Race morning is nothing short of chaotic. You have but a short time to prep your bike, add nutrition to your T1 and T2 bags and high tail it to the swim start, which for this particular race is a 1 mile trek from transition, all the while trying to manage the nervous energy taking over your system.
It’s a beautiful morning and the lake is calm and welcoming but it’s not long before it morphs into a wild choppy sea of flailing arms and legs that search for clear water for a path around the long and winding swim course.
I get tangled up with a fellow athlete at the turn buoy which throws me off tempo and causes the first of what would turn out to be several painful calf cramps. Now calf cramps while on dry land, not such a big deal to stop and massage them out however it’s a different ball game when they happen in the middle of a lake surrounded by 2700 of your closest and fiercest friends. After entering the canal at the 2800m mark, lovingly referred to as ‘The Washing Machine’, I get pinned against the cement wall by a monster of an athlete who won’t let me pass, forcing me to cover an extra 300m on my way to a personal best open water swim (Woohoo!).
Now a graceful exit from the lake for me it was not. Thanks to another painful leg cramp I trip on the top step and take out 2 race volunteers as I crash onto the grassy knoll. My left knee swells up like a balloon and the top layer of skin is ripped from my right big toe. The adrenalin of race day literally picks me up and carries me into transition where I prepare myself for the 180 km ride, my first outdoor ride of the year (thank-you very much Alberta winter weather).
For the most part the ride was uneventful. It was incredibly windy which meant staying tucked in time trial position so the body was as aerodynamic as possible. At about mile 25, my speed demon of a bike (the sexy Cervelo P5) starts to make a nasty grinding noise and it becomes exceedingly difficult to pedal. Seeing as I know next to nothing about bike mechanics I decide to push on instead of stop and investigate. I figure grinding against this resistance, while negotiating a 30 mile strip of chip and seal road (that feels like you’re riding the most uncomfortable massage chair ever), will either make me stronger or cause me to crash and burn. I find out a few days later that the grinding resistance I experienced was due to a piece of packing tape that was caught in my right crank. How it got there I have no idea but it sure made for a much more difficult ride than I was expecting.
The last 10 miles on the bike seem to go on forever. It’s at this point that you want nothing more than to trade in your wheels for a fresh pair of running shoes. With one mile to go, I experience a cardiac event that causes waves of nausea and a bout of unsettling vertigo. Three and a half weeks prior to the race I was diagnosed with an arrhythmia, more specifically a pre-mature heartbeat. It seems I have a wonky electrical impulse that causes my heart to race for a short time (up to 180+ bpm) then dramatically drop (down to below 100 bpm) leaving me feeling flushed and hypoxic. I was cleared to race but advised to halt and desist if I should experience any such cardiac events during the race.
Now being the fiercely competitive athlete that I am, I figure this particular cardiac episode is just a reaction to pushing hard for 180 km in the wind, heat and humidity so I decide to slow things down and take my time making my way through T2. With the assistance of 2 amazing race volunteers, I change into my run gear, cool off with some ice water (both on and into the body), lather up with sunscreen, visit the port-a-loo, then head out onto the run. Unfortunately the vertigo is still with me and it takes a couple miles before I settle into any kind of running rhythm. The fan support on the run course is spectacular- the best I have ever experienced- and it is at a boisterous level that can lift the spirits of the weariest of people.
As I make my way through the first of 3 laps that make up the run course I am hit again by back-to-back cardiac episodes that now have me so nauseous I stop taking in calories and instead focus on just fluids so I don’t become too dehydrated.
As I approach the start of the second lap I contemplate, albeit briefly, halting my progression and visiting the med tent but there’s this little hard-to-resist persuasive voice in my head that convinces me that all I really need to do is bring the intensity level down a notch and get some much needed calories in me so I can continue on this quest.
The lure of an Ironman finish line is a mighty one, especially when your greatest passion in life is anything and everything triathlon. It’s not long before you find yourself relishing the idea of overcoming all the mental, physical and emotional challenges that epitomize the sport, as it is this act of facing and overcoming difficulties that make you a stronger individual.
So I push on, intrinsically motivated and lifted by the inspiring crowd. Unfortunately for me my renewed enthusiasm gives way to yet another cardiac event as I approach mile 13 of the marathon and stops me in my tracks. A race volunteer sees me struggling and guides me to the nearest aid station that, thankfully, has a medical tent. After sitting in the shade of the tent for a few minutes and listening to the growing concern of the paramedic attending to me I am able to shut out that persuasive voice in my head and make the smart decision to stop racing.
My first DNF at the Ironman level is tough to swallow for the athlete within me (you know the one that pretty much rules my world), but even the most competitive of athletes know that some barriers require fine manipulation in order to be toppled, not brute force, and this is such a barrier for me.
Although not the end result I had so trained hard to achieve, I walk away from Ironman Texas with a personal best in what has been my nemesis, the swim; a strong performance on the bike in difficult conditions and pride in myself for making the difficult decision to stop when my world began to crash all around me.
After experiencing all of the craziness, not only am I no worse for wear, I am hungrier than I have ever been to face and conquer the challenge that is Ironman.
Your very humbled Triguru
