Mighty Man Half Ironman — October 2009
Last Jan I decided if I ran a 13.1 under 3hrs I'd sign up for the MightyMan 1/2 Iron man in Montauk. I did, and I did. I was under the impression that 10 months of training and quitting drinking would prepare me for the race. HA! If I was a serious athlete that wasn't prone to bouts of cheesecakecouchpotatoitis it would've turned out much better. I probably would've bailed on the race if it wasn't for one thing...
Last May, I won an essay contest at Event Power for a hotel room at the race. And being the cheap-o that I am I wasn't letting a free room in Montauk and a entry fee go to waste just because I was unprepared. Oh did I mention I just returned, the Wednesday before the race, from a 7 day 6 night trip to Disney World that had a free upgrade to a Villa on the meal plan. Not exactly the best way to taper. I ate cheesecake just about every night. I think I was in denial about the race. It was coming, and I was f'd.
I keep diluting myself... I am willful with a high (ahem), low tolerance for pain. I can push myself through anything (ahem), some stuff. I've had kids naturally (ahem), oh right... I had two epidurals with Demerol chasers — so they tell me. But I can do this... after a week at Disney and half-assed training. No problem.
You can see where my head was for this race... Cinderella's Castle.
I get out to the Hotel Friday night. Kids, husband and coolers (cause we are tapped out from the Disney trip and my kids eat only cereal and peanut butter and jelly and I'll be damned if I'm buying PB&J for $9.00 a sandwich at some swanky Montauk diner. (I'm cheap, remember)).
We walk into the room. It is completely beautiful and chic and modern. Everything is white and it has amazing lighting turning everything blue and pink. It was created for double income no kids (DINK) Manhattanites. It's about 200 sqft and built for snuggle lovin'.
The 4 year old Long Island world traveling diva that I call my daughter, (She's been to Maine, Rhode Island and to Disney) says, "Where is the kitchen? Where is the other room? We all have to sleep in the same room?!"
My eyes bugged out of my head.
My husband started cracking up and gives her an explanation, "Honey, this weekend is going to be like camping."
"Where's the lake?"
WHA! Camping, really? über swanky hotel — is camping sans lake. I have created a monster.
We get all the gear up and are looking forward to a day free tomorrow to see the lighthouse maybe hit the beach, stroll through town, hit 2nd house or play some mini golf. We wake up and it is POURING. Pure Nor'easter. We watch the sprint tri below and I am really happy I am not doing that race. Once we decide to get up and out. We head to the lighthouse since it's somewhat dry. Lightning. My kids and husband are just completely peachy. Coming off a Disney vaca to Montauk in a nor'easter for a triathlon. They are going to stand around for 8 hours. This may just be the poorest maternal judgement call I have made in a really long time.
The storm seems to break and I pick up my race packet. We head over to Gossmans so the peanuts can run all over that break wall. Get some flip flops from KaiKai's cause it's end of season and I have a coupon! (Cheap-o)
We head over to the pasta party at Sole East. It was a yummy never ending bowl of pasta. I like that—cheap and delish! Once we are done we head back up to our room and try to get the kids to sleep. Two LONG books and 5 songs later they are out. I now have to check my list. Twice, cause I'm neurotic about that sort of thing. Finally I get all my stuff done. Lay down to sleep it's 11pm. I have to be up by 4:30am. I am too excited, in a strange bed, worried the alarm won't work, watch backup will fail... I can't sleep.
I lie watching the ceiling until 4:15am when I blissfully fall asleep. WAWAWAWAWAWA goes my alarm. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP goes the watch. 15 minutes of sleep, ugh I am exhausted.
I eat my breakfast get dressed and walk my gear to the race site. It's a nice morning surprisingly warm for Montauk in October, day after a nor'easter. I set up quietly. I refrain from the usual chitchat. I am scared. I can not believe I am doing this race. Not one fat person in this whole area. I am sooooo going to be last. The whole place is muddy and squishy. Nothing will be dry after this race. Heavy sigh.
I get on my wetsuit and head over to the portos. I FORGOT FLIP FLOPS EWWWHHHHH!!! Squish, squish, through the mud and into (I hope) muddy portos.
The racers are beginning to set up I walk down to the water and wash my feet. HOLY CRAP THAT WATER IS COLD! I can feel hypothermia setting in and I've only dipped my feet. I know I have to get all the way in or I'm gonna hyperventilate. So I do it slowly, which is more torturous but I can't shock my heart with a quick rip-the-band-aid-off jump into the water. Remember, I'm fat, family history of heart failure and I'm about to do a 1/2 iron man. I'm am not ready to die today—even though I may be tempting the fates. Slow, slow, slowly into the water complaining the whole way. I clearly am not in the proper frame of mind for this race.
I get all the way in, my heart rate stabilizes and I'm ready to go. I don't need to head to the front of the pack cause there aren't enough women in my age group to double us up. Nice, no thrashing. Bonus for doing the long race. The gun sounds and I get to swimming. I get into a good rhythm quickly and pull ahead. I am feeling really great. The water is chilly but it's fresh water so the taste of it doesn't seem like a salt lick.
I'm watching the shoreline and the moon is just above the trees. It makes me happy. My daughter always says, "The moon is Mommy's, the trees are Daddy's, My son is the sun (get it), she is all the stars and our dog Nugget is the Earth" Our family is the universe. Did I mention my daughter is not only a world traveling diva and the world's greatest shopper (big statement) but a profound philosopher.
I am really enjoying my swim. I am singing to myself and listening to the sound of the water as my arm cuts through it. It's my favorite form of meditation. I get out of the water completely calm. I am thinking maybe this won't be so bad. That swim was terrific. I mentioned tempting fate before. I think I was a bit hubristic.
I run through the mud and get on the bike. I start up the hill. Yes, the bike STARTS with a hill. I begin my ride feeling pretty good. I am passing a few people and feeling really nice doing some nice gear work to get up the hill to the point. Not as bad as I thought it would be. I am focused and having a nice ride.
I am on one of the side streets and I see a woman with a flat. I stop to give her a hand cause I seriously need to pay it forward. Her name is Alex and she ran over a crushed beer bottle and has shards of green glass all through her tire. She has changed her flat but has the wrong type of CO2 cartridge. (She needs the threaded kind but has the un-threaded). I learned from last years flat fixing fiasco (Mighty Hampton Sept 2008) that a good mini bike pump is really the way to go. I let her borrow mine. As she is pumping away on her flat, I tell her about the beauty that is Specialized Armadillo kevlar tires and tell her my whole story of 3 flats and the saint that stopped to help me fix my flats even gave me a new tube.
So I say, "I had to stop, if I didn't I would've been riddled with flats the rest of this race. It's only 20 minutes. Finish the race in 8 hours or 8 hours 20 min. What's the difference." Needless to say, no flats.
I get on my bike again and now my tush is killing me! I didn't ride my bike while in Disney and I think the blisters that turned to calluses began to heal and are reforming blisters. I'm not even halfway. I'm screwed. I come to the last turn and there goes the pace car, there's Pete Ventura whizzing past me like I'm standing still.
"Go Pete Go"
Nice as can be, completely un-winded, "Hi, Mo your doing great, keep it up."
Man. I wanted to be past the 1/2 way mark before I got lapped. I feel big, and fat, and old. I used to babysit him and he's 30 for gosh sakes!
I begin lap 2 of the bike and my lady parts are demanding my attention. I can't really enjoy the ride because every dimple, every bump, every grain of sand in the road feels like female genital mutilation. We'll maybe not that bad, but it really hurts. I think I'm gonna apply an amply gelled beach cruiser seat to my race bike. I'm way past giving a crap about what I look like. This thing is torture and this seat is WAY better than the one the factory supplied. It at least the Adamo I'm riding on has a cut out in the front so I no longer get numb... but the blisters on the sides! Sort of defeats the purpose of getting fit and hot if you can't feel it. Unacceptable. I've heard good things about the Terry saddles I thing I'm gonna try the liberator. I need to free myself.
I climb the hill to the point. I am mashing it out. Just pure muscle to get to the top I am in my highest gear. WTF? Now I have been riding like crazy... 60 miles, 70 miles like nothing then I think I always ate. I always stopped someplace beautiful and ate something. I am out of fuel. I have a ClifBar, not doing it, I have a Hammer Gel better. But I'm was out of gas, I didn't stoke the fire. This was a rookie mistake. I won't do that again.
I bike my way through all the twist and turns of Montauk the wind has picked up by Gossmans but I have a big downhill to transition. Me likey speed. Low gear, push it, 40mph YEEEEHAWW I feel like a rough rider. I'm in Montauk, get it... TR... anyways...
I come into the transition my legs are done and I haven't even started running. GRRRREAT. From my ride I think there are a few people behind me, maybe 5. I am sooo going to be last. I get started on my run. I'm actually having fun. My legs ache but nothing terrible. Everyone going by is cheering me on. The day is getting hot. The sun has finally come out and I am sweating. I'm hitting each water station with a fury. I drank plenty on the bike but the sweat is pouring now that I'm running. I'm climbing the hills slowly but I'm still doing it. I'm running the whole way. That's all I can ask for. I am cheering people on, they are cheering me too. They all have wristbands (already did the first loop) I do not. I am going up and down these killer hills. They call it murder hill for a reason! I am tired, but that's to be expected but I feel as good as is to be expected of an overweight, middle-aged, mother of 2, doing a 1/2 iron man.
I'm coming to the second loop my husband and kids are there to cheer me on.
"Go Mommy Go!"
"Mommy you are winning the race!"
"Good job keep going!"
I am getting my bracelet and I'm off again squishing through the mud. I get a glass of water. I see Vicki and she sheers me on. There are people all over the place. They are in my way. I hear someone say, "runner coming through" and I get upset.
It bothers me when people figure the race is over just because they are done. It gets me down. I know people are basically self-centered. I know they are on a post triathlon high. I know they are patting themselves on the back for accomplishing something as wonderful and fantastic as completing a 1/2 iron man. But I don't like the total and complete disregard for slower racers. It makes me feel... less than. Like my fellow racers don't care. Which makes me sad.
I am now in a bad place mentally. I get around the corner and out of sight of Montauk Highway and I feel lonely. I am the only person on the road. I start to sob. This is something I didn't expect. Every one says that an endurance race is challenging physically and mentally. I always thought it was mental in the way that you say, "f'this I physically hurt I'm gonna quit. Then you dig down and say no, I'm finishing this." This is the first time I had ghosts.
Intense pain from the past surfaced. Feelings of loneliness and despair. Feelings of inadequacy. I am last, and alone, and doing battle with my own mind. There is no distraction there is just me the road with my demons. I have to stop to cry. It is nearly impossible to run and sob. You can't breathe, your chest constricts and it is painful. My hips and knees are killing me. I am walking, and crying, and hurting. I am just raw.
I keep saying to myself, "I love my kids, I love my husband, and they love me." over and over again. Tears running down my face. "I love my kids, I love my husband, and they love me. I love my kids, I love my husband, and they love me. I love my kids, I love my husband, and they love me." I feel myself getting stronger. I am back in this. Tears stop. I can breathe. I push my shoulders back, take some deep breaths, compose myself, open my stride and begin running again.
I turn the corner and there are a few runners finishing up. They are saying good job and I am smiling again. The grin is not as wide but it is there. I am shuffling up the hill. Steve rides by in his Prius and asked if I have seen anyone else out there. I say "no, just me" I am holding back tears but I think he takes my surly demeanor as physical pain. Which I have plenty of...
I am walking up the up hills and running the down hills. I keep thinking, "Why on earth do I do this to myself? I am like a battered wife going back to the beater because he is rich and handsome."
The course is beautiful. In the hills, I can see the water. The perfectly manicured Montauk homes are beautiful. Flowers and the leaves beginning to change create a cornucopia for the eyes. I am seeing like an artist again. In shapes, colors, light. I am feeling peaceful.
I think, "This is why I do it. This peace... I can't get this anywhere else." I go to church, I paint, I read, I write, I play, but I am not free from anxiety, unless I am mentally and physically exhausted. I find god in the Church of Triathlon.
I am running up in the hills all alone. I think, "I could cut out two blocks no one would know."
Then I said to myself "I'd know. I'd know I wasn't a 1/2 iron woman." then I said out loud, "You've done 68.5 miles you're going to get to 70.3 and do every inch!"
I run down the hill. I am on the last road. In the home stretch. I can't run. My hips. It's always my hips at the end of a race! I am walking. I say to myself, next telephone pole run. The pole comes I run two poles. I walk. Next pole run two, walk one.
I am so done with this race.
The sweep car comes up... you're last the course is about to be closed. You have less than 5 minutes and 1/2 mile to go. That's the pace I run when I'm not completely spent! I may not finish! I start jogging. I am trying like hell to get in. A race volunteer is running with me. I see my kids and my husband.
"Go Mommy Go!!!"
I turn the corner, I see Pete, Steve, Josie, Vicki, Christine, Valerie, all cheering me on at the finish. I'm high-fiving as I go. I run across the tape cross the finish line. I am a 1/2 iron woman.
The crew starts to take down the finish line. I am last. BUT I FINISHED.
Here's the kicker. I won my division!!! I was the only Athena to enter. First and last all in the same race. Go me.
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