Ironman 70.3 Maine race report – I hope

Pre-race

I got to Old Orchard Beach on Thursday evening after a full day of air travel and then a 2 ½ hour drive from Boston. 

I made a point of doing race check-in and the athlete’s briefing on Friday so that I could spend Saturday just relaxing and hydrating. I did a short swim. Water temp was cool but fine and the water was calm, almost like a pond. Afterward, I took my bike for a 30-minute ride but the route I took was flat, so I had no need to get into my easy climbing gears. This would come back to haunt me on race day. 

On Saturday, I made sure to have a good breakfast, go for an easy run with strides and bought breakfast supplies for race morning. Checked in my bike around 11:30 a.m., and then headed to the pool at the hotel to relax, read, snack, hydrate and enjoy a peaceful day. Around 3, I walked up to Subway and bought a foot-long turkey and provolone sandwich and an ice cream sandwich to have for dinner. I made a point to eat simple fare in the days leading up to avoid potential GI issues. Had dinner around 5:30, laid out my gear for race morning, mixed my Infinit bottles and put them in the fridge. Watched “The Martian” on TV, closed the blackout blinds and went to sleep around 8. Considering the usual pre-race jitters, I slept well.

Race morning – I'm a Starman!

The alarm went off at 3:15. Got up, had cereal, banana and yogurt for breakfast, along with coffee. I listened to a podcast while I got dressed and continued to hydrate. Transition was supposed to open 4:30 and it was about a mile walk there, so after I was ready, I laid down on the floor and practiced my savasana – quiet, relaxed breathing and meditation. It quieted my mind, which helped me to push back the pre-race anxiety. 

At 4:15, I put in my earbuds and listened to “The Martian” soundtrack as I walked to transition. It was a lovely, cool morning and just outside the entrance I saw fellow Cupcake Alex Cochran. We chatted a bit and then headed into transition. When I got there, I pumped up my bike tires, set up my transition area (the athlete next to me didn’t show so I had some extra space!), ate a banana, sipped water and Infinit, visited the port-a-potty and just walked around, listening to the music, dancing a bit as I strolled and burned off energy. 

Transition was set to close at 6 a.m. so I got my wetsuit on up to my waist, grabbed my cap, earplugs, goggles and water bottle and headed down to the beach around 5:40. It was a 600-meter walk to the swim exit from transition, so I went that way to scout out the route. Once I got to the beach, I was surprised by how low the low tide was. They had told us it would be low, but this was more than I expected. Last buoy at the exit was sitting on the sand! I enjoyed the long walk down the beach toward the pier and the race start area. The dawn light was gorgeous, and I was feeling quite calm, enjoying the sound of the water and the cool sand under my feet and being present in the moment of peace.

The swim – Just keep swimming!

We had a rolling start – love this! So much better than AG starts. I put myself in the 40-43-minute pacing group and slowly made my way toward the start after the cannon went off at 6:20. Around 6:50 I finally ran down the beach toward the water. 

The tide had come in a bit but had to walk and wade 100 yards to get to a swimming depth. The surf line held for another 100 yards, so it was diving under the waves as they came toward me. We were told that the waves would calm once we got about 300 yards out, and it did, a bit, but it was quite choppy the entire way. I just focused on my form and staying close to the other swimmers to pick up as much draft as I could. However, I got pushed to the left of the buoys and discovered about halfway out to the turn that I had drifted out of the course. I made a fast beeline back to toward the right side of the buoys and just focused on getting buoy to buoy. 

I have to say at the turn, my mind started toward the negative, feeling like I was going much slower than I had hoped and feeling the effort against the waves and chop. At the turn, I expected it to calm down a bit, but it didn’t really, but with the sun to my right, I was easier to sight (I’m a left-side breather by default) so despite my mental dismay that I wasn’t having a “good swim” I just told myself to stay in the mix, focus on getting to the next buoy and keep battling through what was turning into the hardest race swim I’d ever experienced. I had done ocean swims before (Hawaii 70.3, Lavaman, Santa Cruz 70.3), but this one was a challenge, and I drank more than a couple sips of Saco Bay. 

One thing that was encouraging was that I was always surrounded by other swimmers, and never alone, so I kept on the toes of someone in front of me, turned toward the shore and like Dory, just kept swimming! 

About 100 yards out, we got back to shallow water again, I stood and started to unzip my wetsuit. Couldn’t seem to find my strap, so I asked someone next to me to help me (we’re all in this together!), and as she did I looked down at my Garmin as I hit the beach and saw my time – 40:32! I was stunned! I thought I was having a horrible swim but discovered I had a PR swim!!! (Previous best time as 44 minutes and change) I hadn’t hit the timing mat yet, but my heart soared as I ran up the soft sand toward the wetsuit strippers, and after their quick work, headed toward transition. Swim time: 41:49

T1: It was about 600 meters from swim exit to transition. After being relieved of my wetsuit, I relieved myself in another way while running toward transition. Once I got to my bike, I took a few sips of Infinit after the long run from the beach, dried off my feet, put on socks, bike shoes, sunscreen, put Garmin into bike mount, helmet on and headed out toward the mount line. Time: 9:12

The bike – You remember the name of the town, don’t you?  

One of my favorite movies is “The Shawshank Redemption,” and when I saw the bike course took us through Buxton, the place where Ellis “Red” Boyd goes to look for “the rockthat has no Earthly business in a Maine hayfield,” I was sold. It was beautiful, rolling farmland and countryside, on roads that, with a few short exceptions, were in very good condition and lightly traveled by cars. There were a 3-4 short hills with a 10%+ grade, but otherwise, it was a true rolling course with lots of opportunity to pick up some speed while going downhill and on some long, flat sections on the backside of the course. 

My goal was to average 15 mph for the ride and maintain 70% of my FTP, and I was feeling really good about that until 4 miles in when we reached the overpass over I-95 – short, and a bit steep – and I shifting into my easiest climbing gear, and the gear started to slip, and slip, and slip and rattle, rattle, rattle. Tried the next gear up, and slip, slip, slip, rattle, rattle, rattle. Did I wait too long to shift while I was already on the hill, causing it to not engage? No, I hadn’t. And I have Di2 and have never had that issue with slipping with it. I pulled over, got off the bike and tried to see what was wrong. Not seeing anything obvious, I pushed up the bike up the hill, got back on at the top and continued, adding on gears and picking up speed on the descent to carry me over the shorter hills. 

All was well, until the next steep hill. Slip, slip, slip, rattle, rattle, rattle. More pushing. At this point, I really got down low to see what was going on and discovered there were two sizable chips in the side of the cassette in the 3 easiest gears – not good. I pondered looking for bike support but figured that there was little chance that they would have a spare cassette, so just realized that I was going to have to deal with the steeper hills in push mode and stick to the plan.

The other key component of the plan was my hydration and nutrition. I have had problems in the past with GI issues in 70.3s, so getting this right on the bike has been trial and error for a few years. This year, I started using an Infinit custom blend (pink lemonade flavor!) that added in the extra electrolytes a super salty sweater like me needed to stay hydrated, as well as extra calories, which meant I didn’t need to carry a lot of extra food with me. I took 2 Stinger waffles, two bottles of Infinit (concentrated) and a water bottle in my aero bars. The plan was I would refill the water bottle at the aid stations, complete bottle 1 of the Infinit by halfway and bottle 2 by the end of the bike, nibbling on the waffles throughout. And that part of the plan worked like a treat! The weather was perfect and low heat and humidity helped as well, but I managed to take in just the right amount of fluid equal to my output because I didn’t need to stop at any of the aid stations to pee. I can’t manage a rolling refill on my aero bottle but stopped just long enough to refill and continue. Energy was good throughout and I was able to average 70% of FTP throughout the ride. 

Came in a bit slower on pace than I had wanted, but considering I was riding on damaged gears and hope (and hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things), it was a good ride – a PR time for 70.3! Bike time: 4:02:21

T2: Took off bike shoes after dismount and ran into transition to see how my legs felt. Pretty good! Racked my bike, changed my socks, but on my Altra Torins, reapplied sunscreen, put on my Cupcake hat (got lots of compliments on the Cupcake kit throughout the ride and run!) and race belt, felt like I needed to pee, but decided to wait until I got out on the run and headed out, stopping for a sip of water at the exit. Time: 6:52

The run – Get busy living, or get busy dying

The plan was to stay at my easy pace through the first lap of the run, and then start to build the pace over the second lap. My legs and energy were good, and despite there being a bit more of hills on the run than advertised in the course profile, I was doing a pretty good job of following the plan, until mile 6, when the July mistake came back to bite me in the ass.

In mid-July, I went to my running store to purchase a new pair of Altra Escalante. I had started switching between them and my old reliable Brooks Pure Flow in the spring. I had also been using the more padded Altra Torin, but was having better luck with lighter, less padded shoes at avoiding heel and Achilles issues.  However, that day, they were out of my size, and I tried on a pair of Hoka Clifton 5s. They felt like the Torins and offered a bit more cushioning, which I thought would help on longer runs, such as a half marathon. I did a few shorter runs in them and thought I would give them a bigger test in Whistler while I was volunteering and cheering during IM Canada. That decision would prove to be a huge mistake. By the end of the day at IM Canada, my Achilles tendons in both legs were screaming and my heels were equally inflamed. It took several weeks of rolling, icing, stretching and yoga to alleviate that, but it never really went away completely. 

I switched back to my regular shoes (the Hokas have since been donated), but since I had good luck with the more padded Torins, I brought those with me to Maine.

At mile 6, the Achilles started to scream, and loudly, particularly when I ran. The pain pulled back a bit when I did a fast walk, but it was still not good. As I walked up the hill the second time, with far fewer people around me, my brain started to go to the old tried-and-true negative. My previous two 70.3s were DNFs (I finished in Arizona but missed the cutoff for an official time and I stopped at Santa Cruz after a horrible bike ride), ending both races saying I would never do this again. But today, I was having a good day, and now it was going to crap! 

That’s when my old pal Red Boyd from “Shawshank” started talking to me – get busy living or get busy dying. 

I knew that I had a good cushion and could make the cutoff but that I had to dig deep and keep moving. So, I switched between a quick easy-pace shuffle and a fast walk, chatting with and encouraging other runners around me along the way. I gave away bands to the kids who were volunteering at the aid stations, sipped Coke and water, nibbled on pretzels, stayed present and positive and kept moving (and never needed to pee). In all honesty, I don’t know that if I had worn the Escalantes or Pure Flows it would have made a difference. The damage had been done in July. But that second lap went by quickly. It’s amazing how much better an experience can be when you chose to make it a good one. And at no time did I ever say, “I’m never doing this again.” Instead, I was thinking about how I can start rehabbing my Achilles and heels to get ready for next year.

Before I knew it, I was making the turn toward the finish. I tried to run a bit more over that last half mile, and my left Achilles was really killing me, but I kept my easy shuffle, high fived kids and waved my arms to encourage more cheers from the folks at an outside bar who were screaming “Go, Cupcake, go” and before I knew it, I was across the finish – with an overall PR! Run time: 3:16:13

Finish time: 8:16:27

And in the end …

• I had agreed with my coach that I needed to do a sub-8 hour 70.3 before we talked about a full Ironman, so I still must meet that goal. And after this race, I know I can do that. Need to get my feet/legs health, continue to lean out weight-wise, and perhaps do a few more running events this winter to work on running at a quicker, steady pace over longer distance.
• While it would be cheaper to just replace my rear cassette on my almost 10-year-old Scott TT bike, but instead, I think it’s time to purchase a new Cupcake Cartel Quintana Roo bike. 
• Thank you, thank you, thank you to Infinit! I worked great for me during training and in the race. 
• Consistency in my training and nutrition and a refreshed attitude this season (which I attribute greatly to becoming part of the amazing Cupcake Cartel community) made the 2018 race season a blast. The past couple of years of hard work with my coach are bearing fruit now and I am super stoked for next year. Now, which 70.3 will I do next year? 

Denise's Ironman 70.3 Kansas race report

After Texas proved to be a wash, and in consultation with Cody, I opted to do my 70.3 race this year in Kansas. The rolling hills bike course and flat run course seemed to be good fit for me. The early June race date also worked well with my schedule. Since it was a last-minute decision to try Kansas, I would be traveling alone.

Pre-race
I flew to Kansas City on Friday afternoon, arriving around 3:30. I borrowed a friend’s bike box (thanks, LeAnn!), which was big enough to carry my helmet, shoes, wetsuit and bike pump, so I could pack very lightly – something pretty important when trying to get a bike case onto rental car buses and through airports! After reaching K.C. and picking up my rental car, I headed straight for Clinton Lake to pick up my race packet. It was about an hour drive from the airport to the race location, which is on the western edge of Lawrence, arriving close to 6 p.m. I picked up my packet, looked around a bit then headed to my hotel, which was 40 minutes east, in Shawnee (all the hotels in Lawrence were booked when I signed up for the race). I got to the hotel, dropped off my stuff, had dinner, hit the grocery store to pick up water, breakfast stuff and the like, and then put my bike together – successfully! -- before turning in around 11:30 p.m.

I slept in until 8 or so on Saturday, knowing I would be getting up at 3 the next morning. It was raining, so I had breakfast and started sorting my race gear together. Around 11 a.m., I headed back to Clinton Lake, with my bike, so I could have the techs make sure I had tightened my handle bars sufficiently, to attend the race meeting and to drive the bike course. I got there a little before noon, and had to wait 2 hours for bike support to check my bike. So I went for a short run, had lunch, attended the meeting. After I got my bike back, I went for a short ride to make sure all was good (it was), then dropped it off at T1 down by the lake, and then headed out to drive the course. The hills weren’t long, but there were plenty of them, and they rolled, allowing you to get a good start up them if you let the momentum carry you on the downhills. Downhills are not my strength, but I made a mental note that on Sunday, I was going to have to take my hands off the brakes and let go. What I also noticed was how green and pretty the landscape was, with lots of farms all along the course. I headed back to Shawnee, had pizza for dinner, drank my Pre-Load and tried to get to sleep by 8. I had a hard time falling asleep, mostly because of the nagging cough I’ve been fighting off for the past week. Once I did, I had a horrible dream about being hit by a car on the bike course. I usually sleep pretty well before a race. Not this time!

Race morning
I woke up at 3:15 a.m., drank my second bottle of Pre-Load, ate some yogurt with blueberries and granola, and packed a banana, 2 mini-bagels with peanut butter to eat on the ride out to Clinton Lake. Once I was dressed and had my two transition bags together, I hit the road at 4. Transition was set to open at 5, but Cody had warned me to get there early because there’s only one road into the park and it gets backed up quickly. It was wise advice. Even getting to the park at 4:50, it took until 5:15 to get parked. By dropping off my bike and getting body marked on Saturday, I saved myself a ton of time, which was important since it was almost a mile walk to T2. I left my running gear and chilly bin with the 3^rd bottle of Pre-Load off at T2, and got down the hill to T1 (another half mile walk) by 5:45, leaving me 30 minutes to pump my tires, get my gear set up and eat the banana before they closed transition. The water temperature was 75.8 degrees, making it still a wetsuit-legal race, but more than warm enough to swim without the suit. I gave it a good think and opted to wear the suit, thinking the extra buoyance would be helpful, however, I hate swimming a wetsuit. I feel think I’m being smothered in them and I don’t get the same range of motion as I do without one. My swim wave was supposed to go at 6:42, but they delayed the start because of the traffic problem. I considered putting my wetsuit back into transition during the delay, but kept it on and waited until the start.

While it was rainy and blustery on Saturday, Sunday morning was overcast, around 60 degrees with zero wind. In short – perfect conditions. The lake was tranquil before the start as well.

Swim
As soon as I got in the water (they didn’t allow a pre-race swim), I regret the wetsuit. The water was plenty warm. I positioned myself to the right about mid-pack. When the horn sounded, I started off crisply, with minimal bumping and slapping. The buoys were positioned approximately every 100 yards are so, and in the absence of anything concrete to sight to, I followed the buoys. The water was murky and brown, so you couldn’t even see your own hand in front of you, much less legs and feet. I swam up on a couple of people, mostly because I couldn’t see them. I settled into a rhythm and just went buoy-to-buoy, but I never felt right. I felt sluggish and out of sync most of the way. I used a light two-beat kick and kept telling myself to keep my chin tucked and my abs in so I could keep my legs up. The second half of the swim felt like being in a washing machine as swimmers from the 2 waves behind caught up. Good thing I don’t get freaked out by thrash and churn, cause it was nasty.

The swim looked short from the beach, and it turned out to be that – 1.02 miles. It seemed to go by fairly quickly, but I credit that more to my swim fitness than my speed. I knew I was slow and off pace even before I saw my time upon exiting the water – 46 minutes. A ridiculous slow time for me. I’d done the same distance in Kona in March in 34 minutes, without a wetsuit. Grrr.

T1
Wetsuit strippers!! First time I’ve been at a race that I’ve had the use of them, and they are awesome as anyone who's tried to get out of one of those quickly will tell you. My usual T1 time for a 70.3 has been 10-12 minutes. I got out of T1 in 6 minutes. Still not great, but a big improvement.

Bike
The bike starts at the bottom of a hill (one that I would revisit again twice during the run). It’s a gentle slope at the bottom, but near the top it’s about 10 percent – the first of several such hills of the day. From there it’s fairly flat for mile, then you hit the first of two sets of rollers. So within the first mile, I had my first downhill test. It wasn’t long, but roughly 8-10 percent. At the bottom was a brief flat before heading up again, on a hill roughly the same distance and pitch. If I wanted to “spin” up it, I would have to let the momentum of the down carry up at least a third of it. So I told myself, no matter what, hands off the brakes going down the hill. And down I went, sitting back on my saddle, feet at 9 and 3, listening to the wind of my own speed whistling through my helmet. And then I was at the bottom, and I felt great. I did it! I knew that I wouldn’t encounter another hill steeper than that the rest of the ride, so it really boosted my confidence. However, as I rose halfway up the hill, I start to try to spin. My goal was to stay between 78-82% of FTP for the ride, but on my first hill, I was already well beyond FTP, closing in on 200 watts, in my lowest gear. It was going to be a long ride.

After clearing the next set of rollers, I exited the park and headed down a hill toward the road that goes over the reservoir. It was flat and without wind, fast. I was averaging 17 mph, which for me is pretty fast. It was also my first shot at getting into the aerobars. That too felt pretty comfortable, which also boosted my confidence. After that, it was a short uphill, then a long, sweeping downhill before a sharp right turn. I made it halfway down the hill before I started to feather my brakes, slowing down for the turn. After that, it was a lovely stretch of flat and rolling hills for the next 20 miles. It was fantastic. I stopped briefly at the first water station at mile 14 to refill my front-loaded water bottle, but then kept going. It was highly congested, with all the faster, younger cyclist catching up. Faster cyclists kept flying past me, but I stuck to the plan. The only time I wasn’t at 78-82 was when I was going downhill or uphill. The second half of the ride was similar, with a couple of good climbs that started from flat, with no momentum. Still no spinning, but I got up all of them, having to stand just a couple of times to keep moving. The last big hill was just before the reservoir road, and it’s a dilly going up, but I passed people on the way up, which made me happy. But my legs were feeling it by then. The climbs had taken a toll and I knew that I might pay for it on the run. I also knew the bathroom stop at the 3^rd water station meant that I wasn’t going to come in under 4 hours. Disappointing.

A lesson from this ride -- I need to add on the gears and actually increase my speed going downhill, not just coast, in order to get even more momentum going up the hills, so that I can spin to the top. The other lesson? I seriously need to work on my power-to-weight ratio. It sucks right now, and if I’m ever going to do a half IM ride between 3-3 ½ hours, I need to improve this (more power work, and lots of weight loss). Ride time: 4:10.

T2
I changed my socks when I took off my bike shoes (my feet were still damp). The new socks and running shoes had foot powder, which I knew would keep me from blistering. I got my water bottle out of my chilly bin, started drinking the Pre-Load and headed out on the run. T2 -- @5 mins.

Run
I expected my legs to feel heavy at the start of the run, but that they would loosen up once I got going, around mile 2. With that in mind, I was OK with going at a 12 minute mile pace at the start. Out of transition there was a slight incline, and then it flattened out just past mile 1. My legs picked up a bit, but they never really fired the whole way. I was a bit hungry, but I had eaten all most my food on my bike ride and was more than properly hydrated (the bathroom break on the bike and one at mile 4 of the run proved that). It wasn’t a question of injury or issue. The only thing that bothered me was a dull pain on the outside of my right foot that started about 6 miles in, but it didn’t affect my ability to run. The only thing that kept me from really moving was the fact that I was just plain tired. That being said, I refused to walk any more than necessary. So I made myself do 4 and 1s (run/jog 4 minutes and walk 1). The only exception was going up the big hill (the same hill we rode our bikes up out of T1), which I had to do twice on this 2 loop course. 

About midway through the run, the sun came out and it started to get a bit warm, but that wasn’t really an issue either. And despite moving far slower than I’d hoped for, it really did seem to go by pretty quickly. All the encouragement I got from all the people set up in lawn chairs along the trail that wound through the campground we ran through helped a lot. Everyone cheered, and because you got to see them twice, they remembered you and were very encouraging. My favorite sign along the course said “You’re all nucking futs.” As were the other runners. Those who are in the back end of the race are all feeling the accumulation of a long day, and share the special kind of suffering of the slow. We encourage each other and keep smiling. In fact, one of the volunteers said to me as I went by at mile 11 “it’s great to see you smiling.” My response? “I’d be crazy to be out here doing this if I wasn’t having fun.” And while I can’t say it was exactly fun all the way, I was determined to smile and take it all in. That made it so much better. Run time: 3:03.   

Overall time: 8:19.

Post-race
While I had that nagging pain in my right foot, and some light blisters on my feet, the only “pain” I felt was from a welt I got on the inside of my left thigh where the race number sticker on my bike was rubbing against my leg. During my bathroom break on the bike I pulled my short leg down further to cover it to keep it from rubbing anymore, but it’s pretty nasty. Good thing I brought the anti-bacterial ointment with me. Otherwise, I was completely spent. I collected my free Boulevard Pale Ale, sat in the shade, drank my beer and snacked on some salty chips and a bagel with peanut butter (all the other food was gone). I collected my gear and made the long walk back to the car (flip flops on – yeah!), loaded up and made the long drive back to Shawnee. After a long, cool bath (and ouch from the welt on my leg), I went for dinner and another beer. It was already 6 p.m. by then. I couldn’t even finish the beer. I was completely wiped out. I walked back to the hotel and was in bed and asleep by 8. Apart from having to get up to pee once around midnight, I didn’t wake up again until 7:30 a.m.

Conclusions
Two fewer bathroom breaks, a faster T2 and not stopping at the water stations to refill my bottle (and being at 100 percent health) and I come in under 8 hours, which was my real goal. That being said, I still cut 13 minutes off my previous best half Ironman time, which is HUGE! This is a GREAT race. Well organized, great swag, amazing roads to ride on, super volunteers and tons of fan support. Turns out the bike course – with almost 1,200 feet of elevation change, it’s that much less hilly than Vineman (which was 1,800 feet of elevation change). What saved me was a largely flat run, much better overall conditioning, no injuries and a great attitude. I always tell myself during each half that this is my last, and I said it again on Sunday. But only until I can increase my power to weight ratio. I don’t want to spend 8 hours on the course, and the only way that’s going to happen is if my bike gets an hour to 30 minutes faster, and if I come off that bike with fresh legs. My running has already gotten much, much faster and will only get faster as I drop more weight. The swim was freakishly slow. I’ll focus on Olympics for the time being, and get back to work. But that’s the fun part.

Easier said than done

Last night, I saw a post on my Facebook feed from a friend and valued triathlon partner that really struck a chord with me. He had just completed a ride at the Ironman Canada training camp in Whistler, B.C., and realized that his Ironman dream was already over.

Not because he didn't have the stamina to complete the 140.6-mile odyssey (he can). But rather because the bike course is on roads that feature sharp drop-offs and severe cliffs, which induce panic attacks in him. Boy, did that hit me right where I live.

I've had a fear of heights for as long as I can remember. As a child, coming down my aunt and uncle's staircase (which had open slots between the stairs) terrified me. I had to go down on my rump. Eventually I was able to walk down, but never confidently. Overtime, that particular fear has lessened (I managed to go up on a chairlift to ski -- never happily, but I did it, and got talked into parasailing, which turned out to be fun the second time around), but it has also evolved. Wide open drop-offs, particularly around curves, open stair cases, elevated walkways with open sides, all give me a severe sense of vertigo and panic. In fact, there is a stretch of Highway 2, coming down westbound from Stevens Pass, that I avoid like the plague simply because if gives me the willies. I'm talking in my car, not on my bike.

When I look to sign up for races, elevation profiles are among the first things I study, and avoid mountainous venues. The races are difficult and stressful enough without adding in a ready-made hurdle that turns what's supposed to be fun into pure terror.

Yes, forcing yourself to do something that scares you is a way to get over the fear. But it is not fun. And it takes a long time (see my first post for a taste of my descending fear) to become more comfortable in the situation (you never completely "get over" them). And having people tell you that everything will be fine and that it's something you just have to work at to get over does not help. Phobias are irrational. If conscious thought could fix them, then somebody would have come up with a master fix by now. I have zero fear of swimming or being in the open water with hundreds of people around me, bumping and slapping me. But I can appreciate the absolute horror that fills those who are afraid in the water.

It takes bravery to admit your fears, much less share them for all your friends and family to see. So I wanted to send this shout-out to Grant, and tell him that you have plenty of fellow travelers. There are more races to conquer, and we'll be there right with you.

ChelanMan: The inside story

What do you do after completing a 1600-plus mile car trip and a 70.3 mile triathlon? You get on the road and race again, of course!

Just three days after returning from Vineman-a-palooza, I hit the road to Chelan for the ChelanMan multisport weekend -- 200 more miles. But when you are an endurance sport athlete, traveling is part of the package. And so is getting a chance to spend some time with your friends.

(From left) Ron Montague, Susie Nieto, myself, Christine Bayless and Mike Bayless, before going forth into battle.

This past weekend -- July 20-21 -- was a big weekend for triathlon in the Northwest. There were three major events going on: ChelanMan at Lake Chelan, Ironman 70.3 Lake Stevens and SeaFair triathlon in Seattle. Which means it was a big weekend for the Pro Sport Club triathlon team. At ChelanMan, we had 20 athletes competing, with several making their triathlon debut.

My initial plan was to be on cheer committee -- watch, support, cheer, eat pie -- in the warmth of central Washington. However, when a teammate made the call for partners to form a relay team, I figured a mile-long swim wouldn't break me, and more importantly, would give me the opportunity to have some fun. And so Team Thundercats Roar was formed. We weren't about going hard and trying to place -- but rather to give each person a chance to do one leg and simply participate. Yes, triathlon is competition, and placing in your age group is important. But for many, at any given event, it's really just about being part of the day and testing yourself simply against yourself.

So, our lineup was me on the swim, Margie Metzger on the bike and Laura Zeman on the run. No one was focusing on times, just having fun. For me, less than a week out from my half Ironman, it was really still about recovery, so the plan was to just settle into a pace and enjoy the swim.

Laura, left, and Margie, right, striking a fetching pose while someone else mugs it up for the camera. Thundercats Roar!

With temperatures hovering around 100F, Lake Chelan felt wonderful. Glacier-fed, it can be very, very chilly, but this weekend, it was close to 70F. And wonderfully clear. Oh the joy of clean, clear water! After meeting Margie at our transition spot, I squeezed into my wetsuit and waded in to warm up and see if my two-year-old goggles that I mistakenly brought with me were still operation.

It felt wonderful -- the cool water, the gentle motion of moving through water, the power of my stroke as I worked on my catch, the (BAM!) star-inducing pain of swimming head first right into another swimmer's head. Ouch. Big ouch. After shaking my head a few times life the coyote after another mishap with the Road Runner, I waded out and collected my bearings while waiting for my wave start.

After watching my half Ironman friends (Tracey, Mike, Ron, Squido, Scott) begin their race, I positioned myself in the water and awaited the Olympic swim start. At the gun, I started out about mid-pack and felt the draft of the other swimmers pull me out toward the first buoy. I've never felt anything like it before. It really felt effortless -- and showed in my pace for that first 200 yards -- 1:28, a time I have NEVER even kind of approached before in a swim. It was magical. Then the mega-drafting effect faded and it was all about me.

The good news -- I was surrounded by swimmers the whole way (a sign that I am improving in my swimming). The bad news? I was surrounded by swimmers the whole way -- arms slapping onto my head, back, feet, as I dodged kicking legs. It's the challenge of open water swimming -- the contact. It's always important to remember that, by and large, the contact is incidental, not intentional. No need to get upset, just maneuver around the legs and keep to your plan.

At Chelan, that plan was made easier by a rope line under the water that the buoy markers were attached to above the water. In short, it was like following the blue line in the center of a swimming pool lane. No need to pop up to sight. Head down and swim. It was fantastic! All I had to think about was my catch, my pull and not kicking as I counted each 200-yard buzz on my Garmin, telling me how far I had gone. When I heard the eighth (1600 yards), I popped my head up to sight, seeing the big red buoy marking the end of the swim. As I run out of the water and crossed the timing mat, I hit the stop button on my Garmin and ran to give the timing chip to Margie so she could begin her ride. I didn't look at my time. Until after Margie left.

34.12. I couldn't believe it. A full minute faster than Victoria and a PR. I wasn't trying to go fast. I was just trying to relax and enjoy the swim. It made me very happy.

From then on, it was enjoying the accomplishments of everyone else and supporting them.

• Margie, who was nervous about the course, had a great bike ride. And had fun.
• Laura, who is recovering from injuries after a bike crash, was all smiles as she came across the finish after her run, happy to be there amongst friends.
• Guy, who was also recovering from Vineman, crushed his 10K run for his relay team (in which Susie had a great swim and Mike Bayless blazed on the bike), recording a time (50 minutes) that would have put him atop the podium for his age group if he had just run the 10K race.
• Rossen, who completed his very first triathlon, at the Olympic distance no less, with an amazing time.
• Megan, my Vineman traveling companion, winning her age group in the half marathon.
• Mike Marlowe, winning his age group in the half Ironman, without cramping, despite the heat.
• Chris, following her race plan and winning her age group in the Olympic.
• Erica and Janice, all smiles as they brought it home in the Olympic.
• Ron, having the courage to stop after the bike in the half when his stomach told him it had had enough (and believe me, in that race environment, it takes courage and wisdom to stop).
• Tracey, all but Prancercising her way to the finish in the half.
• Squido, still smiling and still moving as he walked up the final hill toward the finish in the half. 
• Scott, who became a half Ironman, with a big smile on his face.

Squido -- still smiling on the last hill.

There were many more who competed on Sunday in the sprint (I wasn't able to stay to see them finish, but saw many on the road as I was driving out of town). All on their own journeys, facing the nagging doubts, but pushing through. 

Many of my non-triathlon friends seem perplexed by why I put so much time and energy into something that on paper seems incredibly painful, difficult and, occasionally, frustrating.

Because it's incredibly painful, difficult and, occasionally, frustrating. And because of the incredible company I keep.

Chris Bayless atop the podium. Look at that smile!

Vineman 70.3:The good, the bad and the ugly

Humbling.

For me, Ironman 70.3 Vineman was humbling. Crossing the finish line second to last, 15 seconds before the cutoff time - that's humbling. Seeing your race plan fall apart 8 miles into the run when your back and glutes seize up on you. Humbling. Feeling like another full year of strong workouts and consistent training got me no better than a year ago. Frustration, self-doubt, questioning whether I really am cut out to be a long course athlete, or an athlete at all, cycling through my mind as I hobbled toward the finish.

Yes, all of that happened. And if I had written this last night, after the race, that's where it would have stopped. But there was plenty that went well.

I cut 17 minutes from my bike time of a year ago - and that was with two bathroom breaks and a stop at mile 25 when a woman got too close to me going up a hill and clipped my back wheel (she went down, I did not, but I did stop to go back and help her and make sure she was all right).

I cut 5 minutes out of my transition times.

The GI issues that plagued me last season were nonexistent thanks to a good hydration and nutrition plan (Osmo Pre-load Hydration - you can guess what 3000 mg of sodium tastes like, but it works) and no alcohol a minimum of 2 days before a race.

And despite a hot, painful 3:38 run time - I still cut 2 minutes off my overall finish time.

And that would not have happened without the support of Megan Reinhart, who found me a half mile from the finish, in tears, in pain, thinking I'd already missed the cutoff, and encouraged me to run a bit, staying with me, and an unknown woman, who was supporting a competitor just behind me, who got my name from Megan and kept saying "come on, Denise, you've got this. You can do it." As I turned into the finishing chute, I could hear the announcer calling out that there was 45 seconds to the cutoff - 45 seconds to go 100 yards. And with everything I had in me, I ran for that finish line - past my cheering parents and uncle, past my cheering coach and friend Cody Novak and partner in crime Guy Haycock, hitting the ribbon with seconds to spare before collapsing into a sobbing mess on my mother's shoulder (The woman behind me finished in time as well).

Striking a pose with Cody at the finish. 

Humbling, painful, but satisfying, because I didn't give up at mile 8 when each step confirmed that my plan was shattered or with 100 yards to go.

The saying goes that it's about the journey and not the destination. Well, the journey was a challenge, but it was made better by the encouragement and kindness of strangers - whoever you were, woman with the IM Coeur d'Alene shirt in that last half-mile, you were an angel, and from the support of my family and friends who came out to the course (Aunt Kathy, Sandee, Dad, Mom, Uncle Mike, Megan), my coach Cody and teammate Guy - who never give up on me, even when I give up on myself - and all my tri teammates, family and friends, who encouraged and cheered me all day from afar. It's hard sometimes not to feel like I have let everyone down, but in my heart I know that the only person who feels that way is me.

So, after a good week or two of recovery and massage, there are still a few Olympics ahead for me this season. As for Vineman 2014, that's going to require some time and discussion after debriefing with Cody. The journey continues.

Making our way to Vineman - Day 1

Guy and me, making cute for the camera, at Crater Lake. 

Eleven hours on the road - thus begins the first leg of the journey to Vineman. Hundreds of miles of strip malls, pastures, hills and plains along I-5 before we made the turn southeast at Roseburg, Ore., to meet Highway 138 and the road to Crater Lake.

There is nothing quite like driving on a near-deserted country road on a summer's day. Lush green forest providing some lovely shade, breaking periodically to offer views of the white water on the Umpqua River. And then finally, we reach the lake - created by the massive explosion of Mt. Mazama, now filled with centuries of rain water and snow melt, a cerulean gem at 6,000 feet.

Megan and Cody strike a fetching pose.

After a lovely visit around the east rim, stopping to feed the wildlife (bad Guy!) and enjoy the view, we made our way to Klamath Falls to fuel up, spend the night and prepare for our next, shorter leg into the Golden State.

The season of facing my fears

It's less than a week until Vineman 70.3, and unlike the previous two outings in Sonoma County, I feel completely ready.

Before the season began, during my early training in the late winter, I told myself that this year I didn't just want to finish races -- I wanted to race them. To push myself. In order to do that for Vineman, I had to be very consistent in my training and do a lot more challenging, outdoor bike rides.

Well, being "laid off in a company reorganization" gave me the time I needed to be consistent in my training. And let me tell you, low cortisol levels and ample sleep have done wonders for my training. It's amazing how much more energy you have and how much easier it is to keep your heart rate down when you aren't trying to squeeze in 10-plus hours of training into a cramped work week.

The other part -- more challenging rides -- took a bit more effort. Physically, they were difficult. But the bigger challenge for me was mental because those rides forced to really face my fear of descending. I avoided big, hilly rides because of the descents, and as a result, I wasn't becoming more confident at them. And I was setting myself up for yet another 4-hour bike ride at Vineman, simply because I wouldn't be able to take advantage of the descents on the rolling course and let the momentum carry me up the hills, thus increasing my speed overall.

So, I started signing up for rides. First up, Chilly Hill in February. It was chilly (but dry), and very hilly, with a few very steep descents. Since my road bike was being serviced, I did the ride on my mountain bike -- not a great choice on such a hilly course, but the weight of the bike helped me take the downhills much faster.

Next, when doing a group ride with my friends in Hood River, Ore., instead of wimping out and doing a shorter, easier ride, I went with much faster, more accomplished riders on a course that required lots of climbing and one very scary descent. But by the end of that ride, in the final 6 miles of descent, I was able to let go, just a bit, and let fly. It felt wonderful, and more importantly, I felt my confidence start to grow.

A couple of weeks later, it was the Peninsula Metric Century, which featured lots of climbs and plenty of downhills, which also were becoming easier to do.

This last weekend, I finally did the ride I have successfully avoided for years -- the 7 Hills of Kirkland. The morning of the ride, I was already at work trying to come up with an excuse to skip it and do something else more comfortable, more familiar instead. But, as part of my regular routine, I checked my horoscope that morning. It told me that I had nothing to be afraid of, that I had the skill and the confident to face any challenge in front of me. I know it sounds silly, but it was the embarrassing kick in the butt I needed to just go do it.

And guess what -- it was fun. Full disclosure, I only did 4 of the Hills, but it was enough to show me that I had nothing to fear -- I could handle all the climbs and all the descents.

So now, here I sit, with six days to go until Vineman, and for the first time, I know that I have the skill and the confident to face any challenge in front of me. And I know it will be fun.