As I write this post, I am still riding a high from just watching the Ironman World Championships in Kona two days ago. I don't know that I've ever felt so inspired, and I wasn't even there, but merely staring, mesmerized, at the tiny video on my computer screen for nearly five hours. I know from the past, and from others I shared this event with, that watching the IMWC is inspiring and moving for anyone. But to have shared that goal with the best of them, of being there on that day and giving it absolutely everything you've got; to have put in your own blood, sweat and tears while working your ass off in attempt to be ready; to have felt that indescribable desire of wanting something SO badly you feel you'd give anything for it... makes it feel all the more real, and makes the experience of spectating (even just through the computer) so much more emotional -- even despite not having accomplished the goal.
Though I wasn't there, I felt a surreal connection to the event. Perhaps because I wanted to be there SO bad, I felt like, on some level, I understood the feelings my idols were experiencing: wanting to win; to turn in their best performance; to exceed their expectations, etc. On so many levels, the race was epic to watch. My personal hero, Mirinda Carfrae, turned in an amazing performance with SO MUCH heart -- something too evident for anyone to deny. It was admirable beyond belief, and the result couldn't have been more deserving, or come from a classier, more stand-up competitor, though I know she wanted more from herself. Just like me.
As bad as I wanted to be at Kona this year, I am honestly grateful for the way things panned out for me this year. I gave it my all in my qualifier at St. George, but I wasn't truly prepared, as evidenced by my much-improved performance a few months later at Vineman. Next year, I won't make the same mistake. I wanted Kona, and I set it in my sights and wrote it down in my list of goals. But each time I wrote or even thought about it, I preceded the thought with a notation about how lofty the goal was; how much it was something beyond my control and how I did consider it an expectation, but merely a dream. Undoubtedly, there was some hesitance there to really go "all in."
While I still feel that I need to have other goals beyond qualification, as it is something not merely based on my own performance but rather on those of others, I know without doubt that the goal is something I truly want to attain, and will prioritize this year, work toward, and yes, even allow myself to expect -- provided my training and racing stays on track. Now that I have witnessed the drama, challenge and triumph of the race not just from the perspective of an ordinary spectator or someone who has considered Kona as a distant dream, but from the eyes of someone who truly wants to be there, has worked to get there and come up short, and can now picture themselves there more than ever, I know absolutely without a doubt just how important it is for me to be a part of this exceptionally special experience.
Next year, I don't want to be watching things unfold. I want to be making it happen for myself. I know this now, more than ever. I am truly inspired to do what it takes to attain this seemingly-unattainable goal, and confident that I can. And, more than anything, I am certainly confident that I'm doing the right thing for myself in pursuing these goals and dreams, despite other things I might sacrifice. While I have questioned this on a re-occurring basis in the past, witnessing this dream that I so want to be a part of has been truly reaffirming to me that my heart is in the right place, and I am putting my efforts and energy in the right direction, regardless of the struggles I may face. I want this; I want Kona; I want a sub-10:30 Ironman this year and then a sub-10, and so on...; I want to increase my speed in my Olympic Distance performances and finally accomplish what I know I can in a 70.3; I want to dedicate myself wholeheartedly, to not hold back and sell myself short; I want to break out in my performances and get my professional license. I want to be an athlete in every sense of the word, and embrace the lifestyle that that definition affords me.
With this new confidence of purpose, inspiration and desire fueling me, I believe I am beginning a new journey of sorts. After incurring one of my most impacting injuries earlier this summer, in the height of what I consider one of my best athletic years and following perhaps my very best performance, I am finally on my way back up. I went nearly six weeks without running, which, for someone who loves to run, is a LONG time. I watched race opportunities pass me by. But I am finally back, and -- slowly -- regaining my shape. I have been running for about three weeks now, and it has felt as amazing as I could have imagined. But it hasn't been without its frustrations.
Initially, I felt horribly out of shape, despite having increased my biking, swimming and ski training during my running hiatus. It's been tough for me to be nowhere near where I was earlier this summer -- in perhaps the best running shape of my life, in both interval and distance sessions. I have turned in mediocre times in intervals, and my legs just don't have the strength to handle the impact of long sessions yet. But, I am getting there. My times are slowly coming down, and my speed is coming back, and my legs are gradually getting stronger. Last weekend, I raced the San Jose Half Marathon to represent my sponsor, and the event's title sponsor, Marathon Bar. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have raced, as my body was just not quite ready for that type of effort. I wasn't expecting much, and got exactly that, as I turned in eight really solid miles before my body totally fell apart from the impact it it just not used to yet. It was a painful and frankly pretty miserable experience. But, I made it through, and I came out stronger on the other end. With that behind me, I am back to rebuilding, moving along my stepping stones, and looking forward to what lies ahead.
I still have a few races left in 2011, including the California International Marathon in December, for which I have set my sights high, wanting to break 3:15. I do believe that, with patience, positivity and passion, I can get there. I know I can get back to running the way I was this spring and early summer, and perhaps even faster. I just have to take it one day at a time.
Looking ahead, and starting now, I know that I have some big dreams and high expectations to fill. But, perhaps for the first time, I am not afraid to claim them, and to really put myself out there. Ultimately, this season will not be a story of failure to accomplish the iconic goal, or of injury, but of some really high ups interrupted by a few downs, a lot of learning, growing and improvement, and of preparation and inspiration for what is yet to come. 2012, I can't wait to see what I can make of you. But, for now, and along the way, California International, here I come. And I'm going to bring everything I've got.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Anxiously Waiting, Steadily Healing
As much as we'd like to think so, exercise -- especially at an intense level -- isn't always totally kind to our bodies. Yes, pushing the limits makes us better, faster stronger. We reap the benefits of our efforts through increased fitness and ability, and in the case of a racer like me, improved performance. These changes and improvements feel amazing, and are totally worth our efforts to step up to that next level. But what about those times when our bodies don't respond so positively, and our efforts prove to be detrimental?
For most of my athletic career, I have been fortunate to remain relatively injury-free. I have had my share of nagging aches and pains and the occasional more serious issue, but for how hard I've pushed over so many years and in so many different capacities, I've rarely faced issues that have caused me to have to break from or even significantly alter my training schedule. That's not to say that there aren't times when I probably should have taken it easy or changed my routine to let an injury recover, but in the past there have been few exceptions to my ability and desire to just push right on through and keep going. Unfortunately, my current injury is one of those exceptions. But fortunately, I am a smarter athlete these days, and I'm determined to focus on doing the right thing for my body, and for the long-term. Those "exceptions" should from now on be commonplace, as I'm working hard to prioritize recovery and healing, and long-term success over instant gratification -- a seemingly simple, but revolutionary intention for me.
I haven't raced since Vineman. In fact, things have been relatively quiet in my athletic world, much to my dismay. What I had thought was merely a bruised heel during the week leading up to the race is still lingering, and has proven to be something more serious -- though I'm not exactly sure what. Initially, my thought was a stress fracture. But talking with a friend in health care seems to have ruled that out as the cause of the intense pain I'm feeling when pressure is put on my heel (as in the case of running, or even just standing too long on a hard surface, and post-pressure, including laying in bed at night). Regardless, the yet-to-be-surely-specified injury has kept me out of running, my favorite activity -- and sorely disappointed -- for some time now.
I feel as though I have been on the sidelines, watching everything pass me by: the Xterra race that would have been my first; a Half-Ironman I'd really set my sights on; and the first of several running races I had planned on my calendar for this year. Needless to say, I'm not a fan of the sidelines. It's a whole new perspective for me. But I'm slowly seeing, and convincing myself, that maybe it's not a bad one for me to learn and experience. It's tough to feel like you could be out there achieving success, but to have something holding you back. It's tougher still to be missing the long runs I so love and long for on a difficult or stressful day, or the intervals that hurt so much but feel so worth it after a strong performance. For so long, running has truly fed my soul. To be without it for weeks is certainly deprivation.
But for now, all I can do is focus on all I do have; focus on the positives. My biking and swimming hours have increased immensely, and perhaps the injury was in fact just what I needed to ensure that I'm working on my weaknesses. I do tend to try to squeeze too many races in the schedule, and undoubtedly must sacrifice performance somewhere along the line, so perhaps this is the way for me to learn that lesson, too. And perhaps -- and this is my hope, my goal and my reasoning -- I'll come back a better and stronger runner and athlete than before, having learned from my mistakes and treated my body as it should be. In the end, slowing down may just be the key for me to become my fastest. Sometimes allowing ourselves to step back, recover and let our own bodies take the reigns is the toughest thing to do, but undoubtedly there is value there.
For most of my athletic career, I have been fortunate to remain relatively injury-free. I have had my share of nagging aches and pains and the occasional more serious issue, but for how hard I've pushed over so many years and in so many different capacities, I've rarely faced issues that have caused me to have to break from or even significantly alter my training schedule. That's not to say that there aren't times when I probably should have taken it easy or changed my routine to let an injury recover, but in the past there have been few exceptions to my ability and desire to just push right on through and keep going. Unfortunately, my current injury is one of those exceptions. But fortunately, I am a smarter athlete these days, and I'm determined to focus on doing the right thing for my body, and for the long-term. Those "exceptions" should from now on be commonplace, as I'm working hard to prioritize recovery and healing, and long-term success over instant gratification -- a seemingly simple, but revolutionary intention for me.
I haven't raced since Vineman. In fact, things have been relatively quiet in my athletic world, much to my dismay. What I had thought was merely a bruised heel during the week leading up to the race is still lingering, and has proven to be something more serious -- though I'm not exactly sure what. Initially, my thought was a stress fracture. But talking with a friend in health care seems to have ruled that out as the cause of the intense pain I'm feeling when pressure is put on my heel (as in the case of running, or even just standing too long on a hard surface, and post-pressure, including laying in bed at night). Regardless, the yet-to-be-surely-specified injury has kept me out of running, my favorite activity -- and sorely disappointed -- for some time now.
I feel as though I have been on the sidelines, watching everything pass me by: the Xterra race that would have been my first; a Half-Ironman I'd really set my sights on; and the first of several running races I had planned on my calendar for this year. Needless to say, I'm not a fan of the sidelines. It's a whole new perspective for me. But I'm slowly seeing, and convincing myself, that maybe it's not a bad one for me to learn and experience. It's tough to feel like you could be out there achieving success, but to have something holding you back. It's tougher still to be missing the long runs I so love and long for on a difficult or stressful day, or the intervals that hurt so much but feel so worth it after a strong performance. For so long, running has truly fed my soul. To be without it for weeks is certainly deprivation.
But for now, all I can do is focus on all I do have; focus on the positives. My biking and swimming hours have increased immensely, and perhaps the injury was in fact just what I needed to ensure that I'm working on my weaknesses. I do tend to try to squeeze too many races in the schedule, and undoubtedly must sacrifice performance somewhere along the line, so perhaps this is the way for me to learn that lesson, too. And perhaps -- and this is my hope, my goal and my reasoning -- I'll come back a better and stronger runner and athlete than before, having learned from my mistakes and treated my body as it should be. In the end, slowing down may just be the key for me to become my fastest. Sometimes allowing ourselves to step back, recover and let our own bodies take the reigns is the toughest thing to do, but undoubtedly there is value there.
Monday, August 8, 2011
The Moment When It All Comes Together
I don't know whether I believe in the concept of a "perfect race." It seems there is always at least some small segment or aspect that could have been improved.
But I do believe there are races, and days, when everything comes together for us at the right moment, our bodies reflect that they've reached their peak, and we can achieve successes we haven't had the capacity for in the past, on those not-so-perfect days. Saturday, July 30 was one of those days. And while it wasn't the "perfect race," by my standards, it was about as close as it comes -- despite its several imperfections.
The last few weeks leading up to Vineman passed quickly and in a blur, and in some ways I felt as though the race had snuck up on me. Nonetheless, I knew I was ready, and faced no shortage of enthusiasm as I packed up my gear, loaded the car and headed for wine country. But when race morning arrived, enthusiasm had channeled into stone-cold focus. I knew exactly what I wanted to do; I knew how to do it; and I wouldn't let anything stop me without putting up a fight. I had been waiting for that "perfect day," and I was determined to have it.
Inevitably, the morning was anything but smooth. I frantically checked and re-checked that I had ALL my equipment and race necessities before heading out the door -- late, of course -- to head to Guerneville for the swim start. When I got there, the transition was already PACKED. I thought I'd found a perfect little spot on one of the women's racks, and got my transition set up just how I wanted it -- only to find out the half of the rack I'd picked was for a different age group. Ugh! So I set off to find a new spot on the even-more crowded racks for my age wave. Ultimately, I had to create a spot between set-ups, as all of us still arriving were scrambling to do. I was relieved to get everything set up, though it wasn't pretty, and immediately started thinking about the swim. My coach and I had talked about my potential to have a really good swim today, and how I really needed to focus my efforts there and not preserve any energy, as I could recover quickly on the bike. I felt confident I could have a better swim than in the past, as I have been putting in a ton of open-water hours this summer and feeling great. I told myself I was going to push HARD and not hold back, and somehow I just knew it was going to be good.
But I couldn't have predicted just how good that swim would be. From the moment I entered the water, a spark was on. The river felt amazing that morning: calm, cool but not too cold, and clear. I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be than in that very moment. As I awaited the start, I too felt calm and collected, a quiet confidence and focus slowly taking over. I was eager and excited to get the ball rolling. Sure enough, once the gun went off things got hectic. The water got rough and the women got aggressive. But I held my own, streamlining to the front of the pack and steering clear of any major incidents. I swam with a mission; almost a fury of some sort. I was out to prove what I knew I could do. But I exceeded even my own expectations. I felt strong, and my strokes felt efficient and in control. Even as we started running in to the waves of men that had started before us, I worked my way around them smoothly, not giving any of my energy to frustration as I usually do. I focused only on myself, though occasional glimpses of some of the other pink-capped ladies around me reminded me to keep pushing.
When I passed the clock on the first lap, I could see I was having the swim of my life. I didn't slow down. And ironically, though I was swimming faster than ever before, I didn't feel tired like I have in other Iron-distance swims, where the race seems to drag on. In fact, I didn't feel tired at all. I was a woman possessed, making no room for thoughts of fatigue or doubt, but only telling myself to go faster, swim stronger, keep pushing. And I did. As I rounded the buoy to head back for the final time, the water was becoming increasingly chaotic. Myself and the other leading women around me had now caught men up to five waves in front of us, and were trying to navigate our way through the crowds as best as we could to finish up this leg and head out on our bikes. I told myself that this was it; just a few more minutes; give it everything you've got. I did my best to outsprint the other few pink caps sprinkled around me, without totally blowing a gasket, as I made my final push. Next thing I knew, I was approaching the finishing arch and running out of the water. I was beside myself when I glanced at my watch to see that I'd swam a 1:02 -- more than 8 minutes faster than my previous best time. And what's more, the swim had seemed far more effortless, and I felt stronger coming out of the water than I ever had. The day was off to a great start!
But it was time to focus on what lied ahead: 138.2 more miles of biking and running. I channeled my energy forward, but continued riding the high I had obtained from the swim. My transition was fairly seamless, as I shoved down a sandwich and scrambled into my bike clothes. It still wasn't fast, and this is clearly an area where I still need work. As I rode off, psyched to be on pace for a big new PR but still a little overwhelmed at the task ahead, I tried to keep myself calm and in perspective. I focused on riding smooth, keeping my tempo up and my power down. I settled in and set my sights on enjoying this ride and this day, which was so far kept cool from the fog. As we cycled along through the vineyards and over the rolling hills and sweeping corners, I worked to keep the pace up without going too hard too soon.
My goal was to keep feeling strong for a long as possible and turn in a bike PR, ideally breaking 6 hours. I knew I wasn't going to break any records here or win this leg, as biking still remains my weakness. Alas, more and more women passed me as the bike went on, seeming to fly by. I told myself to just stick to my plan. I was having a solid race and feeling great. My nutrition was on point, and my muscles weren't showing any major signs of fatigue. As I cruised by mile 45 or so, I saw my support group of family and friends, and couldn't help but smile and tell them how awesome things were going. I was feeling good, and I was having fun! I loved being in that moment. I finished my first lap in 2:50 -- on pace for a 5:50 even if I slowed a bit on the next lap. I was psyched! It was turning out to be the perfect day.
Enter lap 2... where things started to get a little less fun. As time went on, my legs began to feel more and more tired. I stayed focused on riding efficiently, still trying to keep my tempo up and pushing through the pain. I knew I was prepped and ready to have a killer run, so my mission was to make it through the bike without losing too much time and using so much energy that it would take away from my run. This is a fine balance that is perhaps one of the biggest struggles with a long race like Ironman. The pain continued to increase, and I felt more and more tired. More women passed by, now not looking quite so fast. But still I could not keep up.
Each race seems to have its moment of downfall, and this -- from mile 75 to 95 or so -- was mine. I was hurting. I felt like there was nothing I could do to go faster. I was doubting myself. I was most definitely not having fun. But all I could do was keep going, and look forward to what lay ahead, and hopefully getting a second wind. In Ironman, my energy levels tend to change throughout the day (hopefully as I become more experienced they will get more consistent), so I knew they would come back up at some point. I was still on pace for a PR on the bike (though I had slowed down considerably from the first lap), so I kept on pushing, but was careful to use caution so I didn't blow my legs for the run. Despite feeling slow, I knew my pace wasn't bad, and I wasn't about to give up or get too discouraged. I still had a job to do, and that job depended on the sum of the day, and not merely on the bike, though it was an important part.
As I got closer and closer to the transition zone, passing my family again -- this time with much less enthusiasm but equal focus and determination, I remained in pain, but I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I was able to ramp things up a bit as I approached mile 100. "Only 12 to go Kara; you can do it" trying to override "Jesus, get me off this damn bike" in my head. Sure enough, I made my final turn onto the last stretch of road and could see the transition ahead. Hallelujah!
I finished my bike in 6:07 -- not under 6 hours and behind the pace I was hoping for and expecting, but still 13 minutes up on my PR and still in good standing to crush my previous PR and even still break 11:30. Once again, it was time to put the past behind and focus on the new task at hand: the marathon. This is my favorite part of the race and my strength, though in Ironman the run is the leg that can tend to bring the most challenges and seem most daunting. But I was prepared, and determined to do whatever it took to overcome any challenges I might face. I was still on a mission, and I was primed to accomplish it. I couldn't let the day get the best of me now. My transition was again too slow (four minutes), but I got what I needed and headed out for the final leg.
The sun had broken through the clouds and the fog had burned off, and things were really starting to heat up. I knew this run was going to be tough, as it had been last year, but I also knew I could conquer it. I've been running great all year, and I was ready. Despite their fatigue, it didn't take much time for my legs to adjust to the new motion of running, and in fact my muscles seemed to respond with gratitude, pleased to have moved on to this new motion that I am so familiar with and have come to love so much. I told myself to take this thing one mile at a time. And, to my surprise, those miles started ticking by pretty quickly.
I had to take a bathroom break after the first mile, which cost some time, but after that I got into a good rhythm, running smooth and fast and without too much effort over the course's short, steep hills and exposed flats. The run course is broken up into three out-and-back laps, so you get pretty familiar with the scenery, and it can seem tedious. But today, I liked it. It made it easy for me to break it down mentally. All things considered, the first lap went great. Mentally, it went by quickly. I was able to hold my miles in the 8-minute range, and was feeling super strong. I was drinking a ton, but wasn't able to eat a lot, as is usually the case for me in the run.
On the way out on my second lap, I continued to cruise along. Once again, I really felt like I was enjoying myself. I took some time to reflect on how well I was doing today, and just how hard I was working and had worked to get here, and really felt proud of myself in that moment. I was still well up on my PR, and definitely still in contention to beat my 11:30 goal. What's more, I was starting to pass several women, regaining some of the spots I'd lost on the bike. But I knew I had to keep pushing. I knew all too well that things could turn around at any moment at this point in the race, and I continued to want more than I had already achieved. I thought about the satisfaction of breaking 11:30, and then immediately thought about how much more gratifying it would feel to go under 11:15. I ran on, determined.
Another bathroom stop cost me a bit more time, but was necessary (as a relative novice, I'm still trying to figure this part out. I know others have it dialed, but I'm just not sure how!). And as I neared the turn-around point on lap two, I became acutely aware of a pain that was gradually starting to emerge in my knee. I kept running, but was undoubtedly grimacing from the pain. It continued to worsen, sending a sharp pang through my body with each step. In an ordinary scenario, I think this would have slowed me down significantly, or even caused me to start walking. But not today. I was too close to everything I'd been working for. I was doing too well to let anything get in the way. I was too determined to have the race I wanted.
I pushed through the pain, so intent on accomplishing my goals that I was almost able to drown it out in my head. But it was still there, and inevitably I did slow down, significantly. My knee, in combination with the still-rising heat, ever-increasing distance behind me and lack of nutrition on the run made for some much slower miles through the rest of the lap and on into the start of the final lap. I was unbelievably thirsty, walking through each aid station to drink and pour water and ice on myself, and filling up my bottle at every other aid station -- I just couldn't seem to satiate myself. I knew it was slowing me down big time to spend so long through the aid stations, but I felt like I had no other option. From mile 13-20, I turned in many miles in the 9-minute range and a few miles over 10 minutes -- way over the pace I wanted to be at to break 4 hours in the marathon, a sub-goal I had set for myself before the race. There were a few scattered moments were I questioned whether the 11:30 goal was still attainable, knowing I was losing time with every mile.
But just when I felt like I was reaching my epitome of doubt, that fighting spirit triumphed again (thank goodness!) and took back over. My goals were still in reach, and I couldn't let them slip away. The knee continued to ache, but I blocked it out as best as I could and focused on nothing other than: PUSH! I forced myself to run through the aid stations and not fill my water bottle through the rest of the last lap, saving myself tens of seconds over each mile. I focused on turning my legs over faster and faster, and pushing just a little bit harder with every step. I had dropped my pace back down into the 9's, and was again on target with my goals. And, best of all, I was almost done! And I was smiling again, soaking in all I had already achieved that day, and aiming to achieve more. As the last couple miles approached, I realized that I had really turned things back around.
I was running fast, and I was ready to crush that 11:30, and maybe even get down near 4 hours on the run. That was still a lofty goal, but I gave it everything I had in those last three miles, and even more in the last two. I passed two more women and many more men, determined to prove myself. I got back down in the 8's, and felt like I was flying. I no longer felt any pain. All I could feel was the finish, steadily approaching, and my desire to leave nothing out on the course on my way there. I sprinted the last half mile, deriving an energy from some unknown source deep down inside, and attaining a speed I didn't know I could reach. I crossed the line, arms in the air, feeling SO pleased and so victorious with all I had just accomplished. As it turned out, I ran my marathon in 4:00:09 -- just shy of breaking the four-hour mark, and my total time was 11:19 -- more than 10 minutes ahead of my goal. Happiness is an understatement. There's a little bit of relief in there too.
All said and done, I can reflect confidently on this race as one of the best, if not the best race of my life. I set a goal for myself, and I exceeded it. Despite the day's imperfections, I had conquered my challenges with near-perfection. Hopefully next time they will be fewer. And along the way toward achieveing this goal, through the many hours of training and fixating and focus, I had become not only a stronger athlete, but a stronger and better person. This race was symbolic for me in so many ways of a journey I have embarked on, and continue to follow. I have reached a new level -- I'm beyond the moments of tears that used to come with this distance; beyond the moments of succumbing to weakness and walking when I should be running. But I have a long ways to go, and I'm more determined than ever to get there. Now that my goals for this race have been attained, I've set new, much loftier ones (goals are what keep us moving forward, right?!). And I'm motivated and excited for the journey there. While this race was rewarding in affirming that I can achieve what I set out to do, it was even more so in the fact that it confirmed for me just how much I love this sport I've invested so much of myself into these last few years. Now, more than ever, I am a triathlete -- for the long haul -- and I can't wait to see what else I can accomplish in that role. The perfect race still awaits...
But I do believe there are races, and days, when everything comes together for us at the right moment, our bodies reflect that they've reached their peak, and we can achieve successes we haven't had the capacity for in the past, on those not-so-perfect days. Saturday, July 30 was one of those days. And while it wasn't the "perfect race," by my standards, it was about as close as it comes -- despite its several imperfections.
The last few weeks leading up to Vineman passed quickly and in a blur, and in some ways I felt as though the race had snuck up on me. Nonetheless, I knew I was ready, and faced no shortage of enthusiasm as I packed up my gear, loaded the car and headed for wine country. But when race morning arrived, enthusiasm had channeled into stone-cold focus. I knew exactly what I wanted to do; I knew how to do it; and I wouldn't let anything stop me without putting up a fight. I had been waiting for that "perfect day," and I was determined to have it.
Inevitably, the morning was anything but smooth. I frantically checked and re-checked that I had ALL my equipment and race necessities before heading out the door -- late, of course -- to head to Guerneville for the swim start. When I got there, the transition was already PACKED. I thought I'd found a perfect little spot on one of the women's racks, and got my transition set up just how I wanted it -- only to find out the half of the rack I'd picked was for a different age group. Ugh! So I set off to find a new spot on the even-more crowded racks for my age wave. Ultimately, I had to create a spot between set-ups, as all of us still arriving were scrambling to do. I was relieved to get everything set up, though it wasn't pretty, and immediately started thinking about the swim. My coach and I had talked about my potential to have a really good swim today, and how I really needed to focus my efforts there and not preserve any energy, as I could recover quickly on the bike. I felt confident I could have a better swim than in the past, as I have been putting in a ton of open-water hours this summer and feeling great. I told myself I was going to push HARD and not hold back, and somehow I just knew it was going to be good.
But I couldn't have predicted just how good that swim would be. From the moment I entered the water, a spark was on. The river felt amazing that morning: calm, cool but not too cold, and clear. I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be than in that very moment. As I awaited the start, I too felt calm and collected, a quiet confidence and focus slowly taking over. I was eager and excited to get the ball rolling. Sure enough, once the gun went off things got hectic. The water got rough and the women got aggressive. But I held my own, streamlining to the front of the pack and steering clear of any major incidents. I swam with a mission; almost a fury of some sort. I was out to prove what I knew I could do. But I exceeded even my own expectations. I felt strong, and my strokes felt efficient and in control. Even as we started running in to the waves of men that had started before us, I worked my way around them smoothly, not giving any of my energy to frustration as I usually do. I focused only on myself, though occasional glimpses of some of the other pink-capped ladies around me reminded me to keep pushing.
When I passed the clock on the first lap, I could see I was having the swim of my life. I didn't slow down. And ironically, though I was swimming faster than ever before, I didn't feel tired like I have in other Iron-distance swims, where the race seems to drag on. In fact, I didn't feel tired at all. I was a woman possessed, making no room for thoughts of fatigue or doubt, but only telling myself to go faster, swim stronger, keep pushing. And I did. As I rounded the buoy to head back for the final time, the water was becoming increasingly chaotic. Myself and the other leading women around me had now caught men up to five waves in front of us, and were trying to navigate our way through the crowds as best as we could to finish up this leg and head out on our bikes. I told myself that this was it; just a few more minutes; give it everything you've got. I did my best to outsprint the other few pink caps sprinkled around me, without totally blowing a gasket, as I made my final push. Next thing I knew, I was approaching the finishing arch and running out of the water. I was beside myself when I glanced at my watch to see that I'd swam a 1:02 -- more than 8 minutes faster than my previous best time. And what's more, the swim had seemed far more effortless, and I felt stronger coming out of the water than I ever had. The day was off to a great start!
But it was time to focus on what lied ahead: 138.2 more miles of biking and running. I channeled my energy forward, but continued riding the high I had obtained from the swim. My transition was fairly seamless, as I shoved down a sandwich and scrambled into my bike clothes. It still wasn't fast, and this is clearly an area where I still need work. As I rode off, psyched to be on pace for a big new PR but still a little overwhelmed at the task ahead, I tried to keep myself calm and in perspective. I focused on riding smooth, keeping my tempo up and my power down. I settled in and set my sights on enjoying this ride and this day, which was so far kept cool from the fog. As we cycled along through the vineyards and over the rolling hills and sweeping corners, I worked to keep the pace up without going too hard too soon.
My goal was to keep feeling strong for a long as possible and turn in a bike PR, ideally breaking 6 hours. I knew I wasn't going to break any records here or win this leg, as biking still remains my weakness. Alas, more and more women passed me as the bike went on, seeming to fly by. I told myself to just stick to my plan. I was having a solid race and feeling great. My nutrition was on point, and my muscles weren't showing any major signs of fatigue. As I cruised by mile 45 or so, I saw my support group of family and friends, and couldn't help but smile and tell them how awesome things were going. I was feeling good, and I was having fun! I loved being in that moment. I finished my first lap in 2:50 -- on pace for a 5:50 even if I slowed a bit on the next lap. I was psyched! It was turning out to be the perfect day.
Enter lap 2... where things started to get a little less fun. As time went on, my legs began to feel more and more tired. I stayed focused on riding efficiently, still trying to keep my tempo up and pushing through the pain. I knew I was prepped and ready to have a killer run, so my mission was to make it through the bike without losing too much time and using so much energy that it would take away from my run. This is a fine balance that is perhaps one of the biggest struggles with a long race like Ironman. The pain continued to increase, and I felt more and more tired. More women passed by, now not looking quite so fast. But still I could not keep up.
Each race seems to have its moment of downfall, and this -- from mile 75 to 95 or so -- was mine. I was hurting. I felt like there was nothing I could do to go faster. I was doubting myself. I was most definitely not having fun. But all I could do was keep going, and look forward to what lay ahead, and hopefully getting a second wind. In Ironman, my energy levels tend to change throughout the day (hopefully as I become more experienced they will get more consistent), so I knew they would come back up at some point. I was still on pace for a PR on the bike (though I had slowed down considerably from the first lap), so I kept on pushing, but was careful to use caution so I didn't blow my legs for the run. Despite feeling slow, I knew my pace wasn't bad, and I wasn't about to give up or get too discouraged. I still had a job to do, and that job depended on the sum of the day, and not merely on the bike, though it was an important part.
As I got closer and closer to the transition zone, passing my family again -- this time with much less enthusiasm but equal focus and determination, I remained in pain, but I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I was able to ramp things up a bit as I approached mile 100. "Only 12 to go Kara; you can do it" trying to override "Jesus, get me off this damn bike" in my head. Sure enough, I made my final turn onto the last stretch of road and could see the transition ahead. Hallelujah!
I finished my bike in 6:07 -- not under 6 hours and behind the pace I was hoping for and expecting, but still 13 minutes up on my PR and still in good standing to crush my previous PR and even still break 11:30. Once again, it was time to put the past behind and focus on the new task at hand: the marathon. This is my favorite part of the race and my strength, though in Ironman the run is the leg that can tend to bring the most challenges and seem most daunting. But I was prepared, and determined to do whatever it took to overcome any challenges I might face. I was still on a mission, and I was primed to accomplish it. I couldn't let the day get the best of me now. My transition was again too slow (four minutes), but I got what I needed and headed out for the final leg.
The sun had broken through the clouds and the fog had burned off, and things were really starting to heat up. I knew this run was going to be tough, as it had been last year, but I also knew I could conquer it. I've been running great all year, and I was ready. Despite their fatigue, it didn't take much time for my legs to adjust to the new motion of running, and in fact my muscles seemed to respond with gratitude, pleased to have moved on to this new motion that I am so familiar with and have come to love so much. I told myself to take this thing one mile at a time. And, to my surprise, those miles started ticking by pretty quickly.
I had to take a bathroom break after the first mile, which cost some time, but after that I got into a good rhythm, running smooth and fast and without too much effort over the course's short, steep hills and exposed flats. The run course is broken up into three out-and-back laps, so you get pretty familiar with the scenery, and it can seem tedious. But today, I liked it. It made it easy for me to break it down mentally. All things considered, the first lap went great. Mentally, it went by quickly. I was able to hold my miles in the 8-minute range, and was feeling super strong. I was drinking a ton, but wasn't able to eat a lot, as is usually the case for me in the run.
On the way out on my second lap, I continued to cruise along. Once again, I really felt like I was enjoying myself. I took some time to reflect on how well I was doing today, and just how hard I was working and had worked to get here, and really felt proud of myself in that moment. I was still well up on my PR, and definitely still in contention to beat my 11:30 goal. What's more, I was starting to pass several women, regaining some of the spots I'd lost on the bike. But I knew I had to keep pushing. I knew all too well that things could turn around at any moment at this point in the race, and I continued to want more than I had already achieved. I thought about the satisfaction of breaking 11:30, and then immediately thought about how much more gratifying it would feel to go under 11:15. I ran on, determined.
Another bathroom stop cost me a bit more time, but was necessary (as a relative novice, I'm still trying to figure this part out. I know others have it dialed, but I'm just not sure how!). And as I neared the turn-around point on lap two, I became acutely aware of a pain that was gradually starting to emerge in my knee. I kept running, but was undoubtedly grimacing from the pain. It continued to worsen, sending a sharp pang through my body with each step. In an ordinary scenario, I think this would have slowed me down significantly, or even caused me to start walking. But not today. I was too close to everything I'd been working for. I was doing too well to let anything get in the way. I was too determined to have the race I wanted.
I pushed through the pain, so intent on accomplishing my goals that I was almost able to drown it out in my head. But it was still there, and inevitably I did slow down, significantly. My knee, in combination with the still-rising heat, ever-increasing distance behind me and lack of nutrition on the run made for some much slower miles through the rest of the lap and on into the start of the final lap. I was unbelievably thirsty, walking through each aid station to drink and pour water and ice on myself, and filling up my bottle at every other aid station -- I just couldn't seem to satiate myself. I knew it was slowing me down big time to spend so long through the aid stations, but I felt like I had no other option. From mile 13-20, I turned in many miles in the 9-minute range and a few miles over 10 minutes -- way over the pace I wanted to be at to break 4 hours in the marathon, a sub-goal I had set for myself before the race. There were a few scattered moments were I questioned whether the 11:30 goal was still attainable, knowing I was losing time with every mile.
But just when I felt like I was reaching my epitome of doubt, that fighting spirit triumphed again (thank goodness!) and took back over. My goals were still in reach, and I couldn't let them slip away. The knee continued to ache, but I blocked it out as best as I could and focused on nothing other than: PUSH! I forced myself to run through the aid stations and not fill my water bottle through the rest of the last lap, saving myself tens of seconds over each mile. I focused on turning my legs over faster and faster, and pushing just a little bit harder with every step. I had dropped my pace back down into the 9's, and was again on target with my goals. And, best of all, I was almost done! And I was smiling again, soaking in all I had already achieved that day, and aiming to achieve more. As the last couple miles approached, I realized that I had really turned things back around.
I was running fast, and I was ready to crush that 11:30, and maybe even get down near 4 hours on the run. That was still a lofty goal, but I gave it everything I had in those last three miles, and even more in the last two. I passed two more women and many more men, determined to prove myself. I got back down in the 8's, and felt like I was flying. I no longer felt any pain. All I could feel was the finish, steadily approaching, and my desire to leave nothing out on the course on my way there. I sprinted the last half mile, deriving an energy from some unknown source deep down inside, and attaining a speed I didn't know I could reach. I crossed the line, arms in the air, feeling SO pleased and so victorious with all I had just accomplished. As it turned out, I ran my marathon in 4:00:09 -- just shy of breaking the four-hour mark, and my total time was 11:19 -- more than 10 minutes ahead of my goal. Happiness is an understatement. There's a little bit of relief in there too.
All said and done, I can reflect confidently on this race as one of the best, if not the best race of my life. I set a goal for myself, and I exceeded it. Despite the day's imperfections, I had conquered my challenges with near-perfection. Hopefully next time they will be fewer. And along the way toward achieveing this goal, through the many hours of training and fixating and focus, I had become not only a stronger athlete, but a stronger and better person. This race was symbolic for me in so many ways of a journey I have embarked on, and continue to follow. I have reached a new level -- I'm beyond the moments of tears that used to come with this distance; beyond the moments of succumbing to weakness and walking when I should be running. But I have a long ways to go, and I'm more determined than ever to get there. Now that my goals for this race have been attained, I've set new, much loftier ones (goals are what keep us moving forward, right?!). And I'm motivated and excited for the journey there. While this race was rewarding in affirming that I can achieve what I set out to do, it was even more so in the fact that it confirmed for me just how much I love this sport I've invested so much of myself into these last few years. Now, more than ever, I am a triathlete -- for the long haul -- and I can't wait to see what else I can accomplish in that role. The perfect race still awaits...
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