How Mo Went to Canada, and Returned Home an Ironman – Ironman Canada 2004
Click here for the version with pictures: Mo’s Race Report – IMC 2004
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Just a generally long-ass day. Mike picked me up at 5:30 a.m., and we loaded the car and drove to get Marissa. We were parked and in the terminal by 6:00 – among the first on the team to arrive. I thanked Mike for indulging my anal tendencies and need to get there so early (I am so my father’s daughter it is not even funny).
We were on the plane by 7:30 – I sat between Ananda and Andrea. The flight was short, and we arrived in Vancouver in no time. Somehow, Andrea, Jen and I were the last ones on the team to make it through customs, and as we wandered out, we commented that we wished we had people there to greet us with signs. Wish granted: up ahead, I saw two signs that said “Go Iron Mo!” (not being terribly awake, I thought, “oh, wow, someone else named Mo!”). Or not. It was my parents! They’d arrived in Vancouver the night before, and decided to come to the airport that morning to greet the team. And greet them they had – as soon as they saw anyone wearing anything that said Ironteam, they’d started yelling and cheering. They were minor celebrities. I was so surprised, I couldn’t believe it. Marissa wondered if this meant I would get out of the bus ride (nice try, and I tried, but my parents had another night in Vancouver and didn’t want me there for it!). We visited for a few minutes, and my dad bought me some snacks, and then they took off for their day of sightseeing.
The bus arrived, and we boarded and began our LONG drive to Penticton. It took six hours. We stopped after two or so, and went into a Safeway to get lunch. Didn’t roll into Penticton until well after 5 p.m. – hundreds of miles and two movies (Almost Famous, and The Wedding Singer) later. It rained for most of the way, but as soon as we neared Penticton, it stopped, and we saw two giant rainbows arching over Lake Okanagan. One of them ended at our hotel. This had to be a good omen! As soon as we arrived, we had to pick up our bikes and schlep them to our rooms. Dinner, unpacking, and some Olympic diving on French TV – we were in bed by 10:30.
Friday, August 27, 2004
Up early, breakfast at 7, and mini-workout at 8. We rode for 20 minutes, and then went for a 10-minute run. After finishing the “workout,” we drove over to registration.
Registration is like the inquisition. First we stood in a line and double-checked our registration information (name, address, etc). Then we were weighed, shoeless; our weights were recorded on the info sheet (in the case of dehydration at the end, you would be re-weighed to see what percentage of your body weight you had lost). I weighed 8 pounds less than I expected. I think the scale was wrong, but at least now I can pretend I weigh less than Lance Armstrong! Next we stood in a new line to get our bracelet (this is like Lo-Jack for athletes) – the bracelet has to stay on your wrist for the entire duration of the week. It identifies you as an athlete, and allows you into any “secured” areas. The volunteer (Shirley) who put mine on told me about someone she knew who had left his bracelet on until Christmas last year. Several of my friends left theirs on for a few weeks following Ironman USA last month. Next Shirley went through all of my race numbers (there were about 17), bags (5 – one each for dry clothes, swim to bike, bike to run, special needs bike and special needs run) and told me where on my body, bike, and helmet all the stickers needed to go. She also gave me the entry form for 2005, all filled out. I cried. She gave me a hug and I went to the next line.
The next line was “chip activation” – we waved our ankle timing chips over a sensor and they registered all of our data. Goody bags (sponsor junk), carbo load tickets, and finally, out of the tent.
We signed up for Monday massage appointments (they sell out on Friday), and wandered around buying all sorts of things (fleece jacket, shirts, hat, they even sell Ironman thongs (!)). It felt weird to buy anything before completing the race, but all of the “good stuff” sells out quickly.
The rest of the day went by quickly – we met at the Lake for a quick swim at 2 p.m. – oh my god the water is SO WARM compared to the Bay – and were in and out in 10 minutes (it took longer to get there and get into our wetsuits!). My parents arrived around 4:30, and the team met at 5:30 for a picture.
Now Wayne was in the military for six years, and boy does it show. I have never been part of a picture production quite like this (line-ups, side views, and arrangement by height. We were neatly ordered and filed, and all parents, significant others, and friends lined up on the opposite side to take our picture). We do look pretty nice. My parents wandered out in complete uniform – they had made t-shirts to match their sign that said “Go Iron Mo” on them. It was not hard to miss them!
We walked over to the Penticton Convention Center (who knew) to the Ironman Carbo Load. The lines were long, but the food was pretty good considering it had been mass-produced for 4,000 people (either that or I was just really hungry. Probably both.). There was a program, but I don’t remember much of it. I do remember them announcing that the fabulous Lori Bowden was no longer going to race; she’d been caring for her dear friend Kendra Holmes who has Leukemia. I later found out from Whitney that Kendra is a new Ironteam Honoree. We snuck out somewhere near the end and I caught a ride with Kris back to the hotel.
Wayne led a great relaxation session on the lawn (great except I am allergic to grass), and we were in bed by 9:30, asleep by 10. Friday night’s sleep is the “most important” for a Sunday race, and I was psyched to sleep in on Saturday. I slept soundly until 8:30, and would have slept longer but my hungry stomach woke me up!
Saturday, August 28, 2004
A day of many things to be done, many tears, nerves, and staying off our feet. We ate breakfast (have I mentioned how great the breakfast at this hotel was? The best waffles ever, this side of Wellesley. And free!), and rode our bikes and our bags over to have them checked. (We had to check in our bikes, swim-to-bike bag, and bike-to-run bags all on Saturday). All bikes are checked by mechanics before they are allowed into transition, and I asked one to adjust my seat height one last time; I prayed it was accurate.
I set up my bike (assigned name and number on the rack, they leave nothing to chance!), and put a shower cap on the seat to keep out the dew (thank you, Izumi!). Hung my run bag on the run hook (again, a numbered hook just for me), and then did the same for the bike bag. We went to the mandatory athletes meeting (most of which I don’t remember because I had to pee the entire time, but there was a very funny video about the course at the beginning from Roch Huddle and Paul Frey…or is it Roch Frey and Paul Huddle….I forget, but they were really funny.). We skipped out of the meeting a little early, and went to the TNT lunch.
The lunch was at the Lakeside Resort, and the food was pretty good. Wayne spoke and (basically) read all our guests the Riot Act (aka “How to Deal with an Athlete who is 17 hours from Ironman and Probably Mere Seconds Away from a Breakdown”). He spoke to us about the journey we’d taken over the past ten months, and then we all had a chance to speak to the group. Many of us did, about our inspirations for Ironman, and how we’d come so far. I spoke about my dad, and his multiple battles, and about meeting Scott last summer, and the lasting impression he’d made on me. I tried to keep it together, which for the most part I did, but I also rambled a bit (who me?) and finally brought it back home.
After the lunch, my parents, Coach Steph, and I drove the run course, just so I could get a sense of where the hills were (ones worth walking, anyway). Steph raced IMC two years ago, so she was very helpful in pointing out parts of the course. We stopped at Safeway to buy water and a sandwich for dinner, and went back to the hotel.
More packing, and repacking, of special needs bags. I wanted to puke. I forced down half a sandwich for dinner, and then went down to the relaxation session. Terry Jordan, whose story I had read in “Becoming an Ironman” led the session; she and her husband lost their little girl Emily to leukemia in 1997. And of course, turns out Terry and Bob know Coach Wayne! Terry does “progressive relaxation” (read: hypnosis) for a living and she was fantastic. We were all sooooo relaxed by the end. Went back to the room and fell into a deep, deep sleep by 9:30 p.m. Bliss.
Ironman Day- August 29, 2004
I woke up at 3:45 a.m., just before Marissa. Both Marissa and I had slept soundly, she for 7 hours and me for 6.5. Total bliss. I made hot water in the coffee pot for oatmeal, and wolfed down three packets, trying to get in as many calories as I could tolerate. I wanted to vomit. We got the wake up call at 4, and a secondary wake up call at 4:05, a generous gesture from the hotel “just in case.”
There wasn’t too much we needed to do to get ready, since the only bags we had left were dry clothes, wetsuit, and special needs for bike and run. We put on our swimsuits, heartrate monitors, warmup clothes (and for some reason I thought some deodorant would help me out), and stretched a little in the room. 4:45 arrived in no time, and we gave one last look around the room and left.
Wayne drove us down to the start on the first shuttle. Me, Marissa, Kris, Alex, Gina, Joe, and Siona. All athletes, and Siona to calm. He dropped us off on the corner, we waved bon voyage, and Wayne drove back to the hotel to grab another load of ‘kids.’
First stop, body marking. Even the markers were in incredible order – all by number. I was marked first, then Marissa, both by a nice lady who took our picture when she was done. Numbers on the front of both shins, and both shoulders, and age on the back of my calf.
We walked down the block to the rows of special needs boxes – also in line by race number. Bike special needs in one box, run special needs in the boxes on the other side of the street.
I had made a list (of course) of things to do before the start, and that included attaching my aerobottle to my bike, adding a tube of endurolytes to my bike jersey, and getting into the wetsuit. Marissa and I walked into transition, each to our bikes, and went about our business: shower caps off the bike seats, pump the tires, flask of Perpetuem into the bento box. Etc etc etc. So much to do. At 6:15, we realized we’d better get into the port-a-potty line again; all of transition had to be emptied by 6:30. We cut it pretty close, but made it through in time, and struggled into our wetsuits. Now I was nervous.
We saw Kamal, and walked with him out of transition and on the long march down Lakeshore. It was a funny sight: over 2100 triathletes, all barefoot and wearing caps and wetsuits, walking slowly and silently towards a giant peach at the end of the block.
There was a logjam and we stalled; Kamal, who, in doing his 5th Ironman, knew expertly how to move around people and get to the front of the line. In our move, we ran into Colorado Jeff, who was kissing goodbye to his wife, and Kris. The five of us walked through the inflatable “swim start” arch and over the timing mat. We were on the beach.
I wanted to vomit. I started to cry. We saw Wayne, with a big “We love Ironteam 04” sign that had a picture of the team on it. We saw Marissa’s parents, and Siona, and Dannielle and Whitney. As usual, Whitney was videotaping, and she caught me crying on tape. I walked back to the camera to explain that I was not crying from nervousness and fear, but from joy. That was partly true. I couldn’t believe that it was here. After all this waiting and training, more than two years since the day I first thought “maybe, just maybe, I could do that” – it was here.
We moved down to the shore, and put on the goggles and the caps. Saw Julie, Leann, Joe, and David. We all hugged, then did a little swim out and back (1 minute, tops), just to see if the goggles were leaking. They weren’t. One more hug for Marissa, then “O Canada.” I was still crying.
The cannon went. It was here.
The Swim
The swim start reminded me a bit of running a marathon. All this preparation and anticipation, and we were going nowhere. Marissa and I had positioned ourselves midway back in the pack, and further to the left than to the right (the beach was about 200 yards long, and was at least 20-30 people deep for the entire length of it). It meant we’d swim a bit further than those who started on the very right and in the front, but there would be less bashing. Or so I hoped.
I began to swim with 1:15 on my watch. Just put my head down and went. I couldn’t believe it. I was doing an Ironman! Holy shit! And I wasn’t getting hit in the head! We’d done so many practice starts with Wayne, getting bashed by teammates, just so we’d know how to swim forward and not panic when we were hit by flailing and thrashing body parts. The first length was about 1700 yards long, and went by much more quickly than I’d anticipated.
I made the first turn, and then the bashing began. I got a punch (or a kick, not sure) to my left chin. My goggles stayed on, which was really the only thing I was worried about, so I kept on going. I could see 10 or so people on the boat, and I caught sight of the fin of one scuba diver beneath (they have divers at all the turns and elsewhere throughout the course for safety. Some of my friends saw the whole person and waved at them). I was in a good draft pack, and so felt like I was moving along at a pretty good rate of speed. My goggles started to leak on the left side, and rather than stop and fix them, I just kept breathing to the right. Every so often, I’d breathe on both sides, and close my eyes as I rolled. All I could think of was Izumi and her corneal abrasion from last year at IM USA – that was the last thing I wanted to have happen. I finally couldn’t stand it anymore, and stopped to readjust; I did so quickly, and on an upstroke for a breath. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. As I started to swim again, I got bashed on the right chin. At least now I was even.
The buoys were numbered, and I tried to remember what distance was between them. I convinced myself it was 200 meters, so by my count, there ought to be 19 buoys for 3.8 km. I quickly realized that was wrong. No matter, it was probably close. As I neared the end of the second (and longest – about 1800 yards – leg), I caught sight of the Lakeside Resort Hotel on shore. I could see it! Holy shit. I was going to do this!!! I started grinning under water. This probably increased my drag, but I didn’t care.
I made the last turn, knowing there were less than 700 yards to shore. I was out of the draft, and looked around to either side, trying to find a group to get back into. I didn’t see one close enough to bridge to, so I kept swimming forward. 19, 20, 21, 22……that was it…the last buoy! (n.b., I was right on the 200 per buoy….it was just yards and not meters…..22 buoys = 4400 yards = 2.4 miles….yeah, math under water is great. What I want to know is, if I spent all this time remembering the freaking metric system so I can go do a race in Canada, why do they turn around and do it all American on me?).
I swam further in until my hands hit the sand. I scooped some water into the neck of my suit, stood up, and looked at my watch. 1:17:50. 2:10 under my goal of 1:20:00! Yahoo!!! I stumbled through the few feet of water and up to the timing mat, all the while trying to undo my zipper so I could get to the peelers. My TNT tag came off, and I spent a moment trying to understand what that meant (it meant the zipper was still entirely up!).
I ran onto the timing mat at 1:18:23.
T1
“Peelers” are a phenomenon entirely unique to Ironman. This is a coveted volunteer spot. They do just what they say: they peel your wetsuit from your body. I was shoved past the timing mat with my wetsuit already to my waist, and had two peelers shout at me, “You! Down on the ground, now!” That scared me; I complied. “Hips up!” I complied. My left hamstring began to cramp, and I panicked. One peeler grasped me at the waist, the other at the feet. They pulled. Off came the wetsuit. They helped me up, and handed me the suit.
“Run!”
Run where? Again I was shoved me in the right direction, and I ran down my row, to grab my bike bag from its hook. Now where?? This was pandemonium. I was directed into the women’s change tent, and sat down into a chair. I saw Marissa run in, then Julie. We’d all come out of the water within a minute of each other.
T1 is the longest, because you have so many things to do. Shorts, shirt, socks, shoes, gloves, glasses, helmet. I put it all on, and “my” volunteer made sure none of my carefully packed items fell out of the pockets. I strapped on my race number, and waddled out of the tent, looking for sunscreen (the very nice volunteer put all of my things back into the bag). I passed the sunscreen appliers – again, they do this for you! – and a woman with plastic food service gloves on her hands slapped sunscreen all the way down my legs and arms. She put a dab on my face and told me to rub it in myself. I did.
The Bike
I ran down the row where my bike was hooked and grabbed it, then ran out to the bike exit. There was a little traffic at the bike mount area, so I found myself a spot, hooked into a pedal, and hopped on. I was on the bike!
The bike lasted just over 7 hours for me (including two potty stops – both of which I had to wait in line for – and a stop at special needs), so I will spare you the many, many random thoughts that passed through my head during this time. A few highlights:
My friends Marnie and Meg compiled an AWESOME psych-up cd for Marissa and me before we left. I mean, fantastic. Every song I heard, I’d think “no they did not” because it was so perfect, and so funny. Of 18 songs on that cd, what do you think I had stuck in my head THE ENTIRE DAMN DAY??? Ohh you betcher ass: Olivia Newton John, “Let’s Get Physical.” Next time you think YOUR ride is long, just for a moment imagine the depths of my torture that day!!
There are two significant climbs on the IMC bike course. One is at Mile 45, Richter Pass. The other comes around Mile 95, at Yellow Lake. The climb to Richter was a joke. I passed no less than 20 people on the first climb. There were tons of people lining the sides, and it was awesome. The descent was fast, and then – another climb. I had neglected to realize that Richter Pass actually consisted of four separate climbs. None of them were that bad, but put together, they did take a bit of a toll. On the final climb of Richter, I caught up to Liz Holmes, and she told me how her day had been (she’d been stung by a bee early in the ride and the medics had told her to go to the hospital in Keremeos. Yes, that was helpful since she DIDN’T KNOW WHERE KEREMEOS WAS – oh, and she was doing an Ironman besides!).
The descent was fast (44 mph) and awesome; it dropped us down into a gorgeous valley with mountains all around – the biggest mountain was straight ahead and possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It was amazing. I was doing an Ironman!!!
I spent 30 miles or so climbing and riding with another Maureen (the Ironman race bibs have your name on your number, and you can choose to wear either your first name, or your last name. I figured my last name would invite Atkins Diet jokes, so I stuck with the first name. For the bike, you wear it on your backside, so the marshals can see you when they are riding around. While cool, can also be a bit disconcerting, as people can ride up behind you and say “go Maureen” and you have no idea who they are, and as you are DOING AN IRONMAN, you tend to forget that you actually are wearing your name on your back.). The other Maureen and I jockeyed back and forth, and we talked a bit as we passed. She asked me where I was from. She was from Denver, but used to live in San Francisco. That was funny, since I was the exact opposite! She swims now at DU, and knew the names of my friends Erin and her (Ironman stud) husband, Kirk.
Special needs was at mile 75, after an interminable (I had been warned) out-and-back section. The out-and-back was fun only because I got to see others on the team, and see how far behind or ahead they were compared to me. Marissa was kicking my ass – ahead by at least 15 minutes. Smoking! My special needs bag contained wheat thins (I’d been dreaming about them since Mile 40), Pringles, and an assortment of spare tubes, a spare tire, Co2 cartridges, endurolytes, and two more flasks of Perpetuem. A spotter called my number into a megaphone, so by the time I had rounded the corner, a volunteer had my bag ready. I stopped to dump everything out of it, took what I needed (Perpetuem, wheat thins, endurolytes), dumped my pockets (empty flasks), and left the rest. My stomach was beginning to churn, and I prayed it was not going to turn on me. I still had quite a long way to go.
The climb up to Yellow Lake is also not hard, but it comes at a hard part of the day. I was tired. My legs were tired. And supposedly, I was going to hop off this bike and run a marathon. I tried not to think about that. I rode near Kevin from the South Bay for a while, and we traded positions back and forth. I tried to eat, tried to drink, and took my endurolytes. Kirk had promised me that the IMC bike was “just like a 90-mile bike ride,” because the last 20 miles or so was all downhill. Mile 90 came and went, and there was no downhill in sight. I cursed Kirk in my head. I will buy him a calculator.
Around Mile 95, spectators began to say this was the final climb (finally!). I was crawling, but I also felt like I was in the Tour de France; cars were parked down the middle of the road, people yelled and screamed, signs were everywhere, the road was painted and chalked. I saw Marissa’s parents, and her dad stepped into the road and took my picture. As I reached the summit, I saw Siona, dancing up and down like a madwoman. I was so happy to see her, and now I was so close to the end. I cried. And of course, since I was crying, there again was Whitney with the video camera. They told me there was one more little hill to get through. I saw a sign telling me to do it for Scott, for Cole, for Louie. I would.
I cruised down and began to climb the last, and now promised final, hill; I saw one more sign, asking me, “what would Louie do?” I wondered. Louie would hit it. Coach Wayne had promised he’d be at Mile 100, so I kept listening for the cow bell. Finally, I heard it. I smiled like I had way back when that morning, under the water. I was doing an Ironman!!! I saw Wayne, and I yelled out to be recognized. He gave me a high five and the whole contingent cheered. I screamed down the hill, past all of the traffic that was backed up, going 40 mph. Awesome. I tried to go faster, but that was all I could get. Good enough. I was home free.
T2
As I came back down Main Street, I thought we had another loop on Lakeshore. This wasn’t the case, so I found myself being funneled to the dismount line more quickly than I had anticipated. I hopped off, and a volunteer took my bike. She pointed me in the right direction, and I ran to where the row of run bags were hanging. I grabbed my bag, and went back into the change tent. It felt fantastic to get my feet out of those bike shoes. I changed my shorts and shirt, and shoved a flask of Hammer Gel, inhaler, and some stomach meds into my shirt. I put some Body Glide onto the soles of my feet, put on new socks, and shoved my feet into my shoes. On went the hat, and back on went the number belt (this time with the number in the front). I started to repack my bag, and my sweet volunteer admonished me, “honey, that’s what we’re here for! You get going!” I did.
I swung by the port-a-potty (there was still toilet paper! Holy Miracle! What a small thing, but wow was I psyched about that) and ran out the gate. (though I did I double back for some watermelon. Awesome, yummy, so sweet watermelon. It tasted fantastic.) I was on the run!
The Run
The first part of the run was a blur. We did almost the same out and back that we’d done on the bike (just a bit shorter), so it was appx 2 km along Lakeshore. At the end of the first mile, we hit a timing chip (to make sure we weren’t cutting corners) – I later found out my time for the first mile was 9:12 (not bad for just swimming 2.4 mi and riding 112!). As I ran out onto Main Street, I watched the third and fourth place professional males coming in for the end of their races. They were flying. The streets were lined with families and friends, cheering, hollering, banging pots and pans. It was awesome.
Around mile 2, I started running with two women. Soon one faded, and the other and I began to chat. We seemed to have the same pace, and she seemed nice. We introduced ourselves (Shannon, from Orange County, CA), and talked about our days, relieved that after so much time on the bike, it was finally “legal” to talk to someone without fear of being penalized by the race marshals. I didn’t realize it then, but we would spend the next four and a half hours together.
Around mile 3, Lisa Bentley flew by. We cheered “Go Lisa!” and she smiled at us. She went on to win the women’s race in 9:16:02. Fifteen minutes later, we saw Joanna Zieger. She flew into second at 9:28:57. Wow. (I later found out that Zieger’s swim for the day smashed the course record to pieces. She swam 2.4 miles in 47 minutes and 36 seconds. Good god!)
As the pros ran towards home, we were still headed out. We neared the Safeway where my parents were stationed, and I joked to Shannon that I wondered if they would recognize me this time (they had almost missed me when I came in on the bike, cheering “Go Team!” til I shouted “MOM!!” and they realized it was me). This time they did. They cheered and hollered, and it felt like we flew.
As the miles passed, we talked more about our day, our coaches and our training, and how we’d arrived at the starting line of this crazy thing called Ironman. Our lives were more similar than we’d imagined, and we found that our marathon PRs were within five seconds of each other (unbelievably close, considering the distance), both gained while trying to qualify for Boston, Shannon at Chicago and me at CIM.
We walked through every aid station, grabbing water, and sponges, and passing on the fruit, pretzels, and other offerings. We promised ourselves we would wait to start the flat Coke (ok, it was Pepsi, but we pretended it was Coke) until Mile 16, both because it gave us something to look forward to, and because once you start, you have to keep on it or you will crash (sugar and caffeine will do that…).
The miles passed. This wasn’t a marathon, this was 26 one-mile repeats. Around Mile 8, I saw Marissa up ahead, and we began to keep her in our sight. After a few more miles, we caught up to her, and as we passed through an aid station, I began to yell an inside joke at her back. She didn’t turn around, so I yelled again. And again. She finally turned and grinned. I introduced her to Shannon, and we all ran together.
Shannon and I inched ahead. When we got to the first big hill at mile 11, we decided to walk. We walked up it as quickly as we could. We got to the top, and I had an asthma attack. I felt myself panic and struggled to breathe. Nice. I used my inhaler, the panic subsided, and we started running again.
For the first ten miles, our pace averaged about 9:30. Fantastic – we were well on pace to finish the marathon in about 4:20:00. At some point, however, the time started to slip. My heartrate monitor kept us honest, and we slowed down whenever it beeped and said we should.
At 13.1, we hit the turnaround, and the special needs area. My special needs bag for the run was not nearly as exciting as it was for the bike. All it contained was a long-sleeved shirt, another flask of Hammer Gel, some Aquaphor (like Body Glide) and some wet wipes. Who knew – wet wipes were the best idea ever (thank you, Marissa). After an entire day of sweat, bugs, salt, and general nastiness, an antibacterial wet-wipe was the greatest treat possible. I gave my spare to Shannon, and she literally squealed with delight.
We passed a large TNT cheering contingent – Maria and her daughters; Maren, Jen, Julie, and some more of Marissa’s friends. They hollered. We smiled. We struggled up the hill.
Shannon had a bag of goldfish crackers, which sounded great, but I was afraid of what they might do to my stomach. We passed a “Cops for Cancer” racer with a bag of gummy bears. I declared him my new best friend, and grabbed a few. They were fantastic.
We continued to pass people, which was an amazing feeling. We met a 64-year old woman named Mae, who did the entire thing in her Speedo, and went on to claim yet another age-group spot for Kona (she beat us by 15 minutes). We ran with a 68 year old man, who’d pass us, grinning and shuffling, and then tell us he’d see us again at the next aid station. I think he smoked us. We met more cops, and some of the (101 strong) Mexican contingent. We met a man who told us how good we looked, and he did not mean our runs (we suspected he needed glasses, as we looked pretty disgusting by now). We saw spectators with wooden cows, with 40s, with a t-shirt that read “my husband rocks!”, with pint-sized beers and freshly grilled hamburgers, and full-grown men wearing blonde wigs, “Ironman” bikinis and skirts. We saw it all. And they were all still out there, cheering for us.
The sun began to set around Mile 16. Mile 16 was the magic number: the long-awaited Coke. I never knew flat Coke would taste so good. It was incredible. The sunset was beautiful. We were doing an Ironman!!
The miles continued to go by. Time passed. We walked a large hill at 20 or 21, knowing it was the last big one out there. I had another asthma attack, though this time I was too tired to panic. Again I used my inhaler. We continued, and town got closer.
At Mile 23, we passed a group of people on their porch. “Go Quinn!”(Shannon’s last name) “Go Maureen!” They paused. “Wait….are you Iron Mo???” Oh dear god. My parents had been here! I laughed and admitted that indeed, I was. They cheered even more loudly. We smiled, and kept running.
By Mile 24, we were well into downtown, and could see the Lakeside Hotel at the very end of the stretch. That was the goal. The Aid Station at Mile 24 didn’t have any chicken broth, nor did 25, so we passed them both.
With 2km to go, we turned back onto Lakeshore Drive. We were really going to do this! We just had the out-and-back, and that was it. We were really going to do this! As we made the turn, I heard my dad yell my name. The sidelines of Lakeshore were just packed with people, and we heard our names again and again, from people that we knew, and those we didn’t. The energy of the crowd was unbelievable. I saw Fred heading back the other way, headed for the finish line. I faintly heard the announcer anoint Jeff Sankoff, then Jacqueline, then Cullin. I screamed for each of them. They all came in within seconds of each other. Just before the 1km to go turnaround, we saw Shannon’s boyfriend Doug, and he got us on video. We screamed, we smiled, we hugged, and we hollered. We crossed the “don’t you cheat” mat for the last time. Our chips beeped. We were headed home. On the last stretch, Ananda jumped out into the road, and gave me a high five. I don’t know the time for that last split, or for any of the last miles, but we were flying – down to an 8:30 mile at least.
I don’t remember very much about the last 300 yards, or the finish line. The lights were very bright. I heard my dad yell my name, and I heard both of Marissa’s parents. But I couldn’t see them, and I didn’t look up or around to try and find them. My eyes were glued straight ahead, with the focus only on the line. I wondered if I should take off my hat, and then decided my hair would be pretty gross (come on, I am still a chick). Shannon pulled ahead, and was 10 steps in front of me. I watched her cross the tape, and then the next two volunteers quickly put the tape back up for me. I put my arms up, and felt the tape hit my waist as I crossed. I vaguely heard the announcer and he cried out “Here comes Maureen Atkins from San Francisco, California – and you are an Ironman!”
I was an Ironman.
The Aftermath
After crossing, the scene was chaos. Someone put the medal around my neck; the ribbon was cool and had the Canadian maple leaf on it. Shannon had waited for me, and we exchanged hugs; then she disappeared into the crowd. A volunteer pulled off my timing chip. Another volunteer gave me my finisher’s schwag – and asked for my t-shirt size. I struggled to think, and remember and say ‘medium. I was surprised at how much stuff there was (hat, towel, and t-shirt). My hands were full, and another volunteer (Dave? Doug? Don? Something with a D, he had on glasses and was very kind) guided me through it all.
He led me onto the grass, and I immediately wanted to sit down. I sat, and there was Joan and Colorado Jeff. Mr. D went to get me some Gatorade and some chicken broth. I took a sip of the Gatorade and immediately wanted to vomit. My world started to spin, and I put my head between my knees. At least if I was going to pass out, I was here with Jeff (an ER doctor). I drank the broth, and decided I needed to lie down.
Mr. D. spread out a foil blanket, and I laid down on the grass and put my legs up onto the chair. That felt pretty good, and I stayed there a few minutes before deciding I was ready to get up. We finally convinced the volunteer that he could leave me in Joan’s care, so he did, and Joan and I walked to the massage line.
I stood in line for a few minutes, excited at the prospect of a massage. Too excited, apparently, because I started to sway and again decided I would really, really like to vomit. I sat down in a chair (conveniently there were several chairs in the line – these volunteers really know what they’re dealing with); another volunteer had watched this happen and pulled me up and told me we were going to take a little walk to the med tent “just to make sure.” Joan came with me, standing in for my mom as best she could.
They wouldn’t let Joan into the tent, but she stayed just outside the barricades where I could see her. A nurse took my pulse and asked me a bunch of questions, and another volunteer ran off to get some broth. I drank 3 or 4 cups of chicken broth (it is not even good, it just tasted that way), and sat there. I saw some pretty messed up people being trucked in – people who looked gray, or pasty, two or three people on stretchers, etc. And I was just dizzy! I needed to get out of here. A whole group of people across the way was sitting in a circle, each with a bucket. Gross (I will spare you what they were doing with the buckets, as I am sure you can imagine it yourself.) I imagined this was like MASH, but in triathlon form. Beyond the triage area, there was an entire room full of stretcher beds (called “Walking Wounded”) and athletes occupied almost all of them.
After 10 or 15 minutes, I decided I would attempt to get sprung, and pleaded my case with my nurse. Just by my ability to plea, she decided I was fine and set me free. Hooray. My teammate Tom came in just as I was leaving – he looked gray and I wondered if he knew who I was.
Joan and I wandered back out through the chaos, and I asked her if Marissa had finished. She had, and I saw her sitting on a chair in front of me. We hugged, and cried, relieved and excited that we had made it through the day. By now the massage line was three times as long as it had been before, and I decided it wasn’t worth the wait.
I went to the bag retrieval area and gave the volunteer my number. He returned a few minutes later to tell me that my hook was empty; my bags were gone. What?? How could that be? I asked him to look again. This was everything – my dry clothes bag, my swim gear, my bike gear. Everything. I couldn’t process this. He came back, still empty handed. He told me to go back to medical, that they would have my things there. I did, and when I wandered in the nurses wanted to know why I was back. I felt badly that I was taking time away from some really sick athletes, just because I needed my stuff. “My” nurse from before tried to find it, and said they didn’t have it, because I hadn’t been admitted to Walking Wounded. She told me to go back to the bag area. I did. No offense to my poor volunteer, but I thought maybe he’d just missed it, so I asked for someone new to look. The same guy looked again, and then two more. None of them could find it. They told me to go back to medical. I burst into tears – I was not going back to medical, again. I wailed, and then I blubbered…. “all I want is my flip flops!!!” I couldn’t stop crying, and I knew it wasn’t the volunteers’ fault. Somehow all of my gear bags had been misplaced, and I knew that it would turn up eventually, but for now I was really cold (the foil blanket had lost its warmth as my body temperature crashed), my feet hurt, and I just really, really wanted my mommy.
Marissa tried to give me her flip flops, but she had blisters and needed them much more than I did (after a day that included writhing on the ground half-naked in a wetsuit, three visits to a port-a-potty, and eating Endurolytes out of a plastic bag, I am not sure why I didn’t just go barefoot….but that was not the point). A very, very, very, very kind volunteer made it her sole mission to find my things, and she went back to medical. Sure enough, she finally found them there. She returned with all three bags; I hugged her, professed my undying love, and ripped open the dry clothes bag.
Bliss.
An hour and a half after I’d crossed the finish line, I made my way out of the transition area to the “IronMates” tent, where my poor mother had been waiting the entire time. She was so happy to see me, and promptly took my bags away from me so she could carry them. She walked and I shuffled back to the TNT tent, where my dad was waiting. We hugged and reunited, and it was a great moment. (the second I remembered my dad had a Safeway #4 sandwich for me, the reunion was over. Give me the food!)
The rest of the time in Penticton is a blur (and not just because I was drinking). Bike packing, massage, drinks by the pool, and shopping for more schwag. It was an amazing few days, and I thoroughly loved all of it. I returned home to San Francisco late Tuesday night to 17 voicemails, and 185 emails (some of them were even work-related!) Turns out my dear friend Erin, the one with Iron Husband Can’t Calculate 90 Miles Kirk, gave birth to their first child on Sunday. It was only fitting that Erin’s labor was not even 50% of the total time it took me out on the course (for God’s sakes, it was almost shorter than my marathon!). I am sure this kid will be an Ironman!
What’s next?
I’ve promised my parents (as well as my boss, my friends, and myself) I won’t do another Ironman next year (I mean, even the president stopped by my cube to congratulate me AND to make sure I knew I was nuts. And as he’s a priest, that is pretty much a dictate from God!). However, I knew without a doubt by mile 30 on the bike that I would definitely do another one. The feeling was just too fabulous, too extraordinary, to let this be the only occasion. I stood in the line for 2005 registration Monday morning, not to sign myself up, but to sign up a friend for next year. I will not “out” her here, on the very likely chance that she hasn’t yet told people herself. (AHEM, missy, you know who you are!). I plan to go back to Penticton next summer to cheer her and other friends on, and maybe (just maybe!) get myself signed up for 2006.
Thanks for all of your love and support this year. I’ve said it so many times, but I can’t say it enough: I would never have made it without you. Together, we’ve raised $18,848.30 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Our team raised $500,000. Incredibly, money keeps coming in. Thank you for your unfailing belief in me.
My teammate Whitney made shirts that the following on the back:
“140.6 miles to swim, bike, and run on sheer human strength alone.
Some people call me crazy…
Others call me Ironman.”
Yeah baby – I’m an Ironman. Thanks for the journey.
My times:
Swim 2.4 miles: 1:18:23
Transition 1: 7:21
Bike 112 miles: 7:09:21
Transition 2: 7:57
Run 26.2 miles: 4:45:27
Finish 140.6 miles: 13:28:29
What I ate:
Breakfast (4 a.m.) – 3 maple/brown sugar oatmeals (450 cal), 1 banana (100), ½ Luna Bar (90), coffee, soy milk
Swim – a little bit of Lake Okanagan water
Bike – 4 flasks Perpetuem (2100 cal), 1 Espresso Hammer Gel (100), 20 Wheat Thins (150), 150 + ounces water, appx 35 Endurolytes
T2 – 3 cubes watermelon
Run – 6 Raspberry/Vanilla Hammer Gels – til I couldn’t take it anymore (600), tons of water, Gatorade (300), Pepsi (400), More Chicken Broth than Ever Imagined, 10 Gummy Bears, appx 20 Endurolytes
Post – Even More Nasty Chicken Broth, grape Gatorade, Safeway Select #4 Sandwich (California Dreamin’, yeahaa), and 1 sip of Cam’s beer
What I burned:
I’m still too tired….so let’s just say it was a whole lot!!!
