November 4th, 2017.
The alarm was set for 0400. Despite having not been able to fall asleep well after 2200, I awoke abruptly at 0330. Awesome. 30 minutes less sleep. Who needs sleep before an ironman? Luckily, my cousin was also awake and the race morning preparations began. Oatmeal with blueberries and peanut butter plus a big ol' cup of coffee. It's what I eat every morning, without fail (thus far anyway...more on that to come...), and race day is not the time to deviate from literally anything. I could barely choke it down, I was so nervous. But I knew I needed the nutrients. I was about to be very calorie deficient, very quickly. With breakfast completed, it was time to change. I had decided to simply wear my swimsuit under my wetsuit and then change into my tri kit for the bike and run. I determined that a dry kit for the majority of the race was more important than the few extra minutes that I may or may not have saved in transition. And, per tradition, I donned my Star Wars onesie. It's just so comfy! Not necessarily the most convenient for race morning, but I've been doing it since Racine, and it works for me. Don't deviate!
We headed down to the beach. Both bike and run special needs bags needed to be dropped off, in addition to double checking bike and run gear bags. Finally, all water bottles and nutrition were triple checked. With all of this preparation, I still managed to miss a few things. Almonds were supposed to go onto my bike, and my mind forgot these completely (this would come to bite me in the ass). This is why you make lists (which I did) and then bring those lists with you (which I didn't). You live and learn!
Time to go to swim start. Trying to meet my parents on the beach turned into a nightmare, because of course it did, and we didn't end up meeting up until right before the national anthem. Which was 2 minutes before the PC/XC wave started, 7 minutes before I was set to start. It was plenty of time, but my irrational mind did not enjoy it. I need more time than that. My anxiety was out of control, but finally seeing them helped. And then, before I knew it, time for goodbyes and good lucks. My cousin and I embraced and immediately both started crying. What was this--there's no crying in triathlon! Oh wait, yes there is. All the time. I couldn't believe that after six months of intense, brutal, and sometimes horribly depressing training, it was finally time. It was time to start Ironman Florida!
The swim. A two-lap ocean swim totaling 2.4 miles. And it was beautiful! Next to no breakers or waves, and just about 70 degrees, which also meant it was wetsuit legal. Hooray for added buoyancy! It was a self-seeded rolling start, meaning you lined up based on how long you estimated it would take you to finish the swim. I decided that 1 hour to 1:10 was most accurate. I was attempting deep breaths, making all sorts of weird sounds, and I feared the other athletes could hear my heart. And they were so supportive. They saw my "first timers" bracelet and embraced me openly, welcoming me to one of the best races on the circuit, encouraging me with the kindest and most inspiring words, and reminding me that I had done the work, that this was the celebration. All of a sudden, the calm returned. And then I entered the water. I was surprised at how relaxed I was able to start. There wasn't the thrashing "washing machine" action that I had previously experienced in open water swimming. I was immediately able to fall into my normal stroke pattern and just went. And went. And went. Dori was right. It seemed to take years to make that first loop and I just kept thinking "oh man, why isn't this a half--I'd be done!!" I exited the water, glanced at my watch and saw 28:28. I had just done 1.2 miles in 28 minutes?! Wow. Ok, grab a cup of water, gargle and spit, and go in for round two. This lap was trickier. Not only did I get stung by a jellyfish (only a small tentacle, quick sharp pinch on the lip and just kept going), but I began lapping the less-strong swimmers who were on their first lap. It made for an interesting lap, but I distinctly recall thinking "Be nice. They've just started their day." (I wish that I wasn't so competitive sometimes--that killer instinct takes way too much control sometimes). Finally, I could see the beach as I finished my second lap. Ten percent of my day was done! Official time ended up being 1:00.21. So close to under an hour! But I did end up 3rd in my age group out of the water, so that was pretty awesome.
I've never discussed transition in this blog, mostly because it's not so exciting, but for a full, there's nothing else like it. You run through transition, a volunteer calls out your number to a different group of volunteers, who then find your gear bag, hand it to you, and point you in the direction of the changing area. Where you get naked. Yes. I ripped of my swimsuit (my wetsuit having already been removed by our strippers) as my volunteer opened my gear bag and began sorting through everything. She opened my Clif bar, she opened my bottle of water, she sprayed me down with sunscreen, she helped me get my shoes on. It was magical! I could never thank her enough. I gave her a huge, sweaty and nasty hug, my bike shoes and helmet donned, and made my way to my bike. Which was also grabbed for me by a volunteer. It was out of transition, to the mount line, and off on the next leg...
The bike. A one loop of 112 miles around Panama City Beach and its surrounding areas. In theory, Florida is flat. In actuality, Florida isn't actually that flat. Plenty of rollers to keep me on my toes. And the headwinds! Living in Chicago, I know wind. But damn, this wind. Starting off, I felt super strong. Utterly crushing it. And I was still being passed. A litany of men passing me. One of the downfalls of being a super strong swimmer is that all the less-strong swimmers (i.e. men) who are beasts on the bike start overtaking you. I looked at my watch and my pace was solid, so physically I was doing fine, but the mental struggle of being continuously passed was almost unbearable. I kept repeating "ride your own race," but it was more than slightly difficult to do that. I don't like being passed, and I really don't like being passed by men. So I just kept cranking away. Mile after mile after mile ticked away, and yet, I still had so much to go. 112 miles is a long way! I was sticking with my training nutrition plan, I was drinking enough, and I felt good. In fact, I was so hydrated that I needed a rest stop, and soon! That had never happened during a race before. Luckily, special needs was quickly approaching. I didn't think I needed anything from my bag, therefore I didn't grab it, but I did need that port-o-potty, and while it might be TMI, it was great. I hopped back in the saddle and shot off. Halfway! Only another 56 miles to go. Piece of cake. Except the cake is fire. And you're on fire. Because you're in Hell. The winds seemed to change directions and be a perpetual headwind. My saddle, previously so comfortable, was now simply the worst. And to top it all off, my salt tabs went flying out of my jersey pocket just after special needs. So not only did I not stop and have some Pringles (yes, Pringles were in my special needs bag), but I lost out on more salt. F#$K!!!!!! I was very upset with myself. But, there was nothing I could do about it. I knew I had Fritos waiting for me in transition, so I just had to make it back there. And luckily, I did have other sources of salt on my bike, but still, needed that salt! Maybe it would be ok. Hopefully it would be ok...Mile 100 ended up being halfway up a killer hill. Well, not actually that bad of a hill, but at mile 100, anything is a bad hill. Twelve miles to go! The longest twelve miles of my life. My bike and I were hardcore fighting. And by that, I mean I was yelling things like "I hate you. Why do you hurt me like this? I thought we were friends! I never want to see you again!" And quickly, I apologized and reassured him that I loved him and begged him and my legs to just get me back to transition. Finally, finally I could see it! I was done with the bike! 5:45.54. Holy shit I went under 6 hours in my first full?! BEASTMODE!
Another transition. Another wonderful volunteer who opened my bag, laid everything out, put my bib on me, opened my Fritos (SALT!!!!), opened water, covered me in vasoline (well, helped me cover myself in vasoline--chaffing is bad), and did so much more for me. She too got a sweaty and disgusting hug and I was off. With jelly legs. As soon as I started running, I knew I was in trouble. Oh look! Another port-o-potty! Unfortunately, it wasn't #1 this time. Oh no. Not this. Anything but GI issues....Ok, done. Keep moving. Gotta get out of transition and go!
The run. 26.2 miles. A two-loop run around the neighborhoods of Panama City Beach. I had only ever done 1 stand alone and my longest run in training was 14 miles. I was slightly concerned. But my legs felt surprisingly great for just having dropped the hammer on the bike. It probably wasn't pretty, but one foot was moving in front of another and my first half mile was right on target. Even a little too fast. "Ok, great. Pull back a little bit, and just keep going. You got this." And then it all went wrong. The abdominal cramps, worse than I had ever experienced before in my life, took hold. I could barely walk, much less run. All I wanted to do was double over, and the proceed to curl up on the ground in the fetal position. I couldn't stand up straight. Agony. All I kept thinking was "NO! You've come too far to let this stop you. NO!" I kept fighting, one excruciating step after another, stopping when I had to. I ran as much as I could, walked a lot more than I wanted to, and could barely take in any nutrition at aid stations. "You are not going to make it if you can't take in calories!" My mind knew this, was screaming it at me, but my body was in full on rebellion mode. Miles ticked away at a snail's pace. I was pulling 10+ minute miles. Physically, difficult. Mentally, debilitating. To have been able to run so far and so fast in training and be falling apart like this in the race was almost killing me. I almost broke down more times than I care to admit, and this was only the first lap! How was I ever going to make it?! But I didn't come this far to give up. My pace was terrible, by my standards, but I HAD to finish this. I made it to 13.1 and there was run special needs. In my bag, I knew I had a fresh pair of socks (which didn't end up helping the already formed blisters, but I thought it might help mentally), Pringles, and a picture of my aunt who passed away in 2008. All of a sudden, I could fly! I shot out of there like I had just started the run. And then I saw one of my long lost sisters!
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I seriously love this picture too.
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Ok, less than 13.1 miles to go. In training, that would have been about 2 hours. I knew it was going to be a lot longer than that. A LOT. But I also knew that I was so close I could taste it. I decided I should start drinking in the Pepsi, in the hopes that the carbonation would help ease the continuing stomach cramps. As it turned out, it did! The cramps were slowly easing up, with the Pepsi and a few more stops, and I was able to run a little bit more in between my walking. Unfortunately, as the cramps started easing, the blisters and leg cramping began. Everything hurt. Literally everything. I could feel the blisters being ripped wide open, chaffing was starting in new places that I had never experienced during training, and while I welcomed the setting sun, I knew that time was slipping away from me. In my mind, I wanted to be under 12 hours. As I ran less and walked more, that goal was seemingly disappearing. I hit mile 20 and I hit the wall. The cramps came back in my abdomen, the blisters were painful, my legs were done, but I only had a 10K left. That was it! I started running again and hit an aid station where the captain had taken special requests. She had Take 5 bars waiting for me! Renewed energy! Go, girl! I heard it from everywhere. Other athletes, spectators, even in my own head. Go, girl! And then my knee injury came back with a renew vengeance. Great. Just what I needed. My form to break down even more. I got into one last, dark place mentally, and was just over it. And then an angel appeared in the form a of woman named Mirinda (not Rinny, that would have been spectacular!). She was on her first lap, at mile 11. I was on my second at mile 24. Short of physically carrying me, she got me to mile 26. Kept talking to me, encouraging me, building me up, telling me how great that finisher's shoot was going to be. I had to stop running again, and she kept going, but I'll never be able to thank her enough for her words.
Wait, mile 26. I had 0.2 miles to go. Wait, seriously? I had done it? Oh my gosh! Words truly cannot express the emotions that I was feeling. I had never, nor will I ever, experience anything like that again. I was so deliriously happy that I couldn't actually see anything. There were bright lights, and I could hear people screaming my name, but I couldn't tell you who they were or which side they were on, or if I even knew them. And the tears were streaming, simply pouring, down my face. I had done it. I reached the finish line and heard it. "Heather Hermann, a nurse from Chicago. You. Are. An. Ironman!"
I crossed the line and dropped. Not from pain, not from exhaustion, but from emotion. After all that hard work, the countless hours spent alone in pain and torment, restricting my diet so as to fuel properly, abstaining from alcohol to attempt to achieve racing weight, and I had done it! I had completed 140.6 miles of swimming, biking, and running. My marathon time was 4:56.14. Total time ended up being 11:57.55. Under 12 hours for my first Ironman. AND! 13th in my age group. After walking most of the marathon, I had almost broken top ten! I can do anything!
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| Post shower and post beer with finisher's shirt, hat, and MEDAL! |
My cousin was still on the course, so after donning my new gear (yes, I wore all the finisher's gear back to the finish line, including the medal, duh!), it was back to the finish line to wait for him. And to experience more of the spectacle. There was nothing like it. I was high fiving strangers, screaming that they were my heroes, and tearing up watching all of them accomplish their dreams. And then, there he was! He had done it! After all of his setbacks, illnesses, and injuries, he was going to be an Ironman!
Words can't describe how proud I am of him. Of me. Of all the blood, sweat, and tears. Yes, that's cliche, but cliches exist for a reason. It's true. So much went into this training and race and it was all worth it. I will have bragging rights for the rest of my life. No one, nothing, can ever take this accomplishment away from me. All my demons, those bastards who said I wasn't good enough. All those doubters in my life who said I was crazy and wouldn't be able to do it. All of them were shut up that night. It's two days later and the feelings are still surreal. It seems like it was ages ago. As if an eternity has passed. I know I will need at least 2 weeks off to let my body heal, and I'm going to indulge in my previously "forbidden" foods and beverages (pizza and beer, for the win!), but I am already itching to take what mistakes I've made, learn from them, and keep moving forward. Instead, however, I will enjoy my pizza and beer, my naps, my massage, my not setting an alarm, my muscles finally ceasing to be in pain, and I will relish this time with the knowledge and I. Am. An. Ironman.
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| Badass cousins! |
