Mo’s Wildflower 2004 – the run down
I don’t remember the conversation, but Whitney and I talked about her bike ride, the race tomorrow, and our Honorees. She mentioned Scott’s death.
What?
He died.
Thursday afternoon.
She thought I knew; I didn’t. I stood silently, not knowing what to say. I knew it was coming. But I thought it was coming after I got back, not now. What do you do? What do you say? Nothing. I yelled, and I kicked the ground and some leaves. It was so unfair. He was so young, and so full of life, and he wasn’t supposed to die. But he did.
And I was down there for a freaking triathlon? What about this is just? None of it. Was this making a farce of his life, of his death? I don’t know. I just know I was so, so pissed off.
I was still supposed to go on a short ride, so I changed into my bike clothes, and took off. I rode over and down into “the Pit” – the mile section of the run that you go down and turn around. I got off my bike near the top and stood there, looking at the Lake. All I could think of was how angry I was. I stood there for five or ten minutes, and finally got back on and rode back to camp.
I think next to cancer and leukemia and death, even Wildflower is cake. We should all be so lucky.
I woke up more times during the night than I care to remember. Fortunately, we were camped about 10 feet from the bathrooms, so I had a short pilgrimage. I woke up for the last time just before six and dressed. I made tea and oatmeal, and reflected on the difference of how I felt now compared to last year. There was no resemblance.
I collected all of my things and walked to Lynch Hill. I would have ridden down, but I had so many bags that I was afraid of tipping over; no need to crash on the way. Whitney and I got to Lynch just as a shuttle arrived, so we hopped aboard. As we boarded, I maimed a person or two with my handlebars. We passed a crash – an athlete bleeding from the head. I tried not to think about it and hoped this wasn’t commentary on the day ahead.
I looked around for Ananda for a TNT bracelet, so I could wear one for Scott. Nope. Masking tape? Nope. Jen suggested being marked on my shoulders. Good idea. Two shoulders, two iron angels. I went back to bodymarking and a volunteer wrote “For Louie” on one and “For Scott” on the other. Complete.
The pros took off, and we watched. I saw the pro men leave on their bikes, knowing this was the last I would see of them all day. A friend asked if I was nervous. Hell no. For the first time, I had no nerves whatsoever. What I did have was anger, and in abundance. We are so lucky even to have the opportunity to be out here, “suffering” as we do for sport, for whatever amount of time it takes us. Up in Redwood City, Christie was home with two beautiful young children and no husband. THAT sucks. Not the anticipation of a race.
I stood on the ramp with Karen, and Coach Chris adjusted my wetsuit. With five minutes to go, the wave in front of us gone, we dove in to warm up. The water was incredibly warm. I swam out a little bit and back, put water in the suit and on my face. Let’s go.
The gun went off, and we began. These 30-34 ladies were wicked! Kicks in the head, in the legs, everywhere. I was grateful we’d had so many start practices, so I knew how to keep my calm. Even so, thoughts of quitting entered my mind. Why am I doing this? I fought back the feeling and tears, knowing that it takes me at least 20 minutes of swimming to feel ok. Swim. Keep going. I thought I saw the buoy for the turn. I kept hitting a woman next to me in the feet, so I finally powered past her and into the open. Bridge to the next pack? I felt as though I was swimming alone, yet there were people all around.
I made the second turn, and started back, and realized I could see many caps of another color. Was I getting trampled like last year? Wait. These looked like men. In my wave? I was so confused. I kept swimming, and made the final turn back to the dock. I couldn’t wait to see my time.
I hit bottom, pulled some extra water into my suit, and stood up. 39:15.
Five minutes better than last year! I struggled to pull the down my suit as I ran up the ramp; I crossed the mat in 40’ and change.
On to the bike. I was so thirsty. Ran down to my stuff, and stepped out of the wetsuit. Took a swig of water, and pulled on my Ironteam shirt. I struggled to put it on without losing all the goodies that weigh it down – gel, inhaler, C02. I shoved my feet into socks, shoes. Helmet, gloves, glasses. Get me out of here.
I ran over the mat and hopped onto the bike. In the correct gear, thank god. Out of the chaos and onto Beach Road. Up Beach Hill – why does every hill seem to be longer the more times I ride it – and onto the main road. I realized I’d forgotten my chapstick. I swore it was in my Bento Box, but I pushed things around and didn’t see it. Damn. My lips already hurt. I looked at each of my shoulders, and Louie and Scott were still there. Maybe they could just do the ride for me.
After a few miles, I realized my speedometer had stopped working. I could see the magnet sticking out, but decided against stopping. I decided to do the entire ride based on cadence alone. What the heck – I could estimate my time on my watch, and figured this would be a good experiment. I started the Perpetuem and the Endurolytes, and felt great.
Around mile 15, I reached for my bottle, and realized I’d forgotten to zip up my shirt. Nice. I’d been giving all of the volunteers a show! (and here I thought they were cheering for me….). Oh well, at least it was cooler this way. I kept riding, and came across Joe Majka. Iron Joe! I said hi, and passed him.
Got to Jolon Road much quicker than I’d anticipated; as I made the turn, I realized Jen was right in front of me. Company! I rode up to her, and we tagged back and forth for a few miles. I was especially excited when I realized Jen started two waves before me. And I’d caught her! I was hauling.
For once, there wasn’t much of a headwind on Jolon. I settled down into my drops (what? Me?) and tried to push it. Brooke went by and yelled, and Ginger was right behind her. She yelled at me that I wasn’t supposed to be racing. I wasn’t!
A while later, I came upon Dana. Dana! I was so psyched to see her. Turned onto G14, and into “some shade” (at least this is what I had promised myself). There was not as much shade as I remembered. I was cooking. I opened up a HammerGel, thinking it would be a nice break from the Perpetuem. A little caffeine jolt to fuel up for Nasty Grade. It squirted everywhere. Nice. The biggest glob landed right on my drops. It was going to land on my gloves regardless, so I reached down and scraped it off with a finger, and ate it. It was beyond salty, and disgusting. I reasoned at least there would be less on my gloves.
As we turned onto the curve before the steel bridge, there were sprinklers watering a vineyard. There was just enough breeze that some of the mist carried over. Ahhh….bliss. Powered over the bridge, and through the last little bit of “shade” before the climb. Soon after I turned, I saw my friend Shelby in front of me. Someone to climb with, hooray! (But what the hell am I doing with Shelby, she is an awesome rider…..damn! Am I really here?) We rode past an aid station, and we both yelled out for someone to dump some water on top of us – not to drink, but to dump ON us. There was at least a quarter inch of salt all over my face (all I could think was Charlie telling me how “crusty” I get…so I took some more Endurolytes). They didn’t figure it out in time, and we didn’t get any water.
We continued to climb. There was carnage all over the road – tons of people walking. I desperately wanted to walk, but I knew Chris, Steve and Matt were going to be at the top. I had way too much pride to be caught walking! I passed Shelby, and went by the group. Their shrieks and shouts made me smile. I made the turn to the false summit, and kept on climbing. I swear to god this was shorter the last time! Chris rode up behind me, shouting encouragement; I asked him where the hell the long descent was. Shouldn’t it be here by now? He promised it was soon.
I flew down the hill – 50 mph, a record for me. This is definitely not me on the bike!!!! I couldn’t go fast enough. My left toe had been cramped since about mile 5, and this was now mile 48. This ride could not be over fast enough. I started talking to Scott. I thought I was hallucinating. There were people spread all over the road – literally, four or five people slumped under trees, resting, or done for the day. We were all a little insane.
Shelby and I came upon another aid station, and started screaming early for the water dump. These kids got it. Heaven. Shelby mentioned needing to get her head back together for the run, and I told her I could do it quickly. I told her Scott’s story. She was back.
We made the last turn onto the road into the park. So close now. I flew into the park, up the very last hill, and turned down Lynch. Descended in the drops (hello, again…this is not Maureen on the bike!). Crossed over the mat. 3:45 and change. Not super, but far better than last year, and I felt fantastic.
I ran to my stuff, and Shelby followed soon behind me. My lips were sore, and my shoulders screamed. I sprayed on more sunscreen, put on my race belt, and shoved my very numb feet into shoes. I ran past Shelby, and doubled back for her chapstick. We took off together, but she left me within a few hundred yards. No way did I have that much left. It was blistering hot.
I started walking within the first mile…thinking to myself, maybe I’d run 9’, walk 1’. That lasted two minutes. Maybe I’d walk every hill and run 5’ and walk 1’. Or not. Maybe I’d run 1 and walk 1. I felt the temperature continue to rise. The demons came out: how the hell am I ever going to get through this? Up ahead, I thought I saw Julie. Oh, please, please please…let this be Julie! I yelled out her name; after a few more screams, she turned around. Julie. Thank god. A buddy for the run.
We started walking almost immediately – GI issues for both, unbearable heat, and so many hills. Every so often, we’d jog, but it would last for a few hundred yards, and we’d walk again. The aid station at Mile 3 had a big bucket (thank you, Olympic Club) for dunking our hats. It was amazing. We got to the back side of the course, and there it was (all this buildup, definitely not a myth): The Naked Water Stop. They had been on hiatus last year due to the rain. All I remember was a dude with some sort of soccer kite wrapped around his waist, and a girl with beer cans duct-taped onto her breasts (THAT is going to hurt, my dear). Julie and I sped to a run and passed without stopping.
We walked and jogged until we got to the hill before the TNT campsites. No walking now! We dug deep for our smiles, and ran up the hill. Lots of yelling and cheering, and we tried desperately to look strong and happy. Ananda ran out and gave me a hug, and I showed her my shoulders. We kept going. Only 5 miles to go….should be cake. I think even cakes burn when it’s over 100 degrees!
Ran down into The Pit, past the turn around, and started walking back out. My stomach began to revolt – too many HammerGels, too little water, too much heat. We saw Coach April up ahead, and I looked at Julie and said, “she’s going to ask us why we’re not running.” I’d no sooner finished my sentence and April screamed “WHY AREN’T YOU RUNNING?!” We laughed, and I screamed back – “because it’s 102 degrees!!!” She shut up.
One more hill – much longer than I remembered (again!) and we reached the top of Lynch. I really wanted to puke. We turned down Lynch and started to pick it up. We turned the final corner and saw the finish. Finally. Ran through the flags, and down the chute – I saw Heather and Ellery and Jordan, all screaming and cheering. I’d never been so happy to see a finish line.
The announcer called Julie’s name, and struggled to find mine. He found my first name, but not the last (I laughed and said ‘maybe I am like Madonna and just don’t NEED a last name?’) so we crossed as “Julie Stahl and Maureen from San Francisco.”
It wasn’t nearly the feeling of unbelievable glee and joy as I had last year, but it was a much stronger feeling of relief, and pure contentment. It was over. This was definitely the most hard-fought race I’d ever done. I had no idea about my run time. It was slow; the heat and GI problems meant we walked most of it. I didn’t care. Slower than last year, but I was done.
My shoulders still screamed for Louie and for Scott. This wasn’t about me. This was for them.
I’m not sure how to reconcile the feelings of selfishness I have over triathlon, and over Ironman, with the feeling that I am trying to do something good for the cause, and for the world. Is putting a name on my shoulder really doing something? Or am I just attempting to justify my participation in the sport with a marker? I don’t know.
I later heard it was 102, and then 104. The ground temperature was 111. I was lucky to finish at all, let alone in one piece and with a smile on my face. No cramps, no sidelining GI problems, no IVs. Coaches, teammates, random people were collected off of the course, in the medical tent, medivaced out on helicopters. I’d heard that the record temps in 2001 meant that 1 in 4 people ended up with an IV. I wonder how this compared. I later saw that almost 300 people (from a field of 2500) didn’t finish. That has to be some sort of record.
On my own, or with Scott and Louie…I finished. I can’t ask for more than that. I am alive, and able to suffer as sport. We should all be so lucky.
