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.