Not Alone…A Saab Story…and Ironman Kansas Race Report

I love traveling with Steve. In fact, I love doing everything with him. As our blog profile says, he is my lifelong best friend, the childhood buddy I never had. Don’t get me wrong – I had (and have) great friends from school and we still stay in touch. But there is nothing like knowing and being known by another person who appreciates and loves you for who you REALLY are – warts and all. Someone who cries with you when you’re hurt and celebrates every victory, no matter how small. The fact this person is my husband is icing on the cake.

So I was doubly excited as we got up at o’dark-thirty Saturday morning to make the drive to Lawrence, KS, site of the inaugural Ironman Kansas 70.3. I was fired up for the race as well as being in the car with my partner-in-comedy for the next 5 hours. Steve is a great navigator and I love to drive, so we never have trouble deciding who’ll do what on a roadtrip. About the only rule we have is that there must be fair warning given if someone passes gas :).

The trip was fun and uneventful. (The “eventful” had yet to come about). We arrived in downtown Lawrence, picked up my packet, found another awesome pair of 2XU tri-shorts, ate a leisurely lunch, and drove out to the race site. It was 90F and I was making mental notes about how race day would look and feel Sunday.

The hills were ginormous. Whoever said “Kansas” and “flat” (maybe me?) in the same sentence is smoking something :). Clinton Lake is near what the locals call The Iron Cross – 4 roads that intersect with long lungbusting hills beckoning on each segment.

We were able to check in our bikes that afternoon. This was great – one less thing to worry about race morning, and I could focus instead on a short swim, and driving the bike course to mentally prepare for the next day.

That evening we checked into our hotel and headed to Walmart to stock up on Gatorade. When we got back out to the parking lot, the car started up fine, ran for 2 seconds, and then died. I cranked it again – nothing. One more time - no joy. We decided to let it sit for a bit and walk to a nearby restaurant for dinner; maybe something overheated and just shut down the fuel system?

45 minutes later we were back at the car and still nothing, so we headed back into Walmart to the automotive department where a really nice saleslady gave us access to her department phone and phonebook. After calling several car rental companies, I was ready to go by cab to the Kansas City airport 90 miles away to pick up a rental and deal with our sick car after the race. We walked back out to the parking lot and gave the car one more try. She started right up. I was flummoxed (really like that word, just had to use it :)), and thought maybe the fuel pump is a bit weak and we just needed to fill up the gas tank.

8 hours later at 4:30AM Sunday she started right up again. We headed to the race site undeterred, the car not starting a distant memory amid the excitement of race day.

At the race site, hundreds of athletes were already pulling into the park and we got there just in time. I setup the rest of my transition area and enjoyed the music coming from the giant speakers. Before we knew it, it was TIME, and we made our way down to the swim start.

The gun went off and so did we – age groupers in our own wave. I ended up near the back of the pack – not where I wanted – but wove my way around several swimmers. Finally the crowd broke up a bit and I could get into a groove. Clad in my wetsuit, I mainly let my legs “rest” behind me. I had seen the bike course and soon enough my limbs would be called on to make steep and sustained climbing efforts – I needed to conserve every ounce of energy possible.

Once again I was acutely aware many of my fears and discomforts of being in open water were MIA, and I could really focus on racing and not just enduring. It was liberating to just sight on the next buoy and “grab” as much water as possible with my forearms.

The swim course was triangle-shaped, and when I saw the first pylon near the beach exit I actually thought (for the first time ever) already??? I almost laughed into the water – what a hoot! The last leg of the swim was rough water, and I simply threw my arm a bit higher and farther out, and rolled a bit more to breathe.

I ran out onto the beach and saw Steve who was snapping a picture as I slowed just long enough to triumphantly pump my arm and give him a big smile.

Onto the bike! I already knew this would be a tough ride, but I’m not sure any of us gave proper homage to just how challenging it would be, or how relentless. The western part of St. Louis has such hills and I’ve ridden them and nearly hurled at the top of some. The first hill was a mindbending descent and my speed reached 40mph before the bottom. I pedaled until I could only coast, and then just tucked my knees and rested on my aerobars…and prayed. At the bottom of the hill, someone had dropped a PB&J sandwich in a baggie – a wreck waiting to happen.

What goes down must go up, and shortly thereafter the same hill we were screaming down earlier now became a gut wrenching climb. I was out of my saddle halfway up and actually shifted to a harder gear so I could simultaneously push-pull on the pedals without “bouncing” up and down on them and burning my quads.

The hills came ruthlessly, along with strong headwinds – often reaching 30mph – a challenging combination in a race. At one point, the wind was screeching in my ears so loudly I couldn’t even hear myself cursing in my head :). I turned at one part of the course, and the silence of the wind now being at my back was almost deafening. Gratefully I coasted down the mountain I had just climbed only to see athletes suffering their way up. One girl had pulled over and simply put her head down on her forearm, either crying or dealing with nausea or both.

I was not alone.

Coming into T2, I got out of my shoes, leaving them clipped into the pedals, and rode on just one side of the bike to the dismount line. Steve was right there and I would later find out that he saw athletes (even guys) dismounting their bikes, barely able to walk and some of them CRYING.

Again, I was overcome with the feeling of not being alone out there.

My adductors were screaming at me as I ran in sock feet to rack my bike and slip on my running shoes. I ran past an athlete flat on his back in the middle of the transition aisle, getting treated for dehydration or who knew what.

Amazingly my leg pain passed as I got into a groove and began picking off the miles. It was NOT easy, and it took EVERY ounce of mental energy I had left to FOCUS on putting one foot in front of the other. My stomach was not reacting well to the Clif bar I’d had on the bike, and my mind was warring between knowing the need for gels/fluids and recoiling away from any of it. I took in the nutrition anyway, knowing I would be veritably crawling to the Finish if I didn’t. Mental note: No more Clif bars on the bike…Hurl Factor too high :).

Halfway through the run, I could see the darkening sky in the distance – an approaching thunderstorm as only the Great Plains could dish up. The winds picked up and instant air conditioning suddenly swirled around me – the temps dropped 15 degrees in a matter of minutes. It started raining a bit, and I was actually COLD. Lightning flashed, and I was relatively certain if it continued they would close the course.

Close the course they did, and just as I victoriously crossed the Finish, all hell broke loose. The rain and winds were coming in sideways, and EVERYONE was suddenly racing – away from the site! Steve had just enough time to snap that lovely picture at the top – check out the tent and flag behind me.

We grabbed my stuff and by the time we got to the car, incredibly, it was SUNNY. I do understand the need for safety on the course, so I didn’t begrudge the officials for their decision to cut the race short. Hundreds of athletes didn’t get a chance to finish, but like everything else, there are things you can and cannot control and weather will deliver whatever it likes no matter what day it is.

It’s how an athlete copes with what is handed to him/her come Race Day that contains the biggest lessons for each of us on how we handle adversity – do we roll over and wet ourselves in anxiety or do we dig in and push through nonetheless, knowing we emerge stronger on the other side?

Epilogue: Halfway back to the hotel from the race, the fuel pump finally gave it up and the Saab indeed died. We got towed to a repair shop (incredible there’s an excellent foreign car shop in Topeka, KS!), and drove home Monday in a rental. This Friday we have the great privilege of making the 10-hour roundtrip to pickup our car, fork over $600 for the repair, return the rental, and drive back home – all in one day.

Didn’t I say I LOVE traveling with Steve – this will be FUN :).