starting line and I started my Garmin – or at least I thought I did. It was mass chaos. I choose to run on the far left – mostly in the gravel shoulder of the road and in grassy front yards. These roads were NARROW – not at all what I had expected and their were people all over me. Before I knew it I saw the 4 mile sign. I had been concentrating so intently on navigating through the masses without stepping on anyone that I wasn’t paying any attention to my pace or how far I had gone. I glanced at my Garmin. It read 7:17. SHIT. I shouldn't have been running any faster than 7:45. How long had I been running this pace? My pace and mileage totals were working but I screwed up my settings and had no idea what my overall time was and with the chaos at the starting line, I had no idea what the clock read when I crossed it.

I chucked the gray sweatshirt and tried to slow down. People were passing me left and right and before I knew it I was back running a 7:30 pace. I tried to ignore the time and enjoy the race. There were spectators on either side of the course – you could always hear a cheer or a cow bell – but it wasn’t crowded with spectators. I slapped a couple high fives with some kids. We were in the country.

At one point we were running alongside the interstate with only a thin row of trees and guardrail separating us from the highway. All of the spectators were on the opposite side, but I was running along the guardrail. My side of the road was completely empty. That’s where I spotted my favorite spectator. It was around mile 8. He was in a lawnchair sitting behind the highway guardrail. He was the only person on that side of the street for as far as you could see – and for good reason, he was about 5 feet from the interstate in knee high grass. He was sporting his Sox jersey and hat, drinking a bud light, and listening to the Sox game. It wasn't even 11 a.m. He cheered for me. God bless America.

Around mile 10 I started to hear a roar up ahead. With each step the noise got louder and louder. I looked around and saw a barn, a couple spectators sitting on their porches. What the hell? We had arrived at Wellsley and those girls were not there to mess around. They had a reputation to live up to and they did not let me down. I felt like a superstar – they were seriously screaming their little heads off all sporting “free kisses” shirts. I couldn’t help but break into a huge grin as I watched all the guys, their heads spinning to the side to check out the girls on the sidelines, It's a miracle no one fell. I saw several guys get kisses and even a a couple girls went in for a cheek kiss. Despite rumors I had heard about the Wellsley women being rather large, I found them to be quite energetic and petite.

I continued to run too fast. I hit the half way point at 1:39. I knew I would implode at some point but slowing down just didn’t seem to be an option, every time I tried I just got swept back into my pace. I was starting to get pretty warm despite the 47 degree temperatures and wind and really wanted to take off the long sleeve cotton throw away I was wearing. It was wet with spilled Gatorade and water and was starting to feel rather uncomfortable -- but that shirt ended up being a blessing in disguise. It was a Hanover long sleeve t-shirt and little did I know but there is a Hanover near Boston (Hanover, New Hampshire) and everyone seemed to recognize it. I didn’t care that they thought it was some city, when it is in fact, as we all know, the Harvard of the Midwest – they were ALL yelling go Hanover. Around mile 17 I got my first "Go Hanover College." I smiled and chucked the shirt.

Around mile 18 I saw my parents on the sidelines cheering. The crowds were getting thicker and louder and my legs much heaver. This is not good. I still have a LONG way to go. Just as soon as I was starting to slow down I spotted The Hoyts. My heart skipped a beat and I had instant goosebumps. I really did feel like I was running next to movie stars. I had just watched Team Hoyt compete in the Florida Ironman 70.3 on Easter and have watched them compete on many occasions in Kona. Team Hoyt is a father (Dick) and his son (Rick). Rick has cerebral palsy. Dick pulls him in a special boat when they swim, carries him in a special seat up front as they bike, and pushes him in a special wheelchair as they run. It is truly amazing. This was their 26th time running the Boston marathon. I was officially inspired – enough to get me up heartbreak hill without walking and boy did I REALLY want to walk.

Did I mention I hate hills? I hate hills. I have a mental block against hills and the hills in Boston were no exception. Despite the fact that the hills I had been running in Cincinnati were much steeper and much longer, the hills in Boston destroyed me. People were passing me left and right. I felt like I was standing still. I saw several runners stop to take shots of beer with the drunk Boston College kids – every time someone stopped the students went absolutely insane. A guy in front of me was running with huge fake boobs, a Hooters top, orange shorts and a long blonde wig in pigtails. He stopped and did a shot. The street went absolutely insane. Thank God. Not only did the noise get me up the hill but more importantly the guy with the wig and fake boobs was no longer beating me.

Mile 21. Please shoot me. There is no way I’m going to finish this thing. I pulled the bag of sports beans out of my shirt desperate for a pick me up but I couldn’t open the damn bag. I was having visions of tearing the package open and the sacred beans flying all over the place. Luckily I was able to open the bag in my mouth and down the beans. I think those beans saved my life.

Mile 22. Bathroom break. I couldn’t do it – I couldn’t break the marathon curse of always having to stop to go to the bathroom. A cop guarding the port-o-lets so none of the drunk spectators would use them gave me a look of pity as I opened the door. “Do I really look THAT bad?” I remember thinking to myself. My legs were shaking uncontrollably when I resumed my plight toward the finish line. In all honestly I don’t remember too much about those last four miles except that there were a lot of people screaming and there were a lot of people passing me. I was concentrating on repeating my standard mantra in my head “relax and flow, relax and flow” anything to block the “I have to stop and walk, I have to stop and walk.” My body was on autopilot and my brain had checked out.

Finally the turn to the finish line. A feeling of relief quickly turned into a feeling of panic. I assumed that when I made the last turn the finish line would be near and the end in sight. SIKE. All I remember was seeing two really bright lights which looked to be at least 5 miles down the road. It was very similar to what I imagine I will see when I die. I sure felt like I was dying. I concentrated on the bright lights, but after what seemed to be an eternity I felt as if I must be running backwards. I focused on the ground. Relax and flow, Relax and flow. People were passing me on all sides. This was not good – I ALWAYS had a kick. Yeah, not so much. Finally I arrived at the finish line. I managed a smile. I had no idea what my time was – I was just happy I to be done.

I walked through the finish line chute, and walked, and walked. The chute must have been another 3 miles long. I gathered the standard metal, water bottle, power bar, mylar blanket, and made my way to the family meeting area. It only took about 5 minutes and I was FREEZING. Maybe pouring water over my head in the 45 degree weather was not such a hot idea. Maybe deciding not to pack a bag with warm clothes was not such a hot idea. By the time I made it to the "M" meeting spot I was violently shaking, teeth chattering. A spotted a guy who was also waiting at the "M's" without his bag of warm clothing. We huddled together, each remarking that we were idiots to be standing soaking wet without clothing in freezing temperatures. I must have looked pretty pitiful - generally the chattering teeth will do it - because a mom handed me her coat and insisted I wear it. I'm pretty sure she regretted that decision when I gave it back all wet and smelling like roses.


Finally my family arrived with my warm clothing. My dad reported a 3:27:39 official time - a PR! After a quick shower, massage, and minor surgery (lost 5 toe nails -- pretty standard), it was off to dinner. With a belly full of lobster mac & cheese and ice cream I called it a night.

Will I do Boston again? Absolutely.