Ironman Coeur d'Alene - Race Report

Oh, what a day!

As I mentioned in my previous post, I'm incredibly happy with and proud of the day I had at IM CdA. Right now, I'm running on a bit of a high, and I love it. Watching this video last night even made me tear up a bit.

But let's back up a bit…

Around the time I started to really get focused on training and looking ahead to the race, I think I finally let go of the disappointment that I felt from IMC 2012 (I know, it took far too long). I remember having a conversation with Shane (and then later, pretty much the same convo with Kelly) and telling him I just wanted to execute the day without any major blips. For me, that meant nailing my nutrition and staying in a positive head space. I knew if I managed to do those things, the time on the clock would be one that I was happy with. Of course, I still had minor time goals in the back of my mind [for the record, some were met, some were not], but I knew without a doubt the number on the clock was not going to make or break my feelings about the day as a whole.

The final few weeks leading into Coeur d'Alene I felt so different than I have previously in the lead up to an Ironman. The first time there were so many nerves and a sense of fun anticipation over this new experience I was about to have. The second time, I was putting so much pressure on myself and was a bit of a wreck in a different way - some of the joy was gone.

This time, I felt at ease. I felt confident.

Sure, I was still a little anxious and a little nervous and had moments that waffled between “I'm so ready!” and “I haven't done enough!” but in the back of my mind, I knew it was going to be a good day. I knew I was ready to have fun with it and that I was more than capable of covering the distance. I felt confident that I had my bike nutrition down to a science and was pretty confident that my run plan was a-okay as well. This girl was not going to bonk this time around!

We traveled down to CdA on the Wednesday before race day and immediately made ourselves at home in our little rental cottage. It was absolutely perfect.  We could walk to and from the race venue in less than 10 minutes, but the neighbourhood was removed enough and so delightfully quiet, that it was easy to “escape” from all of the excitement when need be. Oh, and the couch was so comfortable!

The days leading up to the race were easily filled with the last little moments of training to help shake out the body and the nerves, shopping in the merch tent, wandering Sherman Ave, eating copious amounts of food, and chilling back at the cottage with our feet up while Arrested Development played on the boob tube. It was just what a race week should be.

The opening ceremony on Friday night brought tears to my eyes a few times and got me even more jazzed for the big day. As always, the stories of what people have overcome to make it to the start line motivated and inspired.

Saturday's bike and gear drop somehow felt incredibly familiar even though it was a new venue (for me) and I think for the first time all week I had the “I'm doing an Ironman tomorrow” thought (which actually didn't last that long, as I had to remind myself of this fact again as we waited to enter the water on Sunday morning… it was like “oh right, I'm doing an Ironman today” haha).

  
And then it was Sunday. Race Day.

After a pretty great sleep (once I ditched the tossing and turning Shane and moved to the world's most comfortable couch that is) I awoke to clear skies.

Also, wind. Lots of it.

In the quiet house we all set about preparing our breakfasts and getting ready for the day. The trees whipped back and forth with vigor, tickling the windows while we watched from the warmth inside, I'm sure all secretly hoping that it would die down before the canon fired. (Spoiler alert: it didn't).

And then it was time. Time to head to the lake. Time to drop our special needs bags off and get body marked. Time to load up all the goodies onto the bike. Time for one last pee in the porta-loo and then finally, time to don our wetsuits.

Once we were down to the beach, I took a very quick dip in the VERY chaotic warm up area, mainly just to feel the temperature of the water, get my suit filled up and my face wet.

Shane and I swim about the same pace, so we hugged Kirsten goodbye as she went to her swim corral and we made our way into ours. It felt like we waited forever, but I don't actually think it was that long.

The canon fired and we slowly began to make our way toward the starting mat so that our days could begin. I felt fairly nervous in those moments, looking at the choppy water and wishing it was a mass start like at IMC so that I didn't have to wait any longer and could just get going (patience is not always my strong suit).

Soon enough though, Shane and I were crossing the start line and making our way into the water – and in this moment, I was so thankful for the new swim start initiative. It was awesome. The waves and general choppiness of the water bashed and pummeled me way more than any other competitor did through the entire swim. I had somewhat clear water (for the most part) and it seemed like everyone around me was swimming at a similar pace. Triathletes are apparently much better at self-seeding than runners (at least in the swim portion of a race, haha).

So, while the swim start was great, the swim itself was the most difficult swim I've ever taken part in. The chop on the water was fierce and the waves threatened to choke you on every breath if you didn't get your rhythm just right.

Probably within the first 100m I inhaled a wave and had to stop to cough and breast stroke for a few moments. As I looked around, I noticed a heck of a lot of other people were doing the same thing. I took a deep breath (of air), told myself to calm down, stuck my face back in the water and focused on finding my rhythm. Long steady strokes. Long steady exhales. I began to feel more comfortable. I gasped in another wave just after the first turn, but regrouped much quicker this time and kept at it. On the way back to shore, I tried to allow my body to surf the little waves when I could and before I knew it, I was on the beach and making the turn for a second loop.

I got a high five and a “half way there!” cheer from an awesome spectator as I made my way back into the washing machine. I took a deep breath (of air) and dove (read: flopped) back in.

I went a little wider on the second loop as I had a bit of body contact toward the end of the first that had made me feel a bit anxious, so I was happy to swim a little longer to avoid that feeling again. Otherwise, the second loop went well. I found my rhythm and just kept reminding myself to stay in the moment. Pull, glide, breath, sight, surf when you can.

If you look really really closely, you can see me running up the beach.

I emerged from the water so, soo happy to be done and made my way up the beach to the wetsuit strippers. They were pretty busy when I got there, but I saw one guy without anyone in front of him and plopped myself on the ground. Woosh, my wetsuit was off and I was on my way to my bike bag and the change tent.

The change tent was PACKED! As such, I decided to sit myself down just outside the entrance.

T1 was actually kind of a blur, and admittedly, it was not very focused (and therefore, not very fast). I vaguely remember chatting with a girl who was right beside me, but have no idea what we were talking about. I know I peed into the grass a little while I sat and put my socks and shoes on (a fact that totally grossed out both Shane and Kirsten when I told them later), and somehow I obviously got my bike jersey, helmet and sunglasses on. I repacked my bag and suddenly a volunteer was there to take it from me as I ran through the tent.

I remember a quick stop for sunscreen (which stung oh-so-bad on my wetsuit chafed neck) and then happily ran to my bike and the best spot on the rack I think I've ever gotten in a race.

Before I knew it, I was on my bike cruising down Lakeside, looking for my folks in the crowd and wondering how far ahead Shane was (my swim was pretty slow compared to past races, so I was pretty sure he would have been on the bike before me).

Anyway, at that point I was just super stoked to be on the bike and starting the second phase of the race. I knew it was going to be a good day.

I cruised along, keeping an eye out for Shane as I neared the turnaround of the first out and back, figuring that I must have missed him when I made the turn and still hadn't seen him. Moments later, he appeared in the opposite direction (he also had a slower swim the usual) and before long, he was tapping me on the butt as he flew past me.

I also spotted Kirsten at some point in this first out and back section and just remember having a feeling of relief knowing that she had also made it out of that crazy swim unscathed.

What can I say about the rest of the bike?

Well, if anyone ever tells you IM CdA is an easier bike course than Challenge Penticton (aka. the original IMC) – they are lying. It is a tough course. If you are not going up, you are going down.

On this day, it was made even more challenging by the relentless headwind that bore itself into each and every rider as they climbed for 35(ish)km toward the turnaround of the long out and back. There were moments where I actually felt like I was standing still – like I was on some cruel bicycle treadmill, my wheels spinning, but making no forward progress. There were other times I thought I was going to be blown right off the side of the road or the bridge I was crossing. It was an unyielding force pushing with all it's might against you.

That said, I was happy. I felt like I was climbing really well and I was staying on top of my nutrition. I enjoyed the out and back nature of the course and looked forward to spotting Shane and Kirsten near each of the turnaround points. Also, the horrific headwind that turned (mostly) into a lovely tailwind on the descents was pretty sweet.

I can't really recall a tonne of other details. I ate, I drank, I stopped to pee once. I climbed, I descended. I chatted with the odd person and I just enjoyed myself. I actually remember saying to myself repeatedly throughout the bike ride “no matter what the time clock says at the end of all this, I'm so proud of how I'm handling this day.” And that was the truth.

Of course there were moments that felt more difficult than others throughout the day, but for the most part, I stayed really positive and my self-talk was not cruel. I was only saying things to myself that I would say to others.

As I rolled into the transition area I managed to slip my feet out of my shoes and made a wonky ungraceful dismount as volunteer held my bike. My parents were at the fence line cheering and told me I was only ten minutes behind Shane (which was quite a surprise. I figured I was at least 20-30' behind).

I jogged my way into transition, so happy to be off my bike and nearly onto the final leg of the day.

Much like T1, T2 was a bit unfocused and blurry. I changed my socks and got my shoes on, asked a volunteer to put my sunglasses in their case. Race bib and visor happened somewhere in there and then I was on my way out of the tent to the sun-screeners. I stood beside a garbage can and fiddled with my gels trying to get them into my back pocket for far too long and then, finally, I was off!

As I was running out of the shoot I put some lube on my inner arms so I didn't get any chafe and then proceeded to give high fives to all the people who were sticking their hands over the fence, not really thinking about the fact that my hands probably felt super slimy and gross. They sure smelt good though (Ruby'sLube for the win!).

I was super excited to be running and probably went out a little fast, but I didn't even care. My run has been strong all year and knew if I had a good one, I could possibly get a new PB.

People cheered my name and told me I was looking good. I believed them. I smiled and ran.

My plan was to walk through every aid station to make sure I was getting in enough calories, and so at the first one I took my first walk break of the day. The thought of a gel was grossing me out a bit, so I started what would become a bit of a routine at the aid stations… smalls sips of water, cola, banana, more water.

As I approached aid station 2, Shane was just coming out of a porta-potty. “SHANE!” I half screamed/squealed in a moment of pure delight and surprise. I was so happy to see him. I figured we'd run together for a bit, but I was feeling so good I ended up taking off on him within about 200m. Oops ~ sorry love.

I was moving well but was definitely feeling a bit tired. I just kept reminding myself I would get a walk break at the aid stations, so to just keep running. This seemed to be working.

I power hiked up the big hill before the turnaround, jogged down the other side and then power hiked back up.

Onward.

Probably around the 15-16km mark my tummy started to get a bit upset and I couldn't tell if I was hungry or had taken in too much liquid with my water and cola routine, so I opted to take my first (and last) gel of the run.

It did not sit well. About 3-4km later, I was rushing into a porta-john to get rid of it.

Gel in. Gel out.

It took a bit for my stomach to bounce back and I did walk a bit more than I would have liked at this point, through special needs and a bit more as I approached the turnaround in town.

I saw my parents and was so incredibly happy to see them. Unfortunately though, it was at that point in the run that I probably felt the worst I had yet (or would for the remainder of the day). I stopped to try and talk to them, but got super nauseous when stationary so decided it was best to keep moving. Thankfully, once I got moving again and got some solid burps and belches out, things started to settle and I fell back into my “run between aid” rhythm.

Sometime in here I reminded myself of the fact that there was no reason I couldn't run. I can't tell you how powerful these words became for me. Every time I thought about walking, I reminded myself “there is no reason you can't run right now.”

Also, around this point I came across a guy (his name was Eric and he was from CdA) at one of the aid stations that I would leap frog with for the remainder of the run. We bantered back and forth, him passing me as I walked through aid stations or up hills, me passing him back as we jogged along the lake side. It was a wonderful distraction, and certainly helped me keep going as the fatigue continued to set it.

Finally, I was within a few km's from the finish.

“There is no reason you can't run right now.”

And soon enough I was making the turn down Sherman Ave. How sweet it was. I made sure to savour this moment. People cheering. High fiving. The noise. The jubilation. I smiled. I saw my folks and raised my arms over head. So excited. So happy with the day.

I eased up a bit so that Eric and another woman I had been leap frogging with got far enough ahead that the chute was all mine.

I raised my arms again. I crossed the line and heard the sweet sounds of Mike Reilly.

“Karyn, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!”

Yep, it was a good day.