Learning the Hard Way: Ironman Lake Placid Race Report

I went back to Lake Placid this year to even the score. The score, as you may remember from last year, was:

Ironman Lake Placid 1

Jeanne 0

This year, I vowed it would be a different race. A different me. A different attitude. A different plan. But not a different disaster - in fact, it would NOT be a disaster.

That was my vow.

The vow was the reason I signed up for Ironman St. George in May. I was desperate not to make any mistakes this time. When I toed the line at Ironman Lake Placid, the knowledge of how to complete a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run would still be fresh in my mind.

What I found out on Sunday was that, despite my best plan and my best race-day decision-making,  mistakes can and will be made. Stupid mistakes. Mistakes accompanied by a phrase that has now become part of my husband Jim's vocabulary: "I KNOW what I'm doing!"

Unfortunately (or fortunately), in triathlon, especially Ironman, it's difficult to ever know if you have the perfect race plan until you're in the midst of it. Executing that perfect race is what keeps many of us coming back to this sport. There are always places for improvement (or for things to go wrong): in the swim, on the bike, on the run, AND during transitions. And don't get me started on the weather... or that old Disaster Magnet bugaboo - NUTRITION.

So this year, with the near-disaster at Ironman St. George fresh in mind, I tweaked my nutrition to the point that I now believed beyond a doubt that... I KNEW what I was doing.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's go back.

Julie (J3) and me with my awesome new
Punk Rock Racing jersey

On Wednesday night, July 20, after a nine-hour road trip in the newly-dubbed "J-lopy" (my friend Julie's Ford Expedition), the J-Team -- Jim, Julie and I -- arrived in Lake Placid. Thursday morning, we went to race check-in, took a stroll around the race expo, and did some grocery shopping. Thursday afternoon, Julie and I went for a bike ride so I could remind myself of the hills at the beginning and end of the bike course. I was very relieved to find it wasn't nearly as difficult as I remembered from last year.

Disaster Magnet with Brian Shea of PBN.

That night, we ate at the Lake Placid Pub & Brewery  -- with props to them for letting us watch the Tour de France on their wide-screen TVs! On the way out, I was fortunate to run into Brian Shea -- the nutrition mastermind behind Personal Best Nutrition (PBN). I had always hoped to meet him and we had an opportunity to chat for a while. In addition to being an athlete, Brian is very humble and ridiculously intelligent about all things nutrition-related. And he was kind enough to let Julie take a "look-at-me-I-met-my-idol" photo for me (see photo left).

On Friday, we revisited the expo because, after talking to a Blue Seventy rep the day before, I had my eye on one of their wetsuits to replace my nine-year-old DeSoto T1. While trying it on, a woman walked up with news that the water temperature in Mirror Lake was over 76 degrees, and the race would likely be "wetsuit optional." What this meant was athletes choosing to race with a wetsuit would not be allowed to compete for age group awards or Kona slots. Well, THIS was completely unexpected. For a LOT of people.

My thought process went from considering a new wetsuit to seriously considering a speedsuit. It's not something I wanted to shop for in a hurry, but there we were. AT the Blue Seventy tent. AND they told us their swimskins were being FedEx-ed to their hotel that day. It didn't seem like an everyday coincidence.

Then came the second one. My Bike Authority Fleet Feet teammates happened onto the scene (embarrassingly while I was dripping with sweat trying on a wetsuit in 85+ degrees). After a few questions and a phone call, the Blue Seventy rep had generously agreed to honor our Fleet Feet store discount! With the water-temp news, I suspected they would sell out of speedsuits as soon as they arrived. So I jumped in Mirror Lake for a quick lap on the swim course, and then we sped back to the expo to purchase a newly-un-boxed Blue Seventy swimskin.

And kablam! Just like that, by day two, our Ironman Lake Placid trip had become a random set of unexpected, and opportune, occurrences. But so far, no disasters. At this point, the only things left to do before race day was to attend the race meeting Friday evening, pack and deliver my transition bags, and rack my bike.

We went back to our hotel (we rented a cottage at Wildwood on the Lake), I did a quick run, and we decided to get out of town for a bit. One of my biggest problems is pre-race anxiety, and the usual prescription is to stay as far away from the race venue and other athletes as possible to avoid getting nervous and unsettled. I felt a little guilty because I didn't socialize more with the rest of my team, but I hoped there would be time for that after the race. After having visiting the Olympic venues in 2010, we decided to visit The Wild Center in Tupper Lake -- it's a beautiful natural history museum of the Adirondacks in a very peaceful setting, perfect for relaxing. That night, we attended the pre-race meeting and then grabbed dinner at a Mexican restaurant near our hotel.

Then came Saturday. The day before. Unlike the rest of the week, time went lightning-fast on Saturday. We finished the day with an early dinner at our cottage (cooked by Julie) - again, to avoid the hype. And we went lights-out around 9:30 p.m. All I really needed was one dream cycle of sleep and after tossing and turning until 12:15 am, I finally dozed off. The alarm went off at 3:30 a.m. and just like that, race day was upon us.

Body marking at 5 a.m.

I ate my usual pre-race breakfast before 4 a.m. (race start was 7 a.m.): a banana, orange juice, coffee and soy protein powder mixed with Hammergel. I would also down a caffeinated PowerBar gel and water within 15 minutes of the start. We drove down to the start, prepped my bike with race nutrition, and dropped off my special needs bags.

Did you say you want to know what I put on my bike and in my special needs bags? Well... it's funny you should ask that question. Because this time, I KNEW what I was doing. Based on experience, I decided to use all First Endurance and Gu products for race nutrition. On the bike and in my bike special needs bag, I had First Endurance EFS Drink and Liquid Shot. For the run, I had Gu Roctane in my transition bag and EFS Drink and a long sleeve shirt in my run special needs bag.

But there was one more thing. Recalling the run in Ironman St. George, I decided to include an extra shot of something caffeinated in my run special needs bag. I chose to do this with First Endurance's Pre-race formula and Liquid Shot. Upon announcing this, Jim immediately raised a red flag: "Don't do ANYTHING you haven't done." I insisted this was tried and true. I KNEW what I was doing. After all, I had used it between the bike and run legs of my bricks in training. (OK, so I had never used it mid-stride on the run.) Jim urged me to stick with what worked in St. George -- caffeinated PowerBar Gel. I strongly refused. Again, I KNEW what I was doing.

Saying goodbye to Jim before the swim start

With about an hour to the start and my special needs bags in place, the only thing left to do on race morning was relax, stretch, use the portajohns, put on my new swimskin, and get in the water. I was determined to wait as long as possible to avoid getting cold and tight. At 15 minutes, I said my goodbyes to Jim and Julie and made my way to the beach, finally getting in with 7-8 minutes to go. From where I was treading water, it was obvious that more than half the competitors had opted for wetsuits (I have no doubt it had something to do with the fact that over 1300 were Ironman first-timers).

The 2.4 mile swim is a two loop course in Mirror Lake. Because my swim went so well last year, I moved over to the right hand side of the start line and at the front. I met up with one of my teammates, Ed, who I was happy to see had followed my advice about start location. Treading water without a wetsuit was definitely more taxing, but it wasn't long before the cannon went off. And in an instant, we were on our way.

The swim start

To my delight, like last year, I didn't get clobbered right away and found I was swimming mostly out of the melee until the second turn buoy. But on the back leg of the first loop, I got kicked and smacked and decided to move to the outside. At one point of the swim, there was a huge wave that came by - I have no idea where it came from but it caught several of us off-guard and I noticed a few people had to stop and regroup. I was expecting about 35 minutes for each loop because my training yardage has been dismally low (under 3000 yards/workout) since I broke my rib in a bike crash in mid-May. Much to my shock and surprise, I came out of the first loop in about 30 minutes, I hit the split and entered the water for my second loop.

The Mirror Lake swim course is unique in that there is a cable lining the course about five feet under the water surface. If you can swim along the cable, there is no need to spot buoys. That's a BIG if. Last year, I managed to swim right along the cable, but this year it was next-to-impossible. Every time I tried to get near it, I got pushed and kicked. By the time I could hear the announcer at the swim finish, I had already stopped twice to fix my goggles after being kicked in the face.

Out of the water finally, searching for a familiar face in
the crowd.

I exited the water and looked at my watch. It read 31+ minutes. In complete disbelief, I ran toward the transition, stopping for a wetsuit peeler to help me out of my swimskin. On long run into the transition, I helped another athlete who was struggling to get out of HIS swimskin (he probably also bought it in a panic that week). Then I grabbed my bag and ran into the tent. With temperatures in the high 50s, it was chilly enough to don arm-warmers, at least for the first hour of the bike. I took my time to get everything on and adjusted and ran to get my bike -- this Ironman was the first one in which I've witnessed volunteers in the transition zone helping us retrieve our bikes. Being in the rack furthest from the exit, I had to run the furthest with my bike, but it all went by pretty fast.

The beginning of Ironman Lake Placid's 112-mile two-loop bike course is a severe downhill. Last year I launched my water bottles (the first time) at the bottom of the hill. So I rode very conservatively at first while everyone else went blowing by me. After a quick trip through and out of town, the bike course has a rough series of climbs that begin at the Olympic ski jumps. The climbing is followed by what's affectionately known as the "screaming descent into Keane." This all happens before 20 miles. After that, the course is relatively flat -- with two out-and-back sections -- until you get near Whiteface Mountain (the Olympic downhill ski venue). Then it begins to climb again with several significant rollers until you reach "the Three Bears." The bears are a series of three hills - baby bear, mama bear and papa bear. My belief is that papa bear suffers from the "Heartbreak Hill" syndrome. It's mostly difficult because it comes so late in the race when your biking legs are toast.

Obviously this is early because I still
have my arm warmers on.

My goal for the bike leg was to maintain a very easy aerobic state (Zones 1 and 2) for the first loop and then keep it as low as possible on the second loop while still maintaining similar speed. Lake Placid bike course is notorious for deceiving bikers because one of the steepest hills is in the first five miles. Going hard at that point is barely noticeable and it's where everyone should consciously hold back. Last year, I went too hard and paid later on the bike course. This year, I spun up it. I paid no attention to athletes passing me and tried to keep my heart rate down and my legs spinning. By the time I reached Keane and the 20-mile mark, my average was well over 20 mph. From there, I was able to comfortably maintain 20-23 mph until we hit the final hills. Again, I spun up them.

This year, I was determined to enjoy the experience on the bike. And I was fortunate that a large group of triathletes from my local area were competing and spectating on the course. It was a great feeling to be part of this larger group -- their cheering was integral to my day. I heard my name several times shouted not only by my own Bike Authority Fleet Feet Multisport team members and support crew but also by other Cleveland-area athletes from the Spin Second Sole Multisport team. But by far, the most hilarious thing I saw on the course (I almost fell off my bike laughing) were two guys dressed in nothing but speedos with a Union Jack design. They were yelling my last name but mispronouncing it ("DeBoneees!"). I was baffled. Who the hell were the two weird British guys on the bike course? And how did they know my name? I found out later that they were my own teammates, Dave and Matt. Now THAT'S support! The final hill on the bike course looked like a block party. Crowd support was incredible there, and spectators were cheering as though they were at the Tour de France. Upon finishing my first lap, I was already looking forward to getting back to that final hill and its crazy crowd.

Bike finish (note arm warmers gone)

When I got back to town to begin my second bike loop, my bike computer read 2:54. I saw Jim and Julie and I remember telling them I was thinking of pushing to try to go 5:50 on the bike (last year I did a 6:10). I was almost dead on that pace. If I picked it up only a little bit, I might even go sub-5:50. Indeed, I KNEW what I was doing. I took the second loop very similar to the first, determined to save my quads for the hills on the run. Nutrition-wise, throughout the bike, I maintained about 200 calories and 20-24 oz of fluids per hour and felt no stomach or GI distress. And by the time I reached the finish, I had slowed just a little -- I pulled into transition with a time of 5:51.

Climbing off the bike was not nearly as painful as it has been in the past. I actually tried to stretch out my legs as I ran barefoot to grab my bag in transition. As I ran into the tent, one of the volunteers yelled to me that I was carrying my bike bag! So I turned around to go back and grab the RED bag. I don't think I lost a lot of time with that mistake -- in fact, I think I was laughing about it the whole way to the tent. The volunteers in the tent helped me locate everything I needed for the run -- I loaded my pockets with Gu packets and Thermolytes and was on my way. On the way out of transition, I took two Thermolytes and put on my hat. Just as I started to run, the velcro closure on my hat popped open and I had to stop and fix it. The funny part was that the spectators at the run start were with me every step of the way... they quieted down when I stopped running, and as soon as I put my hat back on and started back up, they erupted with cheers. And I was off.

It all starts here, at "run out"

The Ironman Lake Placid 26.2 mile run course is an out-and-back loop done twice -- the loop begins with two miles mostly downhill, and finishes by coming back up those hills followed by a flat out-and-back in town. I saw Jim at the start of the run and he reminded me of my plan: to go out at an 8-minute mile pace. I settled into my marathon shuffle only to realize that I felt very very good. My heart rate was well within an aerobic zone and my legs were not tired.

It's easy to make a big mistake on the first downhill by going out way too fast. I held back on the way down the hill to save my quads from the pounding. Seriously, I held waaaay back and I went through the first mile in 6:59. NO! That was NOT the plan. It felt SO easy, but I backed off anyway. I didn't want to make that mistake. Or worse, I didn't want Jim to yell at me (for making that mistake). I jogged, ingesting water and PowerBar Perform at the first aid station. When I got to mile 2, there was more bad news: 7:05. NO WAY! I backed off even more. Mile 3? 7:07. SLOW DOWN! (but I felt so good and I still wasn't breathing hard at all). Finally, by mile 5, I managed to slow to around 7:20-7:30.

By the time I was well into the run, the temperature was hotter than the predicted high of 74 degrees (it felt like upper 70s or lower 80s). When I got back to town, my pace had slowed a bit on the uphills. And then I saw Jim and Julie. I prepared for the chastising, but all Jim yelled was: "How are you doing?"

My prepared response? "I KNOW what I'm doing!" (Although Julie maintains that I "never actually answered the question.)

Finishing the first loop of the run, feeling good
and still smiling

I grabbed the nutrition from my special needs bag and managed to down the bottle of EFS in the next two miles. By the time I was heading into the second loop, I was back on a 7:10 pace. But by mile 17, I had slowed to 7:45 pace and I was starting to feel fatigue in my legs. All the while, I had run free of nausea and stomach distress. I maintained one Gu Roctane every 30 minutes, sips of water and Perform alternated every aid station and four Thermolytes per hour. It was around mile 18 that I decided to take the Pre-Race/Liquid Shot mix hoping to wake up my system and get me through the final eight miles. Yes, I KNEW what I was doing.

By mile 19, I was doubled over at an aid station vomiting the contents of my stomach. Thanks to my experience in St. George, I knew I could recover from this, so I sat down and waited for it to pass. For assistance, I had two wonderful aid station volunteers -- one of them named Ryan. He helped me with ice water, determining if I was in trouble, and then urged me to get back out there running as soon as I felt better.

After about 7 or 8 minutes, I got back up and started jogging (my two-mile split was 22 minutes). My stomach distress was gone and I settled into an 8-8:30 mile pace. At mile 20, my watch read a total time of 9:39 and I started doing some calculations. I almost couldn't believe it... but if I ran an 8-minute pace, I might be able to finish before 10:30. But on the final hills, my pace dropped to near the nine-minute zone. The final out-and-back to the finish was the longest 1.5 miles of my life. I kept looking for mile 25 (where was it?!?!!), and even after I passed it, I had NO energy to pick up the pace. On the downhill homestretch, I looked at my watch to see 10:30, and I didn't even care.

Coming into the finish - still smiling.

I heard Mike Reilly's voice announcing finishers as I rounded the last corner to the finish on the Olympic speed-skating oval. I took a deep breath and smiled. Ironman Lake Placid was over. I crossed the finish line in 10:32:46 -- my Ironman PR -- and finally laid to rest the demons of Lake Placid.

Shortly after I crossed the finish line, I was struck with nausea and volunteers insisted I take a break in the medical tent. I didn't want to, I just wanted to go celebrate with Julie and Jim, but I was feeling very ill and at least I could get medical help if necessary. After a bout with vomiting and chills, I was up and out of the medical tent in record time. It was my second PR of the day.

No explanation here

By the time I found Jim, he already had the news -- I won the women's 45-49 age group. Jim knew because he and Julie were getting text updates from our friend Ron in California who had quicker access to the internet tracker (our iPhone reception in Lake Placid was sketchy at best). What we didn't know until Monday night was that I also broke the age group course record (after comparing the results from the past 13 years).

Although I reached my goal of finishing Ironman Lake Placid and did it in my best time ever, I still had to learn the hard way one of the cardinal rules of endurance events. Never EVER do anything on race day that has not been proven in training. I THOUGHT I knew what I was doing. I had executed a great race right up until I got stupid. I thought any caffeine-containing substance would be the same but it was a mistake that could have cost me much more than 7-8 minutes. Despite being the Disaster Magnet, I got lucky this time. Next time it may be a disaster. And if I attempt to do anything stupid again, I'm sure Jim will remind me of the time I said, "I KNOW what I'm doing," when in reality, I was being an idiot. Jim and Julie have a knack of keeping accurate historical records of these things (and documenting it in photographs), such as the arm-warmer vs. hypothermia incident of Ironman Coeur d'Alene 2009 that they will never let me forget.

All I have to say about that is: what is a support team for anyway if they can't keep score?

There are a few more things I want to write before wrapping up this race report (sorry it's so long). At my age, I never thought I would be capable of finishing an Ironman in a time even close to 10:30. In my mind, the best-case scenario was 10:40 -- and not on a course as difficult as Ironman Lake Placid. And certainly not 1.5 months after fracturing a rib in a bike crash and two weeks after racing a hard 70.3.

Happy Birthday J3

My race at Lake Placid would never have been possible without the support of Jim and Julie. They do so much more than just cheer for me on the course. They keep me sane and healthy during race week. They try their best to help me avoid making mistakes (especially when I KNOW what I'm doing). They look out for me (even though they can only laugh when I punch myself in the face while trying on a wetsuit). Julie even came to Lake Placid despite it being her birthday on race day when she should be home celebrating with her family (I hope our custom chocolate raspberry whipped cream cake was a good enough substitute).

In addition to the J-Team, there were a few more people involved in making Sunday's race as successful it was. My good friend Ron (Punk Rock Tri Guy) has been an integral long distance member of the J-Team. With his positive attitude and enthusiasm, he has kept me motivated through some of the toughest moments of the past year, and he's been very generous with his time and Punk Rock Racing gear. My fondest hope is that I am as good a friend to him as he's been to me. I also want to thank my incredible orthopedic doctor, Sam Patterson, and my massage therapist, Mike Hale, who have gone above and beyond the call to keep my body healthy and intact. Speaking of healthy, I also want to thank Olly Knights (that's right, Olly of Turin Brakes) for reaching out with some of the best nutrition advice I've received this year. Finally, I'm thankful for my new BAFF Multisport teammates, our sponsors, especially Muscle Milk, Bike Authority's Sherman McKee and Bill Dieter at Second Sole for the type of support that makes racing these triathlons even possible.

(All photos courtesy of Julie and Jim)

Settling the Score

Next weekend I'm going back to Lake Placid to "make it right." The quote comes from our landlord of the house we rented last year during the Ironman - when we were leaving, I told him about what happened (having to drop out with major nutrition problems) and he said "you'll have to come back next year and make it right."

And that was the plan in 2011 - to do Ironman Lake Placid as my goal race and Ironman St. George as my "learning" race. The nutrition kinks would be worked out in St. George, and I would "go for it" in Lake Placid. Who knew I would get my Kona slot in St. George? But that's exactly what happened, leaving Lake Placid only as the race for me me to "make right."

I thought about not doing it at all, but with lodging reservations made and the J-Team all set to go, there was no reason not to. Besides, we all need a break from the daily grind and I still have major nutrition issues to work on after St. George. And most importantly, I bought merchandise before IMLP last year that I've not been able to wear because I never finished the race. (Isn't that the rule?)

But seriously, on July 24, I will once again take on Ironman Lake Placid with two things to accomplish before Kona: (1) to finish and (2) to get my run nutrition problems figured out. My taper has been almost non-existent because it will force me to treat this Ironman like a training race, and I have another important (short) race coming up in August. I will taper just a bit this week to give myself a little freshness on race day.

Putting the Disaster Back in "Disaster Magnet": IM Lake Placid Race Report

The Ironman Lake Placid (IMLP) race report blog... I considered not writing it. I considered curling up in a ball and hiding for a few years until I could face my reflection again. Then along came an angel named Ruth. Ruth is my husband's cousin's wife. She is also my friend and, oftentimes, she is the singular voice of reason and perspective on Facebook. Ruth made me realize there's more to a race than the end result, and helped me pinpoint meaning behind my IMLP debacle. This could be it: the Disaster Magnet blog NEEDS the disaster stories. I mean, where would I be if it were another "look how wonderful I am" athlete blog? Ruth also said that I might inspire others to look at things differently through my own mishaps. That's all I ever could hope for as a legacy.

So, then, how do tell this story? It didn't really start out a disaster-in-the-making. It started out a smart race strategy playing out exactly as planned, an almost-perfect execution backed up by strong fitness and brain-work. I did not enter IMLP to "finish" -- I entered with the goal to qualify for the Ironman World Championship in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii.

Upon arriving in Lake Placid on July 21, the J-Team (my husband Jim, my amazing friend Julie and I) had a plan. The plan was to stay calm and relaxed and scope out the area, transition zone and course logistics to ensure no surprises on race day. The rest of the time would be spent sightseeing in the little Adirondack village that had the distinction of hosting the Olympic Winter Games not once, but twice, in 1932 and in 1980. My parents-in-law, who also wanted to see the Adirondack region (and the race, bless them), would meet us there.

The plan worked well. By the end of the next day we had taken care of the vitals:

• the race registration
• the "scope out"
• the "course drive" (viewing the bike course)
  
• the yearly tradition of eating (and drinking) at a local brewpub -- this time we hit two: Lake Placid Pub & Brewery and the Great Adirondack Brewing Co.
  
• the grocery shopping at the local Price Chopper (in college, it was affectionately known as a "Chopper Run")

In the following two days came sightseeing at the former Olympic venues:

• the Olympic Museum -- which displayed such things as medals from different games, Sonia Hennie memorabila, and bobsleds throughout time
• the ice rinks -- including Herb Brooks Arena, the legendary place where a bunch of USA college kids shocked the world by beating the Soviets and winning the Gold Medal in 1980
• the massive towering ski jumps
  
• the ski-slopes of Whiteface Mountain (via gondola)
  

It was a memorable three days, but race morning finally arrived on July 25. We awoke -- well, I "arose" after a sleepless night -- at 3:30 a.m. The pre-race preparations went smoothly: shower, drive to start, body marking, bike prep, final transition bag check and dropping off of special needs bags. The swim started at 7 a.m.

The 2.4-mile IMLP swim is a two-loop counter-clockwise course in Mirror Lake with a deep-water mass-start. Jim - the engineer - had already determined that the geometry of the course -- a very narrow rectangle -- provided just a small distance penalty for swimmers starting wide to the right. Using my husband's geekiness to my advantage, I started on the front line and my swim went perfectly. I stayed relaxed, found a set of feet to draft off and experienced none of the usual crowded Ironman swim clobbering, despite warnings from other athletes about this particular swim. The result was my fastest time -- just under an hour.

The swim-to-bike transition at IMLP is a long run from the lake, but it went very quickly, and I was on my bike in a flash. It did help that I had my bike racked at the very end of the bar, adjacent to the run path. (That was luck, not skill.)

The 112-mile bike course is also two loops. It starts with a very short steep downhill followed by a left turn. Here's where the fun began. In classic Disaster Magnet style, I hit a bump in the road at the bottom of the hill and launched both my nutrition bottles -- this, after SPECIFICALLY replacing my bottle cages with new "no launch" models a few days before. I had to stop and retrieve them for two reasons: littering is prohibited on the course and all my race calories were in them.

The bike course leaves Lake Placid via the road past the Olympic ski jumps -- another steep, short downhill. At the bottom? You guessed it -- another bump in the road. My bottles became projectiles a second time. Retrieving them took a few moments longer this time because a state trooper decided to help out by tossing a bottle back to me. Doesn't he KNOW I can't catch? The rest of my ride would be characterized by constant bottle checks. In fact, I got so paranoid about bottle catapulting that I almost didn't notice when my gel flask was ejected out of the pocket of my bike shorts. I am NOT making this up. It was a comedy of errors. At one point, I even collided with someone else's bottle left in the road. Fortunately for anyone behind me, the impact with my front wheel gave it a perfect spiral and sent it into the grass.

So yeah, the IMLP bike course. The difficulty of this course is matched only by its beauty. It follows scenic hills, rivers, gorges and even takes in the slopes of Whiteface Mountain. Stunned by the scenery, you may reach a point of bliss during which you happily forget the 13 miles of hills coming in the latter part of each loop. The best part of the IMLP bike course is the aptly-named "screaming descent" into the town of Keene. Except, I was the one screaming -- from fear of spontaneous combustion upon reaching speeds I'd never seen before. The descent comes just after the climb out of Lake Placid.

The climbs on the IMLP course are deceiving, and I believe a five- to ten-minute deficit in the two loops is almost inevitable, irrespective of your ease of effort or biking prowess. I stayed in an aerobic state and finished the second loop about seven minutes slower than the first even though my bottles stayed put. I arrived at the bike-to-run transition feeling relatively relaxed and exactly where I wanted to be time-wise. OK, maybe not exactly. I had hoped to be a little faster, but I refused to panic. My bike nutrition had been flawless -- no nausea, no light-headedness, no dehydration.

The bike-to-run transition seemed like a maze, but all I had to do was follow the finger-pointing of the volunteers. They sent us right by a wall of porta-johns. This is a good thing if you have to "go." This is also a good thing if you DON'T have to "go" but want to give other competitors the slip because they DO have to "go." When I got to the change tent, I had yet another projectile awareness. As I grabbed my socks, shoes, hat, Gu Roctane and Endurolytes, I noticed I had lost one more thing on the bike course: my asthma inhaler. I started repeating the revelation: "my inhaler? my inhaler is gone!" The poor volunteer helping me dove desperately into my transition bag to find it. "No, no! I LOST my inhaler on the bike!" She was not amused, but, as I can say about all the volunteers, she is a saint.

The 26.2-mile run starts on a downhill, rolls a bit, then continues on a downhill -- the same downhill that the bikes follow past the ski jumps and out of Lake Placid. It would have been easy to hammer that hill, but I held back and listened to the voice of reason, the one that studied those "how to race Ironman" books, blogs and articles for six months. Jim and Julie informed me I was 12th in my age group and the leader was only 15 minutes ahead. I went out relaxed, took in water, sports drink, and Gu exactly as I trained. My pace was around 7:15-7:30 per mile on the downhills but then settled around 7:35-7:45. The run course is also very scenic, but eventually it's an uphill battle back into town. My pace dropped to 8:30 on the uphills.

Heading into the second loop, Jim and Julie yelled to me that I was now running in fourth place in my age group. After the downhills, I started to feel a bit bloated so I interspersed electrolyte tablets in my feeding regime. I had to walk a bit from the bloating, and noticing my distress, another athlete asked if I was ok. I said "I just need to throw up." His response? "Just GIT'R DONE!" Some people apparently have a much better grip on these things than I do -- that was NOT my first thought. Around mile 17, it got itSELF done. My stomach distress vanished instantly, and I was back on pace, feeling good aerobically but beginning to feel some fatigue in my legs. I continued to drink well and managed to pass two more women in my age group. The leader was all that was left. I was at 19 miles.

Little did I know that my race was about to come apart. The nausea came back, and at the next water stop, I was bent over vomiting many times. Out came the entire contents of my stomach -- basically, a LOT of liquid. The volunteers at the aid station sat me down and tried to work through it with me. They surmised I was severely dehydrated. They also noticed I was shivering. They gave me sports drink, pretzels, a wind-breaker jacket and a mylar blanket. I got up and tried to start running again. I managed to walk-jog to the next water stop, but I was losing focus and I decided to seek medical help. That was the end of my race.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground wrapped in blankets with tremors in my body and begging the medical volunteers to help me finish. Instead, they stuck me with an I-V and put me in an ambulance to the finish line. At my request, one of them called Jim to tell him what happened and to meet me at the medical tent.

This was NOT how it was supposed to end. I was supposed to hear my name as I crossed the finish line. I was supposed to get my Kona slot. I was supposed to get my Ironman P.R. How did this happen?

At this point, I'm lost in analysis, determining where to go from here, what signal I obviously missed, and what I might do to avoid having the same thing happen next time. Did I say next time? Oh yes. There will be a NEXT time.

Once and Future Goals

Seven days to Ironman Lake Placid and I'm well into my taper. I've been sounding like a broken record complaining about how sluggish and heavy I've been feeling (the usual taper doldrums) and how worried I am about all the little aches and pains that are creeping up. Jim says I'm "saying exactly the same thing you always do during a taper." I'll have to trust him on this one.

The last time I was in Lake Placid, I didn't even know Jim. The most, and only, significant thing about Lake Placid was its Olympic history as the site of the "Miracle on Ice." It was a place to which you could never really "go" because the only way to "go" there would be to do it in a time-machine set to February 1980. And at my age, the excitement of seeing Mike Eruzione's goal in person would probably kill me.

But, in 1984, I did "go" to Lake Placid. Not in a time machine, but in a car. AND it was during the summer, when there was no snow -- and no hockey. I was with my college boyfriend and his brother and another guy who had some insane idea that he was going to hike to Mount Marcy, the highest peak in the Adirondacks, carrying nothing but a book of descriptions of "edible plants." We were such a bunch of hippies that we thought it was a brilliant idea. We dropped him at a trailhead, nine miles from his destination, and headed for Lake Placid.

Driving through Lake Placid was not what I expected. Lake Placid was not the "great city in the clouds." It was a little Adirondack village. There was one main road and the Olympic ski jumps rose above it like the towers of a great European cathedral. And just like that, it was gone. A tiny little mountain town that captivated the world by being the site of the ultimate underdog story. As a hockey fanatic, that U.S. Olympic moment was such a huge part of my formative years that I still use it as one of my "I remember exactly what I was doing when" stories. Going there the first time should have been a pilgrimage, but instead, it was just a "drive-by." Besides the ski jumps, the only other thing I remember was a hot dog stand called "Custard, Mustard and Brew."

Going back will be the pilgrimage. This time, I'm looking for my own miracle, my own underdog story. Physically, I'm in the best shape since my 2003 bike accident. But Ironman is mostly a mental race, and I want to do it right, with a good race strategy. Miracles rarely happen without some help from the weather, equipment and smart planning. But at the end of the day, I just want to know I did the best I could.

As most of my friends know, I'm notorious for setting goals based on passion, way above what's achievable, that usually end in failure. This time, I wanted realistic goals, based on logic, that don't depend on anyone else's race. I started out with some goals that were 99.9% reachable and worked downward from there. So without further delay, here are my Ironman Lake Placid Goals:

• Stop at "Custard, Mustard and Brew" (I Googled it, and it still exists. Failure rate: 0.1%)
• Make the pilgrimage to the Olympic ice hockey rink. (I didn't Google it, but it MUST exist. Failure rate: 0.1%)
• Pack clothes for all conditions (even snow) and PUT THEM IN MY SPECIAL NEEDS BAGS. (After hypothermia in June in Coeur d'Alene, I think I've learned my lesson, nonetheless, it's not failsafe, so failure rate: 5%)
• Go to sleep early, the goal request from J-Team member Jim. (Knowing my history, failure rate: 30%)
• Smile at least once on the run. (Feasible if I do it at the beginning of the run, failure rate: 32%)
• Stay focused and go out easy on the bike and run. (Knowing my history, but remembering success at the Pittsburgh Marathon, failure rate: 35%)
• Enjoy the experience, no matter what happens. (I've been getting better at this, failure rate: 37%)
• Get a decent finish line photo -- i.e., one where I'm mostly conscious, standing up straight, and my eyes point in the same directions. If possible, raise my arms and attempt to smile if my facial muscles still work. (I've partially succeeded in this in the past, failure rate 42%)
• Stay out of the medical tent! another J-Team goal (As the Disaster Magnet, I've never successfully done this in an Ironman, failure rate: 70% ... i.e., not impossible)