The run course begins along Main Street, among thousands of people, cheering, ringing cow bells, shouting words of encouragement, and drinking lots of beer, which I could smell on the breath of some of the spectators. That is how close they get to you on the run course.
A group of spectators held up a sign that read, “Free Beer!” I wonder if anyone took them up on that. One woman commented to me, “You are looking strong! Have some beer!”
I replied, laughing, “Not sure I’ll keep looking strong if I drink that!”
During the first three miles, I felt great, and was keeping an 8:45 min/mile pace, with a zone 2 heart rate. I thought to myself, “Wow! If I can keep this up, I’ll come in right around 13 hours.” I was excited. While my coach thought I could do a 12:30 Ironman, my slow performance on the bike had already made that a near impossibility for the day. All along, however, I had thought I would do a 14 hour Ironman—that seemed realistic for my first time. I was well on track for that goal.
Despite the fact that I was feeling good, a voice in the back of my head cautioned, “Heart rate is okay, but isn’t this pace a little fast for the first 5k of the marathon?” So, I purposefully slowed a bit. My average pace went from about an 8:45 to an 8:53.
While it wasn’t a hot day, it was warm enough. I was covered in sweat and salt. So, the aid stations, spaced about 1 mile apart, were a welcome sight, where I knew I could cool down. Each aid location was like a cornucopia of endurance runners’ delights: refreshingly cold sponges on my head and down my shirt and shorts, cold water, which the volunteers willingly threw on my back, perform (sports drink), gel, chocolate chip cookies, chicken broth and so on.
Somewhere around 4 miles, I had to use the restroom. Okay, no big deal – quick in and out, right? I remember thinking to myself: “Cool, I must be hydrating properly because I’m peeing regularly.”
Each aid station had about three port-a-potties. Note to race directors: THIS IS WOEFULLY INADEQUATE FOR 2,700 ATHLETES!! As the day wore on, those port-a-potties got more and more disgusting, so much so that you could smell the stench just by running by them. I can only imagine what they would have smelled like if it was hotter.
So, I went in the stall, held my breath and did what I had to do. I dropped some of my reserve Tums on the floor of the port-a-potty, and thought, Well, I hope I won’t need them! I wasn’t about to retrieve anything from that floor.
I returned to the road and started out again. Huh? What’s the matter with my legs? My legs just wouldn’t turnover. Every time I tried to quicken the pace, my heart rate rose too much. Uh-oh.
Then, I remembered the missing 300 calories from the bike ride, and more problematically, I realized with all of the excitement, I made the classic rookie marathon mistake: I went out too fast
By the time I got to the turnaround out on River Road (a bit past 5 miles), my average pace had slowed to an 8:57. Heading back into town, I watched as my pace got progressively slower, despite keeping the same effort.
Okay, maybe if I can just keep it at 9 minute/mile pace.
Then, the lap pace hit 9:01.
Okay, 9:01 is okay. Just keep it here.
Eventually, my pace creeped into the 9:30s. Oh, crap.
As I hit the out and back on Mirror Lake Drive, I heard my brother yell, “Maria! JJ is an Ironman!! He crossed the line!”
He did it! John got the dream – now it was my turn to make it happen. This put a little bit of pep back in my step, even if only for a brief period of time.
As I passed by my brother and Tracy again, I put up two fingers: “I’ll be back in two hours!” Okay, sure, given my pacing problems, two hours was optimistic, but I’d rather think positively – especially in the last 13 miles of an Ironman. I wasn’t hurting; I just couldn’t get my legs to turnover. GRRRRR!!!
Once turning back on to River Road, my legs felt like lead. I knew I had to do something, yet that something wasn’t to run faster. What I had to do was ignore my watch before I let the negative thoughts creep in. My new goal: Just keep running, no matter how slow, and walk the aid stations to make sure I got the nutrition I needed.
So, that’s what I did. I kept focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and keeping a steady, if very slow, run. I watched people all around, walking the marathon. But, I was committed to running this marathon, even if my pace was off my goal.
As I came back up to IGA hill, the spectators thickened. I turned onto Main, with everyone cheering my name, which was on my bib.
“Way to go, Maria!”
“Nice climbing, Maria!”
“You got this, Maria!”
There were two teenage boys, and one said, “Looking strong, Maria! I liii-iike it!” I laughed out loud just because of the way he said it, where he put the emphasis on the words. He sounded like he was flirting (despite the fact I could be his mother!), sort of like, “Hey, I gotcher run right here, baby…” Hilarious!
Turning on to Mirror Lake Drive for the final out-and-back portion, I looked immediately to the left, where my family would be. There they were, clapping and hooting: “ALMOST THERE, MAA-RII-AA!”
I was almost there, less than 2 miles to go and I would be an IRONMAN. I kicked the pace back into gear. Ah, there’s those legs!
By the time I turned around on Mirror Lake Drive, my pace was back under a 9 minute mile—and I felt great! I could hear Mike Reilly, saying those magic words to the people who were crossing the line before me: “YOU. ARE. AN. IRONMAN!!”
The sky was still lit by the setting sun, so I would be finishing in a little bit of daylight. No glow sticks for me, baby!! As I came back down Mirror Lake Drive, the same road I had run along about 12 hours earlier as I transitioned from the swim to T1, I was smiling, laughing, crying. The crowd went nuts as I ran into the chute marked: “To the Finish.”
I pointed at it and gave a fist pump. And then, I entered the Olympic Oval. Oh boy, I had DREAMED about this moment – running into the Olympic Oval, finishing my first ironman. It was even more magical than I had visualized.
By now, the tears were flowing freely as I gave high fives to the spectators that lined the Oval. As I turned the corner and saw the time clock, I heard it.
“Maria Simone, from Absecon, NJ, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!”
And then, I freaked out. I did what has been described thusly:
“the crazy happy dance,”
“the freak out,”
“spunk and style,”
“hilarious.”
“going nuts!”
“quite the endorphin kick.”
I’m having some trouble with the video that John took, so I can’t upload it just yet. But, once I get it figured out, I’ll upload my finishing dance. It’s quite the display.
I was so overtaken by a sense joy that filled my entire body. No tiredness, no pain–only joy. I can only wish that everyone can feel that way, even if only for a few moments.
I crossed the line 13 hours, 33 minutes and 6 seconds after the starting cannon went off. I finished the way I started: smiling and crying.
Ironman Lake Placid was one of the best days of my life because it was the ultimate celebration of months of hard work, and overcoming brutal challenges to grow both physically and mentally.
The human body is a most amazing machine.Pushing the limits of my physical ability has led to considerable mental and spiritual growth over the past several months, and the strong, enduring sense that I am alive.
This experience has also underscored the inspirational human potential for kindness and support. I am so grateful to everyone who helped us along the way with words of encouragement, training and racing assistance, and donations to the Iron Scholarship. It means more than I can explain, and it has brought me to tears more than once.
Heartfelt thanks to all of you.
I CANNOT WAIT UNTIL NEXT YEAR!
