Ironman Wisconsin 2013
A few years ago I watched Ironman on a Sunday afternoon. I happened to just run across it and was glued to the TV the whole time, my eyes welling up with tears watching the Age Grouper's conquer barriers, in awe of watching the incredible pro triathletes push themselves to beyond limits, and truly believing in Ironman's motto: "Anything is possible." Is it? Could it be for me; I knew immediately I was going to answer that question.
Several sprints, Olympics, and one 1/2 Ironman later I knew I was ready and with the blessings and support of family and friends, I signed up for Ironman Wisconsin 2013. For over a year I researched, planned, and executed a training regimen that I thought would lead to me success. This meant cutting out most races, killing my social life, and mounting up other barriers. Right or wrong, I thought it was worth it. I studied nutrition plans, changed the way I ate and drank and geared my meal plans primarily for fuel for my body and less of an entertainment factor…a lesson I'm glad I experienced.
Months out from race day quickly turned to weeks out to IMWI and my discipline grew tighter. I said goodbye to caffeine and the occasional cocktail, began a grueling taper plan, and started putting the last pieces together for my race. I was getting advice and suggestions from literature, friends, the net, and everyone-most of it contradicting each other which mounted a little stress. Did I have the right plan? Hell if I know. The advice that stuck with me the most was this: Create a plan, stick to it, and execute it. This is was doable for me; I'm an extremely disciplined person and felt comfortable with this concept so that is where I put my focus. Along the way, several asked me what my goal was. This is something that I chose not to share, this one for me. I know I had nothing to prove to anyone else.
A few days before race day, Sadie and I hit the road to Madison, looking forward to meeting my mom and a few friends. I was excited; not at all nervous-I don't know why. My body and mood were thrown all out of whack (partially due to my nutrition change and no coffee!) so I was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. I wore sunglasses everywhere I went, attempting to hide my random tears. Most of the time, only God knew that I was crying. Driving into Madison and seeing Monona Terrace and the double helix's that I would be running up and biking down was like seeing Disneyland when I was a kid. I was entranced, captivated by this beautiful structure that I had only seen on promo pictures and YouTube videos. I was there, finally. My eyes scanned over the lake and I watched the whitecaps on the waves, praying that the wind would die down by Sunday. (My prayers weren't necessarily answered, but I will get to that..). The lake was beautiful-recreational boaters and fishermen dotted the lake that seemed to go on forever. Awesome; God is good.
Athlete check-in was like home; it was incredible to be surrounded by my new best friends that would be sharing the mass swim start. I felt instantly bonded to everyone I talked to. Many first timers, as I, were tentatively listening to the stories and advice of veteran IMWIers. The whole place was filled with energy and I didn't want to leave. I was high on it, soaking it in. Signing the forms, picking up the swag, and getting the low down on time frames for check in, rules, and water temps filled my day and lit a fire that I can't explain.
That evening after a long day of driving, check in, and administrative work, I was longing to get into the water and release a little energy. The temp was perfect-refreshing and surprising clear. It was almost too clear, seeing the seaweed float inches under my body made me think of Minnesota and distracted my focus for a bit. The waves were high, wake from the boats made the trial swim and little intimidating. Regardless, I spent 20 minutes or so stroking from buoy to buoy trying to find landmarks to site race day. The setting sun made this nearly impossible though. Oh well, at least I got the water and made some new friends that were doing the same.
A short transition later I dropped the wetsuit and went for a jog. I don't think I realized how tired I was from the overwhelming day until I did this. But, as with anything I do, no regrets and it cleared my head.
Saturday, the day before race day, I was a little tense..not nervous, just tense. I had last minute all component run through that I was determined to complete-20 minute swim, 25 minute bike, 20 minute jog-while focusing on nothing but breathing, body positioning, and 5 minutes of speed work for each. But, before I could do this I was delighted to watch Sadie compete and finish in her first IronKids run. Gotta love this girl, but she clearly doesn't like to run as much as I do. Regardless, she did great and collected her Ironkids medal and swag bag.
It was almost time to check in the bike so I knocked out my planned workouts. Although I would NEVER recommend this to a newbie; I bought and used a completely different kind of goggles-imported from New Zealand or something like that. Amazing, I will never buy another brand as long as I'm a swimmer! The workouts went well. My swim felt strong, as strong as I could against the whitecap waves. My bike was solid and my run was as best as it could be for as little as I was able to train (damn injuries). I wanted to go longer, I wanted to push it harder, but I had a plan and I knew I had to stick to it. I made myself set my timer on my watch to make sure I wouldn't 'accidently' go a few extra miles. It was a good move, although I did curse it a bit. Watching fellow triathletes sweating in the sun long after I quit made me reconsider a couple times; I wanted to be out there with them, I wanted to do all I can to gain an edge. Realistically I knew better and retired my bike, goggles, and running shoes early.
A good meal and bed by 7:30 p.m. was the plan and I knocked that out.
RACE DAY
I set my alarm for 4:00 a.m.; naturally, at 3:54 a.m., I am wide awake. This was it, time to get my ass in gear.
I looked at the Special Needs bags (optional resources to have at the half way point for the run and then for the bike) and was perplexed. No plan that I created in my mind ever included them, so did I need them? I wasn't sure so forgot about it while I got ready. A banana, Atkins strawberry banana shake and Marathon bar was all I needed-especially since the past few days were full of prerace nutrition maxing out and carb loading. Honestly, I felt like a fat ass.
Driving to Monona Terrace was overwhelming. The only cars on the road where all marked with 70.3, 140.6, 26.2, etc. stickers and decals. We were all heading to the same place and it was well before 5:00 a.m. Parking was surprising easy and everyone crowded to their bike to pump the tires and do final run throughs. I borrowed a pump from my neighbor who was tearing up worse than I was. I hugged her, complete stranger but like family and we walked to body marking together. She suggested putting a safety pin through my ankle sensor to ensure it didn't get kicked out and handed me a pin. Great idea, thanks Dana! I graciously accepted and we hugged again. Emotional bunch of triathletes that morning. The volunteers were amazing; laughing and joking trying to lighten the tension. I welcomed it and goofed off a bit myself; flexing and posing as they marked "636" on my arms and calf. It's official; I'm race-ready. Oh shit, this is really gonna happen.
After a little stretching in the complex, we headed down to the swim start while a couple thousand of my new best friends and their families. The sun hadn't risen yet and my heart was racing. I had time to relax and I needed to. I laid on the ground and Sadie joined me. Instantly I broke down again as she curled up into me. We talked about the race and highlighted that crazy year. We both cried and then we prayed. I will never forget this.
As I did about a dozen times that morning, it was time to hit the portapotties. As I opened the door when I was done, it was like the sun instantly the rose and the crowd doubled. Jesus, how long was I in there? According to Sadie it was "a year". Ha! The big screen, banners, swag, and announcers constantly reminded me that this was it, this was the big boy-this was IRONMAN. The music picked up to a fast, energizing beat and families and athletes seemed to laugh and talk louder-nervous energy I guess. Then as if planned, it was time to suit up in the wetsuits and we all seemed to do it at once. I know I did it because the dude next to me did, it was a ripple effect I guess.
The announcer gave shots out to the pro line up and announced that they will begin at 6:50 and the rest of us will start at 7:00. I was honored to be in their presence. I know that sounds a bit overkill, but I respect pro triathletes incredibly; I know the sacrifice that it takes and it's likely twice as insane for them.
Then it finally was announced for us all to line up and file into the water. He said it takes 25 minutes to get us all in. 25 minutes of treading water?? Holy balls; I stepped back towards the middle of the line instead of my typical 'front and center' position. I've never experienced a mass swim start before: 2,500 triathletes beginning at the cannon-gunning for the same damn buoy. Who was the Hitler who came up with this insane plan??? I'd like to shake his hand. ;) We were like herded cattle, shoulder to shoulder, wetsuit to wetsuit filing into the lake. It was finally my turn and I wave back to my family and tried not to look back. Much to my disappointment, the sunrise revealed a windy, wavy lake. Ugh. 2.4 miles of this? I couldn't help but smirk-maybe they are right, I may be a masochist.
I headed out and treaded water for about 10 minutes and then saw an open spot on the ski jump. I hung on for my life and reserved energy until I saw a better savior--a swim safety pro was sitting on a long board laughing it up with 20 other athletes hanging on for dear life. I saw a space and took it. Great conversation, good laughs, many of us peeing at the same time, I'm sure. I pee'd twice.
The announcement was made, crowds cheer and the pros took off with the sound of the cannon and before I knew it we were up. The National Anthem silenced the laughs, silenced the nervous conversations, and brought-yet again-tears to my eyes. I fought it, not wanting to fog up my goggles. Epic failure.
THE SWIM: 2.4 MILES OF WAVES AND WAR
I've been waiting for years to hear that cannon. I thought it was going to be louder but the pounding of my heart likely drown out most of it. We were off. I positioned myself, midpack center. I guess I assumed that people would swim forward, makes sense right? Um no. Athletes that were clearly more distressed than I was swam in every direction. I witnessed three people go under and disappear within a minute. I'm assuming they came up because I didn't hear anything in the news. My new goggles gave me a great view of feet, frantic breathers, submersible watches, and that damn seaweed. The waves were not fun to say the least. I remember laughing to myself about recalling how much I hated the monotonous lap pool swims at the Y. 144 laps was two miles. I did that more than once and it bored the hell outta me. Now, I longed for that line at the bottom of the pool, for clear water, and most importantly for NO WAVES. The mass of us hit the first turn buoy and I was instantly calmed by the notorious "mooing". This is tradition at IMWI; we all moo when we make the turn. No one is swimming, it's too crowded-we just tread water and moo until the pack finally makes the turn. Ha! Another memory scarred into my mind. I dig cows now.
As the moo's died, the waves increased. It was insane; I have never swam in that and it was apparent. I was taking in more water than I ever have-gagged and heaved a bit-all while trying to swim. That next 1/2 mile was pure hell-but I loved it. Finally the yellow buoys turned orange-I am HALF way done. Holy shit, only half way?? I continued my survival swim, excited to make it past half way with only a bloody lip, scratched arm and feet (trim those nails people!!) and a belly full of Lake Monona. Sighting was impossible. I tried to time my breaths to sight at the top of the waves but couldn't master it while trying to defend myself from a pack that I just couldn't shake. Breathing was a challenge; I had to completely change my form to looking almost straight up to avoid the waves and splashing of fellow swimmers. I noticed a seagull circling me. I could have been a vulture but I was trying to be optimistic! It seemed to be watching me for some reason and it soothed. It was a quick reminder of my fuel: Philippians 4:13. I smiled...but was back to reality gagging on more lake water.
Eventually I got a good look of a buoy and noticed that I swam way too far out..not going to help my lagging time at all. Oh well, let's just get this over with..about 1,500 of us were in the same boat so that was reassuring. 2 miles down and we go towards the final turn. This direction was with the wind and was nice. I started preparing myself for transition and try to strategize how I can make up for such a crappy swim time. The music got louder and I heard the announcer calling names. I staggered to my feet, waved at the fam, and heard "Steph Whitmore, Iowa". Woo hoo! IMWI has wetsuit peelers, this was fun. I unzipped the back and fell to the ground as volunteers ripped off my wetsuit for me. I felt a little bad knowing how much I pee'd in it but was relieved to see they had plastic gloves on. Something told me I wasn't the only one. Running up the helix to the convention center allowed me to get my head straight and breathing back in order. SWIM WAS DONE!
Transition 1 went well for the most part. The volunteers individually stuck with each athlete and did whatever we wanted. Mine was overzealous and tried to put my jersey on me while I was putting on my watch. Ha! That didn't work out and cost me about 30 seconds. She was nice and it was easily forgiven. I couldn't wait to get on my bike…
Running out to the lot with 2,500 bikes was sweet. I couldn't help but admire a few bikes that were worth more than my car, but couldn't wait to see Andre (my bike!). I hear the volunteers calling out number and mine was right in time. They had Andre ready to go so that I didn't even break pace heading out to the MOUNT line.
THE BIKE: 112 MILES
Finally I mounted up and clipped in. I love my bike and he loves me, I'm sure of it. With a mouth full of nutrition from T1, I took off. Naturally coasting down the helix to the course was a "no pass" zone, but don't think I didn't think about it! No pass zones piss me off.
Within a mile we hit the first railroad crossing. This didn't look good. I hit it hard and off flew a water bottle. I was down to 1 full water bottle of my special homemade mixture (ha!) for the 112 mile course. Crap. I knew that aid stations were going to be my saving grace, but I was bummed that I lost a water bottle that I trained with all year. Easy come, easy go, I guess. I heard spectator say "Yep, you lost it". Thanks genius.
I felt strong on the bike, averaging close to 20 mph for the first hour or so. The course was a blast, fair to excellent roads through (except for Stagecoach road, that sucked). The YouTube videos on the hills were dead on. Yes, those were some hills. Wow; it seemed that the elevation changed severely in 30 seconds. But, my plan was to allow myself to stand up and pedal after 20 seconds of high speed spinning, if I needed it..And I did. I felt my quads burning and I was in shape! I couldn't imagine what some of the others who weren't used to the hill training were thinking. The spectators were amazing-dressed up in super hero costumes, gorilla suits, hotdog suits (yep, seriously), bikinis, 'adult' outfits, and everything else you could imagine. The themed sign "This is the worst parade ever" was about every 30 seconds. These posters and homemade signs put smiles to my face when I got too serious-something I tended to do on the bike. I promised myself I would smile the whole time, and I think I almost did.
Halfway point marked welcome relief for many of the bikers: Special Needs bags. Not me…this was not in the plan so I didn't bring one. I kept moving forward, as much as I wanted to get off the bike and stretch. Screw it; I never trained with stopping so why do it now? Not in the plan.
Flying through Verona was amazing; I cranked it hard-had to be hitting 30 plus, passing people left and right. Yes, this is what I trained for. I mastered the nutrition hand off at the aid stations; probably only dropped one or two and stuffed my TYR top full of gels. I felt like I stole something..And it was sticky.
A few times, the race was complimented by great conversation with fellow bikers. A couple asked me for my goals and I wouldn't budge. That's between me and God. I don't know why I was so reluctant to share this info, especially with a stranger that I wouldn't likely see again, but I refused. Huh? I don't get it either.
Mile 100 hit me like a ton of bricks and the course tightened a bit; more technical spots encouraged decreased speed and increased prayers that I wouldn't get a flat. I saw about 5 bikers that weren't so lucky; not to mention 2 wrecks. Ouch. Tech support was present, welcome done IMWI. Refs on motorcycles were everywhere. I was terrified that I was going to get a drafting penalty since I was passing frequently, but I got lucky.
No pass zone back to Monona Terrace pissed me off (again) and excited me at the same time. I have to be honest, I passed twice. Sue me. Before I could suck done my last planned GU, the dismount line was in sight and there is Sadie, waving and smiling-both a welcome sight that lifted my spirits and took focus away from my sore legs. Getting off Andre and handing him over to the volunteer was easier than I thought. Not many people are allowed to go hands on with my Andre. I looked at him and thought "Well done, my friend..Go rest while I run a marathon". The immediate reality of muscle memory hit me when I took my first couple steps off the bike. Had to refocus my equilibrium a bit. Six hours of hard biking take a toll on the body. It made me laugh; especially when the dude next to me was worse than I was. He hit the ground..laughing as well. Endurance athletes have a sick sense of humor I guess.
Transition 2 went much smoother. Initially I had planned on wearing knee high compression socks but didn't consider the ankle sensor. Since it was still safety pinned and velcro'd I said screw it and went to plan B. Thank God I had a planned B. I had a lightweight set of running socks on standby and they were my "go to" for the run. Race belt on, popped my 'secret nutrition', IM visor, and I'm off..after a quick bathroom break. Unlike my fellow triathletes, peeing on the bike isn't an option for me. Maybe it's out of respect for Andre, maybe it's just my dedication to hygiene. Yes, many just pee on the bike. I held it..for 6 hours. Needless to say, that port-a-potty was a welcoming sight. I lost 3 pounds in 15 seconds.
THE RUN: 26.2 MILES
As previously mentioned, I had a plan and I was going to stick to it. I told myself this straight out of the gate. I am a very disciplined person and I wasn't going to change that now. Rarely do I share my race plans or race secrets, but this was it:
1. For the first 15 miles, walking wasn't ever an option, this includes aid stations. When I hit the aid stations, I would jog or even run in place. I did this; I was only person who probably jogged in place at aid stations and got several comments about it. But, it was my plan. Consistency in muscle demands; it works people.
Walking any hills in the first 15 miles wasn't going to happen either, no matter how hard it hurt.
2. Every 30 minutes I allowed myself to down a gel, fluctuated between GU and Octane. I sucked it down right before the next aid station and chased it with water, never Perform. Perform was for the non-gel stations.
3. After 15 miles, I gave myself a little slack, allowing a 30 second walk on any hills that pissed me off and no "running in place" at aid stations, no stopping though. NEVER STOP, not even to stretch; I knew that I would break the routine that my muscles were accustomed too (even if they didn't like it) and I didn't want to have to restart the process.
These things, along with a few other secrets allowed me to pass several and feel amazing. By the time I hit mile 15, my mind was trained to press on when my body didn't want to. Will power is ALWAYS stronger than physical limitations-you can quote me on that.
The crowds were amazing, empowering and energizing. It was SO awesome to see family and friends, and high-fiving them allowed me to feel a new sensation other than the sticky gel on my hands and drained legs. It revitalized me…like a transfer of energy or something crazy like that like I used to see on Saturday morning cartoons.
Running through Badger Stadium was an experience. I was so dead quite; eerie. It was cool at first but I was ready to run out of there. I'm not exactly sure why I didn't like it, it was an honor to be given this opportunity and truly beautiful in its own way.
The bountiful aid stations, smiling volunteers and grapes (God those were good) encouraged my focus and reminded me of the current support and support I've had for over a year. Speechless.
Halfway point on the run and the volunteers are handing out Special Needs bags and athletes and stopping and stretching. Not me, a volunteer asked if I have a bag and proudly say "no ma'am"..it wasn't in the plan. Onward I go without missing a step..Then it hit me: I got this; I am ALMOST an Ironman.
I was very surprised to see many sculpted athletes dropping along the run course. I caught myself being distracted by the look of pain in their eyes, their moans, and physique. I've never seen so many people running halfway bent over, or leaning to one side, or limping. I was inspired and concerned at the same time. Regardless, I had to run my race and FOCUS. This was part of the plan. I trained my eyes over the last couple months to stare about 10-15 feet ahead, primarily scanning for barriers, but also for just keeping focused. I had to remind myself to do this several times, veering from this plan only in high crowd areas when I made eye contact with my family and friends. So glad I did this! Pain and injuries that plagued the last 6 months of training only broke this focus for a short time. My will overcame that quickly; I felt little pain and barely broke my form. I'm glad that I changed my running stride 3 months ago-modifying it from a longer, higher stride to a shorter, lower one. I knew after 112 miles on the bike and a death battle in the lake, that striding out would have been wasted energy and less efficient. No regrets. The hill running that I did paid off as well and my body instinctively went into this form (lower arms, shorted stride, leaning another 3-5 degrees forward for momentum). It looks stupid but works. Run Forest Run.
Mile 22 is notorious for mentally raping me. Sorry for the visual, but any time I hit this distance something kicks my ass. I saw the mile 22 marker from about 300 feet out and it was different. I smiled more and more the closer I got. I wasn't going to lose this battle, not this time. I thought of what I had accomplished in the hours before this moment and my confidence grew as I got closer and closer. A single rain drop (or bird poop, or snot from another runner..I don't know) hit my nose as I was ten feet away, almost mocking me. I smirked and said, out loud,' F*@k you' as I ran by my mile 22 nemesis (excuse my language, but this was personal). Luckily no one was next to me at the time or I would have had some explaining to do. This pushed me forward..time to take it home. More tears.
Finally, I hear the music, I hear the cheers, the crowds are thickening…dear God I'm almost there! At this point, NOTHING hurt, I felt like I just ran a 5k, not 25 miles. My short, efficient stride is instantly extended and adrenaline comes from somewhere I didn't think existed. I choke up a bit. A single tear came and quickly ran down my left check. I felt more alive than I had all year training and stronger than I could ever imagine. It seemed like no one else but me was running towards that finish line. I suppose it was my imagination but the crowd seemed to cheer louder the faster I ran. I couldn't slow down if I wanted to. The final stretch was 100 feet in front of me and all of a sudden I didn't want it to end. I wanted to stop, turn around and run another lap. Part of me wasn’t ready to finish, to let go of something that has taken over such a huge part of my life. The other part of me disagreed with this.
50 feet to the finish line and I am fighting tears, staring straight ahead and running on nothing but will and fuel from the crowd. I look down at the "P 4:13" that I had written on my wrist prior to the race and rehearse the verse out loud: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me". I look up and point to Heaven in gratitude and sheer awe. 20 feet out, in blinding lights and deafening crowds I hear it: "STEPHANIE WHITMORE, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!!!"
I cross the line. It's over. I am in shock, overwhelmed and filled with emotion. I cry, laugh, and sigh at the same time. I see my friends and family acknowledging my accomplishment and I feel as if I am in an amazing dream. Much to my surprise, I wasn't exhausted. Adrenaline and the moment that I have dreamt about, cried over, sacrificed so much for, and prayed about took over and I am untouchable. I am an Ironman and finally understand what that means.
What were my goals? Well, I'm still not sharing them, but if it means anything-I met them. Official times were a not so great swim of 90 minutes, 6hr 5 min bike (18.3 mph average), and 3:54 marathon time. I am humble to make the Top 10 in my division, ranked 9th.
"Anything is possible."
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