Half Iron

Soooooo..... somewhere along the way I got a ridiculous notion in my head that a half-ironman was a) feasible and b) a good idea.

I really can't remember where the idea came from but I think it may have been a combo of the bad influence of crazy runner friends, seeing people on The Biggest Loser go from morbidly obese to running marathons and the realization that I love swimming, bike all the time and have done a handful of half marathons mostly on trails.  That basically IS a triathlon and why not go for a big 'un?

To recap for you the basics, a half ironman consists of a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike ride and 13.1 mile run.

In my mind this was not problematic.  The logic went something like:

• The swim will be easy and fun - a nice lil' warm up
• The bike is no sweat because I've done the 100-miler Reach the Beach almost every year for a while now
• The half marathon will be hard but I can run a flat, paved 13 miles no prob

So I signed up for the Pacific Crest Challenge in Central Oregon the last weekend of June.  My training strategy basically amounted to training for Reach the Beach in May, a bit of running on top of that and swimming twice a week.  After Reach the Beach I did a few harder, longer runs and a spin class before one or two of the runs.  

Other key aspects of my regimen included a vacation to Montana three weeks before the race, buying a new house, and moving one week before the race.  I also bought extra Body Glide.  

The race itself went...  better than I had any right to expect but was a bit rougher than I actually expected.  

The Swim

I finally faced my 10+ year old wetsuit a couple of days before the race to find that I don't have the same body I had 10 years ago (weird, I know.)  It was passable, but barely.  The morning of the race I took a fair bit of time wrestling myself into the wetsuit and neglected to anoint any bits of myself with Body Glide.  I was very glad to have the wetsuit though as the water in the high desert lake was chilly! It was definitely more than a warm-up (especially with the self inflicted detours) but I was right that it was easy, fun and invigorating.

The Bike

On the lonely desert highway, climbing up the South side of Mt. Bachelor I realized that I do very much enjoy riding my bicycle.  Riding my bicycle with friends.  And with cookies.  And breaks.  I was prepared for the mileage and even the altitude, but not for the absence of rests or companionship.  Or the dryness of the desert at the end of June.  So I was lonely.  And uncomfortable.  With a headwind.  Up a giant mountain.  Until it started going down, steeply and with cross winds.  That part freaked me out and was more stressful than the earlier slog.  

But I made it through and around mile 54 was very much looking forward to getting off my bike.  Mile 55 I got a bit suspicious as the transition area did not seem to be coming up.  Mile 56 I wanted to cry.  It was at that point I realized this race was not an official half ironman and that the bike was actually 58 miles.  The last two miles were awful.  

But I got to the transition area where my doggie and my hubby were cheering for me and I took my sweet ass time getting ready for the run.  I think I had the second or third longest transition time of the entire pack.  I ate a snack (sadly still no cookies), drank some water, raxed in the sun, stretched a bit, changed my clothes and forgot again to apply Body Glide.

The Run

The first mile of the run was amazing.  It was glorious to be off the bike,  the sun was filtered by a little cloud cover and I felt remarkably energetic.  Water stops were every mile which meant I had zero need to carry anything with me.  But like the last two miles of the bike, the first two miles of the run were full of treacherous disappointment and failure to meet expectations.  There were indeed water stations every mile... starting at mile 2.something.  The course was indeed flat, after hills at the beginning.

But the course did flatten out and water stations started to appear.  My fellow racers, who in the beginning had been extremely nervous, grouchy and uptight, by now were mostly people just out there to try and finish and were much more supportive and friendly.  The volunteers at the aid stations were amazing and all sorts of nice people were on the course making sure we didn't get run down by cars.

And I rocked it!  For about 6 or 7 miles.  Then I was doing a remarkable job considering the circumstances for another mile or two.  Then I was holding on.  Then I was melting down.  With each mile my pace dropped dramatically.  I started having trouble drinking any water, then started having trouble even sucking on ice, then got very cold despite the sumer afternoon in the desert (hint, it was not actually cold.)


The Finish

But I finished!  Family and friends were at the finish line cheering for me and I made my best approximation of a sprint for the last few yards.  In setting my foot on a crate to remove the timing chip my leg started shaking uncontrollably.  I then went into the rinse shower at the end to clear off the biggest bits of gunk and my right neck/should/back/eye/face seized up.  I then dissolved into tears.  Tears of... Exhaustion?  Relief?  Overwhelm-ed-ness?

I don't think I can honestly say I enjoyed the race and I'm certainly not doing another, but it was a huge accomplishment and literally the hardest single experience of physical exertion I have ever gone through.

Just after I'd stopped sobbing.

The Aftermath

It took quite a while to collect myself and then collect my gear and get to my parents hotel room for a shower and rest before dinner.  When I finally did step into the shower I yowled as the hot water helped me discover astonishing chaff marks in many many places.  There were tiny but deep spots of chaffing all along the seams of my bike and run clothes, the underarms were chaffed from the wet suit and despite a history of TMI I won't describe the chaffing in certain other parts.  I had some oozy sores for several days and I have one little scar on my chest that emerges when I'm flushed from a hot shower or exertion.

It took several hours before I was able to eat or drink anything, several days before I was up for anything more strenuous than easy swimming and several months before I had any enthusiasm for recreational riding.

That all said, I feel pretty proud of what I did.