The
only weather-related issue threatening to delay our swim start was fog. Yet,
upon arriving, I knew that wouldn’t be an issue. A smooth Lake Stevens greeted
us, and dark clouds had parked right on the horizon. I had a feeling this was
going to be Roger Thompson’s kind of race: a rainy one. Quite frankly, I’ve
come home soaking wet after so many of my rides, runs, and races this spring,
that—like Roger—I couldn’t help but feel a little excited about it. I would take
advantage of everyone else’s disappointment, and use it to propel me through
the course. Kathi Best—the night before—told me to laugh if I rode into a
downpour. Besti, I laughed, and it didn’t even compare to the downpour we rode
through up to Mt. Spokane.
But first, the swim: I started with
the rest of the 18-29 year-olds in the third wave, following right on the heels
(actually, not quite) of the pro women. I couldn’t catch the group ahead of me
to take advantage of their bubbles, but once two ladies ahead of me swam past
the buoy demarcating the turn, it felt like an easy ride all the way back to
the finish. I successfully knocked off 2 minutes off my swim time from Boise,
ambled out of the water, slipped out of my wetsuit (yes, it came off better
than races-past), and made it out of transition without a hiccup.
All set! |
Then
I realized I couldn’t see. No kidding. I hopped on my bike anyway to be out of
transition quickly
(I’ve come to realize fast transition times are just as
gratifying as fast splits). I prodded and squished my left eyeball around, and when
mile 5 suddenly crept up, I told myself I couldn’t do anything to fix it. I had
lost my contact sometime during the swim. I panicked a little. This course was
hard enough when you could see clearly, but I had rain, wet roads, and a lack
of depth perception to make navigating over every flipping hill in Lake Stevens
that much more ridiculous. My mother’s words from the night before ran through
my mind, “Meghan, just be careful. I really hope the roads aren’t wet. Don’t go
fast if the roads are wet!” I laughed, because I knew I’d go fast, and to think
I was going to do it with compromised vision.
The standing water on the roadway
did make me take it easy on the turns, however. If the downhill was straight,
and I couldn’t see any obstruction, I went for it. Amazingly, it felt as though
my right eye took over as best it could, and riding soon got easier—unless the
rain pelted me directly in the face. Then, I had to alternately close one eye
and then the other. Let’s just say I didn’t keep my right eye closed for too
long. Definitely too blurry.
Hill upon hill kept aiming to
thwart me. Keats McGonigal, the race director, certainly did a fine job of
finding
every hill—both long and steady, short and steep—he could to add to our misery.
Craig’s instruction to, “stay within yourself,” became my mantra, as I did
everything to overcome my “power up it” mentality and felt no shame riding in
my granny gear to preserve my legs. In fact, my granny gear—along with keeping my
butt in the saddle—ended up carrying me over hills faster than some
20-something guys trying climb their way up by standing. I would have looked
over and smiled at them if it weren’t for all the snot that covered my face.
Rosi Guerrero and I drove the bike course the night previous. While I'd ridden it two times before, I'd forgotten just how many hills there really were. The scenery is amazing |
I didn’t come away from the race a
“hill-climbing phenomenon,” however. Just before the wild ascend that race
personnel warned us we’d need to slow and gear down for (it was the steepest
hill on the course, and many walked up it or fell over half way up), I dropped
my chain. Figures. I had too many
dork tattoos to count (so I didn’t), and I thought I’d leave that to Craig
Thorsen when I saw him at the finish. I got it back on and actually beat the
guy who started up ahead of me despite the unfortunate slow down. And the hills
continued…
Enough about the hills: I started
my run feeling quite well, until 3 minutes elapsed. My entire abdominal wall spasmed,
much like it did in Boise. I decided to run it out and see how far I’d get.
Much to my surprise—and relief—it actually subsided by mile 3. I started
sucking on a gel at mile 2 and realized I’d need to find an alternative. After
the first loop of the run, I felt my energy waning. I spotted Sam Piccici as I
turned out for my second loop. I told him this hurt. His response? “That’s ok.
Just keep it steady.” I don’t know what I expected him to say, but this sport shows
no sympathy. So, I sucked it up.
Erica Zeimer and Craig had told me
about the all-powerful greatness of Cola. By mile 7, I definitely couldn’t
stand any more gel, so I decided to go for it. Holy Moses! I don’t drink soda,
but MAN that was amazing! So sweet! I can’t say that it gave me quite the
“kick” Erica said she’s experienced in the past, but it kept my feet moving.
By mile 9, my mental game started
to collapse. Craig and Erica noticed, too, as they passed me on their loops. My
legs kept churning, but not by much. My Timex kept alternating between
7:20min/mile pace and 8:30min/mile. By the last hill, it took everything I had
to keep from walking. I couldn’t do that. I already relished all the time I
could at the aid stations—they even had sponges…AND Cola! I relied on my last
sip of Cola at the final aid station to keep me running to the finish
(obviously, that’s where all the spectators were planted, and I couldn’t walk in front of them!) The Finish line never looked so blurry—but good!—and hurt so
bad. Actually, I take that back. My marathon finish in 2010 was definitely
worse. Yet all I could think about was, Damn.
And I signed up for Ironman CDA.
As blurry, rainy, and snotty as
that race was, I did it. Thankfully, I qualified for Worlds in Boise, because I
wouldn’t have done it here with my fourth place finish. It felt good competing against some of the best (the woman who woman my age group finished first amateur woman overall, beat two professional woman, and placed first in my age group at World's last year). I met all
my goals with my splits, and I didn’t think I’d do that with a bike course this
hilly. I didn’t expect to ride a sub-3hr bike with as many hills as I had to
scale and as wet of roadways as I had to slow down for. I had no idea how my
run would turn out considering my legs after a long, hilly bike ride. My goal
was to run around a 1:40 run split, and I only exceeded that by 20 seconds.
While I felt like (insert expletive here) during the entire second loop, I ran
a faster average pace than during my first loop.
And so the story continues… In
preparation for Worlds, I do believe I have plenty of hilly rides and runs on
my agenda. Add in some Spokane heat and I should be set. I think I’ll start
with a few days of rest, though I’ve been told to prepare myself to get back at
it this weekend. At least I have Bryan Rowe’s approval for a few rest days.
![]() |
Photo by Rene Guerrero |
I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get a few pictures with the pros. Miranda took first woman (by a long shot) and Tim came in second. Such nice people, and what a couple!
Finally, a few acknowledgements:
·
A huge THANK YOU to everyone back in Spokane
(teammates, friends) who followed me via Athlete Tracker and/or Facebook. I can’t
tell you how cool it is to have so many people behind me. I look forward to
following all of you during your
upcoming races!
·
Thank you to Chuck and Jenny Hormel (and
Caitlin!) for the ride and the hotel accommodations. You guys made my race
experience far less stressful than it could have been, and I appreciate it
considerably! Both Chuck and Caitlin also raced and were very pleased with how
their races went.
·
Rosi Guerrero, I couldn’t finish this post
without thinking about you. I know while driving the bike course last night you
mentioned how you were just that “average” triathlete. I have to disagree. The
average athlete didn’t have a serious pulmonary issue the beginning of his
season and decide to race a half Ironman anyway. The average athlete doesn’t
have two beautiful, talented girls who have dance and acting as part of their
lives, making it apart of yours, too. The average athlete doesn’t teach piano
performance full time, or take the time outside of his job to not only grade
compositions, but provide suggestions, too. The average athlete doesn’t do
nearly the job you do to provide for your family. Finally, the average athlete
doesn’t find humor in some of the smallest things (like wearing swimsuits for a
bike ride when we really should have been wearing bike shorts!)
You are one amazing, inspiring
woman, Rosi. I’d like you to know that you are an inspiration and a role model.
The way you care for your girls and Rene, and the way you patiently handle
adversity and challenges is beyond “average.” Congratulations Ironwoman!
·
Mom and Dad, thank you for your support in all
of this. I know you must think I’m a little crazy pursuing something that seems
so time-consuming and expensive. You guys have put up with a stressed-out
student and determined athlete for a long time. I just wanted you both to know
that I love you (I don’t say it enough) and I appreciate your confidence in me.
It doesn’t go unnoticed.
Thank you for your great postings. Your descriptive style, your sense of humor and your connection of faith makes a fun style. From a Montana fan.
ReplyDeleteEd Greef
Florence, Mt