One of these days, my severe lack of discipline in training and nutrition is going to catch up with me. Thankfully that day wasn't the Ironman Kansas 70.3, though there were times I had doubts. This was my fifth half-iron distance tri, and the one for which I was least prepared. It wasn't the most difficult course (that still remains Rev3 Knoxville), but was by far the most difficult conditions.
The race was on Sunday, so Saturday we had to check our bikes into transition, where they would stay overnight. Kansas has two transitions: the first one is down by the swim start/finish. After leaving the bike at my spot on the rack, we stood and watched the wind blow whitecaps on the lake where we were supposed to swim the next day. Yikes. Sure hope it's not like that tomorrow! Aw, it shouldn't be that bad; we'll all be in the water by 7:30am at the latest, and winds typically don't kick up that early.
When I got in the water at 6:48am Sunday, the current wind speed was 11.5mph, and was just ramping up from there. At least one Pro athlete looked at it and said, "No, not today." I was in Wave 5, Women 45+, about 70 people. We herded onto a dock, then jumped off and swam about 30 meters to a couple of buoys that marked the start. The water temp was nice, and it wasn't quite as choppy that close to shore. "OK this won't be as bad as it looks", I thought hopefully.
It was as bad as it looked. When our group started, most of us attempted to legitimately swim, then quickly had to start floundering until we got the water/waves figured out. Many of us did breast stroke, I did a lot of side stroke, and others simply tried to keep their heads above water. Many many people were hanging on to the buoys or the paddle boards/kayaks, trying to get their breath. I alternated freestyle with side stroke, and it was a mighty pitiful flounder more than a true "swim". The total swim portion was an out-and-back 1.2 miles that really didn't look that far from shore (because it really isn't, if you're prepared and there aren't whitecaps), but was painfully slow. Between the crazy chop and the strong current, everyone was working much harder than normal. The water was so choppy that people were drifting far off course, and the folks in kayaks and boats were having trouble a) finding them in the troughs, and b) getting them out of the water without running into them.
I personally never felt like I was in trouble, I was just expending an awful lot of energy trying to make forward progress without getting a snoot full of water. By the time I made it to the last turn back home, I was questioning how on earth I was going to bike 56 miles in this wind, as tired as I already was. After shaking off a calf cramp, I tried not to think about how heavy my legs felt and how awful the bike ride would be. Oh well, all I can do now is get through this slog of a swim and go from there.
One hour and six minutes later (pitiful slow even for me), I dragged my tired butt out of the water and headed for the bike. Took my time drying off my feet and getting ready for the long ride, telling myself it wouldn't be so bad, I had plenty of fuel on board, and would just take my time and get 'er done.
When I passed our parked car about 1.5 miles later, I gave (more than little) fleeting consideration to simply planting myself there and waiting for someone with a cell phone to wander by, calling Paula and Shirley, and telling them to meet me at the car. Instead, I heaved a big sigh and kept going.
The first 14 miles went better than I expected, despite the hills and wind, so I was feeling pretty good when I took a break at the aid station. Took some nice cold water and continued on.
Aid station #2 was a different story. By then we had been dealing with a ferocious headwind and crosswinds, and had spent the last 20 or so miles either climbing into a headwind, descending into a headwind (pedaling all the way down large hills...are you kidding me?), or simply trying not to be blown sideways into passing cyclists. Everyone was suffering. By now the winds were cranking up from a steady 16 to 19mph, with gusts building from 24 to 28mph. Wind like this is not conducive to efficient cycling. As I was fighting the crosswinds, I was thinking I would never try to fly a small aircraft in winds like this. Crazy. By the time I pulled into the second aid station, I was hoping something on my bike would break that couldn't be fixed. I pulled over and stood up, my quads completely fried. Another woman pulled up beside me, having bad GI issues. I think she was hoping I might quit. I know if I had called it a day, she would have joined me. We also found out that our last cold drink of the ride was likely whatever we had back at aid station #1. Warm water and warm electrolyte drink. Great. I delayed the inevitable for as long as I could, grudgingly climbed back onto the bike, and left.
About a mile later I hit the wall. Rounded a corner, had maybe a 1/2 mile of tolerable flat road (with a miserable headwind), then a long, steep hill that never quit. I made it halfway up the hill, felt like puking, legs were toast, and the headwind was raging. I pulled over, got off the bike, and walked it up the rest of the way, watching all the other cyclists slowly pull away. At the top I felt like I was cooked. I just stood there for a few minutes, sucked down a gel, drank some nasty sweet (warm) electrolyte mix that I had with me, and panted. Well, I'm 35 miles into this thing, what am I gonna do? May as well suck it up and finish it. If I fall over tired, I guess I'll have to wait for a SAG wagon; otherwise, may as well keep moving forward. Climbed back on and tried to enjoy pedaling down the next hill. Am I Dorothy or Toto? Maybe the wind will just suck me up and deposit me at the end of this blasted thing!
Actually felt pretty good for the rest of the bike, and was amazed to be passing people (and not have some of them pass me again) at this stage of the course. This was a s-l-o-w ride, and usually if I'm THIS slow, I don't have much company. I was very surprised at how many people were still out there with me. I felt like a total spaz trying to manage the wind. Several people (really nice looking buff men) passed me and said nice things. I don't know if they felt sorry for me because I looked like a spaz or because they saw the "51" on my calf (my racing age), but it felt good nonetheless. Hey, it took them over 40 miles to pass ME, right?
Finally got back to the park, squeaked my way up the last few hills, and was absolutely stunned to see the parade of walking dead on the run course. Wow. By now, almost 4 hours had passed. Normally, there'd still be a decent number of people on the run course, but they'd be almost done, and RUNNING. Almost everyone I saw was walking. After being pummeled on the bike, people were now baking in the sun -- the temperature had risen to 92. Oh my, this could get ugly. But at least I managed to finish the bike portion. I honestly have no idea how I found the strength and the energy to do it, but I did. Thank gawd.
I joined the zombie march and eked out the 13.1 miles, one foot in front of the other. Walk, trudge, repeat. Once again I was shocked to see so many people still out there with me. I had lots of company in my suffering. The run course was two laps and offered minimal-to-no-shade, but part of it went through a campground. This was the best part of the entire route. Lots of people were at the camp sites, and had set up hoses/sprinklers/water guns, and would spray you on request. These folks really did make it bearable. Between that and the cups of ice at every aid station (every mile) that either went down the shirt or in the hat, it was possible to stay cool enough not to puke. Once again I was surprised at the number of people that I passed (and they stayed passed instead of leap-frogging me). A lot of people were cramping and having trouble hydrating. I was grateful not to be one of them.
Two hours and 46 minutes later, I trudged over the yellow brick road, passed Scarecrow, Dorothy, and the Wicked Witch, and crossed the finish line. Back to hotel to retrieve baggage, take the bike apart and pack for shipping, grab a shower at a friend's house, and head for the airport for the flight back home.
Total race time: 7:57:40. Slow slow slow, but one of my more hard-won achievements. This was the closest I have ever come to quitting, and I would have been in good company. Out of my age group, two quit after the swim, and 7 didn't even start. I don't know the DNF rate, but I suspect it's high. I'm very pleased to have managed to finish this thing, none the worse for wear. I feel better than I have any right to, since I've been a major slacker this year in training. I know that I dodged a bullet, again.
Time to get back on track. Guess I'll throw my butt into some water later this week and work on that swim thing. Oh, and try to cut back on the beer.
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