Muncie 70.3

Anxious but confident. That’s what I told people who asked how I was feeling about my first Half Ironman at Muncie yesterday. I knew I had put in the training to pull it off, but having never put all of those distances together in one day had me a little overwhelmed.

I got into Muncie at about 1:30 Friday afternoon after driving in the rain from Louisville. After a quick check into the hotel, I asked my phone navigator to take me to the Prairie Creek Reservoir so that I could register for the race and check in my bike. Note to the City of Muncie: Please update your Google maps so that your system doesn’t take people to some back country road and inform the driver that they have “Arrived at your destination,” only to be met with a view full of woods. Not cool.

After getting all checked in I drove back to the hotel to get a little relaxation time in before meeting some of my Landshark friends for dinner at 6:00. While going through my things I realized that I was missing my packet – which contained both my swim cap and Bib. Panic sets in. I quickly discover, however, that I must have left it at bike check-in where some volunteers had helped me place my stickers on my bike. Luckily, Reggie G. was manning the Rudy Project tent at the expo and I was able to have him get it for me who, in turn gave it to Sonja who, in turn brought it to me at dinner that evening. Disaster avoided.

After swapping some stories and getting my grub on during dinner that evening, I made my way back to the hotel to try and get some sleep before the early morning. I was in bed with the lights out by 9:15, and considering how big of a deal this race was for me I actually got some pretty decent sleep with the exception of waking up a time or two – the last of which came at 3:15 a.m. Since the alarm was set for 4:15 and I was already so nervous about the race, I just lay in bed until it was time to get up.

A quick change into my tri suit, a grab of my gear and the morning’s oatmeal and I was headed out the door at 4:50 a.m. As I pulled up close to the Reservoir I could see a long line of headlights coming from all directions. I guess a lot of us had the same idea to get to the start early to set up and prepare for the race. Good thing too, as they were already directing traffic to park in an area about 1/2 mile from the transition area by the time I arrived.

I met up with Allison B. on the walk over and we talked about how nervous we were, her anxiety dreams, whether or not we were wearing a wetsuit, and a slew of other topics. Before long we found ourselves in transition setting up our area. I was #1271. After setting everything up I looked down to see what time it was: 6:00 a.m. I still had an hour and thirty-two minutes before my swim wave would be going off. A LOOOONG hour and thirty-two minutes. Plenty of time to get anxious – or, at least, more anxious than what I already was. I killed time by taking another potty break, walking around a bit, then meeting up with some folks near the swim start to shoot the breeze. At some point we were told that the start had been delayed by 15 minutes due to traffic. “Great,” I thought, “even more time to get the nerves going.” I was already waiting around in my wetsuit and my legs were going a mile-a-minute as I sat near the picnic tables.

Before long me and a few other “pink capped,” ladies decided to make our way down to the swim start as our wave would be going off in about 15 minutes. You would have thought I was making my way to the torture chamber by my reaction. This is when the panic really set in and I began to tear up. I prayed no one would ask me if I was okay, hence releasing the water works that would soon follow. Nonetheless, they called my wave down to the shoreline and I stood thigh-deep in water preparing to go off. Despite having the open-water swim at Freeman Lake a few months ago (1.3 miles), I still had reservations about whether or not I could do this.

As the gun went off and I made my way into the warmer-than-expected water, it took me longer than usual to get into a good groove. I was definitely one of the back of the pack swimmers, something I planned on since I’m not strong or fast in this area, yet I still seemed to be getting passed by pink swim caps for quite a ways. At one point I got a little panicked and I thought for a second, “I can’t do this. I’m going to have to bail out.” Luckily that second passed and I told myself that there was no way I was going to DNF within the first 300 meters of the swim. So, I swam on and before too long I was being passed by all sorts of colored swim caps, indicating that the next wave had gone off. Along with the next, and the next. This meant more and more swimmers knocking into me, darn-near running over me, and coming really close to kicking me in various areas of my body. I tried to stay as far away from others as I could without veering off course, all the while being aware of the location of the buoys. Luckily these other swimmers seemed to come in waves, and I would only have to cope with them for a bit before getting some calm waters to myself. This allowed me to get into a bit of a groove, and I decided to breathe to my left every second stroke rather than third – something that I found helped keep the panic down.

The water was a little choppy due to so many swimmers, and I was super aware of this as I turned my head to breathe in – not wanting a repeat of my choking experience from Freeman Lake. Somehow I managed to get past the first turn, and then the second before heading back to shore. Unfortunately the sun was shining from this direction so it was hard to navigate. Mostly I just paid attention to the swim caps I saw ahead of me. At one point I recall wondering how long I had been in the water and had to resist the urge to check my watch. “What difference does it make?” I argued with myself. It’s not like anything I was going to do at this point was going to change it. I was in the home stretch, in a groove, and making my way to shore. I must say, however, that it was a little disconcerting to see another pink swim cap next to me doing a simpler version of the breast stroke (head out of water, swim goggles on forehead) going along faster than me. "You’re not racing anyone except yourself, Connie."

Soon I was out of the water and checking the Garmin: 53 minutes. I was being extra-cautious when I set my goal as sub one-hour, so 53 minutes was awesome in my book. I sat on the ground to get my wetsuit stripped off, walked quickly to transition, donned my bike gear and out the gate I went. I was still feeling confident at this point, and was even more so when I hopped on the bike and made my way down the road. I had even gotten a, “Go Connie,” from Reggie on the sidelines before I took off.

A 56 mile bike ride tends to be a bit of a blur since there’s really nothing to do but ride, be aware of other cyclists, and think. Another triathlete posted that riding that long without talking to someone takes some getting used to. I would have to agree. I made my way to the turnaround point and remember thinking, “Flat? This isn’t exactly a flat ride. Flat compared to Louisville, yes. Rolling hills, no. But not flat.” I had to remember to reel in my negativity and just enjoy the day. As I made my way past that first turn-around point I quickly realized that those small inclines on the way out made for a much faster bike on the way back in, and was happy to see my speed had gone up significantly. Okay, I can handle this. I had already seen many Landsharks along the course, and had been given numerous accolades and encouragements throughout.

Rounding that second turn-around in preparation for the second loop I noticed I was on time to do a sub 3:30 bike segment – just what I planned for! Once again, I made my way back out with a little bit more to think about this time: chaffing. Oh yes, my old friend was back. Only this time I was able to quickly determine that the culprit had to be my tri shorts as this wasn’t a problem with my bib shorts on my prior rides these past few weeks. Luckily on one of my last rides Jennifer S. had given me some sample packets of anti-chaffing lotion to put in my bag, so I was able to ripe one open and commence to “spreading the love,” so to speak at the last turn-around point.

I made my way back towards the finish, breaking the mileage up little by little this time. Just past the last turn-around is the 40-mile marker. At the pace I was going, this meant I would be off the bike in about an hour or so. My back and shoulders had started to ache a little, and my nether regions were starting to get a bit sore, so that last hour couldn’t come quickly enough. As I stated prior though, this portion had a little bit of a descent to it, which made things a little easier – both mentally and physically.

Coming up on the 50-mile marker I started counting it down. You know that feeling you get when you just want something to BE DONE ALREADY?! Yeah, that’s where I was. Now, don’t get me wrong – I was having a good time and my pace was excellent, but 3+ hours on a bike can really get to a girl after a while and I welcomed the next leg of the race with open arms. And when I say open arms, I mean I literally had to have my arms open when I hopped off the bike because somewhere along the way more chafing had occurred. This time on the underside of my arms and, I gotta tell ya, it was putting a hurt on this ol’ body.

As I wheeled the bike into transition (3:24) I quickly found my Body Glide and started smearing away at my poor triceps. Unfortunately, the damage had been done so this effort was the equivalent of putting some Neosporin on an amputated limb. Nonetheless, I switched into my running gear and took off with the Body Glide tucked neatly into my fizz tank’s back pocket in case I needed to reapply somewhere down the road. For the first mile I was walking like a body builder who had done too many reps at the gym – you know, those beefcake guys whose arms are so big that they can’t hold them down to their sides? Coupled with my sweaty body and grimaced face I’m positive I was owning that half-marathon in terms of physical appearance.

I had good intentions of doing my 3:1 intervals during the run portion, but my body quickly put the smack down on that idea. I thought I had only consumed water, Infinit and some Clif Bloks at this point, but apparently someone had snuck in some professional-grade sand because my body felt weak and heavy . The mid-day sun beating down didn’t help either, although luckily it wasn’t unbearably hot or even humid. I tried doing a 1:1 interval instead, but that didn’t seem to take either. I tried not to let the fact that I had 12 more miles (12 MILES!!) to go get to me, so I decided to run what I could but not push myself either. The next five miles consisted mostly of walking, but I was keeping a pretty good pace of about sub 15 minute miles, so I was happy with my progress. Unfortunately 5.8 miles into the run I got this sharp pain in the bend of my right knee that perked me up a bit. And when I say perked me up, I mean deflated my motivation to the point of tears. Yes…. We have arrived at the portion of the story known as Connie’s Meltdown.

With half the run still left to go I rounded the turn-around to cheers and encouragement from volunteers who saw my tears and gave me props to muddle on. I trudge along not trying to hide the fact that I was having a tough time, and many people passed me by asking if I was okay. Nodding my head yes at most, there was one point when I had to be honest with myself and say, “No, I’m not okay.” My knee kept doing its thing, yet there was no rhyme or reason as to when this pain would occur. It didn’t seem to be anything I was, or wasn’t doing, that made it feel better or worse. At 6.5 miles in I stopped once again to bend over and massage the area when the person who will from this point be known as my Guardian Angel walked up next to me.

My Guardian Angel came in the form of a 55+ year old, white haired woman with a IM tattoo on her left bicep. A few moments after I met this person I found myself on the ground, succumbing to the fact that I couldn’t go on and was going to have to DNF. The thought of a DNF was more painful than anything my knee was feeling at the time, and my sobs turned into full-blown wails. She asked if I would like for her to flag down a medic at the next aid station to pick me up and take me to the finish. I told her I would. Over the course of the next mile this person took my arm, helped me along, and began a conversation that took my mind off the pain. She had completed four half IM’s and one full. I told her this was my first HIM and that I had a lot of people expecting me to finish and rooting for me at home. She told me that if I didn’t want to DNF she understood, but that she wouldn’t want to see me hurt myself and not be able to complete IMLOU.

Somehow during our walk my knee actually started to feel better, and I told her that I didn’t want her to feel obligated to walk with me and that I thought I could complete the last 5 miles. We did the math and figured out that I had 2 hours to walk the remaining 5 miles. Even in my state, I felt that I could do it. She gave me a high-five, told me that she hoped to see me at the finish line, but understood if she didn’t and that she’d be looking for me in Louisville.

The next five miles I focused solely on getting to the next landmark. The next minute. The next mile. My feet were beginning to hurt from doing so much walking and my entire body ached. In between aid stations I was parched for something to drink, but taking in water and Gatorade only seemed to make me feel bloated. I began to have thoughts of pulling out of IMLOU. I began to think about selling the two IM shirts I had just bought the day before and how I would advertise them as, “Size Large but fits like a Medium.” I began to think about my Destin vacation planned for October 13th and how I would have extra money now that I would be canceling my two nights at the Galt House. I began to wonder if I would get my knee looked at and they would tell me that everything is fine, that I didn’t HAVE to pull out of IMLOU, and how disappointed I would be in that news. It’s amazing the things that go through your mind when you’ve got nothing but 4 miles of thinking to do.

With only a mile left I began to wonder if I would make the new 3:30 time limit I had given myself. 3 hours was my original goal, but that had quickly dissipated once the half-marathon started. Words of encouragement continued to ring out by volunteers and passers-by even as the aid stations began to buckle down in anticipation of ending their day. I made my way up that one last hill and was told all I had remaining was a left hand turn and up the gravel road to the finish. Since I was unfamiliar with the course I didn’t realize that the left hand turn would take me straight into the finishers chute, and I couldn’t have been more happy to see the finishing line at that point. I looked ahead to my right and saw the Landsharks tent, as well as some Landsharks themselves making their way to the side of the chute to cheer me on to the end. Clapping, yelling, high-fives and “good job’s,” were heard from every direction. Straight ahead I saw the actual finish line and clock, and even further beyond that I saw her…. My Guardian Angel once again. She had waited at the finish after her own race was over to see if I would make it. As I crossed the line, I put the medal over my head, took a water that was handed to me, and gave this woman the biggest hug I could muster. I broke out in tears and sobbed across her shoulder, “Thank you so much!”

I am not a religious person, but I do believe that everything happens for a reason. This thought process has helped me cope with numerous things in my life, and I’ve found comfort in this statement many times when things didn’t go the way I expected. In regards to my meltdown, I believe there is a reason that this particular person was walking by at that particular time. I believe there was a reason that a medic wasn’t available right then and there. Had there been, I would have gotten into their truck and had them carry me away – with a DNF forever etched into my heart.

This race was, by far, the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Despite my training, this issue with my knee just goes to show that we can’t always predict what’s going to happen on race day. Up until that point I was having a good race. I was still feeling confident having reached my goals on the swim and on the bike, and was prepared to walk the half-marathon if I had to, as long as I finished.

I couldn’t imagine completing this race without the encouragement and support of all of the Landsharks I saw out on the course. No matter if I knew their names or not, every single one of them gave me either a high-five, a “good job,” or some other show of support. For that I am ever thankful.

Closing thoughts:

I no longer have a secret hope that there is something wrong with my knee. In fact, I’m really hoping that it’s a minor issue and I can get back to training in order to complete IMLOU.

This was the first time I ran in my fizz tank. Those things give no boob support whatsoever. I will be doubling up on a sports bra next time.

No more tri shorts on rides more than 25 miles. This chaffing is ridiculous!

Despite my new saddle and aero bars, I’m still having issues with booty soreness and neck/shoulder tightness. This is so frustrating!!!!

The winning quote of the day goes to Reggie.
Reggie: “Is this the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”
Me: Nodding yes through my snotty nose and tears
Reggie: “No it’s not! Dating is the hardest thing you’ve ever done!! Let’s be honest. “
Thanks for putting it into perspective, Reggie!