Antwerp Ironman 70.3 - Run to the Finish Line

I finally made it to the second transition zone.  The cyclist I was “chasing” – more like following –  disappeared ahead of me when the course took a couple turns.  Riding up, I saw so many people wrapped in silver space blankets. They had already finished and gave me big cheers of encouragement. I was excited and a tiny bit discouraged at the same time since they were done and I still faced a half-marathon run.

Then suddenly there was the entrance into T2.  A wonderful volunteer at the entrance asked me my number in order to direct me to the proper rack. I couldn’t remember, so she checked my bib and pointed.  I found my spot very quickly and was pleased to see my blue and black garbage bags –  the one from the lake with my wetsuit and backpack and the other with my running gear. I had read terrible stories about another race (one in Germany) where all the bags were mixed up and athletes had a terrible time finding their stuff.

I racked my bike and took a deep breath. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. It was surreal. I was so happy to be finished with the bike that I never had another thought of quitting. I did some quick time calculations and told myself that I had enough time to finish even if I had to walk the whole way. Well, on second thought I realized that wasn’t exactly true, since walking takes 10 minutes a kilometer and I didn’t actually have 210 minutes. But it was reassuring to know that even if I took a lot of walk breaks, I’d be able to finish before the course closed.

I have to explain this fixation I have about finishing in time. I learned to run distance only two years ago. In March 2009 I ran my first 10k race, which took something like 76 or 79 minutes.  Before then I had never run more than five kilometers – and then only because I was training for sprint triathlons. I had tried running in the past and had never progressed to the point where I enjoyed it. I found it too difficult. I took a big scary step at New Years 2009 and registered for a learn-to-run course that included a local 10k race. I loved it!  And I wanted to continue to run.

By September, I ran 16k from Paris to Versailles (10 miles) (2:22), and in October, I ran the Amsterdam Half Marathon (2:42).  I enjoyed it so much I set my sights on a marathon, selecting one in December that had a 5 hour time limit. It was quickly apparent to me that the required pace was beyond my ability so I chose instead the Rotterdam Marathon, with a 5:30 limit, the following April 2010.  I wasn’t last, but I was nearly, finishing in 5:30, which was my plan.  

The short course limits here have created a good deal of anxiety for me since I run “slowly” in comparison to others on the course.  In a half-marathon in March 2010 I got behind the sweepers early and got so upset when I was asked to leave the course at 7km that my race fell apart and I didn’t finish within the 2:30 time limit. I felt devastated even though I had cut about 10 minutes off last half-marathon time six months earlier.  Learning to finish last and validate my own finish have been some serious character-building lessons for me, a perennial over-achiever Type A personality.

So when I realized I had met my race plan for both the swim and the bike, I felt like I had already crossed the finish line. But I still had to put on fresh socks and my running shoes. My feet were numb getting off the bike. And my wool socks were wet with you-know-what. I was very glad to have a nice dry pair of running socks to put on my feet. I had planned for rain and “treated” myself to some dry socks  for the run. I was partly right.  The sun had come out. I started chatting and joking around with the race volunteer who had guided me to my spot. I had no sunscreen! But I had a hat.

When your feet are numb, it’s hard to feel whether your socks are on right. I got the right sock all twisted up in the process of putting it on my damp, numb foot, and had to straighten it out. Then I realized there was something in the toe of my left shoe.  I pulled my foot out and checked – and found the two salt capsules I had stashed in my shoe early this morning.

The capsules were part of my nutrition plan. Endurance racing is as much about fueling as it is about pacing. Pre-race planning required a lot of decisions:  how many calories an hour to eat (300), how much water to drink (about 500 ml an hour), and how to get enough electrolytes to avoid cramping (take capsules during the week leading up to the race, then two before the swim, two before the run).  All this I had practiced in earlier races and during training sessions.

I had also decided I was going to run “commando” – naked – that is, without a fuel belt.  In the past, I’ve looked like a running tourist with the amount of stuff I’ve carried (fanny back, hat, coat, camera, dual water bottles).  Once, when I was running home after a race, someone commented that I looked like I had strapped a BBQ on my backside. To be honest, I hadn’t run with that pack! It held my race kit.

The race instructions promised aid stations every two kilometers with water, Isostar (yuck), Powerbar Gel (edible), oranges and Coca Cola. I decided that I would rely on these rather than carrying my own stuff, except for a bottle of Gatorade that I would carry at the beginning of the run and then toss.  I planned to drink coca cola and water and eat gel. (Just the mention of that now makes me shudder. Seven and a half hours of eating pure sugar is gross). So the plan was to run between aid stations and walk through them as a reward.

The run course was three laps winding around the old quarter of Antwerp.  At each lap, runners pick up a wrist bracelet. When you have three, you enter the finish lane.  

When I left T2, the course did not seem clearly marked and I was a little worried I had missed a turn since I didn’t see any runners at first. Then the little road I was on fed into a stream of runners. I joined in and matched up with another woman, Liz, who was running at a similar pace. We started talking. She was running at about 6min/km (10 min/mile), which was faster than I had planned for the first lap, but I could keep up while still being able to talk.  She mistook my yellow Livestrong bracelet for a lap marker and thought that I had, like her, already run a lap. She kept telling me she thought we had already run 7km. I had just gotten onto the course, worried I had missed a part. At some point I realized she was simply a lap ahead of me.  I felt disappointed that she was going to finish sooner. She helped me to run well. I don’t think I could have pushed myself so consistently by myself. Actually, I know I could not have since I cut myself too much slack! And have a mental barrier about running faster than a 10 minute mile (6 min km).

My Garmin was giving me very strange pacing numbers, so I stopped looking at it. Talking with another runner who’s running at the same even pace makes the miles just fly by. It definitely helped me break through a mental barrier. I went from “I don’t think I can run this fast after swimming and biking” to “I’m doing it.” So we just kept going, walking through the aid stations and running to the next one.

I saw my husband and my two boys during the first lap. What a great boost that was. And besides, I could shed the hat I was carrying that ended up being too hot and unnecessary. I looked for them again throughout the rest of the race, and saw them just before the finish.

Next time I will comb my hair or something!

On my second lap, Liz’s third, we took a couple walk breaks. It’s funny how well we were motivating each other without saying a word. It’s as if we were passing silent messages of strength.  We got to the dividing point on the course where I would continue and she would finish. I teased that she should run one more lap to keep me from walking. (Silently in my head I’m thinking I can’t wait to get rid of you so I can walk).  Liz is saying to me, you better not walk or I’ll have to scream at you from the sidelines!  We gave each other a big hug and said goodbye.

I felt really strong. I had clearly reached my goal of finishing before the course closed. I just needed to keep moving, and here I was, one lap away.  I switched to cola at the aid stations and used the water to cool off. I tucked sponges on my neck, beneath my tri-suit. And squeezed water over my head. Shocking, but effective.  The aid stations, by the way, were NOT two km apart. I don’t know how they were organized, but they seemed few and far between.   

Bye Liz, hello Sue.  I continued running by myself and saw another woman, Sue. I paired up with her. She was celebrating her 50^th birthday and was eager to join her husband, who had already finished the race. She seemed a little out of gas and I asked her if she wanted to run the last lap together.  She was walking a lot and I encouraged her to run a little more and run a little faster between walk breaks.  She wasn’t quite running next to me, but just behind. I kept encouraging her. I wasn’t sure how hard to push. I didn’t want her to become discouraged or annoyed, and what do I know about racing anyway. But I thought she needed some cola and encouraged her to give it a try. She was discouraged about how tired she felt. She told me she had run a 2:10 half marathon but felt quite tired after the bike leg.  She kept telling me to go on without her and not to let her slow me down. But I had already met my goal mentally and I was enjoying running together. Helping Sue kept my mind off the blister that was forming in the usual spot on my right foot and the chafe on my inner thighs from my tri-suit that was beginning to bleed.  I liked running an easy last lap.

Me and Sue!

When we got to the finish chute I started to run as fast as I could. I put my hands in the air as I ran across the finish line and yelled as loudly as I could. 

I felt so happy to be done. Now I could sit down. My quads and my glutes were feeling pretty tired. Sue finished about five seconds after me.

 I turned to clap her across the finish line. We did it! 

Then I got my HUGE finishers medal and walked along the end of the course, clapping and cheering for the people behind me.

I met Sue’s husband and congratulated him on his finish. Then I spied my kids and husband and got some great high fives and hugs. 

Then we made the long walk back to T2 to pick up my bike. Ouch Ouch Ouch.  On the way to the bike, I met up with Liz and her husband and congratulated them. I thanked Liz a lot for helping run a good race.

After finishing the race I was suddenly really tired and hungry. I confess we stopped at McDonalds off the highway on the drive home. I liked the burger but the fries had no salt. So I didn’t eat any. Salt is what I was craving. That and coconut. I think the fatty acids in coconut attracted me.

I feel so proud of my effort and so very satisfied.  I raced without any injuries. I kept a patient pace on the bike and pushed myself harder than I thought I could – without blowing up. 

While out walking the dog the next day, I caught myself wondering how much faster could I finish next year. And wondering if there was something wrong with me since I preferred an enjoyable slower lap and running with another athlete to speeding off alone.  No. I’m just fine. My desire to push myself evaporated once I realized my goal (“just finish”) was in hand.   That was enough for this race.  I ran this half in 2:33, after swimming 1.9 km and riding 90 km.  Not so bad for an Athena! 

PS After the race, we went sailing for a couple days. This proved to be the perfect way to recover from the race.  I took a lot of naps - not much moving. Some swimming when I felt ready.  I wrote my friends:

About the half ironman,I learned the most important lesson about myself. I can do the most extraordinary things if I will only reach a little further, push a little more, and believe that it's within my capacity. Throughout the race, I had to control my negative thoughts that were telling me to quit, that the next stage would be too hard. When I focused on just what I needed to do at that moment, and kept myself moving forward, I eventually crossed the finish line. Dozens of people who started didn't finish. I FEEL SO PROUD OF MYSELF.

Ironman Antwerp 70.3 Race Report - The Bike

I left the water feeling very happy. I didn’t feel dizzy, which is something about which the books warn you. We had to leave the swim caps in a barrel and I fussed with it for a moment, trying not to dump the Tempo Trainer into the barrel along with my cap.

While I was waiting to start, I got to see the handicapped athletes finish. They had teams help them to strip their wetsuits, change clothes and get into their bikes. I was so inspired to see these men racing.  That feeling stayed with me all day as I saw them on different parts of the course – kicking my slow butt, of course.

I found my bike. It’s not usually too hard for me to find my bike. Being in the back of the pack and in the last starting wave means the Transition Zone is fairly empty by the time I arrive. Though tempted to ride without socks, I took the time to put on my favorite wool cycling socks. I chose these because of the temperature and forecast of heavy rain. I also wore a light-weight cycling jacket that I borrowed from my husband (after promising to take good care of it and not throw it away on the course if I got too hot).  

As I mentioned before, I had clipped my shoes into the pedals before the race started.  This is what the clips look like - so you can see why I can't run in them.

my shoes might be a  little nicer than these well-loved items.

Clipping my shoes on the pedals enabled me to jog my bike to the mount zone, whereupon I tried to put my foot into my shoe instead of trying to ride with my feet on top of my shoes.  This picture shows an athlete doing a flying mount correctly. I, of course, had only practiced on the bike trainer, which doesn't tip. 

someday I will have a pointy time trial helmet, cool wheels and a flying mount.

I burst out laughing at the difficulty of trying to put my shoe on. I  told the Race Official watching me that this looks cool in magazines, but in reality, it’s much harder to do than you might think. I took the shoes off the pedals and put them on, then got on my bike.  My shoes have a strap that makes it much harder. So it’s not really my fault….

Off and riding!  Having my hair pulled back in a pony tail initially made for a poor fit for my bike helmet, demonstrated in the picture below. As I was riding away from T1, I saw this photographer stepping out in the middle of the street. Turns out it was my husband. As I flew by, it registered on me that my kids were standing near him. I tried to wave to them without dropping the gel pack I was tearing open. 

The first order of business on the bike is to eat and drink. I had remembered to start my Garmin watch, which I had cleverly programmed for the bike and run legs. (Garmin warns against wearing the watch during the swim. Something about risking electrocution.)  I needed to hit the lap button on the watch to get the course segments to progress, and remembered to do that. 

There were lots of turns and corners in the beginning of the bike leg.   I reminded myself to spin fast before changing gears (spin high, then gear up, rather than the other way around).  The heart rate information from the watch seemed way off, as did the cadence.  I am quite convinced that my average heart rate for the bike leg was more than 69 beats per minute with a high of 144.    

Regardless, I like having all this electronic information, but I am ready to race without the numbers too. A couple weeks ago, I fiddled with the information the watch would display and didn’t change the settings. So the watch would read one “page” steadily until I tapped it to get to the next page.  That’s okay, just not optimal. Anyway, I eventually realized that what I thought was cadence was actually calories burnt.  Not the settings I usually use.  And riding without my reading glasses means I can’t read the fine print. Oh, the joys of the +45 age group.

I had programmed the bike portion of the course with the min & max heart rate range. The watch kept signaling that my heart rate was too low. Maybe that was correct. Or not.  Maybe there was electronic interference, which happens sometimes, or maybe I should replace the battery in the chest strap. Going by feel and breathing (Rate of Perceived Exertion), I seemed to be going hard enough.  And besides, I knew what minimum pace on the bike would keep me ahead of the meat wagon, and I was fine.  So I concentrated on maintaining an even pace.

Again, on the bike I experienced a lot of negative thoughts. These included, just finish the bike leg, you don’t have to do the run. The run will be too hard after 90 km. I won’t be able to do it, etc.   One reason I was racing Antwerp was last year’s DNF in a middle distance triathlon in Weymouth.  I timed out after riding 60 km of the most difficult hills I have ever attempted.   That race had category 4 and category 5 hills. I trained entirely on flats. So I picked the Antwerp course because it was most like where I live (The Netherlands).
 

After listening to this on-going debate in my head –quit –no-quit-no –  I told my brain it was time for “No Thought.” The only thing I needed to be thinking of was what I was doing right now. Cycling. Against. The. Wind.  There were several small climbs on bridges that I could crank out in 20 or 30 strokes out of the saddle; small descents. Mind the railroad tracks. Keep to the right.  I saw some cyclists receive a drafting penalty. I enjoyed the fact that many cyclists were wearing nicely-scented deodorants.   I passed some cyclists. Mostly I got lapped by really big guys on really nice bikes.  I enjoyed looking at the numbers on people’s calves as they passed. Hardly anyone seemed to be in my age group, so it didn’t matter they were passing me. On the contrary, I passed some people in my group.

Navigating the bike route may have been a little easier if I had studied it more closely before the race. In training, I rode half the course on TACX bike trainer care of Google Earth.  So I was surprised to see that it was three laps, after I had read somewhere on the race instructions that it would be two laps.  The bike course went through a shipping harbor with lots of container storage areas. It was a boring area in which to ride, but eminently within my skill level.   I saw the hand-cyclists on the course, inspiring me again to continue doing my best.  My last long training ride (75 km) gave me a lot of confidence that I could complete this distance at a higher pace. And I also felt confident after the Olympic distance duathalon in June. I drew on these experiences, plus the idea that I had made a lot of deposits during my training sessions. And now it was time to make a withdrawal. 

The wind was awful. It was blowing hard – seemingly in all directions. Mostly there was a steady crosswind that caught us in both directions. Some parts of the course had a beastly head-wind, but the reward for enduring that was the effortless ride in the opposite direction.   I tried to connect with the surroundings to pull energy from the Earth but the cargo areas seemed so lifeless. And the air quality wasn’t terrific either. Sometimes it smelled like glue or a particular smell I associate with electrical transformers. 

Laps on bike courses can be a lot of fun because they give you a good sense of how far you’ve gone.   The last lap I didn’t see a lot of other cyclists, but the route gave me the chance to see that there were people behind me. And I was able to see how far ahead I was of the last rider.  He/she was followed by a huge parade of course officials and emergency vehicles with their lights flashing. I rang my bike bell and flashed thumbs-up.  At this point, the sun came out and I began to look around. There was some sparkling water and lots of ships. It was sort of pretty for an urban environment.   Last year’s race in Weymouth was gorgeous but impossibly hard. I’ll take urban and flat – at least until I’m faster and stronger.

I was quite successful picking up food and drink from the aid stations while riding. Unlike some of the hammer heads, I slowed down a lot, made eye contact, shouted out what I wanted and said thank you.  I don’t like Isostar, the brand of sports drink being offered. I got one bottle and drank some of it, which made me start to burp. After that, I stuck to water and the gel I was carrying. I didn’t eat as much gel as I had planned since my stomach was bothering me. And I felt like I had good energy.  So I didn’t force it down.  I also ate a couple pieces of banana, which I liked very much until I got one that was quite starchy and unripe. Yuck. But I didn’t drop anything. Nor did I hesitate to toss empty bottles. Plenty of volunteers were out on the course picking up all the athlete-trash.

Now, if you’re a sensitive sort, skip ahead to the run because now I’m going to talk about peeing on the bike. Yes.  When you’re riding 90 km and drinking enough water, eventually you’re going to have to pee.  I first heard about this aspect of racing from a podcast by a triathlete about her first Ironman race.  I asked my coach about it and she said, yes, people do that. During this race, I saw some competitors jump off their bikes and dash into a bush or lean up against the wall.   And I saw some others just kind of standing on their bikes for no apparent reason…. I decided that I would try this sneaky tactic since maintaining a constant pace is easier than stopping and starting, and besides, you can keep moving forward, which is the name of the game.

The other problem I faced was my one-piece zip-in-the-back tri-suit. If I got off the bike to pee in the bushes, I would have to either pee in my suit or quickly remove my race belt and struggle out of my tri-suit.  Peeing through the suit to save time starts to look like peeing on the bike. So after about 50 km, my bladder was complaining. And if I let it go too long, it can be painful. So I tested the situation and found that yes, in fact, it was possible to pee while on my bike without slowing down.  In small quantities, it seemed quite discrete.  At 75 km, I thought I was alone on the course and it was time to get to Really Empty before starting the run.  I let loose an indiscrete, splashy stream, and felt very pleased with the instant relief.  But I was immediately passed by some guy who had apparently been riding behind me.  I thought I would die of embarrassment.  But I didn’t. And my bladder was very happy.

After three laps, the course heads off toward the old city center of Antwerp and the second transition zone. The ride into town seemed to take forever - much further away that the roughly-ten kilometers remaining.  I was glad there was a racer in front of me to follow to T2. The signs were difficult to spot and it was fun to chase this guy and keep up.  So much of my time training is spent at a low heart rate (under 136) that I don’t often ride in groups. Nor do I chase other cyclists since it’s not on my training plan!

I looked at my bike time and current pace and realized I was doing really well against my race plan and felt confident that I would have plenty of time to run the half-marathon.  I finished the bike in 3:43:53.

Ironman Antwerp 70.3 Race Report - The Swim

The race began months before I got to the starting line, in February, when I began training. Ironman 70.3 means a 1.2 mi. swim • 56 mi. bike • 13.1 mi. run. But I train in meters. So to me, it means a 1.9 km swim, a 90 km ride and 20.1 km run.   

The first question is why triathlons? I love each component. I really enjoyed every single training session.  And the three together are a sport unto themselves.  I love the excitement of racing and the daily training discipline that grows out of fear of failure.  The more you sweat in training, the less you bleed on race day.

Why middle-distance racing? I chose middle-distance because of my size. I’m an Athena.  Until now, I haven’t thought of myself as a fast runner or cyclist or swimmer. So the longer the race, the more my size favors me, I suppose.  In 2004 and 2005, I raced in the Athena division for my first Sprint distance triathlons.  And I ran a fairly uncomfortable 5h30 marathon in 2010. So I’m not keen on a full ironman just yet. The training commitment is substantially higher, and I don’t want to spend so much time away from my family.

Race day arrived at the wrong end of my alarm clock. I hit the snooze button several times because I didn’t want to get out of bed and start the day. I felt afraid of the race. I marked a smiley face on my left hand with a permanent green pen to serve as a reminder to enjoy every step.  I also wrapped a blue and yellow cloth strip on my bike handlebars to remind me of my dedication to race in support of the families of the children who were killed in Norway.

I had wanted to eat sweet potatoes for breakfast but didn’t get up early enough to cook them. So I had a Powerbar Recovery shake with milk. I’ve eaten this before and it’s low fiber and goes down well.  I also had my standard espresso with milk.  Why give myself a headache from caffeine withdrawal?   I got the kids moving while waiting for my morning toilet routine.

I had planned a 7:30 a.m. departure time, and then thought to leave earlier at 7:15 a.m.  I didn’t communicate that clearly.  We ended up leaving at 7:45 a.m. That felt like my second mistake. My first was cycling a little too hard Saturday for 30 minutes. It left my quads feeling a little tired. Once we were in the car and moving, I started to get upset and caught myself, thinking that this was a recreation event and I wanted to keep it fun for the whole family. If I yelled at them, they probably wouldn’t think traveling to watch me race was fun.

Despite the late departure I had to make another pit stop while en route. That brought great relief to my nervous tummy and turned out to have been a time-saver, given the lines to the port-a-potties at the Registration Tent and at the first Transition Zone.

Notes for next time: pack before the day before.  The stress I felt on Saturday made packing difficult. It would help to print a detailed road map too.  The internet service on my phone doesn’t roam automatically, and I forgot about this when using the map service to navigate, and it suddenly stopped working.

As it turned out, navigation went smoothly. Antwerp's just not that big. We found a place to park and I rode my bike over to the Registration Tent.  Registration also went smoothly. I got a nice backpack and race belt.

I also dropped off my running kit. The bike-to-run transition zone (T2) is at a different location than the swim-to-bike zone (T1). You have to pack what you’ll need for the run into a labeled garbage bag and the race organizers deliver it to the T2 Zone. So I said goodbye to my racing shoes, a clean pair of socks, a hat, a bottle of Gatorade, and a running coat. Based on the forecast I expected rain, so I thought I’d be glad to have a dry pair of socks by then. I also tucked two minerals capsules in my shoe.

I rode back to the car, momentarily panicking since I wasn't quite sure how to get back to it, and changed into my tri-suit in the parking lot.  I stuffed everything into my new backpack and rode over to T1. I forgot my bike gloves, but that didn’t matter. I also forgot to get my bib number marked on my arm at the Registration Tent. I was relieved to read in the instructions that I could get marked at T1. The other number written on the athletes is your race category. (It’s definitely a stress-reliever to see another race category on the calf of the person who just passed you.)  I love getting marked for a triathlon race. It’s a temporary tattoo that I look at with pride on the days following the race.

Not me. My bike though! And why does this guy have my race number?

I set up my bike and stuffed myself into my wetsuit. It was cold and I wanted to keep warm before the start.  Some people had shower shoes or disposable togs. I stood barefoot. I had been worried about having to set up and leave T1 by 10:00 a.m. But T1 was right on the start chute for the swim.   I felt so excited and nervous and well-prepared.  My race plan was simple enough to know by heart.

Swim = a refreshing warm up for the rest of the day. Bike = patient. Run = steady pace.

I felt confident that this course was within my ability and that I could meet the time limits on the course without too much trouble. My goal was to finish before the time limit. Actually I had three goals:

Goal 1: give it my best try. Never give up.  Embrace the sucky parts and push through them.

Goal 2: finish ahead of the meat wagon

Goal 3: finish further ahead of the meat wagon. :> And magically a spot in Kona or Nevada will roll down to me. ha ha ha. That would be very funny indeed.

Really excited about the race!

There were lots of nervous athletes around me.  I felt really proud to be there. It’s funny to look around at how everyone else sets up their bikes.  Everyone has a particularly method to setting out the stuff: bike helmet, glasses, shoes, etc. I clipped my SIDI’s into my Speedplay pedals. I practiced a couple times putting my feet into my shoes after mounting the bike. The way my shoes clip in makes it difficult to walk or run in them – they have a clip that sticks out. Anyway, my thought was I could at least run barefoot to the mount zone and put my shoes on there.

Realising there's no way out of the starting pen except to start!

I felt inspired by the disabled athletes who would be doing the race in special wheelchairs – pedaling with their arms.   They started with the pros and understandably lagged behind. What courage to swim that distance.  The swim was in Lake Galgenweel, a fresh water lake off the river Scheldt that runs through Antwerp.  Did I mention I hate swimming in lakes? I dislike muddy bottoms. In hindsight, I should have practiced lake swimming. The fresh water was very cold and green. I didn’t mind the lack of visibility, but I don’t float as high as I do in salt water. That took some adjusting.

Athletes started in waves every ten minutes.  We in the dark blue caps stood in the rear, slowly inching up towards the front to take our turn. No matter how far back we lagged, our turn approached. 

Somehow I ended up near the front of the pack, where I did not want to be. I figured I’d swim in about 50 -60 minutes, slower than most.    Eventually we all had to climb gingerly down these metal steps into the water (and the mud). I saw a woman bravely dowse her face in the cold water immediately. I will teach myself to do that.  Get over the shock of cold water as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, only the pros were allowed to warm up before the start. A warm-up definitely would have helped me.  I was impressed by the various sizes and shapes of the people in my age group. Not everyone was possessed of a “body beautiful” like the pros.  In the 45+ category, you find brave souls like me who are willing to work with the bodies they have, and not wait for the bodies they want to have.

ready set go!

waiting to begin!

When our gun went off, not much happened. Some of the group began to swim immediately. Others, including me, just stood there trying to adjust to the water temperature and coax ourselves forward.   Swimming 25 meter laps is one thing. Swimming a kilometer along the coast line is something else. Staring at a huge triangular course of the entire distance is just plain frightening. So I looked at the kayaks and other rescue boats.  They’re there for me if I need them. And off I went. 

A large group had broken off and was swimming too far to the right. That told me there was current in the lake. I kept to the left, but realized that unless I breathed on both sides I would veer to the right. I had difficulty swimming a straight line. The Tempo Trainer bravely beeped out the strokes I planned to take, but I had a lot of difficulty settling myself into the swim. I found some feet to draft on, but the swimmers proved to be either too slow or poor navigators.  The TT was helpful but seemed too slow and I had trouble putting together more than four strokes before pausing. It took a full third of the course before I settled down and felt more consistent. I was sinking in the fresh water. Breast stroke worked fine and that helped me to settle myself. And to navigate in a straight line. I was seeing some people ahead of me making good headway with the breast stroke.  So I followed them.

I had a lot of negative noise in my head and was out of breath a lot. That tells me in hind sight my swim form was poor. I told myself I was not quitting and just to keep going. I had told everyone I know that I was doing this, and I couldn’t bear the thought of having to tell everyone I gave up. I thought about fibbing and faking a cramp. But I didn’t want to become a quitter.  I only quit one race before when it was very, very cold and I was tired and didn’t want to run the whole 25 km.  I felt bad afterwards, and thought it’s dangerous to quit – it can be habit forming. It takes such strength to continue when your mind is saying quit. So I tried to remember my Total Immersion focal points. Swim tall.  Glide.

After the first turn buoy I started to settle down. I felt some growing confidence. I’m doing this, I thought. The second leg was marked with blue buoys which enabled me to focus on just swimming to the next one.  I tried counting strokes and told my brain that all I have to focus on was what I was doing right now.  Not think about whether I could have practiced more. 

I have been teaching myself how to swim the Total Immersion way. I can see how my race reflects the highest points I’ve achieved in my practice sessions.  I love this swimming method because when I’m in the groove, it feels effortless and it feels like I am flying through the water.   A woman near me stopped in the water. I paused and asked her if she was okay. She replied that she just peeing.  I found that very funny.  As we closed in on the last leg, I saw I was nowhere near last. I started feeling really proud of myself. Having intense feelings of happiness has triggered asthma in prior races, so I continued to breathe well even though I felt a little asthma coming on.   I had to battle for space on the direct line to the finish. It was kind of fun to feel like I was really in a race.  I kept going strong and finished the swim  at 0:47 – the time of day – but I thought that was my swim time. So I was ecstatic.  In fact, the official time was 54 minutes.  Regardless, the actual time is at least a 15 minute improvement over last year’s 1.8 km swim in Weymouth. I was fantastically happy.

Stay tuned for Part 2. First I have to make dinner, though.

I'm a 70.3 finisher

I had a great day. The swim was challenging, and it took a while to find my groove. But I finished 1.9 more than ten minutes faster than last year.  50 min.  The bike was heavy. Into fierce headwinds, then running in front of them. Three laps. I told myself to be patient and finished in about 3:40. That gave me room for the run.

I paired up with Liz, a lovely woman from UK who was pacing a little faster than I had planned, but I sustained it for 15 km. She was a lap ahead of me and turned to finish. I then slowed a little to run with another woman from UK, Sue. Talking with these women made the run seem short and [nearly] effortless. I'm so grateful for my companions. I felt strong and could have a little finished faster perhaps. But I really enjoyed running with other women in my age group. My running split for the half marathon: 2:33.

Finish time: 7:24!

Thanks liz and sue. You made my day!

T-1 race day essentials

I've arrived the day before the race. I'm feeling nervous and excited. I've trained consistently for months and months to the best of my ability. I have no regrets. I've built the structure for race day one training session at a time. Now it's time to execute the plan.  I found some tips  from Mark Allen:

The first tip: Realize that no race will ever go as planned. Have this be part of your race strategy, and be prepared to deal with the unexpected.

Second tip: You don't have to feel great during the race to have the race of your life. In fact, you could feel bad the entire day and still come up with the race of your dreams. Any negative effect that feeling bad might have on your race will be accentuated by placing importance on having to feel good to race well.  [NB - Embrace the Suck.]

Third tip: Eating, drinking and pace are the three most important variables that you can work with to maximize your body's ability to keep going. Reach for those first if you are feeling like you need something extra or that your energy is dipping. Eat a little to get energy, drink a little to make sure you are hydrated and slow your pace down just about a half a percent so you relax for a moment and see if this brings things around.

Fourth tip: The most important element overall is going to be your attitude. With a positive attitude miracles can occur. With a negative one, disaster is certain. The catch is that in the midst of going as fast as you can and having your body going into full mutiny over it, a positive attitude can be just about impossible to conjure up.

Solution? Think no thoughts. Yes, stop that brain of yours from getting in the way of what you are trained to do. Have no thought. Have you practiced it? Can you do it under pressure? This simple skill will help take you past impossible moments when your logical brain is telling you your goal is way out of reach. It keeps you on track when thoughts would derail your efforts. Simple yet powerful.
Race day essentials



I've filled the training bank. Now it's time to make the withdrawal.

The fear peaked and dissipated.  I did my last two training sessions: 30 sweaty minutes on the bike then a 15-minute run.  The sea was too rough and I couldn't be bothered to ride across town in a hurry to the public pool that is open in the summer for a 30-minute swim. So I "air swam" a bit with elastic cords. Will review swimming focus points tonight.

Then I watched the time trials and cheered for Cadel Evans.  What an inspiring ride.  What strength. Though I wonder whether he left 8 seconds on the course. I wanted him to win the stage too.

Self assessment


Swim - Was a bit complacent with volume of pool training. But confident that I can make the time limit. Credit myself for learning Total-Immersion swim techniques and regularly swimming in open water. So much nicer than the pool.

Bike - worked hard here; found a lot of power and stamina I didn't know I had. That and sweat.

Run - I'm faster and stronger with healthy legs. Wish I was a bit lighter, but it is what it is.  I need to break the mental barrier I have with 10-min. miles. I'm always surprised to see that I can run faster than a 6 min kilometer. So I will pace myself and hope that a Tri-Half Marathon is only 30 seconds a mile slower than a regular one.

Mental - I've studied the course, learned a lot from the DNF last year, and the duathlon this year. I feel like a total success already because I'm well prepared and healthy at the start. What more can I ask?

Leave it all on the course - saving some for the run. Pick up the pieces afterwards.

Send strength in every stroke, spin and step to the families of the children of Norway.

Windfinder - Wind & weather Superforecast Antwerpen

Windfinder - Wind & weather Superforecast Antwerpen

cold & wet. My kind of race.

betcha they're nervous too.

With 1,100 competitors from 30 different countries, Ironman 70.3 Antwerp will feature both an international and incredibly competitive field, according to race director Marc Herremans. No less than 13 Ironman and Ironman 70.3 champions, including Marino Vanhoenacker, pictured here, are expected to compete in the Antwerp event.

Originally from: http://ironman.com/events/ironman70.3/antwerp70.3#ixzz1LhL2gYWc

iron chris. why I try.

“Girls playing sports is not about winning gold medals. It’s about self-esteem, learning to compete and learning how hard you have to work in order to achieve your goals.”  - JACKIE JOYNER-KERSEE, three-time Olympic gold medalist 



“Luck has nothing to do with it, because I have spent many, many hours, countless hours, on the court working for my one moment in time, not knowing when it would come.” - SERENA WILLIAMS, eight-time winner of the Australian Open

“If you want to touch the other shore badly enough, barring an impossible situation, you will. If your desire is diluted for any reason, you’ll never make it.” — DIANA NYAD, who swam 102.5 miles between Bahamas and Jupiter, Fla., for a world long distance record

I looked at the list of women in my age group who have registered for Antwerp 70.3. I searched the internet on a couple names and found race results from previous seasons, finish photos, splits, aspirations and the like.  This race has attracted a world-class field.


I am totally impressed.  I am going to be racing with these women. And against only myself and the course.  For a couple minutes I had totally negative voices in my head when I looked at photos of these other athletes. I'm unfit. Too heavy. Too little experience.  


Well. That's a lot of crap.  Yes, of course I will probably be slower than most, if not all these rock stars. But I paid my entry fee like every one else.   This is only my second start at a 70.3 distance.  I'm basically "one year old" in terms of racing.


I'll work my day job and train in my free time to the best of my ability.   And I will arrive at the starting line a Champion. Rested and ready to compete. Against myself and to cross the finish line victorious against self-doubts, the voice that says quit. the voice that says you're not good enough. the voice that says this doesn't matter, or you can't do it, or it's too hard. Or I can't go on. I will beat that voice.  My voice is the voice of a woman who can go the distance.


I will eat like a Champion. 
I will train like a Champion. 
I will prepare like a Champion. 
I will race like a Champion. 
I will finish like a Champion.
Because I am a Champion.


I am Iron Strong. Watch me try. 


I got a feeling that today's gonna be a good good day. I gotta feeling!

What's on next year's training calendar?

Trouble is, once an idea gets in your mind, it's tough to let go of it. The ironman. If you had asked me in January whether I would be able to run 22k (barefoot) and then bike another 20k on the same afternoon, and joke about it....I wouldn't have been able to conceive of it. That's why I am running the Paris 16k. Because in March I was afraid of signing up for a half-marathon. By April, I had set the Amsterdam Half as a goal.

So, here's how I got bit by this current bug. I already started planning to return to my first love, tri-sports, and looking at what will be my race calendar next year - I want to run a full Marathon - and to run the marathon in Greece too - I looked at the distances for an Olympic Tri - and saw that they look like a cake walk now. This is a different feeling five years after I did my first sprint (I've done three, even winning my class once). "Olympic distance" tri's seemed too big five years ago. Even so, I had decided back then to do an Ironman - telling DH about my dream- he scoffed. I remember the moment, where we were, and how I felt about his disbelief. I think I bought my IronFit training book shortly after that conversation - the dream got parked as my work life bloomed.

Well, the other day I'm hunting up running podcasts and I found one by a woman training for her first I-M. She races this weekend. And my training book for ironman suddenly looks within my reach since I have already run some pretty cool distances.

So I am thinking - how much training can my body handle? 70.3 or the full banana? Can I commit? How much time and money will it take? The beginner's plan takes you though to a full IM - the "faster" plan includes a 70.3 as a warm up.

So, at the moment my head is swimming about this. I'll keep thinking about it while I look at dates, plans, coaching opportunities.

Today was another example of what happens when I work late day after day - no food shopping and planning means I run out of snacks in the late afternoon. I was hungry again, and that isn't good. Leads to foraging around the office. I will repent this weekend and stock up.

If I want to train hard, I need to eat more & always clean. I hate eating when I am busy writing. I like the adrenaline buzz and i don't like to stop.

Well, there's my day in a snapshot. Today I celebrated my fitness by outrunning a heavy rain band that began pelting me and Odie with water while we were out for a walk.