Let me begin by saying that this account is not an appraisal of my performance, but an account of my experience. Compared to most first-timers, I am told I performed respectably at least as far as my finish time, 12:46:10. I finished close to the top third of my age group and in the top half of all competitors, male and female. Though hardly stellar, my performance was better than most. However, finish time is not something I use to define personal success. I don’t do triathlons to win, to qualify for any other races, or to break a certain time. Of course, if I better my previous years’ time or place in my age group, that is nice, but not an end point for me, merely the icing on the cake. If my goal were to win, I would not be doing triathlons. First, I don’t think I am particularly talented in two of the three disciplines, at least compared to my other athletic strengths. Second, I am a sprinter, so any race over 60 seconds (120 seconds max) takes me into a zone where my racing strengths are not tapped into. I do triathlons for other reasons: to experience the endorphin rush of racing, to enjoy the beautiful scenery, to be healthy, and to feel strong. I got very little of this out of my Ironman experience.

Some positive stuff. Before I get too far into the negative, there were some nice things about the day that should be noted, even though my physical state at the time would not allow me to fully appreciate them. The crowds were great and contributed powerful energy. Boston Triathlon Team, my team, had a large cheering section, and that was a boost. On one segment of the bike, BTT-ers were cheering so loudly for me that the people I was riding near commented on how popular I must be. The volunteers were great. There were volunteers for everything: to pull your wetsuit off (the peelers), to help you get into your running shoes, to slather sunscreen on your back, to catch you at the finish line (the catchers), to massage you when the race was over, and much much more. They were helpful, enthusiastic and just plain nice. The best group of volunteers I had ever seen at any race. Everyone says so and boy is it true. Finally, although it was hot and sunny, the humidity was low, so conditions were quite good.

Triathlon 101. For those with limited knowledge of the triathlon, let us take a step back. This is a three-discipline event – swimming, cycling, running, in that order – with the Ironman being the longest of the popular distance races: 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike and full marathon (26.2 mile run). When most people think of triathlons they think of the Ironman distance. Ironman, the Corporation, has done an incredible marketing job promoting its product and establishing a powerful brand name. Similar to Kleenex and Hoover, where the brand name has become synonymous with the product, i.e., “Peter hoovered the shredded kleenex from his pink shag carpet.” But there are other distance triathlons, in fact 3 other popular distances, all of which I have raced and had enjoyable experiences. These include the half Ironman, the International or Olympic distance, which is what was raced during the 2000 and 2004 Olympic games (1.5k swim, 40k bike, 10k run), and the sprint distance (approximately half of the International distance). But, I digress …

Race day morning. Woke up early to a jittery stomach, as always on any race day morning so no big whoop, and stuck to my breakfast plan with no real problems. Got to the transition area (the area where you do all your equipment changes) about 1 ½ hours before the start of the race to put final touches on my stations. There is a lot of planning that goes into the kit at an Ironman, more so than at any other triathlon race. I’ll skip the details because I figure you don’t want to know what I packed in my Bike Special Needs bag and how I planned to retrieve it after my first loop. Suffice it to say that there was a lot of tedious stuff to think through. As a former entrepreneur used to projecting scenarios and preparing contingency plans, I am pretty skilled at this sort of thing. Doesn’t mean I like it. As I checked and rechecked my various stations, I yearned for my swimming days where my biggest equipment worries were “Did I remember to tighten the straps on my goggles?” The Ironman is not for minimalists.

You call that swimming? You’d think with my swim background that the swim leg would have been a fun one. However, there is no swimming in an Ironman, rather one hour of fighting, kicking, punching and struggling to keep from being pulled under. So no, it was not fun. You may have done an open water swim or a shorter distance triathlon where you experienced some turbulence, pushing and shoving at the start of the race as swimmers vied for position. I am no rookie at open water swimming and being a sprinter, particularly adept at sprinting at the start of the race to establish a good position and finding clear water or occasionally a swift pair of feet to draft off. However, when you cram over 2000 athletes in a narrow starting area, no more than 50 meters wide and tell them to swim towards the same point, you are going to have problems. Clear water will be tough, if not impossible (as was my case) to find. I believe the race directors may have anticipated this, as the army of scuba divers will attest.

I think I may have experienced, in total, about 100 meters in my entire race during which I was not in contact with someone else, either hitting or being hit, crawling over or being crawled over, etc. I am not kidding. There were times, more than I can remember counting, that I was forced to use only one arm, because my other was pinned to my side. There were times that I had to stop swimming to subtly notify the gentleman swimming half way up my back that I did not appreciate this – a strong breastroke kick to the jaw proved most effective. There were times that I was forced to grab hold of the people around me to keep afloat while a large hand grabbed my head and propelled its master forward. I can go on … In short, I feel fortunate to have exited the water with only a couple of bruises and as fatigued as if I swum the 8-mile Boston Light Swim. Broken noses are not uncommon in the Ironman.

What could I have done differently in the swim leg? Absolutely nothing I can think of. Mine was a good race compared with others’. I started out in the front row, sprinted out fast, and got ahead of the 1-hour-15-minute swimming pack, where things really get rough. I was one of those people who completed the swim in under an hour, not a particularly good time for me, but still one of the top ten females exiting the water. Mine was one of the swim experiences people aspire to have. I’m sorry, but this is not really my idea of swimming. I personally take no responsibility for my swim time, as I did little to actually propel myself forward. Some advice for those setting out to do one of these and looking for a fast swim leg: regardless of your swimming ability, start up in front with the faster swimmers. You will not be swimming anyway, so put yourself in the middle of swimmers that will push and shove you at a faster pace. Seriously!

I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my bike … The bike leg was fairly uneventful and the most enjoyable part of my race. I did not get sick, crash, get a flat tire, get stung by a bee and did not feel particularly bad, though my legs lacked the zip I typically experience during races. The latter due to over training. True the scenery was nice, but if you want to experience the Adirondacks, it’s better to just ride around the area for fun. I enjoyed the scenery much more during my training rides, which incidentally were faster than my race time, again evidence of over training. Still, I cannot complain too much about the bike leg.

You call this eating? Now a few words about Ironman “fueling.” A long race requires a well-thought-out and executed nutrition plan, as those breakfast waffles and previous night’s pasta dinner will only get you through the first 90 minutes or so. For Ironman races, the bike leg is the time when you do most of your eating and drinking, and is a critical time in setting you up for the run. It’s the longest leg of the three and your stomach can handle the food better than during the run. So eat up!

I believe my fueling plan was pretty good. I had experimented with different foods, practiced it during training, and believe I had it down. I drank every 15 minutes, ate every 30, and popped salt tablets every hour. Not being able to handle solid food during races, my fuel of choice consisted of Enervit/CarboPro mix drink, Gatorade, Carboom energy gels, Ensure, Enervit energy gels, cola, plain water, and some chicken broth during the run. Yummy! Approximately 300 calories and 28-32 oz fluids per hour. My stomach felt relatively good on the bike and I believe my energy levels were topped off nicely going into the run, despite the horrors I was to experience later, which in retrospect were more likely a function of my body just not being used to this sort of ultra-distance race, than of the fueling plan.

Stepping back, I can honestly say that Ironman fueling is plain disgusting. It is an abomination to anyone who has any respect for food and eating. Ensure? Energy gels? There is just something fundamentally wrong with shoving all those repulsive calories into your system hour after hour, when your body craves baby back ribs. My husband Robin believes, “There are two types of people, those who eat to live and those who live to eat.” As one of the latter, I reveal yet another incompatibility between the Ironman and me.

The run(s). Contrary to what I expected and to what most experience, the first mile of my run felt relatively good. I thought to myself, “Hmmm! Perhaps the worst is behind me and everything else was so bad to make space for a great run.” I was mistaken. At the one-mile marker, my digestive track rebelled. My stomach cramped and I prayed to reach the port-a-potty in time. I’ll spare you the details, but my run evolved into walking and, at better moments, shuffling from port-a-potty to port-a-potty. Fortunately there was one every mile or so. Needless to say, this did not help my finishing time. Things actually got a bit better by the second loop, where I was able to jog a little. In retrospect, I believe my recovery was brought on by utter disgust of the toilets. 2000 athletes, upset stomachs, baking sun … I won’t say more.

Dog crosses finish line. 2 miles out from the finish, my mood lifted. Robin and dog Nestor, were cheering me on, as were my Boston Triathlon Team teammates and other fellow triathletes. For the first time in 12 hours, a smile actually made it to my face and I grinned all the way to the finish line, thinking … after 20 minutes I can stop … after 15 minutes I can stop … after 10 minutes I can stop … Again, I experienced none of the elation others talk about and that I have had on many occasions at other triathlons. I was glad it was over. I did get a kick out of Robin standing in the finishing oval and handing me Nestor, informing me that I could cross the finish line with him. So Nestor received a huge cheer from the spectators as the announcer declared him the first canine to cross the finish line at this year’s IM USA. Made for a good finish photo.

Was I prepared? You may be thinking that perhaps I was not properly prepared for the day. That I am some kind of weekend warrior who didn’t put in the hours required to pull this off. True that actual race experience prepares you like nothing else, particularly for an endurance event like this. However, I believe I was as prepared as any first-timer could have been. I had been doing shorter-distance tris for several years, had done a couple of half Ironman races, and had gone up to the Adirondacks to watch IM USA in 2004. I had practiced the course several times in the year leading up to the race. I had hired a coach, sacrificed time, money and friends/family, and trained diligently for six months. I was prepared, likely better-prepared than many. I knew what to expect, the course, the heat, the distance, and was psychologically ready to experience the highs and lows that normally come with this sort of thing. But all I ever got were the lows, varying degrees. None of the good race sensations. No tears of joy at the finish line. Just an overall feeling of when is this thing going to be over.

So why was it so bad for me? As I sit here now, one week distanced from the event, I see two reasons. First, for someone who derives inspiration from beauty and finesse in sport, the Ironman is not the place to find these things. I learned this on race day. The Ironman is more about general fitness, machismo and masochism, than about form, grace or beauty. True, things are a bit more graceful when you get up to the elite athletes, but not much and not to the level one finds in the sports I love. Except in a few rare cases (Natasha Badmann is nice to watch), most Ironman performances are not pretty. Many elite Ironman triathletes have horrendous technique, hacking through the respective disciplines. In my opinion, the Ironman is more a celebration in suffering than a display of skill and finesse, neither on the elite level nor most definitely not on the novice level.

The second reason for my bad experience is over training. About 7 weeks before the race, several people mentioned to me that I looked exhausted and that every time they asked me how things were going, I would say, “Fine, but I’m very tired.” One person even pulled me aside and said that I appeared to be over training and should consider revising my training plan. I listened, but did not hear. Being a perfectionist by nature and someone who has never shirked away from hard work, pain, discomfort, it is not easy for me to back off even if it will help my performance. It is tough for me to see that this is what I need. And I was receiving conflicting messages from fellow triathletes that you are supposed to be tired during training and that what I was experiencing was normal. They were mistaken. I wish someone could have helped me figure out that I was beyond tired. Now I possess the experience to make this judgment myself.

I had all the classic signs of over training. I wasn’t able to sleep. I was unable to get my heart rate up during hard sets. I was getting slower and feeling weaker as the weeks went on. I wasn’t recovering from rest days, and I was losing motivation. Instead of getting excited for my upcoming races, I was merely looking forward to having them over. At this point, I began to back off a bit, but was even conflicted about this, as others around me were telling me that these were the most important training weeks and that if I could just get through the next 2 weeks, I could taper. So, I cut back a bit, but in retrospect not enough, but regardless, it was too late. So when it came to tapering, my taper did nothing for me except slow down the negative spiral. This in itself is a bummer. Taper is such a fun part of training; your body recovers and as race day approaches, you feel strong and excited, and during your training sessions, you reveal your new race gears. I love this part of training, but unfortunately, it never kicked in.

Lessons learned: As often is the case with bad experiences, I likely learned more from my Ironman than I would have had I had a good race. I record them for future reference and for the benefit of others.