Kelly's Ironman Wisconsin story

This is from my friend, Kelly - It gives a great account of race day...

From: Kelly
Subject: Ironman Wisconsin Update...Long Version

Greetings!!!

Well it's been almost 2 months since I raced out in Madison at Ironman Wisconsin. I sent most of you an email before I left my accounting position at Constellation Energy, to let you all know that on September 12th I would be racing in the long-course triathlon distance made famous by the Hawaii Ironman.

I chose Wisconsin because it is said to be one of the more difficult Ironman courses, as the bike leg is hill after hill after hill.

Well I am writing all of you now to let you know how the race went. This email is long overdue, but I decided that before I start training for my next event (P.F. Chang's Rock 'n' Roll Marathon in Phoenix, AZ), that I needed to let everyone know how I fared in the biggest athletic event of my life.

The month before the race I was not working (nice) so I was able to concentrate on the last big push of long-distance training before the race. One thing I concluded from that month was that work really gets in the way of what could be a very successful racing season. Haha.

So I flew out to Wisconsin on the Thursday before the race (which was on Sunday). Friday and Saturday were filled with race expos, pasta dinners, guest speakers, practice swims in Lake Menona, warm-up bike rides and short runs to make sure our bodies and bikes were working properly. Our practice swims were awesome. We did a mile swim first thing on both Friday and Saturday mornings. Lake Menona has to be the cleanest body of water I've ever swam in. We needed wetsuits, but just barely. The water was drinkable. And I know because I drank some by accident when another guy and I kind of collided in the water.

My mom, our very close and long-time family friends Theresa and Erin, and my boyfriend Brian all flew out to watch the race. That is some major support because I knew that this race had the potential of keeping me out on that course for over 16 hours. To refresh your memories, the Ironman distance triathlon is a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run (all in the same day). So it is almost as daunting a task to commit to standing out there for 16 hours to cheer on the athletes, as it is to do the race itself.

Saturday night was what I called The Last Supper. Although melodramatic, I had myself convinced that I very well might not make it out alive the next day, so I ate appropriately. Chili's (yes, Chili's) provided me with what I was convinced was my last ever good meal.

I spent the rest of the night packing up my bags for the next morning, checking over my wetsuit, (we had "racked" our bikes earlier in the day in the transition area), and packing my "special needs" bags. You must pack 2 special needs bags, one for the bike and one for the run. You are handed them at the half-way point of each. So at mile 56 on the bike course, there is a tent on the side of the road, and they see your race number and pull your special needs bag. At that point you can get off your bike, to do whatever it is you planned for in your special needs bags. They can contain food, clean cycling or running clothes, pretty much anything. Well I guess they can't contain performance-enhancing drugs, but that's another story. More on that later (my special needs bags, not performance enhancing drugs).

I had to wake up at 4am on race morning. Although the race didn't start until 7am, there was a lot to be done before the gun went off. I had to make the 1/2 hour drive into Madison (we stayed at a Crowne Plaza outside of the city). I had to check on my bike one last time to make sure it was in the correct spot on the correct rack. I had to get body-marked. That is when your race number gets applied to the front of both thighs, both arms in between the tricep and the bicep, and your age gets written on the back of your left calf, all with a thick, permanent black marker. So my race number was "####", which was written on both legs and both arms, and "28" was written on the back of my left calf. Then I had to deliver my special needs bags to their designated drop-off points, so they could be made available to me later in the day.

I couldn't help thinking as I was walking my special needs bag for the bike (which I would be given at mile 56 of the bike) and my special needs bag for the run (which I would be given at mile 13 of the run)...I couldn't help thinking how unbelievably far away those points in the day seemed to me. For the bike special needs bag, I will have had to swim 2.4 miles and bike 56 hilly miles, then the run special needs bag I will have had to bike an additional 56 hilly miles, and run 13.1 miles to even get there. When it's 5:30 in the morning, and it's pitch dark and a tad chilly, those points in the day seem like they would never arrive. The only thing that gave me solace about this is that time passes whether you want it to or not, and whether I'm in pain or not in pain, time will continue to tick away. And that by the shear definition of default, I would have to make it to those points in the day. As long as I keep moving forward...As long as I keep moving forward.

I delivered my special needs bags and headed to get body-marked. Triathlon races usually utilize local community groups and volunteers to run most aspects of the race, including body-marking. It is somewhat funny to be standing in line, waiting to be written on with a permanent marker. You are pretty bundled up, even if it's a warm morning, because you need to keep your muscles warm. If your muscles are cold when the race starts, you run the risk of pulling something. So as we wait in our warm-up gear, you see the volunteers scanning the group for who they would like to "mark". The guys are clearly looking for females with tight bodies to write all over. The women are looking for males with the same. God forbid a male volunteer has to write on another male athlete's body. They go out of their way to avoid that, and it is a funny scene to watch.

After marking, it was time to hurry up and wait. My mom and Theresa and Erin did not come down to the race site with me at 4:30am, they were going to arrive just in time to see the swim start. But Brian came with me at 4:30, and was an awesome person to have around before the race started. He carried heavy things. He pointed out people that didn't look in as good of shape as I am, and he'd say, "Look at her, if she can do it, you can do it." Or he'd point out an older gentlemen (the oldest male athlete in this race was 75 years old) and he'd say, "Look at him, if he can do it, you can do it." I don't remember exactly what he said, I just remember thinking whatever it was that he said, was the perfect thing for him to be saying.

Now I've been racing for 12 seasons, since I was a senior in high school. Ironman Wisconsin was to be my 63rd triathlon. I have competed in 4 Half-Ironman Triathlons (appropriately named because they are a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, and 13.1 mile run), about 8 Olympic distance triathlons, and the rest were sprint triathlons (typically a 1/2 mile swim, 20 mile bike, and 5 mile run). I never in my life had the desire to step up to the full Ironman distance. I raced for 11 seasons saying "no way" and "that's just crazy." But something clicked in me last summer, in August of 2003, when I was competing in the Timberman Half-Ironman Triathlon in Tilton, New Hampshire. That was a very difficult course and something in my head clicked during the last 6 miles of the run and I said to myself "I can do this distance twice in one day. I want to do Ironman." I signed up for Ironman Wisconsin a month later.

So a half hour before the swim start, Brian and I were just killing time. I was on the floor of the convention center, surrounded by other athletes doing their own thing to kill time. Some were sitting quietly with their eyes closed, some were listening to music on their walkmans, some were stretching, and some were just sitting or standing there with stone-cold looks on their faces, no expression. A lot of us were eating. A big question I get is how do you eat and what do you eat during a race that long. Well before the race I had 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a banana, an energy bar (similar to a Powerbar), and Cytomax (a scientific drink mixture specific to long-course racing, that replaces many of the minerals, electrolytes, etc., that Gatorade does not even touch on).

Poor Brian thought I was a lunatic because I was certainly not myself that last hour before the race started. But there is no way to predict how you are going to react when you are in that situation. I was terrified of the day that lie before me. I had avoided this race for so long, and you are considered an elite breed of triathlete if you can complete this race. So my hands were shaking, I spoke of my abilities to get through the day without certainty, I was fidgety and restless. I would look at Brian with pleading eyes and say things like "I just want to hang out with you today" and "How 'bout we just head back to the hotel room, my stomach hurts." My eyes darted around the room to see how others were acting, and the more I tried to adopt their ways, the less natural I was acting. It was simply a strange feeling. I knew I wasn't myself, but that is because I had never been on the forefront of something so daunting, so potentially rewarding, and so moving as standing on the starting line of the Ironman Triathlon. It was time for Brian and I to make our way to the start line of the 2.4 mile swim. At some point I had to leave him behind, because only the athletes are allowed after a certain point. But before Brian left me he said "Look at the opportunity that you have to participate in this race. You are a very lucky girl not only to be healthy and strong enough to do this, but also just to be here. So look at it as an opportunity, not as a responsibility." Or something like that. I thought about it and he was right.

I left him at his spot where he'd be able to see me exit the water, run past him on the helix, and then also leave on the bike. I met up with my best friends Matt and CJ, who I had trained with since February for this race. We walked in silence to the swim start. It was about 6:45 and the sun was just coming up over the horizon. We all had to be in the water by 6:50. It was an open water start, which means you're treading water that's over your head, for (in this case 10 minutes) a certain amount of time before the gun goes off. So we joked that we felt like we were those animals (I think they're called lemings) that are sort of like penguins, and live in Antarctica. They are famous for jumping to their deaths off of icy cliffs. I think. Something like that. Anyway, I felt like a leming jumping to my death, as I jumped off the little dock into Lake Menona. As I walked toward the dock, slowly shuffling along with 2,100 other athletes in wetsuits, in complete silence, I looked around and said "Something smells like neoprene." Hahahahahahaha!!! Everyone around me laughed at the absurdity of my comment, which I meant to sound absurd because wetsuits are made of neoprene, and there were over 2,000 wetsuits crammed into a small area. I kill me. At least I was able to bring a little bit of comic relief to my general area, moments before me and the rest of the lemings plunged to what many of us thought would be a certain death. A long, slow, painful death, but a certain death nonetheless.

We headed out to our starting line, and treaded and treaded. There was a lot of shuffling of swimmers. The fastest swimmers, expected to swim the two loop, 2.4 mile course in an hour or less, were supposed to be at the very front. Then the 1 hour and 30minute swimmers (or faster) should be in the middle. Then the slowest swimmers in the back. This seeding prevents the faster swimmers from having to swim over the slower swimmers. I seeded myself in the 1 hour and 30 minute group. I knew I was being a bit modest of my swimming abilities, but I also didn't want to overestimate my swimming abilities and seed myself with the faster swimmers. My friends Matt, CJ, and Bryan (not my boyfriend) were egging me on to get up with the 1 hour-ish swimmers, and I was like "no way." I just want to hang out here with you guys (who were slower swimmers than I, although I found their presence very comforting).

We treaded and talked, reminding each other to look around and soak it all in. I had some tears in my eyes because I just couldn't believe that I was actually on the starting line of the Ironman Triathlon. The literal and actual starting line. It was a beautiful morning. Not a cloud in the sky (which would spell trouble for the bike and run later on), and about the mid-60s. Eventually the temperature would rise into the high 80s, which would hurt on the run. But for now I was treading water, wondering what song the race DJ would pick to signify the start of the race. An announcement was made that we had 3 minutes to race start. The DJ played "Clocks" by Coldplay, and that song now has new meaning to me.

The swim was 2 loops of a 1.2 mile course totaling 2.4 miles. After the first loop I looked at my watch and I couldn't believe I had swam it in 35 minutes. That was putting me on pace to swim 1 hour 10 minutes. There was a lot of kicking, pulling, pushing, and dragging under. It was literally every athlete for him or herself. I tried to keep it in my head that most people weren't trying to hurt me intentionally, that they were just nervous themselves and were trying to get the swim over with as quickly as possible. We later learned that this swim start was the largest mass swim start ever, with 2,099 triathletes swimming the 2.4 mile course, all starting at the exact same moment, at 7am. All triathlons (except for Ironman distance) are "wave starts." That means that depending on your age and whether you are male or female, you get assigned a different starting time. This cuts down on the confusion and traffic in the water. So I had only ever started triathlon swims with other women in my own age group. Never more than 200 women my age starting with me. This was a different story, with men and women of all ages and abilities, including professional triathletes, starting at the same time. Imagine 2,100 swimmers trying to turn around the same orange buoy, it was quite an experience. I exited the water at 1 hour and 10 minutes exactly. I was elated. I later learned that I beat a few professional women out of the water. I couldn't believe it. Swimming is my strength, but I never imagined I could beat some of the pro women out of the water, but I did. To their defense, they passed me right away on the bike.

As soon as we exited the water, there were volunteers galore to help us on our way. "Wetsuit Strippers" were there to help us out of our wetsuits, because after swimming 2.4 miles as fast as you can, you're a little bit disoriented. So my 2 Strippers told me to lay on the ground, and they yanked it right off of me. It was pretty wild. There were thousands of spectators cheering us on. I've never experienced anything like it.

We then had to run to the transition area. This is where we changed and geared up for the 112 mile bike course. Here's the thing. The swim was in Lake Menona, and right on the shore of the lake was the Madison Convention Center. Our bikes and the transition area were on the fourth story of the convention center. Our bikes were racked on the fourth floor of the parking garage, waiting for us. Our changing tents (one for men and one for women) were on the fourth level, inside of the convention center. So we had to get ourselves from the ground level to the top level, and to do that we had to run up 4 levels of the parking garage helix, that tight circle cars use to get up to some parking garages. We had to run barefoot, carrying our wetsuits, goggles, and swim caps, up to the 4th level. When we got to the top, we were out of breath, and were directed to a room inside of the convention center where we were given our "Swim to Bike" bags. The volunteers were awesome, I felt like a professional because as soon as I ran into the room, I was handed my bag (for my race number ####) and the volunteer told me "Good Luck, ####. That way to your changing tent, and there will be a volunteer in there to help you." I entered the changing tent (which was just inside another room in the convention center) and a volunteer took me by my upper arm and guided me to a free changing area. I was still wet from the swim. She dumped my bag on the floor, and asked me what I needed. She helped to towel me off, I took my swim suit off to put on completely dry clothes. Cycling 112 miles with a wet swim suit under your cycling gear is not fun. So I put on dry cycling shorts and a cycling jersey. I put dry socks on, my cycling shoes (which clip into my pedals and make a clack-clack-clack noise as I walk or run in them), strapped my helmet on, slid my racing sunglasses on, and put cycling gloves on. My volunteer slathered sunscreen all over my bare arms, my neck, my legs (I had cycling shorts on). I put sunscreen on my face. It was gearing up to be a hot one, and the last thing I needed on top of being sore was a bad sunburn. I thanked the volunteer, grabbed some food that I would secure to my bike, and ran out the door back into the outdoors. Not to give too much information, but a lot of people ask about bathroom logistics and eating logistics during a race that long, and I'll cover that too. I used the bathroom (portable bathroom) after exiting that building. In a race that long, being hydrated enough and being overhydrated is a delicate balance. Under hydration can mean ending up in the medical tent, either before or after the race is over, with multiple bags of intravenous fluids being pumped into your arms. Over hydration can really mess with your liver, and in severe cases can end in death. In either situation, even mild cases can end your race shortly after it's begun. And since that is the most probable outcome, a lot of us look at it as a fate worse than death. Nobody wants to train for Ironman for 9 months and say good-bye to it sometime during the bike or run, before crossing the finish line. So the fact that I had to use the bathroom right after the swim was good news. It meant that my nutrition and hydration plan for the day was working. Although only just over an hour had passed, and there was strong potential for me to be out there for another 15 hours.

The bike course was hilly, hot, and long. 112 miles on a bike seat is no picnic. I started the bike course at approximately 8:30am. My bike has aerobars so you can get into an aerodynamic position on the downhills. You may have seen this in certain portions of the Tour de France. I used them a lot on the downhills. The sun beat down the entire 8 hours I was on the bike. My shoulders were feeling hot so I would have volunteers apply sunscreen. They would kindly massage it into my shoulder blades because they knew that I was sore already. Every half hour on the half hour I swallowed a salt tablet. This helped to fight the hyponatremia I mentioned earlier. The salt would help to absorb all the water I was drinking, so my liver wouldn't get thrown out of whack. I drank Cytomax continuously. It was iced tea flavored and is oh so good. I can't stand Gatorade, it is far too sweet for a long day like that. I also ate pretty much every half hour. You have to, or you'll go into nutrition deficit. I ate a large variety of things. When you're doing Ironman, it's kind of like what I've heard about being pregnant, you never know what you're going to crave. I strapped pouches onto my bike that held Cheez-its (for the salt), gummy bears (for the sweet), nutrition bars called Luna Bars for mere mass to fill my stomach, peanut butter crackers for protein, and miniature chocolate chip cookies because chocolate makes everything better. I was very proud of my nutritional and hydration plan, because not once the entire day did I become hungry or thirsty. The trick is to eat and drink even when you're not hungry or thirsty, because when you become hungry or thirsty, it is far too late to save yourself from the medical tent and a failed Ironman debut. So I did extremely well in that department, and I almost brag about that fact more than I do the fact that I actually finished Ironman.

The bike course was beautiful, but hilly. Hill after hill, and reminiscent of something I saw while watching the Tour de France. Each major hill had spectators, 3 and 4 deep. Messages in chalk written all over the road. Encouraging us. Taunting us. Taking us both from something as tangible as the actual piece of road it was written on, to something as abstract as the imagined celebration, elation and tears, at the finish line. On the hill with the steepest grade and the longest climb, spectators ran alongside our bikes encouraging us. It brought me back to the characters at the Tour de France. I was actually chased up the steepest hill by a man dressed in a devil's costume, with a painted-on creepy mustache, jabbing a pitchfork into my rear-end with his right hand, and offering me some pancakes and bacon from a plate he held with his left hand. The hill so steep that had I stopped pedaling, my bike and I would have tipped over right on top of the Devil himself. I didn't take a pancake or a piece of bacon, but my best friend Matt did, and I think he's sorry about it to this day.

We passed through a town called Verona (twice), and Verona was putting on a huge street festival and pig roast. The spectators were bused out to Verona so they could see their loved ones (me) pass through town at miles 50 and 100 of the bike course. When I was a few miles from Verona each time, I pulled out my cell phone and called my boyfriend to let him know I'd be in Verona in just a few minutes. As I pulled out my phone to call one time as I was riding past a group of spectators, I heard one man shout from the crowd "Can you hear me now???" That would have been a great Verizon commercial. I hung out in Verona for awhile each time. I wasn't that worried that I was getting passed by other athletes, my goal was just to finish before midnight, and by my calculations I was well within the means to do that. But I got back on my bike and pedaled off at the suggestion of my mom and boyfriend, because, after all, I was in a race.

I finished the bike leg around 4:50pm. At the end of the 112 miles, we had to bike up the four stories of the parking garage helix. I dreaded that all day because after swimming 2.4 miles and biking 112, that was sure to hurt. But it didn't at all. Maybe I was numb. Maybe my leg muscles just didn't care anymore. But it didn't hurt at all and I liked that and appreciated that very much. As I rounded the last turn on the helix and pedaled my last few strokes of my first Ironman experience, I could see my mom with both arms raised in the air, with the biggest smile on her face than I'd seen in a very long time. She is very proud of her daughter. The only athlete in the entire family, the daughter she thinks a stork dropped in her front yard because I am unlike anyone else in the family. I have good qualities like I'm very ambitious and I'll take on Ironman, but I also have bad qualities like I'm impatient and hard on myself and stubborn and too bossy. But today she just cared that I was on my way to becoming an Ironman, and I couldn't think of anything else I could be doing on that particular day that would have made her smile more...

I handed my bike off to a volunteer, and ran back into the convention center. Although I started out with clean and dry cycling gear, after 112 miles it was anything but clean and dry. So I had planned for a complete change right before the run, and that's exactly what I did. A volunteer handed me my Bike to Run transition bag, and led me yet again to the women's changing tent. I was led by another volunteer to a free area, and she helped me again by dumping out the contents of my bag. I completely changed into dry everything. I felt great. Renewed. Ready to take on 26.2 miles of running simply because you could not pay me to get back on that bike. Had I been given the choice between biking the last 26.2 miles and running the last 26.2 miles, I would have and still to this day would choose running it. Your bike is the enemy at the end of the 112. You simply look at it and your butt, lower back and shoulders tie up into knots. So good riddance I said. I welcomed the run.

Out the convention center door and back into the sunlight. It was just 5pm and it was still very hot. I still had about 2 or 3 hours of sunlight beating down on me left. The volunteer had slathered me up with a fresh coat of sunscreen, so I felt protected. I had several applications during the bike course as well, so I knew that I would be sore for a few days, but that it would have nothing to do with sunburn. I kissed my mom and my boyfriend goodbye, told them I'd see them in about 6 hours, which I thought was funny at the time, but the more I thought about it the more I thought that wasn't very funny after all. Before I had even completed a half mile of the run (and surprisingly, I was actually running, not walking) some jackass spectator in the crowd shouts out "Only 26 miles to go!!!" I don't know how many of you have ever done even a 5k race, or any race for that matter, but the sayings "You look great!!!", "It's all downhill from here!!!", and "Only X miles to go!!!" make you want to throw an elbow into the face of said spectator. I do NOT look great, it is NOT all downhill from here, and the only time "Only X miles to go" makes me feel better is when that X number is actually a fraction of a number.

But I digress. The run was completely flat, except for one hill they called the "Degree of Difficulty Hill", partially because it was a really steep hill, but probably moreso because that part of the run course was sponsored by Degree anti-perspirant. For about 2 hours or so I baked in the Wisconsin sun. I ran, I walked, I chatted with strangers. I was having a blast. But I thought to myself that of all the Ironmen I spoke to before I came to this race, almost every single one had said they had very low lows at some point during the run course. And I was afraid that my time was coming. It wasn't even Mile 13 yet, and I was seeing both men and women, at least 2 per mile, on the side of the road. Puking, crying, looking disoriented. I heard ambulence sirens in the distance and said out loud, "you won't be coming for me, boys." I was afraid of becoming one of those people, and I thought speaking my defiance out loud would buy me a stay of execution.

We ran through a couple of downtown areas. For those of you in Baltimore, think of running through Fells Point, and Federal Hill, at the height of Happy Hour. It was incredible. People drinking outside like at Water Street in the summertime, with the marathon portion of the Ironman running through. We were offered beer. I considered it, but passed. We ran through fraternity and sorority house row on the University of Wisconsin campus. The students had lawn chairs out on the front lawn, drinking and cheering us on, blasting music such as Bruce Springsteen, Bon Jovi (being from NJ I couldn't have been happier about those 2 selections), and other encouraging music. The town of Madison is so supportive and in awe of the Ironman athletes that flood their town that weekend in September. For example, the next morning I went to breakfast at a downtown cafe with my best friends Matt (who ate the Devil bacon) and his wife CJ, and we wore our race finisher shirts. The red t-shirt is unmistakable in that town. When we got up to leave, a couple of tables gave us a hearty round of applause, and congratulated us on finishing Ironman. It was truly an incredible experience. So running through Happy Hours and fraternities and sororities and just the general Madison population, was unbelievable and indescribable, although I am doing my best to try.

The run course is a 13.1 mile out and back course that you have to run twice, to total the 26.2 miles. The 13.1 mile, or halfway mark, is right at the very same spot that the finish line is at. There is a line of orange cones, with a sign that points 2nd loop runners (those who still have their 2nd loop to run) to the left, and finishers to the right. Although, luckily, I never had any "low lows" during the race, my most difficult time was at the half-way point. I came to the sign that was pointing me to the left, because I still had 13.1 miles to go. The scene was unbelievable. There were still thousands of spectators lining the streets. The noise level was incredible. As I ran toward those orange cones, Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" was being blasted by the race DJs. A little tired and with my motor skills not up to par, I swayed a little to the right of the cones, which was the finishers chute. The crowd went nuts because they thought I was a finisher, and they were going to cheer me in all the way to the finish line. But knowing I should be on the left side of the cones, I hopped over the orange cones to be on the 2nd loop runners' side. A collective gasp signified they felt horrible that I still had 13.1 to go. I ran down the 2nd loop runner's cone path, parallel to a man who was running down the finishers chute. Tears welled up in my eyes from the realization I was not at the same point as this man. All the muscle cramps, nutrition planning, hydration, dark roads (it was dark by now), sweat, mild hallucinations, stiff back and neck, and worries about not finishing before the 12:00 midnight cut-off time. I would have to do all of that again. I rounded the corner of the end of the line of cones, made the 180 degree turn that signified the start of my second loop. The crowd was extremely supportive. Every spectator on the edge of the fence wanted to slap me high five as I ran by. I was patted on the back by dozens of people, if not a couple hundred. People smiled at me, cried with me, and cheered for me like I was their own daughter or sister or friend. A professional triathlete, Paul Huddle, one of the funniest men in triathlon, ran up to me, handed me a glow stick and said, "Here sweetheart, you're going to need this on the dark roads." It was now just after 8pm and I certainly would. Although there were parts of the run that were through downtown areas with sidewalk cafes and bars with people spilling out onto the streets to cheer us, there were also parts that were on dark streets lacking adequate lighting, and on trails through the woods that had no lighting except for a generator every half-mile or so. I took my glowstick from Paul and said "Are you Paul Huddle?" And he said "Depends on who's asking," and I said "Someone who thinks Paul Huddle is very funny" to which he replied "I'm definitely Paul then." I said "Sayonara Sucker" (really, I did) and ran off into the night.

I really enjoyed the last 13 miles. I never hit my low low. Now I could just see ahead to the finish, and everything seemed well. I was hurting, but not like I thought Ironman hurt to be. My feet felt okay, my legs were responding well to this distance, my nutrition and hydration were working perfectly. As a side note, there is an aid station every mile on the run course. At each station I would drink one cup of water, one cup of Pepsi (yes, Pepsi tastes awesome during long-course triathlons), one cup of warm chicken broth, I would eat a half of a banana, pretzels, sugar cookies, nutrition bars. Every mile which equated to about every 12 minutes or so. Like I said, I never went hungry or thirsty and that was a very good thing.

I alternated running and walking the last 13 miles. I came across a woman walking very slowly, looking very dejected. I befriended her within minutes and asked her if she was okay. We exchanged names and hometowns. She was okay, but she didn't think she would make it in by midnight and she had pretty much given up. It was about 10pm at this time. Me being the accountant, I did the math for her on my watch, figured out exactly what pace she needed to run to get to the finish before midnight. I even built in a 20 minute cushion for her. I told her she needed to run at this pace (and I demonstrated the pace for her) and told her how often she could take walk breaks (and demonstrated the walk pace for her) and reminded her, before I trotted off, that she could do it, and if she did what I said she'd make it in with 20 minutes to spare. I later looked up her name in the results book, and she crossed the finish line at 11:42pm, with 18 minutes to spare. I wish I had stuck around at the finish line to cheer her in, because I was really proud of her, even though I didn't really know her.

Mile after mile passed, some slower than others. I ticked off 20, 21, 22, 23. Pretty soon I was at 24 and it was almost like I woke up from a long sleep and awoke right into Mile 24. Like I hadn't even needed to work to get there. In my imaginings of what my body would feel like at this point in the race, I was completely wrong. I was running, with a new friend. I remember he was 42, because it was written in permanent black marker on the back of his left calf, just like he'll probably remember that I was 28. It's strange, but I forget his name now. It's strange because at that moment in my life he was my very best friend in the whole world. It was his first Ironman too, and for he and I to be at Mile 24 together, and running, and feeling great, and with less than 2 miles to go, it was an incredible out-of-body experience. We were best friends at that point because although we came from 2 completely different backgrounds, he was a 42 year old man, I was a 28 year old woman. He was from somewhere in the mid-west, and I was from the East coast. We were different, but at that moment for those 2 or 3 miles, we were the very same. Very emotional, overly happy, we thought we were funnier than we actually were. We felt very light on our feet even though later, we would be sitting side by side on line for a midnight massage, when we would take off our shoes together and realize that severe blisters had grown beneath both of our two big toenails. We laughed nervously as we realized that in a couple months, we both probably would not have big toenails. They would fall off from the trauma of it all. We were right. At least mine fell off. I don't know if his did, because I can't even remember his name.

So he and I talked about our impending finishes. My new best friend and I. I bet he didn't eat the Devil bacon on the steepest hill of the bike course. Mile 25. One mile and one-tenth to go. But really just a half mile, because the last 6/10ths of a mile or so would be pure elation. The crowd would have to be held back by fences on both sides. There were bleachers on each side to hold all the spectators, and still, the ground held spectators 3 and 4 and 5 people deep. The yelling, the cheering, the music, the announcer...we could hear it all from a half mile away. I wondered what song would be blasting as I ran down the finishers chute. That seemed really important to me, what song would be playing, but as I ran down I didn't even hear what song was on. The sensory overload of the crowd cheering, people crying tears of joy for you, and you've never met them before. People leaning out over the fence so they can just get one touch on you, as if you were a professional athlete. People jumping up and down. Whatever song it was, which I don't even recall, blasting into the night. All of this at 11:38pm. It was a Sunday night, and people had work the next morning, but they were still out there, cheering every last participant in. I saw down the finishers chute, and looked at my new best friend to the side. He and I were holding each other's hand, but he looked at me and said "Kelly....Ladies First" and motioned his hand for me to run ahead of him. I gave his hand a squeeze, ran ahead, slapped the hands of everyone holding their hands out to touch me. I was only a few yards from the finish line. A finish line I had thought about crossing all of my 12 year racing career, but was too afraid to try for 11 of those 12 years. A finish line I had been working toward since January. Long nights of work followed by a 10 mile run, or a 3 mile swim. Returning to work on Monday although I could barely walk after my 100 mile bike ride on Saturday or my 22 mile run on Sunday. That finish line had been a long time in coming. I had waited for it and imagined it and coveted it for so long, the Ironman finish line and the title of being an Ironman. I was only a few yards away from that very finish line, and all of a sudden I didn't want to cross it. I wanted it to last just a little while longer. A few more cheers and a few more muscle cramps. A few more miles of bike riding, preparing in Timonium, Columbia, Lancaster, or on the Eastern Shore, where my fondest memories of training occurred. A few more miles of running in Columbia, or Sparks, or even on the treadmill in my gym. I didn't want it to end, but it had to. Because I had finally become an Ironman, and crossing that finish line was just a formality. Plus if I had stayed there any longer, I would have been run over by my new best friend, whose name I don't remember 2 months later.

So I crossed the finish line with a mix of emotions. I was so happy it was finally over, but I never wanted it to end. If I could have stretched out any moment in my lifetime, it would be those moments just before crossing the finish line. Because just as they say your life passes before your eyes before you die, your training life passes before your eyes before you cross the finish line. And every single moment included my very best friends. My real very best friends. The ones whose names I remember. CJ, who is so little that a stiff wind can blow her off her tiny little bike, and Matt, who ate the Devil bacon. And although I can't stretch out those moments, I can certainly recreate them. And although before I competed in Ironman I said I only want to do one to say I could do it, I will do another. Probably even next year. Maybe Ironman Florida. Maybe even the Hawaii Ironman. But I am certain to do another. Because I want those conflicting feelings back. I want to meet another best friend like my 42-year old pal, but not be able to remember his name 2 months later. I want to be in so much pain like I was on the bike course, but want it to continue because it is the makings of an Ironman. And I want to be steps in front of the finish line, wanting it to be over and wanting to cross it and feel the finishers' tape across my waist, but holding back, never wanting that tape to touch my body, and never wanting the feeling to end.

If you would like to see televised coverage of Ironman Wisconsin, tune into OLN (the Outdoor Life Network) at 4pm on Sunday, November 14th. There will be a one-hour long coverage of the race.

Apologies for taking so long to send this email out. I hope you are all doing well, and thanks for taking the time to read my long account of my very first Ironman.

Sincerely,

Kelly