On July 28, 2013, in Lake Placid, NY, I became an Ironman. It was an exhilarating moment that completed not just a long day (12 hours, 2 minutes, 2 seconds!) of swimming, biking and running, but months of training, planning and, yes, worrying. The race itself was wonderful: a beautiful course, attentive, extremely well-prepared volunteers and ideal racing weather, with overcast skies, low humidity and temperatures in the low 70s. But what made it truly remarkable was sharing the experience with a great group of friends and training buddies, as well as with an exceptional coach that had mentally and physically walked me through the race over and over again, giving me confidence that I could handle whatever the day threw at me. So, here is a detailed recap.
The Pre-Race
Excitement and nervousness: from the night before to the time I stepped over the timing mat and into the water, I was both anxious and incredibly curious to see what this Ironman thing would turn out to be. Bikes and transition bags checked in, clothes laid out, nutrition packed: in the late afternoon of the pre-race day we tried to absorb every last morsel of energy and rest to be ready for the big day. There were nine of us aspiring Ironmen staying in a beautiful house in the hills outside Lake Placid (thank you Jodey!), with a small crew of very supportive spouses/partners/friends who did their best to keep us all sane. Some of us had raced this distance before, some were veterans of multiple Ironmen, and some of us (me) had never even attempted this feat.
So, the night before we ate dinner together, each downing our own chosen mixture of carbs, proteins, and hope, joking nervously about GI distress, carbo-loading, and wanting to avoid the dreaded glow-in-the-dark necklaces on the run. We filled water bottles, mixed energy drinks and stacked them all in fridges and freezers ready to go. We snapped a few "before" pictures, set our alarm clocks and retired to our respective lairs to capture whatever shuteye we could wrestle from our nerves.
And it was evening and it was morning: the race day. Race kits on, eating breakfast, we grab the remaining gear, and off we go to transition. There is not that much to do, but I still manage to get in line for the porta potty a bit too late (dang it! maybe that fiber was too low for my pre-race meal...). As I am standing in line with Jeff, wetsuit half on, chugging liquids, the pros go off. The bathroom becomes available just in the nick of time, and then a short jog takes me down to the rubbery crowd standing around expected-pace signs. In the distance, I spot "1:10-1:20": that's me! I use every bit of my Italian cutting-in-line skills to get to where I need to be. We slowly all move forward, as groups of 10-15 swimmers walk under the arch and get in the water every 10 to 15 seconds. And then I'm in. Time: 6:36 am.
The Swim
Yes, it's a self-seeded wave start. No more writhing mass of neoprene limbs filling the water. But don't think you are peacefully stroking along in a pond on your own. I am still in the midst of frantic swimmers, all trying to reach the fabled underwater cable and not hesitating to shove me aside in the process. But this time, strangely enough, it does not bother me. Maybe it's the earplugs (coach Kelly, you are a genius!), but I just swim. I fight for space, but never have to push too hard. And pretty soon I find the cable. Awesome. With a little effort I stay alongside it, and just sight the buoys, to avoid running straight into them (which I do on a couple of occasions) and to get a sense of how far I am from the turn (yes, the buoys are numbered!). My friend Dave (the college swimmer who finished this swim in 59 minutes!) warned me to stay on the outside on the turns, because you lose more time fighting the crowds than you gain by having a shorter tangent. So I do, and, voila`, I am on the other side, coming back toward shore. On the last turn around the peer I forget to go wide, and, sure enough, I get pummeled by a beefy guy in a multicolored wetsuit. I am sure he did not mean it.
Up on the beach, short jog, and back in the water. Round two. This time it is even better. I can actually focus on my stroke: reach, catch, pull and six-beat kick (thank you Sheila Taormina!). I notice one funny thing: I pass quite a few men (green caps) but very few women (pink caps). The women are either swimming my same pace, or they are passing me. Uhm...what does that suggest?? Well, I guess the guys are a bit overconfident and seeded themselves a bit too far forward (except for my friend Jeff who had an awesome 1:10 swim even though he started behind me!), while the women are a bit under-confident and seeded themselves too far backward. Typical.
Ok, so there is the peer again. This time I stay well on the outside, and avoid the churning. I swim until I see the sand, then stand up. A bit wobbly, but not bad. Unzip, take off goggles, and run to the helpful wetsuit strippers (I LOVE you guys!). Before I know it I am up and running to transition. Check the watch. 7:49am. Holy cow! That is awesome!
T1
I grab my bag and run into the tent. I need to change shorts, and in my frenzy I put the new ones on backward. Shoot! Do over. Then I put on sunscreen, socks, bike shoes, arm warmers (the hot pink really perks me up; thank you Tarra!) and helmet. I grab my gloves, profusely thank the volunteer who meticulously gathers all my stuff, and off I go to find my bike. As I run through transition, people start yelling my number down the line, so when I get to my row, my bike is waiting for me ready to go. I love these volunteers! Can I take some home??
The Bike
I get on the bike at 7:58am. First thing, I push the button to start my computer, and the hub of the power meter is dead. No transmission. What the hell?? It was working just fine yesterday. I did put in a new power cartridge and new batteries. No matter. It is on the fritz. I am on my own. Oh well, I can just rely on my watch. Before I can look at the watch, I am careening down the steep descents that take us out of town. Whoa! That was fast! All good though, so I keep going.
Then I look at my watch: blank. What??? No computer, no watch. Strangely, I just say to myself "It's ok, just go by feel. RPE: just like in training. Go easier than you think you should on the first loop, then pick it up in the second." And that's what I do...mostly. I am surprised by my own calm, but the course is too beautiful to waste time cursing my failing technology. So I just pedal. On the one long hill out of town I look up at a long line of bikers riding not exactly at regulation distance, but no one is getting any speed from drafting when the whole line is moving at 10 miles an hour.
And who is just a few yards ahead of me? Jeff! Yey! I catch up to him, and I am thrilled to see him. We are both in awe of the scenery. But I also can't help bursting out "Can you believe we are done with the swim???" We spent so much time worrying and planning and wondering how it would go, and now that part is already done!
Before I know it, the screaming downhills are upon us, and a light rain has started falling. Oh boy.
It is really terrifying, the speed is nothing like what you can get from riding down Michigan hills. My bike shakes as I try not to lean on the breaks, but I can't help it, I have to keep some control.
A guy passes me on the right. On a wet, slippery, teeth-chattering fast downhill??? Really, dude?? And then he crosses in front of me! And his water bottle pops out of his cage! I stare it down willing it NOT to roll under my wheels...and I am past it. Dear God, I think I just dodged a bullet.
A few minutes of terror, and then we are in the valley. The river flanks the road, the rain has stopped, and everything shimmers vitally green. Amazing. Easy rollers, nice pavement: I am loving every minute of this ride. Jeff is still in my neighborhood, and every time we pass back and forth we comment on the scenery, and how fun this ride is. Should we be pushing harder?? I decide we are doing fine and eat a rice crispie instead. I start sipping the Infinit, I make sure to keep up my nutrition.
Then the valley ends, we make a sharp right, and there is the beginning of the hills. We are at mile 35 or so, and this slopes are no joke. Yikes! At this point I am kind of glad I can't see my speedometer, that way I won't get depressed by my dropping averages. But I still feel good, the road is smooth, and I make it a game to keep up with other riders.
Then something seems funny: this pavement is really wavy! Funny how I did not notice it when we drove the course yesterday. Could it be it's not the pavement? (Pedal, pedal, start praying...) It is my front wheel: it is flat. At mile 44 or so, I stop by an aid station and decide I need to deal with it. No panic: I have the "Pit Stop" can. I can just use that. So I do. Oh, wait...it seems to be working. Spin the wheel, make sure the sealant gets in the leaky spot...seems good to go. I top it off with half a cartridge of CO2 to make sure it is fully inflated, then I clean up the mess, get back on my bike and go. I guess I must have wasted about 5 minutes, but I have no watch, so no way to tell.
I ride on, more hills approaching. Unfortunately, the fix does not last. After a couple of miles I feel the same wavy motion. Can I stick it out until transition, where tech support might be able to help me change the tire? I go maybe one more mile, but I can feel the rim. Bite the bullet, Simona. Change that tire.
Once again, I am surprised by how calm and collected I seem to be. I flip the bike over, take off the wheel, deflate the tire completely and replace the inner tube. Riders whiz by me barely a couple of feet away, but I am absorbed by the task. Will's awesome nozzle for the CO2 cartridge saves my day (thank you, hon!), as I get to slowly inflate the tire, checking for pinched spots. Then I fill it, and it is good to go.
As I am putting the wheel back on, Jack (my faithful riding buddy through those long training days) slows to a stop and asks me if I need help. I am so so glad to see him. "I am good. I got it done. But thanks for asking. Have a good ride." And he is off. There is nothing like the feeling that someone has got your back when you are in a pickle.
I am back on the climbs. The last long climb before the Three Bears is ... a mammoth! Holy cow! By the time Mama Bear shows up it seems like a speed bump. And Papa Bear is full of people cheering and clapping: my smile is back plastered on my face. I love this ride!
I go through town, and I am about to go off on the second loop. All is good ... oh, wait ... I forgot to eat! Whoops! In the midst of dealing with mechanical trouble I got off my nutrition plan. So I down a bunch of Infinit, and some water, and a bar. I stop at the special needs bag station, pick up a new inner tube (who knows what could happen??), CO2, and I pour a bottle of tea into my Speedfill tank. Yey caffeine!! Then I eat some more after the downhills.
Pretty soon I go from feeling a little underfed to being bloated. Ouch! This calls for a pit stop: ready volunteer grabs my bike on the fly and I am in and out of that porta-potty in less than two minutes (I am guessing here...). I grab half a banana and go. Feeling better, I decide to push on the flats in the valley. I am flying, baby! Then the turn comes, and the hills begin again. And I am really tired. So so tired ... Whoops! Maybe I should have waited a bit longer to push...but I was so eager to make up time from changing the tire...still, I get to the Bears. Mama, Baby, Papa, and we are back in town. On the curve I see Will: "Hi honey!" And before I know it I am in T2, some terrific volunteer grabs my bike, and I am off to the changing tent.
T2
This transition goes more smoothly than the first one. The volunteer helping me is so nice she ends up hugging me to put on my race belt, even though I am a dirty, sweaty mess. I grab my Garmin and look forward to getting a sense of my pace. I spray on sunscreen, though the weather has been overcast. You never know. Gels in the back pocket, and I am off.
The Run
As Dede (Griesbauer) had predicted at the clinic on Friday, the first few miles are awesome. I see Tarra and wave. "I had a flat tire. Can you believe it??" (It was the first time this season, after riding hundreds of miles. Luck of the draw.)
First there are the big downhills out of town ("Hi Lewis and Nicole!"). Then comes the curve by the ski jumps and a lovely flat stretch with a gorgeous view of the open valley. My legs feel surprisingly good: I am a gazelle gliding smoothly, and even with walks at the aid stations, I am averaging 8:24m/m. (Thank you Kelly for all those off-the-bike runs! You are a genius x2!) First 5k of the marathon is done. Sweet.
I do start to feel a little stitch in my right side. The bloating from the bike binge is not wholly gone, so I decide to take it easier. But my new secret weapon (new...?...can you tell something is wrong..?) is in my hand: a flask of Napalm (Infinit's answer to gels) that I just got after hearing Dede sing its praises, and that is going to turn me into Chrissie-Mirinda-Leanda. So I start sipping. Then I take in some water at the next aid station. Then I sip some more.
Uhm...the stitch is gone, but my whole stomach kind of hurts now...a few more sips...walk some more and sip water...pretty soon I feel as if I just had two bowls of chili: bloated and slightly nauseated.
I am at mile 8, and I am not feeling so good, but I keep going. I try to run between aid stations, walking on the hills, but often I have to walk more than I want to. It's mile 11 and I have given up on the Napalm, but I hoping the second bottle of tea in my special needs bag will revive me. And we are back into town.
I drop the Napalm in the special needs bag and reach for the tea, while mentally atoning for my rookie mistake of using a new gel on race day. I shuffle along to the turn around, and I keep downing the tea, hoping the caffeine will work wonders again. Uhm...why isn't this bloating going away?? For some reason, though I have to pee (forgive the TMI for a second) and I usually would do so while I am walking, but today I can't. I really don't feel good.
But, hey, who is that up there? Could it be... Jeff? Yep. Ok, at least now my misery has some company. We start again to do a back and forth, using each other as motivation to keep running. Then I see Jason too, and at least I can say that for the remainder of the race I was in good company.
The three of us suffer together, sometimes too exhausted to do anything but give each other a thumbs up of encouragement. But that's all it takes. I make another pit stop to relieve the liquid overload, and for a mile or so I am feeling stronger.
Then I meet my bonk. Ouch. When I get too tired to run even the flats, Jeff suggests drinking some Coke. Fizzy drinks when I am already bloated?? But, what the heck, I am willing to try anything... and it works! I start feeling a bit better. I shuffle along.
Before we know it, we are at mile 23, then 24, and we are back in town. Jeff actually runs up the steep hills (incredible!), but I catch him later on the out-and-back. Mile 25: I can hear the finish line announcer. Mile 26: "Come on, Jeff, we got this! Let's get in together!" But his generosity gives me one more push: "Go on Simona, you are so strong, go for it!" And I do.
I am entering the oval. I am in disbelief. I am flying (or at least it feels like it, but after 140 miles my speedometer might be a bit off...) and I turn the curve. There it is: the blue finish arch with the clock. I cannot believe my eyes. I am actually going to do this. I am finishing an Ironman. And then he says it: "Simona Goi, from Grand Rapids, Michigan, you are an Ironman!!" I pump my fists in the air, I am smiling bigger than I ever thought possible. I am done! Thank you God!
Two more angelic volunteers grab each of my arms on their shoulders and gently walk me to get my medal, my space blanket and then to a chair. They keep asking if I am ok, but I am much much better than ok: I am ecstatic! Tired and hungry (yes, I would love some pizza!), but absolutely thrilled.
I am an Ironman.
So that is the account of my race, but the whole story would have to include much more: the months of training, Kelly's carefully planned workouts, the long rides, the anxiety over injuries, and the worry over mechanical issues, the patience of husband, family and friends with all the times I could not I was off on yet another training sessions. But rather than recount all of that, let me sum up a few things I learned from my Ironman experience.
1) Trust your coach. If you have as wonderful a coach as I did, you are in good hands. She knew exactly how much hard work and how much rest I needed. She was a great listener and always ready to adjust the plan to unforeseen events (sprained toe, anyone??). She was tirelessly encouraging and firmly grounded in the best exercise science. I could not have had a better coach. Thank you Kelly.
2) This is not a special lesson, but even after 5 years of doing triathlon, I still had not learned it: do NOT do ANYTHING NEW on race day!! Nothing. Not even if an inspiring, funny pro woman triathlete swears that this gel has turned her into a cheetah. Stick to your plan.
3) Practice changing a tire. I am no mechanical wizard, far from it. But the day before IM Lake Placid, I put on brand new tires on both wheels. It was great practice. By chance, I read the instructions on the box of a new inner tube, and on race day, on that hill with dozens of riders zipping by me, I remembered to inflate the tube a bit and put it in the tire before putting the tire on the wheel. And it worked. Go figure.
4) Do such a big race with friends. First of all, it is much easier to get through the long hours of training if you get to chat, joke, and chase the fastest riders in your group. But most importantly, I got a big boost of energy from seeing familiar faces on the course. Cheering them on made me feel stronger and reminded me of the celebration to come. Their cheers gave me a boost when I was at my lowest points.
5) Try to worry less, and enjoy the journey more. I was truly amazed by my ability to deal with unforeseen obstacles, to handle some of my most feared eventualities with calm and competence. I wish I had spent less time being anxious, and more time trusting myself to handle the unexpected.
6) Make sure you can enjoy the journey TO Ironman, not just the goal of finishing. It is too long and unpredictable a race to know what might happen. The day before we started the weather forecast included thunderstorms in the early morning, which meant the swim (or maybe the whole race?) could be canceled. We all dreaded the thought, and we were fortunate that it did not materialize. But there are too many things that could interfere with your expectations to make it an all-or-nothing proposition. I am happy I had multiple goals: an ideal time goal, a good time goal, and just finishing my first Ironman. But mostly I knew I had loved the training, and I could only hope to put it to good use on race day. I was lucky. I had a really good day.
Hi, I'm Simona and I'm an Ironman.
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