Ironman Arizona Part 5: Starlight

Run Time: 6:22:57

Final Ironman Time: 15:54:51

The aftermath...

I crossed the line and proceeded to collapse into the arms of Mike and my friend Robyn. My body wanted nothing more of holding its own weight.

Mike draped the medal around my neck and the

pair had me moving through the finisher's area. I don't remember much here...I know Melissa was there (and subsequently took this awesome photo--I'm pretty sure I thought I was going to get sick right here). I think Mike grabbed my finishers gear and someone commented that I wasn't looking so good. I mustered the last bit of strength that I had for my finisher photo.

Molly had stayed to watch me finish and we exchanged a quick, smelly hug from over the railing. I wish I could've talked to her more, but frankly...I needed to sit down before my legs caved out from underneath me.

I folded into a chair in the back of the finishers chute with a massive permagrin on my face despite feeling like complete crap. A medic brought me soda, water and grapes...none of which were going to sit. It all burned on the way down.

I hung out for probably 10-15 minutes and started shaking. My hands and feet turned to pins and needles. I was cold...adrenaline was flowing freely, and I felt like I was going to toss cookies. I started to freak out because I didn't understand what was happening to my body. Robyn found a different medic to evaluate me. The next thing I knew, I was in medical, draped in blankets and foil, laying on a cot next to a guy who appeared to be passed out.

After determining abnormally low blood pressure (and I traditionally have high blood pressure) and a weak pulse, an nurse knelt next to me and softly said two words that I feared most: Emergency Room.

There was absolutely no way in hell I was going to let them give me a first class ride to a hospital because I was dehydrated and felt vomitous. I'd try to walk it off before I'd go dishing out a couple hundred dollars in medical bills. After some fearful tears, they finally decided to give me an IV...

It took three stabs to find a vein (have we discussed how big of a baby I am when it comes to needles? Because I am. And the theatrics were not pretty. Neither was the colorful commentary that ensued.). The nurse was unable to draw blood from either arm, and finally an EMT (who, for the record, was quite stunning) finally had success with the needle on my right hand. Saline and anti-nausea quickly flowed into my body and in time, my body finally lay calm. The shaking subsided. The nausea slipped away. I started to feel whole again. And with a little help from Mike and a volunteer, I found my way back on my feet.

Emerging from the medical tent into the crisp night air, I hugged Lauren and saw that the beauty of the finish line was being taken down. I thought of the athletes out there still running in the black of night who didn't make the cutoff. They'd never have the chance to experience that incredible finish line in all its glory. And it was a little bit heartbreaking.

And out of one of the trucks, Muse was blaring. A song that I had never really paid much attention to until the last handful of weeks. A song that has easily become one of my favorites--Starlight.

My life

You electrify my life

Let's conspire to re-ignite

All the souls that would die

just to feel alive...

Starlight - Muse

I found it all to be very symbolic of the thoughts that consumed my mind most of the day, and reminded me of just how alive I felt out there. And it's not all that often that we, as individuals, go out and do something that truly makes us feel alive. Something that makes us ridiculously happy. We hold ourselves back--fear holds us back. For whatever reason, we sell ourselves short and stay content and comfortable. These two things, while nice, are completely different than happiness. To accomplish great things and happiness, you have to allow yourself the opportunity to push yourself out of your comfort zone in a variety of aspects in your life. Life is far too short to not do something amazing for yourself. It doesn't matter how old or how young you are...it's up to you to go out, find your unrelenting passion, and simply be fearless.

This Ironman was a renaissance of sorts. A rebirth. A chance to go through hell and come out the other side feeling anew. I won't ever be the same as a result. And I know that the race didn't change me...140.6 miles will always be 140.6 miles. But it was the internal dialog and sense of self gained throughout the course of 15 hours, 54 minutes and 51 seconds that made the experience so epic.

I have taken so much from the training and race experience...

When you want something, you have to release inhibitions, follow your instinct and go for it. There is absolutely no reason to be afraid of something you want. Don't make excuses. Everyone deserves to be happy. Go for it and trust yourself.

For me, my biggest weakness isn't any specific discipline. It's my mind. And just as we train our bodies to cover 140.6 miles, we have to train our heads to ensure that we have the confidence to go the distance. It's the mindset, not miles, that separate those who do from those who dream.

Sometimes, to get to where you want to be, you may have to be a little selfish. And that's okay. Just make sure you've surrounded yourself with people who support you and your goal and want to see you succeed.

Find something you truly love, and enjoy, and are passionate about. It doesn't matter if it's running or triathlon, your family, a friendship, coin collecting, music snobbery or underwater basket weaving. If you're passionate about it, you will inevitably find some level of happiness in the pursuit. And you'll add more value to your life and yourself as a result.

I sincerely hope that every last one of my friends, family and blog readers understands that nothing is impossible. Anyone can go out and accomplish their goal...be it getting off the couch to run their first 5k...or attempting something as crazy as an Ironman. It is not impossible. All it takes is the discipline and patience to put in the time and hard work. The preparation is the challenge. The day itself is your reward. And should be savored as such, with your accomplishment celebrated in the grandest of fanfares.

I am so thankful to have had the experience that I've had the past year. And I thank everyone who has been a part of the ride, especially Mike--without you none of this would've been possible.

Each and every person I've encountered on this journey has put the Iron in me...and now its up to you to go out find discover where you draw the line between possible and impossible...and hopefully it involves one massive eraser to remove the lines all together.

Love everything in your presence without lines.

Find happiness without lines.

Dare to live without lines.

And remember...

You got this.

Ironman Arizona Part 4: Light and Day

Light...and day...is more than you'll say

because all

my feelings are more

than i can let by

or not

more than you've got

just follow the day

follow the day

and reach for the sun...

Light and Day - Polyphonic Spree

I ran out of T2 absolutely beaming with warm sunshine spilling down on my face. All of my worries about bike cutoffs had dissolved. I was an hour ahead of schedule.

And so I kept the faith and ran.

The plan for the marathon was to simply live off the land and keep moving forward. I had no idea how my body would hold up after 2.4 mile swim and 112 on the bike. There was no plan for pacing except to stay in forward motion. Each step brought me that much closer to that line in the road that was hours away. I brought along some Roctane, but other than that I was ready to raid the aid stations as they were full of chips, pretzels, chicken broth, cookies, cola, fruit, and pretty much anything else you can imagine. Some of the stops were 2 marshmallows and a fire pit away from being a camp out.

The effort in the beginning felt solid. I was running...and felt great. Passing folks on their 2nd and 3rd loops. Even passing some folks, like me, on their first loop. Through the first stop I went, grabbed some water, sucked the juice from an orange slice and continued on. And then I found myself lost in the Janus charity signs on the back side of the course...I smiled as I read them, looking for the messages from my Iron Crew. Passed through a few more aid stations, and before I knew it, I was back by my family.

Mike had missed me coming into T2 and was just as shocked as I was to be on the run--and looking, and feeling so great. I stopped for a quick hug. My eyes welted with tears as I felt so insanely proud that I had gotten myself to that point, exceeding my wildest expectations. I wanted to stay and chat, but they all pushed my along to keep on running.

...soon things would start to unravel.

Somewhere around the mile 4-5 aid station, I grabbed some chicken broth when I realized that I had gone nearly 90 minutes without any sodium. Not even 50 yards past the aid station on the Rural Street bridge...it all came back up along with some other junk looming in my stomach. I allowed myself the opportunity to walk it off and did a mental checklist of how I felt...

Feet? Great!

Legs? Barely sore. Hips slightly tight, but that's normal.

Back? Sturdy and pain-free.

Head? Totally fine. In a great place mentally, and truly happy to be alive and experiencing something so infinitely incredible.

Stomach? Hahaha...my entire digestive system wanted nothing to do with this race. Did not want to be jostled. Wanted nothing more put in it. It was going to put up a valiant protest for the next 20-something miles and refused to be ignored.

It was disheartening when I'd hit a timing mat, and realized that some friends at home would quickly be able to do the math and realize I was falling apart. I love running. And my running has come a ridiculously long way since I first started back in 2005. But I couldn't keep it together despite my best efforts.

The next 16 miles or so were reduced to running--albeit slowly--when I could...and walking a ridiculous amount to settle the stomach...fighting off some severe acid reflux...testing different foods at aid stations...and making myself worried when I realized the only thing that would stay down was water and an occasional pretzel stick. Everything else burned when I swallowed to the point of tears.

I was running on fumes. And it made me angry that my body, aside from my digestive system, was amped and wanting to rock with a steady, solid run. The awesomeness I physically felt was a testament to my training. I had done everything right. Though in retrospect, given my stomach problems that I typically encounter on a daily basis, I probably should've planned out my nutrition for the run rather than opting to live off the land. Live and learn for next time, right? (and yes...there will be a next time.)

I was determined to do the best I could with what I had to work with...

At the end of my second loop, Lisa and her daughter found me and I was able to visit with them for a few moments. It was a well-needed surprise just as I was starting to hit rock bottom. I told them that I had let go of any hope of a sub-16 finish and would probably finish shortly after the 16 hour mark. Then we started to to talk less about my race and more of Lisa's next steps in her triathlon endeavors. Talking with them seemed to get my mind off things and I found the excitement once more.

I high-fived my Iron Crew as I started that third loop...and something magical happened out there. I counted down the miles. 18 were behind me. It was no longer about how far I had left to go...but how far I had come...and not just that day, or this training season...but the progress I've seen over the course of the past 5 years...not just on a physical/athletic level...but on a very personal level. I'm not the same gal I was 5 years ago...and at that moment, I wasn't even close to the same woman I was when I started the race hours earlier. My Ironman journey had changed me down to my core...there was no denying that. And I loved what I found.

My mind wandered to everyone who has been a part of this journey. All those at ground zero with me who valiantly cheered each time I saw them...I thought about the Hurley's in St. Louis...the ladies of the Lounge...Jen in California...Shannon and Tarwater following along at home...my mom and dad and how they were completely disconnected at my grandma's and how frustrated she must be...Tony reporting on BT...I imagined all my friends and family who couldn't be there sharing that day with me in person waiting with baited breathe for the next update. And for the first time ever, I was overwhelmed with faith in myself. Countless people believed in me from day one...and finally, I began to understand what they all already knew...

I tried doing the math. I knew I could pull a 25 minute mile and still finish before midnight. Trying to calculate a sub-16 finish took some work. For those final 8 miles, I think I needed to average something like a 15:10 pace. Normally, not an issue. My standard zone 1-2 run back home for 8 miles is in the low 11's...

...but with the way my stomach was feeling at that moment in time, I knew it'd be a challenge. I was going to cut that 16 hour-mark close.

With a deep breath, I closed my eyes. Brought myself back to my lake in Chicago. my running path. with my strangers and friends. with the pace booty I've grown to know and love. The place where I learned to just let loose and run like you did when you were a child...ignore the time...and flow by how you're feeling.

The walk turned into a shuffle. And for a while, that shuffle turned into a run. An honest, solid run effort. And suddenly I found myself at mile 20...the Ford Motivational Mile. With a personal message to me lighting up the night.

A smile warmed me from within.

I felt strong. A second wind kicked in...and I found myself flying for a good mile and a half before the nausea set back in. I looked at my watch.

Pending some tragic digestive throw down on the back side of the course, I had somehow willed myself back to life and knew I had a sub-16 race solidified. Passing my Iron Crew one last time, I shouted to them that my window of arrival would be between 15:50 and 16:10 and that I'd see them soon at the finish line.

I continued on and not even a half mile later, I found myself crawling once more. My stomach had completely shut down. I was reduced to swishing water in my mouth and spitting it back out. I channeled my inner mall-powerwalker and coaxed myself to press forward. In spite of all the frustration and stomach pain, the thoughts that were once "Just hang in there for 2-3 more hours and this will all be over" were strangely replaced with "How can I almost be done?! I was just in that lake swimming a few minutes ago! Can't we start the day over, I'm having too much fun?!?"

Just as I was turning onto Rural Street bridge I spotted Molly...the first time I had seen her on the run. I cheered for her to go on and finish strong...she looked at me and replied "Barb Rodriguez...you WILL be an Ironman!"

And with that, I pulled myself together and mustered up a slow, pathetic run. It may not have been much, but at least I was running. Aid stations were skipped. I pulled within myself and just kept moving forward with whatever strength I had left inside.

Mile 25 hit and I started to tear up. I saw 15:41 and change on my watch...digging deep, I brought the walk back to a shuffle and held on for dear life. Gravity pulled all of us in the back of the pack together. We found friendship in fools. Silently exchanging smiles with that look of hope and confidence in our eyes. One by one...shuffling along...our clusters thinned out and we started to form a single file line...as if to pay respects to one another's accomplishments that day and give us each our individual moment in the limelight of the finish line. It was no longer a race about finishing faster than the person next to you...it was our chance to walk across the stage and take that bow on our own...get receive our standing ovation.

Back under Mill Avenue bridge I ran, and choked up.

A volunteer directed me left...toward the finish line...

The crowds started to thicken on the sidelines...and at this point, it wasn't so much a deafening cheer as it was hearing your friends extend congratulations for an incredible feat...

"Up ahead and to your left for the most incredible place..."

"Welcome home, Ironman..."

"You've done it, now go soak it all in..."

"You're my hero..."

"This is your moment..."

I could hear Mike Rielly's voice echoing off the lake. I heard him welcome those in front of me into the elite Ironman brotherhood.

And then it was finally my turn. The last of three moments I envisioned for the day.

It was as if my feet had wings. In that moment nothing hurt. My stomach was fine. And I was on top of the world. I ran up and around the bend to the left...and I saw it.

Blinding lights.

Filled stands jumping with spectators.

Music blaring.

Electrified air.

The finish line.

Absolutely the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. I fought back the tears and welcomed every last nanosecond of that moment with every fiber of my being.

It was a completely different kind of happiness. pride. accomplishment. and maybe even a hint of relief.

I reached out and high-fived spectators. I gave a shout out to my incredible Iron Crew, to which I owe indefinite thanks. I thought of everyone at home and on the ground with me that day...I had carried each and every one of them for 140.6 miles...and in turn they each helped pull me through my low points....

I reveled in every last inch of that finish line. I remember feeling my heartbeat in my throat and my ears. Fighting back tears. Feeling adrenaline reel me through the chute. Looking up, seeing that the clock had not struck 16...and having pride take over as my own personal life source.

I hit the mat that one final time to send a message to the world that I did it. That I was made of stern stuff. That Iron was an integral part of my DNA.

With a little hop of excitement, threw my arms in the air and heard the most incredible four words anyone can imagine...

"You Are An Ironman!!!!!"

Ironman Arizona Part 3: Don't Stop Believin'

I headed out of transition, crossed the mount line and hopped on my trusty steed.

I thought about the ride, not as 112 miles, but as 6 segments. Three loops. An out and back each time. With a welcoming fanfare each loop as I passed back through town. I didn't pay any attention to the miles. I just allowed myself to get lost in my thoughts and the desert scenery and the myriad of vivid images that flooded my mind.

Molly had given me a preview of the bike course a few days prior, letting me know the best spots to drop into the small ring, where the false flats were, and where to watch for wind. It was comforting having these details in my back pocket, but at the same time I knew that no amount of information could really could justice for the exchange of first-hand experience.

I cycled out onto the main drag of town and received a hero's sendoff. Cowbells. Signs. Chalk drawings on the road by children wishing us well. Cheers and music filled the air. I smiled and got to work, dropping into aero and finding my sweet spot on the road.

I took off for my first loop. I knew I wanted to start out conservatively, so I rode the entire first segment up the Beeline in my middle chainring. I was a bit surprised to find myself greeted with a steady headwind all the way up--the forecast had said 3-4mph winds from the south (which would indicate a tailwind at this juncture). The winds were strong enough just to be annoying and drop you to a snails pace on the incline. As I reached the crest of the hill that first time, a woman passed me from behind and said "You must be one hell of a swimmer" (and I laughed at just how untrue that statement was--but thanks for the boost!).

Before I knew it, I was at the turnaround and simply flew back home. Back into the big ring, hammering down the hill, tucking tight into aero, I smiled as I watched my speed spike to the upper 20's and low 30's. It felt absolutely liberating. Like flying.

And suddenly, I was back at the start. Ready to start my second and third loops. Mike and the rest of my Iron Crew cheered me on as I went blazing through, and I'd give a holler to Molly's family and friends. I was tickled pink to find that Lisa, Duane, Melissa and Robyn had joined the party on the sidelines as well. It was a relief to see everyone. The winds changed, making the rest of the ride fairly challenging. Downhill into a headwind is always frustrating, especially when you don't reap the benefits on the uphill portion.

When Molly and I would cross paths, it became one of the highlights of that loop. We'd smile and cheer for each other...and at one point I remember her yelling something about me making it look easy. I scoffed. An Ironman is anything but easy.

The second loop wasn't so bad. A quick pit stop about halfway through and a moment at special needs to refuel on the world's best cookies (thank you, Leah!! This totally hit the spot!) provided all the energy I needed to get through that third and final loop. Although by this point, I was starting to mentally struggle. You can only handle so much brown and sand. All you can do is just keep moving forward. Mile by mile. Counting cacti as you pass them by. Picking off riders one by one, as you get picked off by more experienced cyclists in turn.

When you're riding 112 miles in the desert--at a speed as blistering as mine--you've got plenty of time to think. And think, you do. About everything. Family. Friends. Relationships. Friendships. People you see all the time. People you haven't spoken to in over a year. Things that weigh on your mind find clarity. Things that were black and white talk themselves into gray. Grayness becomes certainty. It's all very dizzying. And wonderful. And fosters growth of a different caliber. At least it did for me. I allowed myself to slip into a zone of focus I don't often visit...and it helped pass the time.

When I started that third loop, as bad as I was feeling, I was clearly ahead of schedule...and it worried me a bit. Did I go out too fast? Will I blow up on the run? Why is my right foot bothering me!? etc...etc... Then I thought about something I read before the race...

If you're ahead of schedule, don't worry -- believe. If you're behind, don't panic -- roll with it.

And with remembering these important words, Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" added itself to my internal playlist for the day...

Strangers waiting

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows searching in the niiiiight...

Streetlight people

Living just to find emotion

Hiding, somwhere in the niiiight...

Don't stop believin'...

Hold onto that feelin'...

Don't Stop Believin' - Journey

I did the math. Calculated all the possible roll-in times. I was okay. More than okay. I was going to post a surprising bike split for my capabilities.

It's no secret that biking is my achilles heel when it comes to triathlon. I figured, the ride of my life would be right around 7:30. A normal ride would bring me right around 8 hours. And if the ride unraveled, I'd be pulling in right around 8:30 with nothing but a prayer for the rest of the race. Ever since I signed up for Ironman Arizona, that 5:30pm bike cutoff has haunted me to the point of nightmares...

When I came back in from that third loop, I found myself overwhelmed with emotion and embraced the second of three moments I'd been envisioning for more than a year. Grinning from ear to ear, I rode back into town, weaved my way into T2. Dismounted. Handed Little Red Riding Hood to a complete stranger and simply said "You can have her..."

I had done it. I had a fantastic bike and was so relieved to be out of the saddle.

Bike Time: 7:41:02 (14.6 mph)

With a new found confidence and tears streaming down my cheeks, I grabbed my T2 bag and ran into the change tent. A volunteer was quick to my side and started asking if I was okay...if I needed medical...where was I experiencing pain...apparently tears were not a normal reaction for being off the bike.

I just smiled at her and told her I made the cutoff. With more than an hour to spare. I was simply overjoyed. I was going to be running...in DAYLIGHT. Something I had not anticipated this.

She emptied the contents of my transition bag...I looked at the second set of photos Mike had snuck into my bag and read the index card I wrote to myself.

I got this.

And I knew I did...pending any major tragic throw down on the run course...I was going to become an Ironman. I did a full costume change, slipping into my favorite running shorts and top, then tied my most comfortable long sleeve shirt around my waist for when the temperatures started to fall.

I reminded myself that it was only right foot in front of left foot...repeat. The rest of this race was up to me and my two legs...I just had to keep believing...

T2 Time: 7:53

Ironman Arizona Part 2: Learn to Fly

Molly slid off the dock first, and I jumped in after.

The chill filled my wetsuit, and for a quick moment, took my breath away.

Bobbing like a cork, I realized that this was the first of three moments I had been envisioning for more than a year. And the fact that I was so at peace with myself and this race, made it all the more beautiful. The soft glow of the sun was pouring over the horizon. Thousands of friends and family lined Tempe Town Lake and the surrounding bridges, saying silent prayers for everyone taking on this journey. And here I was. In the middle of it all. Soaking as much of it in as I could. Thinking of everyone who couldn't be in Arizona, but were cheering me on from afar. I could hear their positive thoughts in my mind. Willing me to the finish line. This moment from when I first entered the water and the emotion paired with it, will forever be painted vividly on my mind.

The plan, according to the Chief of Pain, was to start to the left since most of the melee would take place to the right.

A quick 200 yard swim up to the masses and I floated on my back for a few solitary moments remembering the clarity and calm that came with my recent floating experience in Chicago. Molly came swimming up behind me and we talked for what seemed like seconds, but in reality was probably closer to 10 minutes. You could hear the crowd...and Mike Reilly...and music. I remember hearing Mike Reilly proclaim "You WILL do this." I spotted woman with a "Rock Chalk Jayhawk" sign looming above me on the bridge.

A good omen.

He's right. I will do this. And I smiled.

I don't remember receiving a warning at all. The cannon simply fired. Glancing at Molly I had that look in my eyes of "Holy sh*t, we're doing an Ironman!!!" Foo Fighters "Learn to Fly" was blaring. I proclaimed that it was "time to fly" and surged forward excitedly.

Run and tell all of the angels

This could take all night

Think I need a devil to help me get things right

Learn to Fly - Foo Fighters

It was a smart decision to start to the left. But it wasn't without any damage. I was punched in the ear. Some dude's foot ended up in my mouth and I swore I thought he knocked a tooth out. I essentially took a bite out of his heel. I was bumped. jostled. grabbed. felt up. slapped. groped. swam over. and everything else in between. Limbs of neoprene went flying. You could barely see through the whitewash. Forget the buoys...just stay in forward motion.

I focused on staying calm. On counting strokes. On remembering good form. And not kicking too much.

And of course, I served the punches right back when they were deemed necessary. One guy in particular really had it coming. It was a day to be fearless, and ruthless, and aggressive. I was all that. And more.

Sighting into the sun was a challenge. I resolved that as long as I had people around me, I was headed in the right direction. I had a bit of open water. My pod of swimmers...pulled left and we were eventually steered back on course by a handful of kayakers.

Back into the washing machine we went. More of the same kicks to the gut. pulls at the feet. and bumping of bodies. I braced myself for the worst at the turn buoy.

And it wasn't a problem at all. I hugged the turn buoy, turned left...and continued on my way. A couple hundred more yards, another left turn, and I was on my return way home.

The swim was over halfway done. And if felt like I had just begun.

At one point during this stretch, I popped up in the water just to look around. At that exact same moment, another gal popped up too, and looked at me with the biggest smile on her face...to which I proclaimed "We're doing an effing IRONMAN!!!" And she replied (in her best Monica Gellar voice) "I KNOW!!" I continued to smile underwater, laughing at the exchange to myself. Maybe about 10 minutes later, I got kicked in the face and popped up to readjust my goggles. Lo and behold...she was there again and screamed "It's an IRONMAN!!!" I laughed again and kept moving forward with the masses.

Before I knew it, I was turning toward the ladders to pull myself out of the water. A volunteer yanked me up...and I stumbled to my feet.

I hit the timing mat and thought of everyone at home following my progress. Send a smile and a mental wave their direction.

Swim Time: 1:31:02

I was beyond excited to be right around 90 minutes for the swim. I figured the swim of my life would've been around 1:25. A normal swim was going to be around 1:35. And if I was having a bad day, I'd be in the 1:45 arena. My day was off to a brilliant start!

The wetsuit strippers had me down on the ground and in one swift yank, my wetsuit came flying off. And I suddenly became very aware of just how cold it was. For a moment, I wondered if my tri shorts had flown off with wetsuit...kind of like that bad dream you have where you're walking around the halls of your high school naked. A quick touch to my legs, and I realized that while I was indeed still clothed...the air was just ridiculously crisp.

I told myself Just get moving...and you'll be able to feel your legs again soon...

Coming into T1, I saw my Iron Crew, dished out some high-fives, proclaimed victory over the swim with a 1:31, and ran for my bags and into the change tent. Apparently Tempe Town Lake was so dirty, most of the athletes--myself included--were coming out of the water caked in black crap. Awesome.

Inside the tent was mass chaos. With naked ladies everywhere, I began to shiver uncontrollably. I sat down and a volunteer quickly wrapped me up like a burrito in a foil. She continued to help the girl sitting next to me and directed me to relax and try to warm up.

With shaky fingers, I pulled my T1 bag apart and emptied the contents. I smiled as I saw two photos that Mike had slipped in there...one of my cat wrigley, saying something about spandex being slimming...and a photo of me and the Chief of Pain, it simply said "Ride bitch, ride!"

After a few moments of collecting myself, the volunteer helped me get dressed and sent me on my way. A quick stop for some sunscreen, I ran off to retrieve Little Red Riding Hood and pumped myself up for 112 miles alone in the desert.

T1 Time: 11:59

Ironman Arizona Part 1: One Day Like This

Drinking in the morning sun

Blinking in the morning sun
Shaking off the heavy one
Heavy like a loaded gun

So throw those curtains wide!
One day like this a year'd see me right!

One Day Like This - Elbow

I fully expected to wake up race morning and be a massive ball of nervous energy. Bad nervous energy. I knew the risk of tossing cookies was high--and on a day where you need every last calorie in your body, you tend to go to extreme measures to ensure that doesn't happen. I was anticipating calling Coach Amy in sobs from the bathroom floor. And having to be dragged out of the hotel room by Mike. In my mind, I chalked it up to be this horrendous, ugly scene.

Imagine my surprise when none of that happened.

I woke up...fairly relaxed...and went through the motions of my checklist.

Take medicine.

Mix nutrition bottles.

Shave.

Eat. (Although I could only get down half a pb&honey sandwich and a granola bar.)

Quadruple check special needs bags.

Get dressed.

Get out the door.

It was all very calculated. Not allowing too much time to let my mind wander. And allowing just enough time to get everything done that I needed to take care of. The minute I wasn't busy, was the minute I would've gotten into my own head and freaked out.

The one slight moment I did start to panic, Mike handed me a fax from the Chief of Pain. It was just what I needed. The final vote of confidence. His final, invaluable, words of advice. He, like everyone else, knew I had this.

I reminded myself that I could do this. I got this. It was a glorified training day, complete with catering and valet service, and 2500 of my best friends.

With music flooding my ears, I went into my own bubble and Mike, Lauren and I headed to the start of the race to handle the next checklist.

Get to the bike.

Fill up the bottles.

Check air pressure in tires.

Get body marked. (Hooray for Duane with his magic pen!)

Oh look! There's Jeff!!

Drop off special needs and pow wow with my Chicago Tri buddy.

Add reflective tape to T2 bag.

Find my Iron Crew.

Swap bike pump for wetsuit.

Get this show on the road.

Mike was quick to try and push me to the water. I was calm and mentally off on my own island. Lauren was just along for the ride, observing, and probably internally laughing at the bickering we exchanged. A few quick pictures and I left their side.

I went back to the rack one last time, hoping to find Molly.

No such luck.

My ears were suddenly filled with George Michael's Freedom. And for the first time, I actually listened to the lyrics...and I knew that the day was going to be a good day...

I won't let you down

I will not give you up

Gotta have some faith in the south

It's the one good thing that I've got

I won't let you down

So please don't give me up...

Think I'm gonna get me some happy

I think there's something you should know

I think it's time I told you so

There's something deep inside of me

There's someone else I've got to be...

Freedom - George Michael

Now let the record show, that I don't go around listening to George Michael very often (ok, ever). And it was an old refurbished mp3 player with an interesting mix of tunes. But somehow, that song, at that moment, was exactly what I needed. I felt good. Confident. Ready to rock the shit out of this race. I got this I told myself over and over again.

I found a friendly spectator after crossing the timing mats and handed my mp3 player off to her. My address was on the back. If I got it back, wonderful! Great karma would come to her and I'd happily reimburse her for the shipping fees. If she elected to keep it and enjoy the random array of strange music, that was fine, too. She assured me that it'd find its way back to me.

I turn around, and spotted Susie (more of a triple take wondering if that was her in neoprene and a swim cap). Then Molly finds both of us. After an exchange of nervous smiles and hugs, I finally felt like the day could start. I was ready. We were ready. A flood of memories just overwhelmed me...the thoughts of Mo calling me letting me know I was registered...months of training...long rides...cold swims...staying in on Friday nights...it all hit me. And with my friend Molly by my side, we headed to the waters edge...hugged one final hug...took a deep breath...and jumped...

15:54:51

It was the greatest!day!ever!!! Had the swim and bike of my life...and a great 4 miles of the run. The rest was all about fuel burning fast on an empty tank...an amazing sub-16 finish and a nice little visit to the medical tent for an IV. Amazingly, I feel fabulous today...and wouldn't mind a short run in a day or two.

Full report to come soon.

...but for now, I'm relaxing. And enjoying a juice box full of wine by the pool in sunny Arizona. It's almost as perfect as that island in my mind. Almost.

(...but not nearly as awesome as last night.)

Last Will and Testament

If I've managed to do this correctly...this little post should be surfacing sometime during the day on November 22nd.

Race day. (or !!!RACE DAY!!! as Leah would say with sheer excitement).

I've done my training. Said my prayers. Figured out my plan. And now the only thing left to do is execute. And if all goes according to plan, right about now I should be off gallivanting around the beautiful Arizona desert...swimming, biking and running.

If you're interested in keeping tabs on me....you can do so over at Ironman.com (or Ironmanlive.com). Just go to the athlete tracker and plug in my info...

I'm athlete #2240...just in case I haven't mentioned that before. And of course, don't be alarmed when slow split times show up...that's just how I roll. You should know this by now. And if you're up late and want to see me cross the finish line, there should be a link to a video feed somewhere over at Ironman.com.

Mike and Lauren will also be keeping folks updated on my progress during the day. If you have my cell (or Mike's...or Lauren's for that matter)...call or text them. They'll also be updating my twitter feed during the day...which conveniently will also update in my facebook status. So countless ways to keep yourself in-the-know.

But that's not the purpose of this post...

I'm honestly worried about getting caught up in all the Iron-hullabloo, that I'll forget to say these things. And equally worried that if race day doesn't go as planned, that I'll just hide in a cave all winter and never address these critical words of thanks. So bear with me...it's important for me to get 'em out.

In order to even attempt to do something great, you have to surround yourself with truly great people. If you're even reading this, you're one of those great people. I have been so ridiculously fortunate this training season. When I doubted myself...each and every one of you believed that I could somehow find my way to the finish line. And I am eternally thankful for your unwavering support, love and for putting up with me over the past year. I know I haven't always been the most pleasant little Jayhawk...especially when I'd get into my own head (what can I say? it's a talent!)...or when I've been so ravenously hungry and irritable...and let's not even discuss everything that went on during taper. Each and every one of you have put a little iron in me in your own way...

So...here we go...


To my Coach, Maurice, the ultimate Chief of Pain:
I'm sure you already know this, but we have a love-hate relationship. You served up some crazy ass training days this season. You made me laugh. cry. and hate training ten ways to Sunday. Your brutal program helped me realize that I'm so much tougher than I ever thought I was. You reminded me that my mood swings, grizzly-sized hunger, and self-doubt are all critical parts of this process. Thank you for doing all the thinking for me, so I could just zone out, put one foot in front of the other, and get it done. Thank you for making me do 4 rides over 100 miles...insanely long runs...and for listening to me unload about all my fears and concerns. Getting to the start line is half the battle. Today is my reward. Our reward. And I hope I can do you--and Infinity Multisport--proud and make it to the finish line vertical before midnight.

To Amy, my favorite Southern piece of Sass:

For always knowing exactly the right things to say to me. For all the texts and phone calls and hugs and advice. For hooking me up with Roctane and Mox apparel. And simply for being beyond infinitely amazing. Love you, girl!

To Beasley, Schloegel and the entire EnduraCamp Crew:
Crazy stupid bricks, while they suck in the moment, work. Thank you for helping me embrace the curvatures of the earth. And keeping me company while getting lost in St. Louis on a bike. And for pushing me way outside of my comfort zone to become a better athlete than I ever gave myself credit for. And for those bloody hill repeats. And for helping me grasp that it's more than okay to be slow...especially when you're as steady as I am.

To Molly, my virtual training partner in crime:
If only you knew how much you push me, girl. Finally meeting you is one of the things I was most looking forward to in Arizona--thank you so much for carting me around the bike course and really just calming my nerves. We've had such a parallel journey for nearly a year and you've played a huge part in making this such a positive experience. And of course, for pulling your friends along to cheer for me as well. I know you're out there on the course with me rocking it! And I hope we cross paths multiple times for some well deserved high fives...and maybe a cadbury creme egg or two. :)

To Tracy:
You were given 2 weeks to help me get through my mental issues with racing. And I think we've got this sorted out. Thank you for helping me get a better grasp on my anxiety and reminding me to just remove myself and "breathe." I'll keep you posted on the process...

To all of my friends who I haven't spent any real quality time with in months:
Especially Leah. Jason. (+ Lucy). Terri. Tarwater. Shannon. Angie. Laura. Lauren. Jill. For starters, I miss you guys. Really, really, REALLY miss you guys. Thank you for your understanding and unlimited supply of well-needed distractions and sugar cookies. The kind of training required of me meant limited free time in all other aspects of my life. It wasn't just a sacrifice for me...but one for you guys as well. I owe you all a round of beer (or bottle of wine in one particular case) assuming I get make it back home in anything but a body bag. Seriously. I'm buying you all a round. Thank you for not giving me too much crap about never going out and turning in early. I look forward to finally getting to spend more than a random moment here and there with you all. (Oh...and Leah, I hope you're enjoying your last moments of maternity! I can't wait to meet Lucy!!) ....when I get back, you'll get to witness the two beer wondergirl get carried out of a bar!

To everyone who contributed to my book of awesomeness:

I am beyond touched. From the awesome professional triathlete's with their words of wisdom, to friends I haven't talked to in a while...your kind words of love and support had me in tears. It's so wonderful knowing that I have so many people behind me. I hope I can do everyone proud and make it to the finish line...

To all my crazies from Madison...Michelle, Bridget, Brian, Veronica, Donna, Jen and #2092:
I hope I can channel your passion, smiles and spirit on race day. And of course, good hair (right Cote?!). Thank you for inspiring me in more ways than I can count.

To Waddler and Sharkie:
Our paths crossed more times than I can count this season. I am so proud of all the hard work you ladies put in to make it to the finish line at B2B. When things went wrong, you both found ways to rally up and persevere. You're both an inspiration and I really admire your hard work.

To Lore:
For being so supportive and looking out for me so history won't repeat itself. How many of those bloody long rides did we do out in the boondocks together? We saw rain. cold. wind. hills. and everything in between. You're a superstar, a wonderful friend and I can't wait to see you plot your Iron-revenge. Thank you for everything, you're the best.

To Tony:
For long rides. Stupid cold evening lake swims in the dark. Letting me puke and not making me feel bad about it. Constant encouragement. Allowing me razz on you with your outrageous stories. And your unwavering faith in my abilities, no matter how fast or slow they may be. You're the first person to actually make me realize that I've never quit. And you're right. I don't back down. The race may quit on me, but I'll never quit on a race.

To Little Lauren:
I see waaaay too much of myself in you. You are the athlete I was a few years ago...and I can't wait to keep tabs and watch you grow into your full potential. You have so many great things to come, sweetie. An infinite amount of PR's to set and I hope you know that I am one of your biggest cheerleaders. I can't wait to see you on the sidelines as I race around Tempe. Seeing you will remind me that forward is a pace and that's the best pace to have. Thank you for being here, for your little conspiracy, and for everything.

To David, the other co-conspirator:
You are a madman. Thank you for offering up your Zipps and of course, bestowing on me the honor of the Chicago Athlete of the Month. And of course, thank you for introducing me to floating (what a ridiculously awesome zen-finding experience!!).

To Team Jayhawk:
I will, without a doubt, have one of the greatest IronCrews out there on the course. Mike, Brian, Sharon, Zack, Cathy, Lauren, and of course Robyn and Lisa. Thank you all for heading out to the desert to stand in the sun for hours to scream for me as I zip by for all of 10 seconds (and of course, to those of you volunteering as well). You're the best. And seeing you out there will keep me moving forward...knowing that I'm always going to be within a handful of miles of your presence will give me something to look forward to on each loop of the bike and run courses. Thank you for taking time out of your weekend to become an invaluable and critical part of mine.

To Mom, Dad, Terri and Sam:

For filling my hotel room with the most beautiful scent of blooming flowers. It'll help hide the stink that's going to be invading this small space in a few hours time. They're truly beautiful...and a wonderful surprise. You totally made my day.

To the Ladies of the Lounge:
You know who you are. Thank you for reminding me that I can indeed do this and that when you dare to do something great, you inevitably risk falling on your face. And falling is okay...as long as you've got friends to catch you. And in the words of Natalie Sue...don't think. just shut up and do it.

To my co-workers:
I started this journey a few years earlier than I had anticipated. Thank you for humoring me with your smiles, bets on how long I'd be swimming, biking and running any given weekend, and for listening to me moan on days when I was exceptionally sore. And of course, to my teammates who were so awesome and understanding on days where I had to leave a little bit early or come in a little bit late because of a long training session.

To my Parents:
For supporting me in my craziness. I know I'm the least likely of the family to do something like this. Four years ago I remember the hint of hesitation when it came to donating some money for my first marathon with Team In Training since you weren't certain if I'd actually follow through. And now you've pretty much made it to every single one of my big important race. I know you wish you could be there on the sidelines today, but know that I'm carrying you both with me through every inch of that 140.6 miles. I'll let you make it up to me with a nice trip to St. Kitts in 2010 (I'm totally joking! sort of.). But you two are the best and I can't wait to share my war stories with you on the other side.

To Mike:
Without you, none of *this* would have been possible (in fact, dare I say this is all your fault?!). Years ago at Myndi's wedding when we were watching the Kona footage you planted the seed. Last year you took on IM Louisville and made me believe that I, too, could do something of this magnitude.

You got me excited. Motivated me. Dished out the tough love. Picked me up when I couldn't move. Screamed at me when you knew I needed to get moving. Put up with my meltdowns. anxiety attacks. never-ending appetite. constantly empty fridge. disastrous house. endless loads of smelly, sweaty laundry. And you were essentially the glue that held me together whenever I'd fall apart. There is no amount of thanks and gratitude I can express for helping me get through this year (and not divorcing me in the process). I love you...


And finally...to myself:
On so many levels, I expected race day to come and change me. So often we hear that you start the race as one person...and then you finish as a completely different individual. But the truth is...I've already changed. I am a different person...for the better. And I don't need 140.6 miles to tell me otherwise (though I'm sure there will be many other changes during the course of those 17 hours). Don't get me wrong...yes...I want that Ironman title. Yes, I want to hear Mike Reilly call my name as I cross the finish line. I want to feel that medal around my neck and the lights blaring down on me in the dark desert night with the bass of the finish line music pulsing through my veins. I want all that and more.

But what I really wanted out of this year was to get a better understanding of who I am. What makes me tick. Just how far I'll push myself. And find out what I'll pack to chase a dream and what I'll leave behind.

I've had one hell of a season. Three new personal bests this year, including a 5k time I never imagined would be possible. And I'm only beginning to scratch the surface of what I'm truly capable of. I know I'm not fast...and likely never will be the front of the pack. But I have so much more to give to this sport. So much more potential for myself. I've finally been able to stare my inner demons in the face. Give 'em the finger. And overcome them. This whole journey really hasn't been about the race at all. It's about the process. Becoming the change I've wanted to see in myself. I've pushed myself to the brink of exhaustion. And when I think there's nothing left to give...I find a way to get up and push myself some more.

This race is truly the first race of a grand caliber I've gone out and done for myself. by myself. with nobody but myself in mind. No fundraising for a charity. No handfuls of group workouts and Saturday morning team runs. And while part of me feels a little guilty...I actually feel overwhelming pride and accomplishment in this. Ironman training is lonely. And I did it on my own two feet. I can think of ONE run I did with a friend. I did maybe 4 open water swims with Tony. And about 5 rides with Lore. Everything else was me. myself. and i. From a physical standpoint, I have never been more prepared for any other race. And I did it all myself (with the help of Chief of Pain, of course). From a mental standpoint...well...let's just see how that pans out for me...

Win, lose or draw today...I have learned an infinite amount of knowledge about myself...and no finish line experience or DNF can take that away from me. I've embraced a sport that I absolutely love. And as a result, I've started to become who I really am...who I'm supposed to be according to my standards and no one else's. Not society's. Not my parents. Not Mike's. I am me. Barb. The slow. Fabulous. Back of the Packer. And I can't think of any better person to be.

Although being Barb the Ironman sure has a nice ring to it...doesn't it?

Let's rock this bitch.

Meltdown.

Before I left, Coach Amy told me "When you find yourself crying on the bathroom floor...call me."

I fully expected this to happen race morning. Heck, I've even scheduled time in for a pre-race call to Amy.

So imagine my surprise this morning, when I woke up to get ready for the day's "mini tri" and suddenly found myself on the floor, leaning against the wall, sobbing. I questioned if it was too early to call.

I rationed that it was too early to call, and texted her instead.

Amy always seems to know what to say when I need to hear it most. After a handful of exchanges, I still couldn't move.

I whimpered for Mike in between sniffles.

And of course, he was dead to the world.

Tears streaming down my face, I did my breathing exercises. Did some visualization stuff. Did everything I could to collect myself.

Finally, I took a deep breath and told myself "If you don't pick yourself up off this floor, no one is going to..."

Emerging from the bathroom, I started to get ready. Mike rolled over, finally realized my distress, and offered up a hug.

A quick swim...bike...and run were on the schedule. And so we headed down to Tempe Town Lake to get wet.

The swim went swimmingly. No shoulder pain at all and acclimated quickly to the water.

After crawling out of the water, we met up with the Lovatos for a quick pep talk. I gotta tell ya, Amanda and Michael are two of the coolest, awesomest, most down to earth people in the sport. She reminded me that this is perfectly normal.

From there, a bike along the run course...and then of course, a quick little run for good measure.

When I returned, Lauren had arrived!! YAY! Shower. Lunch. Check-in. Side trip to Tempe Cyclery to get some threaded CO2 cartridges. Pick up Sleepy Sis at the airport!! YAY!! Chill in the room. Pull together special needs bags. Try not to think about tomorrow.

Most of the afternoon has been spent off my feet, fielding phone calls and texts and trying to keep myself distracted. So far...it's working pretty well.

I'm feeling okay at this point in time...pretty good, in fact. You ask me how I'm feeling in 20 minutes, and you'll get a different answer.

All that's left to do tonight is dinner, find my inner zen, and get to sleep...hopefully tomorrow won't find me on the bathroom floor...

...deep breaths...I got this...

And we'll all float on okay...

Hi world!! I'm here in Arizona.

It hasn't changed much since I was here last for my first marathon back in 2006. It's still bright. warm. sunny. and brown. I'm pretty sure there are about 10,000 different shades of brown...most of which appear to be lurking down in Tempe Town Lake.

Overall, I'm in a really good place right now, aside from one minor mental freakout on the plane. (knock on wood)

We haven't seen much of the city aside from the Target, some mediocre mexican restaurant and the inside of our hotel room...but you can definitely feel the Iron Energy flowing freely in this town. Buoys are already lining the swim (and strangely, it doesn't feel as long as I thought it would...though I'll think differently while I'm in the thick of it)...signs are posted warning citizens of delays on Sunday...and there are plenty of men walking around with shaved legs like it's the norm. Good times.

Tomorrow after the practice swim, I'll get myself registered and do a little damage at the expo. Hopefully I won't have any panic attacks as I'm in the presence of hundreds of iron-clad bodies as they try to intimidate everyone else. As long as I can stay on that tropical island in my head, all should be well.

Surprisingly, I'm at peace...thanks in large part to a new and unusual experience.

Last night I did one of the weirdest, most cool things ever thanks to the recommendation of David over at Pace of Chicago.

Now, locking ones self in a 8x4x4 sci-fi coffin-esque structure full of nothing but darkness and water hardly seems like a way to spend an evening of relaxation. Sounds more like a torture chamber at Gitmo rather than one of the most peaceful experiences in existence...

...floating.

For an hour, I completely lost myself in a sensory deprivation tank.

No sight...sound...no nothing...just 10 inches of warm water. warm air. all at the temperature of my skin. 800 pounds of epsom salt. complete darkness. just me...hearing my heartbeat echo in my ears...letting my thoughts guide me for 60 minutes of relaxation and awesomeness.

With that much salt in such a small amount of water, you just let go of all the tension in your body and just float effortlessly. Everything just releases, and you're suspended...floating...like gravity doesn't exist. And after a while, you lose the feeling of where the water meets your skin and the air...and you're just floating...

It was the deepest feeling of relaxation I have ever achieved.

Yoga hasn't come close to this. And an hour-long spa massage can't even hold a candle to the feeling of the end result.

The owner knew I was racing this weekend...and could sense how nervous I was feeling. He let me float for about 75 minutes in the end.

And I swear, it felt like I wasn't in there for longer than 10 minutes.

I emerged with ridiculous clarity and calmness...revitalized...and, for the most part, it has carried over. Which is good.

So Sunday morning, when I plunge into the chilly waters of Tempe Town Lake, the plan is to swim out a bit, find my own space, and just float in the final moments...try to recapture last night's experience, and find inner peace.

Calgon, Take Me Away!

I really feel like I need to be blogging about something as there is so much fluttering through my stressed out little head right now. But truth be told, I'm kind of at a loss for words right now.

The body has been holding up relatively well. The latest round of ripped saddle sores seem to be healing faster than normal. The toenail I lost a few weeks ago has slowly grown back in. In fun news, I'm down 15 pounds from this time last year...10 of which seems to have melted off the past 2-3 months alone. Still not sleeping exceptionally well, so the next night or two may be throw down thanks in large part to Tylenol PM. Last night I was up until close to 3am. And Queen's "Somebody To Love" was playing on loop in my head. Great song. But not what I want to have blaring on my internal bose system when I'm supposed to be waking up in a few short hours.

Work...what's that? My team has been wonderful the past few weeks. Right now I think my mental capacity would tap out if I were asked to count beans. Infinitely cool how understanding everyone has been...and not to mention how supportive they are. I'm really lucky.

Seriously though. My head is just overflowing with a myriad of thoughts. Some race related. Some family related. Some friend related. Some work related. Some world peace related. My brain runneth over.

My friends have been doing an amazing job keeping my head distracted with sugar cookies (made of PR's!) and Kansas basketball and positive thoughts. Mike's been doing an amazing job trying to keep my head in the game. And frankly, I've been doing a decent job trying to disconnect from it all...in my mind I'm swinging in a hammock on some remote island in the Caribbean sucking down a Miami Vice and grinning at the brain freeze it brings as I listen to the lapping of the ocean waves. It's a wonderful place, this little island in my mind.

Needless to say, I'm trying to avoid the reality of the 140.6 miles ahead of me. Yes. I know it's coming. Yes. I'm (mostly) excited about it. Yes. I'm a bit nervous, too. But ya know...there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do at this point.

I can't control the weather. So I've stopped obsessing over the direction of the wind and the high's for the day.

I can't change the murky dark chilly water of tempe town lake.

I can't change the fact I'll be running in the dark for an extended period of time.

I can't control the course. So I've put stressing about the bike leg on the back burner.

I can only control my thoughts. So why panic? It's not worth the energy at this point in time.

So if you'd like to join me on this little island of awesomeness in my mind, feel free to stop on by. Just don't forget to pack your sunscreen and show up with an extra frozen fruity drink in hand.

...mine's almost empty.

Growth.

This morning I woke up to a fabulous surprise to commemorate the kickoff of Iron Week.

Mike made me a book spanning my feats of athleticism over the past 4 years...a look at the races I've done and fun I've had. It's ridiculous to take a step back and really see how much I've grown not just over the last season, but the past four years. From biting off more than I could chew with that first marathon, to marathon meltdowns, canceled races, surprising PR's and now the attempt at something truly amazing.

If you asked the Barb of 2005 "what do you think you'll be doing in 4 years?" ...never in my wildest dreams would I have said anything remotely close to doing an Ironman. Afterall, that race is relegated for crazies and people who are made of stern stuff. And let's be honest, you really have to enjoy pushing yourself and taking a beating from the hurt stick. And at the time, that really wasn't me.

But I've grown in so many ways since 2005. The girl who hadn't run since high school can now run for miles upon miles...and can run fast (for my standards)...and I'm at a point where I don't mind being on my bike for upwards of 6...7...8 hours...and I know I can get through any distance of swimming with a bit of patience, relaxation and focus in the water. I'm convinced that anyone can do something of this caliber if they simply have the patience and discipline to put in the time and wade through the training. Seriously. If I can get my ducks in a row to attempt 140.6 miles, there's absolutely no reason why you can't.

Ironman is an elephant. And how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. And to get through the damn thing you better be hungry. I've tried to make this my mentality with training...and even racing on some levels. I can't be thinking about the bike when I'm treading water waiting for the gun to blare. Live in that moment...and make it work for you.

Honestly, the reality of it being race week hasn't really hit me just yet. I'm leaving in 3 days. Everything feels so surreal. Yesterday I woke up with a slight hint of panic as I thought to myself...this time next week, assuming I don't get pummeled in the swim, I should be on the bike right now.

Thoughts such as this have been floating around my mind for days.

Last night I couldn't sleep. I rolled over and saw 1am hit. I took a sigh of relief thinking to myself that this moment in one week...it will all be over. And it was a bittersweet feeling. Happiness and relief that it'll be done, and if all goes according to plan, I will have crossed the finish line. But sadness at the same time. This season I've actually learned to enjoy myself with training. I've done the vast majority of it alone. And I've really treasured that time by myself. While I'm looking forward to getting my life back, I'm a little bummed that I won't really be out along the lake swimming, biking and running to such an extent pushing myself in crazy ways.

The truth is...I don't like it when things end. In fact, I hate it. For years I was the girl who would read through a book and leave the last chapter unfinished because I didn't want things to come full circle with the characters. I could write their own fates in my mind. I'd rather avoid good-byes than dealing with the reality of parting ways with a friend face to face. Openendedness is good. It leaves so much room for possibility...for new chapters and stories to come.

But this novel, this race, is not going to remain unfinished.

I know there's nothing more I can do at this point to get me to the finish line. So I'm trying to focus my energies on the details. Sure, I'll have a few small workouts this week...mostly swims, a run or two to keep my legs loose, and then a ride out in Arizona...but that's about it. But it's really time just just get everything in order.

I've made lists. And lists of lists. But nothing has been packed yet.

I've thought about things I still need to buy. And do. And people to visit. And conversations to have with the Chief. And Tracy. And my favorite Southern piece of sass, Amy. And come up with that last will and testament...you know, just in case.

Busy, is good. Even if it's just mentally so. Like I said I've been taking any distractions I can get. Distractions are good. They're even better than business.

And let's not discuss the fact that I may or may not be beaming at the fact that Big Sexy posted on my last blog. Thanks, Chris...you really made my day. A more than welcomed distraction.

But amid the distractions, there's still stuff to be done. Last week, I dropped Little Red Riding Hood off with TriBike transport...I'm crossing all my crossables that she shows up in Tempe unscathed and in one piece. Saturday brought a wonderful 10 miler in some unseasonabley warm November weather. Pace booty was plentiful. And the run was actually fun. There was some pushing of the pace for miles 8 and 9 (with mile nine pretty much making me want to toss cookies). Sunday was a gathering of Chicagoans headed to IMAZ with talks of the course, special needs and all sorts of questions answered. Good stuff.

I'm headed to the pool this evening...and let's say it's been a little while since I've gone for a dip. The last few weeks I've been so focused on the other parts (running, biking, nutrition, recovery, rest, etc.) that I've definitely been neglecting the swim. I'm honestly not worried about it, but I've come to terms with the fact it won't be as strong as it could be...

So in the meantime, I'm trying to keep calm and carry on. Stay focused and have the right thoughts in my head. And of course...get packed and eat this elephant one bite at a time.

...because homegirl is starving.

The external athlete.

This weekend, I met with Tracy. A woman, who is bloody brilliant. A woman, whose specialty, just so happens to be in Sports Psychology.

It's no secret that I'm pretty mental when it comes to racing. So the Chief of Pain hooked me up with Tracy to see just what we can accomplish in 2 weeks time (nevermind the fact that we probably should've gone down this road a few months ago...but hey, I'll try anything at this point). My body is ready. It feels ready. Those trashed legs are getting their spring back...the saddle sores are slowly healing...and I'm actually starting to feel strong. Physically...I'm ready for the challenge. My head, however, still has some work to do to get into the game.

So Saturday morning, Tracy and I spent an hour together with her getting to know what makes me tick, how my body and head respond to pressure and pre-race anxiety (monkey talk and vomiting! but you knew this), going over worst case scenarios, calculating times, cutoffs and everything in between.

She gave me some homework to do, which involves a handful of different exercises to get my brain in line with my body...some relaxation-focused things. some visualization things. a good mix of some tweaks to my pre-race routine that will help foster inner zen.

We discussed how I believe my problem to be getting inside my own head. Turns out, the problem isn't exactly that. I'm allowing all of these external things to get inside my brain and fuddle things up. Tuning out on things is a bit more challenging than I anticipated. For the most part, I've been doing exceptionally well keeping the zone that we work hard to achieve during Saturday's session. I'm doing my brain games. Embracing new music. I picked up a new book today. And I've been enjoying all the distractions that I can find. And of course, I've been working on writing out the pre-race ritual. So I've been working on removing myself from stressful situations that will only add to my anxiety, and just finding my inner peace.

Two weeks isn't much time to change cognitive patterns, but I am certainly giving it a shot. I mean, what have I got to lose?

I also learned that external athletes are more driven by the end result, whereas internal athletes are more process-oriented. While this is the first time I have ever truly enjoyed training, I hardly qualify as an internal athlete (and we can all agree). I won't disagree with the whole "the journey is the reward" sentiment either. And I'm so excited to be there, in each moment of those 140.6 miles, but I'm most looking forward to having that medal draped around my neck and experience those last 100 yards of the race...and being able to stay out late and hang out at bars with friends...and go to concerts! (let's not discuss the fact I've bought 3 pairs of tickets in the past few days)...and drink (I'm having DREAMS of a frosty mug with golden deliciousness sparkling inside)...and not having to stick to a schedule or worry about whether or not my lunch is going to sustain me for a 10 mile run. I'm so looking forward to life after Ironman...where I can run just to run and not have to hit zones or crank out 5 miles at tempo in the middle of 15.

I'm just sort of at a breaking point. And that's okay. Because breaking is part of the process. Mental craziness is too. And mood swings. And devouring everything in sight. And everything else that falls in between.

Because in 10ish days, it will all be over.

And life can return to normal...

...even though I can't remember what "normal" was.

More than just another number...

As of this afternoon, the Jayhawk is now known as athlete #2240. And I will become so much more than that by the time this is all over.

It's on, kiddies...it's on...

Well this is an interesting development...

I'm wondering how someone who barely considers themselves an athlete can possibly be the Athlete of the Month according to the Trib. Hmmm...

No added pressure or anything!!!

Thanks to all those in the conspiracy of this one.

(I'd also like to give a shout out to my girl, LeahC, with a photo cred. on the swimcap shot...you're the best!)

On a side note...best of luck to everyone in in North Carolina doing Beach 2 Battleship (especially Waddler, Sharkie and 2Googs), and of course, those duking it out at Ironman Florida! You're all an inspiration to me. :)

Complacency

I'll be the first to admit that I don't push myself enough most days. I enjoy the back of the pack. We're relaxed and frankly have a ridiculous amount of fun back there. And I actually don't mind running 10...11...12 minute miles. Yes, I've been a bit complacent in my position in the pack.

But every once in a while, I'll get a fire in me to just throw really throw it all out there and see what happens.

Recently I was thrilled to have run an 8:29 mile on the track. I haven't run that fast since high school (although I've got more than a minute to shave off before I get to my high school track days). My fastest miles of the year have been done during speed workouts on the track and usually end up in the mid-8:50's range. Finally being able to push out a sub-9 mile is something that excites me greatly. And up until this weekend, I could probably could count all of my sub-9 miles since high school on two hands...okay...probably more like one hand.

So anyways...

Sunday I had the chance to run the Hot Chocolate 5k in place of a friend who ended up having to work (Thanks, Shannon!). The Chief of Pain cleared me to actually go out and race...

...wait...let me correct that.

He cleared me to run 5 miles to the race. Race the race. Then run 5 miles back home. Apparently he thinks I'm Dean Karnazes in the works (minus the ridiculous distances). He's sorely mistaken.

I knew I wanted to try and PR...and frankly, I didn't think I'd have it in me to set a PR in the middle of a mid-length run. We agreed that I could take the train up there, run around a bit to warm up, race...and then head home on foot.

Fine by me.

My legs have felt trashed and lifeless for a while now. I wasn't expecting much of a PR, if I'd even be able to set one at all. So the night before I loaded up on the worlds most delicious sugar cookies and candy and all sorts of stuff you probably shouldn't eat if you want to run a personal best the next day. I figured it didn't matter, since the likelihood of me breaking my 28:40 PR was slim as it was anyway.

The next morning I meet up with my buddy, get Shannon's bib and get settled into the corral. I lined up around the 9 minute mile group, thinking I'd go out fast, grab onto the heels of someone keeping that pace and then hang on for dear life for as long as I could or 3.1 miles...whichever came first.

First big snafu? Trying to fit 4200 runners on a 10 ft. wide running path is a really stupid idea. Especially when people are completely incapable of seeding themselves correctly. I crossed the start line in under a minute and saw folks who were already walking a quarter mile into the race. Lovely.

With all the weaving going on, the first mile came and went by in 8:59...miraculously on target.

Things started to clear up slightly after the water stop, though there were still droves and droves of people everywhere.

I looked behind me at mile 2 (done in 8:48, no less!) to see that the crowds were actually thicker behind me than in front of me. Am I toward the front of the pack? WTF is going on here? I just don't understand...

That last mile was an interesting one, it wasn't so much a hanging on for dear life feeling as it was more of a this is finally starting to feel comfortable. An extended version of New Order's 'Blue Monday' had pulled me through mile 2 at pretty quick clip for myself...so I played the song again. Mile three came and went in 8:38.

Official finishing time? 27:15.

That's an 8:47 pace in case you're wondering and nowhere near what I was expecting. I figured if I set a PR, it would've been by a seconds...not by more than a minute. That's 1:25 faster than before. Done on dead legs. With a lot of traffic. And a tummy full of sugar cookies.

Good times.

Overall: 711/4473 (top 16%)
Age Group: 69/648 (top 11%)

That's hardly complacency in the back of the pack (and I've shaved off more than 10 minutes from my 5k time in the past 4 years). I think I need to re-evaluate this whole pre-race nutrition plan for Ironman. Who needs pasta and chicken?

Pass me a plate of sugar cookies, please!