As I ran past the spectators and out onto the run course I heard my name and saw Jesse and Goat. Goat yelled to me that I'd done great on the bike and I told him that I couldn't feel my legs! He assured me that if I kept moving the feeling would come back. I took his word for it and got to work on the run. As I started, I realized that while it seemed like it was still morning to me, it was actually around 3 o'clock in the afternoon. I had a plan to run until I could not run anymore and then walk through the aide stations (every mile to mile and a half) after that. I was hoping to keep my pace somewhere in the neighborhood of ten minutes per mile (hopefully faster), and that lasted for about two miles. It just felt more difficult that I expected and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. My legs were so heavy and I felt a little bit gross. Turns out, it was about 87 degrees with high humidity which probably accounted for a bit of the struggle.
I soon settled into my pattern of walking through the aide stations, pouring water on my head, shoving ice in my top, and drinking. I was disappointed to see my pace drop into the eleven minute per mile range and I knew that this would get me a run time somewhere in the low five hour range. Certainly not what I was planning for, but you gotta take what the day gives you. The first four(ish) miles were on a highway that just never seemed to end. There were no spectators out there, it was not scenic, and there was no shade. There was not even a sign of a turn for about three miles, it was pretty defeating, but it turns out it was one of the more flat sections of the course.
After turning off of the highway we ran along the riverfront in a park. It was much more scenic, but still felt a little bit isolated at times. I was able to keep my pattern of running then walking the aide stations up for about eight miles. My shoes were squishy from all of the water that I dumped on my head and ice that I crammed in my shirt. It was through here that a couple of ladies passed and complimented me on my ride. That made me feel good, I gotta tell you. Right around mile 8 we crossed the Tennessee River for the first time via the Veteran's Bridge. I had no idea that I was about to climb a mountain in the next couple of miles.
I'll never forget Barton Avenue in Chattanooga, TN. I'm about 95% certain that there are no streets like Barton Avenue in all of Dallas/Fort Worth. I ran every hill I could find during training for this race and I have gotten stronger at running hills....but I was no match for Barton Avenue. As I was walking up the hill, right around mile nine, Baha ran by and growled at me to "walk with purpose." I thought that I was walking with purpose, it felt like I was walking with purpose, but apparently it did not look that way on the outside. I grumbled something back and tried to pick up the pace, but before long he was out of sight.
As punishing as it was, this part of the course was really beautiful. Barton Avenue itself was filled with people hanging out in their yards to cheer. It was quite festive and I think many of them just made a day of it. But then at the top there was a very stately neighborhood with huge homes (some might say mansions) and a beautiful country club. It looked like something from a movie, I tried to appreciate the views despite my struggles.
I focused on getting to the end of the first loop (13 miles) so that I could do it all a second time. One of my favorite parts was running across the Walnut Street Pedestrian Bridge. It was just a neat bridge and each time it signaled the end of something - the end of a loop and the end of a race. Halfway done....you can do this, MK, just keep moving forward.
Back to the long stretch of highway where I found myself walking more than I planned. I had an internal dialogue going on a this point, wondering if I biked too hard and blew up my legs - becoming one of "those people" that I never want to be during a triathlon. But at the same time, I was feeling very proud of my bike and satisfied with the risk that I took. Back and forth I went - feelings of guilt and even shame followed with feelings of satisfaction. I made deals with myself to run through five traffic cones before walking. For a while I ran a quarter mile, walked a quarter mile - I can't remember a quarter mile that lasted as long as some of those did.
As I crossed Veteran's Bridge the second time, I looked up and noticed the most beautiful sunset. I was filled with a moment of peace and I knew that I just had to be patient and keep moving forward. Looking back, that peace I felt might have been the temperature dropping a few degrees as the sun went down. One more time up Barton Avenue and I really did try to walk with purpose, just not sure I actually accomplished that goal. The sun was gone now and it was pretty dark in that beautiful country club area. There were flood lights placed periodically and I just moved towards the light. I kept my feet deliberate as possible because falling on my face would pretty much be a disaster at this point.
Once again, I made a deal with myself to walk the uphills and run the downhills...sounds easy, right? Running downhill is harder than it sounds and it became painful after a while. One step at a time, I was determined to get this done. I made it to the Walnut Street Bridge and walked the incline to get onto the bridge, but then I did not walk again for the rest of the race. I could hear the race announcer calling out the names of finishers off in the distance and I moved with every bit of will that I had in left in me in that direction. I was especially happy when I rounded the bend and saw that it was literally downhill all the way to the finish line. Five hours and fifty minutes after I started running, I'd made it.
There is no place in the world like an Ironman finish line - the lights, the red carpet, the spectators, the announcer calling out "You. Are. An Ironman." For the first time all day, I wanted time to slow down so that I could take in every bit of it. No finish line is ever promised and you never know if or when you'll get a "next time." You assume that you will be healthy and strong and able to race for years to come, but there are no guarantees in life. You have to make it count.
I was so grateful to be finished so that I could stop moving for a few minutes. I crossed the line and was ready to take my medal when I looked up to see the person putting it around my neck was Goat. What an amazing and special surprise, a moment that I will never forget. I can't remember what I said to him, but I remember giving him the biggest hug and wiping away tears as I moved the rest of the way through the finisher's chute. I can't begin to express what that meant to me.
I have so many thoughts about this race and in some ways I'm still processing it all, nearly two weeks after the race. When I started training I had a goal to have a finish time that started with a 12. I finished in 12:00:58, but that is without the swim. I have to wonder how the race would have played out if we got to swim. Would I have taken that risk on the bike? Would I have gotten that PR that I was dreaming of all summer? I have no doubt that the day would have had a completely different tone, but I wouldn't trade this experience for anything. I learned so much - what I am capable of and what I need to work on. I'm getting better at this and one of these days I'll put all the pieces together. I was reminded how incredibly hard Ironman is. It doesn't get any easier, but it is always worth it.
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| None of this would be possible without these guys. I'm lucky to have the best tribe around. |
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