IM 70.3 Hawaii - Race Report (You're welcome, Paul!)

The days (and weeks) leading up to my first IM 70.3 had me sick with fear. So many things to worry about. So many details that could go wrong. So doubtful of my training and abilities. So many opportunities for embarrassment, frustration and disappointment. So much time and money spent (wasted?).

Then, after I got on the shuttle bus in Waikoloa, Hawaii, heading to the Fairmont Orchid for the mandatory pre-race meeting, I looked up to see the Poster Child for Triathlons asking, “Is this seat taken?”

“Oh, great,” I thought. “He probably thinks I’m here for a scrapbooking convention.” He was easily 6’4”, 190 pounds with a chiseled jaw, sun-dappled hair, Clorox-white teeth, California tan and was maybe all of 25 years old. I could’ve been his mother. (Or his cougar.)

I decided to break the ice by asking, “Is this your first half Ironman?” He said, “No, I’ve done a full and another half.”

“Oh, great,” I thought again. He IS the Poster Child and he’s going to realize I’m a poser headed for an epic fail.

So I asked, “Is this your first time to Hawaii?” He said, “Yes. How about you – is this your first time here for racing?”

I decided to ‘fess up, “Yes, it’s my first time to Hawaii and my first race longer than a sprint. And I’m terrified.”

You know what he said? “Me, too!”

“But … you’re young and you’re fit and you’ve been this distance (and farther) before and, well, I mean, LOOK at you!”

He said, “Yeah, but you never know what’s going to come at you and how much you’re going to have in the tank. Or what will go wrong. It’s always a challenge and every race is different. And this course is really, really difficult.” Funny, but his fear made mine disappear right then and there! (You were right, Paul … we’re all just people.)

And I learned that Poor Little Poster Child had come all the way to Hawaii by himself. He had no friends or family with him, nobody to cheer for him or look for him at the finish line. That fact was made even more sad by the fact that I actually passed him on the run course, somewhere around mile 10. He looked so downhearted and miserable (as did I) that I knew he probably wouldn’t even remember our little shuttle bus encounter. I just tapped him on the arm as I limped past and said, “Keep it up, fella. You’re almost there.”

I kept bumbling along the course and at 3:07 p.m., Hawaii-Aleutian Time, on June 4, went on to become half an Ironman. The mass-start, open-water swim, which had me damn-near paralyzed with fear for the past year, turned out to be the best part of the day. The water was both warm and cool, abundant sea life surrounded us and I was able to work a groove in the ocean and find my own swim space for much of the course. As a bonus, the predicted 3-5 foot waves that were expected to hit right in time for the 7 a.m. start held off until later in the day – the ocean was calm and clear and welcoming.

The bike portion didn’t paralyze as much as terrify – 45 m.p.h. head winds, steep uphills that offered few corresponding downhills, hundreds of other racers, drafting penalties (is it drafting if you’re only doing 5 m.p.h.?), flat tires, thrown chains, crashes … so many opportunities for death and destruction. But once again, all went well. Not as quickly as I’d hoped, but well nonetheless.

The final leg – the run – was the part I never even had a second thought about. I am a runner. I have done dozens of races. One foot in front of the other until somebody tells you to stop – nothing to it! Unfortunately the run turned out to be the absolute worst part of the day. By then the sun had peaked to its blistering apex and heated the lava-strewn course almost to its original molten state, the soles of my running shoes had begun to melt, glycogen and salt stores were fully depleted and, while I kept dumping water and ice down my gullet, there was no quenching the thirst or cooling my own molten core. It was a death march. And I hated every second of it.

The most fascinating factoid of all:  I did all this (and survived) with only two packets of Gu. All day. No breakfast. No PowerBars or granola. No bananas or bagels. No magical, mystical protein concoctions or organic juice smoothies. I was far too nervous at the outset to eat and far too cramped and miserable in the thick of it to eat. Two hundred measly calories propelled me 70.3 miles to an 8:07:07 finish. How is that even possible? I wish I could be like Paul and visit the buffet at the Golden Corral before I race, but my damned stomach just seizes up before any race no matter what I put in. Sometimes even water makes me want to vomit.  

My lovely and patient husband (who’d also been baking in the sun) asked at the finish line, “How was it?” I said, “It was the worst day of my life. And the best day of my life.” I’m still riding the high of finishing and have already signed up for my next 70.3 – October 2^nd in the Poconos. And I’m determined to complete a full IM by the end of 2012 … the same year I turn 50.

The best parts:

Hawaii (c’mon, it’s Hawaii!)

The volunteers (they were AbFab)

The aid stations (sponges, ice and cold drinks that were actually cold and no end to the shouts of encouragement)

“Real” stenciled body marking (vs. scribbled-on Sharpie)

The course (deadly but comes with unrivaled bragging rights)

The swim (swimming with aquarium fish was awesome)

Tech support on the bike route and the official bike shop – Bike Works (they were the greatest)

The worst parts:

Getting there (especially for East Coasters)

Bike shipping expenses ($400 round trip)

The 3 H’s:  Heat, Humidity and Hills

40-50 mph head winds on the bike

The flaming, 5^th degree sunburn I got for overlooking a minor detail like remembering to apply sunscreen