Half Iron(wo)man

Yowza.

Two weekends ago I competed in the DeuceMan Half Ironman triathlon (hereafter to be referred to as the Half). It. Was. Brutal. Quite possibly the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Of course, I knew it was going to be difficult. There were many obviously formidable challenges to contend with.

The Challenges I Expected
1. The race itself. A half ironman consists of a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile ride, and a 13.1 mile run (a half marathon). This is no walk in the park...unless that walk was actually a 13.1 mile run through the park, preceeded by the aforementioned athletic endeavors.
2. The hills. The race took place in Show Low - the same location as the olympic-distance triathlon I completed last year. So I knew the course was going to be a hilly one.
3. The altitude. Show Low sits at an elevation of 6,412 feet. A location is labeled as "high altitude" starting at 5,000 feet.

The Challenges I Didn't Expect
1. The hills. I know, I know - I said I expected this one. But I underestimated the SEVERITY and NEVERENDINGNESS of the hills. The olympic distance course only hits part of the loop that the Half participants have to tackle. There was oh so much I didn't know.
2 (THIS IS THE BIG ONE). The HEAT. Oh my Good Lord in Heaven, THE HEAT. There was not a cloud in the sky the entire day and, to top it all off, Show Low posted record highs that day. RECORD HIGHS. Temperatures were at 90 degrees by 9:30am (I know this because I saw it on a bank sign as I rode by around mile 35) and the afternoon highs hit 96 degrees. NINETY-SIX DEGREES. Oh my burning flesh.

But, in spite of all these things, [SPOILER ALERT] I survived!

Like I said, the day dawned bright and sunny and warm. You may remember last year when the weather was cloudy and rainy and cold - ah, last year...how I missed you. As craptastic as the sun turned out to be for the rest of the day, it made the swim actually enjoyable. Whereas last year the water temperature was a frigid 58 degrees, this year it was a respectable 65 by the 6:30am swim start. We all gathered in the water around 6:20 to try to acclimate a bit. Jill, Marta and I were the only three Team in Training participants who tackled the Half that day. Everyone else from the Phoenix and Tucson Teams did the Olympic distance race, which would start at 8:00am. The three of us floated together and talked with our friend TJ (a TNT alum who was also doing the Half) and tried to keep our nerves under control. The water was mostly filled with men at this point and the closer it got to the starting time, the more silent the group became. At precisely 6:30, the men (all sporting their regulation white swim caps) were off! Then the women (wearing our purple swim caps) began to gather in the starting area. The difference in pre-race attitude between the men's wave and the women's was pretty funny - where the men got quiet, the women got increasingly chatty as the start time grew closer. :) At exactly 6:34, we women began our 1.2 mile journey around the lake.

This year's swim went really well! I had no panic or anxiety and I freestyle swam the entire race. Yay me! I did have a hell of a time staying on course, though - I couldn't swim straight to save my life. So I ended up having to stop every 20 or 30 strokes to reorient and make sure I wasn't heading too far off (or into) course. All in all the swim went great, though. I ended up recording nearly the same time as last year (55 minutes), but swam a third of a mile farther in that same amount of time. I'll take it!

Transition (T1) went fine. Being a slow swimmer has one advantage, in that most of the bikes are gone so 1) you can easily find your bike, and 2) you have all kinds of elbow room in the usually crowded bike racks. I saw Marta and Jill just heading out of T1 as I ran in and made it my goal to catch them on the bike course. Oh, sweet ignorance...

I headed out on the bike feeling pretty good. The first 30 miles passed pretty quickly and I was feeling ok. Not great, starting to get hot, but feeling alright. (Don't you love how I managed to be taking a swig from my water bottle during the ONE picture they took of me on the bike course?) And then, about 8 miles later, I was just done. DONE. I was SO hot and I knew I still had the majority of the climbing left to go. It took everything I had to just keep going. And keep going I did. I rode up an endless, curving, you-can-never-see-the-top-of-it hill. And then another not quite as long, steeper, why-do-you-hate-me-God hill. And then one more, just for good measure. And did I mention the heat?

So I hit T2 about 35 minutes later than I wanted to. But whatever, I was still alive albeit HOT. A few of the TNT people who had done the olympic distance race (and were already finished) were sitting near the aptly named Bike In area when I biked in and hollered out "Nice job! How are you doing??" I replied with what will go down in history as my very first spontaneous dropping of the F-bomb. Sure I've said it from time to time, but usually when quoting someone else. I'm just not a big fan of the word and generally can find much more colorful and descriptive ways to turn a phrase. But apparently after a monstrously hot and hilly 56 mile ride, the only response that popped into my brain was to holler back at my friends "IT IS F*CKING HOT OUT THERE!" and continue on to re-rack my bike, change my shoes, don my hat, and embark upon the awaiting half marathon.

My friend Justin was a lifesaver during T2. He came over and talked me through it, simultaneously saying encouraging things and spraying me down with sunscreen as I went through the transition process. My brain was pretty well fried at this point, and just having someone reminding me to, you know, take off my helmet was very helpful. With Justin's parting words in my head ("This is the run portion and you're a marathoner - you KNOW how to do this. You've got this!"), I headed off on the run.

Right away, I took a swig of the Gatorade I'd left in my transition area and almost spit it right back out. As I hit the first aid station, I handed the bottle to the volunteers and said "here, I'll trade you for one that isn't 187 degrees. Thanks!" And for the first mile or so, I ran. I felt like crap. My stomach began to stage a mini-revolt and the sun beating down started to feel like little weights being stacked up on my head and shoulders. Really, really hot weights. I saw Steve, my coach, just before the second aid station. He said Jill and Marta weren't far ahead of me, said I was looking strong, and that he would catch me again a little later on the course.

As I came in to Aid Station 2, the heat and the exertion got the better of me and I slowed to a fast walk. And from that point on, I speed-walked the majority of the run course. I ran every single downhill section and most of the flats, but I was so beaten down by the brutal day that I had to give in and walk a lot of it. The run course has a long out and back section that is good for one thing - you get to see a lot of the other people on the course. I knew if Jill and Marta weren't that far ahead, I'd definitely see them on that section. And I did! At this point, they were about a mile ahead of me. Not great, but there was a possibility I could catch up to them and have someone to finish the day with. So that was my goal for the rest of the race. The course was two 6.5 mile loops and, as I reached the end of the first loop, I had gained about a half a mile on them. I had also come thisclose to punching several people in the face. Everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE, I saw as I was coming to the end of the first loop assumed I was either doing the olympic distance race (one run loop) or was on my second lap and hollered out, without fail, "LESS THAN A MILE TO GO! YOU'RE ALMOST THERE!" To which I had to reply "Yeah. I have another lap. And also I hate you." (Ok, maybe that last part was in my head.)

And so I started on my second lap. As I ran/walked through the campground area, some dude sitting in his camp chair drinking a beer called out "Hey, make sure you're drinking a lot of water. It's pretty hot out there today." And I, in my sweat soaked, salt-encrusted, sunburned state very sarcastically replied "HA. YOU THINK??" and kept on trucking. Apparently I get bitchy when I'm hot and exhausted. I'm ok with it.

(It should be noted that the TNT coaches popped in and out during the entire run course. They kept an eye on everyone and made sure we were ok and if we needed anything. For me, this involved Steve or Barb asking how I was feeling (relative to the situation, of course) whilst liberally dousing me with more sunscreen. Apparently my paleness was a concern for many, as the aid station volunteers, nearly without fail, offered me sunscreen, Gatorade, and water. In that order.)

By mile 9, I was within view of Marta. As we passed on the out and back, I told her "I'm going to try to catch up to you." For me, this meant "I'm going to try to catch you so I have someone with which to finish this horrible race. We can cross the finish line together with our hands raised in triumph and it will be lovely." But apparently to Marta, this meant "I'm going to try to pass you and leave you in my dust because I want to beat you at this horrible race. Mwahahaha." For the rest of the race, we both gave it our all. Which, as it turns out, was pretty much the exact same effort. I couldn't go any faster. She wasn't slowing down. So I watched Marta's back - 50 feet in front of me - for the last three miles.

And finally. Finally. We were there.
We slogged up the last hill. We saw the finisher's chute. We both kicked on everything we had left and ran to the finish line. Holy shit. We were done.

Jill (who had taken off from Marta around mile 8), Marta and I were the last three official finishers of the DeuceMan triathlon. Jill crossed about 20 minutes ahead of Marta. I followed Marta by about 30 seconds. We got our kickass medals. We got our completely liquified finisher's popsicles. We got the indescribable satisfaction of completing just over eight and a half hours of physical exertion in horrendous conditions - a day with the highest percentage of people to not even finish the race that they'd ever had. It was a brutal, horrible, wonderful race.

And, all things considered, I'd do it again. Maybe not that race in particular, but another half ironman someday, somewhere. Because, short of someone actually coming out on the course and setting me on fire, the conditions really couldn't have been much worse. The hills, the heat, the altitude - it can only get better, right?

Right.


Also, all that sunscreen?
It worked! I didn't get burned at all on my face or upper body. But, uh... no one thought to spray my legs. You can't even imagine the crap I get at swim practice now. Sigh.