The Beach to Battleship Irondistance race report

It's long. Live with it.

Driving a cargo van full of 12 bikes for 2.5 days across the country might seem like a poor choice for the pre-ironman taper, but my muscles didn’t mind much. We left Monday morning at 8:30. Tuesday morning I ran in Little Rock, Arkansas – just to keep loose. And to keep the ants in my pants from taking control. The sidewalks in the neighborhood, where they existed, were leaf covered, cracked, and heaved. The small houses were weathered, with equally sad plastic patio furniture set askew on the porch, and some had remnants of Halloween decorations. The kids on the sidewalk stared, but smiled when I said hello. I ran easily about 3 or 4 miles – found a school with an asphalt track and did two laps before turning around. My legs felt sluggish, not surprising considering the previous day’s 12 hour confinement. I didn’t run Wednesday morning, eager to get to the rental house. Co was also ready to exit the van for a few days.

The house had a great, large kitchen and dining area – plenty of room for all of us (15 people) to congregate. The bedrooms were nothing special – the bed Co and I chose was a little hard, and the 70’s bathrooms were in need of a style makeover, but were clean and decent to use. But the decks and beach access were the stars of the house. A crow’s nest on the roof offered an unimpeded view of the ocean, and even the second floor deck provided a great ocean view. The sounds of waves rolling up the beach were very relaxing. A path, perhaps 100 yds long, led directly from house to beach. Ahh.

We unpacked our things, and went to The Dockside for dinner. The crab dip was creamy and flavorful, with large chunks of crab meat, and the shrimp was fresh. The crabcake we both agreed tasted more like a stuffing with crab in it, than a crabcake. The accompanying sweet potato fries were EXCELLENT.

Debi, Hartley, Mark, Lorna, Miguel and Lorraine arrived shortly after we were got back to the house. Mark, Naomi, Jane, Tim, and Orlando arrived later that evening. Thursday, we decided to go for a swim in the intracoastal waterway. We headed out against the receding tide – I couldn’t decide if I was just sluggish, had lost all my recently rediscovered swim mojo, or if the tide was really that strong. When we turned around it was obvious – we all felt like we had propellers strapped to our backs. The swim was going to feel like cheating!

Then, off to the packet pick up, expo, and athlete dinner. Where Mark and Jane shopped, Co and I stood around (I did pick up a hat) and I almost lost my purse. Now, obvious nerves were gripping our group. The Outlaw Pack posse (aka sherpas) made plans for dropping us off in the AM, meeting the outlaws doing the Half IM at the end, loading out bikes back in the van, and other necessary, mundane, and complicated details for getting everyone and everything where it needed to be at the right time. We athletes talked over our bags for each transition area in minute detail and our special needs bags located at the mid point of the bike and run courses. Packing them took me about an hour, and I still did some things not quite right. I had complete clothes changes for each event. I didn’t put body glide in the T2 bag, and I wish I had. I forgot to put on my Zensah calf sleeves on the run.

Friday I got up for a quick run on the beach – about 4 miles, I think. I saw a dead jellyfish – about the size of a football. I picked some shells, and ended the run by darting into the crashing waves until the water was waist deep. Ahh. Co and I wanted to go see a plantation (tourist activity). Michael, Michi, and Jane went to the pre race meeting. Thanks to the other Outlaws’ flexibility, we got bikes and people to T1 to drop off the bikes and bags, and still had time to make our tour. Co and I then went out to eat at the Bluewater restaurant which had good seafood.

We got back to the house in time for some good conversation, and got to bed relatively early.

Co dropped us off at T1, saint that he is, at 5:00 am. We took a trolley to the swim start while it was still dark. Arriving in the cool predawn, we found some benches and chatted with other racers. The horizon blushed red as time passed. A return racer told us that we could count on a slight tailwind for the way back into town, which we all thought was excellent news. Checking our watches prompted us to struggle into our wetsuits, drop our pre race bags in the bins, and walk to the start. I quickly latched on to Mark at the bag drop, not wanting to be alone in the minutes before the start. The sand froze our feet during the 500 yd walk to the start area, so the water felt balmy. Tim and Mark convinced me that a short swim was necessary both to get water into the suit and allow it to warm up, but also to take the edge off. It was a good thing. Then, too quickly, we were hastened out of the water by the start officials. Standing at the line was a surreal rush of people and noise, and at the same time feeling separate from myself. Numbness spread up from my feet and threatened to weaken my knees. Few things around me looked solid or real. I stayed at Mark and Tim’s shoulder. Finally, the RD’s started some music, and nodding my head in time to Eminem’s “Lose yourself” grounded me in the moment, pulled me out of my anxious head. Final hugs all around, and unhelpful welling of tears behind my goggles, and we were off.

Soon the business of swimming was my entire reality. I seeded myself in the middle of everything. I’m not bothered by a little pushing in the beginning. I focused on pulling, and a high catch. I caught a few mouthfuls of the salty water during the swim, and had to breaststroke while I gagged a bit. I sat on the trail of a few feet and was enjoying myself, swimming easily. The buoys didn’t seem to be in a straight line, so sighting was difficult. Soon, though, I was making the left hand turn, and angling toward what I hoped was the swim finish line on a dock with 4 ladders leading up out of the water. I angled for the first ladder, and as I got close the tide pushed me past it quite authoratively. I went for the second ladder, and missed that too. I pulled hard, and caught the third ladder with a bit of a giggle – I hadn’t anticipated having to fight the tide to get out of the water. Next to me, a guy whooped, yelling, “out of the water in 58 minutes!”

That’s about 20 minutes faster than I expected. Yahoo! Then it was on to the strippers, then a brief pause under the showers to rinse off the salt. T1 was a good 300 yds down the street, so off I trotted holding the wetsuit in one hand and my goggles and cap in the other. The pavement was rough and cold. I saw several macho guys hunching their shoulders and lifting their arms while trying to pick a smooth path – they looked as if they were tip-toeing through tulips. I chugged on past, wearing a big grin. Just before I made the turn into T1, I hear, “GO WIFE” and there’s Co cheering for me. My grin got a little bigger, and I floated into the changing tent.

There weren’t personal volunteers to help athletes dress, so I upended my bag and started to sort through what I needed. Pulling on dry clothes while wet took several minutes. I opted to leave off the compression calf sleeves and stick them in my jersey pocket for the run. I did put on my arm warmers, though I wasn’t sure I needed them. I ran out to my bike, turned on my garmin and watch timer, and set off.

I was counting on my power meter to keep me from going out too hard at first, and then later to keep me pushing rather than losing focus. I could only laugh when, on my way out of transition, the power meter flashed the message, “Battery test… BAD” Ok, no power meter. Well, this will be a challenge to see how I pace myself. The course was advertised as pancake flat. It was flat, but there were several overpasses and rises, enough to keep me from falling asleep. The first aid station was supposed to be at mile 25, and I was eagerly awaiting the chance to use the port a potties. Mile 25 came and went. 26… 27… 28… “you gotta be kidding me.” 29… “if it’s not around this bend, I am going for a tree.” Then finally at mile 30 it appeared among the trees and green of NC. I’m glad there wasn’t too much of a line, or I still would have watered a tree. Then back on the bike. My bike training had been really poor over the last 4 weeks, only biking 3 times. And, at about mile 40, I knew my bum was not bike ready. Oh well. In addition, my shoulder and neck had a terrible crick in them, and it was very uncomfortable to be in the aero position. I stayed there as much as I could stand, about 60% of the time. At mile 50 or so, a message marked on the pavement read, “Giant Chicken Crossing!” Wha???
I looked over to the right, and there was a GIANT white chicken made of plastic, with a hunting hat on. On I went. I stopped 3 times on the bike, and tried to keep taking in calories. I managed 900 calories over 6.75 hours, with my goal being 1600. Ooops. But I could tell that was all my stomach wanted. I would have been able to eat something salty, but the only offering was pretzels, which I don’t like. The last 40 miles were into a headwind, and I was starting to struggle with discomfort (shoulder and bum) and frustration at facing a headwind where I expected a tail wind to be. At this point, it felt as if my legs were moving of their own accord, while my mind just wanted to stop and get off the bike. I thought positive thoughts, and that was helpful. I passed a few people, and kept my speed. Finally the turn, and the battleship loomed ahead of me in the river. Co and Lorna spotted me and cheered loudly. Woot! Done with the bike.

I handed my bike to a volunteer (thanks!) and slipped into the changing tent. Another complete change of clothes, easier now that I’m not wet. But I forget to put on the calf sleeves, and I have no body glide in my bag. Ooops. Naomi is in the tent, and we grouse a bit about the headwind. And out I go, onto the run. Co is there again, and I give him a big smile, and start running

I’ve been worried about THE RUN all day. I was very conservative on the bike to make sure I “had enough” for the run. I had to guess at being conservative, thanks to the dead battery in my powermeter, had to guess at what speed I was going, but I tried to focus on how good I was still feeling. My pace initially settles in at 9:20 to 9:30, which is a bit fast; my legs felt, if not exactly fresh, then as tired as if I had only been standing for awhile. So I decide to walk the aid stations to keep me relaxed. I see Debi, Michael, Hartley and Orlando in the first two miles giving them a big cheer and high five. It was 3 in the afternoon, the temp was in the mid sixties. I kept my arm coolers soaked, and was very comfortable. At mile 3.5, I see Mark and Miguel, then a bit later I see Tim. At mile 7.5 I see Naomi, and mile 8.5 I see Jane. What a lift to see all the Outlaws out on the course! At mile 9 I feel a hot spot on my foot, and stop at an aid station for Vaseline. About that same time, my stomach starts to express mild dissatisfaction with my choice of intake for the day. I decide some water for awhile would be prudent. After another mile, my stomach is not worse, but still not settled, I began to suspect that too much liquid and not enough solid food is the culprit. I ate some animal crackers. Then an orange slice. Still no better, but not worse either. I was starting to feel bloated, now too. I went for more coke. At mile 13.1 I am back within steps of the finish line, and my run special needs bag. It’s officially dusk now, and I was really pleased that I had finished the first out and back in the daylight. Now the second out and back in dusk might look different and I wouldn’t get bored. The hotspot on my foot was still nagging, so I whipped out the body glide, sat down, and slathered both feet with it. I probably spent at least 5 minutes doing this, but foot issues can really derail a race. (right, Tim?) As I turned my back on the battleship and headed out for my last lap, I choked up a bit, realizing that I had no question about whether I was going to be able to finish this race.

Some of the volunteers at the corners now were cheering determinedly and out of a sense of duty. The soft, barely heard cheers from fellow athletes was more heartfelt, more meaningful. The shared experience of the day put us in an inclusive group. I was still going. They were still going. We had done a lot so far. There was more to do. I again saw Mark at mile 16.5, then Miguel, then Tim. I made up a little time on them. I wonder if Naomi has gotten closer to me? It’s full dark now. The street lamps are a bit too far apart, but the glow from the aid stations can be seen ½ mile away. The cobblestones in the middle part of the out and back force me to pick up my feet, and the awkward camber of the street highlights the tired feeling in my feet and ankles. But I’m still running, and it feels easier than at mile 25 of a 50K run. Will it get harder? I’m maintaining a faster pace than anyone around me, which gives me a boost. I should be able to estimate my finish time now, I think. Let’s see. “An hour for the swim. My garmin at the end of the bike showed 7:50. So add the swim. That’s.. uh, um. 8:50. My first out and back was 2:30. But I spent some time with my special need bag.. maybe round that to 9 hours, and if I maintain this pace, well…”

I tried to consult my Garmin again, but the periodic spots of light provided by the street lamps only showed me a confused jumble of numbers. I pressed a button, looking for the back light, and accidently got into a menu screen. How do I get out of the menu screen? Does that mean I somehow interrupted the Garmin from recording. Aargh. How do I get out of the menu screen? Hm. Think. No, I’m sure its still recording. I think I press this button… wait for a street light… YES! Back to the main screen. Now, about estimating my finish time. I could stop… but I didn’t want to stop. So, I added in my head. And, my math skills at 11 hours of moving were not up to the task. I double added the swim, and convinced myself that even if I even split the run, I wouldn’t make it under 14 hours. *sigh* I would have liked to finish under 14. Dang. I walked up the next hill. I took an extra walk break. Let it go, I told myself. Come on, no matter what my time was, it was a PR, and I was still running and felt pretty good. I’ll just maintain this easy pace, and cruise on in. I see Naomi, and then not far behind her is Jane. Back through downtown Wilmington and the cobblestones. I hear surprise in the cheering voices now – “Go 173, THAT’s running, you make it look easy. Go Girl!” My stomach still hasn’t settled, but I’m two miles from the finish, so I ignore it. I walk the uphills. Just passed the last aid station, I walk up the final hill – a bridge – into the face of oncoming cars. Two guys jog up and pass me, but I keep my own pace. At the top, I start running down. Running and I free my legs from the imposed slow pace, or try to free them, and they don’t complain too much. I catch up to the guys, exchanging words again, and I decide to keep moving. My first ironman. I come up to the run special needs area – still others are leaving again into the dark, and I yell encouragement. The volunteers here ask if I am finishing. Yes, yes I am. I am finishing. And then there’s Co, running along side me, giggling a little, and telling me, “c’mon, let’s go!” I round the corner, with a big grin, I tell him that this is as fast as this train is going right now. He exits and I go towards the chute. I blink a few times, looking at the timing clock. It says 13:14… but… really? 13?

And then I’m through. I’m done. With my medal and space blanket around me, I find Co waiting for me at the exit area. “How do you feel?”
“I feel great! I felt great all day! Wow. I finished in 13:15! Or was it 13:18.. whatever, that’s great!”
Mark comes up, “See, I told you you’d be under 14. No problem!”
“wow, I can’t believe it.”
I think I tried to explain my miscalculation… no telling how that actually came across. After several hugs, the other outlaws go back to see Naomi and Jane finish. Co herds me to the food tents. I stop 20 ft away, and look. “I just want to stand here for a minute with a little less fuss and noise. What do they have?” After a minute or two, I decide to go for some pizza. I’m still too hot, though the night air is chilly. After a few bites of pizza, I spy a pile of ice on the grass 30 ft away. I watch it for awhile. No, it is clearly no-one’s ice. It’s a big pile. Standing up, I tell Co what I’m going to do. He guards my pizza. I unfurl my space blanket over the ice. And plop myself in the center of it. Hah! IM ice bath accomplished! While I sit very pleased with myself, an 8 yr old girl walks past. She sees me… then does a double take. Her jaw drops. She almost drops her plate of pizza. I can just see the thought going through her head. “THAT woman is sitting in a pile of ICE. Why would she do that? She’s SMILING. She must be crazy.”

Why, yes, little girl, I’m sure most of my friends would agree with you. But I ask you, who was able to do an ironman, and then hop over the cement walls later that evening? Hm?

Thanks to all the outlaws for being such great training partners, and especially thanks to our sherpas: Lorna, Lorraine, and Co for getting us and all of our stuff through the day in one piece with many words of encouragement!