wherein I high five all the people and get my money's worth
--
T2 - 8:38
The second transition was a little faster than the first, if only because there were no wetsuits or frozen limbs involved. I grabbed my bike-to-run bag and trotted back into the change tent. I immediately had two volunteers helping me get all my stuff squared away as I swapped bike shorts and shoes for running pants and shoes. I replaced the spare tubes and CO2 cartridges in my jersey pockets (never needed them, thank goodness) with ten Honey Stinger gels. Now, ten gels actually weigh quite a bit, and since I had purposefully bought a looser-fitting top to avoid the oh-so-annoying Tri Jersey Creep (where your jersey slowly shifts upward until you are wearing what resembles an 80's half-shirt), this caused my jersey to sag in the back and bounce with every step...and in some pictures, to resemble an 80's leotard. But there was nothing to be done about it at that point, so I thanked my volunteers and headed out of the tent.
Immediately upon exiting the tent, I had four glove-handed volunteers descend upon me and rub every inch of me with sunscreen. A little awkward, but hey - I didn't get sunburned. And that was it. I ran through the Run Out archway and began the remaining 26.2 miles of my day.
Run - 6:23:46
Leg 1: 6.6 mi - 1:29:44 - 13:35/mile
So I started running. My legs, surprisingly, felt pretty okay. I say surprisingly because never, in any of my post-100-mile-bike-ride runs, had my legs felt even sort-of-decent. So, you know, tapering works! (A 35-degree drop in the temperature from AZ to ID probably helped, too...) Almost immediatley I ran into the Bea (not literally - he was on the sidelines), so I stopped for a quick hug and update on THE WIND on the bike course, and then continued on my way. I started up a little hill that would take me into the downtown area - and there was Haley! She cheered and ran with me a little way and then there was Dad! He cheered and ran with me a little and then I was on my way (Mom and Lacey were there, too, but somehow I missed them).
My plan for the run was pretty simple - run for six minutes, walk for one minute for as long as possible. Every 20 minutes consume either a gel or a salt tab (alternate) and drink water at the aid stations. I executed that pretty well for the first leg. There were lots of people out on the run course, both athletes and spectators, so it was nice to have so much company and positive energy flowing. I could tell that the majority of the athletes were either on or heading back in for their second loop, both by their plodding gaits and the exhaustion in their eyes. I tried not to be too jealous and just continued my relentless forward motion.
The aid stations on the run were just amazing. Dozens of volunteers utterly convinced that you needed what they had to offer: "Bananas! YOU need a banana." "Delicious chips: you can't eat just one - and why would you want to??" "Water! Ice! Perform! It will help you perform, alright!" I felt bad that all I ever wanted was water and ice. I think at one point I tried some flat coke, and a couple times I tossed back some Perform, but my usual routine was to grab of a cup of water and drink it, grab a cup of ice and dump it in my handheld water bottle, followed by one or two cups of water, and continue on my way. Rinse and repeat at every other aid station. By then the day was warm enough that the ice water was nice, but not so warm that it was necessary. It had settled in to a perfect day for a marathon.
So I ran and ran and walked and ran and eventually I came to the big hill on the run. It was the same big hill we had to ride up and over for the first out-and-back section of the bike course, and I had planned all along to walk (quickly) the uphills and run the downhills. So I began the trek to the top. And, of course, eventually I got there. And then I ran until I reached the turnaround, which was located about halfway down the other side of the hill (which, by the way, is just mean. I mean, make the turnaround at the top! Sheesh.). As I got closer to the turnaround, I could see the big mile-marker indicating I was nearing Mile 20. Well, that would be true if I were on my second lap, but alas, I was on my first. So I had the anti-joy of having a bunch of kids excitedly cheering "Alright! Great job, you're at mile 20! Good for you - keep it up!" I wanted to bellow back "I'M AT MILE 6.5, YOU JERKS!" but I didn't because I'm not an asshole. Instead, I just smiled and thanked them and died a little on the inside and made the turnaround to head back to town knowing I'd be back in about 3 hours.
Leg 2: 6.8 mi - 1:38:43 - 14:31/mile
The trek back into town was similar to the trip out...only harder. I fast-walked back to the top of the hill. As I sped by one lady who was clearly on her second lap, she said "wow, you're a really speedy walker!" I replied "Yeah, I still have one loop to go - I'm truckin' it!" She laughed and replied "Get it, girl!" (a phrase I can't pull off) and I did just that. I kept a solid pace as I ran down the long, other side of the hill, but unfortunately the hill had a pretty bad camber that sloped toward the lake - I could feel my left foot hitting the edge of my shoe and just prayed I wouldn't get a blister.
I kept taking my gels and my salt and drinking my water. My one minute walks slowly morphed into two minutes, but I still started running as soon as I could work up the motivation after my watch beeped the next interval. At one point I made a quick stop in a porta-potty. You guys. Just...don't ever go in an Ironman porta-potty. That is all I am going to say about that. And pretty much before I knew it, I was back into town. There's a point somewhere near Mile 12/25 where the course splits - you either go right to continue on to your second loop, or you go left to the finish. Oh man, I wanted to go left. I wanted to go left SO badly. But I groaned, congratulated the athletes around me who DID get to make that turn, and continued on my way.
The right hand turn eventually brought me to Run Special Needs. I hadn't packed much in my special needs bag, just a few extra gels and salt tabs in case I lost any, a blister kit, and a long sleeved t-shirt in case it got cold. I ended up not needing any of that (although I agonized a bit over the t-shirt - it seemed like it might get cold, but I was still trucking along at a fast enough pace that I was staying warm), so I just ditched my sunglasses and continued on my way.
As I ran down the final stretch toward the turnaround, I saw a grouping of familiar turquoise t-shirts in the distance - I was SO happy to see my crew! You have no idea what a boost it is to see your friends and family at that point in the day. I stopped for a couple minutes for hugs and encouragement and headed for the turnaround with a renewed spirit. I hit the 13.1-mile mark at almost exactly 3 hours and knew that left me a good 3 hours and 35 minutes to do one more half marathon. Barring a catastrophe, that medal was going to be mine!
Leg 3: 6.1 mi - 1:38:55 - 16:12/mile
The first half of my second loop was probably the toughest, mentally. Not surprisingly, it was also my slowest of the four sections. My legs were tired, it was starting to get dark, I had to give my stomach a pep talk whenever it was time to eat another gel; I just wanted to be done. And, cruelest of all, the road I was running on was only one block over from the final stretch to the finish line. I could hear the cheers of the crowd and the beat of the music and Mike Reilly telling person after person that they were an Ironman - and I was running AWAY from all that. But, as with any challenge from that day, the only thing I could do was keep moving forward. And so I did.
As we wound our way out of the neighborhoods, near Mile 15, there was a man standing on a dark corner near a big white house. He hollered out at us in a big, cheery voice "YEAH! You guys are doing it RIGHT! You're getting your money's worth out of this day! Why would you want to finish at 2:00 in the afternoon?? You're enjoying all this course has to offer - good for you!!" And all of us just cracked up. It was true! Our price per hour of Ironman Entertainment was much lower than those crazy people who finished in 8.5 hours. Haha!
As I made my way along the lake, I consciously made a decision to embrace where I was at that moment. I was tired, I was sore, I had miles to go before I was done. But I remembered what my friend Justin (an Ironman himself) had told me to think about when things seem rough: I was doing an effing IRONMAN! How many people attempt that in their lifetime? That made me smile. And I happened to glance over my shoulder at that moment and saw the sun setting in a spectacular blaze, the pinks and oranges reflected in the pine-tree-lined lake; I felt very lucky to be where I was, doing what I was doing.
With that, I put my shoulders back, lifted my head, and headed forward with renewed vigor. I ran as much as I could and walked quickly when I walked. And of course, eventually, I made it up and over the big hill and down to the turnaround where, finally, that Mile 20 sign was for me.
Leg 4: 6.7 mi - 1:36:24 - 14:23/mile
I was going to do this thing! I had just under two hours to make it 6 point something miles. The final leg of the marathon would end up being my second fastest - I think because that finish line was calling my name.
It was pitch dark by this point; so dark I couldn't see people coming from the other direction or obstacles in my path. I spent most of this portion just trying not to twist an ankle with five miles to go. I ran all the way down the big hill, which helped get me on my way with some good momentum. I pushed myself to run as much as I could. It was the strangest thing, though; I'd be running along feeling okay (because running didn't hurt any more or less than walking) but all of a sudden I would realize I wasn't running anymore. I would just stop running without planning on it or even noticing. It's like my body knew exactly how much it was willing to give at any moment and that was that.
I had been leapfrogging with the same 6 or 7 people for the past few hours, and so each time we would pass or be passed, we'd exchange a few words of encouragement. This one guy, Kevin, and I had been running near each other almost since the start of the marathon. He was wearing a Team in Training jersey, so I of course struck up a conversation. And now, hours later, we were passing each other every couple of minutes. He was feeling pretty low, wondering if he was going to be able to make it the last few miles and I said, "Kevin. You didn't make it 137 miles into an Ironman to just up and quit. You're going to make it. Obviously. Just keep moving forward - you'll get there." Being able to motivate someone else, to take the focus off of myself and my own aches and pains, was actually a huge mental relief.
The mile markers slowly ticked by. Mile 23. Mile 24. Mile 25. And finally, I was back to that point where three hours and some-odd minutes earlier I had to turn right. But this time... ah, this time I turned left. And I had less than a mile to go. You could actually feel the energy lighten a bit. Athletes started jogging a little, or walking a little taller. The relative silence on the course turned into excited murmurs of "we're going to do this!" One of the volunteers at the last aid station said to me "way to go, you're almost there!" To which I replied "Thank you! For the first time all. day. that's actually TRUE!"
Just past the last aid station, a girl and a guy slowly ran by me. The girl hollered out "we chased you for HOURS on the bike course - don't let us beat you now! You have to run across the finish line with us!" I laughed and said I'd try. I jogged with them for awhile, but there was still a ways to go and I wanted to cross the finish line strong and smiling, in my own time. So I wished them well and dropped back into my brisk walk.
And soon enough I was making my way through the library parking lot and back out onto the street, and then one more left turn onto Sherman Avenue. Sherman Ave is pretty famous for being one of the best finishing stretches in all of Ironman. And man... they weren't kidding. It was five solid blocks of cheering and screaming masses of people; I swear, half the town was there. And at the end of it all, shining like a big white beacon of hope, was the finish line. I ran every foot of those blocks on Sherman Ave. with the biggest smile plastered on my face; the energy was contagious.
And finally... finally I was there. The finisher's chute. You guys. It was just amazing. The lights, the music, the thousands of people cheering and clapping and screaming - for ME (and everyone else, but in that moment, it was for me). I scanned the crowd for Team Kristen as I ran down the line high-fiving people, but knew it was probably going to be impossible to find them. I was halfway down the chute when I heard someone bellow "KRISTEN!!!" Thanks for being loud, Bea. :) There they were! I gave them a wave and a cheer as I continued down the chute.
Just a few more steps to go... More smiles and high-fives. And then I heard it. The words I had been working towards since I filled out that registration form a year ago. Words that got me out of bed at 3:30 in the morning on Saturdays and kept me moving forward during hour 8 of a hot, windy training ride. I sacrificed hundreds of hours of my life in the pursuit of those words, and this was my moment.
"Kristen Larson, a first-timer from Chandler, Arizona, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"
Overall - 16:48:32
After
I had done it. I was an Ironman! Each finisher is assigned a "catcher," someone who helps you through the chaos of the finish area and makes sure you get all your stuff. Mine grabbed me by the arm and before I knew it my medal was over my head, my timing chip was gone, I had a space blanket and a hat and a shirt and a bottle of water, and I was next in line to have my picture taken. Efficiency, thy name is Ironman.
Bea had somehow weaseled his way into the finishers area, so I sent him on a mission to retrieve my gear bags and my bike. Then I put my name on the list for my free 10-minute massage, and proceeded to creakily wander around to find some food. It was funny how quickly everything seized up once I stopped moving for a minute or two. They were out of pizza, so I ended up with a bottle of chocolate milk (delicious!) and some grapes and pretzels. I hadn't had solid food since my peanut butter bagel 19 hours earlier, but I wasn't hungry in the slightest. I knew I should try to eat something, so I halfheartedly ate a couple pretzels. And then it was my turn for a massage.
As I laid my gross, sweaty self down on the table, I said to the massage therapist, "This must be the most disgusting day of massage you ever have to do." She laughed and agreed that it was in a category all its own. I said "well, sorry I'm so sticky - have at it." It wasn't an amazing massage - but it was relaxing, and I almost fell asleep on her table.
When my time was up, Bea and I began the long (because I was moving so slow) walk back to the car. As I was leaving the finisher's area, a fellow athlete called out "How about that wind on the bike?!?" I replied "oh my gosh, I know - wasn't it terrible?" He said, "YES! I was going so slow down those hills - it's not fair! Downhills are usually the only time it actually pays to be a big guy!" I had to laugh and tell him I knew exactly what he meant.
Eventually we made it to the car and got all my junk crammed inside, and I sort of half sat/half fell onto the passenger seat. (My mom had thoughtfully provided a blanket to put between me and the upholstery - the car was a rental and I was gross.) Once we got home, we all stayed up until 2am talking about our experiences from the day. Everyone else collapsed into their beds, while I took The World's Best Shower and brushed my fuzzy teeth. I was too wound up to sleep, so I stayed up for another hour and a half reading through the explosion of awesome that had taken place on my Facebook wall over the past 24 hours. I fell asleep around 3:30 and was wide awake at 6:30, ready to take on the day (or, you know, hobble around like an old lady). This Ironman needed some breakfast: stat.
Completing an Ironman means different things to different people. I'm still trying to figure out what it means to me. I think for the most part, it's proof. Proof that with a lot of hard work, a little bit of luck, and the right attitude, BIG things are possible.
Go do big things, you guys. It’s the best.
.png)
