World's Longest Race Report

To anyone that dare attempt to read this all the way through, I apologize, editing never really occurred to me. I hope I kept the rambling and random thoughts to a limit, but if you scroll down, well, that would appear doubtful.

I've enjoyed writing it, I guess I'll ask to hear from you or toss out a comment if you happen to read it... beyond that, put on another pot of coffee and have a go at it ... and let me know if you finish inside the 17 hour cutoff! :-)

Race Day

The alarm went off at 3:45 but I had already been awake for nearly 2 hours, since 1:47 to be exact. I’d read where most people didn’t sleep much before their first Ironman, so I’d hoped my 3 hours of sleep wouldn’t cost me later.

Breakfast was my standard oatmeal along with a cup or two of cheerios for extra carbs and a cup of coffee. A trip to the bathroom and I was good to go. I gathered all of my hydration bottles, special needs bags, tire pump and dressed in what I would wear under my wetsuit. I think it was about 4:40 or so when I headed down to the parking lot to catch a ride with James, Wendy and Ben. We parked and caught the bus to main street and arrived just as it was starting to get light out … by 5:30 we were getting marked and were ready to head into transition.

My first of many shout outs to the Volunteers at this event – especially since the guy marking me agreed to put whatever age I wanted on my right calf!

I was surprised to see Warren Hale, from the Buffalo tri club as I was getting branded - I think he took pictures of that and he, along with a ton of other BTC members were out on the course cheering us on all day – I hope they know how appreciative I am of all the support and advice they’ve provided.

Once in transition, I readied my bike and placed all my bottles and actually surprised myself that I was as organized as I was and that so far I hadn’t forgotten anything. I didn’t want to leave transition, but both James and I were done so we headed out the main entrance at the end of Mirror Lake Drive. I wished James well and went off to try to calm myself down.

It was about 6:00 a.m. and I wasn’t so much nervous as I was tired, I felt very exhausted from not having slept and the more I thought about what I was supposed to do that day the more anxious and worried I became about my ability to finish … needless to say, I wasn’t feeling very confident. I was set to meet my brother at the Mobil station across from the Rink/Transition/Finish at 6:30 a.m. so I found a port-a-potty without much of a line and then headed to the less crowded municipal building across the street. A light sprinkle started and I hoped it wouldn't rain or at least hold off during the bike. Time was ticking down and I was tired so I just laid down on my wetsuit and tried to rest and NOT think about the day ahead… but there was none of either – I was anxious and apprehensive as can be – I think this was the first time I fought the tears that day and questioned what I was doing there in the first place.

Mike and Nick showed up right on time and I was glad to get on with everything, so I slathered up in body glide and did a decent job of catching every where I might chaff that day. I pulled on the bottom of my wetsuit and passed off my bike & run special needs bags and we headed down to Mirror Lake in a light rain. There were hugs and well wishes and then I headed down the lane to the swim start. There were quite a few people I knew in the race but in wetsuits & swim caps & goggles we were all pretty much unrecognizable. I waited until about 6:45 before entering the water. The temp was good and, as a few people had instructed me, I headed over to the far beach and little alcove on the far right side of Mirror Lake. It felt good to swim and unlike my earlier races I managed to get a breathing rhythm down right away. Once I found a spot to stand I started to get more nervous, there were a few women around me (they announced at the Friday night athlete meeting that the race was 73% male and 27% female) and we chatted about the spectacle of it all. The helicopter was circling overhead and it all seemed very surreal to me – like it was something I was witnessing rather than actually participating in. A few minutes before the pro start the Matchbox Twenty song “How far we’ve come” (I have the YouTube video in an earlier post) came blasting across the lake and I couldn’t help but smile. I took it as a sign and it went a long way in calming me down.

Mike Reilly was revving up the crowd and then the pros went off. As I stood chest deep in the water along the far shore, about 100 yards back from the start line I was searching around for my family and friends and regretted not mentioning to them that I’d be over on this side of the lake, the crowd was huge and it was a very cool sensation to be a part of it. As I scanned the crowd I noticed that just behind me was a group of the Buffalo Triathlon Club contingent – Rich Clark was there with his bullhorn – someone I’d see a whole lot of that day – I noticed Theresa Palmieri and Kara Klaasesz too, all IM veterans who’d provided me various bits of advice and information in the weeks leading up to this day

The Cannon Sounds (The Swim)

Finally the start was less than a minute away and as the announcer yelled out for us to “have the best day of your life” the cynic in me doubted that would be the case, then the cannon went off and I held steady and watched along with the rest of the crowd the most amazing site (see the video below). At that moment, for the first time, I actually felt more excited than afraid to be a part of all this.

The Swim
As a slow, novice swimmer, I’d been advised to hang back at the start … as much as 3 to 5 minutes if I had to just to avoid the fray. So I watched a bit and then realized there weren’t a whole lot of people around me, and at my pace it wasn’t like I’d catch up to the scrum and I’d already avoided the worst of it. After about 30 seconds I decided it was time to go - I still had about 100 yards before I hit the actual start line, but that was ok, because above all I felt confident and relaxed – which honestly is somewhat unbelievable since the swim start was definitely a part of the Ironman that I feared most. And I mean it, 6 months ago I’d watch YouTube Videos of various Ironman swim starts and get so anxious that by the time the 2 minute clip was over I’d be in tears and swearing at myself for ever entering this contest in the first place.

The actual swim was pretty uneventful – I got clocked pretty good in the eye about a minute after I crossed the start line – it hurt and took my breath away, but it wasn’t like I was going to quit then and there, so I took a deep breath and got down to business – although I did make a point to try to protect my head by keeping my hands/arms out front as I should be doing anyway. For the first length down I stayed to the far right of the buoy line to avoid the congestion but tried to stay close to other swimmers and gradually worked my way back to the line (for those unfamiliar with the LP swim, the IM course buoy line lies along a cable system about 5 or 6 feet below the surface that is used to mark the lane lines for the kayak races that are regularly held in Mirror Lake). By about ¾ of the way down I made my way towards the line and could catch glimpses of the cable so I didn’t have to do much spotting. It didn’t feel crowded to me and I settled in and tried to pick up my pace to a quick yet comfortable stroke. At the first far turn I glanced at my watch for the first time and I think I was at about 22 minutes. If I could maintain my pace I should be able to finish in 1:45. Going into the race I had been very concerned with the 2:20 swim cutoff, after some training in LP over the 4th of July I was less concerned about the cutoff and figured I should be able to do it in 2 hours, maybe a little less. By race day my goal was to do the swim and be out of T1 and on the bike within 2 hours.

Coming in for the first lap was pretty relaxed, occasionally I caught myself thinking about the fact that I was indeed DOING an Ironman triathlon and actually smiled to myself. I know I’d thought many times “if I can just make it out of the water, I can finish” and I was doing what I’d feared most, the rest of the day would be a breeze! In hindsight, I realize how optimistic and unrealistic those thoughts were, but more on that later.

I had about 1 buoy to go in the first lap and then maybe another100 yards or so to exit the water before starting the second lap and as I’m taking a breath and looking to my right – towards the shoreline – I see about a half dozen yellow caps streak by me – I just got lapped by the pros as they FINISH their swim! I actually took a bit of satisfaction that I was as far as I was on the first lap.

When I make my way to the huge inflatable exit arch I stand up to make my way out of the water and am totally miffed by the fact that it’s pouring rain …while I was swimming I never noticed and was totally surprised by it – sorry, just a weird random thought. I loop around the dock and head back out for the second loop, following the lead of those ahead of me and taking a minute or so to just walk back in and use the time for a bit of recovery. The second loop was entirely unremarkable but for the fact that I was doing an IRONMAN!!! Now and then there were a few people swimming into me or using me to body surf – what the hell? I pay more attention to the sky – wishing it blue for the bike so I can use the down hills to my advantage and consciously try to figure out if it’s raining or not. The cool thing is I never feel that tired or bored – not like I always did when training – probably a sign I wasn’t pushing it hard enough, but my goal really was just to survive the swim. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I did, truly enjoy the swim – as I should’ve, it would by far be the best and easiest part of the day for me …

As I’m coming in on the second lap, for the first time I noticed the big screen tv/scoreboard thing at the end of Mirror Lake and am amazed by the fact that I’m part of such a huge event.

When I exit the water I really was elated. I can’t believe I did that and the clock showed an hour thirty-something, I wasn’t sure if it was on the pro time or not, but either way I’d beaten what I thought would be my best possible time.

Here’s a second shout out to the volunteers – the guy that tore my wetsuit off did it like a pro – Thank You!

I was having trouble getting my arms out and as I stepped up to him he took about 1 second to assess where I was in the process, grabbed the shoulders of the suit and pulled it down to my waist. As soon as my arms were out he told me to sit down and 5 seconds later my wetsuit was over my shoulder and I was on my way to transition … YAY!! now I get to ride my bike!

Transition note: keep cap and goggles on until after the wetsuit is off, otherwise they might get caught in the sleeve – and at the last race I thought I’d just leave them in the sleeve but ended up losing my goggles on the run to transition.

Swim to Bike Transition (T1)

I did hear people yelling my name on my way into transition and I think I remember spotting Laurie and Sergio from the BTC but didn’t catch the faces of anyone I knew, I was just so relieved to be done with the swim.

After I grab my T1 bag I head into the women’s changing tent – OMG – I’ll save the details of this for a subsequent “Ironman Confidential” post about the things they don’t tell you – but I can say that I was surprised at how crowded it was. I was glad for that because it meant I wouldn’t be dead last heading out of transition. The tent was steamy and what wasn’t flooded was muddy and I wondered just how hard it had rained during the swim. I was trying to change my shoes but found myself standing ankle deep in water – finally I threw a towel down in the mud and was able to get my socks and shoes on and one of the volunteers helped me un-roll the Cadence Tri top I was trying to get into. Helmet was on but then I fumbled around for my gloves, which I typically don’t wear, but because of the weather decided I’d need them to avoid having my hands slip all over the handle bars. As I looked through my transition bag I realized the one thing I did forget was to put a rain jacket in my T1 bag – I had thought about it and intended to do so that morning but never brought it with me. There was nothing I could do about it now. I just hoped it wasn’t going to be too cold.

The Bike (aka The Fun Part)

They call out my number as I headed out of the tent and into the bike transition area and the volunteers grab my bike and have it ready for me … it was a long slog through the transition area and I was worried about all the mud and gunk that was getting in my bike cleats – huge areas of the main path were entirely flooded and covered with mud. I tried to keep to the sides and maneuver my way down. I was so happy to see my bike waiting for me.

Yet another thanks to the volunteers for getting my bike to me so quickly.

I try to clean my shoes on the timing mat and cross the mount line and head out. There’s a steep descent coming out of transition and I knew to take it slow, not to mention it was wet and still raining pretty hard and I just wanted to get out on the open course.

Once I got past town I settled into the aero bars and was looking forward to taking on the first hill since that leads to the first big long descent into Keene. For those who haven’t done the course - the first half of the loop – about 25 miles (through the ride into Jay) is definitely the easiest – there’s a few climbs but they’re countered by some nice long descents and fast flats – definitely my kind of course. The last 30 miles are another matter – it’s a lot of climbing, some short and steep, some unendingly long – like the last 12 miles along the base of Whiteface Mountain … ugh.

Thankfully I’m smart enough (no comments please!) to know that the weather would prevent me from going all out on the down hills (my specialty!) – plus I’m just not that brave. I get nervous on dry roads when I hit 40 or 45 mph and I didn’t have the guts to do it on wet pavement in the pouring rain, plus, I discovered the hard way that going even 35mph into the driving rain really hurts!

Coming out on the bike I felt good and confident and settled into a nice pace – I watched my heart rate and kept it solidly in my endurance zone when I wasn’t climbing, I also kept an eye on my cadence and made a conscious effort to shift down and spin when hitting even slight hills – I worried less about my average speed and more about keeping the stress off my legs. On a few occasions (which likely were several too few) I reminded myself to drink – I’m a heavy, salty sweater and in the rain you don’t realize that you’re still sweating as much if it were dry out. My goal was to have at least a liter an hour - a bottle of sports drink (24 oz) and then another 8oz or more of water with any Gu’s or bars. I was shooting for about 60 gms of carbs an hour and figured I’d get at least that if I had my sports drink, ½ an Enervit bar, and a gu or more as needed each hour. The problem is you get caught up in the race and the rain is keeping you cool so you don’t think to eat and drink as much as you would if it were hot out. Also, with the course it’s tough to eat and drink when you’re climbing and downright dangerous to do so when you’re descending. There was also a 14 mile, rolling out and back (~7miles each way) about 30 miles into the course. When I rode here a few weeks prior I saw this as a good place to fuel, but for race day I was dead wrong. With so many cyclists coming and going in both directions, this was probably one of the more dangerous parts of the course – especially on the first lap when it was pretty congested. So as conscious as I was of what I ‘should’ be doing, I still managed to fall short of doing a really good job hydrating and fueling on the bike.

Prior to the out and back there’s a left turn at Jay and then you hit one of the steeper, longer hills on the course – the first time through, I have to confess, this was actually fun. It was pouring rain (surprise, surprise) and oncoming traffic was stopped dead for the race and backed up all the way up the hill so people were out of their cars and hanging out the windows ringing cowbells and cheering us on. A bit of a “Tour de France” moment and I still felt ‘fresh’ (with a nod to my sister Ann) and strong and dropped my gear and just churned by everyone ahead of me … I remember thinking how fun it was, despite the elevation and the rain.

For me, the out and back really was the start of the bike ‘race’ for me … I had settled in and was warmed up and was ready to go. And with all the cyclists coming fast and furious toward me it got my adrenaline pumping and I started to push more than I had in the first 30 miles.

I hadn’t really been thinking about much on the ride – had those 2 Great Big Sea song’s replaying on and off (‘Walk on the Moon’ and ‘Here and Now’) – as a cyclist and typical to most races, I find myself eventually passing a ton of the people that had crushed me on the swim, so the “on your left” call was one I’d probably made several hundred times that day. At several points throughout the race you find yourself at a similar pace as some other riders – William – was one I kept leapfrogging with and I think Frank was another who gave me the tip to stay off the shoulder to avoid flats – thanks for that Frank! Gustavo was someone who admired my riding and backside so much he decided to just sit on my wheel for a good portion of the out and back. Unfortunately this part of the course was too congested to be monitored by the officials on motorcycles and I witnessed quite a bit of drafting. A group of guys had a whole pace line going while a couple of other teammates were taking turns ‘pulling’ for each other. Gustavo enjoyed his ride for a few miles before I reminded him of the no drafting rule – he promptly passed me and complimented me on my pace - telling me ‘you’re a good rider” the reply under my breath was ‘you’re a cheater.’

Early on the bike I witnessed a lot of people who had flats and just figured I’d get one at some point – with the wet conditions they’re much more prevalent as the roads get covered with debris, stones, glass or whatever and they stick to your tires and eventually work their way through them. The more flats I saw, the more I prepared myself for one. Then about half way out on the out and back I saw a very young female rider sitting in a ditch crying – her bike was laid out next to her but I couldn’t tell if it was anything more than a flat, but I remember thinking it was way too early to have to give up because of a mechanical problem. I hope she didn’t crash, but I’d hate to think she decided to call it day for something as minor as a flat.

That was probably the first of several ‘defining’ moments I’d have throughout the day. After seeing her, I thought of the Kona Ironman championship broadcast several years ago when Norman Stadler, a favorite to win the race that year, encountered his second flat and the cameras caught him throw a fit – and his bike as I recall - and swear and cry and quit then and there – I’ve never cared for the guy since. I understand we can all have a bad day, but to be a “pro” and chuck the day because a flat threw you out of contention to win – well it does a huge disservice to all the age-groupers out there who suck it up and are fighting their hardest just to hit every cutoff.

As an aside (as if this isn’t going to be long enough) I had an email exchange with James after the race and we noted that there were a total of 41 pros that started the race, yet only 30 of them finished. I know one of the female pros crashed out near the bike start, but still that’s 25% who failed to finish – and while there likely were some mechanical issues on the bike, I doubt any of them failed to hit a cut off. For the age groupers it was in the neighborhood of 6% including people who missed the cutoffs – which I’d bet are at least half of those who DNF’d (Did Not Finish). I know that these guys do this for a living, not a lifetime achievement, and as far as professional athletes go, well this is probably the toughest sport they could choose to make a living at – but still, while I truly am in awe of their ability, I guess I’m not surprised to see a slight lack of interest in seeing who wins.

Back to the task at hand, riding the bike, girl crying in ditch, note to self: Don’t be her

The first lap along Whiteface was tough as expected but overall my legs felt good. I was happy that my mind steered clear of the “oh my god, I have to do this again” type thoughts. Coming up the last set of hills I was excited to complete the first loop and was feeling pretty strong. As you finish up the ride along Whiteface there’s a series of hills, I think the sequence goes Little Cherry, Big Cherry, Mama Bear, Baby Bear and Papa Bear … with Papa Bear being the toughest right before the turn to head back along Mirror Lake and into to town for the second loop.

One of the mantras I had in my head came from the coaches at the Triathlon camp I attended earlier in the year in Muskoka. I think it was Jay or Greg who, after reprimanding several of us for “saving gears” as we struggled and mashed up a hill, told us “Remember, it’s not the ‘fastest’ one up the hill, it’s the ‘freshest.’” So with that ‘not the fastest, but the freshest’ slogan in my head, I just kept spinning up the hills as easy as I could.

I had been warned that the BTC contingent would be camped out at the top of Papa Bear to cheer everyone in and I wasn’t disappointed – they were there in full force, bull horn and all and it was a huge boost to help get me up the hills and finish the first lap strong. I won’t lie that it would’ve been nice to be finishing up the bike at the point, but as it was I was excited to be starting the last loop.

As I hit town there seemed to be big crowds – very big crowds considering the weather and while I didn’t do much clock or pace watching on the bike I think it was around noon when I first came through which meant I was doing as expected, maybe a bit better considering the conditions. I can’t remember exactly but I think on the first loop, rather than circle behind the ice rink we come straight down through main street and down to the turn on 73 – I remember making the turn towards the high school, but I think that was at the end. Anyway, I know I was searching for my friends and family as I came down along the rink and as I was passing I heard my brother Mike holler out “Lou” to me – I caught him on the left as I was passing and put my hand behind my back to wave and give a thumbs up signal.

As I was riding out of town I was thinking that I didn’t know which way my hand was facing and I was hoping I didn’t signal thumbs down.

I should note, that while the whole bike course seems to function as one big urinal, there were plenty of port-a-potties along the route, but through the first lap I never had to go, and that right there should’ve been a big red flag for me to drink more – but in my non-logical way of thinking, I was glad for not having to stop. I also passed on getting my special needs bag as all I had in there was an extra tire and a dry pair of socks which would’ve been totally useless.

All and all I was happy with my first lap and thankful that I never got a flat and that I didn’t have to stop. Ok I promise I’ll finish the bike soon – the second lap was less eventful than the first – a lot of people with flats, I successfully took some Gatorade bottle handoffs, got some gu’s and powerbars and couldn’t believe what some people had tied on their person and their bikes – a lot of camelbacks, bananas and bagels and sandwiches stuffed in their back pockets or strapped to their bikes. Between the rain and the compression I seriously doubted how edible they’d be to the owners when the time came and was aggravated by the riders swerving around as they tried to detach, unwrap and eat said items while riding.

I figured my best defense was to simply pass as many of these people as possible. I also had no problem accelerating past a few riders who were vainly attempting to keep dry by wearing garbage bags. Sometimes you just have to wonder. First of all there was NO WAY donning a drawstring Hefty with your head (and helmet) shoved through the bottom and arms torn through the corners could possibly keep one even remotely dry in the driving rain while the bag flapped wildly and continued to rip larger and larger arm and head holes as the rider flew down the hill towards Keene at 30+ mph. Furthermore, I’d estimate that the garbage bag functioned more like a parachute or brake and effectively more than offset any “aero” benefit gained from the bars & helmet this particular triathlete had invested in. I realized it would be in my best interest to keep these riders behind me, since I couldn’t help but visualize the bag flying off them and into the face of a trailing cyclist, blinding them and sending them head over heals over the guardrail … no thanks!

Oh, and I forgot to mention the “gear’ drop zones – one on the downhills into Keene and another on the out and back … small patches of rough road where anything not totally secured to one’s bike or person was lost forever – I spent more time dodging water bottles and tubes and a lot of expensive sunglasses which, given the weather, had no business being out there in the first place. One of the saddest sights to me was about dozen fig newtons – they’d been there for awhile by the time I passed them and had clearly taken on a life of their own. Like one of those growing sponges, with all the rain they’d expanded to about five times their original size and due to the large quantity of them, they created the illusion of quite an obstacle in the road. Of course my only thought, as I’d nearly reached my limit on gu’s for the day was “Of course! Fig newtons, why the hell didn’t I pack some fig newtons! … next time.”

So the bike was great, it was wet, but it was fun … right up until about the 85 –90 mile mark. My second shot at that steep hill at the turn in Jay was when I first knew my legs and back were starting to feel it. I’d geared down and was doing my best yet I was getting passed a lot – something that pretty much hadn’t happened up till now. Things were starting to ache and the ‘novelty’ of doing an Ironman was beginning to wear off. While my legs ached I knew finishing the bike in decent fashion wasn’t going to be my problem, running a marathon was and I started to worry. I enjoy the out and back part of the course and with it being a bit less congested on this lap I took the opportunity to “buy whatever they were selling” at the aid station hand off and took water for my aero bottle, Gatorade, a bar that I shoved in my back pocket and then grabbed a PowerGel from a guy further down … whew, definitely got my moneys worth from that little slow down!

I knew the last 12 miles weren’t going to be any picnic, so I just geared down, didn’t worry about people passing me and tried to keep my legs spinning as steady as I could and keep the pressure light on my pedals. I was happy to see the hill names written in the road as that signaled the last few miles of the bike.

I was really excited to see the BTC folks again, when you’re doing the race you start to expect to have people cheering for you at certain points, but then forget that it’s been over 8 hours since the race started and it’s been raining, with varying degrees of severity, the ENTIRE time. I hope people realize how extremely grateful I, and all the participants are for all the supporters out on the course – especially that day. I can’t help but smile as I finish the ride up Papa Bear and head back into town. I know non-cyclists may want to kill me, but up to this point, despite the weather, it hasn’t been that bad, and I’d go as far to say that it’s been fun, enjoyable even, but then I remember I have to run a marathon – so you runners can have your fun then, as there’ll be none left for me.

Bike to Run Transition T2 (Ode to Karen)

The crowds on Main Street as I finish the bike leg are awesome, I pretty much have totally lost track of time and with the crappy weather it actually feels much later than it is, it’s darker than the clock would indicate, like when we turn back the clocks in the fall. As I head into T2 it feels like 5:00 or later when I hand off my bike to the volunteers, grab my T2 bag and head to the changing tent. Once inside it’s dark and humid, but warmer than outside and I realize I could very easily nap at that moment, I’d like for it to be over now. As soon as I enter the tent a volunteer is on me asking what she can do to help, and honestly I have no idea – she looks like she’s in pretty good shape so I’m wondering if I can hand her my race belt and send her out to polish off the marathon for me! I hand her my bag and start to take off my shoes, when finally, after nearly 7 hours I have to pee – so I head back out to the port a potty while she places reflective stickers on my running shirt – I thought about doing it before the race but optimistically calculated that I would be finished long before dark, not.

I come back in and Karen, my volunteer whose name I later commit to memory has the contents of my T2 bag laid out and I sit down take off my cycling shoes – the ground is still muddy, but I sensed that they’ve done some cleaning and rearranging since I’d been there that morning – maybe it was just less crowded and less chaotic, no matter I was glad to have space and the individual attention. So I was told the volunteers would do anything for you, but they truly were amazing, and T2 was definitely another defining moment. Karen had already put a towel down on the ground for me to change my socks and shoes on. She hands me my now legal, reflective shirt and I change and she takes my soaking, sweaty bike shirt so she can get all my stuff back in my T2 bag for after the race. I’m sitting there on the verge of tears wondering how I’m going to run a marathon, I’m kind of shaky and very stiff and I start to take my socks and shoes off and I can hardly bend over. I’m checking out my shriveled feet when the next thing I know Karen is drying them off for me and putting my clean socks on for me.


I was just amazed, I had to believe that that was above and beyond the call. I’m still kind of staring at my now clean and dry feet when she hands me my shorts – same as what I was wearing but clean and dry. I stand to change and she helps steady me and takes my sweaty, smelly bike shorts (though to be fair, I think she was wearing gloves, at least I hope so!! ;-) Putting on the clean pair wasn’t easy in the conditions, much like pulling back on a wet bathing suit, so as I struggled to get them up she helped me with that too … I was so grateful to have gotten so much help. Karen started handing me the rest of my stuff – my hat & headband, my fuel belt and enduralytes. I grabbed everything and got them on and finally asked her name – I told her I’d remember and after a quick hug told her to check out my blog if she could remember. And I’m so glad she did. Keep and eye out for a future post with more info about Karen and her perspective on race day! Did I mention that she dried my feet?!


Ok, I’m finally ready to go, I grab the powerbar I had left over from the bike head toward the exit of the tent. At the doorway I stop and look out and tell a volunteer that I don’t want to go back out there. She basically yells at me to get going, to “finish this thing” and tells me it’s not hardly raining anymore, at the moment it wasn’t, but it wouldn’t last long.

The (long) Run

I head out of the rink/transition area and onto Main Street and realize all those training ‘bricks’ and transition runs had paid off, as after over 8 hours I’m actually able to run. Just a few hundred yards down Main and I catch all of my family and friends behind the barrier on the right, Ann, Nick, Mike, Mary, Jaclyn and Cindy and Bob. All a bit drenched but cheering and yelling to me things I can’t quite understand but they seem excited and happy to be there despite all the rain. I wonder to myself if they’ve been drinking all afternoon, but figure it’s a bit early for that and I didn’t hear my sister yelling things like ‘give it to grandma” her standby sporting event instruction, so I figure they’ve exerted a bit of self control for my benefit. (Later I’m told she’s modified her cheer for Triathlon to “you look fresh” and the unknowingly cruel “you’re almost there” to folks with over 13 miles to go.

Sober or not, I’m happy they’re there and even happier to have made it as far as I have. I wave and smile and point to my legs and tell them “I’m running” mainly because I couldn’t quite believe it myself. When thinking about the run, my biggest fear was that I’d have to walk the whole thing so initially I’m happy just to be running – figuring every mile I can run is one less I have to walk.

Overall I feel good, and after the first mile I get all optimistic and decide I’m going to run the Ironman Marathon faster than the marathon I ran on it’s own in May. I was excited, I was inspired, I was motivated, I was wrong.

Once down the hills and out of town I immediately regret wearing my fuel belt. I’d trained with it a lot and did wear it for my earlier marathon, but it just wasn’t sitting right and felt heavy and uncomfortable. I thought about just dumping it but it wasn’t cheap, and I am, so I drink a little to empty one of the bottles. As I’m running out of town I get the sensation that I know TONS of people. Everyone is calling me by name – telling me how good I look, how strong I am, how nice my pace is, to ‘keep it going Mary Lou.’ I’ve never done a race with my name on my number before and it caught me by surprise, but I did my best to thank and acknowledge everyone that I was now on a first name basis with.

I think it’s at about mile two where the route passes the horse grounds. As I’m running by still feeling good I’m totally shocked to see my friend Lucy. I had met her at my gym three or four years ago and she’s one of the first people I started doing long rides with. Lucy, her friend Mark and her daughter Jenna had been in Vermont for a wedding and stopped to see the race ‘on the way’ back to Buffalo. It was a much welcomed surprise – and as happy as I was to see her, I was just as excited for having a ‘place’ to dump my fuel belt. She jogged along for a bit and told me how great I was running (thanks Lucy!) and then wished me well as I continued down the hill towards the River Road out and back.
After I hand off my fuel belt I thought that doing so might be something I could get disqualified for, thinking maybe I should’ve just dropped it on the ground and risk getting a warning for littering. Then I wonder if I do get DQ’d do they do it right away or wait ‘til I cross the finish line and then refuse to give me a finisher’s medal – that would kind of suck.

Shortly after the horse farm I also see James for the first time as he was making his way in on the first half of the run, a good 10 miles ahead of me. I felt bad to see him walking, but after greeting him he seemed content with the mix of running and walking he had to do and actually seemed to be enjoying himself – I no longer felt bad, I was just envious! I think it was in this same stretch that I also noticed Elizabeth Wittmack, another contest finalist who was taking her best shot at qualifying for Kona and was headed in and running strong.

The next 7 or 8 miles, through the out and back on River Road, went by ok, but I was beginning to hurt … a lot – in my lower back and butt (sciatic) and my knees, calves, quads and hamstrings, in other words, just about every muscle I needed. I was able to keep a good pace, about a 10 min mile when I was running and I followed the advice I was given by another BTC member and veteran IMLP’er, Dick Mullaney – nothing ground breaking, but sound advice to ‘have a plan, walk the hills and the water stations.’ So that’s what I did, I made a point to grab a cup of something at each aid station – about every mile. But the problem was I’d likely only take a sip and toss the rest and run on – I’m sure this lack of attention to how much I was drinking would later factor into my difficulties. But I was happy to start ticking off the miles and skeptical about how long this would last – on that issue, my fears would prove to be well founded.

Heading back into town I see Lucy, Mark and Jenna again, and it was a boost seeing how excited they were for me, I was really glad they were able to catch part of the race. But it was shortly after, when I hit the next set of hills coming into town that I sensed things were changing, I was just fatigued and sore and couldn’t bear to think about having to run another 15 miles or more.

The BTC cheering section were parked in the Score-This tent at the top of the Sentinal Road hill at the turn onto Main Street and it was nice to have a cheering section but the boost was temporary. Everything was really hurting and I was dreading the second half of the run. As I hit main street again I see my own cheering section – I’m not sure but I thought I remember there being half on either side of Main Street – they seem as relieved as I am to see that I’m still running, but I feel the batteries winding down and feared the difficulties ahead.

If you check out the run course you’ll see that you hit Main Street on the way in at about mile 11, and then there is this cruel little 2 mile out and back to finish off the lap. For the runners, or for me at least, this was the toughest part, you hit the crowd and want to be done, but no … you have another 2+ miles before you get to start the second lap – or finish which is what many of the triathletes were doing as I was just finishing my first lap. The first time, on what I’ll call the Mirror Lake out and back, was where I first started to lose it. I managed to run through town with the crowds carrying me, but once left to my own devices, around the area where we can pick up our special needs bags is where I first started to bonk, both physically and mentally. Everything hurt and I had so far to go. I walked by the special needs bags and opted not to retrieve mine – I only had an extra pair of socks, sneakers and a long sleeve shirt. Which given the current amount of rain wouldn’t last long, what was the point I figured. I continued on and tried to maintain a steady walk pace but that hurt too – I had run this part of the course on my training runs, but now it seemed SO much further.

As I made the turn to finish the last mile of the 1st half marathon I was wearing down mentally. It was a very bad idea to only focus on how far I had yet to go, over 14 miles, it just didn’t seem physically possible. I had to fight back the desire to just sit down and sob – I kept walking not sure what I was going to do - then I came upon the special needs area again. This time I thought maybe taking a break and at least putting on clean, dry socks and shoes couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t raining that hard at the moment and I knew I was in for a very long night so I put the long sleeve wicking shirt I had in there on over what I was wearing, changed my socks and shoes and started a slow jog back towards Main Street.

I used it as my own mini-transition and I was wishing I had something more in there: a towel, bio-freeze, pain killers, mountain dew – anything that would’ve tasted good or made me feel better. People had recommended some ‘treat’ item but I figured I’d be good with what was offered on the course and worried about how my stomach might react – I regretted not taking their advice.

I think I managed to keep a slow jog going as I passed all the spectators lining Mirror Lake Drive and at the split to continue on the next lap or head into the speed skating oval for the finish - I was just crushed looking at that sign - I would’ve given just about anything to be done. I fought the urge to cheat (and get DQ’d!) and continued on to the left and the second lap. I passed my friends and family on Main Street again and was wishing I were invisible. I was hurting and I knew it was going to be HOURS before I’d see them again. They were all excited and cheering for me and I just started to cry, I didn’t want them cheering for me because I was tanking, big time, and knew my chances of finishing were dwindling. I think I yelled out to them to get my special needs bags cause I didn’t want to lose the stuff that was in them – they told me I was doing great, that I looked good, I told them it was going to be a long night and tried to keep up something that resembled running untill I was out of their sight – I don’t think I was successful.

Next I would pass the BTC club members and a decent downhill. An amusing aside: as I passed, with the illusion of dusk due to all the clouds and rain (I think it was about 6:30 or so) and with me now wearing a different shirt I was secretly hoping that they wouldn’t recognize me, and no sooner did I think it than did Rich Clark call out on the bullhorn that I couldn’t fool ‘em with a change of clothes. It made me smile that he was reading my mind, but similar to when I passed my family, I didn’t feel worthy of their cheers or support – my being an Ironman was in jeopardy.

I tried to trot down the hill but it felt as if every jarring footfall was like a sledgehammer to the inside of my body. Bones and muscles in my back, ass, shoulders, neck and legs all seemed to be vibrating like a tuning fork and reverberated the pain through my limbs with every step. I hung my head and began what would be a several mile walk. I began to feel the pity of the onlookers and was thankful that my change of clothing had covered up my name, I wanted to be anonymous, hell, I wanted to be invisible. It didn’t stop some of them from telling me how ‘fantastic’ and ‘strong’ I looked – I often had to choke back the tears as I’d make eye contact and acknowledge their support with a weary nod or an uncertain shake of my head …'thanks.'

Around the horse farm (about mile 14 or 15) I was thankful Lucy & company were gone, and I figured they must’ve been driving back to Buffalo that night. I grabbed a gel at the aid station there – Powergel with 2X’s caffeine - and washed it down with a few sips of water. I continued on down the next hill to the turn on to River Road. Just as I made the turn I felt really ill, dizzy and sick like I may faint and wondered if I’d be forced to stop if I fainted. I hadn’t realized how little I’d been drinking and attributed how I felt to the caffeine I just had. I made it to the next aid station, just shy of mile 16 and knew I needed to do something to try to feel better.

As terrible as I felt, I so wish I had a camera, standing at the start of the aid station with a garbage can filled with white blocks, in the pouring rain I might add, was a volunteer in an army green poncho holding out wet sponges for us to use to cool off! Perhaps the people on a 3 hour marathon pace actually needed this, but at this time of day, considering the weather and who was left on the course, well I still can’t think about it without laughing.

I moved under the cover of the aid tent and leaned on and over a garbage can. I’m sure the volunteer who came over to assist me thought I was going to throw up, but I did it just to support and steady myself. He offered for me to sit down and I refused, I was exhausted and knew if I got even remotely comfortable I may just pass out cold, never to continue. If I was going to go down, I at least wanted to be moving forward, but this was the first time I really thought I was going to have to quit, I didn’t see how I could possibly cover all those miles, I wasn’t thinking about the time cut off then, I just didn’t know how I could continue to propel my body forward for the remaining distance.

Ok, massive ‘defining moment’ here. The volunteer stood next to me, holding cups of pretzels and chicken broth as I took what I could. He kept telling me to take all the time I needed, he was patient and kind as minutes passed and I still used the garbage can for support. Then I looked over to the road as an ATV race patrol vehicle came down the middle of the road heading back towards town. Sitting in the middle of the back was a guy huddled up in a mylar blanket, his race was over. I turned back to stare at all the cups in the garbage can, thought about the reality of giving up and knew that I didn’t want that to be me. Get over it. Get moving.

So I did that, I finished up my chicken broth, filled up my pretzel cup, and grabbed a cup of coke – I was worried about the caffeine but was sick of the Gatorade and figured I needed the sugar. I hoped if ate some more pretzels and kept moving the dizziness would pass, and eventually it did. Carry on.


Yet another shout out to the volunteers who nursed us all along the run in that miserable weather, and especially to the young man who assisted me at that stop. I’m thinking I wasn’t all that nice to him at the time, but I’m very much appreciative.

I walked on with a new attitude and resolve and tried to think positively – coming up with queer motivational quotes and sayings: “mind over marathon” “whether you think you can or you can’t, you’re right.’ And crap like that – it worked for a while, but the miles were going slow, everyone was passing me. I started to get pissed that I was even trying this, questioning why anyone in his or her right mind thought I was ready for this. I was whining to myself because I needed my ipod or someone to walk and talk with. I’d try to keep pace with people that passed me but I couldn’t, I was the slowest person out there, and to make matters worse it was still raining – what did I ever do to deserve this?

As determined as I was to keep moving I soon became aware of my pace, it was slow, really slow. I did some calculations and realized I might not finish – it was getting late, it was getting dark. At best I had a 25-30 min per mile pace and it was going on eight o’clock. Every step hurt, and I was stopping about every 5 minutes to try to stretch my back and legs. People would jog past me and all I could think was “How are these people running?” I was envious, I wished them well and told them ‘good job’ and cheered them on as they left me behind and then found myself secretly hating them and wondering what they did to train and how they managed to be so much better prepared than myself. I grabbed a mylar blanket from one of the volunteers and clocked myself over the next mile, it was over 25 minutes and every step still hurt, something had to give.

I’d like to say at that moment the clouds opened and the sun burst through and I got some kind of divine second wind, but I think it was just the huge construction lights being turned on and humming to full brightness. For whatever reason, at mile 18, I decided I had to try to run. Walking wasn’t working and my pace was too slow. So I tied my blanket around my neck like a cape and first started pumping my arms and then tried to move my legs along with them. The next thing I knew I was running, well, I’m not sure what I was doing would technically qualify as running, but at least it was a jog, probably at a 12-14 minute mile pace, but it was good enough and If I could keep it up it would get me in, hopefully with time to spare. And while it hurt to run, it actually hurt less than walking.

I kept it up, made the turn and now could see all the people still headed out behind me – it seemed like there were a lot and at first it was kind of motivating. Then I began passing those who’d passed me earlier and I really felt like we were all in this together – we were all just doing our best, sucking it up and trying to finish. Once I passed the nineteen-mile mark and still felt ok I knew I could not stop, for I may not get started again. I felt a bit ‘Forest Gump-ish’ but knew I just had to try to keep up this pace. I caught up with another runner, Cynthia, or she caught up with me, and we chatted for a while and it helped pass the time. We finally passed the 20 mile marker and I think I asked her how many 6 mile training runs she’d done, since that was all we had left – finally there was some hope!

At the ‘Inspiration Station’ on the River Road out and back there was also a spiritual/prayer tent, I was thankful that on the way back I no longer felt the need to seek some divine intervention, but believe me there were many times when I was sure that was the only way I was going to make it in!

So that’s how I covered the next 4 miles or so back into town, I kept up some kind of easy jog and never stopped or reverted back to a walk even on the hills – that would hurt too much, it was too hard. So I kept the motion of running, even if I was barely moving. I felt better, I knew I had a chance and I was no longer worried about the time cut off, at least not for me. I became extremely emotional when I made the turn back towards town – around the 22 mile mark coming in, but the 15 – 16 mile mark going out – it was about 9:00 p.m. and there were still people heading out – everyone I saw was struggling as bad as I was, or at least had been, and they were slow moving. I could hardly look at them, I had a sense of how they were feeling, and I realized a lot of them would likely not make it in before the 17-hour cutoff at midnight. I remember just wishing that the same thing that had happened to me would happen to them. That they would be able to run again, and have it hurt less – I was wishing it, but I was skeptical, and it just didn’t seem fair – they’d been out there in the pouring rain all day, and they still had so far to go, it was hard to see and I was thankful that I had gotten my ‘second wind’ so to speak at mile 18 and felt good about my chances of finishing – something I didn’t believe possible a few hours ago when I was doubled over a garbage can fighting off dizzy spells and an unbelievably strong desire to quit.

The Finish

So it was more of that jog past the horse grounds and around the bend and up the hills back into town and then Main Street! I kept my jog going up the hills, and despite the darkness and the hour there were still people out to cheer us in – god bless them – I’d hug everyone if I could (and still make it in by midnight!). I took off my long sleeve shirt and tied it around my waist, people could see my name again and began to call it out – I thanked them and was happy for it, I was getting close, I could feel it. I could smile at the thought of finishing. With the smiles came the need to choke back the sobs and fight back the urge to burst out in tears, for the first time I felt like I was going to make it.

I reached the top of the last hill and the turn onto Main Street, and with that corner came the Buffalo Triathlon Club cheering section – I can’t believe so many of them stuck it out in that weather ALL day – awesome job to all of them, and the sincerest of ‘thanks.’ What a difference from the last time I passed – it was so long ago. As I reached the turn there were a bunch of folks in the street to greet me – I think I remember high fiving Sergio & Laurie and then Warren was there again with his camera and jogged along with me for a bit – was this really it? I could hardly believe it … I had been told how the crowd would carry you at the end, and while there weren’t a ton of people on Main Street there were some, there were enough. It hurt less to run, and I think I managed a run, rather than a jog, down main, I felt lighter – I think I was having fun.

I slapped some hands and could see the lights at the skating oval (the finish) and hear the crowd in there I was on the verge of being euphoric, then the cruel twist came, logically I knew I still had about 2 miles to go, but I didn’t realize 2 miles was SO far. Instead of heading to the finish I had to turn right and head the other way, I was SO close and now I had to run AWAY from the finish, which also meant I'd have to run back, with every step I was getting further away and every ache and pain of the previous 138 miles was back with a vengeance. The crowds near the entrance into the oval dissipated as I moved further away and I was back among the triathletes that had been struggling along with me for the past several miles. I saw Cynthia up ahead and was wondering when she’d passed me, and I was glad to see Eric of the BTC on his way into the finish and wished it were me.

I managed to keep moving but felt the jog down Main Street had used whatever resolve I had left – my brain and body had gotten all kinds of signs and signals that we were almost done, and now we weren’t, we had another 20+ minutes and I felt things breaking down. My stomach started jumping – please god don’t make me use one of these port-a-potties at this late stage – surely it’s been several hours since they’ve been filled to their capacity. The fear of that actually did wonders to settle my stomach, but back and hips and knees and shoulders and every other joint, bone and muscle had had enough. I passed the last aid station without stopping or taking anything, worried about my stomach, but asked one of the volunteers “how far to the turn around” ‘just around the bend’ was her reply. I saw a bend but when I got there I still couldn’t see the turnaround – I began to beg, please let it be soon. I finally saw it – thank god, but it was a few hundred yards away, it seemed so far. I felt myself fading fast, and my only hope was that I would get some kind of mental or physical boost after the turn.

I finally made the turn and jogged another 20 or 30 steps before I just stopped dead in my tracks. I stood there and looked down the road and looked down at my legs. On and off over the last half marathon I had a weird feeling in my left leg, like it wasn’t actually attached very tightly at my knee. I felt it now and could feel the ‘wobble.’ I wanted my legs to run, but I was wondering if they could still hold me up, for a moment I felt like the bottom of my legs were cast in cement and nothing could move them. I was sure I was going to collapse right then and there and I just started to cry because I couldn’t believe I was so close and wasn’t going to finish.

I don't know what went through my head at that moment, but I knew I couldn't let it end with me crumpled in a ball on the pavement at mile 25 or, I guess more appropriately, mile 139. I knew I was the one who had the power to change that so, somehow, I tried to walk, but that hurt, a lot. So I tried to get running again and managed a pathetic kind of shuffle. I was still far from the finish, the road was only dimly lit by the streetlights and there were no spectators, a few people passed me as I struggled to keep moving. I started counting my steps, I’d make it to 100 and then start over and I kept that up to keep my self moving for the next several minutes. Then finally the barricades resumed, there were still no spectators but I knew there would be, I was getting close and that was a very good sign.

Then there were people again, I didn’t know them, but I didn’t care, I still felt like they were there for me. They were cheering and I was happy, I moved over to slap every hand I could find, I came to the split: left for the second lap, right to finish. HOLY SHIT! I was going to finish. It was the Red Sea parting, it was a miracle, it was a moment that was never meant to be, that no one would believe. I kept slapping hands and I saw the entrance to the oval and could hardly believe it myself, yet I’m pretty sure I was there... I turned onto the oval and the location didn’t go unnoticed, I might as well have been Erik Heiden on his way to his fifth gold medal, I doubt he could’ve been more excited. I picked up my pace to what I thought was a nice easy run, and NOTHING hurt, I could move. As I made the turn onto the cement of the rink Mike called out to me and he and Jaclyn were cheering me on and running along with me on the far side of the barricade. I was happy to see them and hollered out to them asking if they could manage the few hundreds yards run that was left. As I rounded the far end of the rink I lost sight of them but was taking in the fact that it was bright in here, and there were many people cheering, and whether they were or not, they were cheering for me. I wasn’t winning this race, merely finishing it, after many, many hours, yet I was sure they were cheering for me, I’d never experienced anything like it – I’ll confess, it was very, very cool.

I made the last turn into the finishing chute and saw Nick first and then everyone else who’d been there at every lap for me – Ann & Cindy, Bob and Mary. They definitely were a sight for sore eyes, it seemed days since I’d seen them last at my teary start of the last half marathon. I couldn’t begin to describe how thankful I was that they came here and seeing them at the finish is truly one of the most uplifting points of my life. From that moment everything happened so fast – and now I know why people, even people who have more than an ounce of energy left at the end, often take their time in the chute – because 1st or 1859th it’s very fun, and very much a moment worth savoring. Of course I, unfortunately, was unaware of that little bit of information and fluttered it away with a so called ‘sprint’ to salvage some minor moral victory. So finally, here are the last moments of my race.

After catching a glimpse of my family I wanted to high five and slap hands but glanced down and saw all the water on either side of the lane, I remember that, stayed in the dry center, the rest is kind of a blur. From there I look up and finally see the inflated finishing arch and then below it the clock. WHAT? 14:59:XX .. I was only sure of the 14, but think I see 14:59 and can’t register the seconds, OH NO! I pointed at the clock and said “does that say 14:59?” Not hearing a definitive answer among the roar of the crowd I realize I still have to run. I definitely swore, but will refrain from repeating it here. For a split second I felt myself prepare my body and “rev up” as if I was swinging back my arms, and like the Road Runner, circling my legs before being propelled forward. Not knowing how much time there was before it clicked over to 15:00:00 I knew I had no time to spare. Before I knew it my legs were flying forward and like the cartoon, my body was fighting to keep up until I found myself in an all out sprint. I don’t know what it looked like to the crowd, but as far as I could tell, I was Michael Johnson in his golden shoes, I was the fastest person on earth, surely I was a blur, I hope my friends and family could tell it was me!

When I later relived my sprint to Cindy, I asked her how fast I was going and her reply was “Well, you were ‘running.’” Hmmm, ok perhaps I exaggerated a bit here, but you can be the judge (video of the finish feed on the scoreboard courtesy of Warren Hale).

I reached the tape and heard the buzz of my chip timer and nothing else. For the first time in a race I raised my hands in victory, my victory…and cheered for myself along with the crowd.

I am an Ironman.

Post Race

"There’s a couple points in the race where I was in tears, you get past your limits, it’s like you’re pushing beyond anything you imagined before, it’s like sometimes they say ‘the mind is stronger than the body’ and that’s a danger, because you can push your body too far.”

Alan Peiper, Team Columbia, Tour de France


Still so much to say - mostly thank yous but also the medical tent, the contest, lessons learned and my future triathlon aspirations.


I thought I'd give you a bit of a break - but be warned, it's coming!

Ironman Spectator's Recap

Nick (nephew):

I wrote a quick minute-by-minute (hour-by-hour?) recap of July 20th for Mary Lou to give her an idea of how the race looked from the other side, and our impressions of her and her performance as the day went on. She asked me to post it here--but this by no means lets her off the hook for delivering her own raceday narrative.

July 20 (some times are exact, others from memory and may be off)

~5:40am. Overcast and cool. Looks like it will be a nice day for a race (how wrong this was). A bit hung over from the night before. The house is creaky and everyone is up, even though the second group was going to wait and go into town a half hour later.

~6:35am. We've left Mary Lou to place her special needs bags and then stake a spot on the far shore. Many of the athletes don’t seem in that much of a hurry. They stroll languidly up and down the street in wet suits stripped down to the waist and bare feet.

~6:45am. The water is filling up. The beach looks packed. There is a lot of excitement. Seeing all those people in the water, ready to swim across that lake, I am feel for perhaps the first time that this could be a fun thing to do (this feeling quickly fades, and does not reoccur until much later at the finish line, but by then it has changed). When the pros take off, I'm surprised at how few of them there are. Then everyone takes off, and it's very cool to see that many people swimming out at once. Even in the mass of people, they look fairly evenly spaced, but I imagine this soon changes as they get farther from shore.

~7:12am. Rain. Hard rain. Hope it lets up by the time the swim is over. First two leaders are done with the first lap.

~7:38am. Uncle Mike and I go back to the cars to get the extra umbrellas. We rejoin the group. We walk around a lot. We finally find a small uncrowded deli to get breakfast and coffee. The rain hasn’t seemed to dampen the mood of the spectators.

~8:05am. We leave our prime spot at the deli (it had seats and was dry!) and head over to the beach. Some people are finishing, others are on their second laps. The rain is really coming down now. Some people have tents set up on the sand.

~8:20am. We push our way to the pathway leading from the swim to the bike transition. I'm struck by how jiggly everyone is as they run. Blame rain, blame spandex. Still, sort of a depressing thought, to see all these really fit people and I'm noticing this among all things. Blame society, blame me.

~8:35am. Mary Lou plows on through, faster than expected. This really excites us. Either she low-balled the estimate or exceeded her own expectations. I can't emphasize enough how pumped we are. As she ran by, my thought was this: she really looks like she belongs here. This isn't someone playing at something over their head or posing.

~8:42am. We run around trying to find the start of the bike course. We barely make it there to see Mary Lou take off, but too fast for pictures. The excitement from her awesome swim time has given way to worry. The rain hasn't stopped or slowed. I'm trying to remember if she’s ever told me about riding in the rain before. I can't recall. It seems really dangerous to me. I can't imagine its very fun for all those involved.

~9:15am. We find a hotel lobby to sit in to get out of the rain. There's a nice view of the lake from here. Lobby only has one bathroom per gender: bad idea.

~11:30am. We're in position in town to see Mary Lou’s first pass through on the bike. I'm determined to get a good picture, but my camera is really slow. I take a few test pictures, seeing if I can get some shots of people eating. No dice. The rain is coming sideways, so I give up and put the camera away.

~11:50am. All of my directions about what she was wearing (helmet, clothes) were inept, and most of us only catch sight of her once she passed us. Still, pretty exciting. Everyone looks good on the bike, no one seems to be struggling (later I realized could have been because we were half-way down a hill). Lots of people eating on the bike. Funny to watch.

~12:17pm. Back to the cars to get dry and find lunch. Bob and Cindy and Ann go back to the cottage to change, and Mike & Mary and Jaclyn and I to the little sandwich shop across from your hotel. The sandwich shop entertains a strange arcane method for ordering that flusters everyone. I overcome this by eating pig again in the form of a pulled pork sandwich (if you're keeping score, this is 3 meals in a row).

~2:30pm. After lunch, we're all back in the same lot and heading up the hill to the oval.

~3:10pm. We're walking near the oval when it is announced that the winner is going to be coming through in ten to fifteen minutes. I'm struck by the fact that no one seems to care overmuch. There isn't a big crowd near the finish line.

~3:19pm. We're in a good spot to see Mary Lou go by this time. Lots of people look thrilled to be finishing the bike.

~3:33pm. Mary Lou looks really good starting the run. "I'm running" she says, but the more amazing thing is that it’s true. Some people looked so stiff coming out of the transition, as if they were willing their legs to bend. Rain lets up. Hope it stays this way for the run.

~3:50pm. Raining hard again. Figures. We check out the expo. Most of the stuff is priced where I'd expect, but Ann finds a sweatshirt for $180. This is why Mary Lou didn’t come home with a commemorative Ironman sweatshirt.

~4:45pm. I drastically miscalculate when she will be coming through. I had thought that the course was neatly divided into quadrants, and guessed at her 6.5 mile time to get into position to see her go by. But it would really be closer to 11-12 miles when we would see her. This is where we misidentify Mary Lou frequently. You'd be surprised at how many people she can pass for 100 yards away in the driving rain. Some of our guesses even turned out to be women.

~6:35pm. By this time I've figured out that I was wrong on the timing. When Mary Lou passes us this time she doesn’t look as good, but after walking by us she picks up the pace again, and I'm thinking about the psychological effect of passing through and having to do that loop at second time, knowing what's in store. It has to be really tough.

~7:15pm. She goes by in a red shirt, determined to fool us again with a change of clothes. Ann yells "You look fresh." She disagrees.

~7:30pm. We go back to the cottage for pizza and beer. It would be easy for some people to forget that at the time that Mary Lou is out there running and has been competing for more than 12 hours, but we don't. We feel appropriately guilty and in awe. The bacon pizza is especially good (pig at a fourth meal in a row--am I closing in on a record?)

~8:50pm. We leave the cottage to get back in time for the finish.

~9:35pm. In position at the finish. It's really exciting--and moving. Most of the finishers seemed to have saved something for the end, or the crowd carries them. Most are running. But one guy, youngish, just walks, a slow, even pace. He's sobbing as he walks, and along the way he stops to give some people he knows hugs (and some random strangers hugs too). It may sound cheesy, but I think these people are the ones who have really earned the title of Ironman. Not to belittle the pros who can finish the thing in 8-10 hours, or their prodigious talent, but you have to give it up for the people who have struggled 15, 16, even 17 hours to finish. They've paid a higher price than the pros. They've struggled longer, spent more time alone with their thoughts, and surely resisted the urge to quit more often.

~9:47pm. Keep watching the clock. Hoping Mary Lou will come through before 10 because I know that she’d be a little miffed at a 15:01 finish.

~9:59pm. Mary Lou appears on the track. I take a picture [note: sad to say it didn't turn out; flash ruined it]. I try to get another one but instead point to the clock and yell, but she’s already seen it. I can see the look on her face as she mouths an expletive and picks up the pace. She’s got thirty seconds to close maybe a hundred feet, but she doesn’t chance it.

~10:05pm. Right after Mary Lou finishes we follow to the athlete exit and see her heading into the medical tent. Another athlete is holding her arm to steady her. This was a really scary time.
It was probably about a half hour before they let Cindy into the tent and another ten minutes before she called out to let us know what was going on. In that time we saw ambulances come through and take other people away. I don't know what the others were thinking, but I have to admit I was thinking the worst: maybe it was too much to ask of yourself, maybe your body is letting you know it was too much to handle, and if it was worth it. Even when Cindy makes contact, the worry doesn't altogether leave, because they don't let her leave.

~11:48pm. We move the cars closer on the news that Mary Lou is almost clear to leave the medical tent.

July 21

~12:10am. When Mary Lou passes in the Jeep with Mike driving she looks a lot better (four bags of fluid heavier). Only now does it feel like the race is over.

Final Stats: 17 spectator hours, 3 changes of clothes, 2-3 lbs. of pork products. ~Nick

Just a VERY quick note to let everyone know that I'm home, safe and sound and happy as can be after having finished Ironman USA 2008. It's going to take me some time, and a whole lot of kleenex, to get something written about this, but rest assured that all is very well - it truly was an amazing experience.

More soon, I promise ... in the meantime, for those of you who weren't there, enjoy the start!

Lake Placid Ironman 2008 Swim Start

Walk on the Moon

The song that inspired this post, my 'one small step, my walk on the moon.' (Here and Now is equally as inspirational and 'Ironman appropriate!')

According to the countdown timer on James' blog I'm supposed to start Ironman Lake Placid in just over 10 hours ... HOLY SHIT! I'm doing an Ironman Triathlon tomorrow morning! If you had told me that a year ago I would've laughed at you and if you had told me that five or ten years ago, well a walk on the moon would've seemed the better odds, it does truly seem unbelievable to me still. To say I'm in place I never thought I'd find myself is a HUGE understatement.

I am totally overwhelmed by everything - by the people and participants, by the emails and phone calls, by the unbelievable atmosphere, by everyone here to support the athletes including a ton of people from the Buffalo Triathlon Club - everyone has been SO generous with their encouragement and support. And more than anything I'm blown away by the fact that my friends and family are here, not that I wouldn't do the same for them or that I'm surprised that they took the time to come, but just that they're here for me and excited for me and pulling for me - I can't really explain what a great feeling it is, how it makes me want to really give it my best - plus they actually think I can do this, and the more I hear that, well the more I think maybe, just maybe, I can too.

I'm pretty much an emotional mess, I've been crying off an on at the weirdest moments ever since I arrived in Lake Placid. Someone asked me what I'm going to do at the finish, and honestly I have no idea, first of all, I hope I get to see the finish before midnight, since that's by no means a slam dunk, but beyond that, well I guess I hope I have enough energy left to truly enjoy it and I guess I'd like think that I won't totally embarrass myself, but I couldn't in my wildest dreams imagine how that's actually going to feel - so stay posted for the answer to that one.

For right now, I can just tell you that I'm 'full.' Full of everything - emotion, admiration, appreciation, hope, love, excitement, disbelief, wonder, amazement, and anticipation ... it's all there and seems to be just bursting out in my tears - it's a truly awesome feeling that I'm sure everyone gets to experience in some point in their lives, but this is a first for me. I never would've believed that swimming and biking and running could do such a thing to a person - but I'm glad it did it to me.

A few pics from Lake Placid:

James, Wendy & Ben - James my contest partner in crime and Wendy who managed to bring me to my senses when, after the athlete meeting I told them I was thinking about signing up for next years race. Her comment to me in her perfectly proper english accent was "Mary Lou, have you been drinking?" :-) I didn't sign up, but more on those thoughts another time!

Me in transition - I do believe I've committed a social blunder by wearing the souvenir T from the town while I'm still in it! :-)

Hey? Anyone seen my stuff?

My niece and nephew, doing what they do best - Jaclyn being happy with whatever and Nick eating Bar-B-Q! :-)

I’ve got questions, you’ve got answers!

Just wondering if some of the IM veterans out there wouldn’t mind taking a minute to give this Accidental Ironman the 411 for race day, along with some of your best advice. Never having done or even spectated at an IM event, well I’ve got a lot of questions and would also like to hear other peoples strategies (not to say I’m going to use them, but more just curious – I do know the ‘rule’ about not trying anything new on race day – I’m slow, but I’m learning! ;-)

Ok, for starters:

1. When do you typically plan on arriving to the race town – how many days in advance? What do you do to calm your nerves in the days/hours leading up to the event?

2. How does the transition area work? (I’m imagining a big tent where we grab our T bag, change then go get the bike or head out on the run?)

3. Are there tents? Are they split by gender?

4. What do you do with your wetsuit after the swim?

5. Is there anything beside your bike where your bike is racked? (Do you need to put helmet, shoes etc in T1 bag?)

6. Not that I would even consider trying it, but I think someone told me for IM that only the pros are allowed to leave transition with their shoes already attached to their bike, just wondering if that’s true?

7. During the bike when they do bottle handoffs are the contents cold?

8. Assuming I’ll find out during the mandatory meeting, but about how many ‘bottle handoff’ opportunities are there per bike lap?

9. How does the special needs bag work? Do you have to stop and get off your bike and go search for it? Do you typically use it?

10. What would you typically put in the bike and run special needs bags? I’ve read varying suggestions – one being not to put anything in there that you ever want back!

11. How many spare tubes/CO2 cartridges do you usually carry?

12. If it’s hot, is it a good idea to put frozen bottles of water/sportsdrink in the special needs bag?

13. I’ve read the Athletes Rules or guidebook and didn’t see it very accurately explained about port-a-potties on the bike course (and run course). Are the only opportunities for that in Transition? Do people go into transition between bike laps? Is that even allowed? Will you get penalized or DQ’d if you jump in the bushes or run into a gas station? (Don’t really think I could do that ‘pee on the bike thing’ not to mention, it’s much harder for women!)

14. What do you 'think about' during the race? Particularly the run, I know I'm going to be out there a long time and I think it's going to be to difficult to stay positive the entire time, how do you talk yourself out of being tired, exhausted, in pain, etc?

15. If its taken you 15+ hours how did you feel when you were done? What did you do right after (eat, sleep, pass out, cry)?

16. Were you able to sleep after the race? What about the night before? How did you feel the next day? (wondering if I’ll need a ‘driver’ for the ride back to Buffalo)

17. Do you do a ‘dry run’ for race morning in the days leading up to the race? (Get up ungodly early, eat breakfast, then do an early swim, etc?)

18. If you’re racing and don’t sign up for next year the day before, you’re still eligible to do so the next day, correct? Just not guaranteed?

19. Does anyone have any idea how many slots are typically left after the Monday onsite signup (just wondering for friends who can’t make the trip)?

Ok, and to wrap up a few more specific to the Lake Placid area:

20. Where are some of your favorite spots to watch the various legs?

21. What are good things in the area for spectators to do between laps/passes?

22. Any suggestions on restaurants that are good/healthy that both myself and family (not racing) would be happy with (In LP or Saranac)?

23. Where’s the best place to get a massive pancake breakfast on Monday morning? :-)

And finally, please post about yourself:

24. What IM's have you done? Why/how did got into triathlon? What drives you to go through the rigors of training for one? Plus anything else you might want us to know!

Ok, that’s all for now – answer whichever ones you like, or just copy and paste it into an email and send it to me at mlh@roadrunner~nospam~.com (remove ~nospam~). If I get enough replies I’ll post a summary.
Thanks everyone!!

Reflections in Mirror Lake

I took advantage of the long holiday weekend and spent the 4th, 5th & 6th in Lake Placid trying to wrap my hands and my head around the Ironman Course. But instead I think it just about choked me those first few days.

But first things first I have to thank Becky, my friend and training partner for making the trip with me and showing me how to really ride and run this course – not too mention putting up with all of my anxiety and stress and down right bad attitude – I’m finally coming around though, I swear! And when she can work this race into her schedule, well, look out Lake Placid!

Despite all the reassurances from people who’ve done it – I have to tell ya, you’re wrong! The routes, while certainly scenic, are, quite frankly, a bitch! Sure there’s a few nice downhills on the bike, but there really is nothing “rolling” about it. And true also, that parts of the run are a bit remote and really beautiful, maybe I'd feel better if I didn't have to do it all twice.

I’ve pretty much been a pile a nerves since the announcement that I was selected to do Lake Placid.. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly don’t want to appear ungrateful for all the support and opportunities I’ve been given, but I will be honest and tell you that I’m pretty much scared to death of actually having to do this race.

Race? Hmm … that’s another issue. You know the real goal of this whole contest is to not only do an Ironman, but also to do it fast enough to qualify for the World Championships in Kona, Hawaii, right? I will confess that there were times during my training, rare, optimistic moments, when I really believed “yeah, I can quality.” Then I’d realize to do so I’d have to swim twice as fast as I’m capable of, have the bike ride of my life and then go out and run a marathon at my 5k pace – absolutely, it could happen! What a story!

Ok it’s been months since I’ve had those thoughts, I’m far too much of a realist – I know I’ve had brief moments when my body has performed slightly better than expected, but more times than not it’s been quite the opposite. I toe the line with visions of glory and see myself sprinting through the tape with my arms raised in victory … then the starting horn blows and I find myself minutes later floating on my back and asking the lifeguards in the kayaks if there’s a cutoff for the swim portion of the Olympic distance race that is now rapidly leaving me behind.

I do know my limitations, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to will every muscle and bone in my body to be it’s best on that day. But what I have to accept is that “my best” for this distance will likely be a far cry from any qualifying time and I’m realizing a 15 hour Ironman IS fast – and more than likely damn near impossible for someone like me – doing my first Ironman with only a hand full of poor showings in some local sprints and a couple of Olympic distance races. Someone whose body was probably never really built to run, and someone who, a year ago, was convinced a 70.3 race (half Ironman) was a VERY lofty goal for 2008.

With that said, the competitor in me has been working and struggling day and night to let go of the word “race.” This cannot be about age groups, or winning, or placing, or qualifying, or split times, it just has to be about finishing, plain and simple … cross the line before they unplug the clock and pack up the tents and put away the medals, there can be no other goal. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to everyone whose taken the time to try to convince this stubborn girl that training for and doing an Ironman is supposed to be fun. I think I let the unlikeliness of this whole situation get the best of me at times and I focus on what I fear: Won’t it be hard? Of course. Painful? Absolutely. Isn’t it impossible? Definitely not. I’ve never heard anyone say they’ve regretted doing an Ironman, so I’ve got my ‘Lucky Triathlon Stone’ in my pocket and there’s no way I’m turning back now.

Finally, to Andy, whose last name begins with an “S” and ends in a vowel with something ethnic in-between that I can’t begin to remember, who spoke to me about the race as we both set off for a 6:30 a.m. training swim in Mirror Lake on Sunday morning, thank you. Our discussion wasn’t unlike a lot of advice I’d been told before, but with the past 2 training days fresh on my mind as we were treading water that morning, well, it was the first time I actually “heard” it. So thanks for explaining the swim start to me and giving me tips on how to manage it. Thanks for the advice on how I should hang back on the first lap of the bike so as not to get “eaten up” on the second and how a “14-hour guy” keeps coming back for more year after year. But most of all thanks for showing me your enthusiasm and for letting me know how fun the day can be, because above all I want it to be that ..