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My alarm went off at 4:15am on race morning. I had managed to get a relatively decent amount of sleep, all things considered. As I dressed for the day, everything felt very surreal. Was this really race morning? In less than three hours, I was going to be in the midst of my Ironman swim? Really? I had a little (mostly) internal freakout, and then continued to go through my usual pre-training routine: filling water bottles, organizing nutrition, assembling my breakfast. Before I knew it, it was 5am and we were headed out the door.On the way to the race site, I tried not to think about the weather forecast, and just focused on my plan for the day. I had one goal: to finish in less than 17 hours with a smile on my face. I read a lot of race reports in the days leading up to the event, and someone referred to their first Ironman as a 140.6-mile victory lap; a celebration that they survived all that training. I liked that attitude, and decided that was how I was going to treat my day. I wanted to enjoy myself as much as possible (while still making the cutoffs), and really savor my time on the course.
I got to transition around 5:15 and got everything squared away. I dropped off my Bike and Run Special Needs bags, got body marked (with a 30 on my calf, for the first time ever), double-checked everything on my bike, managed to borrow a pump to fill my tires, stood in line for the porta-potty, and finally, with around 40 minutes to go, began wrestling myself into my wetsuit, booties, neoprene swim cap, and regular swim cap. Kristi, Julie, and I took a few pictures, and then suddenly everyone was moving. It was time to head down to the beach.
The beach is long and narrow and stretches off far to the right of the buoys. We had decided that we didn't wan to swim any farther than we had to, so we'd risk getting pummeled and line up pretty close to the buoys, about halfway back in the crowd. I stood there with 2500 other athletes as the music blared and the wind blew and tried to wrap my mind around the fact that I was actually going to do this. And then, with no warning, the cannon fired and we were off!Swim - 1:58:13
The swim, you guys. First off, let me tell you about the water temperature: it was 56 degrees. That is so, SO very cold. Combine the shock of that arctic water hitting your entire body in one giant splash with the flailing arms and legs of thousands of other athletes attempting to move in the same direction as you and you have the makings of a full on nightmare. For the first five minutes, I hyperventilated. I attempted to swim, and every time I stuck my face in, I would inhale icy cold water. I hacked and sputtered and dodged windmilling limbs and kicking feet and thought to myself "there is NO WAY I can make it 2.4 miles if I don't get it together." So I focused on taking deep breaths and kept doggy paddling forward. Finally, right around the time I reached the first buoy, I was able to actually start swimming like the slow, dogged, semi-normal swimmer that I usually am. And swim I did. I swam and I swam and I swam and I dodged fists and feet and fought back when necessary and finally, after 53 minutes, I was out of the water! Which meant I had to run across a timing mat and get back IN the water for my second lap. Ugh.The second lap was RIDICULOUS. The mass of swimmers had spread out by then, so there weren't nearly as many people around to kick you in the face, but that also meant there weren't as many people around to draft and sight off of. Also, the wind had really kicked up by that point, so there were some massive waves happening out there. It became a sort of swimming/body-surfing hybrid. You'd be swimming along in God-knows what direction since you couldn't see the buoys due to the ginormous waves, when all of a sudden, you were riding three feet above everyone else around you as a huge wave scooped you up. Then, out of nowhere, it would drop out from under you and you would go smashing back into the water. Then you'd turn your face to breathe and another wave would come and crash into your face so you'd inhale a lungful of water. Cough, hack, swim, repeat.
At one point, I was actually swimming ACROSS the course. A guy in a kayak had to come chase me down, hit me on the butt with his paddle to get my attention, and point me back in the right direction. And then there was a lady who kept swimming RIGHTNEXT to me. I mean, it's an enormous lake. Move over three feet. But noooo. Every time I'd rotate to breathe, there she was. And of course she breathed to the opposite side that I do, so we would be staring each other in the face at regular intervals; a little unnerving. Eventually, I just stopped swimming, waited 5 seconds until her feet went by and then moved to the other side of her so at least if she was still RIGHTTHERE, I wouldn't have to gaze into her eyes with each breath I took. It was just crazytown out there. And, thanks to the amount of air and water I swallowed in the melee, I spent a good portion of the last 200 meters performing pretty spectacular, deep-belly, underwater burps. Seriously, it was impressive.Due to all the insanity, the second lap took me a good 12 minutes longer than the first, but I still managed to swim until my hands hit sand and staggered out of the water in under two hours. 2.4-mile swim: done!
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