I have heard stories, troubling stories, of athletes
throwing up, passing out, and even dying during an Ironman. These stories run
through my head as I listen to the seemingly endless sound of sirens. It’s now dark, and the hot Kentucky sun
has gone down, but the temperature has barely dropped. I have passed many
people today who had succumbed to either the heat, the endurance requirements,
or maybe the nasty brown Ohio River they unintentionally drank too much of. I am 6 miles from the end of my 9-month journey,
my first Iroman, and my first marathon run. I am shocked that my body feels so
good, my energy is still high, and the adrenalin is still flowing. My only
concern is the excruciating pain in my knee – like a knife penetrating the
bone. I am now unable to run. I
can walk, but running reduces me to tears. So the last 6 miles will take a bit
time and a lot patience.
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| Dealing with my pre-race nerves |
My day leading up to this moment had been brilliant. I
dragged my very supportive husband out of bed at 3:30am to eat and then walked down to the event. There I did a quick check of my bike and pumped my tires,
put food in my support bags, and got my body marked. It was over a mile walk to
the swim start and it was still very dark. Drew kept the mood light and my
nerves in check. The swim start for the Louisville Ironman is a unique one.
Athletes jump off a dock a few at a time, until all 3,000 are in the water. The
line-up for our swim extended for over a mile, but my friend and fellow
competitor, Janet Carey, saved me a spot at the front of the line. It was a
long wait. Many people, not wanting to lose their spot in line, would just pee
where they stood – the only clue in the darkness being a new wet spot on the
sidewalk.
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| Jumping off the docks |
As the Ironman wannabies jumped off the docks, it occurred
to me that being at the front of the line may not have been my best strategy. I
have only been swimming about a year and a half, and lake water swims are still
somewhat scary for me. My pre-race thoughts turned to my history of racing,
which did not give me any confidence. I have only ever done three triathlons
and they were all last summer. Today was my first and only race for this season.
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| The calm before the storm |
When I entered the water, there were maybe 50 people before
me. Janet and I swam the first few 100 meters side by side. The water felt warm
and my breathing stayed steady. It was fairly quiet, but more and more athletes
were swimming up and passing me. My swimming has come a long way in a short
period of time, but my speed is still slow – so many of the athletes who were lined
up behind me, were catching-up and passing me. I found myself sandwiched
between swimmer after swimmer, passing me, punching me, kicking me. I “sighted”
to check where I was, and all I could see were thousands of flailing arms and
legs. This may not have been a “mass start” race, but I was definitely in a
mass of swimmers. My only concern was keeping my cool. A panic attack then would
have been a disaster.
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| Very happy that the swim is over |
When the last buoy came into sight, I was surprised at how
quickly the swim had gone. My fear of a DNF in the water was almost over, and I
was elated. Once on dry land, I made my way down the shoot to the women’s tent.
A volunteer retrieved my bike bag, and another helped me strip out of my swimsuit.
More volunteers descended on me, until I had three helping me suit-up for my
ride. The teamwork was amazing, and very welcomed in my post-swim fog.
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| Heading out on the bike |
As I ran to my bike I could hear the voice of my coach, Al,
in my head: “Carmen, remember you have to run a marathon after you ride…don’t
go too fast, there is no room for error here”. Nutrition, hydration, and speed
would be my focus for the next 6 to 7 hours. I reached into the back of my bulging
jersey and dug around for something to eat. I pulled out a wrap that I had made
the day before: almond butter and honey. I took a bite and struggled to
swallow. It was dry and difficult to stomach. It had been 20 minutes since I had
left the water, and I knew I had to start eating. I could not understand why something
that I had enjoyed on training rides was now repulsing me.
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| Loving every minute |
About thirty minutes later, I dug around in my jersey again.
Avoiding the wraps, I grabbed a bag of boiled, mini-potatoes. I popped one into
my month and blessed the person who recommended I try it. The flavor was
wonderful. Every thirty minutes I rotated from gels to potatoes. My body felt great, the scenery was
spectacular, the hills were plentiful, and I was on a high. I just needed to
pee, and badly. I am used to bio-breaks on the road, but the terrain had very
few roadside trees and bushes. My thoughts were consumed with finding a place
to relieve myself – I was so uncomfortable, and being in the aero position was
not helping. I forced myself to drink, knowing that this would compound the
problem, but I feared dehydration more than I did a spontaneously combusting bladder.
I know some riders relieve themselves while riding, but that is not the tribe
that I am from. All of a sudden I felt spay of “water” on my leg. It felt cool
and rather nice. I looked at my water bottle, wondering if it was leaking… it
wasn’t. I kept looking around, trying to find the source. And then I spot the
rider ahead of me. “You have got to be
kidding me!”, the voice in my head yells. HEY, YOU…I AM RIGHT BEHIND YOU,
STOP PEEING ON ME. I think I was
more jealous than mad.
With loop two over, I figured it was another hour before I
began my run. Excitement took
over. I couldn’t wait to begin my first marathon. Round two in the woman’s
tent: strip down, and fresh, dry clothes on for the run. I could have saved some
time by running in my cycling gear, but I wanted to feel dry – even if it was only
for a little bit. The first part of the run began with a huge hill up to the
top of a bridge. My calves tightened
and burned with pain. I slowed my
pace to a walk, and then stopped and stretched. I knew it was going to take a
bit of time before I got my running legs on. I kept moving, speeding up as my legs gave up complaining.
It started at first with a twinge, and then with each step
the feeling grew. My left knee felt funny. This was not good. I was only 13k
into my run and I had to stop and walk. I knew this pain. I hadn’t felt it in a
long time but I knew what it was and it couldn’t be stretched out. 42k minus
13k is 29k. I calculated how long it would take me to walk the rest of the
race. This was not how I want to end my day. I remembered that I had packed
four Advil in case of an emergency. I have never taken pain meds on a run, and
I have heard that they can be dangerous. I struggled with what to do for a few
minutes, and then popped one in my month. I needed to see if this would
work. After a few minutes I began
to run. It worked! Miracles of miracles, the pain became background noise,
which I was able to ignore.
Aid stations were every 2k, and Ironman had put out a pretty
interesting spread. I walked through every station, using the time to take a little
pressure off my knee, and fill my nutritional needs. I let my body tell me what
it wanted. I drank chicken broth and water, ate orange slices, grapes, and
bananas.
An hour after I took the first Advil, the background noise became
a heavy metal rock concert, loud and annoying. I took another. The guy that I was running and chatting with begged me to share an Advil with him. “Please,” he
said, ”I’m hurting”. I only had two left, but I just couldn’t say no. I would
regret that decision at the 37k mark.
As the sun began to go down, I saw Janet for the first time
since the start of the ride. We hugged and congratulated each other. We were
not done, but we were happy that we were both still in the race and smiling. We
parted again, me on the back-end the of the first loop, she on the front-end. The
pain began again, and I took my last pill. My calculations told me that the
pain would be back before my race was over.
With 10k left to go, the pain while running is awful. I have
no more Advil. I can walk, but running is now out of the question. Frustration
overtakes me. “It could be worse,” I keep telling myself, trying to keep my
perspective on the situation. But I am disappointed. As I turn the last corner
onto Mohammad Ali Boulevard, I can hear the roar of the crowds. One more turn
and I will be looking at the finishers’ shoot. I desperately want to run up the
shoot, you know, like a champion would. I try one more time to run, and almost
collapse in pain. I turn the corner and see the bright lights. There are
hundreds of people cheering. Completely overwhelmed, tears fill my eyes.
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| Soooo happy!!!! |
I begin to run. I desperately do not want to walk up to the
finish. And suddenly, I can’t feel my knee. I can’t feel anything but pure joy.
Running, I high-five every hand that reaches out to me. It has been a long day,
and the end to a very long journey. It all comes down to this moment. I feel
like I am floating. The lights are getting brighter and brighter, and I can no longer
see the finish line. I hear my name: “Carmen Wageman… you are an Ironman.” I
cross over the finish. Almost immediately my knee buckles, but I don’t care… I
am an Ironman. I did it. I did it. I did it.
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I did it!!!!
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