Soma Emotions Run High

I did it. I actually completed it. A Half Ironman. Does that mean I am half a man...or woman? I am not sure. But I cried when I crossed the line. That beautiful, blue inflatable FINISH might as well have read: FABULOUS, because that is how I felt. And I still am reveling in that emotion. I wish the high would last forever, but knowing it will not, I will have to sign up for another race before the blues set in.

Soma is the Half Ironman in Tempe, Arizona. Tempe is a cute little town with tons of eateries and bars and endless entertainment. The day before the race in Tempe was hot. Not like Florida hot and humid (we were there days before), but hot and sunny. I was worried. After spending half the day at the Urgent Care in town on Saturday (a long and longer story), I was really worried about race day. I felt nervous and agitated. My patience was short and my mood becoming less jovial into Saturday night. I ate a ton of food that night with Marc and our friends, Susan and Steve, who made the trip, as well. It was a wonderful weekend of hanging and being social, but I had that nagging worry about the swim the next day. I was convinced I might drown. I questioned my motives for even being there at all.

Sunday morning wake up call came with the sound of all the other athletes slamming hotel doors around us, dragging out bikes and trampling down the halls. We met at Starbucks for coffee with Team S and S (Steve and Susan), and headed over to the transition area. It was all so new and exciting for me. All I have really ever done are the little Tri Club races. I loved the idea that the first real deal for me was a Half. How perfect. How seemingly important. How crazy was I?? It was dark at 6 am and the air was temperate. Music playing, athletes talking, taping, eating and dressing. I went over to get marked, 918.

Marc was in the first wave after the pros. I was sad and scared to kiss him goodbye. He looked so confident in his navy cap and sleeveless suit, all sleek and unconcerned. "Just have fun, Pea. Remember, it is for fun." Then he was gone. All of a sudden, I really was all alone in the world. The sunrise was beautiful as I went to line up along Lake Tempe with my fellow white caps. The water looked so nasty the day before, debris floating in the murky water. I tried not to think about what was not living in there. I talked with a few girls in the line. One was from Mission Valley. She commented on my black and blue toe. The color had conveniently now spread to the top of my foot. "It's broken," I explained. "But at least it is just a toe and not my leg."

All of a sudden, we were being moved along like cattle to the bleachers that lead down into the sludge. I was really regretting my decision and wondering if it was too late to back out. I wonder how many people have done that? Backed out of a race at the starting moment? Floating start, we got in and swam over to the green bouy. I felt like a helpless cork in the water. Then suddenly, all too suddenly, we were off as the horn bellowed. Apart from the water tasting like oil, the swim was so much better that I had imagined. I was happy to be in a wetsuit (also something new for me), and simply counted my strokes (a trick a real swimmer taught me) when I felt nervous or stressed. The swim never thinned out. There were bodies everywhere all of the time. I caught up to many caps of different color from earlier heats, which did my confidence good, but I still was being kicked and clawed the whole way. Everytime someone grabbed my leg, I made sure to kick extra hard. I loved the fact that I really felt like I was making some progress and, really, only when I was about 100 yards from the finish, did I feel like I was ready to get out of the water. As good as the swim felt, it was still a slow 40 minutes. I expected nothing more.

On to the bike. I knew it would be pathetic and it was. I am not coordinated enough to eat and ride. I cannot even drink while I ride, so I planned to stop every loop (there were 3 total) to take in fluid and nutrition. It felt so good to eat, I decided to stop twice on each loop. I made friends with the volunteers in the aid stations. They even offered me their pizza they were eating, in addition to bananas and GUs and Gatorade. I declined, knowing I had a run ahead of me. They knew my name by the end of the third loop. Mile48 on the bike was the first time little negative thoughts began to creep in my mind. "What if I do not finish? How will I still run so far?" At least there was still cloud cover, so I pressed on. The course was so beautiful with cactus and red rocks and mountains. For having to do it 3 times on the bike, the loops were scenic and enjoyable the whole way. I saw Marc when he was at mile 50 and I still had 24 miles to go. I yelled at him from the aid station, as I was eating pretzels, but he was too focused to notice. As I came around the bike loop to finish my second, I was able to see him head out on the first loop of the run. He looked somewhat happy, which is a great thing, considering he has not run in months with plantar still plaguing him. I was relieved to know he was off the bike and still moving (read: without a crash incident), after seeing one of his water bottles roadside. I had already witnessed a casualty on the bike in front of me. A man had hit a metal sign that read: Keep Right, directing the traffic. He went down hard, and I heard afterward he had totalled his bike and tore up his leg and side with roadrash. I would have stopped, had he not already had a mob of people around him. 3:20 was my final time. Ridiculous, I know, but I loved having lunch with all those people. It was so low pressure.

The run. I was dreading how it would feel. All of my brick training (which was all of about 4 runs off the bike) felt like I was running on sticks after a ride. I knew it would hurt. Amazingly, I got my bike into transition, took my time getting all I needed, ate some more pretzels and even wandered to the trash can to throw away some garbage. I reapplied sunscreen and lip balm. I grabbed a hat and a few GUs, reserved only for desperate times ahead. It felt so good to walk off the bike. As I ran through to the start of the course, I could not believe how fabulous I felt. Miles 1 through 3 were 7:30 pace. I passed two tri geeks running together and I heard one say, "That chick just made us look like we are standing still." They were truly shuffling along, but I decided to back off my pace a little, knowing it would hurt later. I decided not to look at my watch again until mile 6, and settled into something that felt very confortable.

I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to take a GU at mile 6, though I was dreading it. I came through mile 6 at 50 minutes and felt great. Mile 8, I hit a little wall. I had needed to pee for so long, but did not want to break my stride. Now, feeling tired, I decided to hit the port a potty and was surprised how much lighter I felt afterward. My clothes were soaking wet to pull back on from all the water I had dumped over my head at each aid station. The beauty of this course was the water and food at each mile. The big question for me would be if I took in too much fluid and drenched myself too many times. I hit the ground running after the potty and took the GU, just before water at mile 9. By mile 10, I was still feeling my legs, sipped some Coke and moved forward by what felt like inches at a time. Some woman in the sidelines yelled at me, "You look great! You don't even look like you are working!" Why do they lie like that? I could only muster up a smile. I did not even have the wind to thank her, but I was so determined, I felt like a soldier. I couldn't stop running. I knew if I walked, even for a minute, that would be the beginning of the end. So, I kept going. I thought about how I always tell my 5 year old to never give up. What kind of role model would I be if I quit when it got hard?

The Gu must have kicked in, because by mile 11, I was passing people again, picking them off one at a time. I noticed a few were in my age group, but I didn't even care. I didn't need to pass people to move my way up in the age group. I simply wanted to move my way closer to the finish and it felt like I was doing this at last. This was a part of the course that was a little trail of a dogleg that is added on for the needed mileage and the surface felt fabulous. Marc pointed out that it would not have been so fab if it were a hot day. Lucky for us, the cloud cover hung around and I even got a few sprinkles from one rain cloud. Mile 12, and all I could think was, "How do people do a FULL Ironman? Now that I have done this, I don't think I ever need to go down this road again.." Mile 13 and I passed a man who yelled at me, "Less than one minute of work left. Good job." And that is when it hit me. The whole day had been about counting down the miles to get closer to the goal and now I was really going to finish. I was going to be part of the Club. I really had made it. I crossed the line and cried like a baby. Shameless, I know, but at least I had dark glasses on. I hope it wasn't too obvious. The run was 1:48, which put my finish at 5:58, all that much sweeter that I finished in under 6 hours. Barely.

Things I am glad I did:
Wore a wetsuit for the swim, since I had borrowed it and debated it, feeling like a stuffed sausage. I needed all the help I could get.
Took tons of time in transition to be prepared for the next segment. I even put on extra sunscreen and lip balm for added comfort.
Took even more time at aid stations on the bike for the sake of nutrition. My run after the fact would not have felt as smooth as it did had I not eaten the way I needed to off the bike. Maybe someday I will be pro and be able to eat bananas without going down, but for now, this is the reality of it.
Dumped water over my head at every station. Though the sun was not blazing, it was not a cool day either. I felt better even time I cooled myself to the core.
Talked to people along the way and really enjoyed the time. The support and volunteers were amazing. The other athletes were inspiring. The day was a total success. I care nothing about my time, but I will boast for the others:

Marc finished in 4:41, his fastest yet
Steve finished in 5:04, a PR, too
Susan finished in 5:13, another PR. She is a quick chick.

All blazing fast and awe inspiring. I am so proud of them. Mostly, I have such respect for anyone who attempts the distance, knowing what I know now. It was not easy and I took it "easy". I tried to race smart, but my legs still smart. I felt the pain at the end, and wanted to end it. I loved every minute of it, simply because the minutes did not matter to me. The experience was the ticket. I recommend the journey to anyone. I learned so much about me for the six hours of quiet I had in my head. I think that is what I love most about this sport.