At precisely 7:00 a.m., the cannon went off to signal the start of Ironman Lake Placid for over 2,700 age group athletes. I looked at Carrie, one of the athletes I was talking with prior to the start, and said, “Oh, is that us?”
She laughed and said, “Yup, that’s us!”
I was in no hurry to start. My plan was to wait one minute before starting. So, I walked along the banks to the start line of the swim. (I had been standing about 50 yards from the official start line.) I looked ahead as the washing machine of thousands of bodies jerked and tumbled and kicked and punched its way toward the buoy line. As I approached the hanging flags that indicated the starting line of the race, I put my face into the water and…
1…2…3…breathe.
I started the swim.
My first few strokes were relaxed and easy. The water, usually crystal clear, was full of particulates from all of the bodies that had been there just moments before. About 100 yards from the start, the water cleared, and then it hit me, Whoa! I’m doing an Ironman swim… Maybe I should pick up the pace?
I settled into my rhythm, and every time I breathed to the left side, I could see the mass of swimmers near the buoy line. But, I was practically alone where I swam.
Because I was so far away from the buoys, I had to sight at regular intervals. To help with this, I counted strokes. Every 15 strokes, I lifted my head, found the house in the distance I was sighting, and continued on. I also find that the counting helps to keep me relaxed and focused.
As I came round the second half of the first loop, the rain started to fall. Each time I took a breath, I could see the raindrops bouncing on the water’s surface. My thoughts rushed to the bike. But, I caught myself.
I can’t control the weather.
If it’s raining during the bike, so be it.
Don’t be an inventor of the negative.
Keep your focus on what you are doing now: Be present.
1…2…3…breathe…4…5…6…breathe…7…8…9…breathe…
Within 45 minutes of the start, I was back on the shoreline, finishing my first loop. In between the two loops, we had to exit the water and run over the timing mat again. This ensures that everyone does two loops.
As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, John’s parents had volunteered to work the swim exit. As I came out of the water, I saw Jeanne immediately. I ran right up to her, smiled BIG, and then gave her a huge smacker right on the lips.
“Go Maria!!” She yelled. And off I went, back into the water to start my second loop. At this point, I realized I had swum my first loop much too wide. Forty-five minutes for my first loop is not exactly what I was shooting for. I had hoped to go about 37-40 minutes for the first loop. But, the extra distance and the fact that I didn’t get benefit from the draft resulted in a slooooow first loop.
So, for the second go-round, I swam tighter to the buoys. While the throng of people had lessened noticeably, there was still quite a bit of hub-bub along the buoys. So, I settled about 15 feet from the buoy line, and got on a pair of feet. I was able to draft off feet and hips for the entire second loop. This resulted in a loop time that was almost 4 minutes faster than the first loop, despite the fact that my effort level remained constant. Wow – that draft is a powerful thing!
As I swam the second loop, my faith in myself grew as I was able to navigate in and around the many bodies that were working their way through the 2.4 mile swim. Despite the fact that I kept my effort steady at around 70% of my max effort, I was passing people consistently during the second loop. (I imagine I might have been passing people during the first loop, but I was sooooo far away I couldn’t tell – LOL!) Hellooooo, confidence boost!
With about 50 meters to go, my thoughts turned to transition. I began to use a wide breast stroke kick to shake out any stiffness or wobbliness in my legs in preparation for standing. I swam to where I could touch the bottom with my hand before I stood.
Again, the first person I saw was Jeanne. She was standing knee deep in the water, soaked up to her neck—and loving every minute of it! She later said that this volunteer duty was perfect for her. I could tell that just by looking at her when I came out of the water.
I gave her and John’s dad a hug and a kiss, and as I went I asked, “John made it out okay?”
I was a little ambien generic nervous for him because of where he started. His dad gave me a big smile.
“Right where he wanted to be: 1:05!”
Wow – 1 hour and 5 minutes. John is an ANIMAL—I love it!
As for me? Well, truth be told, I’m a little disappointed with my swim time: 1:26. I had wanted to do the swim between 1:15 and 1:20, but I messed up with the first loop. With the lessons I learned this year, I believe that 1 hour and 15 minutes is very achievable for next year’s race.
After passing John’s parents, I took advantage of the wetsuit strippers. As I lay on the ground, I said, “This is my first time…”
And the volunteer replied without missing a beat, “Ah, I’m your first stripper…”
I cracked up! The smile never left my face as I ran the quarter mile down to T1. There were spectators everywhere, 4-5 people deep along the transition run–screaming, ringing cow bells, whistling, clapping.
I saw my brother Johnny and nephew Jake on the hot corner in front of where we had set up a tent. Jake held his hand out for a high five—I was able to catch just his fingertips. I’m tearing up just remembering this moment. It was magnificent, marvelous: It was Ironman.
As I ran into the transition area, I grabbed my bike gear bag from the racks. I was lucky enough to have a placement right near the end of the rack, so it was very easy to find. I ran into the changing tent and stopped abruptly when I saw the scene.
Overwhelming doesn’t quite capture what it looked like inside the changing tent. It was hot, stuffy, dark and there was wet flesh EVERYWHERE! I stood there for probably a minute, holding my bag wondering what the hell to do.
I made my way to one of only a few open seats and opened my gear bag. You would have thought I had never seen bike gear before. I had a tough time trying to figure out what to do first.
Putting on my sports bra and bike shorts seemed like a good start. So, I went about doing that. Because my skin was wet, it was no small feat to pull up my tight lycra bike shorts. I lost a lot of time doing a full change, but I think being comfortable was worth it–at least for my first one. Next year, I will probably do the tri shorts instead of the bike shorts. After I put on my shorts and sports bra, I got confused again. Will I be cold? Should I bring my arm warmers? Do I need my vest or just the bike shirt?
These questions seemed near next to impossible to answer in the steamy tent that was abuzz with laughter, chatting, screams for help. I wish I had some video to show you…
Then, an angel appeared and asked, “Do you want some help?”
“I think I do, yes!”
She took charge after that with a string of questions and commands:
“Do you need this?” She asked as she held up my body glide.
“Here’s your helmet. Just put that on.”
“I’ll put the suncreen on your arms.”
“Bike gloves. Put them on.”
“Do you need this hammer bar?”
I loved how she took charge and told me what to do. Transitioning seems quite basic in theory, but when you are in the rush of the moment, even the most obvious steps become opaque. The changing tent volunteers are the unsung heroes of Ironman! (After the race, I said how much I loved those volunteers in the changing tent probably about a dozen times.)
After I was dressed, she said, “Go! I’ll take care of your stuff!”
So, out the back of the tent I went to see another volunteer.
“Bathrooms left, bikes right,” she said.
Okay, right it is! Yet another fantabulous volunteer yelled, “2609!!” That’s me! She ran with me to my bike, helped me get it off the rack and then I got in a line of other athletes heading toward the bike exit. This part was quite a bottleneck during T1, and it probably took over a minute just for me to get to the mount line. All told, my T1 time was HORRIBLE – over 11 minutes to get dressed and get the bike. I know I can get this down to about 5-7 minutes next year by avoiding a full clothing change.
As I crossed the timing mat, signaling the beginning of my bike, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the 112 miles to come. If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that the bike is my weakness, mostly due to my mediocre handling skills. My apprehension was only heightened by the fact that the rain was still falling as I left the transition area.
But, there was only one way to go: Forward. So, I swung my leg over the bike seat, clipped in to the pedals and….
