The REAL Hell of the Hills

I had no idea what I was getting into. Like most of life, that was a good thing. It was another one of those questionable things, you know, the ones where you sit on the fence for a while thinking 'Should I?' or 'Shouldn't I?' ... 'Should I?'. 'Shouldn't I?'. The Appalachian Mountains in Maryland were supposed to be beautiful (I like beautiful, and I LOVE mountains!) ... the ride was supposed to be a challenge (who doesn't like a challenge?) ... the last 3/4 of a mile of the 102 mile route was a 13% incline (uh-oh). 3/4 of a mile I can do. 13% I can do. But those two together at the very end of a very long and grueling day? There was no sense worrying about the other 101 1/4 miles until my brain could wrap itself around that last 3/4 ...

The Savage Century route. Did I mention the last 3/4 mile?

The fence is a horrible, uncomfortable, miserable place to be. When I end up there I want off as quickly as possible. I play out both scenarios in my head and see which one feels better - go, and risk the most brutal 102mi ride of my life, possibly (probably?) crash and burn and have to get scraped up by a SAG vehicle, and slink back to my friends with my head hanging low in disgrace ... or simply don't go - and never know if I could have done it or not.

Not really much of a decision, is it? 

I registered for the end-of-June ride in January and started looking for the steepest scariest longest climbs available in my flat little home state. Some buddies and I came up with a ride we've trademarked 'Hell of the Hills' - HotH for short - encorporating a myriad of steep climbs in the southern part of our area, where the glaciers didn't quite reach. We did the HotH ride in constant rain and in blazing heat (doesn't make a difference, it hurts equally in both). I went for a weekend ride in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina with friends in Just Tri, one of the premier local tri teams - some of the most driven (and most fun) group of athletes I've ever known. I found the hilliest road in our area and went up and down, and up and down, again and again and again.

It wasn't even remotely close to what I was about to encounter. None of it.

The Garrett County Gran Fondo Savage Century is 12,700 feet of climbing over 102 miles. This isn't even the Queen route of the event - The Diabolical Double is 125 miles and 16,500 feet of climbing (now THAT would've just been nonsense). The two routes share 73 miles. Where the Diabolical Double adds more ridiculous climbing, the Savage Century gives you a few recovery miles along the gorgeous Savage River before nailing you with more ridiculous climbing of its own (no, you don't get 29 miles of easy flatness - but even a few easier miles could potentially allow oxygen to make its way back to your brain, and blood to pump all the way to your toes). 

A wee bit of respite along the Savage River.  
Photo credit: John F Martin Jr

I drove out to Maryland with two of the best cyclists I know (or should say, 'had heard of' - Mike, I just met as we pulled out of town - though he more than lived up to his reputation - both as a cyclist and as a comedian). John (aka JFM) has ridden everywhere and up and down everything I know of (and many things I've never heard of), done ironmans, marathons, and everything else in between. Mike has done the same, plus the SavageMan Triathlon twice (with two bricks with his name on them in the Westernport Wall to prove it), and I'm sure a billion other accomplishments that we didn't even have time to talk about. We were meeting up with a handful of others at the base of the mountain in Maryland - the starting line (which is also the finish line, with that measly 3/4mi 13% incline) is at its peak. At some point it should have occurred to me that there weren't any other females along for this ride, or more importantly, anyone even remotely close to my skill level, but, if you've read previous posts, you'll notice that I tend to miss these subtleties. 

The Westernport Wall. Up at the tippy top there are (small) sections of brick - if you make it up on your bike during the Savageman Triathlon you get a brick with your name on it. I had to work hard just to WALK up the thing. I'd need a pack of hungry wolves after me to even stand a chance on a bike (and I'd probably be dinner).

The bricks. We also found the bricks of a couple other hometown superstars: Kathleen Hughes and Ryan Glaze. Note: there aren't that many bricks to look through.

After a quick stop at High Mountain Sports (great little shop, if you're ever in McHenry County, MD - we stopped because I had found a weird defect in my rear tire the night before, totally by accident. While cleaning my bike I noticed the bead was pulling away from the wall of the tire. I'm no expert on bike maintenance, but that just seemed incredibly wrong - imagine what kind of peaceful dreams a tire busting apart at the seams might give a person who's totally-in-over-her-head the night before a big ride with hellacious climbs followed by screaming descents? (btw, the tire manufacturer later replaced it for free - for the record, tires are NOT supposed to do that)) we went to packet pickup, put our numbers on our bikes and helmets, and that was that - everyone knows once the numbers are on there's no turning back. 

We enjoyed the free (FREE, as in "included in your registration fee so you might as well go") athlete dinner (multiple expertly-run buffet lines - everything you could want with no waiting) and then those of us who had never done this ride before contemplated driving up the final climb (that 3/4 mile one that I may have already mentioned) to the finish line just to try to wrap our heads around it. I was 'strenuously' warned not to. By multiple previous riders. Multiple times. So, after finishing dinner I hopped into the car that was driving up to the top. When you're in a plush SUV cruising up a long climb it's really not that harrowing at all ... it looks kind of puny and it actually eased my mind (or more correctly, fed my delusion that the ride wouldn't be that bad). We got back to the hotel, I checked for the third time that my gear was all set out and ready to go, and then I laid still, wide eyed, drifting off every now-and-then, until morning. 

The start was pretty interesting. I've never done a bike ride with an actual 'starting line' so that was an experience. Similar to a marathon or triathlon start ... but different. Add in the foggy mist that occurs at the tops of mountains in the early morning hours and you felt a little like Christopher Columbus contemplating sailing off the edge of the known world. We took our position near the back and waited for the gun to go off.

The Start/Finish  ... at the top of the mountain.  
Photo credit: John F Martin, Jr

Like most events, everyone took off like bats out of hell. It was quite a site. It's incredibly exciting stuff and a little hard to contain yourself. But, I'm one of those people that actually needs (needs!) a warmup (apparently one of only a handful in existence). I also can easily flame and burn out early ... so my plan for the day was simple: spin as easy as humanly possible up every single climb. It's actually doable if you concentrate really hard!

The first 25 miles was only rollers, a lot of downhill and no real climbs, with perfect pavement and lots of lovely shade. The thick foggy mist promptly coated your glasses making you more or less blind - which seemed like a fairly big problem at the time, but given the rest of the day this turned out to be a pretty minor issue. Several of the bats had stopped to wipe off their glasses, and still feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed I enjoyed flinging out chipper comments to strangers, such as 'Ahh c'mon, you don't really need to see!', as I rolled by (of course these folks would run me down and leave me in their wake just as soon as they could see again, but the day was young and I hadn't been properly humbled yet). Interestingly there were several folks with flats and other mechanical problems in this early stretch, but for the most part, the entire pack flew to the first aid station.

A few of our folks were lounging (well not quite, but they were chatting comfortably, kicked back on a picnic table) at the aid station, enjoying a steel drum band (and when I say band I mean band - not one or two, but 20 steel drum players, jamming wildly under the park shelter). We bounced along with the reggae beat up to the Coke and cookies, inhaled, chatted briefly to our lounging friends, and then took off. This is where the climbs began ... for the next 11 hours.

From here on out it's bit of blur. Whatever mental processes store memories were apparently busy with more critical tasks such as directing oxygen to brain cells, and firing appropriate muscles to make the pedals turn just one more time ... and you wouldn't even dream of stopping to take a picture to remember anything by. I was still all-in with the 'ride as easy as possible' plan (knowing it was probably my only chance of survival) ... but around mile 4 of the first big climb the 'easy' part was out the door. Now it was simply 'ride'. There are 10 or 12 climbs on this ride that have official names and are timed - things like 'Killer Miller', 'Bowman Hill', and 'Devil's Half Acre' ... but there are countless OTHER climbs that don't even warrant names. Back in my mid-western town those climbs would ALL have had scary names of their very own. We'd start up something horrifying and I'd breathlessly ask, "What's this one called?". JFM's response would be "Nothing" along with a kind chuckle. When we actually got to the first named climb I stopped asking: there was no mistaking the ones that earned names. It was brutal and at times so close to impossible it was simply comical (except that laughing takes energy, so the chuckling mostly occurred silently in my head ... at least I hope it did).

And it went on. And on. And on.

What's around the bend? I'll give you a hint - it goes up.  
Photo credit: John F Martin, Jr

Countless times I watched people fly up beside me at the base of a climb. At first it was difficult not to get discouraged - holy hell - I'm here putting everything I have into this, plus a little more from I-don't-even-know-where, dropping every gear I have as fast as I can as it got soooo steep soooo fast that it was necessary just to be able to keep my legs turning over, and here I am, going 4mph, while this guy just comes screeeeeaming up beside me like he's wearing Wile E Coyote's jet pack. Except that time after time the jet pack would sputter and unexpectedly run out of fuel, and inevitably you'd hear either that horrible grinding of chain that comes with gears changing under incredible tension ... or you'd see the fall starting out of the corner of your eye, receding at a steady 4mph, while thinking please! Please! PLEASE! don't tilt in my direction. The falling happens in slow motion (what isn't in slow motion when you're going 4mph?), you see it start, hear some primal guttural sounds, then the thud of body and clang of bike hitting pavement, typically followed by a quiet voice saying 'Dude? You ok?' ... and a different, slightly muffled (as if perhaps it's speaking towards the ground) voice mutter back 'Uhh. Yeah'.  It wasn't funny ... and yet, it was, because you knew how easily it could have been you. Pretty quickly, 4mph UPRIGHT starts to feel amazingly good. 

I originally had 2 goals for this ride. One was to start and finish. The other, which was admittedly a stretch goal, was to never get off my bike. In my head I held fast to the first goal. A few weeks before the ride I had let the 2nd one go - odds of me having to walk at least one of these crazy climbs were pretty astronomical. But, somewhere around mile 60 it occurred to me that I actually hadn't been off my bike yet. I'd gone up climbs at a snail's pace (field studies have shown you can stay upright at 2.9mph). Past gorgeously built fit guys in gorgeous red and white Castelli kits that matched their equally gorgeous bikes (in all fairness, they obviously didn't have as gorgeous of gearing as I did). Past people carrying their shoes and walking in their socks. Past people sitting on the side of road switching out of their bike shoes and into the flip-flops that they were carrying in a jersey pocket ... but I hadn't walked a single step. Why didn't this occur to me before now? Because when you're focusing - and I don't mean focusing on the day, or the current hour, or the current climb - I mean focusing on the next 3 feet - it's pretty difficult to think of anything else.

I only have a handful of basic, steadfast, rules. 'The Golden Rule' is one (the only thing I got out of CCD as a kid, other than 'priests are even scarier up close' and 'it's best to steer clear of nuns carrying rulers'). The 'Half Way' rule is another: If you're greater than 50% done with something you might as well finish it. The Half Way rule is more powerful than you might think - it's actually what got me through grad school, and it's gotten me through more than a few tough spots (well, you're 9 miles through an 18 miler, might as well just finish it at this point ... well, you're half way up this mountain, might as well go on up and see what's at the top). If you're remotely good at math you've probably figured out that mile 60 of a 102 mile ride is something greater than 50%. The Half Way rule had already invoked itself before I even knew it. 

I can't explain the ride in words. Or photos, because it never crossed my mind to take any (whopping 3 foot focus, remember). I don't think 1000 words or 1000 photos could've painted the picture properly anyway. If you want to 'know' then you'll just have to go do the ride and experience it yourself (funny how that works, isn't it?). The weekend before this ride I had done a 2 day 105mile running relay with a team of 5 friends - when it was over I said it was the hardest thing I'd ever done (running almost 20 miles over 2 days, alone, in the deep dark of the night, exhausted from no sleep, and running as hard as I could so as to not disappoint my teammates). It dropped to a distant 2nd less than a week later. There's no warning appropriate enough for this ride. Had I KNOWN what the climbs were like, had I somehow SEEN 'Killer Miller' (even the relatively easy beginning of it where the cows really do stare at you (JQ, you weren't lying!) and you can almost hear them saying 'Pssst, Joe! Look! ANOTHER one is trying it!') before my rubber wheels actually touched its pavement ... I would have backed slowly away from this ride like it was a rattlesnake, and once I was a safe distance away I would've kept running until sundown just to be sure. Weeks later, as I finally get around to writing this, I still shake my head in disbelief. The word that still pops instantly into my head: unreal.

Partway up the final 3/4 mile climb to the finish. I think we all felt like this guy, whether or not we stopped to show it.

That last climb - the 3/4 mile one that I'd been trying to comprehend since January. The one that I thought didn't look 'so bad' the night before ... Yes, I made it up on the bike, Yes, at a snail's pace (one wonderfully enthusiastic spectator ran - or more accurately, walked briskly - next to me, with his bright blue vuvuzela in hand screaming 'Ok! OK! Don't look at me! DO. NOT. LOOK. AT. ME! I know it hurts! I know you're suffering! But you're doing AWWWWWWESOME! JUST. KEEP. GOING! DOOOOON'T STOP!' ... I'm pretty sure I smiled and breathed out 'Thanks' ... at least I meant to ... and I'm positive that I laughed like a giddy schoolgirl inside). The last pedal stroke of that climb was the best one of the entire day: it took me 18 minutes to get to it. I started a little ahead of JFM at the base, so once I topped it I slowed down and waited - the finish line was almost in sight - and for some sick twisted reason, which I still don't quite understand, I wanted to enjoy every moment of those last few painful minutes. I was laughing when I crossed the finish line.  

Somewhere around mile 101.9. This is not the first time JFM has given me this look. I'm guessing it won't be the last.  
Photo credit: Mike Weber (after his nap)

  

After the ride our group went out for dinner and beers (and water, lots and lots of water). As usual, the stories started pouring in: one person (who shall remain anonymous, but whose name starts with a 'Mike' and ends with a 'Weber') had run out of fluids, got a little dehydrated, and was recovering with a nap at the second aid station (I figure once you've earned all those bricks you've earned the right to take a nap any damn time or place you please), only to be woken by Todd, who just happened to spot him lying on the grass - they stuck together the rest of the day and had a spectacular ride. There were stories of a bevy of beautiful bikini-clad women seen walking along the side of the road near the end of the ride (there are mixed reports as to whether they were real or just a hopeful mirage)... a few of the boys relayed stories of a nicely built female rider who used nature's facilities in plain view of her new-found, and somewhat shocked though unable to look away, male riding buddies. And, as always, even more stories that you had to be there to be privy to (Rule #3: What happens on a ride ...). 

Weeks later, this ride remains the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm sure it will be surpassed at some point, by something I don't even know exists yet. I can't wait. The folks that rode this year were immediately talking about next year ... new goals (I already have a 3rd goal myself, the one that always occurs after you've done something once ...), new people to recruit ("So-and-so would've looooved this ride, don't you think!?". You know who you are), and preliminary plans for road trips and 'training rides' leading up to next year's event.

I've had several folks tell me they may join the ride next year. I'd never in a million years suggest that someone I LIKE go on this ride - I won't take responsibility for that, or risk ending a friendship - but if you decide for yourself that you want to experience something special, something 'unreal', all the info for this marvelously run event is available here: Win the Fight: Garrett County Grand Fondo.

Enjoy every excruciating and exquisite moment! Maybe we'll see you there ...

Race day in Kona!

We were up and headed down to the starting line at 430am. Pat got body marked and then disappeared into transition so I went and found a place to watch the swim. Yes, the sea wall was already packed by then, and it was nuts. I did get a nice spot at the top of the row of bleachers right behind the wall though – and there I stood for the next 2.5 hours watching the crowd stir themselves up into a frenzy (it was hard not to! It was indescribably exciting!). I saw one lady get so excited that she accidentally sat on her baby and almost dumped it off the back of the wall (the little one made an almost alien-like noise as there was a loud collective gasp from the crowd). 

Pat getting bodymarked. She would look MUCH more awake very soon.

I saw the both the Pros and the age groupers start the swim ... it was truly an incredible thing to see in person. My heart rate jacked up sky high last year just watching it online. Watching it in person was unreal, but I have to admit, in spite of the chaos of the mass start I still wished BADLY that I was out there giving it a whirl. It was phenomenal just to be out there doing the training swims this week ... during the race it has to be one of the most memorable triathlon swims on the planet. Pat told me later that she had a GREAT swim, and that one guy saw dolphins swimming near the pack. 

Some of the Pros at the start

The Pros. Lined up and waiting for the gun.

And the Pros are off ....

The age groups start to line up.

You didn't have to work very hard to tread water out there due to the high salt density ... still, not a bad idea.

And the age groupers are off!

There wasn't much to see while they were out on the swim course ... but I hung around to try to catch at least the first Pros out of the water. They started 30min before the age groupers, and considering their swims should be right around 45-50 mins I didn't have to wait for long. It was well worth the wait.

Andy Potts is the first Pro out w/a time of 49:44. The men's record at Kona is 46:41 and belongs to Lars Jorgensen.

The Pros take drafting very seriously

Once the Pros were out I bolted over to where the bikes come out of transition, head down Ali'i for a few moments, before turning up Palani. Of course by the time I got there all the Pros were already out on their bikes, but I did catch the initial mass of age groupers heading out ... including Pat! 

Some of the plethora of age groupers heading out on the bike. This was the turn onto Ali'i out of transition.

Go Pat! I asked her later if she heard me as she was coming out of transition. She said 'Um. Yeah.' Made my sore throat TOTALLY worth it!

Once Pat was out on the bike I ran up Palani (run being a relative term - it's really quite a hill) and caught her twice more - heading out and back on the loop through town before heading out to the Queen K and up to Hawi. After that, Tom and I migrated to a church all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast that totally hit the spot! We hung around and watched some of the Pros come in from the bike and head out on the run, and then until it was time for Pat to finish her ride and head out on the run. She looked good coming in from the bike, even though it was a little later than I'd expected. On her way out of transition she walked past me and lifted the edge of her shorts to reveal a pretty gruesome patch of road rash (sorry if I gasped, Pat - it really looked awful!). All I got out of her in the 5 seconds while she went by was that someone had pulled out in front of her on her bike somewhere near Hawi and they both went down hard. She didn't seem to be limping but did seem to be walking gingerly and I was worried when I didn't see her start to run before she disappeared up Palani. I took off running down Ali'i to try to catch her right before she headed out for the 5mile stretch that goes South on Ali'i before turning back around and back up Ali'i and out to the Energy Lab. I caught her right at the turn and could see she was running! Phew! 

Pat heading into transition.

Craig Alexander, heading out on the run.

Pat, heading out on the run. Banged up from her crash, but still going!

Later, she would explain what happened: She had just gone through a water stop and gotten a fresh bottle, which was still in her hand. Shortly after she started out an older gentleman (80s) for no apparent reason, swerved in front of her, and they both went down. He was sitting up and physically looked okRigsby. You probably know him and just don't know it - he's a double amputee who has done countless Ironmans, and is an inspiration every time you see him. Pat said he asked her how her day was going and she explained not so great, and told him about her accident. He commiserated and said he was having a tough day too, and had already had to stop 3 times to take his legs off. Pat said it gave her some perspective and she thought also gave them both some energy to finish the ride strong. I saw them both come in off the bike - within minutes of each other. 

You can't tell much that's going on on the run, so after grabbing some dinner Tom and I headed to the finish line to watch people coming in. I found a spot literally as close to the finish line as you could get - within feet. We got there right around the 13hr mark ... and I don't think we budged until Pat came in over 3 hours later. This was my first ironman event in person, so to see people, in person, the moment they got to that finish line was extraordinary. I can't tell you how many times I was in tears - out of pure happiness for total strangers. Tani, a good friend, and also the world's number one iron sherpa, had warned me of this - but I really had no idea. The tears just kept coming ... followed by laughter ... followed by more tears. I totally forgot to take any pictures. Spectating is exhausting in more ways than just being on your feet all day. I watched the Biggest Loser girl come in - and after her long day, do a FANTASTIC dance that I wouldn't have had the energy to do right then and I hadn't done anything all day! I watched the lady in stage 4 colon cancer finish - you try not to cry at that one! I heard Mike Reilly LOUD in the microphone saying 'Put the baby down! Put her down! You'll be disqualified! You can't cross the line with the child! PUT HER DOW .... " and then in a much softer and truly sad voice, "Nevermind. It's too late." My heart physically hurt. I saw another guy run through the finish holding a sign 'Will You Marry Me?'. Mike Reilly tried desperately to find his girlfriend for him, but I don't think she could get to the finish through the mob (at least the little girl in me that still believe fairy tales do exist had to believe that's the only thing that was holding her up). And on and on and on. Every person had their own unique story, or dance, or gesture, or signature move, or just that special look in their eyes. I can't say the 3+ hours went by fast - nothing goes by fast when you're watching a giant clock right in front of you - but there was no place else I'd rather have been, and no way I was moving from that spot. Of course it got worse as the night went on - people leaning, people obviously in pain, people collapsing into the arms of the catchers. But it also got better - the crowd support was out of this world, and Mike Reilly got more and more nuts - it truly was if every person there was willing the athletes in with everything they had - me included. If you let it all in - all the support and the pain and the pure good will - it's simply overwhelming ... and for me, it was an experience that will stick with me forever.

Pat came in right around 16h10min. I saw her and tried to take a picture but I was so excited I was shaking and it came out blurry. I gave up and just screamed my fool head off. I saw her come down the ramp on the other side as Chrissie Wellington walked up to her to give her her finishers lei. I couldn't get around the crowd though, and sadly, couldn't get a 'real' picture of this - all I could get was the jumbotron. It was good enough. After she was out of the finishes chute I ran through the crowd to the other side, waited a few minutes for Tom, and we headed over to where families go to meet their athletes. We waited for a while, before checking the medical tent - and found her there. It turns out with her history of cancer the medical folks thought it would be prudent to give her an IV, just to be safe - so she was lying there, looking absolutely fine (except for the road rash from the crash on the bike, which was now horribly bruised in addition to bloodied) talking to the guy next to her (in much worse shape, and oddly, I had met and talked with his wife earlier in the day), while the saline bag was emptying out. We gathered up her gear, and Tom went and got her finishers medal (a beautiful thing, I might add!), and as soon as she was sprung from medical we headed home.  

Pat, at the finish with Chrissie Wellington. Video of this made the highlites reel at the awards banquet. Pat didn't realize it was HER up on the bigscreen until I grabbed her and said 'THAT'S YOU!'. It was beyond priceless.

Almost 22 hours after we started, after feeling like a zombie on my feet for the last several, more than ready to drift off into the sweet oblivion of horizontalness and sleep ... I lay in bed wide awake. It's impossible to have all that energy pulsing through you for that long ... and then just shut it off. At that point, tired as I was, I didn't even want to. It occurred to me that if you can come here and NOT be inspired to do an ironman, then it simply isn't your cup of tea, and nothing on this planet will ever make it so. And that's perfectly ok - it just means your heart belongs in something else, just as important, just as great. No matter what though, you still can't help but marvel at what all ironman athletes do, the infinite number of impossible obstacles they overcome - some they know about going in - like physical handicaps or cancer .... some are surprises along the way - bike crashes or heat exhaustion ... just to get to that finish line. Pat has thanked me a thousand times for going on this trip with her, training with her, and supporting her - I can't find a way to explain that *I* was the one who got the most out of this. 

The next evening we went to the awards ceremony. As you might have guessed it was overflowing with emotion. They had a show complete with dancers (male and female). And a ukelele player who was just incredible (her hands moved so fast you couldn't see them). 

For my male friends who I know are dying to know. Yes, there were hula dancers. And Yes, they were beautiful and talented! I have no idea how they move their hips that fast, but wish I could figure it out - it looked fun!

And for the girls. A little hard to see but those are male dancers in front. Their moves were slightly more manly, and they all (male and female) looked fantastic.

After some more pomp and circumstance, and totally unbeknownst to him, they inducted Mike Reilly into the Ironman hall of fame. Here's a guy, as most people know, who was totally overflowing with energy the night before, as he is at every Ironman finishline - with more energy than any human should be able to contain in one body - and now he's standing up there, totally surprised and overwhelmed, fighting tears (and losing). I can't imagine there was a dry eye in the entire place by now. He literally couldn't find the words for several minutes (hard to imagine, isn't it?). He gave his speech and then Diane, the race director, apparently hugged him and said something along the lines of 'Ok, now pull it together and do your job.' He did. They went through all the age group awards, finishing up with the 80+ age group which contained the infamous Lew Hollander. Lew took first place, less than 5 minutes ahead of 2nd place, who finished less than 1 minute ahead of 3rd place. The race with the race this time, was amongst the 80-84yr old men! Mike Reilly took a moment to talk to them, and we all got the privilege to hear some of the priceless wisdom that comes with age. The 2nd place finisher, France Cokan, said he fell 7 times, for 'various unjustifiable reasons'. The medical crew tried to convince him he should quit and he told them he's a Dr, he should know when it's time to quit ... and he kept going (he said he was going to talk to them about the benefits of the Polish diet, but decided it was probably not the best time). Lew offered a couple tidbits as to how he's still out there doing this race year after year. First, he said, go anaerobic every day. Not just aerobic, AN-aerobic. I'm not sure about that one, but it certainly seems to be working for Lew! He also said, if you're training and you're comfortable .... you should speed up. More than anything else I found myself hoping that I was in as good of shape at 80 as they are ... and that I find a way to retain that sense of humor that I think keeps you young.    

Mike Reilly, Ironman finishline announcer, being inducted into the Ironman Hall of Fame. He was totally surprised, and unbelievably, speechless.

One of the many sets of top 5 male and top 5 female age group finishers.

The oldest athletes in the race. They had their own race within the race and were in great spirits at the awards ceremony.

And then the Pros. Chrissie Wellington's speech had everyone teary-eyed ... again. What she says and how she says it is so obviously from her heart and she doesn't care how she sounds or how she looks, she just wants to share things with you and express how she feels. She talked about how it's 50% physical, and 50% mental out there .... and how it's not easy but she hates the ***damn easy route anyway. She said to never ever ever give up .... and always smile. Craig Alexander's speech was much the same, thanking his wife and kids before anything else, then choking up and trying hard to hold it together. It was an emotion-filled evening, after an emotion-filled previous 17hour+ day, after an emotion-filled previous week. 

Top 10 Pro Females

Top 10 Pro Males

Craig Alexander giving his speech

The Champions! You simply can't help but smile at (and for) them. What incredible athletes.

I've struggled with blogging this trip Outside the Radius, because for me it has really been an experience beyond words, and almost beyond thoughts. Words and pictures simply don't do any of it justice. You can't capture true and pure energy. So much of it is felt so deep inside yourself that you barely even know how to explain it to your own brain ... much less to anyone else.

The only thing I can think of that would possibly be harder to express ... would be being on the OTHER side of that start line ... and hopefully, sometime less than 17 hours later ... the other side of that finish line.  

The calm before the storm

Wednesday morning we headed down to the pier for another early swim. Half of the city was swimming with us, the other half was watching. A friend back home who was online sucking up everything Kona just happened a across a video where we show up in the background. We actually remembered seeing the guy filming in front of us. I have to admit that Pat and I sat on my bed rewinding it over and over again pointing at the screen and laughing like we were 7yrs old. Ah, the little things in life. The video was on Everymantri.com if you care to play Where's Waldo with us (we show up somewhere around 1m20sec - blue swimsuits). 

We were actually walking around by the beach looking for Luis Vargas. He and all the MarkAllenOnline athletes (remember, Pat uses their coaching) were meeting to get swim tips from Luis and then swim the course together (yeah, I snickered at that one too. If only). Before they all took off never to be seen again, he gave suggestions about where to line up depending on how fast you were and how comfortable you were with "physicality" ... and talked about the extremely high density of the salt in the water and suggested coating yourself in a thin layer of vaseline to keep your skin from getting destroyed (great advice, but personally I think he hexed me. I had no problem on previous swims but of course this time I chaffed something fierce under my swimsuit's shoulder straps. Yes, it hurt just as much as you're thinking.)

The swim was still spectacular. There were big swells in the water this morning, but it was actually kinda cool (in a moderately frightening sort of way) to look up and sight and see nothing but a wall of water. We stopped at a buoy near the infamous coffee boat, about 50m perpendicular to the course and decided we might as well go check it out. Sure enough, they're handing cups of coffee to the swimmers over the side of the boat (I passed. Despising coffee on dry land I couldn't imagine I'd like it any better at sea). Blue Seventy reps were throwing goggles out into the water. If you looked below you you could see some brave swimmers diving all the way to the ocean floor to grab pairs that had sunk (it looked REALLY deep out there, though I really have no idea how deep ... all I know was that *I* was not that much in need of a free pair of goggles). We treaded water out here for a bit and just enjoyed the festivities before heading back to the course.

It's pretty interesting the things I noticed on the rest of the swim. For one, it occurred to me that the water was an amazingly gorgeous shade of blue – as in, not even a shade a blue I was sure I'd ever seen before ... followed by the thought of hmm, for some (hopefully not me, and not today, or any day in the near future) that could be the last color they ever see – really NOT a bad last color, as far as last colors go. No, I'm not morbid, and I wasn't scared of drowning at that particular moment (literally, if you stopped swimming and just barely moved your arms and legs every few seconds you would still float – the level of salt in the water is that intense. I think it would actually take some real effort to drown out there ... well, I suppose if another swimmer knocked you out cold it would be easy enough ... but again, I'm not morbid) – sometimes a brain just comes up with these things on its own! A little while later, where the water was a little deeper, I was just swimming along and taking in the aquarium-view when I noticed, oddly, that the fish would swim one direction in a little clump ... and then all of a sudden the entire fish-clump would quickly move backwards as a unit, almost out of my view. Took me a little while to realize that was the current way down there snatching them up and swooshing them back. I marveled over that for a little while until I realized I was feeling a little nauseous. That was enough fish-watching. I decided to just stop all thinking ... and swim. The rest of the swim was simply heaven. 

The waves got bigger and bigger, but that didn't stop anybody. Race day it was much calmer than this.

On the pier, post swim. Two happy kids.

After getting back from the swim and grabbing some food we headed out for another ride on the Queen K. I was far from bored with the lava fields and wind ... but today's ride was topped off with a few extra cherries. First, while riding along with Pat behind me, a guy in nice green and white clothes, on a killer bike, with a moped beside him, flies by us. The clothes and the moped are dead giveaways that they guy is a pro ... as was the WEISS stamped on the top of his shorts. You just have to marvel over these guys' muscle tone as they go past - it's just unreal. As I'm giggling from this and hollering back to Pat to ask if she saw who that was, up ahead I see a group of runners. There's one guy out in front of about a dozen others ... and he looks incredible – you know, the kind of runner you look at and just think WOW I want to do THAT! He looks smooth and he makes it look so damn easy – it was just beautiful ... and as I get closer I realize he's not a young whippersnapper either – he looks like a slightly older guy, making it all the more impressive (at least to me, youth is truly wasted on the young). If I'd figured out who it was a split-second earlier I would've said 'Hi!' ... but by the time my brain put it all together I was too far up the road ... and Mark Allen was too far behind me. The bigger group (that he has left in the dust) passed a bit later and we DID say hello to them – we'd actually forgotten that MarkAllenOnline athletes were going out the Energy Lab and running the 5miles into town as a training run, a workout that Pat opted out of (though personally, I would've been ecstatic to run with Mark Allen for the microsecond I would've been able to hold the guy's pace).

The rest of our ride was fun and fast, apparently we were both still charged up from the energy of the company out there today. A few miles from the end I spot a guy up ahead and something inexplicable got into me ... I just HAD to pass him. It was one of those things where you know you can ... and you do. I took the poor guy down like he was a sick gazelle and never looked back (this is pretty unlike me, I simply don't care too much about other people out there). Maybe that's what happens when you breathe in air that's been filtered through the lungs of the likes of Mark Allen and Micheal Weiss? The meet-up location for the SAG vehicle is up ahead and I'm sad the ride is over so I get in a super easy gear and just spin all the way to the turn, drawing out the last few minutes as long as I can. As I'm making the turn and unclipping I see the guy I passed launch past me like a rocket and give me a disappointed sideways grimace. Pat comes up from behind, laughing her head off. She tells me watching that unfold was hilarious. The guy wasn't too upset when I passed him, but then SHE took off behind me and TWO girls passing him was apparently all he could take. He charged after Pat, caught her, and of course if I'd kept going straight he would have easily mowed me down too and never had to look back. It was purely a timing thing, obviously ... but holy cow, if only you could bottle up that feeling of blasting by someone .... it'd be priceless. If had that kind of skill I think I could easily become a total bum, live paycheck to paycheck and simply spend my days chasing down everyone in sight. 

Riding on the Queen K with lots and lots of company.

Somewhere out on the Queen K. Laughing as Pat wrestled with my complicated point-and-shoot camera.

A Memorial on the Queen K.

On the way home, I stop off at the bike store near the pier ... because Macca was scheduled to be there doing a book signing. I know. A lot of people truly hate the guy. If you're one of them you seriously aught to read his book. I couldn't put it down and even someone with my less-than-average level of skill still got a ton out of it. For one he gives tons of tips that have already helped me (in just the time since I've read it I've already found opportunities to use a few of his ideas – and they worked!), and for two, it helped me in a myriad of ways just to understand how a guy his caliber actually thinks – and that it's often times not too far from how a peon like me thinks. You'd probably be surprised. Read the book. If you still think he's a pompous ass then fine, fair enough ... but at least give the guy a chance. I'd say I'd loan you my copy, but I won't ... because now it has a special personal message and autograph inside the front cover.

Yep. I'm in awe.

After meeting Macca I stumbled, somewhat dumbfounded, over to the expo. I ran into Chris Lieto's charity tent called 'More Than Sport'. It's a collection of three local groups that he has gotten together in order for the triathlon world to give back to the Kona community. Check it out.

The next morning I got up and went for a run while Pat continued to enjoy her taper, then we headed to the MarkAllenOnline breakfast (we had to miss the annual Underpants Run for this, by the way – can't do everything). Tom and I got to join Pat and the other 20 or so MarkAllenOnline athletes (and their families) for a breakfast buffet while Mark Allen and Luis Vargas gave their talks. To hear these guys speak, much less in such an intimate setting, was just out of this world. As with much of this trip, I just sat there thinking 'I can't believe I'm here'. I met a guy named Rick wearing Newtons and when I asked how he liked them he explained in some detail the problems he's had with them, but that the new Newtons are 2oz lighter than than the old ones ... I explained that ounces really aren't something that matters one iota to someone like me, but we still talked for quite a while about shoes, and then about some obvious injuries he had (there were bandages). He had gotten blown off his bike going up to Hawi earlier in the day. Remember those rumble strips and the narrow section of road I mentioned earlier? Rick said he lost his concentration for a split second ... and went off the right side of the road. He still ended up taking 5^th in his age group though – way to go! There was another guy at the breakfast who was also bandaged up, even worse (part of his face and chin was bandaged, and one arm) ... he had also gotten blown off the road. I don't know how he did in the race ... but I DID see him race morning and am guessing he did just fine.

Just like with Macca's book it's priceless to hear what the best of the best think (and even more useful to realize that it's not really all that much different from the rest of us). Mark talked about the Iron War with Dave Scott (I imagine he probably always does, because people will never stop wanting to hear about it) ... when he finally beat him he said at some point he KNEW he could win. Just knew. And in that same moment .... he also didn't know if he could take another step. 'I know I can win. I can't take another step,' he said a couple times, with both hands out and a look of confusion on his face. He went on to say you simply have to stop the part of your brain that 'assesses' – it wastes energy. Shut it off. And just race. He did ... and he won.

Some of his other tips included: Always keep your tanks topped off, take something with you to eat/drink as you're waiting 2 hours for the race to start – once your tanks are low you won't be able to catch back up. Line up in the water where you're comfortable and remember the golden rule of openwater swimming (I hoped I wasn't the only one thinking What?! There's a golden rule? Nobody ever told me there was a golden rule?!) ... which is: don't stop. Softswim at the start (just like softpedaling on a bike) – don't force it, let your legs drag and have it in your head what's going to happen when you get out of the water.

The bike, he says, doesn't start until mile 70. Before then it should just feel like a hard training day. It's really easy to go too hard on the first 40K. Keep your cadence up in the wind. It might feel silly, but do it anyway. Lean into the wind and try (try!) to relax. Lighter people will have a tougher time, but don't let it freak you out and make you lose confidence.

As for the run, he said he's raced ironman 12 times ... and not once did he get off the bike and think he could run a marathon. It was always 'How the hell am I going to do that?' (makes you feel better, doesn't it?). Of course he also says it's really just a hard training day until 10miles from the finishline ... and once you get there to 'let it go'. (Right. Got it.)

There was a quick point about coke. He says it will bring you out of a tough spot stomach-wise (something Macca concurs with in his book ... a tip another competitor actually hollered back to him during a race when he was really hurting) ... but that once you start with the coke, stay with it.

He ends with some thoughts on the mental stuff. You're out there trying to do something you've never done before (whether it's your first ironman, or a PR, whatever). It's not going to be easy. Drawing back and regrouping for a second is NOT the same thing as giving up. And again, thinking takes a lot of energy. A LOT. Be quiet. If you need to, make little deals with yourself: 'I'll drop out at the next aid station' ... and then make another deal with yourself once you get there. And another. And another. I figure if it's ok for this guy to be out there making these deals then it's sure as hell gotta be ok for me! Phew.

The breakfast ended with Luis talking about his personal race plan (he got injured in the Vegas 70.3 a few weeks ago, and already knew he'd be walking most of the run). You could tell he was struggling to deal with his injury and his own disappointment – yet again, it's nice to know the big guys feel this way when they're injured too. The sport doesn't seem to play favorites nearly as much as my brain convinced me it did ... it's really not any easier for anyone else out there. Sure, skill levels and genetic makeups vary ... and so does everyone's ability to hide their pain and push themselves ... but it's really not all that different afterall. Good to know. 

The rest of the day was spent playing on lava rocks and snooping in tide pools. A large (the size of a dinner plate! Pat is my witness ... sidenote: I may have been hungry at the time) and very healthy jet black crab skittered around the rocks, nearly knocking me off and undoubtedly making me scream like the girl that I am (for one it was in stealth mode and blended right into the rocks, and then, once I scared it as bad as it scared me, the thing's giant creepy legs clicked like metal on the lavarock ... it got even creepier when it skittered out to the farthest point and I watched wave after wave crash down on it and STILL somehow the thing resisted being swept away!? I'm sure I could glean some great wisdom about perseverance from this but I was far too creeped out to think about it right then ... and I might still be too creeped out to think about it now.)

We got cleaned up, collected Tom, and headed down to the opening ceremony dinner. It was pretty cool all around but the thing I remember most was the presentation that I've seen a dozen times online ... you know? ... the one that ends with 'You. Will. Do. This.' It was perfect for the 1800 athletes sitting there just a few days before race day ... and not at all un-perfect for the handful of us that were sitting there half-wondering 'Will *I* ever do this?'. 

Pat and Tom at the welcome dinner.

From the big production before the welcome dinner. Guys playing with fire. Hula dancers. Everything you'd expect in Hawaii.

Friday, the day before race day Pat and I did an easy run, and then headed out for an easy ride. Well, after a short delay. I pumped my tires, but while Pat was pumping hers the stem on her front tube busted (it actually just twisted apart, we just didn't know it at the time. We were able to fix the tube later. Live and learn). While a little alarming, it was also a pretty perfect opportunity for one last (really last!) attempt for her to learn how to change her own tire. No, she didn't exactly call it an 'opportunity' - that was me - she called it a few other (more colorful) things ... but after a short discussion and maybe just a little goading and some subtle brainwashing, she agreed. I sat down in a nearby chair with my hands pinned under my legs and told her I'd answer any questions but would NOT touch the tire (how's that for tough love?). It was a little rough, but I'm happy to report that she got through it absolutely fine and can never again say 'I can't change a flat'. Nice job, Pat! (While she'd end up having an 'eventful' ride on race day, let it be know that it was NOT because of a tire that she couldn't change herself! More on that later). Oh, and we DID get out for our ride after that.

Pat got her bike and gear all packed up and we headed down to check-in. Bike check-in at Kona is like nothing I've ever seen. It's an event in and of itself. First, there are hundreds of people lurking about looking at your bike as you roll it up. What are they looking at, you ask? EVERYTHING. These folks are all from various sponsors and vendors – all charged with looking for 'THEIR' gear. Two fairly big guys start circling us and taking pictures of the front of Pat's bike. Not only do they work for TorHans (the brand of aero bottle that Pat has on her bike) ... but they were, in fact, Tor and Hans. As she continues to walk a lady asks her her shirt size. Somewhat baffled she says 'Um. Small?'. And a cute pink Cervelo shirt appears – just a little bonus from Cervelo for anyone riding their bikes. And so it went. She went on into transition while I hung around outside watching the parade. I have to admit even I was mesmerized by the bikes being rolled in (now that I clearly need a tri bike, you see). I also ran into an entire row of folks sitting in chairs with legal pads counting ... well ... from what I could tell, pretty much anything that could be counted. I heard one guy say 'That's two' (there were 2 bikes without aero bars so far - I doubt there were many more after that). I saw lists of bike types, wheels, components, and some things I hadn't even heard of. It's one thing to hear about this being done, or to see a headline that says 'Cervelo still the favorite at Kona' ... but to actually see it was something else. 

The bikes rolling into check-in.

Still rolling in ...

Only saw one of these.

From what I saw, Cervelo was winning the day by far.

Counting what looks like various configurations.

Wheels, wheels and more wheels.

Counting bikes .... and, I think, helmets.

After lunch Pat and Tom relaxed at the condo and I went back out on my bike. I found another beautiful road that wound back and forth down through some lava hills and dead-ended at the ocean. I stopped and talked to a runner who told me this hill used to be the killer hill on a Kona qualifier race that no longer is held. My first time back up this road I heard and saw flashes of several not-so-small animals that I first thought were warthogs (those things have tusks and charge people, you know?) ... then armadillos (Hawaiian armadillos. Yeah, I know. A mind can go horribly awry trying to reason things out sometimes) ... and was finally told by two locals that they were mountain goats (once they came out of the bushes this was far more obvious, and I'm sure would've been my next guess). The locals, who were picnicking on the side of one of the hills about 5 feet from the aforementioned goat-filled bushes, assured me they were nothing to worry about and that they were actually just playing (there were about a dozen of them charging each other and running around in big circles together making their mountain goat noises – I had to admit, it sure seemed an awful lot like playing). I hung out with the goats, going up and down the road, for quite a while. It was simply fun. 

A piece of the fun, winding, goat-laden road.

Of course it's obvious they're goats NOW.