Things are Proceeding... As Usual

I've been seriously neglecting this blog lately - mostly because I don't want to sound like a broken record every time I race.

It's the last week of my taper for Ironman St. George.

Two weeks ago, I went through the panic. I'm not ready. I didn't train enough. I didn't train HARD enough. I don't know if I did the right things in my training. I didn't do enough nutrition training. I didn't train for the hot weather. I didn't train for the cold water. I didn't eat well during training. I didn't get enough sleep...

That's what happens during a pre-race panic attack. Every. Single. Time. And, as usual, it happened after a few bad workouts during my last build period.

The sad truth is that I've trained harder this year than last year. I did strength training. I was more consistent than ever in the pool, and my workouts were both harder and longer. And yet, in the last three weeks, my intervals are slower than ever. I rode more long rides and harder short rides this winter than last. But the last time I did a long ride, my power and speed hit a training low. And the one thing I pride myself on, my running speed, which I painstakingly fostered weekly on the treadmill during this whole buildup, is anything but fast and my legs now feel like jello.

And to top it all off, last week I got slammed with an upper respiratory infection that knocked me for a loop.

So, yes, I panicked.

And now I am trying to stay calm. Because there's nothing I can do. I can't cram in anymore training. The weather forecast for next Saturday in St. George is close to 100 degrees F. And my bike is already on it's way to Utah. I have to trust that I've done all I can, that I will make good decisions nutritionally and pace-wise on race day, and the weather is something I can't control. And let the chips fall where they may.

Yes, More Data

I'm back to my old tricks - gathering shreds of comparison data for confidence-building before Ironman St. George. A month ago, I posted a blog comparing last year's CompuTrainer data to this year's data for the Ironman St. George real course video. I rode the simulated course several times last year to prepare for race day, and each time, I saw improvement. This year, I've done the same thing, but now that I've actually ridden the "real" course and know what to expect and what I'm capable of, I've been comparing this year's data to last year's data to get an even better idea of my preparedness.

Besides a slight increase in power over the course this year, what I've found after a few data comparisons is that I'm comfortably riding at a higher heart rate. I have yet to determine if this is a good thing or a bad thing. It's mostly just a confusing thing. Because I don't FEEL like I'm riding with an elevated heart rate. Yet, on the average, it's several beats-per-minute higher than my course rides last year. Is it possible for a person's max heart rate to increase (instead of decrease) with age?

What I DO know is that in my best races, I've gone on "feel" (perceived effort) and not on measurement. So unless I learn something new in the next few weeks, I'll be going with the only thing I know - my own perception.

On with the data. The following charts are comparisons of my power, speed, heart rate, and cadence on the CompuTrainer IM St. George course. The red line is from March 31, the blue line is from March 3, and the gray dotted line is from April 3, 2011 (last year's last course ride). And the bottom plot is not my implosion, it's the IMSG course profile:

Ideally, I wanted the red line (the most recent ride) to have the highest average power and speed and lowest heart rate and cadence. Although it's not overly obvious on the plots, I succeeded on three out of four of those counts - when I checked the averages, my power and speed were about 4% higher.

I was somewhat surprised to see my cadence had an obvious drop on the most recent ride. I say "somewhat" because I've been working at this but I don't usually see such blatant effect in such a short time. The reason I was working at it is because I've learned my heart rate is more affected by cadence than any other variable. I've noticed on the trainer that I naturally gravitate toward a very high cadence - somewhere in the high 90s to just over 100 (I guess that means, in technical terms, I'm a spinner not a masher?). But this year I've been working to reduce it - to push a higher gear at a slightly lower cadence, say between 90-95 rpm. In combing the internet for information I saw the following quote and couldn't help but laugh: When asked if it was better technique to mash a big gear or spin a small gear, Eddy Merckx thought for a moment and said "Its better to spin a big gear." I guess THAT, in a nutshell, is my ultimate goal. (Isn't it everybody's?)

In the end, the only thing left to do is give credit where credit is due. My power increase has been, once again, the direct result of working my butt off on the CompuTrainer in a 12-week program devised by a fellow athlete named Mark Gorris. Mark created what's known in local circles as the "CompuTrainer Challenge." Starting in January, he generously and tirelessly sends out weekly workouts to a local email list. I noticed last year that the Challenge appeared to be a competition for bragging rights as the list engaged in some amusing smack talk. But as the newbie and not-so-secure-in-my-abilities cyclist, I sat on the sidelines and just did the work. And, well, the simple fact is this: if you do the workouts, you get stronger and faster. It worked last year before St. George, and I'm hoping the above charts indicate that it worked again this year.

What I do with this is information is now the most important thing. Along with the long distance stuff and the biking strength, this year I've also been working at my running speed, my swimming strength, and my nutrition strategy. And, as a self-coached triathlete, I've been reading a LOT about Ironman racing and race-day strategy. It's boils down to another very simple fact: if you race stupid on race day, all the work you put in beforehand is completely worthless.

I have four weeks left to ram home the this fact. Because, as the Disaster Magnet, I have always been aware that, along with natural disasters, nothing can derail my race quicker than stupid [mental] mistakes made on race day.

The Dreaded Plateau

The Colorado plateau, near the edge of southern Utah.

When I was a kid, I loved the word "plateau." It was something huge, expansive, and awesome. It was something I dreamed of seeing someday - the great plateaus "out west." In fifth grade, I even chose to write a report about the state of Wyoming because it had cool things like buttes and plateaus (note: I still have never been there).

Then, at the age of 14, I became a competitive swimmer, and the word plateau took on a whole new meaning. My happy association of the word plateau with an awe-inspiring rock formation was lost forever. The plateau became the point at which I couldn't go any faster in the water, and I entered the seemingly-never-ending struggle to break through whatever was holding me back from reaching my goal times. The plateau was maddening. The harder I worked to get past it, the more frustrated I became. And then, like clockwork every year, our coach would taper us - and I wouldn't just break through the plateau, I would crush it by several seconds (in a 100-yard race, that was a monumental feat). And it was always perfectly planned so that it happened in the most important meet of the year.

Indeed, in spite of the many plateaus I have faced as an athlete, I had almost forgotten the true meaning of that word until yesterday. I was talking to my good friend and fellow athlete, Ron, about training for Ironman St. George. He mentioned that he was making progress at running, but he was having trouble getting any faster on the bike.

I couldn't help but smile to myself and think: "welcome to the plateau."

After years of celebrating only the finishing of endurance events (his endeavors hilariously-documented on his blog), Ron has recently discovered that he enjoys getting faster. Last year he clocked several PRs and has been thirsty for more in 2012. And now that he's been getting faster almost on a daily basis, it was inevitable that he must deal with the dreaded plateau.

Thus, I'm writing this blog in solidarity. To tell my friend that the plateau is not necessarily a bad thing. That there will eventually be a breakthrough. That even when the training appears to be "not making [him] any faster," there are gains being made. It will all become clear. Because that's really what the taper is all about. Muscles will adapt, and this particular plateau will become a memory left behind in the dust. New ones may rise in its place, but hopefully not.

And there are more than just athletic plateaus. There are things like weight-loss plateaus as well. My husband Jim is coincidentally experiencing one of his own. He has recently added strength training to his regular aerobic workouts, and his weight loss seems to have hit a plateau (much to his discouragement). All I have is those same words of wisdom: hang in there, the body just needs to (and will) adjust.

I'm sure there are all sorts of physiological explanations to clarify what a plateau really is. But I'm not a physiologist. I'm just a person who has worked hard and seen them fall, again and again. And believe me when I say that those moments are the sweetest of all. Because it seems like you didn't have to do anything. It seems like it just happens. And that makes all the hard work worth it.

In closing, I'd like to point out that St. George is, geographically, also surrounded by plateaus. And it's about time for a breakthrough.

The Road to St. George 2012 is Paved with Data

Time to put on my goggles and look at data.

It's that time again - time to go all "mad scientist."

Choosing to do an early-season Ironman when you live in the northern U.S. is a huge commitment. It means many weekends of indoor long rides and runs. Mostly alone. It means if you run outside, you spend most of your time running in the dark. Alone. It means frozen hair after every swim. It means very few opportunities to race before the Ironman (unless you have the budget). And it means difficulty in simulating race conditions during training. But if you tough it out, you stand at that starting line knowing that you have developed not only physical strength, but a new degree of mental strength because of the harsh training conditions.

Because I spent January through April training for Ironman St. George last year, I already knew I had the physical and mental fortitude to tough it out. What I didn't know was whether I WANTED to do it all again. But I made the commitment before thinking it through because Utah was good to (and for) me. Now there's no turning back and nine weeks separate me and my early-season Ironman.

The difference this year is that I know what to expect from the terrain and the weather in St. George. This can be a blessing or a curse. I know how to race St. George, but now I have expectations for my performance. And despite a decent performance, things did go wrong last year - there's that problematic nutrition thing hovering over my head like a storm cloud.

To give myself the best chance for a good race in St. George, I need to keep my anxieties in check. There are two things that will help me do that: I must define realistic goals and expectations about my race and I must formulate an intelligent race plan. Yesterday, I started digging for my realistic set of expectations.

Expectations should be simple and based in fact: I should know what I'm capable of from experience and by testing my limits in training. Despite this, emotion almost always gets in my way - and it goes BOTH ways: my expectations can become hopes (of good performance), or my expectations can become self-fulfilling prophecies (of poor performance). So I must go back to the egg, to the only way I know to remove the emotion from my racing - data! I needed something concrete - a one-to-one comparison. And I knew exactly how to get it.

On March 4, 2011, nine weeks before Ironman St. George 2011, I rode a loop of the Ironman St. George RacerMate Real Course Video. Saturday was March 3 - exactly nine weeks before Ironman St. George 2012. If I were to ride the Ironman St. George Real Course Video this past weekend, I would HAVE my one-to-one comparison. Same weekend, same course, in training for the same race - this would surely be excellent data to compare and draw conclusions from.

So that's what I did. On Saturday, without looking at last year's performance, I got on the CompuTrainer, warmed up, and pulled up the St. George course. To be totally fair, there were some differences:

• I rode earlier in the day than I did last year (yep, the stats file was date- and time-stamped).
• I was not using the same nutrition regimen as last year - I have switched to Gu Roctane drink, and I am still in the process of determining my electrolyte needs with this new fuel.
• And finally, I was watching different movies. This year, as TV scheduling would have it, I was treated to Goodfellas, and I can't say this didn't affect my ride intensity - although I don't know what I watched last year or even if it was a gangster movie (which, I argue, trumps all film genres for long trainer sessions).

Sunday morning, I plotted points - this year's ride vs. last year's. After Excel threatened to make the data analysis harder than the ride itself, I called in my husband Jim, the Excel-whisperer, to finish up, and here is the result - a set of comparison graphs of speed, power, heart rate, and cadence. The first plot (top) is the St. George bike course profile (the start plus one loop).

I was looking for notable differences. In the case of power and speed, I wanted the blue line (this year's ride) to be higher than the red line (last year's ride). And for heart rate and cadence, I wanted the opposite to be true. Although it wasn't overly notable, I was relatively successful in three of the statistics and horribly unsuccessful in one: heart rate.

The heart rate stat was confusing for more than one reason. While I was riding, my perceived exertion was relatively low but I noticed (and wondered why) my heart rate seemed high. I don't know if sustaining a higher heart rate (even with a lower perceived exertion) is something to worry about. I'm happy I could ride with my heart rate so high for so long and not be seriously affected by it, but I find myself wondering if it's a sign of overtraining - or something worse. What's more confusing is that usually my heart rate and cadence go hand in hand (pedal faster - heart rate goes up). This is the exact opposite of what happened in the two rides. I've also read that dehydration can raise your heart rate, so that's also an avenue to explore. I need to figure out what's going on with my heart rate before race day.

Another confusing stat was the lower average power output and higher speed over the last ten or so downhill miles of the course. Both Jim and I got hung up on that one. If you think about it, in the real world, coasting downhill is speed without power, right? But on the trainer, there must be power to make the wheel move at all and more power = more speed, right. I feel like an idiot here, but it's baffling me. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense - higher speed at same power (= higher gear?) = good, right? Ok, now that I wrote it down.. the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. If anyone has a clue, help me out. I was calibrating the CT every half-hour - so, unless it's broken (eek), that wasn't the problem.

The other thing I learned on this ride was more about my nutrition requirements (and, something that might back-up the theory of elevated heart rate due to dehydration). After the one IMSG loop was finished, I kept riding because I had a longer ride planned. I did no additional electrolyte supplementation because I needed a starting point for the Roctane. Near the end of the ride, I got really nauseous. I took two Thermolytes - it took a few minutes to recover, but I did recover, and then I felt much better. In my upcoming long rides, I will further refine these needs, and, perhaps, warm up the temperature in the room because, on race day in southern Utah, it could be 90 degrees or worse - and the heat seems to be where everything falls apart nutritionally for me.

Now.. about that swimming and running data...

It All Starts Here

Scene from "The Goonies"

The title is a quote from one of my favorite scenes in "The Goonies" - it's when the young Sean Astin realizes the only way out for him and his friends is to follow the pirate treasure map. It's not so much a statement of excitement as it is a statement of resignation. Basically, it was the beginning of the adventure and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Today, I feel the same way about my 2012 season. Once again, I find myself registered for Ironman St. George. I have resigned myself to the training necessary for racing an Ironman the first week of May. I did it (and survived) last year, but I can't say I'm looking forward to an adventure. Instead, I'm looking at a long, dark, and cold winter of power-building and epic-long sessions on the CompuTrainer, long runs in well-below-freezing temperatures, wind from the Alberta clippers, ice and snow, treacherous driving to the pool, and wet hair in the cold after swimming. I'm looking at dry, chapped skin from the cold and the chlorine, numb fingers and toes, constant shivering, even more lines on my face, and heaven-knows-how-many new scars from slipping on ice.

My husband Jim has to live through my constant over-analysis of CompuTrainer stats, complaining that I'm always cold and numb and my skin is always dry, and wondering if the next time he sees me I'll be covered with blood - from slipping on the aforementioned ice.

When I cross that finish line on May 5 in Utah, will I (we) be able to say that it was all worth it? (I mean, that's the big question, isn't it? Knowing the hard work paid off?)

As I get older, I am reminded of a former cycling buddy who, on the worst (cold, rainy) days, would ask: "Jeanne, are we having fun?" If we agreed the answer was "No" (not frequently), we would pack it in and go have a beer (or breakfast). Training has to be more than just the sense of accomplishment, but I do  enjoy that daily "high." I also enjoy the hard training as it gives me internal rewards - feeling stronger or tougher for having done it. Racing has never been a need, but it can be the icing on the cake.

Racing Ironman, however, requires a huge commitment. It doesn't just give me a reason to do what I love. It involves a serious financial commitment - currently over $600/race plus travel expenses - well before the training commences. And I don't think I could do Ironman without goals because I can't say I enjoy the training enough to just do it for fun. So here I am, looking at the beginning of my training cycle for Ironman St. George.

There has to be a starting point, so I chose to start with a comparison. As I'm coming from my "off-season," I decided to do my first long-ish ride on the RacerMate St. George Real Course video and compare it to the first one I did in training for IMSG 2011. This year, I rode for 3 hours and covered 49 miles of the course. Last year, my first course ride was in mid-January - I rode for 3.5 hours and covered 54 miles. Thus begins the CompuTrainer over-analysis:

On the IM St. George course, this plot shows that on Saturday (red line)
I reached the same point (49 mi) faster than my first ride in January

I also plotted my power and heart rate vs. miles on the SG course, just to see how that compared:

Power (watts) vs. miles on IM St. George course.
My power on Saturday (red line) was similar to Jan 15, but in some
places was consistently higher (good, right?).

Heartrate (BPM) vs miles on IM St. George course.
My heart rate on Saturday (red line) was of similar shape but was
consistently higher for most of the ride (not good). I hope that the point where it
looks like I died was when I got off the bike to replenish my water bottles.

I'm not exactly sure that the differences are of any significance - I guess my higher heart rate has me a bit concerned that I'm in worse shape, but I am encouraged that it is earlier in the training cycle, and I rode slightly faster and was able to hold that higher heart rate for so long. (It may also have something to do with the fact that I currently have a raging sinus infection.)

Overall, I feel like I'm in decent shape at the start of my Ironman training, but only time will tell if I can stay healthy and motivated through winter of 2012, and come out fighting in May. I hope it's the beginning of a long and rewarding season - oops, I mean "adventure."

Mid-Marathon Disaster Recovery: Ironman St. George Race Report

This was almost my St. George scenario,
but I managed to avoid the bike mishap.
(these were posted at the banquet)

For me, Utah appears to be the place where dreams come true (read my race report from Ironman Utah 2002). This year, it's the place I may have finally laid the demons to rest. As far as Ironman racing goes, I haven't figured it all out yet, but I'm a huge step closer to understanding HOW to figure it out. My usual bane, run nutrition, reared its ugly [dragon] head, and like Saint George himself, I had to slay it in battle.

If you've been following my blog, you know all the prep work I did for Ironman St. George, especially on the bike trainer. I only managed to get my bike outside for a whopping three days before the race. Thus, taking on a hilly bike course with very little outdoor riding and temperatures in the 90s, I knew Ironman St. George would be the challenge of my life. It didn't help that the course is considered the hardest of all Ironman courses and has one of the highest drop-out rates. The statistics were downright scary - I posted the bike and run course profiles previously, and you can read the article from RunTri.com for more stats.

I went to St. George with more than just a little trepidation - in fact, "fear" is a mild description of what I was feeling. To make matters more stressful, I would only have about 30 hours in St. George before race day, May 7, because I needed to be in Cleveland at least through the morning of May 5 for my employer, Cleveland Metroparks Zoo, to open a brand new exhibit.

Two labors of love in less than 48 hours would really try my anxiety level - and the second one (my Ironman) certainly looked to be the one to suffer due to lack of sleep and stress. I would be unable to drive the bike course (thank heavens I had seen it on the RacerMate Real Course Video), and I would have to digest what I could of the run course only 16 hours prior to the start. My body would have to shake off five hours on a plane followed by two hours in a car, adjust to a two-hour time zone change, and acclimatize from Cleveland's cold rain to desert conditions - dry with temperatures over 90 degrees F. We were lacking integral support personnel. J-Team member Julie (a.k.a. "J3") could not make the trip because of prior obligations. And the race support double-whammy: my good friend Ron (a.k.a. Punk Rock Tri Guy), who was all set to step in as an honorary J-Team member even though his name didn't fit the rules, had a work emergency and could not make the trip. My husband Jim would be alone this time, and my stress level increased a bit worrying about him having to deal with the potential fallout (i.e., my attitude) if my race went badly.

Indeed, conditions were perfect for a disaster.

Before the race, Jim and I had one conversation many times: my goal in Ironman St. George must be singular: "get to the finish line." I was NOT to worry about time or place. After dropping out of Ironman Lake Placid last year with severe dehydration and spending nine months beating myself up about it, it was more important, mentally, for me cross the finish line than to get a Kona slot. And by crossing the finish line, I mean NOT in an ambulance. Extra credit would be given for staying out of the medical tent. Placing in my age group would take care of itself (or not).

Still had time for body marking after "emergency check-in."

We arrived in St. George at 11 p.m. on May 5. The challenge had begun. I would have to get a decent night's sleep and spend the next day checking in (did you know there is an "emergency check-in" the day before an Ironman?), picking up my bike from TriBike Transport (there were only three bikes left and they were calling my cell phone to remind me to pick up my bike NOW), getting in a final spin and run, packing my transition bags, and delivering said bags and bike to the transition zones. And at Ironman St. George, T1 and T2 are about 15 miles apart.

After eight hours of traveling and only seven hours of sleep, Jim and I accomplished all of the above, then drove the run course. By 4 p.m., the only things left to do on May 6 would be to eat dinner (preferably Italian) and try to get some sleep. And if you've read my posts, you already know sleeping is a next-to-impossible pre-race task.

We looked for a restaurant off the beaten path to avoid the pre-race jitters that come with being around other athletes. After searching in vain - both digitally and analog - for a mom-and-pop-type Italian restaurant, we gave up and chose a local sports bar/restaurant called St. Helens after reading good reviews on UrbanSpoon. All I wanted was a bowl of spaghetti and a glass of wine (or two) - and they had both. The bonus came in an extremely friendly and funny waiter. He kept trying to convince me to order the "kids portion," and I kept asking him if he understood what an Ironman was (and that the kids portion couldn't possibly be enough). We had a grand time - it was low-key and very relaxing and my mind was at ease.

That night, much to my surprise (even today), I slept. Like a rock. Maybe it was the fatigue of traveling. Maybe it was the two glasses of cheap Cabernet. Maybe it was the fact that Jim finally convinced me that I "trained for" this and that my worries were completely unnecessary. Whatever it was, it worked. I even woke up twice during the night and went BACK to sleep.

WIth a good night's sleep, potential disaster number one - stomach problems and incoherence due to sleep deprivation - was averted.

The alarm went off at 3:40 a.m. I downed my breakfast - banana, orange juice, Starbucks Via, soy protein and Hammergel, took a quick shower, donned my old Tyr two-piece tri suit and put all my swim needs and race nutrition in the morning clothes bag. Jim drove me down to T2 to drop my run special needs bag and take a bus to Sand Hollow State Park for the start. While on the bus, I chilled out to my favorite relaxation album, Ether Song by Turin Brakes.

Unlike previously thought, the Ironman St. George
swim course actually DOES have a hill in it.

Jim met me at the starting line after taking the spectators' bus - we stayed in touch via cell phone. I set up my transition items, waited in line to use the porta-john one last time, and proceeded to the swim start to don my wetsuit. The water temperature was 62 degrees F. After talking to several athletes, I chose to wear a neoprene cap and swim booties to keep warm on the swim. (Despite these precautions, my feet would remain numb for the first two hours on the bike.) The one thing I forgot to bring to the swim start was BodyGlide. This mental slip up would result in more than one wetsuit problem - both during AND after the race.

The swim was a counter-clockwise near-rectangle (with a diagonal finish) that started in deep water. The seriously-cold water sucked the breath right out of me when I first got in (it was the coldest water I've ever raced in). Because of the cold, many athletes had barely stepped foot in the reservoir by the time the cannon went off. I had been treading water (or hanging onto volunteers' kayaks and surfboards) for about 10 minutes by that point.

The swim start.

I started up front and to the far right of the swim buoys. For the most part, my swim was strong and uneventful. Starting on the outside protected me from the normal mid-pack clobbering, and I swam a diagonal to the first turn buoy. Just after the first turn I started choking from sucking in water after getting kicked and pushed by an angry swimmer. It was the first time I ever stopped mid-swim and considered flagging for help. A fortunate quick recovery got me back on my way. Having trouble finding feet to draft off, I ended up muscling through most of the swim on my own.

I finished the 2.4-mile swim leg in 1:01 and headed into T1. On the way, I stopped to get help from the wetsuit strippers. But with swim socks and no BodyGlide, it became a comedy of errors. The "peelers" dragged me across the ground several times before it was all over. It was so ridiculous, my ordeal managed to get a highlight in the volunteer video shown at the awards banquet.

First step, before "peeler" ordeal, was getting my wetsuit top off.

The wetsuit malfunction made T1 more time-consuming than expected, but I was on my bike in less than four minutes. Judging by the number of bikes still in the racks, I already had a pretty good race position. The air temperature was still cool and first part of the bike course was on relatively flat stretch of road. I started talking (yes, out loud) to myself - what to do and what not to do. I drank only water for the first 30 minutes and then started fueling with a high-carb mix of Carbo-Pro and Infinit Nutritition, First Endurance EFS Liquid Shot, plain water and Metasalt/Thermolyte capsules at a rate of two per hour. After the first hour, I added Ironman Perform to the fluid intake. I tried to maintain a fluid rate of at least one bottle per hour.

Bike start.

During my ride, the weather conditions were almost ideal, with temperatures in a manageable range between 70 and 90 degrees and 20-30 mph winds starting to kick up only near the end. The 112-mile bike leg is a shade-less modified two-loop course, mostly rolling to start, with long downhills and some short steep uphills until about mile 49 when a switchback takes you to what's known as "the wall" - an uphill stretch that lasts less than a mile but reaches a grade of about 11 percent before it levels off. After the wall, there's another long gradual climb followed by over ten miles of mostly (screaming) downhill into town to begin the second loop.

My goal on the bike was to keep my heart rate down, fuel well, and arrive at T2 with strength left in my legs. I didn't know how feasible that was knowing we had to ride up that hill twice. Based on last year's age group winner's 6:17 (17.4 mph average), I predicted a bike time of about 6:30. After a relaxed and easy first loop, I was shocked to notice my average speed was just under 19 mph. I had ridden over 60 miles on nasty hills with absolutely no feeling of spent legs like in the past. Concerned for a moment that I went out too fast, I reminded myself that the 6:30 goal was based on performances in past races. It did not take into account all the hard work I put in on the bike this winter.

Going into second loop.

I refocused my effort on perceived exertion and continued at a pace that felt like "Zone 2" (under lactate threshold). I was a little concerned that Jim, upon seeing my first-loop split, would think I was making a mistake. When I saw him, I tried to shoot him the biggest smile I could to reassure him that I KNEW what I was doing.

My second loop was almost identical to the first in terms of keeping control of my heart rate and pace, and I continued to fuel and intake fluids without problems. By the time I reached T2, my legs were stiff, but I left the transition tent feeling pretty good - without stomach or heat distress. To my surprise, my bike split was 5:59.

Bike finish, still feeling good.

The first part of the 26.2-mile run is a three-mile uphill that begins gradually and reaches a near eight-percent grade before leveling off. It rolls down and up a couple times, takes a little circle on a rolling paved path and then turns around and goes back the same way. On the way back, there's a short uphill detour to a 180-degree turnaround followed by a two-mile downhill to start the second loop. There is absolutely NO shade on any part of the run course.

Heading out on the run. Oh the heat!

By the time I started my run, the temperature was at or over 90 degrees (it topped out at 91). I felt like I was running in slow motion, but my legs weren't overly fatigued. I managed to run sub-8 minutes for my first two miles. At no time did I feel uncomfortable. Jim yelled that he thought I finished the bike leg first in my age group (he was getting electronic updates from Julie, our good friend Nick, and Ron). My pace slowed only on uphills and I took the downhills smooth and fast. I went through mile 13.1 still holding onto a sub-9 minute mile pace (even after stopping at a porta-john).

Going into the second loop, Jim reminded me to "take it easy!" - he said I had a 15-minute lead on second place in my age group based on the electronic tracker. I relaxed a bit and breathed a sigh of relief because I was starting to feel a little stomach discomfort and nausea. I had been drinking water and Ironman Perform every mile and taking one Metasalt electrolyte capsule every half-hour (amounting to over 300 mg of sodium per hour, which would prove to be not enough in these conditions). My legs were feeling very good. The only thing I had trouble with at this point was consuming gel (or anything solid) because of stomach issues.

Heading out on second loop.
Yeah, but it's a DRY heat!

I started walking at mile 15 on the second loop uphill when the nausea intensified. Like the bowl of petunias that materialized above an alien planet in Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, all I could think was: "Oh no, not again!" My biggest fear had now become ending up like the sperm whale in the same book - a big splat on the ground.

By mile 17, I found myself slumped over at an aid station vomiting the contents of my stomach. The only positive thing (if there is a positive thing about vomiting) was that not much came up, and therefore fluids MUST HAVE BEEN getting past my stomach. One of the amazing race volunteers helped me to a chair under a tent and talked me through it. Her advice: I was severely dehydrated and needed to get some salt/electrolytes into my system. After vomiting about five more times, I was able to take two capsules and down some water. The med consult came over, took my pulse and told me my skin temperature was good (i.e., cool).

Despite this, I was beginning to panic. The volunteers reassured me I would finish - and I had until midnight to do so. I forgot that I promised Jim I would get to the finish line at all costs and had started imagining an age-group win (and a trip to Kona). For cryin' out loud, I needed to maintain my position. I was nine miles from the finish!!! It was so close! Why was this happening again? I thought I practiced this! How did it all go wrong once more?!? (A rational mind would have realized it was the heat that I was nutritionally unprepared for.)

In times like these, I have always made bad decisions. But with my mental faculties intact (this is a HUGE assumption), I knew I had a cushioned lead, so I forced myself against instinct to stay seated until the nausea passed. And,.... miraculously... it did. After maybe five or six minutes (I think), I was able to shake it off and start running again. I thanked the volunteers for their help and took off. Strangely, my LEGS still felt good.

Disaster number two - averted.

Disaster number three loomed on the horizon.

The fallout from so little carbo intake during the run began around mile 20. I started feeling lightheaded and shaky. I alternately walked and ran - lamenting several ten-plus-minute miles. Realizing what was happening, I managed to choke down a double-caffeinated Powerbar Gel grabbed from my special needs bag at mile 13. My Gu Roctane (my normal gel of choice) was now akin to that one last shot of tequila that puts you over the edge. Just the smell of it would have given me dry heaves.

Finish photo.
Heat? What heat?

That one gel pack was all I needed to get me over the last hill and into the downhill plunge to the finish. I sucked it up and ran hard to pass one woman before mile 24. And with 2.2 miles to go, I looked at my watch. It read "10:42:something-or-other." It was then it hit me. I still had a chance to break 11 hours. I hadn't planned on it. And it wouldn't be easy. I would have to run the last 2.2 miles of an Ironman at a pace under eight-minute miles.

And so I ran. Hard. I didn't even stop for water at the last aid station.

When I saw the roundabout that sends runners to the finish line, I still hadn't yet seen the 26-mile marker but I was within earshot of Mike Reilly's voice announcing the finishers. When I rounded the last corner, the finish was RIGHT THERE! I could even see the finish line clock. It read "10:59:30." I ran like hell. And I smiled. And then it was over.

I ran a 3:52 marathon to finish in 10:59:50, first in the women's 45-49 age group, fifth amateur (women), and tenth overall (women).

After slaying the dragon.

Although I wasn't able to eat for several hours, I got my bonus by staying out of the medical tent and spending the next hour with Jim. We walked around a bit, delivered my bike to TriBike Transport and then went back to the hotel to get cleaned up. After attempting (poorly) to eat dinner, we went back to the finish line to cheer for the finishers later that evening (something I highly recommend doing).

What happens to your neck if you wear a
DeSoto T1 wetsuit and forget BodyGlide.

The next morning, Jim surveyed the damage to my neck caused by forgetting BodyGlide (see photo), I claimed my slot for the Ironman World Championship in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii, I bought a souvenir "Ironman Utah" jacket (note: after the race to avoid the jinx), we attended the awards banquet, and then we took a drive out to Zion National Park to celebrate.

And the demons are at rest. For now.

Thanks to Jim for taking all the photos posted here (except the finish line one).

The podium was sweet!

The women and men of the Ironman St. George 2011 45-49 Age Group.
An excuse to wear my Punk Rock Racing tee!