A little over two years ago I wrote my first piece on this blog about having to drop out of Ironman Louisville 2014 – the first full I trained for. I wrote from my parents’ home in Atlanta the day of my would-be race while simultaneously watching the IM Louisville live feed and throwing myself a weepy pity party. (And my father said, Let there be Sangria! [That is to say I was drinking.]) I rambled through my first piece about my bike accident and the physical trauma that had forced me to drop out of the race, as well as the difficult decision to let that goal go at least for a while.
And today I get to write about coming back from all that, training better and harder than I ever have, overcoming some of the worst conditions of any race day ever, and finally getting to hear my name followed by those four glorious words: You are an Ironman!
I’m going to get more detailed and honest about the experience than anyone probably wants in a paragraph or so, but before I do allow me to wax emotional about how happy I am, how amazed I am at my itty bitty mini-person body and what it can do, and also how acutely I feel the effort in every itty inch of that bitty body now – two (three by the time I actually hit “publish”) days out from the race.
The “race.” The slog really. The challenge I didn’t know I’d prepared for. Inhumane temperatures 20 degrees hotter than the average high for Chattanooga on Sept. 25th. So much more unbearable (and slower) an experience than I expected (wanted) it to be. And now as hindsight comes into focus it’s that much more rewarding.
Oof. That was mushy wasn’t it? Let’s get down to the nitty gritty way-too-much-information format to which my dear readers (hi Mom!) are accustomed. (Conditioned.) (It’s like the blog form of Stockholm Syndrome.)
Impressionable Chris, elite Kona-pro Ellen, and I all signed up for Chattanooga 2016 back in the fall of 2015 because it’s a popular race that sells out quickly. (Oh the folly of [multisport] man.) Shortly thereafter Ellen sent us her hotel information and commanded Chris and I to book rooms there for at least the Thursday before the race through the Monday after. We did as we were told and I’m so grateful to Ellen for guiding us noobs through this. It meant we ended up with hotel rooms a few blocks from the action and for the appropriate number of days – and it was all taken care of so far in advance that we didn’t have to think about any of it again until race week.
The Thursday before the race, Scott and I loaded up (Mini Cooper) Yoshi and headed south to Chattanooga. We’d deprived ourselves of This American Life and RadioLab for months to make sure we had good road trip listening (and downloaded Aziz Ansari’s Modern Romance on Audible!) so the drive was pretty enjoyable. (NPR podcasts. If you weren’t sure how to classify me in my non-tri moments let this be confirmation that I am a DC cliché.)
On the way down I felt mostly good with intermittent gut-punches of oh-shit-I-remember-why-we’re-on-this-roadtrip. When we crossed the state line into Tennessee: gut punch. When we entered Chattanooga to find three Ironman billboards lighting the 27 southbound into the city: Gut JabUppercutPUNCH. (Yeah I actually know that jab and uppercut are types of punches but it sounded better the way I wrote it.) We arrived at the incredibly convenient Holiday Inn & Suites Downtown around 8pm, met up with Chris for some dinner, and then tucked in pretty early.
On Friday morning Scott and I had amazing biscuits and gravy at a place I’d read about called Maple Street Biscuits. Scott was instantly in love and for the rest of the trip asked when could we go back. (Answer: Monday.) After that we went to race check in which had to be done Thursday or Friday – no Saturday check-in! That was new to me and another reason Ellen is one of my Ironman heroes.
After check-in we got to hit the merch tent! I’d been saving my dollah bills all summer and not buying (almost) any new workout gear because I knew I’d want all the Ironman things! I got new shirts, towels, water bottles, so much! Only complaint is that by Friday morning they’d already sold out of the smallest sizes for some of the cutest items. (Oooooh maybe they have the sweatshirt I wanted online…but come on IM! People who work out this much are often pretty bitty!) Chris and I also got in a Normatec session before leaving because you should never pass up an opportunity for some time in the squeeze-squeeze sleeves!
Friday afternoon Chris, Scott, and I all piled into Yoshi to drive the bike course. We escorted Ellen slowly out of town as she was actually biking a good chunk of it and then took off trying to use the less-than-helpful cue sheet provided in the Athlete Guide. The cues didn’t include mileage between turns so it was very confusing comparing their vague directions with Google Maps. At times I realized I was paying more attention to trying to navigate than to what the course actually looked like. I tried to refocus and really see all the ascents, descents, and terrain. After having to walk part of a climb at the Rev3 Poconos 70.3 I didn’t want to be surprised by a hill ever again.
My fears and embarrassment were generally assuaged by the drive despite our navigational challenges. People call it a lollipop course as you ride an 11 mile “stem” mostly straight out of transition before two 45 mile loops, followed by the stem (and change) back to T2. We just drove the loop once and from the air conditioned comfort of Yoshi it was really beautiful. Rolling hills as advertised with idyllic farm backdrops replete with cows and horses. (Yay ponies!) When we got back to the hotel I was feeling really good about the bike. I’d been oscillating between excited and terrified, and I felt solidly in the excited camp after seeing what we’d be facing for 116 miles on Sunday.
I was in a jolly mood so I made dinner rezzies at an Izakaya I’d read about (food options should be researched as much as courses and elevation charts, right?) and then headed out to a YMCA for a short swim. (I remember when a mile swim was not short!!) Ellen had let me know that the local Y – conveniently around the corner from the hotel – was letting Ironman athletes in for free. Sure enough they welcomed me into their really nice facility and I joined a number of other racers – obvious due to our neon green wristbands – in the pool.
My good mood continued through a shockingly good meal at the ramen place/Izakaya, Two Ten Jack. Highly recommend to anyone who finds themselves in Chatty with some free eatin’ time. Back at the hotel full and happy I made plans with Chris to get our assigned bike/run shakeout bricks over with in the morning. Then I floated off to bed feeling happy and confident about what was coming.
Saturday morning Scott drove Chris and I out on the bike course a few miles down the lollipop stem. We just had to do 20 minutes on the bike and ten running so Saint Scott dropped us at a gas station where we unloaded our antsy dual Cervelos. We took off cycling and my hubz drove a little over five miles up the road to wait for us which ended up being almost exactly 20 minutes – perfect!
He’d parked Yoshi on a (no outlet) side street and Chris and I were able to just drop our bikes by the car, switch into sneakers, and run up said tiny Deliverance deadend. Our run ended up only being seven minutes, but it also included a helluva a hill into (and quickly away from!) banjo territory so that seemed sufficient. (By the way, the bike course takes place almost entirely over the state line in north Georgia, so really I was listening hard for the dueling strings to begin…)
With our shakeout brick taken care of early we had the rest of the day to hit an athlete briefing (optional but really, you should always go,) eat lunch, pack our bike and run bags, and drop those bags and our bikes at transition. As we wrapped this last errand it was about 3pm. And it was HOT. Mid-90s-feels-hotter. No shade in transition or on the way back to the hotel, and as we sweat just walking those few blocks my confidence from Friday began to pool at my feet and melt into terror.
The forecast for Sunday had been creeping up all week. The average high in Chattanooga on September 25th is 80 degrees. By Saturday afternoon the forecast for the next day was 95. And as we ambled away from dropping off our bikes and bags, my phone said it was only 92. And at 92 it felt bad. And 3pm – that was about the time when I would (hopefully) be heading out for the marathon. In that moment I couldn’t imagine having to run 26.2 miles in such conditions. The panic set in like a small rock in my gut, and it just snowballed the rest of the night.
At the hotel Ellen gave Chris and I some last minute pointers and a pep talk. One brilliant bit of wisdom was on the bike to literally eat your feelings. As in, if you feel anything, it means you need to get some calories in. If you feel sad or angry or whatever, put some GD food in your face. This advice would come back…
Then Scott and I bid adieu to Chris and grabbed Yoshi to head to Whole Foods for the last items I’d need the next day. We planned to pick up dinner at the hot bar there, but it wasn’t appetizing, so instead we drove around the neighborhood by WF (north of and directly across the Tennessee River from downtown and transition) looking for pasta. I knew a good chunk of the run took place in this part of town and noted how incredibly hilly it was. I’d read all about how climby the run course is but wow. That terror pebble grew like the Grinch’s heart nearly busting out of my gut.
We ultimately found a restaurant called il Primo which was understandably chock full of people rocking neon green wristbands. It was the perfect pre-race spot. Italian but not too authentic – this sounds critical but it’s EXACTLY what I wanted. I wanted plentiful pasta options that would be tasty but not too rich. il Primo really delivered and the place was also cute and had great service. I would 100% go back for a pre-race meal or any meal – maybe just wine! (I was beyond jealous of the people around me enjoying big scrumptious [calming] looking glasses of red grown-up juice!)
I put down what I could of my yummy carby orecchiette considering my tummy terror rock was taking up a lot of what should have been food space. We returned to the hotel and I was basically panicking by the time we got back to our room. I had to pack my special needs bags and, per Ellen’s instructions, I also made a checklist for these bags and for the morning. These pre-race rituals meant thinking step-by-step through everything I could possibly need the next day which made it all so real. So scary and SO REAL.
When I was sure I had everything set to go, and after Scott made me a PB&J to try and get a little more food nestled in next to my belly panic boulder, I tucked myself into bed around 9:00pm. The alarm was set for 4:30. I turned off the light, closed my eyes, and waited.
And nothing. No sleep. Just panic. Just rock-solid terror. Just a growing sinkhole in my stomach. It expanded as the minutes tick. Tick. Tocked by and quickly one and then two sleepless hours had brought me that much closer to zero dark Mdot.
No of course I didn’t have an analog clock in my hotel room. I’m building the tension. Just in time to say, that about wraps up part one of what clearly needs to be two posts on Ironman Chattanooga 2016! I mean look how gratuitously long this already is and it’s still hours away from the cannon going off. I can’t possibly expect someone to read this whole story in one pop, and (at least as far as self-indulgent race blogs go) this story’s a good (painful) one! There will be legitimate drama and plot coming at you readers (I love you, Mommy!) in Part 2 so stay tuned. I’ll try to actually write it this week…