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…

 

In July 2015 I raced the NYC Triathlon for the first time – an olympic distance race. It was dangerously hot the whole morning and after slogging through really hard conditions for almost three hours, I remember being wiped the entire next week. I was hungry and tired and totally depleted for days.

This May I raced the Mountains to Beach Marathon running from Ojai to Ventura, California, scoring my first Boston qualification after years of working for it. I couldn’t run for over a week after and in fact ended up taking five weeks off running when I started to develop another stress fracture in the wake of that effort. Again, depleted for days and on the mend for weeks.

Massive physical endeavors take an incredible and unexpected amount out of our bodies. I’m shocked every year by how long it can take to bounce back from a big day of swimming, biking, and/or running. Training for Ironman Chattanooga the past few months has meant the kind of work that has previously left me sidelined (and starving) for days every single week.

Every weekday morning the alarm goes off at 5:15 (depending on where I’m going sometimes 5:20 or 5:23 even – I’ve got my pre-workout routine timed down to the second) and every Saturday and Sunday it goes off at 5:45 or 6 at the latest to announce somewhere between five and seven hours of work.  There have been weeks on end working out in conditions hotter than NYC ever got. And so many miles heaped upon bones and muscles making a morning spent on just a marathon seem like an easy day.

With weekends that put previous race day efforts to shame for their sheer duration and mileage now the norm, every week I feel worn down in a way I used to only feel a couple times a season. I’m starving. All the time. Right now included. Despite eating my weight in Thai food earlier, followed by three face-sized chocolate chip cookies. (And half a bottle of rosé.)

And I just want to sleep. Past 6am. Anywhere. Any time. Right now most definitely included. (Definitely right now. I don’t want to keep watching my Trojans as they are throttled in the first game of the season. Plus I’m currently draped in large sleeping dogs who seem to really have the right idea.)

Some days have been objectively enjoyable with beautiful backdrops, good company, and a capable body that makes me feel powerful. Most days though – at least most long weekend days – have been really hard. Physical and mental tests.

Today I rode 85 miles in miserable wind that has literally made its way inland from a hurricane off the coast of Maryland. I rode most of it alone meeting up with Chris every so often and mentally bargaining the whole way, trying to convince myself that it’d be ok to quit early because the wind is bad and even dangerous and I was sick yesterday so maybe I shouldn’t even be out at all and my legs were tired even when I started and wouldn’t it be better to just let them rest and recover and 65, 70, 75 miles are totally respectable distances. I think this mental repartee is as crucial to training as the physical miles: it’s very easy to convince yourself to let yourself off the hook during a training day – creating the headspace and strength to power through when there’s no one really holding you accountable makes you that much stronger when things inevitably get dark come race day.

So today hurt. I yelled at the wind out loud without shame, (mucho expletives) as I’ve been known to do. I yelled at a couple people who were riding or running on the narrow W&OD trail like total a-holes. (Share the road, folks! And when I yell, “on your left” that is not a cue for you to move left!) I let myself wallow in the grumpiness but tried to remind myself too that this is all my choice; and how lucky I am to have that choice, to be physically and fiscally sound enough to do this with my time.

And while I was in real and perceived anguish the whole ride, I got it done. I didn’t let lazy Liz convince resolved Liz to throw up her hands a minute or mile early. (Of course I didn’t – I’m nowhere near solid enough to be riding with no hands! [I’m working on it, Josh!])

Now I’m exhausted, and I’m literally considering ordering a pizza at 11pm. But I finished those 85 miles thinking, yeah my legs and my head could do 31 more. And I finished five run miles thinking I could do that four more times. And I’m walking just fine. And tomorrow I’ll get up and strength train and swim. And Monday I’ll get up and run many more miles. And swim again. (And Tuesday I’ll be back at work spending my lunch reading Ironman race reports, crying as each author describes that moment of crossing the finish line, hearing their name called in the culmination of all their painful [totally optional] work.) This insane, stupid, ill-advised, masochistic, selfish, marriage-jeopardizing, expensive, privileged, sometimes-enjoyable journey has been such a gift. And whether I finish or not it’s almost done.

So all this rambling is to say thank you to my friends, family, husband, dogs, and my own body for all of this. I feel like every muscle has been marinated in lactic acid and then wrung through a meat grinder, but I’m still walking. I’m surviving mostly unscathed the kind of work that has taken me out in years past and even when I’m at my most miserable I’m totally in awe of this progress.

In 2013 I did my first half Ironman in Augusta, Georgia, and I couldn’t walk for days. Or shower without squealing in pain from the many unfortunate places I’d chafed raw. This year I raced 70.3 in the Poconos without much thought, and walked away relatively unscathed. I even taught spin the next day and ran the day after that without issue. I don’t expect to be in such good shape after Chattanooga (I’d be disappointed if I were) but I can see and feel how far I’ve come and I’m almost over that finish line. Thank you to everyone – ankles included- who’s joined me on this journey. I’ll be less sleep-deprived and calorie-insolvent soon!

*Post obviously written Saturday night post ride-run brick. Opted to publish Sunday once the rosé haze had subsided…

Ironman Chattanooga (or IM Choo tri-colloquially) is Sept. 25th. Conventional wisdom dictates scheduling a half iron distance race six to eight weeks before a full iron, which led me to the Rev3 Poconos Half on Aug. 7th. (Ok, the most conventional of conventional wisdom probably advises never signing up for 140.6 [144.6 at IM Choo] expensive miles of multisport torture. [What ever happened to Sundays spent sleeping in and reading the paper?])

I’d been toying with either Rev3 Poconos or a half outside Asheville Aug. 6th. The latter was a lot further away from DC and would have meant a much pricier, dog-free, car-heavy weekend, but I have wanted to check out Asheville for a while. I was struggling to decide between the two when a couple things happened: my car suddenly needed thousands of dollars of work done, making money a bigger issue, and I volunteered at the Rev3 Williamsburg half and olympic, where I got to see how fantastic their team is and races are.  Plus volunteering there got me a discount on a future Rev3 race so in the end the decision was pretty easy.

Making things even better, I found a hotel 10 minutes from the race that was dog-friendly, so not only could husband/sherpa, Scott come, but also dire wolf/cheer-pup Birkin as well! We dicked around a little longer than planned Saturday morning and got on the road a little after 11am, getting to the race site at the Shawnee Inn & Golf Resort near East Stroundsberg, PA around 3:45pm. Packet pick-up was a breeze and with the day already winding down things at the expo were pretty quiet. Things were so chill that I felt emboldened to bring my bike, Koopa Troop, in to have the on-site mechanics change out my skewer for me. I felt silly asking but my wheel-dropping incident has me paranoid about my set-up! They were understanding about it and didn’t charge me a thing.

I did a little expo shopping (raiding) and then stuck around for the 4:30 “mandatory” meeting. It was not nearly so mandatory as in NYC where they don’t let you pick up your packet until you have a stamp to show you attended. I’m sure plenty of people skipped in Poconos but I think the meetings are helpful. Organizers impart good tips about the course and any race idiosyncrasies. It was especially helpful for this race where we’d be sharing most of the swim, a lot of the bike and all of the run with folks doing the Olympic distance so we’d have to be on the lookout for half-specific signage. More than that this was a two-transition race which can get confusing. It helped to have the logistics laid out very clearly, including explanations of all the different types of gear bags in our packets!

After the not-mandatory-but-really-I-recommend-attending meeting we drove the 3 miles to T1 to rack Koopa. The swim would start next to T1 and end about a quarter mile downstream. Then we would bike out and back around 56 miles, during which we would pass T1 to get to T2. The run would then be two six mile out and back loops finishing next to T2. I set Koopa up in the sweet ground racks and left my helmet and gloves as well – no rain in the forecast and less to carry in the morning!

After the quick set-up Scott, Birk, and I drove the easy few miles to the Budget Inn and Suites in East Stroudsburg. I was so happy they were dog-friendly; it makes a huge difference to be able to include Birkin in the race weekend. He has a blast being outside all day, we don’t have to put him through the stress of being without us overnight, and I am happy that Scott has his best friend for adorable, face-kissin’ company while I’m out on course for hours on end.

The Budget Inn was obviously not high-end but it was actually nicer than I expected. Our room was very clean and well air-conditioned. And best of all there was a restaurant onsite that made pizza! Easy pre-race carbing without having to go anywhere.

By that I mean, I didn’t go anywhere. After eating Scott however was very kind and went to a Walmart a few minutes away to get bagels and bananas for breakfast. (I only patronize Walmart when out of town for races and there are no other options. Otherwise this bleeding heart tries to limit her shopping to places that allow employees to unionize and take lunch breaks!)

While Scott bought things I should have brought from home I prepped for the morning. Going through my tattoos and bags I was blown away to find a personalized note wishing me well not only the next day but in Chattanooga – one of many ways Rev3 goes out of its way to welcome people more than any other race organization!  I also got sucked into a really juicy Law & Order SVU which kept me up too late. At 10pm I finally tucked in for the night.

The alarm went off at 4:30am and I cursed Detectives Benson and Stabler for their late-night magnetism. (I’m just kidding, Olivia! I didn’t mean it!) We were out the door around 5:10 and at T2 a few minutes later. While Scott circled around I quickly set up my running shoes, race belt and nutrition, and hat for a run that seemed a long way off. I was done quickly making me feel like I was forgetting something. I ran through the transition in my head a few times and when I was around 45% positive that I wasn’t forgetting anything I went and found Scott.

He drove me over to T1 where I set up my bike shoes and water bottles. Organizers announced that the water temperature was 76.8 degrees, aka wet suit legal but even warmer than NYC. The air was a lot cooler than New York though and it seemed like everyone was suiting up. I hated going against the crowd – especially without Bunks there to bolster the decision. I knew I would be really hot in my (full-sleeved) wetsuit in water that warm but watching everyone walk out of T1 with their suits made me feel like they knew something I didn’t. Scott supported the decision to swim in my kit since I’d been comfortable that way in cooler water so I finally decided to heed my own advice and past performance and ditch the neoprene.

With that decision reluctantly made and both transition areas ready to go I had about twenty minutes to just hang with my two and four-legged dudes. Leading up to this weekend I had been uncharacteristically blasé and non-basket case-y. Coach Josh said it was awesome, but I was a little disturbed by my nonchalance. Approaching that day as just IM Choo training had made me so chill I’d gotten us on the road late the day before, I’d stayed up too late, and I was still only kind of sure that both transition areas were stocked with what I’d need. The silver (stomach) lining was that my stomach had behaved itself as my brain managed to hide the fact that there was a (pretty long) race coming up.

But as Scott and Birkin and I stood outside between T1 and the swim start my stomach looked around and said, ‘oh holy shit! Are we at a race?! Nobody told me! We only have like twenty minutes to PANIC NOW!’ Three line-free porta visits later my belly seemed satisfied with the last-minute havoc it had wreaked and it was about time to get in the water.

I kissed my dudes goodbye and shuffled down the boatlaunch ramp into the river for the in-water start. It was chilly for a minute and I wondered if I’d made the right decision, but then the gun went off for women 39 and under and there was no time to dwell. As the sweleton (seriously we’re making this happen) took off I quickly found myself dead last in the wave. Swimming is my well-documented weakness but not THAT weak! I usually still manage top third or at worst half! I freaked out and got really discouraged – my head went places that it shouldn’t be going until at least a couple hours into a race. (Ironman – half and full – is a lot of time to be left alone with your thoughts.) Then I realized that everyone else had the benefit of an all-over-body neoprene floatie. Of course they were outmoving me. Again I kicked myself (no one else around me to kick me) for skipping the wetsuit but my ego rebounded from the initial shock of being left behind.

Apparently in addition to the equipment handycap, a lot of women in my wave had gone out too hot, so over the first long (against the current) stretch I picked off a couple which assuaged my ego further. And speaking of “too hot” (how smooth was that? *eyebrow wiggle*) within a few minutes I found peace with my decision to swim in just my tri-kit. The water was really warm and I imagined how uncomfortably hot I would have felt in my suit. I think for IM Choo I might rent a sleeveless suit to have that option if the water is warm. I’m going to want the benefit of the added speed, but my full-sleeve suit is toasty.

A little before the halfway point the swim course hooked a hard right across/with the current and then right again to swim home fully with the current. I heeded the “mandatory” pre-race meeting advice of finding a center lane to avoid the river grass in the shallower water by the shore. (Plus I learned at NYC this year to always take a path as close to the middle to ride the current in a river swim.)

The water was so clear I could see the bottom as I swam. I’d never experienced that in a race and it was fantastic. More fantastic? I had a serious breakthrough during the swim. No, it was not a speed-related breakthrough – my wetsuit-free time was pretty embarrassing. It was bigger than that.

I peed! WHILE swimming!

I’ve had a mental/maybe physical bloc about peeing in action and keep exiting the water with a full bladder. As I swam with the current I slowed down a bit and concentrated. It took a all my will but finally, it happened! (Gawd this is way too much information, isn’t it?) Whatever, I was so happy. Before exiting I even peed a little more! (When it rains it pours! [I’m referring to both my urinary breakthrough and how needlessly intimate this blog is getting.])  It added even more time to my already-slow swim, but when I ran up the ramp to T1 it was worth it because I didn’t need a porta-break!

The run to T1 was long – though not as ridiculous as in NYC. And Scott and Birkin were there waiting and ran next to me the whole way. The crowd and organizers loved it and were cracking up at my giant, happy, tongue-out dire wolf.

I’m not sure where the sensors all were for transition but based on where I think they were Garmin says it was 3:36 from out of the water onto the bike. I’m pretty happy with that considering the long run and that we had to pack up everything from T1 into a bag that would be picked up and trucked to T2/the finish.

Heading out onto the bike course I knew we started up hill but I wasn’t too nervous because Conman, I mean COACH, Josh had said it wasn’t too hilly.  Maybe I should be flattered he thinks I’m a better biker than I am but the first ten or so miles were absolutely brutal. And probably because of my too laid back approach to this race day as a training day, I felt really low energy. Usually I’m all nerves and adrenaline heading out on the bike but I was just lethargic and moving much more slowly than normal – even given the uphill terrain.

And it was uphill and demanding – despite my best efforts to act like it was blah, whatever. In the glow of Josh’s calming lies and my own chillaxing, I wasn’t expecting the course to be as hard as it was so I wasn’t working to pick up maximum speed on the couple downhill bits to get up the many uphill ones.

Maybe four miles in I was in a pack of four or five other athletes when we rounded a corner and came face to face with a total wall of a “hill.” I heard several expletives escape the mouths around me. At least one person dismounted right there and started walking. I tried to pick up speed in the remaining space before the uphill would begin but it was pretty much a lost cause at that point.

I headed uphill and started shifting down furiously. I was able to pass a few people – some on bikes, some walking bikes – and almost had a collision with a woman who wasn’t going to make it and had decided to clip out in the middle of the road halfway up, slowing my already painful climb further.

I got about 85% up and was getting to that point where you have so little forward momentum and no remaining small rings and so the only place to go is down. There was a small flatter ledge so I popped off the bike and ran it the final bit to the top. So embarrassing but less so than if I’d gone down and caused a pile-up. I need to learn to read an elevation chart because I could have summited in my pedals rather than on my feet if I’d known to accelerate into that turn before the hill.

I clipped back in at the top and immediately we were flying down the other side. I’m still too nervous a rider to enjoy breakneck speed descents and I totally ride the brake these days when it’s really long or steep. Here the road was also pretty rough and pocked so I was especially nervous. I didn’t let myself pump the brake too much though, unsure what mountains awaited. Fortunately, while there were a few more miles of tough climbing, nothing so drastic as that wall.

Eventually we were able to get off that road and onto a nice smooth stretch of highway. The middle thirty some miles were wonderful – just really pleasant riding. The road was closed to traffic, it was well-kempt in most places, and the rolling hills were challenging enough to be interesting, but never painful. The race was also far less crowded than NYC. I thought it was perfectly populated: it wasn’t lonely but I never felt my pace confined by too many people.

We rode an out and back past the aid station at around miles 15 and 31. I stopped at the second to refill my aero bottle which took maybe a minute, then back on the road. Somewhere in the mid-40s we had another short out and back where we were sharing the road with the olympic course. It started to get hilly again and I knew I was going to have to climb up the ass side of that wall from earlier soon. When I did hit with about eight miles to go I was at least more prepared – and it wasn’t as bad from the back.

The descent  was worse though.

I clutched my brake the whole way down. I knew I could get up the remaining hills without conserving all the speed and it was so long and steep and potholed that there was no way I was going down full-steam. Conferring with braver riders later everyone I talked to said they had done the same – mostly because the road was too rough to trust at that speed.

With three miles to go we past T1 and headed over some shorter-but-steeper rollers. The road for those last miles was in the worst condition of the day. Potholes and unavoidable cracks the whole way back in. We also shared the final mile with the run course, which was a little disheartening. I knew I wasn’t putting up very competitive numbers and it sucked seeing a lot of people out running while I was still on the bike.

Over the course of the ride I drank a bottle of Hammer Heed, a bottle of water, and had two gus. I should have brought one more gu or maybe some shot bloks as I got a little hungry in the final stretch and was out of calories.  I got off the bike with tired climby legs pretty whooped from my ride.

Looking back I acknowledge that this race was named for the mountain range in which it took place, so the fact that less than half of it was brutally hilly is actually pretty kind of the course designer. I’ll try to be more cognizant of obvious hints like, this race is named after mountains when evaluating the likely terrain and elevation of a course from now on.

Once again guestimating the timing mats my Garmin logged a 2:07 T2. It was easy to locate my rack as organizers had designed T2 to exactly mirror T1 which was great. The floor racks also had our names on them which I’d never seen before and was so impressed by. I easily found my spot, changed, and was out.

As I exited T2 I checked out my overall time: 4:14. My goal had been to go sub-6, and still not in peak run-shape I had hoped to average somewhere in the low 8s for my run. Seeing how much time I’d eaten up with my slow swim and my walk/ride bike leg I realized my run was going to have to be much faster than I’d planned it. But still I thought, I can turn in a 1:45 half marathon without too much trouble – I just had to average an 8 minute mile. Totally doable.

And here again my inability to read an elevation chart and naiveté about mountain racing bit me hard in the glutes.

The first mile was pretty relaxed. I was getting my post-bike legs back so I let myself run it in the low 8s. There was a little climbing too which slowed me but I thought, that’s fine, I can make up for that. In the end that 8:24 for mile 1 ended up being my fourth fastest of the day.

The run course was BRUTAL. For the half it was two 6-mile out and backs, most of which was shared with the olympic. The first mile and a half was on the road over those same punchy rollers that had concluded the bike leg. Then we turned right onto a gravel path and ran three miles through the park. It was beautiful, and a lot of it was shaded which was a gift, but the gravel slowed everyone down, consciously and unconsciously. With my osteopenia, any not-road or track substrate makes me nervous to roll an ankle so I backed off a little. I was starting to realize I wouldn’t crack six hours.

If I hadn’t been sure about missing my sub-6 as soon as we hit the gravel, the epic hill at mile two and a half definitely hammered it home. There’d been a lot of climbing already, but suddenly I was staring down  the steepest descent I’d ever seen in a race. I pulled my glasses off so I could see the contours of the path better, and slowed almost to a walk. This was not the kind of hill where you try to make up time – it was the hill where you prayed not to break an ankle or tear something. And as an added mind-fuck to the physical challenge, given that this was an out-and-back there were people walking up it and I knew that hell loomed soon…and twice.

I got to the bottom with my bones in tact – at least as in tact as mine ever are – and tried to pick up the pace again. About half a mile later there was a much-needed aid station next to the olympic turn around. I gulped down several cups of water and gatorade – I was starting to feel really dehydrated and calorie-depleted – and kept going. The half turn-around was still a quarter mile away. A quarter mile straight uphill to be more exact.

We crossed a little bridge and immediately there was a hill almost as steep and long as the one I felt like I had just walk-jogged down. (I walked in the bike and run courses, huh?) I managed to run up and passed some walkers on the way. It hurt and it was ugly but I made it. At the top I just turned right around and went back down. It wasn’t quite as bad as going down that first cliff, but still too steep and uncertain in the footing to make up any real speed. I crossed the bridge and passed back through that aid station grabbing more water and gatorade and began to steel myself for the climb I knew was coming.

And it sucked. I managed to technically “run” the whole way but it was so steep it was almost physically impossible to run it. I knew at the top there’d be a flatish mile where I could recompose myself and just focused on that. Once at the top I focused on breathing to bring my heart rate back down some as I ran back out to the paved portion.

Speaking of heart rate – my monitor didn’t work at all during the run. It was so frustrating. Although I’m sure I was in the 180s almost the entire time so maybe it’s better I didn’t know. What the strap around my chest did succeed in doing was to chafe me raw in the center of my bottom ribs. I think it was from dumping ice and cups of water on myself at each aid station. I’m not really sure what to do about it when I have to go twice this distance and will really want those metrics in Chattanooga.

That’s September Liz’ problem though. Back on the run course I finished loop one in an uninspiring 57 minutes. As I headed to the turn around I saw Birkin and Scott. Scott hadn’t realized it was a two loop situation so he was shocked to see me and at first must have thought I was absolutely destroying the run. I told him I was hurting pretty bad. He said, ‘but you’re almost there!’ I broke the news that in fact I was not almost there and had to do that dreadful loop again. He and Birk ran the turn around with me and as far as they could back out. At least I was more than halfway through it when they bid me adieu again.

And at least the run course was a little short, so each mile marker hit a minute or so before my garmin dinged. That bit of relief really helped get me through the second half. I ran this loop pretty identically to the first. Getting gatorade and some more calories in I actually felt physically a little better, though my pace doesn’t really show it. At the end of the first loop I began getting nervous that I wouldn’t even go sub-two in the run, but with some more fuel I was able to pull myself back together so that I knew I would at least hit that mark.

While the gatorade did revive me, so many liquid calories started to wear on me and gurgle unpleasantly in parts of the second loop. I made another note to myself to up my solid calories on the bike and on the run. I again walk-jogged the big hills. Most people just walked them so I was proud to keep the run facade going there, and as I passed walkers they shouted encouragement to keep running. (By walkers I do not mean zombies to be clear, just fellow athletes who were walking and while in pain, not technically undead.) I love that about triathletes – every race the bike and run bits are peppered by words of support from total strangers. This run was so challenging that people were high fiving all over on the out and backs (and joking that this was swim-bike-hike instead of run.) It’s incredible how that human kindness and care can overwhelm the physical pain of the moment.

Once I was off the gravel and back on the pavement with two miles to go I tried to pick it up a little. Mile 12 was one of my fastest for the day and I felt like I could hold it to the end. With less than half a mile to go I saw Birkin and Scott again. They jumped in the course with me. Birkin was so happy and adorable galloping next to me with his tongue hanging out, and athletes and spectators cheered for him. I on the other hand was in agony. Scott encouraged me on and ran next to me, but I didn’t have the energy to respond. He could tell I was just about out of gas and stayed by my side despite my silent treatment. I was glad he understood and stayed with me.

At the finishing chute he and Birkin ducked to the side not realizing they were allowed to run up it with me. I again had nothing left to spit out that explanation so I just charged ahead knocking out my only mile in the 7s for the day.

I finished the run in 1:54:04 (slight negative split) and 6:07:47 overall. Eight minutes slower than my goal. It was just a training day though and I hadn’t approached it as anything more than that, so it was hard to feel too disappointed.

At the finish line a volunteer draped a cold, wet towel over my shoulders and back which felt AMAZING. It was a little after 1pm and I had finished feeling feverishly hot so that towel was a life-saver. It was also a large, legit towel and not just a dinky hand-cloth which made a huge difference in bringing my body temp down.

I paced a little as Birkin and Scott caught up to me to encourage the lactic build-up to flush out of my legs. While I paced the finish area Birkin got his own medal from some amazing volunteers! (I know they were good people because my usually anxious, shy pup warmed up quickly and started loving on them.)

There were a few ice baths which I’d never tried, but I’d also rarely been that overheated. I grabbed a seat on the rim of one and daintily dropped one leg at a time in. I found it really hurt my toesies (maybe from my Raynaud’s syndrome) but that it felt especially good on my upper legs. My glutes were absolutely thrashed from all the climbing so I (less-daintily) dunked my ass and thighs in while keeping my feet resting on the trough rim. It was not a lady-like position but it felt life-affirming.

After a few minutes (as much as I could stand) I re-soaked my towel in the ice water and then waddled my frosty wet self to the Normatec tent for some compression recovery. Ten minutes in the squeeze squeeze sleeves revived me to the point where I could walk like a regular human, so it was time to indulge in some calories.

Rev3 did a great job of providing athletes with a serious spread (meat and veggie lasagna, chicken, veggies, fresh fruits, breadsticks!) and a really good IPA from a local brewery. (I forget the name! So sorry – it was so much better than the mainstream light beer available at most races!)

Scott, Birk, and I hung out for an hour, my dudes taking advantage of the beautiful park setting, before gathering my things and heading home. Organizers did an incredible job getting everyone’s things from T1 and had hung up our numbered gear bags on hooks next to T2. Scott easily found my stuff while I grabbed Koopa Troop. There was plenty of parking at T2* and so we were back on the road to DC in no time.

*Organizers also worked hard to make the day smooth for spectators. Scott had driven me to the race start/T1 and then seen me off on the bike. Then he had to drive back to T2 to wait, but he had plenty of time to do so before they closed the road to cars. What the brilliant planners did to accommodate sherpas/spectators was to make the three miles between T1 and T2/the finish one way until I believe 8:30am so that everyone could wish their athletes well at the start line and welcome them at the finish line. I am so impressed with how smoothly Rev3 managed to direct a two-transition race.

So in conclusion, Rev3 is a fabulous race organization and I am so coming back for more with them next season. Scott and I also loved the Poconos and kept remarking on how nice it would be to do a long weekend there so maybe next year we’ll make a real vacation out of it!