I was a runner in high school; cross country as well as the
mile and 2 mile in track. Confession? I
was never any good. I won style points with my Oakley sunglasses, but I never
won a race.
In college, I vowed to run a marathon before graduation. Hooked on the thrill, I completed three more
in law school. My fourth and final marathon was the 2004 P.F. Chang’s Rock and
Roll Marathon in Tempe, Arizona. When did I know it would be my last? Right
about mile 16. I looked around at the spectators cheering on the runners and
realized that they were having FAR more fun than I was. 16 miles in to marathon
number four and I was flat out suffering. My body hurt. My brain hurt. And I
knew roughly ten miles from the finish that I was done with long-distance
running.
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| Shown here with my Dad, post marathon 2004 -he ran the half and I ran the full- before we both got smart and switched to cycling! |
Fitting (weird?) then, that things have come full circle.
Once again, some 11 years later I find myself headed to Tempe to race. This time? Ironman... 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike and 26.2 run.
Back up for a moment. I
did a few triathlons in the years spanning 2003-2007 but bike racing occupied
most of my focus from 2003, forward. For me, triathlons always unfolded in the same way: I would
survive the swim and then I would catch and pass many of my competitors on the
bike. Finally (and more than a bit agonizingly,) I’d watch them run away from
me on the run before my glorious mid-pack finish. It wasn’t satisfying.
Process of elimination pointed to the bike and thoughts of
running and swimming quickly faded from memory. I’ve been bike racing ever since: road, track, CX, MTB…anything on two wheels
had my attention. And my affection. Hundreds of bike races later led to one simple realization -- I love the bicycle.
Fast forward to 2015.
This has been such a hard year for me. The year began spiraling downward and instead of rebounding at some point, challenges seemed more and more relentless- just one after another, preventing me from catching my breath. I realized I was in trouble when even the bike felt more like a chore than a cure. I needed something on which to focus or I knew I would lose my mind.
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| This photo was taken of me on a trip in January. At the time I felt a sense of dread. Of what, I didn't know. Well eleven months later, now I know. 2015 has been one hell of a test. Photo credit: Shawn Michienzi. |
This has been such a hard year for me. The year began spiraling downward and instead of rebounding at some point, challenges seemed more and more relentless- just one after another, preventing me from catching my breath. I realized I was in trouble when even the bike felt more like a chore than a cure. I needed something on which to focus or I knew I would lose my mind.
A friend emailed in April asking if I’d be interested in
doing Ironman Arizona with her. Having never done an Ironman, but having some
sense of what it would entail, I initially balked. After further consideration,
I realized it was EXACTLY what I needed to pull myself out of the funk I was in.
I told her yes. She’d offered me a lifeline at the exact time I needed it. And I committed myself fully.
April consisted of hiring a coach, getting a membership to a
gym with a pool, starting some light running, and mapping out my season. I
found a few long distance bike events to sprinkle throughout my season and also
researched triathlons that I thought might help me prepare. On April 11, I rode
up to Boulder from Golden, raced the Boulder Roubaix, and rode home. It was a
big day, over 100 miles. I remember thinking “there is no way I’d want to start
running after that.” Comfortable on the bike, I was still having a hard time
with running shoes and with swim goggles. Problems with generally getting
things sorted. I felt like a fish out of water.
May brought more of the same. I began early morning swimming
with my neighbor and his avid swimming friends. I was getting crushed in the
pool. It was very humbling. My shoulders
struggled under the tension of the water and my neck was often sore from the
effort of breathing bilaterally. My eyes were opened to just how bike-specific
my body had become, and what a chore it was to really do anything else.
When I think back to May one memory stands out above all
else: Dirty Kanza. I opted for the 100-mile
option, mostly as a recon mission to help decide whether or not to tackle the full
200 mile event in the future. Hotels in the area were all booked so I slept
with in my van near the start line. I had no idea what to expect from this
event. I’d never attempted a self-supported gravel race where the rider is
solely responsible for their bike, their body, their nutrition and their course
directions.
If you followed DK this year, you know that all the spring
rain caused havoc in the early miles, treating riders to a demoralizing and
punishing hour of walking through ankle-deep mud while carrying our bikes. The
100 miles took me around 8 hours. At the time, it was the hardest bike event
I’d ever done. But I did feel better about the 112 mile Ironman bike ride after
this because I knew that barring apocalyptic weather, Ironman’s bike leg wouldn’t
take me 8 hours to cover. There would be no muddy hike-a-bike, plus I wouldn’t be
totally alone on desolate roads. Dirty Kanza did much to boost my pre-Ironman
confidence. As a side note, it also got me hooked on gravel racing.
With June came my first triathlon. At least the first since
my last one back in 2007. I chose Loveland’s Olympic distance Lake to Lake to
start with. I knew there would be
wrinkles to iron out, I set my expectations low. Low as they were, I still was
not prepared for what happened when we began the lake swim. To start, my old
wetsuit no longer fit properly and made me claustrophobic. On top of that, the
water and the mayhem in the group start made me hyperventilate; I couldn’t get
myself to put my face in the water.
The self-talk got really ugly. “Seriously Megan just put your damn face in
the water and swim.” The madder I got, the more I panicked. I began doing doggie-paddle/
breast stroke. EVERYONE passed me. I
would roll over and float on my back for a bit just trying to breathe. Then
back to breaststroke. Wave after wave of swimmers that has started after me
were swimming right by. Depressingly, I
saw my heat exiting the swim before I even reached the half way turn.
Then there was the ultimate sign that I wasn’t doing well:
the athletes who tow other athletes in inflatable rafts began passing me. And
asking me if I was ok.
It was a long, bad day in the lake. How in the WORLD could I expect to swim 2.4 miles??
I took out my frustrations on the bike, posting the strava
QOM for the bike leg of the race. And
then, just like old times, I was passed on the run. And passed. And passed and
passed and passed. My finishing time and place were not something I felt proud
of.
Mid-summer, a new coach entered the picture. For the record,
it’s difficult to find a coach who feels comfortable preparing you for an IM,
long gravel races AND CX season all at the same time, but Grant Holicky was up
to the challenge. With a new approach came improved performances in the pool
and on the run, gains I attribute to additional workout specificity he provided
me in Training Peaks. I knew I was making progress when I began (gasp!) enjoying
my swim and run workouts.
July also brought another gravel race, this time, Beaver,
Utah’s Crusher in the Tushar. I did not research this event well and once again
the pups joined me for the trip in the van. Crusher featured approximately 70
miles with over 9,000 feet elevation gain. Not knowing better, I brought my CX
bike with its regular 11-25 cassette. Bad idea. Many racers had 32s and/or
mountain bikes with pie-plate cassettes. I soon understood why. I found myself
off the bike (again!) walking it for the final steep climb towards the finish. Humbled
yet again, I found my limits fully tested. Yet somehow I still enjoyed it. I
remained undeterred. Why? The Ironman wouldn’t have that kind of climbing. I remember thinking “there is no way I’d want
to start running after that.”
In late July I entered a small triathlon in Colorado Springs.
It was there that I finally found my “game face” in the swim. I was out of the
water in a competitive time, then biked a solid time, once again posting the
QOM for the strava segment. I then held on in the run for a podium finish in my
age group. I got a small taste of my potential and it inspired me to stop
acting like a finisher and to start acting like a racer. Training picked
up.
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| First time to take a podium photo in an event that involved running. |
In early August I entered another Olympic triathlon, this onein Silverthorne. The temps were brutally
cold at the start for the swim with the water temps in low 60s and air temps in
the 40s. My neighbor showed up to cheer me on and filmed me in T1 – helping me
see just how much time I was costing myself in transition. We all had a good
laugh over the footage (picture line dancing out of the wetsuit). I had a solid
bike and then surprised myself with a solid run. Even more shocking, I won my
age group and finished as the fourth woman overall. I felt good, uninjured, and motivated.
In August I raced my third and final gravel race of 2015- GravelWorlds in Lincoln, Nebraska. I made the drive back to my home state and being a
total crazy person, decided to do the 150-mile gravel race on my single speed
Spot CX bike. Because, why not, right?
Gravel Worlds proved to be a game changer for me. I didn’t
know how I’d place, how long it would take me, or how I’d feel during the race
or at the end. I’d never gone further than 125 miles on pavement, let alone 150
miles all on gravel in one gear. I’d be mostly alone, with few places to stop
and refuel, but I was determined to keep my mind in a good place all day. And no matter what, to keep those demons out. With that approach and keeping an eye on
calories all day long, I finished the event in around 11 hours, as the winner
of the women’s singlespeed division and also the 3rd woman overall.
Gravel Worlds was also a personal victory: I stayed mentally
strong all day long, pedaling for 11 hours straight into intense winds, and logging
close to 10,000 feet elevation gain on the day. Without the help of my Garmin
for directions (imagine my horror when the course file failed to upload-which I
only realized upon turning on the Garmin at the start and finding it empty!), I
had to resort to the paper turn-by-turn directions in a Ziploc bag. The event
included another bonus - I reconnected with my original team sponsor/director
in Nebraska, one of the guys who helped me get my start in cycling. He’s since
proved invaluable as a friend and mentor in business and in life. Funny how things in cycling tend to come full
circle...
This set the bar somewhat for the Ironman. Worlds took place
on desolate roads with very few others around and included many challenging
moments. I knew the Ironman would have a marked race course with spectators and
stimulation, rest stops, and more. This was a good barometer for me that, at
least mentally, I was ready to tackle IMAZ.
The following weekend I did a triathlon in Boulder, which
began mid-morning, and finished in the afternoon heat. The run was on gravel, which
made me smile. While other athletes fell
apart, I discovered that I thrived in those conditions. (Which was good –since I knew I’d be running
in late day Phoenix heat in the Ironman –and parts of the run would be on
clay/gravel). Again I notched a surprising podium finish in my age group:
In mid-September I tackled my second-ever half-ironman:
Harvest Moon. The swim went SO well. I
beat my time goal and kept my head in the game the entire time, actually racing
the swim as oppose to simply attempting to finish. Surprisingly, the bike is
where things fell apart. My back has
been a problem for the past 4 years, and had been particularly bothersome on
the TT bike in the weeks prior… but it got really bad during the race. [It’s the kind of pain that shuts you down –first
the back then hips and legs- you can’t stand to pedal one more revolution. It takes over your entire focus and you can’t
wait to get off the bike to make it stop].
I actually had to stop three times and got off the bike and stood there
stretching. That is not how you want to get through your 56-mile bike leg. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t
wait to get off the bike and to start running!
Once on the run, when I saw how much ground I’d lost on the bike, I grew
disappointed with myself and really just worked to finish. For the first time I began questioning whether
I was capable of doing the full IM distance.
But – November was a long way off.
Time was on my side
As CX season began, the IM emphasis faded somewhat. Life took
over. Work got nuts, things got crazy. I felt that I was missing the mark in my
workouts more often than I was hitting it.
Still, the notion that training served as therapy through a hard year
kept me going. I wanted to graduate from the program. I wasn’t injured and I
was enjoying the challenge of IM and CX training. I posted a couple good
early-season CX finishes. Even better, the fall in Colorado was glorious. The
weather facilitated and encouraged my training.
While I’d prepared myself for long trainer rides and treadmill runs
leading up to the IM, I was blessed with outdoor training.
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| Back to Basics CX in Golden -photo credit: Bo Bickerstaff |
In the meantime, my new TT bike arrived via Cannondale (my amazing
bike sponsor since 2008). I went to Boulder Retul for a bike fit in the hopes
of rectifying my back issues on the TT bike. There, I learned that my position
was absurdly “aggro” and would cause anyone to be in agony after a few
miles. As we tweaked the new bike and
position, I had hope that I might actually be able to ride the Ironman bike leg
focused on power and energy conservation, rather than being consumed with back
pain. While the new position felt almost upright compared to my old setup, I
rode without pain other than the normal discomforts one would expect. Back pain is like a ticking time bomb, and
you live in fear of when it might rear its ugly head and derail your day-as it’s
done to me for years. Leaving Retul, I
had real hope that I might not have to endure 112 miles of agony.
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| The machine- the day before the race. |
Fast forward to late October – just a couple weeks out from
race day. I was doing my final long run
and chose to run commute to my office along highway 93. Sometimes having a destination can cure the
lack of motivation for the workout –which I was struggling with on this
particular day. As I was clipping along highway 93 feeling good, pushing a
solid pace, my toe caught on something and down I went. Hard. I road-rashed my hip and a nice big knot
began to form. I was so mad at myself.
Such a silly way to hurt myself, so unexpectedly. Still, I thought, if this was the worst of my
injuries after 7+ months of training, I didn’t have much to complain
about.
After a few weeks away from CX racing, I returned to the
scene to race the local Golden favorite Feedback Cup on November 1. I took it
easy, not pushing my back or pushing the turns for fear of crashing out. It was fun to be back in the mix, but that
close to race day I didn’t want to take any risks.
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| Taking it easy at Feedback Cup -photo credit: Gary Harty |
I then spent a week in a federal trial. No training, bad sleep, high stress. Not an
optimal taper. While my work always trumps my racing, this did feel like a step
back after months of hard work. We won
the trial so it was all worth it, but I was amazed at how my body responded going
from a solid training load and good nutrition, to a week of stress, sitting and
no exercise. It reaffirmed what I say often; that sitting is the new smoking. I
felt like garbage.
One week out, the race began to feel real. I finally sat down and read the copious
instruction/race bible for the IM athletes. The sheer number of topics were overwhelming;
special needs bags (some of which you don’t get back), a million rules,
drafting infractions, a new swim start procedure and so on. This event had instructions
of epic proportions.
For the first time I also allowed myself to set soft-race
goals. I say soft, because from the beginning, my only aspirations were: to (1)
finish and (2) train and race without getting injured. I began to think of
ideal split times, ones I am capable of, if things all went according to plan.
-
Swim goal: based on the half IM and my recent
pool splits, my goal is 75-80 minutes for the 2.4 miles.
-
T1: I won’t stress if it takes me 5 or so
minutes to get ready. This is 112 miles
on a TT bike wearing a paper –thin chamois and tank top. At a minimum, I’m
going to dress right.
-
Bike: If my back will cooperate, and factoring
in a couple quick stops to refill bottles and use the facilities, assuming I
can average 19-20mph, I am hoping to finish the bike leg in 6 hours.
-
T2: Again, if it takes me a few minutes to get
going, I’m ok with that. This is about to be my fifth marathon.
-
Run: 9-9.5 minutes/mile pace is optimistic but
doable for me if my nutrition and hydration are on point and if my body
cooperates. This would put me in around
4 hours. Mental acuity will be key.
All told, that will be around 11.5-12 hours. Just an hour longer than Gravel Worlds, with a
lot more spectator and race support. This won’t be fast enough to place highly
in my uber-competitive age group but it will be a result I personally can be
proud of. It will finish me off just after dark–which mentally will be a
boost.
People have asked me, is this a “one-and-done” Ironman for
you, or do you see yourself doing more of these? My response has been
one-and-done. When you test your limits and find out what you’re made of, that
can be a pivotal moment and it can be empowering –but perhaps not enough to
repeat. I guess I won’t know until I’ve finished.
Regardless of how Sunday goes, I am
immensely grateful to the friend who gave me the opportunity to do this race.
People have asked me all year long, “why the heck are you doing an Ironman?”
I’ve told them the truth; it’s been my therapy. For me, the training and
structure that this event required of me, helped me find my way back to a place
of health and renewal. I am fitter, more rested, happier, and healthier,
because of it.
Suffice it to say, Sunday is not “just a race” for me. It’s a graduation of sorts.
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| Pre-IM in warm, sunny Arizona... |
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| Saturday's practice swim |
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| The steps into the water -where the race begins! |
Race
day:
Of course me being me, I couldn’t sleep the night before,
worried as I was about oversleeping and nervous about how the day would unfold.
Had I put everything I would need in all those damn bags and would my bike
still be there and what if it rained (slight chance in the forecast) since of
course I left my rain jacket home… I was up at 4am and to the race venue by 5. [These
Ironman events involve a complexity of bike and run bags, as well as special
needs bags and morning clothes bags (unlike a local triathlon, you don’t have
one staging/transition spot –everyone’s stuff is lined up in bags and
volunteers grab your stuff for you during each transition)].
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| So many bags... |
After getting my items set in the bags, making sure my bike
was dialed in, I went through “body marking” to get my numbers on and began
shedding my morning clothes, keys, and stuff into my “morning clothes bag.” All
that was left was my wetsuit, goggles and swim cap. It was a cold dark morning and I
sat shivering and barefooted for about 40 minutes waiting to start. Not optimal.
This year they ran a rolling swim start, which meant that
athletes self-seeded based on their expected swim time: hour or under, 1:10,
1:20 and so on. In theory this meant we would be swimming in and around people
of our similar ability. I seeded in the 1:20 slot as this was my time goal and
a realistic pace for me. I was one of
just a few wearing a sleeveless wetsuit – with water temps at 63, many had
thermal booties and caps on as well as long-sleeved wetsuits. But I had what I had and based on the
Saturday practice swim, thought I’d be ok. The cannons went off for the pros,
and then the age group cannon went off. The next thing I knew I was walking
down the steps and jumping in. Just as the sun began to rise, the race was
underway.
It calmed down a bit as the middle of the pack came through the IRONMAN Arizona start.
Posted by 303Triathlon on Sunday, November 15, 2015
After sorting through the madness in the water for a bit I
found a channel of space and began swimming in earnest. I focused on my stroke.
I had no anxiety or apprehension about being in the water and my mind felt
strong. As the swim continued I became aware of my hands and feet feeling very
heavy. I realized they were becoming
numb and brick-like from the cold. My
shoulders began to feel thick; not from the effort but from the cold. I thought
I’d be fine and kept focused on my stroke and thought warm thoughts, like how
drinking hot chocolate would make me feel in that moment –I imagined warmth
radiating out from my core.
As we approached the turn I actually began to think I might
not make it. My core was beginning to feel cold too and I started pushing the
pace thinking I needed to get myself the hell out of that water before I froze
for good. I swam hard on the way back, all the while feeling the cold moving up
my legs from my feet; my calves either cramped or froze, I couldn’t tell. I had
to be really careful with my kick to avoid fully seizing up. Seeing the exit
was a relief and seeing my time made me happy, but I was worried about how I
was going to continue.
As the volunteer helped me up the steps and out, I could tell
something was off. My teeth were
chattering really badly and my mind wasn’t working right. I felt dazed. God
bless the female volunteer who approached me and said, “Can I make a
suggestion? Come over here into the
warming tent and warm up for a bit before you get on the bike.” I made a
comment along the lines of it wasting the time I’d just made up in the swim but
I acquiesced. She wrapped me in blankets and we used a random t-shirt to help
dry me off. I stood right in front of the heat blower. She shared that she’d
DNF-ed her IMAZ years back because she got hypothermia after the swim. She was sharing her lesson with me, to help
me and I was so thankful.
After what felt like a long time, I exited and got my bike
bag. With a volunteer’s help, I put on everything I had packed over my trisuit:
my cycling jersey (with tube and co2 and food prepacked in pockets-no bento boxes, thank you very much), my arm
warmers, knee warmers and cycling gloves. I also wrapped my chest in one of the
tinfoil-looking sheets they wrapped us in and zipped up my jersey around
it. I walked slowly to my bike trying to
imagine how I’d manage the wind and breeze on the bike, while being wet and
cold. I couldn’t even imagine it in that
moment. As I approached my bike, Nicole
with 303triathlon was standing right there and wished me well. All I could manage was “I’m frozen!” She assured me
I’d warm up and out to bike mount I went.
Megan Hottman making her way on the bike this morning.Posted by 303Triathlon on Sunday, November 15, 2015
I took it easy initially on the bike – both to warm up, and
to ease my frozen angry legs into it. The bike course was a 35-40-ish mile loop
that all 2600 athletes would do 3 times. That, in a nutshell, is a mess. I’ll
leave it at that. I kept my pace slow for the first lap and then once warmed up
– once the sun came out for a second - I shed my tinfoil underlayer. Sadly,
just moments later it began to rain. It never stopped raining. Cold and rainy:
two things that don’t come to mind when one thinks of Arizona. I could see
racers mentally falling apart. Several were on the sides of the road trying to
repair punctures, struggling with cold hands. I was so thankful for my awesome
bike and for having put new Gatorskins on before the race.
As I got into the second lap I started to pick up the
pace. I relied heavily on my go-to race
fuel, Vitargo, with salt mixed in, as well as some of the bars and gels they
offered us at the stops. While I didn’t feel like eating or drinking in the
cold rain I knew it would be critical later on– I knew my body was using extra
energy to stay warm. I was also thankful that my stomach was managing the day
well. I suffered no apparent issues from swallowing the lake water, no apparent
issues from the liquid nutrition.
By the third lap I was ready to be done and onto the run, which
I hoped would at least be warmer. With the nonstop rain, the rows of spectators
coming back towards the finish had diminished to just a few hard core
cheerers. The volunteers remained
steadfast though – I was so impressed.
One such volunteer grabbed my run bag for me and I made my
way into the tent to change for the run.
My socks were soaked from the bike and I regretted not packing a dry
pair of socks, but knew they’d be wet within minutes anyway. I kept my cycling
jersey, knee warmers, and arm warmers on and wrapped another tinfoil sheet
around me like a toga as I took off. I told myself – “just four more hours,
Megan.” And “the faster you run this, the sooner you’ll be done.” My head
remained positive and my body felt surprisingly good. 2 laps of 13 miles each. After the first half, it would be unchartered
territory.
After a few miles of concrete path, we entered the
Dirty-Kanza-cyclocross-esque clay dirt run sections we encountered. The clay trail that has likely never seen a full
day of rain fall before, was a goopy, slippery, peanut-buttery mess. We slid all over. I had to laugh (except I knew it was costing
us energy). I knew I needed to get through it on the second lap before dark,
otherwise I could easily fall and get hurt.
The first half marathon went really well. I ran the pace that
felt good to me and was pleased each time I’d look down and find it was my target
speed, 9-9:15min/mile. I realized I’d
forgotten to take the tube and co2 out of my cycling jersey, and unzipped the
jersey handing it to some spectators along the route, telling them I’d be back
later for it. The one issue that began
at mile 6, proved to be detrimental to my run.
My calves and Achilles tendons got tighter and tighter and tighter until
I thought for SURE they would snap. I began thinking about how long that
recovery would take and how it would really suck to be injured. Having never
experienced this issue in training runs or previous races, I blamed it on the
cold swim. Apparently it had messed with
my legs more than I’d realized. I
started walking the aid stations, eating pretzels and drinking Gatorade hoping
the salt would help. Nope. I finally had
to modify my stride completely. I
couldn’t push off the ball of my foot at all. I had to hit on the heel and keep
a flat foot. This meant a lot more impact and my knees and hips grew angry but
I had no choice. I was slapping the
ground with my feet but it was all I could do.
 |
| Photos of my second lap on the run by Nicole Odell/303triathlon |
I started counting down the miles, 13, 12, 11, 10… 9 to go
and 8 to go were the dead zone. Still over an hour left. The spectator who took
my jersey asked me if I wanted it back and I told him to throw it in a tree and
I’d be back for it after my race. Stupid calves were totally locked. Darkness
started to fall and I got chilly again, but focused on how it would feel at the
finish. The aid station volunteers were amazing and cheerful. It rained on and
off. It just was what it was. I knew
I could stop and walk, and have plenty of time to make it to the finish - and
trust me that temptation was so strong- but I still wanted to try and get close to my
goal finish time.
What you can’t tell on a multi-lap
run course is who is on lap 1 and who is on lap 2. I found myself in a group of people for the
final 3ish miles and assumed we were all finishing together. Once the chute
separated us, I found myself alone. The cheering began and grew and the sound
rose up and the moment was just monumental.
I heard my name announced as I rounded the bend and there was the arch
and the red carpet and stands of people yelling…and I stopped and walked and
momentarily lost my composure. I
couldn’t help it. I understood it right then – the draw for
people to finish an Ironman – I got it.
The year’s events hit me in the chest, it felt, and I absorbed my moment
of graduation. So much focus had been
placed on this day, and this moment, and to make it and move past it, felt very
significant to me. Not as a race so much as perhaps a turning point in my year
and my life, like the start of a new chapter. And despite the warming tent delay
and the calves causing me problems, I managed to finish in 12:06-not far off my
target. It was a result I could be proud
of.
 |
| Photo by Dawn Orwick-taken of the online live feed finish |
 |
| Photo by Nicole Odell/303Triathlon at the finish |
A volunteer wrapped me in another tinfoil sheet and put his
arm around me walking me through the final steps – tshirt collection, getting
my medal, and having my photo taken.
Nicole of 303triathlon was right there and it was awesome to have a
friendly face share that moment. She then walked me back to my bike and we
collected my gear bags and delivered them to Wesley aka ProBikeExpress - the
amazing bike transport service we’re blessed to have based in Denver. I was done.
 |
| ProBikeExpress/Wesley is the MAN. Photo by Nicole Odell/303triathlon |
After a round of hugs among Colorado friends, I limped into
my car, back to the hotel and took a long hot shower. I expected to sleep well but my body had
other ideas. It was so wrecked that there was no rest to be had. Funny enough –
I forgot to get my jersey from the tree, but drove back to the course the next
morning and there it was- with tube and co2 still in the pocket. That reminds
me - people were truly awesome at this event – volunteers and spectators both
just amazing, especially in those conditions. I was blown away by the volunteer
support. (They said there were 4000
volunteers!). I wish I could give each a personal thank you. But my race day gratitude truly belongs to the
woman who pulled me into the warming tent. But-for that gesture, I’m pretty
sure my race would have ended early on the bike from being too cold and
disoriented to continue.
Huge thanks to everyone who played a part in my endeavor and
who cheered and watched online from afar! I think I’ll call this a one-and-done
Ironman. But I wish anyone who is
considering it for the first time, the best of luck and good wishes. It’s a day you’ll never forget!
I returned home from Arizona to Denver just in time to beat the impending blizzard/storm moving in. It felt as though Colorado had held off winter just for me -just in time to get through my training and my race, before it let loose ;)
I returned home from Arizona to Denver just in time to beat the impending blizzard/storm moving in. It felt as though Colorado had held off winter just for me -just in time to get through my training and my race, before it let loose ;)
 |
| I came home to this sign, which really capped off an amazing experience- I am blessed with amazing neighbors who were willing to watch my dogs and my house so I could do this ;) |
Thanks for reading. Good luck in your journeys.
