Preamble

After she crushed her first 70.3 at Ironman Virginia, Tiff wanted to do a second this season, and I wanted to do one where I didn’t have to DNF. She suggested Ironman Atlantic City in September which fit nicely as flat and fast tune up for Ironman Arizona in November and was driving distance for both of us. While having the time of our lives at Escape the Cape in June we let the whole #WayneAveCrew in on the plans and convinced Steve to return to the Jersey shore with us for IMAC.

Part of the pitch to Steve was that we wouldn’t have to shell out for lodging as one of Tiff’s friends had offered to put us up in her family home about a mile and a half from transition. We hoped Clarice (and maybe even Russ) would be able to join us but in the end between Kona training for her (and Worlds and European shenanigans for him) it attended up just being Steve, Tiff, and I. Oh, and a big group of fabulous Speed Sherpa teammates. (And of course Moira and Mike, our gracious AC-adjacent hosts for the weekend.)

Race Day Eve Eve

I got on the road Friday at 3:50 – absolutely vanquishing my first goal of the weekend which was to leave before 4pm as if that would somehow spare me DC traffic. It didn’t, but the drive wasn’t terrible and I managed to be the first one to the house, thanks in large part to some nonsense in the Holland Tunnel that waylaid all the New Yorkers.

I had no idea what to expect out of this house and honestly was a little suspicious it would be trashy and terrible, because what kind of people keep a vacation house in Atlantic City? Turns out it wasn’t a vacation house, nor was it right in AC, and it was incredible! The house is actually the house that Moira grew up in and her parents still live in, and is Ventnor, NJ. Ventnor is one town south of AC on the island and is a totally charming beach community with grand old houses overlooking the water and the boardwalk. Who knew?

It was dark when I arrived in the greater Atlantic City area and made my way to our weekend digs. As I drove Atlantic Avenue with thoughts of Community Chest and do-not-pass-Go in my head, the houses got bigger and grander. I checked the addresses in shock as I rolled through. When I reached the number Tiff had given me I parked, incredulous that this big house with the expansive porch was it. I had instructions to look for a lockbox on said porch, which I found, and punched in the code, which worked so I was getting surer that this was indeed the place.

I let myself into the dark cavernous house and found a light and silently took back all my prejudgments and thanked Tiff for setting us up like queens this weekend. I unloaded the car, taking extra precaution as I carried Koop inside not to scuff up the beautiful inlaid hardwood. Moira and Mike arrived shortly after me, and Tiff not too long after them. As if the home weren’t enough, Moira had ordered us dinner. I ran out and got a bottle of wine and we all ate, Tiff and I toasted, and tucked in early.

Race Day Eve

Unlike our beloved Wayne Ave – which would have fit five or six times into this house – we each had our own rooms for the weekend. Tiff and I were both excited to sleep until we woke up, a rare luxury. I slept great and woke up feeling more refreshed than I had in a long time. I got to wake to a view of the ocean and the boardwalk just a block away. I had one of those moments where the music and emotions swell; I felt incredibly lucky to be in this big house with friends, getting to race after 11 months of struggling.

Tiff and I breakfasted on bagels and pop tarts. We discovered the house was actually right on the run course and Tiff took advantage of this by going out for a shakeout run on the boardwalk. I opted to skip the run, even though I had been assigned one. I had been struggling with my shin for months but in the week leading up to the race I was also experiencing some terrifying hip soreness and fatigue. I decided to save the run legs for race day. Instead I made use of the home gym (because of course there was a home gym) to do some of my PT exercises.

When she got back from her run Tiff and I headed out to drive the bike course which we figured would be pretty quick as the 56 miles were split into 2.5 laps so we would only have to drive 25ish miles. We irked some locals trying to follow the pink arrows lighting the way, but it mostly worked until the course headed the wrong way up a highway offramp – not something we could do in a car when the highway wasn’t shut down so we abandoned the effort and returned home.

Steve was finally almost to AC from NYC so we grabbed our bikes for the mile and a half ride to pickup our packets and rack our steeds. After battling some dangerous drivers Tiff and I were almost to the race site in Bader Field when we were thwarted by a drawbridge and passing boats. By the time we made it across the bay Steve had arrived and we found our missing race roomie already online for pickup.

We got our packets and sat through an athlete briefing with race director extraordinaire, Stephen Del Monte. He is also the director for Escape the Cape and he puts on fantastic races. Tiff and I were both nervous after driving the course thinking about how we would only have one lane of the otherwise-active Atlantic City Expressway, but I trust Del Monte to take care of his athletes so my anxiety was assuaged knowing he was overseeing everything.

After the briefing we ran into Coach Dave. The timing turned out to be fortuitous as Tiff’s chain kept dropping while we wheeled over to transition. He figured the derailleur must have gotten a bit out of whack in the drive down from NYC. We exemplified teamwork as Dave, Steve, and I grabbed the bike and got it fixed: I held the handlebars and shifted through the gears as Steve manned the pedals and Dave adjusted the derailleur.

Once Tiff’s bike was working we racked and then Steve drove us back to our gorgeous weekend home – which he had not yet seen. Moira showed him to his room and we all cleaned up for dinner.

Moira had very kindly made a reservation for all of us, including Dave and Speed Sherpette Dre, at an Italian spot a few blocks away called Red Room. It was perfect, with huge portions of pasta that I struggled through after filling up on arancini and bread. I had to bring lots of leftovers home and try to force as much down as I could before bed. (This is a recurring race-eve situation for me – I fill up too fast at dinner and have to bring food home and graze all evening.)

Steve and I posted up in Tiff’s huge room to race prep all together. We got all our bags together and tatted up, then settled in to watch an episode of SVU with the haul of Levain cookies Tiff had brought down from the city. I love that Tiff and I have this solid pre-race tradition and I love that Steve has totally embraced it. The cookies are carby goodness and Olivia Benson is a calming presence even while taking down bad guys – it’s the only way to get race ready.

We were in our separate beds on various floors of the grand house at 9pm. I took 15 extra minutes to sit in my Normatec boots before tucking in for good.

Race Morning

We were up at 3:30am, having heard warnings about how the traffic backs up to get into Bader Field. Transition opened at 4:30 and we had decided to hit the road shortly after 4am to buy ourselves plenty of time if the traffic snarled as badly as we’d heard. We did the race morning zombie dance of ignoring nerves and trying to eat whatever we could, getting on the road at 4:15.

The three of us loaded into my lil Yoshi as I was the only one with a bike rack so ironically the mini cooper actually offered the best chance of getting everyone’s bikes back home at the end of the day. Because we were coming from Ventnor and not Atlantic City proper we approached Bader Field from the north and not the south, and we discovered that there was indeed already a long line – just not in the direction from which we were coming!

Dozens of cars were waiting to turn right into the race, but we were one of two cars turning left in. Police were directing people into a single file line and I could see how this could take ages. But quickly it was our turn to swing left, and just as we did police opened a second lane of traffic and ushered us into that, meaning we waited in zero lines to get in. Instead we zoomed straight onto Bader Field and were parked by 4:25 – transition hadn’t even opened yet!

I’ve never arrived so early to a race. It was great to have so much time to set up, and to bathroom, and bathroom, and bathroom. I pumped my tires and got everything in order while choking down more calories and saying hello to other friends I ran into.

I also took some time to walk over to the Bay and watch the swim course. We’d been told the current would be against us going out and with us coming back, but watching the water it appeared to be the opposite.

A bit before 6 we all exited transition for the last time, bathroomed again, and headed to the swim start. We parted ways as Steve headed for a faster swim wave and Tiff and I lined up in the front of 36-45 minute group.

It was quite chilly with the sun just creeping up over the mid-September day. Rain was in the forecast and everyone held their breath wondering whether the skies would open during the swim. I hoped not feeling anxious about my swimming which hadn’t been going great in recent weeks. I feared rain would obscure the sighting and turn buoys and compound my aquatic misery.

The race was set to start at 6:30 but at 6:15 an unintelligible announcement came over the loudspeaker. We all looked around uncomprehendingly until word made it back to our slow wave that the swim was on a 30 minute delay because of lightning.

Just as this message was conveyed to our back of the swim pack the rain started. Just a drizzle at first but it steadily picked up. Tiff and I found space on some grass and sat down, huddling close. I was freezing, and tried to fold my arms into my sleeveless wetsuit for some modicum of warmth. Tiff and I laughed at how miserable it was to sit in the rain at dawn on a Sunday and how if our friends could see us they would think we were totally out of our minds.

I started wondering if maybe the swim would be canceled and I can’t say I hated the idea. No sooner had I kinda wished for a duathlon than we were given word that the swim was a go and we should line back up. We got up to queue for the new 7am start, but the self-seeding had fallen apart during the intervening shower. I didn’t see a 36-45 minute sign anymore and everyone just crowded toward the water. Tiff and I filed in and soon we were hugging one final time and heading down the dock to start our days for real.

Swim

My very first swim thought – really my very first thought of the race – was, I don’t want to do Ironman Arizona. That was the first thing that entered my mind when I hit the water. The 1.2 mile distance felt terrible and untenable as soon as I was horizontal. I hated it immediately and my brain started in right away telling me I couldn’t do it and I should quit now.

I’m pretty used to these negative swim thoughts, I battle them to some degree in every race. But man were they loud that morning over those first few hundred meters. I kept putting one arm in front of the other, trusting that my mental state would improve. Eventually the internal screaming monologue subsided to an ignorable buzzing.

It was hard to find my rhythm though because the whole first half of the course was violent! People did not seed themselves correctly. Every two minutes or so had to fight through another throng of slower swimmers. (Almost all greencapped men.) Every time I started feeling like I was finally getting down to business I had to chart a course through another group of three or four thrashing guys. I blamed tri-hubris but also the breakdown of any sort of organized seeded start after the rain delay.

At least the course was well marked with sighting buoys. Unlike Cleveland, and apart from the intermittent melees, I was able to find my way easily. A little before halfway I arrived at the two turning buoys and then things really got physical. People were thrashing around and swimming wide competing for space to make the turn back toward home. It was slow and unpleasant going to find a way through the mosh pit. I guess I blame the lack of accurate time-seeding for the chaos? Whatever the reason I wasn’t a fan of the turnaround.

When I finally got through it and was horizontal again pointed back toward transition I expected some sort of current. Instead there was just chop. I never noticed a current one way or the other in the swim. It’s very possible that I’m just not particularly attuned to such things in the water and maybe we did get an assist at some point. I did notice some swells on the back half of the course – and by notice I mostly mean I did swallow a good bit of Bay on the back half. But it was nothing compared to Cleveland so I wasn’t too bothered by it.

In fact I was feeling so comfortable that I started pushing myself to swim a little harder. I just about never do that. I always just find a very comfortable pace and dawdle-crawl (crawdle?), unchallenged, through the water. But I was feeling secure in the conditions so I started to alternate easy and then push paces between sight buoys. It felt like a mental and physical open water breakthrough, and one that I’m hoping to replicate going forward. It helped that the crowds were thinner now too.

I was feeling proud of myself and chugging along buoy to buoy when I came upon a woman going much slower than me, but positioned just so between myself and the next buoy that I had to hustle to beat her there or else I would get stuck behind her for a while. I had plenty of room to make the pass though so I picked up the pace and stayed to her right, with the buoy coming up on both our rights. As I made my move I could see that I was good on space and was in no danger of cutting her off or getting stuck behind the buoy. Just as I thought to this myself and just as I was passing her on the right I turned to breathe to my left and saw her reach up, very intentionally, with her right arm and grab my left shoulder. She then shoved me hard in the water. It was wild. The shittiest swim behavior I’ve ever encountered. I got a good look at her red trikit under her sleeveless wetsuit and took a mental snapshot. I freed myself from her grasp and swam fast as I could on, kicking a few extra well placed splashes as I did. What. A. Beeeetch. (Her; not me. I’m great.)

The rest of the swim passed uneventfully. I got over being accosted and resumed my new routine of actually trying, My final official swim time was 38:15 which was (barely but still counts) slightly under 2:00/100m – the bar at which I continue to set my over/under swim-barrassment.

I later learned that other athletes apparently saw lots of jellyfish throughout the swim. I never did and very I’m glad as they really freak me out. Steve saw them but said they were not the stinging kind. I was never a lifeguard like Steve though so that’s not something I would have known.

T1

I ran up the boatramp and was greeted by two of the fastest wetsuit strippers ever. They had me out of my neoprene and on my way in no time. It was a pretty lengthy jog into transition and to my rack in particular. I tried to be efficient but I wouldn’t say I was “racing” through my transitions that day. They weren’t too bad compared to others but they could have been tighter if I’d been in a more competitive mindframe. T1 timed out to 6:59 which isn’t stellar but not as slow as it sounds given the size of the transition.

Bike

It was a flat course – a 70.3 first for me – and I’d been cycling a lot while unable to run much so my goals for the day were all bike-oriented. Even after an unassertive T1 I felt like my head was in it from the second I hit the saddle. It had rained lightly through the whole swim and it was starting to pick up as I rode out to the Atlantic City Expressway (ACE). I was so happy to have had the experience of “racing” in the rain at IMVA in May. (Though I’m wondering if Tiff brings the wet race weather…) I didn’t feel intimidated by the precipitation, even as it quickly increased from drizzle to deluge.

The active freeway also turned out to be less intimidating than I’d feared. There was a wide shoulder and then we had an entire additional lane, and a line of cones marked the division between the “closed’ bike course and the highway. It definitely wasn’t lonely but it wasn’t too crowded either. I spent the entire bike passing people so was constantly gurgling “on your left!” into the downpour. In that way I didn’t feel like I ever got much of a chance to just hunker down and pedal, but it wasn’t so populous that I ever worried about accidentally drafting either.

A few miles into the first of three (2.5?) laps the rain became absurdly heavy – like nothing I’d ever biked in before. At one point it was monsooning so hard that I just had to laugh. These race conditions were ridiculous but here we all were. As I passed by people they laughed too and we shrugged at this very strange thing we’d signed up to do.

In the downpour I managed to stay low and pretty fast, though Coach Dave later said the conditions made for slower cycling. I was relieved to also find that I wasn’t cold. I’d been freezing during the soggy swim delay and here I was moving at 20 mph in much soggier weather and I felt ok. A shiver here and there but I mostly didn’t notice anything, except my wet little toes did go a bit numb. I could feel my fingers and shift and for that I was thankful. I did decide last minute in T1 to put on bike gloves which was helpful for both warmth and grip.

Eight miles in the course exits the ACE for a seven mile loop through a town I think was called Pleasantville. I don’t know about the town itself but the quality of the pavement was not so pleasant. Of course the first time through it was also mostly under water which didn’t help the rough riding.

At one point early on into that first waterlogged lap I hit a deep crevice, whose watery depths were masked by the puddle and the lack of visibility. I stayed upright but was seriously jostled and hit it hard enough that I spent the next few miles in a panic that I might have a flat or even frame damage from the impact.

I was nervous that I’d flatted for most of that trip through Pleasantville as I had slowed way down compared to the ACE. I wasn’t sure if it was the terrain, the more crowded path, the rain, or a mechanical issue. It ended up being from the first three things, I can’t blame the bike for the slow down as I replicated that deceleration the second and third times I exited the freeway too.

Each time too the first few miles through Pleasantville got a little crowded. There were a number of sharp turns in quick succession and some narrower roads so the way was thicker with other athletes. The first lap seemed the most crowded, maybe because I’d gone out in a later swim wave, and maybe because the weather was worst then. I weaved through the throng but plenty of fast guys were passing me. And one of those guys was Coach Dave! I don’t think he heard me as I cheered him on but damn did he look fast. And no wonder, he won the whole dang Aquabike.

The single aid station was located halfway through the Pleasantville lap, meaning we hit it at miles 10, 30 and 50. The first time through I still had the gu and stroopwaffle I’d brought and not being too many miles in yet I wasn’t feeling anywhere near hungry. I don’t know why I didn’t just grab an extra gu to carry in case but I was feeling strong and so I stayed left and rode past all those waiting calories.

I was happy to get back to the ACE around mile 15. I took some time to eat gu I was carrying, promising myself I’d grab another the next swing through. Then I got down to business. The rain was starting to lighten and I had work to do on my sub-3 hour bike goal. Given the weather and the multiple lap opportunities I had made myself a deal when I got on the bike that I could use the first lap to assess the course a bit but that I had to hammer the second lap. Now on the back half of the first lap I wanted to drop the hammer early. The ACE was heavenly compared with Pleasantville and I knew that I was going to have to use that sweet smooth freeway pavement to grab speed each time through. So I stayed low, enjoyed the hell out of picking off riders – especially the dudes – and finished lap one strong just under a 20mph average.

My stated goal was to finally turn in a half iron bike under three hours. I’ve been within a few seconds and I’d never done a flat 70.3 so I felt like I had no excuse. My unspoken goal was to average over 20mph. I was on track to go sub-three but I needed to go hard on the second and third laps to get that average speed up. Luckily the rain had slackened to a spit and I now knew what the whole bike course looked like.

Again I hammered the ACE, keeping my speed up closer to 22mph until exited back into Pleasantville. Here again my speed slowed, and on lap two I was much more careful to dodge the road’s myriad imperfections. With the rain abating I could now really see how deep some of the craters were and wondered which bastard hole had nearly taken me out in the previous lap.

Approaching the second (same) aid station at mile 30 I had eaten my gu and half of my stroopwaffel, and I knew I needed to get more calories. I called for and was handed a gu (thank you volunteers!) as I rolled through, and here is where I was thwarted by an embarrassing childhood failure:

I had braces for a good many years to fix some ugly chompers, but I didn’t wear my bottom retainer as religiously as I should have so everything shifted and basically my teeth don’t touch except for my very back molars on each side. I make sure to pre-open most of the nutrition I carry on my bike because of this. It gets a little sticky with gus sometimes, but it’s really hard for me to open them or anything with my crooked bite. So I grabbed a gu from a lovely volunteer and then I gnawed and gnawed at it and absolutely could not open the damn thing. And then, not thinking, I tossed the unopened, unconsumed nutrition in the last aid station trash can not wanting to get a littering penalty. I was not thinking clearly. I obviously should have just kept it and tried again in a few minutes, even if I had to pull over I should have kept the calories. Now I had twenty miles until my next fueling opportunity. (I also should have grabbed extra gels and waffles, it’s not like I didn’t have plenty in my transition bag.)

As I got back to the highway around mile 35 I was starting to feel a little hungry, and when you’re starting to feel it you’re already in trouble. I ate my remaining stroopwaffle, washed it down with some gatorade and a prayer. Then I shook it off and got down to work. I had Pleasantville’s slower miles to make up for, plus I figured the faster I rode the faster I’d be back at that aid station.

Aside from the grumbly tummy I still felt really good. I finished lap two with my overall average right at 20mph. I just had to maintain it over lap three. The rain had now completely stopped and the sun was peaking out as I started the final loop. I became a little concerned that I should have grabbed sunglasses. I’d left them behind as they become blurry messes in the rain but now I was squinting and could feel the day rapidly warming.

I wanted that over-20 average so I burned a few matches heading up the ACE on this final lap. Most of the really fast people were off the course so I was flying by just about everyone. Pleasantville slowed me down again, though I powered through stronger than my first two goes. When I got back to the aid station I made the decision to pull over for a second, refill my aero bottle with gatorade, and grab a gu. When I got back on I decided to also grab half a banana which was clutch. I continue to struggle with my stomach which just wants real foods even while racing, so the fruit always hits the spot. I gulped down the banana and then was able to bite open the gu and get some of that in, keeping the open sticky packet on me for more calories further down the road.

With a happier belly I rode back to the ACE for the final few miles and the final go at the freeway. I was able to keep the average over 22mph on the way home and when I pulled off the highway toward transition I knew I had both bike goals in the bag if I could just maintain for a few more minutes.

And then the trip back into transition took so long. I remembered Stephen Del Monte saying something in the athlete briefing about where the bike course sensors were but I couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said and so I wasn’t sure if I had finished the bike yet as I continued to spin through Bader Field toward our racks. My Garmin says I did 57.5 miles on the bike in 2:51, and I was feeling slightly discouraged about those numbers when I finally reached the dismount line. Later my official results accounting for the actual bike course start and stop clocked me at 2:45:58 for those 56 miles, with an average speed of 20.25mph. That’s more like it!

T2

I wasn’t loving my Garmin numbers but I had nailed that sub-three hour bike no matter what and I’d averted a caloric catastrophe so I was feeling pretty stellar as I ran toward my rack. I grabbed another gu, my visor, glasses, salt pills, pretzels, and number and headed out. Somehow T2 took 7:05 but I chalk that up to having no idea where the timing mats really were. And also to my indecisiveness about whether to bring my big ziplock of pretzels.

Run

The beggining of the run mirrored the end of the bike in that it was a confusing, meandering slog through Bader Field and I was pretty sure but not totally sure that the run clock had actually started. I had to hit a porta within that first arduous half-mile which added about 90 seconds to my first run split too. I was disappointed in myself for needing the bathroom pause but my happiness with my bike overshadowed it.

As we were finally exiting the Bader Field transition area I saw Dave and Dre wheeling their bikes away after both crushing the Aquabike competition. I shouted to them and crested that wave of warm and fuzzy adrenaline you get when you see your teammies during a race.

It was just the boost I needed as my Garmin buzzed my first run mile with time of 9:42. That included the bathroom detour so I wasn’t too worried about the slow pace. What I was worried about was the fact that we didn’t hit the course’s mile one marker until a couple minutes – close to a third of a mile – past where my watch had buzzed. With the confusing jaunt through Bader Field’s parking lot I figured I’d somehow missed the timing mats and hit go on my watch too early. This felt deflating as I feared I’d be off on the mile markers the whole run.

We turned onto the boardwalk that accounted for most of the run course halfway through what my watch swore was the second mile. As feared, the official marker for mile number two didn’t appear until .3 miles after my Garmin had buzzed it. In addition to being off the whole run I was also nervous that this meant I’d be running an extra long “half marathon” which was not ideal on my still-recovering legs.

I had been struggling to increase mileage since coming off the crutches and had zero idea of what to expect going into this race. My “long runs” since learning how to walk again in March and running my first mile mid-April comprised of: a handfull of five milers, three 10k runs including the disaster that was Nationals, 7 miles once, 8.5 miles once, and 9 miles the Sunday before the race, during which I’d had to stop twice. So 13.1 miles after the swim and bike was just slightly daunting. My hip had also been squawking a bit after (aaand a bit during) that 9 miler so I had a lot of anxiety about whether my body would hold up in AC.

The good news was that this boardwalk was spongy awesomeness. It had a lot more give than the road and it was a joy to run on. I tried to focus on gratitude for the soft surface, for the ocean next to us, and for the fact that I was getting to even try this run. The sun was peeking out and the day was warming up so I just reminded myself to take it kind of easy and enjoy a great course and what health I had. Run traffic headed in both directions so I got to see Steve around my mile two and his mile seven which was another mental boost.

Since I knew I didn’t have my usual run fitness to fall back on I ran the whole thing off heartrate, only looking at pace whenever my watch (prematurely) buzzed another mile down. For the first half of the race I stayed really conservative keeping my BPM in 150s. It felt pretty easy and I had to remind myself every few minutes to stay lowkey. I knew I was lacking the aerobic base for my running so if I overheated I was done for. I felt like it was better to stay way under threshold and finish a little slower than to blow up.

During the third mile the course left the boardwalk for a block down Atlantic Avenue, and right past our home for the weekend. I looked to the big porch as I passed, hoping to see Moira and Mike, but they weren’t there. I was a little bummed but I also thought I’d probably gotten there sooner than they expected, which was a great thought. This also reminded me that I might get to see Tiff soon, with the turaround coming up.

Indeed at the beginning of my Garmin-appointed fifth mile, after another few blocks on Atlantic, we were routed back onto the boardwalk to head back toward AC (im)proper. Within a few minutes I was again in two-way traffic and keeping an eye out for Tiff.

I saw her when I was somewhere in my sixth mile and she in her third or fourth. It was another morale boost as was the fact that I was getting close to the halfway point of the race, though the mile markers were still completely at odds with my Garmin so I wasn’t a hundred percent sure where halfway was.

I had kept miles 2-6 in the 8:40s and my heartrate in those easy peasy 150s. Entering mile seven though I could feel the unfamiliar accumulation of miles starting to wear on me, at the same time the sun really began to flex its muscle. I had been toying with letting my heartrate creep up at the halfway point, but the fatigue and the heat decided for me. I soon found my BPM in the low, and then the mid-160s, even as my pace began to fade into the low 9s. I wasn’t loving this turn of events but I didn’t have any say in the matter, and I had too many miles to go to fight to keep my miles sub-9.

Mile seven clocked a 9:02. I was able to pull mile eight back to just barely sub-nine with an 8:58, but mile nine shot way up with a 9:25 thanks to a walk through an aid station to take some BASE salt. I was carrying some nutrition but I also literally follow my gut on race day, and that day my gut wanted some interesting things. The tube of BASE salt was great, and at one point I even had some Redbull which I almost never want. I honored my belly’s wishes though and after my near nutritional disaster on the bike I felt pretty good in that department the whole run.

Mile nine also included some beach running, a cruel run past the finish line, and then a run away from the main boardwalk and around a large shaded pier that according to the map is apparently part of Caesars. I saw Steve again on the pier, and my friend Courtney who was doing some final pre-Kona tune-ups with this race. Seeing those friendly faces couldn’t have come at a better time as I was definitely feeling worn down by the miles and the sun now.

Plus I was feeling demoralized as the mile markers had gotten even farther off my Garmin tracking. I was now hitting official mile marker signs more than .4 miles after my watch buzzed. And I wasn’t the only one – I could hear other athletes’ watches buzzing around the same time mine did every mile. If I’d blown it with the run-out timing mats I was in good company.

We were also in the company of all the Atlantic City revelers. The run course is roped off from the rest of the active AC boardwalk which is populated by the usual AC suspects – many of whom look truly shocked to wander out of their casinos or bars to discover so many people out exercising. We had some entertaining cheerleaders in those folks though. I could have done without all the smoking but I appreciated the inebriated cheers from confused but encouraging onlookers.

I did not appreciate the strange advertising TV screens that line the boardwalk and played that god awful We buy any car dot com commercial every three minutes. They did become a source of course camaraderie as I heard people commiserate or even sing along in jest.

Miles 10 through 12 all clocked in the low 9s and between my slowing legs and the lengthening mile markers I was afraid I wouldn’t even do the half marathon in under two hours, and I began preparing for that blow to my ego. The thought made me just want to slow down more and give in to disappointment. I had already accepted before the race that it wouldn’t be a PR and then reaccepted that fact a few miles prior, even though I’d had such a big bike PR.

Halfway through mile 11 we got to turn around once more and head back toward the finish line for real this time. I was hurting, but at least I was pointed toward home now. Then something miraculous happened. My Garmin buzzed right as I ran past the official marker – somehow after ten miles of increasing disharmony, the stars and miles were re-alighning.

This information changed everything. It meant we weren’t running a 13.6 mile half marathon, which changed whether or not I could go sub-2 on the run. I didn’t realize it right away but it also changed whether or not I could PR. I was physically feeling every ray of sun, and the total deficit of run endurance, but my mood completely flipped. I also ran by Tiff around this time. She was clearly also in the pain cave but she was just a few miles from the end and I knew she’d make it.

I stayed the course for mile 12, again coming in low 9s, as I worked out the numbers in my head and tried to save a bit for mile 13, knowing I didn’t have much left to give. In running the numbers as I entered that final full mile of the day it suddenly dawned on me that if I pushed I could actually PR this thing. It hurt like hell but I dug down deep and found some low 8s as I ran back around that pier and towards the finish.

My Garmin and the mile markers were still in sync as my watch face lit up an 8:11 for mile 13. I was now turning the corner off the pier and could see the finish line. I felt like I might puke if I picked up too much speed so I just dipped a bit below 8 into the 7:50s and held on, willing that Redbull to stay down. I had started to feel really emotional in mile 13 and now I was trying not to cry because I could feel my diaphragm on the verge of contracting the contents of my stomach up and out. I breathed and I ran and I crossed the finish line with an official run time of 1:57:51 and overall race time of 5:36:06 – a 2 minute PR!

Now I let the happy tears roll. What a year it had been. So many disappointments, so much hard work to learn to walk and then run again. And here I was with a PR on the bike and overall – and I’d done it without falling back on my run. And the run hadn’t hurt! I mean the hip hadn’t anyway. I was completely overjoyed as I accepted my medal, posed for a pic, and sipped water to calm my ecstatic stomach.

Aftermath

I picked up the bag I’d checked that morning (did I mention we checked bags? We did, because the finish is a mile and a half from the start.) and found a dozens of messages from Speed Sherpa and Rev3 teammates and other tri friends. Obviously the waterworks continued.

I pulled up the Ironman Tracker app to confirm that I had indeed PRed and saw that I was 14th in the 35-39 age group. I was stunned and over the moon. I had wanted to go top ten in an Iron distance race this year, (ideally a full but a half will do,) but I had let all those types of goals go a long time ago. So to come so close to that top ten goal, and to do so without the benefit of my run felt incredible and totally shocking.

I texted Coach Dave who was down the Boardwalk a few blocks having a beer to celebrate his overall Aquabike win. I grabbed some athlete food and found Steve and we joined Dave, Dre, and teammate Marco as we waited for Tiff to finish.

Steve and I each ordered a beer, which came in giant steins, and then realized we had no money. Dave was about to head out as his wife, Queen Sherpette Sara, had given birth to their second baby literally the Tuesday prior. (She insisted Dave do the race!) Before he left we asked the champion and proud papa if he would pay for our brewskies. Thank goodness Steve realized we were penniless before we were also Dave-less!

Once Tiff finished we loaded up on the school bus shuttle back to Bader Field. When we’d decided to all ride to the race in my Mini Cooper, Yoshi, we had figured we would try to get all three bikes on the bike rack but if not, someone could ride home because it wasn’t very far. Once we had collected our bikes and got back to that lil green dinosaur, no one wanted to have anything to do with more cycling. We bike-tetrised like our legs depended on it and somehow arranged all three whips on the rack. As we pulled back onto the road for the short haul back to Moira’s house people laughed (I’d like to think admiringly) at this tiny car pulling its weight in bicycles.

We all – bikes included – made it safely to our mansion by the shore. It was sad to have to part ways, but I wanted to make it home at a decent hour so I forewent a full shower and just rinsed a bit and changed. We divvied up the remaining bagels and Levain cookies, I wolfed down the previous evening’s leftover pasta, and then got back into Yoshi, this time with just the one bike, and returned victoriously to DC.

I don’t think I could possibly be prouder of this race. I didn’t have my whole healthy self, but I gave everything I safely could. That 2:45 bike was a big deal for me, as was continuing to conquer rainy riding conditions. I also discovered that I was 21st out of 100 out of the water and that might actually be the day’s biggest victory. (Could it be that actually trying in the swim yields results??) I’ll never be the fastest swimmer, but I do plan to get my run fitness back and when I do I can work with 21st place in the swim – that’s a more reasonable number of people to have to bike and run down than my usual 50 or more.

As for the race itself I highly recommend it. Stephen Del Monte will take care of you, the boardwalk is heaven to run on, and I gotta say, I don’t hate a flat bike course! I won’t be back next year but I will be back. (And hopefully Moira will have us again because I am not staying in Atlantic City itself!)