Ironman Lake Placid, Part 2

Ironman Lake Placid was a dream I'd had for years. I've volunteered for the past 10 years, including last year when I raced (I did athlete kit stuffing on the Monday before the race). I always work at an aide station on the run course, and I've joked that that's why it took me so long to do the race. The sights you see are inspiring; they are also a bit of a deterrent. The swim is terrifying, but short. The bike is mentally tough because it is long and can be boring. The real physical suffering starts on the run. And only a truly sick person can watch all that suffering and say, "Hey, sign me up!" As I said in my last post, I did over a dozen 3500 meter + swims, including a two-loop swim of Mirror Lake before race day. I've done many century rides over the years. I'd ridden the 112 miles during the Lake Placid Spinervals camp in 2013, and a few times with friends, "just for fun." I'd even done Troy Jacobson's Hard Core 100 Spinervals DVD once indoors on my trainer (I promised myself never again, and I've kept that promise). But, I'd never done a marathon prior to IMLP, and my longest run ever before the race was 16 miles. All of the people I trained with over the year from signup to race day had done IMLP before, and I heard many times that the race doesn't start until the run. I heard all of their war stories of past races. It was kind of like telling a first time mother every labor and birth horror story you know in the months before her due date. So, I was worried about the run.

About the time I signed up, I also went all in on a gluten-free diet. I'd had gut issues for years, especially after I started doing endurance sports and drank the figurative and literal Gatorade. I was sick of suffering from IBS, and it seemed to help. I stumbled across an article about the low carb/high fat diet, and it was exactly what I was looking for. When I started training, I stuck to a strict LCHF diet in my daily life, and used Skratch for hydration and Generation UCAN for nutrition for my long training sessions. One of my training partners was convinced I wasn't taking in enough carbs, and that would bite me in the ass on race day. As I watched him suffer from bloating and discomfort and desperate searches for bushes or trees big enough for him to duck behind during our long rides and runs, I was pretty confident I was on the right track. As race day drew closer, I experienced some tight IT band issues and visited my chiropractor. He asked me what I thought my finishing time would be, and I confided in him that, if I had the perfect day, I thought I could finish in around 13 hours--1:40 for the swim, 6:30 for the bike, and 4:30 for the run. Add 20 minutes for transitions, and there you go. Everyone else got the "just want to finish" answer. It's a long day. A lot can happen and I didn't want to jinx myself. He had also done IMLP before (when you live in this area, you can't swing a dead cat in a room of fit people without hitting a couple of IMLP veterans). He suggested that I walk all of the aide stations to be sure I get water and food in, and that I walk the two big hills, Lisa G.s and the ski jumps. We had a rule during training, absolutely no whining. That wasn't easy. We had to remind each other frequently. As race day approached, we added three more: no hanging on the "lily pads" on the swim, no drinking the broth on the run, and no crying until the finish line.

It's now race week and I wanted to experience all that I could in case it is my one and only Ironman. We waited quite awhile to book a place to stay. Lake Placid is close enough to drive, but I thought it would be fun to be there in the middle of everything. A couple of months before the race, we rented rooms at a place just outside of town. We headed up on Thursday before the race. I checked out the room as my husband checked in. The door was unlocked, so I walked in and looked around. Within a few minutes, I felt something bite me and looked down to see my legs covered with fleas! I ran outside and swatted and wiped and stomped my feet until I had them all off. I had to take off my sneakers and hit them on the ground to be sure I got all the fleas out. My husband went back and demanded a refund, while I called our friends who were also staying there, and then called around looking for any available rooms in town. I got lucky right away. The Crowne Plaza had rooms, and we booked on the spot. More expensive and worth every penny. And no fleas. I did the Underpants Run on Friday morning, which was followed by Greg Bacon's Meat and Greet at the beach at Mirror Lake. I chatted up Mike Reilly there for a couple of minutes. That was a dream come true! Checked in, got my prized wristband, listened to the athlete briefing, and went to the opening ceremony and watched the video. I soaked it all in.

Start of the Underpants Run at Mirror Lake.

Mike Reilly at the opening ceremony.

I had a minor freak out on Saturday when my IT band was painfully tight during a short run. I was relaxing in our room Saturday night when I got a text from a friend asking if I was okay and if I needed a place to stay. An apartment above a store next to the Golden Arrow was on fire. Part of the Golden Arrow was evacuated, and rumors started swirling that, because of debris and chemicals washing down into the lake, the swim may be cancelled. I'm ashamed to say that I seized on that bit of news as a ray of hope that I could do an Ironman and avoid facing my biggest fear. I was so convinced it might happen that I was actually able to sleep a little that night. The water was tested the next morning, and as we were getting bodymarked and placing our special needs bags, it was announced the swim was a go. In retrospect, I'm glad it worked out that way, but in that moment, I was terrified. We put our wetsuits on and started walking to the swim start. I almost broke a rule and started to cry, I was so scared. IMLP has a rolling swim start where you self-seed based on your projected finish time. Dan is a very good swimmer, so he was up with the 1:05 or 1:10 people. Bob and I had almost identical swim times, and I had planned to go in the water with him. I had several panicky minutes searching for him in the 1:40 group, but I did finally find him just moments before we went into the water. And, of course, I lost him within seconds.

I guess there's no such thing as an easy Ironman swim. Theoretically, Mirror Lake should be as easy as it gets. You have a cable under the water that is plainly visible and you can follow without having to sight. Of course, all 2500+ athletes want to swim on or near the cable, and it's a battle getting that coveted spot. The one thing I hate and can't seem to get over is the close proximity of other athletes in the water. I figured I'd swim wide left and just follow the bodies. It's a small lake, and when you know people are on the cable and swimming straight, you just have to follow the bodies. That didn't work out very well. If the cable is like a somewhat civilized drag strip, wide of the cable is like the demolition derby. People swimming over the top of me at a 90 degree angle, people hitting and kicking me. One guy put his hand on my hip and aggressively shoved me. When you pack my 115 lbs. into 5 mm of neoprene, I skate across the surface of the water like a leaf in the wind. After about five minutes of the washing machine, I felt the panic start to rise and I lifted my arm for a kayak. I'm not sure what I intended to do, but as soon as I stopped swimming, the water opened up in front of me and I had room to swim. I waved off the kayaker and continued. I did get into a good rhythm, but there was still enough contact and I was having to sight often enough that, as I finished the first loop, I was determined I was getting on that f-ing cable for the second loop. Which I accomplished relatively easily. I think by then, the faster swimmers were done or well into their second loop, so there were just fewer bodies to fight through. And, people were much more civil. If they swam up from behind, they passed to my side instead of over the top of me. And as I (surprisingly!) caught people, I did the same. My calves did start to cramp a little on the second half of the second loop, and I rolled my toe again running out of the water. I had sprained it rather badly at Syracuse. It was black and blue for days all the way down to my mid-foot. And, now, here we go again.

Setting the buoys early on race day.

I survived.

If I had written this blog within days after the race, I don't think I would've recalled much more detail than I can a year later. Call it "flow" or some kind of intense concentration or emotional detachment, but much of the rest of the race seemed to pass, I wouldn't say quickly, but without much mental engagement on my part. Well, except for the first hour on the bike. I was ecstatic to be out of the water, alive, and have that behind me. I had planned before the race to go for comfort in my first Ironman, so I was prepared to do a complete wardrobe change in both transitions. It was a cloudy and cool morning, and was sprinkling a little when I got out of the water. I decided to forego the vest and arm warmers, but somehow I also missed the sunscreen. When I got to my bike, I became inexplicably enraged that there were so few bikes left. I had done the swim in 1:39, and took 12 minutes for T1, so I was very close to where I wanted to be. In any event, I hammered the first almost 40 miles of the bike, I was so angry. The first 10 miles or so are a pretty good climb out of town before getting to the awesome downhill through the Cascades to Keene. Every person I passed on a regular road bike or with a Camelback on, just enraged me even more. I swore at them in my head, "Did you punch me on the swim? Take that, motherf--er, how do you like me now?" I reined my emotions in before I got to the Cascades. I love downhills, but I know enough to ride intelligently and be vigilant about crosswinds and other riders. I did ride most of it in the aerobars, and continued to push through the flat section on 9N from Keene to Ausable Forks and back to Upper Jay. It wasn't until I turned onto 86 and started the climb to Wilmington, that I finally told myself to stop being stupid and rein it in a bit. I was passing people rather easily on the climb to Wilmington, and I knew what was ahead of me, so I dialed back the intensity. I did stop in town to grab nutrition and hydration out of my special needs bag. You feel like a rock star from Poppa Bear until River Road, with all the cheering from the spectators. I took the climb out of town a little more reasonably, and sat up a little more on the downhill, because a cross wind had started up on the second loop. It was getting very hot, and I do remember knowing I had made a bad error missing the sunscreen. It did cloud up and sprinkle a bit, and that felt wonderful. The only other item of note happened as I was climbing through the Notch. It's like one long train of bikes with no consideration being given to staying out of the draft zone of the bike ahead. I was passing pretty much everyone I rode up to, and because they were so close together, I basically just stayed to the left, since there was no room for me to move right after each pass. A motorbike came up alongside me, and the official on the back smiled at me and motioned me right. I kind of shrugged and gestured as if to say, "Where?" He responded by motioning right again a little more emphatically, so I moved right to avoid a penalty. A headwind had come up on the second loop as it often does, and when I moved right, I was suddenly and blissfully out of the wind for a few seconds! I couldn't stay right because I was in someone's draft zone, so I passed and moved right, passed and moved right, all the way to the top. And saved some energy in the process, so that guy did me a huge favor. I completed the bike in 6:34, just a few minutes off my goal time. I didn't negatively split, but my second loop was only a couple of minutes slower than my first, so the angry riding hadn't really hurt me.

Cool as a cucumber, somewhere in the Notch.

Back in T2, I did another wardrobe change, located the sunscreen volunteers, and headed out of the Oval on the run. A friend who is a coach and was there spectating, yelled to me that it was hot and getting hotter, and to grab ice often and put it in my hat. I stuck to my plan of walking every aide station. Despite the heat, I was running pretty easily, keeping to a 10:15-ish pace. I started seeing friends, passing some who were already walking, or meeting some still running coming back from the turnarounds. Every one commented on how hot it was, and while I agreed, I still felt okay, and decided I'd just keep running as long as I could. I walked the two steep hills by the ski jumps and Lisa G's. I do recall feeling some gut discomfort near the end of River Road on the second loop, but it didn't last. The sun wasn't as high in the sky and it was cooling a bit. I really felt pretty good until the last two miles.

On River Road, feeling pretty good.

When I turned the corner to do the out-and-back on Mirror Lake Drive, I was thinking that they must've moved the turnaround further down the road, it just seemed to take forever to get there. I walked a bit, and told myself it was okay, but I needed to start running as soon as I passed the turnaround. I could hear Mike Reilly at this point, and I actually thought I'd maybe run past the Oval and up to my hotel room so I could lie down. I just wanted to stop. I doubled down and started running faster, and when I got into the Oval, I lost all sense of being in the moment. I only wanted to cross that finish line. I heard Mike Reilly say my name, and I broke down. I finally let myself acknowledge that I had done it, that I had completed an Ironman. I sobbed, I hugged everyone.

No caption needed.

 When I watched the video after, I saw that I had passed a woman in the Oval. She slowed down, so she could have her finishing moment. Damn, I was that guy. I regret that, and would do that over if I could. Another rule I should've remembered, unless you're a pro or top age-grouper racing for a slot, you don't sprint to the finish line and ruin someone else's finishing moment and photo. I finished in 13:12 and placed 4th in my age group. T2 was about nine minutes, and I had done the run in 4:37. I never felt the IT band or the toe. Dan was at the finish line eating French fries. I saw my husband at the fence. I did the medal photo, grabbed a water bottle and went over to my husband. Started talking to him and Dan for a few minutes, then I suddenly felt nauseous and had to sit down. Then lie down. On the ground. Some volunteers came over and hustled me to the med tent, where I stayed for the next hour and a half. I had gained a couple of pounds during the race, and after emptying my stomach of lots of fluid, I did feel better. I apparently did too good of a job walking the aide stations and drinking water, and I was a touch hyponatremic. My son worked the massage tent, and unfortunately, he missed my finish by about 20 minutes. When he was done his shift, he sat with me in the med tent, and that was  a huge comfort. I missed Bob's finish, and felt badly about that. Tried to eat back at the hotel, and wasn't able to. But, I was an Ironman, finally! And I podiumed in my age group. I couldn't have scripted it any better; well, I suppose I could've done without the puking. I am an Ironman, and I have to say, it's one of the best feelings in the world.

"Alicia Chase, from Cadyville, NY, You. Are. An. Ironman!"

My friend Bob, giving props to Mike Reilly. Bob won his age group.

4th place AG. My friend, Mary took 1st.