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.