IMLP Race Report Part 1: Everybody Was Kung Fu Swimming

Training, racing and finishing a second Ironman is not like the first. It is both easier and harder.

Easier because all of the mysteries, like the behind-the-scenes details of transition, were revealed during last year’s race.

Harder because you know what’s coming.

Easier because you’ve done it once, and there isn’t the pressure of wondering whether or not you can do it.

Harder because there is the pressure of doing it better, faster, stronger.

Going in to this year’s Ironman Lake Placid, I was feeling the pressure. It’s not like I didn’t have pressure last year, but it was more about wondering if I could finish. This year was about wondering how I would finish.

As we went to sleep the night before the race, I said to John, “I really want to do better on the bike this year. I have to do better on the bike.”

“You will do better, you will.”

And we drifted off.

I woke up before my alarm went off, but I laid in bed waiting for it. I have my alarm set to the Rocky theme, and I have to hear it on race morning. It’s a tradition and part of my superstitious good luck ritual. (I have several of these…)

After I heard the tell tale chords of of the theme song, I got out of bed and prepared for the day ahead. After 7 months of training and waiting, it was finally time to execute the race plan.

The Swim: Wetsuits Optional, Body Contact Required

As we made our final preparations in transition area, we heard Mike Reilly announce that the swim would be wetsuit optional. The lake temperature was 77 degrees. While you could opt to wear a wetsuit, you would not be eligible for a Kona slot or age group award.

Ironman racing requires the ability to make decisions that allow you to adapt to the circumstances of the day. This was just the first of those.

Since I would be lucky if I finished mid-pack, there was no sense in being a hero, and I opted for a wetsuit. While I’ve swum this distance before without a wetsuit, I wanted to avoid spending too much energy on the swim.

I have to admit, however, that opting to wear the wetsuit was a bit of a blow to my ego. I thought that I was weak until I saw how many other athletes also opted for the wetsuit. I ran into my friend Charlotte, and we agreed that it was insane not to wear the wetsuit. John agreed.

“If I wasn’t going for the slot, I would definitely wear the wetsuit,” he said. That was enough confirmation for me.

As it turned out, I was grateful to have the wetsuit. This swim was absolutely the most rough-and-tumble tri swim I’ve ever done. I started all the way to the right bank of the lake, and from the start there was punching and kicking and bumping.

It was impossible to throw a clean stroke without hitting someone, let alone find a rhthym. I spent most of the first loop not being able to extend at the catch, so I tried to ensure that the finish of my stroke was as long as possible.

I thought to myself, “I guess everyone is over here this year. I hope John is having better luck along the buoy line.”

As I re-entered the lake for my second loop, I figured I might as well get as close as possible to the buoys. If I’m going to get pummeled, I might as well opt for a shorter distance.

Not surprisingly, the buoy line was no less physical. Indeed, it was even more rough and tumble on the second loop. After I made the final turn, another swimmer tried to swim over me.

Dude, this is the SECOND loop – there’s no need to swim over me.

He was laying on my legs, so I kicked – HARD. (I’m assuming it was a man, but I don’t know for certain.)

I felt bone on my foot, and I figured I made contact with his face or chin. He got off me immediately after that. I felt bad that I had to kick him, probably in his face, but you can’t be laying on my legs. At that doxycycline moment, I was grateful for my wetsuit as it helped keep me buoyant while this person tried to push me down.

Complicating matters during the second loop was a growing sense of queasiness, which began as I rounded the first turn buoy.

Really?!!? I thought.

I started running through all of the things I had eaten, all of the things I had done that morning.

I had swallowed some lake water, or should I say pee water. But, that was nothing different than usual. I hadn’t overeaten.

I began to worry that I was getting stomach cramps. I forced the worried thoughts from my mind, and concentrated on the present moment by counting strokes.

1…2…3…breathe…4…5…6…breathe

I reminded myself of a quote I had read just days before in Chris McCormack’s book, I’m Here to Win: “Every triathlete, pro or amateur, no matter how fit, reaches a point in every race where he has to decide whether he will endure more suffering. It’s very simple. Either he will or he won’t. You will get there. The only question is how you’ll handle it.”

No matter what happened, I would decide to endure more suffering.

Macca is right: It is that simple.

It’s going to hurt, you just have to handle it. My experience with ultra-running is a key advantage here. Nothing brings on the suffer more than ultra running. Hmmm, must be the attraction.

I exited the swim, and looked at the clock: 1:30:xx.

Shit! I was already 4 minutes slower than last year.

I knew my swimming was off this year, so I wasn’t terribly surprised. But, I was disappointed. The negative thoughts wanted to creep into my head as I ran to T1.

But then, I saw my brother almost immediately after I left the beach. He was smiling, and yelling, “That’s it, Maria! Keep it moving!”

I immediately started tearing up and forgot my worries. I gave him a big smile and a “Woop! woop!”

Family and friends waiting around for us crazy Ironmen. In this picture: my nephew Jake, friends Danny and Patti Wright, and my sister-in-law Tracy.

Then, as I headed further down toward T1, I looked left to where my family was stationed at “Team U Crazy Headquarters”. They were yelling and encouraging me.

“Go Maria!!”

I gave a fist pump, and yelled, “I’m going to rock that bike, baby!!”

And, I kept moving.

It is that simple.

By the time I got to T1, my stomach issue was resolved and it occurred to me: I had gotten seasick! That’s how rough and choppy the normally flat-as-a-pancake Mirror Lake became from the bumping and pumping of 2500ish bodies.

My swim time placed me 80th in my division, out of a total of 122 35-39 year old women.

Hopefully, my bike would not follow the same pattern as my swim.

T1: Let’s do this a little quicker, shall we?

Last year, my T1 time was almost 12 minutes. I was determined not to let that happen again. When I entered the changing tent it was FULL of bodies.

TIP: Go to the back of the changing tent–or even outside of the tent if possible. Everyone likes to stop as soon as they walk in, and it creates a crowded front section. The back is not as crowded.

I found a spot right near the exit, and dumped my bag. I had carefully packed my bag and it worked like a charm. I was out of the changing tent within 5 minutes of exiting the lake. (The run from the lake to T1 area is about a quarter of a mile, so it’s about a 2-3 minute run just to grab your bags.)

I had lucked out with my bike spot. I was the second bike from the aisle in the 8th row from the front. So, I was able to zip down the aisle, grab my bike, and scoot to the mounting line.

Trouble is, just like last year, there was a line at the mount line, and I waited about a minute in a line. So, my T1 time was 7:27.

It was just enough to make up the difference from my slower swim.

I started the bike about dead even with last year’s overall time. It was time to hammer.

Part 2: Sticking to the Plan.

Comments are closed.