My Less Than Iron Day

The day started like any other day… NOT!!! I woke up before my alarm went off, which is highly unusual, and at 4:00 am, which is even more unusual. I’d sleep in until 10 everyday if given the opportunity. I am most definitely a night person. But this was the day I’d been dreaming of for over 25 years. It was the day for which I’d spent the last 2 years training and preparing and it was the moment of a lifetime of anticipation. Well not quite 2 years, afterall there was that major surgery followed by a six week hospital stay last Christmas as well as other medical issues that derailed me from my training for a few months. But I’d say there was a good 18 months of training during these past 2 years. The day of my Ironman was here. I knew I could go the distance but could I make the time cut-offs? By the end of the day I’d know.

I had checked in my bike and turned in my transition bags on Friday, it seemed odd heading out the door with only my swimming gear and some extra food in my special needs bags. I had to leave Henry behind in the room, because I had nobody to take care of him, nor anywhere to leave him. So I left the room without my security.

The drop off for the bike special needs bag was across the street I dropped that off and headed up toward the transition area. I dropped off my run special needs bag at the designated site outside the transition area then went to be body marked and as always had to explain that I didn’t get my legs and arms marked because I wore long sleeves and tights for the entire race. Reluctantly she marked only my hands with my number, 2438. I went into the transition area and added things into both of my “swim to bike” and “bike to run” transition bags. I then stood by my bike looking for Katie, the one person I knew that was there. I could feel the stress and panic rise as I watched all the people getting their bikes ready and then getting themselves ready for the swim. I was cold so I went back to my “bike to swim” transition bag, and put on my jacket. As 6:00 am finally rolled around I made my way into the portalet line and then put on my wetsuit. I returned my jacket to the “bike to swim” transition bag then turned in my dry clothes bag. I started to walk away but then decided not to take my extra goggles with me to the beach, so I went back and retrieved my dry clothes bag from the bin and placed the extra goggles in the bag and prayed that I wouldn’t need the extra goggles, I then headed for the beach.

It was almost panic time as I entered the swarm of people making their way to the beach. There were nearly 3000 competitors and 2 to 3 times that many spectators, all being corralled through one entry area. Having social anxiety, I usually cannot stand to be shoulder to shoulder with more than 6 to 10 people so being amongst thousands took every bit of fortitude I could muster to not turn and high tail it out of there. After what seemed like hours I finally made it down to the beach just in time for the cannon to go off starting the pros on there way at 6:45 AM. I made my way to the water and swam a few quick strokes as the announcer was instructing everyone to get out of the water. I wasn’t sure where I should start, to this point I had only done wave starts among 130 or less, and I had experienced a panic attack in my first wave start of the season so I wanted to start toward the back but I also knew that my swim is my strongest event so I didn’t want to be caught behind a bunch of slower swimmers. As I was starting to feel the panic surge the national anthem started and I put my fears aside as I stood in respect for my country and flag. Right after that Katie found me. So rather than ruminate any further about where to start I followed her into the water as the cannon went off starting one of the biggest events of my life.

We waded out and when Katie started swimming, I started swimming. It was like being in a school of fish, people beside me, in front of me, behind me, and at times swimming over the top of me, and within a few seconds I lost sight of Katie. I was all alone in a mass of thrashing arms and legs. I could feel the trepidation begin to rise, but I had to keep IMUA-ing (Hawaiian for go forward). To slow down for even a moment meant others would be swimming over the top of me. I tried to concentrate on my stroke but really all my attentiveness had to be averted toward panic control. It seemed like I was swimming out to sea forever, I wasn’t exactly comfortable but I was finally settling into my cruise stroke, that is until I came to the first turn, where a bunch of people swam over me. I had to stop and breast stroke for a bit to get some composure about me as I continued moving forward. The same thing happened in the next turn, only this time I was hit in the face and my goggles were knocked sideways. I had to stop and try and fix my goggles but I couldn’t get them to seal over my left eye properly and I had to swim with one eye shut because water kept leaking in. After a while I noticed that there were no longer arms and legs thrashing around me. I was still swimming toward the building that I was sighting off on the beach but I was way off course to the left. I reluctantly swam my way back into the multitude. I left the water and went over the timing mat completing my first 1.2 mile loop.

I was about to re-enter the water when I noticed the water cups. I walked back against the crowd to get a drink to rinse out my mouth of the sea-water. My throat was burning and I wanted to leave that crowd of people in the worst way, but I had to be like Honu (Hawaiian for turtle) and never back-up. So I started my trek across the sandbar and rejoined the swim for my second loop. As I walked I tried to get the seal back on my goggles, but did not quite get it. I swam most of the second loop with one eye closed. Again I was in a mass of people and again at each turn as much as I tried to be on the outside, I kept winding up on the inside where I got pounded. Even though I still felt as though I was cruising in my stroke, I did expend a lot of energy toward averting a full fledged panic attack. I left the water after the second loop and heard my name announced as I walked up the chute toward the transition area. I left the water with a sigh of relief, believing I had survived the worst of the day.

There were people there to assist me in getting my wetsuit off and I then walked through the showers, the water was cold, and the breezed chilled me further. I shouted my number as instructed as I came into the transition area. I entered the tent to change. In all my other triathlons I swam in what I intended to wear for the entire triathlon, but this time I decided to change. I’m glad I did because as I removed my tights my legs were covered with sand. This would have really rubbed me raw by the end of the bike ride. As it was the back of my neck was already feeling chafed from the wetsuit. I had put body glide on my neck for the swim but added more in transition hoping it would relieve the burning sensation. It took me a long time to get through transition. It was very tough to get my cold clammy body into my dry clothes. But with assistance from volunteers I finally managed. I exited the tent and allowed other volunteers to apply sunscreen to my face but I forgot to ask them to put some on the back of my neck. I stopped at the portalet, as I exited I practically ran into Katie. We exchanged greetings, I then retrieved my bike and headed toward the bike mount area. As I stopped to put on my gloves Katie ran past me and that was the last I’d see of her for the day.

I anticipated and prayed that I’d have a great bike ride. I left with hope that I’d be back before 4:00 pm and had no doubt in my mind that I’d make the 5:30 cut-off. I started off into the wind. I found myself struggling to maintain 13-14 mph, but told myself it was okay. I was warming up and starting at a slower pace to conserve for later. I just knew I’d get faster as the day went on. I kept telling myself it’s just going to be here along the coast, once the route cuts inland the wind should die down. I noticed that I had forgotten to zip my jacket and figured all the air I was catching was slowing me down. I tried zip it up but the zipper was stuck so I stopped momentarily to fix the zipper. This did not help as much as I thought it would. After about 6 miles the course turned inland, and instead of the wind letting up it became a stronger head wind. It’s okay I told myself, I’ll be able to pick up the pace once I get over the bridge, at the 12 mile point. I made it over the one “mountain” (the bridge) on the course, but the wind did not die down, if nothing else it was seemingly getting stronger. About a mile further, at the first aid station on the bike course I began to sense that I wasn’t going to finish the bike ride before 4:00 pm as anticipated. I knew I had to pick up the pace, because at an hour into the race I’d barely ridden 13 miles. I knew that I still had plenty of time, but I also knew that if I couldn’t get going another 2-3 mph faster I’d be running out of time.

I plugged away into the wind. I kept trying to get into a tougher gear but when I did my cadence would slow down to less than 60 rpm, and I wasn’t going any faster, so I’d shift back to an easier gear where I could keep a higher cadence. No matter what I tried I couldn’t seem to get any faster than 12-13 mph. And I was struggling to maintain that. My throat was still burning from the salt water and my eyes were tearing, my nose was running and my bronchioles felt as they were constricting as I smelled the smoke from the controlled burn site. I contemplated stopping to take a couple of puffs from my inhaler, but decided against it. I knew that I had some natural allergy herbal supplements in my bike special needs bag and decided to wait until I picked that up at mile 50 rather than give myself the shakes that I always get when I use my inhaler.

I knew the course would turn to the East soon and I anticipated that I’d no longer have to deal with the wind, at least not a head wind, wrong. The route turned to the East and as a “Go Army” shirt passed me on a slight hill he commented on how it seemed that the wind was conspiring against us. Some say it was a swirling wind that day, but let me tell you, it sure felt like a head wind to me. I had rolled thru the first two aid stations only taking bananas and a bottle of water, I had determined before I started the day that I wouldn’t stop until I had gone at least 30 miles, so at the third aid station I stopped and removed my jacket, transferred some of my fluids from the back of the seat cages to the frame cages where I had easier access, and used the portalet. Then I went on my way.

It seemed like everyone had passed me by this point, but as I trudged along into the wind, there were still a few riding past. By this time my sinuses were completely clogged. I kept telling myself when I get to mile 50, I’ll be able to get my supplements and hopefully my nose would quit running. The terrain was not exactly flat, so I tried to take advantage of the rolling hills. I started standing going up and pedaling hard and fast going down, but still my average speed remained under 13 mph. As I came up the hill to the 4th aid station, I was standing on the pedals, and the volunteers handing out Gatorade said “Welcome to the only hill in Florida!” Yeah right! This time I rolled through only taking orange slices and a bottle of water. I knew it was only a few miles until I would get my special needs bag and that I had my drink of choice along with my herbal supplements and other food. When I did finally reach the area where the special needs bags were handed out I had to roll through slowly almost to the end. I grabbed my bag on the go but stopped once I was beyond all the boxes but before I left the trash drop zone. I couldn’t afford a littering penalty, as time was closing in on me to make my cut-off time. I took my supplements and stashed all my food in my bento box and jersey pockets. I again transferred fluids from the bottles in my back seat cages to the bottles in my frame cages. As I went on my way the feelings of gloom began to set in because I was already over 4 hours into my ride and had not yet reached the half-way point. But I was still hopeful that I’d get a tailwind for a good portion of the rest of the race. Afterall I’d been going against the wind all day, there had to be a point when the wind was with me.

Shortly after crossing the 50 mile mark the route turned South along Hwy 231, and I was finally able to pick up a little speed. I was averaging 16-18 mph until I hit the rolling hills. There was still wind that wasn’t in my favor but it seemed that when I picked up the pace the wind did not have as much of an affect against me. But as I hit the rolling hills my speed dropped below 10 mph. I stood up on the pedals trying to keep my speed up and I was able to keep going at 12 mph Shortly after I passed the halfway point, yet another rider passed me calling me by name and told me I was still in it but that I needed to average 14 mph to make the time cut-off. I wondered if I knew the man from somewhere since he called me by name, but then I remembered my name was on my number. I crested the hill and checked my speed but could only get to a little over 18 mph against the wind going down hill. My hopes were still high as I crossed the 60 mile sign then the 100K sign. However shortly after that the route turned off the hwy to the west. Since I had a headwind coming east I anticipated a tailwind going west, but that was only wishful thinking. The wind was strongly against me, and the road was bumpy. I could not stay down in my aero position because I felt I had no control. My speed quickly dropped below 13 mph again. And with that my hopes of making the 5:30 cut-off time began to fade.

As optimism waned my pain became more noticeable. My feet and soft tissue screamed with every bump in the road. I kept telling myself just push through the pain, and tried to fill my mind with positive self-talk to take my focus off the intensity of the soreness. “You’ve still got nearly 3 hours. You can make it. Keep going, keep pushing, God please take away this wind or give me more strength in my legs. Peace be still, Peace be still, Peace be still! It’s not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit sayeth the Lord of Hosts. God I need Your Spirit. I’m not going to make this cut-off unless you intervene here. Peace be still, Peace be still, Peace be still!”

The wind was still at my face, the road was still bumpy and everything still hurt, but I was still on the road. I made it to the 73 mile cut-off point and turn-about by 3:00 pm as I crossed the mat the volunteer at the site told me I still had plenty of time to make the 4:30 cuttoff in 20 miles just keep riding steady, you have a tailwind the rest of the way there. I responded “I sure hope so” and I headed toward the aid station. I was having some stomach discomfort so I again stopped at the portalet, then took the time to transfer fluids for what I anticipated would be my last stop on the bike leg. I headed south this time with the wind, but my energy was low and I could only get up to about 15 mph. I passed the 80 mile marker shortly after 3:30 pm. I quickly calculated in my head that I’d have to average over 16 mph to make that 5:30 cut-off. The Lupus pressure points in both my feet were throbbing with each pedal stroke but I knew I had to push through the pain. And still I couldn’t get over 14 mph. Then once again the road became shoddy. And it was all I could do to keep my speed above 13 mph. Somewhere between 80 and 90 miles I could hear a motorcycle tailing me. I thought it was the course referee. “Push on,” I told myself. “As soon as you stop pedaling they are going to tell you to quit. So push on! Imua! (Go forward)” On the other hand as my pain continued to intensify with each bump in the road I was also thinking, “If I’m not going to make the cut-off just stop me now, why go through any more pain if I’m not going to finish on time?” But the motorcycle did not pull around me, so I plugged along, not stopping at any of the aid stations. Finally, somewhere around mile 94 the motorcycle passed me and I saw that it was a police officer. I was not waved over, and since it was 4:34 by my watch I assumed that I had passed the 4:30 cut-off point. Yet knowing I had less than an hour and still another 18 miles to go I knew that unless I had a very strong tailwind that most likely my race was over. My pace dropped off, as I tried to stretch my foot and relieve some pressure from my soft tissue area. I then tried to pick up my speed hoping for a miracle. At 5:01 pm I rolled past the aid station just before the 100 mile mark. The volunteers at the aid station told me I was looking good and to keep at it as I waved off the offers of water and Gatorade. I thought that I had made the 5:00 cut-off, but just ahead I was signaled to a halt, and informed that I had missed the 5:00 pm cut-off by a couple of minutes.

I hung my head in shame, as the race official tried to console me saying “there’s always next year.” “Not for me,” I responded sadly, “I don’t have the money to enter another one of these.” He asked me how my energy was. I was truthful and told him “Low”. Then I was given the option to finish the last 12 miles on my bike or catch a ride in the support vehicle back to the transition area. All my aching throbbing parts told me to say “What’s the point? My race is over.” But I couldn’t quit. I had to go on. IMUA Honu. Go forward turtle. Never turn back. I chose to go on and complete the bike leg. Knowing that my race was over, I fought back the tears as I went on my way. Since I had officially missed the cut-off the course was closing ahead of me so I had a police escort that last 12 miles. I wanted to put on a show of determination but could hardly keep up 11 mph let alone the 26 mph it would have taken to get there before 5:30.

As I embarked on these last 12 miles I ruminated on my day and tried to figure what I could have done differently. Where had I let my dream slip through my hands like sifting sand? This was the big one I had put everything I had into it financially and emotionally. I had cashed in all my bonds, the only inheritance I’ll receive from my dad, to enter this race last year. There are no more bonds, so financially it was this year or never. Also with the diagnosis of Lupus, I know I must keep exercising and staying as healthy as possible to keep the symptoms at bay, but how long will I be able to endure the training that goes into an Ironman? So I deduced that physically, I may never have this opportunity again, and somehow I was going to have to make peace with the fact that I’d failed to accomplish my dreams.

“Perhaps if I hadn’t taken that last stop…” I started thinking, “well yeah I might have made that 100 mile cut-off but I still wouldn’t have finished by 5:30.” “Perhaps If I hadn’t taken so long in that first transition, or gone back for that drink of water during the swim, or…” I kept trying to think of things that had slowed me down. But I also countered with the why’s for each time break. Rinsing the salt-water out of my mouth made me not feel as ill. After each stop/break at the aid stations I had a surge of energy. And most importantly there was a lot of sand in my long sleeve compression shirt and tights that I removed after the swim that would have tore my skin to shreds. Even with all this extra time, it was doubtful that I would have made the 5:30 cut-off. I knew that bottom-line I just wasn’t a strong enough cyclist. Yeah I had gone the distance several times during training, but I wasn’t strong enough to have a faster pace especially in the wind. And one good training ride does not a race make. I had entered the day hopeful that I’d have a ride like I did when I did my 60 miler along the S. Platte River path a month earlier. I was able to average just under 17 mph and anticipated that this would be my race day speed. “How could I be so far off?” “Again it boiled down to the fact that I’m not a strong enough cyclist, especially on the rolling hills and against the wind.”

It was 5:42 as I re-entered the town. I wasn’t sure of the route and had to rely on the police officer escorting me on the motorcycle to direct me into the left hand turn. There were still squad cars stopping traffic for me so I didn’t have to slow too much for traffic signs and lights. There was a handful of people cheering me on. Someone shouted “You’re looking good keep at it, just 6 miles from here”. With each shout of “You’re almost there” or “you’re looking good” I wanted to shout back, “My race is over, I’m a failure, I didn’t make the time cut-off” but I simply said “Thank you” and went back to my ruminating. As I trudged along the scenic drag, darkness started to settle in as the sun had disappeared. I still had on my dark sunglasses with the Rx insert. My clear lens was in my bike to run transition bag. I hadn’t anticipated that I’d be riding in the dark. I was sure glad for the police escort. Cars drove by and honked and people shouted what they thought were words of encouragement out the window, as if I were still in the race. Finally there was a right hand turn off the main drag, but as we neared the transition area it was congested with spectators and competitors, who had already completed the entire race, leaving. The police escort had to pull ahead and make a path for me. Then the last 200 yards or so the Police escort had to turn off and a transition official ran ahead trying to clear a path, it was very scary trying to weave through that sea of people. Then when we finally got to the dismount sign and entry back to the transition area he had to do his job and strip me of my timing chip.

At that moment I could no longer hold back the tears. I began to tremble and shiver as the tears rolled down my face. He asked me if I was okay, I shook my head that I was. He then took my bike for me and walked me into the transition area. Another competitor came up asking if I was okay, stating he was a Doctor. I tried to assure everyone that I was okay. They asked if I was cold, I really didn’t feel cold but I knew that I was so I shook my head yes. When I was finally able to speak, I told the Doctor and race course official that I was just disappointed that I hadn’t made the time cut-off and was not being allowed to finish the race. With that, the race course official went off to get me a space blanket. The doctor tried to assure me that I’d have another chance, but I knew that it would be many years before I could get out of debt and even begin saving money for another try. When the race course official returned with the blanket the Doctor went on his way and the race course official also tried to assure me that I’d have another shot, and wished me luck saying he’d see me finish next year. He walked with me back further into the transition area and racked my bike for me and guided me to the volunteers who would be able to help me find all my bags.

By this time I could hardly walk because my feet hurt so bad. I was relieved to find my bike to run transition bag so that I could change out of my bike shoes. Once I changed, I limped around trying to find all my gear. I tried not to notice all the finishers medals hats and t-shirts around me. It seemed I was the only one there who didn’t have them. All I had to show for my efforts for the day was the pain in my feet and the raw area on the back of my neck (which turned out to be a pretty bad burn) as well as other aches and pains. I finally found all my things and put on every dry piece of clothing I had plus the space blanket and I was still cold. I ate my “Recovery” bar, then went to find some more food that was supposed to be there for the athletes. I sure needed the chicken broth, the slice of pizza wasn’t half bad either. I made my way back to the transition area then stood in line to check out.

I had my bags draped over the aero bars but still it was awkward trying to get my bike and 3 bags full of gear out of there. As I walked past the area where they were handing out run special needs bags I stopped to try and get mine since I wouldn’t be out on the run. No sense in letting that food go to waste. Those chews and gels weren’t free afterall. But I could not get the attention of any of the volunteers to give me my bag. As I stood there by the fence people kept knocking into me and my bike. “Can’t they see me standing here?” I wondered. Finally I gave up figuring to come back later when I didn’t have so many things to carry. As I continued my walk back toward my room a group of women greeted me telling me they were proud of me. I informed them that I didn’t finish. They offered to help me carry my things. I told them that I was in the building directly ahead, but they chose to walk with me anyway. They informed me that they were there as volunteers from Canada and had originally decided to come because one of them had a son who was supposed to be in the race but had been injured so didn’t make the trip. But they decided to come anyway. As we departed company one of them assured me that God had placed our paths to cross for such a time as this. They also assured me that I would get another opportunity. (I later found out that these women were afraid to leave me and were quite concerned because apparently I looked quite ill.)

Once back in my room I called my momma and my Pastor because I definitely needed some motherly love and pastoral counseling. All through the calls I could hear the speaker announcing everyone that crossed the line saying their name and “You are an Ironman!” Each time it became more and more exasperating as it was rubbing in the fact that I was a DNF. But after talking with my mom and Pastor, I began to try and count my blessings. I still couldn’t understand why God would allow me to come all this way and not complete the race. I’m still looking for the lesson, or where God will turn it for my good. My Pastor assured me that just making the trip was a blessing and encouraged me to try and enjoy the rest of my time there at Panama City Beach and enjoy the rest of my trip. He didn’t try to assure me that I’d get another chance, but after talking with him I determined that I would have to train as if I would have another chance since that was what was keeping my mental health issues and Lupus in check. With that I begrudgingly put my shoes back on and headed out to retrieve my run special needs bag. I was out there just in time to see my friend Katie finish. She looked strong. I made my way back to the transition area to congratulate her, but couldn’t find her. So I left a message on her cell phone, grabbed another piece of pizza and headed back to my room. Since there was no ice to be found I ran cold water from the shower on my aching legs and feet for about ten minutes then took a tepid shower, set the timer on the TV to shut off on its own after midnight, tuned in to the Disney Channel, turned up the volume to drown out the PA system outside and drifted off to sleep ending the worst best day of my life.

La Tortuga/Honu