Finally! After almost a year of training, our epic peak training weekend was here! A 20 mile run on Saturday, a 120 mile ride on Sunday. The long journey on the road to IMAZ was culminating in this final big weekend.
20 Miles
I loved everything about this run. Four laps around Burke Lake, followed by a short out and back. The weather was nice and cool, the leaves were beautiful, the fall colors reflected in the calm waters of the lake. Team Z burgers, fries, and Diet Coke were waiting at the end.
I managed an 11 minute pace on my first loop, then slowed down from there. The last 4 miles were pretty slow and I walked a few times. I've said it so many times, but I love to run. I was so happy at one point I started to tear up. It was part living in the moment, part knowing that if I can just make it to the run at IMAZ, I will make it to the finish line.
120 Miles
I woke up feeling stiff and a bit sore from the run. The Nokesville ride was described as pretty flat, but there were hills, oh yes. I started the ride with a few people, but just 20 miles in or so we were all spread out and I was by myself. No worries, I thought. Racing is a solo endeavor. You'll be alone at IMAZ, so why not get used to it in training?
About 60 miles in, as I was going over hill after frickin' hill, I started to get annoyed. All of the shifting back and forth from a sitting upright position to an aero position was getting on my nerves. My bike saddle is more comfy when I can just get in one position and go.The moving around just hurt. Not good a few weeks out from IMAZ.
I was thinking:
Admit it, Sally. You just aren't comfortable on this bike. You miss your road bike. But since you're not on your road bike, you're just going to have to suck it up.. So quit wasting your energy and your day being annoyed.
I felt a little better after that and just tried to enjoy the scenery. But after more hills around mile 80, my quads were really feeling it and the saddle was getting more uncomfortable.
One of the sags stopped to see if I needed anything. She said, "Looks like you're last." She wasn't being negative; it was just a casual comment from someone who had given up her entire Sunday to try to keep track of all of us 120 milers and make sure we were okay. But hearing "you're last" was all I needed to let the self doubt sink in. And it really hit me.
You're LAST, Sally. Last with a capital "L"...which might as well stand for LOSER. You're always last. Slow and LAST. All alone and LAST. Lame and LAST, that's you. I'm not sure what you were thinking signing up for Ironman. And I don't want to hear any excuses. Everyone else is managing on these hills at this distance, and they're doing it way faster than you. Maybe you aren't cut out for this triathlon thing. Maybe you should just stick to running. You are never going to be fast -- or even average --on the bike and you need to just accept the reality of the situation and move on.
And then I started to get pissed off. I started to think about all of the miles I've put in, all of the suffering I've endured--just like everyone else, all of the way-too-early mornings at the pool or driving to a run or ride. I thought about how far I've come from four years ago when swimming 100 yards was a big deal....and how far I've come just from last year when I missed the cutoff at Musselman. Where was my inner strength now? Isn't this when my reserves of mental toughness are supposed to kick in?
I had two options: I could quit or I could keep going. I started talking to myself out loud. No, it was more like yelling at myself.
Dammit Sally, get a grip! It's never been about being first or last --that's never been what matters to you and that's not what THIS is about. It's ALWAYS been about finishing-- just going the distance. You've never quit a race or a training ride, so don't start thinking about quitting now. That would really be pathetic. Then you'd not only be LAST, you'd also be a QUITTER. How would that feel on the drive home?
Then my thoughts turned to summit night on Kilimanjaro. I thought about how hard it was, how I just wanted to give up and turn around, but how I somehow found the strength to push through.Where was that strength now?
Sally, you ran 20 miles yesterday. This isn't supposed to be easy. Kili was tougher than this and you didn't quit. Whatever it takes, just get through this. Whatever it takes. You will do the same on race day. I don't care if you finish at 2am. I don't care if you have to crawl across the pavement where the finish line USED TO BE---just go the distance. You won't do it then
, if you can't do this now
.
I saw a couple of people pulling weeds in their yard and they both stopped--in mid pull--and stared at me. What a sight I must've been--pedaling along in my Team Z outfit, yelling at myself about not quitting. I looked at them and blurted out, "Forward motion, people! That's what this is aaaaalllll about!" And then I started laughing at how ridiculous I must've sounded. This is when I think I crossed the line into a semi-delusional state.
To the cows on the side of the road:
I'm not quitting, do you hear me Mr. Cow?!
To a random fence post on the other side of the road:
That's what I said, Fence Post, so just watch me blow by you.
To the crumbling barn up ahead:
Back off, Barn, don't even think about getting in my way because I'm coming through and I'm finishing this thing!
And so it went, me yelling at random animals and objects all the way to the Citgo rest stop where Kathleen was waiting with Diet Coke and french fries. From there I had about 27 miles to go--that's it. Just hang tough for 27 more and you'll be done.
I'm not sure what happened, but suddenly I had all this energy. My quads were no longer hurting. My saddle was no longer bothering me. I was more motivated than ever to finish the ride. I was almost giddy the rest of the way back to the park. I felt awesome because I had pushed through the difficult part and knew that I would make it. I'm sure the Diet Coke and french fries had something to do with it, but I also would like to think that somehow, somewhere on that long hilly stretch in the middle of nowhere, I found my inner strength.
Just a few miles out, the sun was going down fast. I knew I would have to step it up to get back to the park before dark. Then to my surprise, swim coach Mark pulled up to check on me. He had driven the course backwards until he found me. A few words of encouragement and I was off.
I had gone less than a mile when Tracey and Timra drove up to give me a final boost back to the park. For the last couple of miles, Tracey drove ahead of me and waited at each intersection for me to pass, while Timra kept yelling, "you're a rock star" out the window.
When I turned into the park, Timra ran alongside me and told me to ride back toward the pavilion because people were waiting. I pulled up and there was Tracey, waiting with a Diet Coke. She held my bike and asked for the keys to my car so she could pull it around for me. This is when I got choked up. She had waited all that time for me to finally finish and tracked me down to make sure I made it back safe. And now here she was, knowing just what I needed at that particular moment on this very long day. Here we were, on our final epic training weekend, after climbing Kili together and raising thousands for AIDS orphans -- here we were with just a few weeks to go to IMAZ, our final challenge of the year. What a journey we've had together.
I walked back to the Team Z pavilion and hugged the coaches. Ed fixed me a heaping plate of food. By now it was dark and getting chilly. I was the last one in, but I was on the top of the world. I had conquered my inner demons, pushed through the self doubt, and finished the ride.When the going gets tough at IMAZ, I will remember this epic weekend and what it took to go the distance.
Now time for taper!
