In August of 2012, a good friend of mine did Ironman Louisville. I learned that they would be streaming the finish line live and thought it would be a great opportunity to have a party. What would be more fun than eating good food, drinking good drinks, and sitting on the couch while your friend put herself through torture? During the several hours of watching people run, walk, and crawl across the finish line, I swore I would never do a triathlon. Not even a short one. This was not a new revelation. I had always enjoyed swimming and running, but there was no way you were going to get me to ride my bike further than the pool or grocery store, let alone above 10 miles per hour (at this point I was still riding the hybrid my parents bought for me in middle school).
A few days later I learned that there would be a half Ironman (or Ironman 70.3) in Raleigh the following June. At first, I thought it might be fun to hang out and watch the finish. If Louisville was fun to watch online, surely Raleigh would be just as much fun in person. Somehow, I learned a few friends were thinking of signing up, and before I knew it, I had marked my calendar for the date the registration price would increase. The night before it did, I found myself sitting at my computer registering for my first (although it ended up being my second triathlon). I'm still not quite sure what I was thinking when I signed up. While my training schedule still focused on being ready to run Kiawah in December, I suddenly had a couple more things to think about, for example buying a road bike, learning to ride a road bike, and remembering how to swim.
Even though I didn't "officially" start training until January (after Kiawah), November brought a new (2-wheeled) member of the household who quickly worked itself into my training schedule (my long runs improved significantly when I'd biked the day before, maybe there really is something to this "cross training" idea). I was also thrilled to learn that I was not the only crazy person in the world, the race had sold out and I actually knew some of the other people planning to do it (do seems like it might be the right verb for this, or maybe it should have been survive, definitely not conquer).
Even though I didn't "officially" start training until January (after Kiawah), November brought a new (2-wheeled) member of the household who quickly worked itself into my training schedule (my long runs improved significantly when I'd biked the day before, maybe there really is something to this "cross training" idea). I was also thrilled to learn that I was not the only crazy person in the world, the race had sold out and I actually knew some of the other people planning to do it (do seems like it might be the right verb for this, or maybe it should have been survive, definitely not conquer).
January was here before I knew it. I made it through Kiawah and it was time to start officially training for "Raleigh." I had survived my first fall on (or off) my bike (long story short, I unclipped my right foot and tipped to the left. In a gravel parking lot. Thankfully no one saw it. It's amazing how little you can do in the endless moment during which you are plummeting towards the ground). I had a bike, which thanks to the gravel parking lot had a scratch or two. Now time to find a pool, and time to swim. After much consideration and the fact that the pool was on my way to work, it seemed that hitting the pool in the morning, before work, was my best bet (I have to be at work at 7AM, which meant out of the water by 6:30, you can do the rest of the math when I add in that I wanted to get in at least 45 minute workouts...). Thus, three days a week I arrived at school with wet hair, smelling a little like chlorine, and ready to eat breakfast at my desk. The important part was that I had found time to swim. Afternoon workouts (yes, somehow I had managed to get myself into 2 workouts a day) alternated between running and biking (or quality time on a spin bike). Saturday afternoons were spent on long bike rides, long runs, or both. Social life? I'm not sure I knew what that was. Biking and running had become my primary social activities and for the times I made it out without two wheels, I'm pretty sure my friends got used to seeing me waddle around on tired legs and take in more calories than should have been humanly possible. Thankfully, a few friends were as crazy as I was, which meant two things: 1) I had people to bike with, and 2) when we did make it out for happy hour on Friday, or to a party on Saturday, I had someone to talk to...as I knew little of what was happening in the world outside of training.
Somehow the stars aligned and I won a raffle, not just any raffle, but a free entry into an olympic distance triathlon in mid April. Perfect. The Raleigh half would no longer be my first, but instead my second triathlon, I would be an expert by then! I signed up for the Beaverdam Olympic Tri (and managed to drag a couple friends into it with me). Winning this entry might have been one of the best things that ever happened to me. I learned, a lot. For example, I learned how it felt to swim in a wetsuit, in cold, open water, with 40 other people. I learned how to (and not to) transition from wetsuit to bike gear, then bike gear to run gear. I learned that when moving from bike to run, your legs take on the consistency of concrete. Most importantly, I learned to stop and wave to your 2 year old nephew when wriggling out of your wetsuit, making sure to answer all of his questions, including why your beagle wasn't out racing with you. My family also learned that this was not the time to take pictures of me.
I used my new found knowledge to step up my workouts for the next two months. They say that practice makes perfect, so I decided to practice. Gym workouts now included "bike to run" practice. Basically 12 minutes on the bike, followed by a quick mile on the treadmill, followed by 12 minutes on the bike, then a slightly slower mile on the treadmill, another 12 minutes on the bike, then a final mile on the treadmill. My legs got better at transitioning (far from perfect, but better) and my running back and forth between equipment provided some entertainment for my fellow gym goers.
Friday, May 31st rolled around and it was time for packet pick up. Or, sign your life away and get your house arrest bracelet (it was your access pass to transition areas, bag check pick up tag, and generally made you look pretty hardcore). After signing away my right to sue for any peril I may succumb (including, but not limited to: drowning; falling off my bike; getting run over by another bike, or car; melting into a puddle on Hillsborough Street; or complete and total loss of sanity, you would think they might check to make sure I had my sanity to begin with), we wandered through the expo, taking note of the fact that everyone appeared to be in better shape than I was. Stopping for a quick beer was definitely next on the agenda (during which I made sure to hold my drink in a way that best showed off my braceletted wrist). Once the realization that this was really happening had set in, I headed home to pack gear for transitions and put my feet up. Saturday morning I washed my bike to get it ready to race, I needed every advantage possible to make me go faster, and surely a little less dirt (and a clean chain) would help. I dropped off my run gear and bike at transitions (there were 2 different transition areas with an intricate system of color coded bags and boxes). Saturday afternoon and evening were spent resting up and eating (minus a 2 mile run, my legs had to do something). I was in bed, alarm set, ready to sleep by 9:30. Surprisingly I did actually get some sleep before my 4 AM alarm.
Following a nerve filled drive downtown and bus ride out to the start, we had some time to wait. We watched the pros take off (and I tried not to think about how far they'd be by the time I started...they'd probably be on their flight home by the time I finished). Being in one of the later waves, I watched the crowds on the lakeshore dwindle as I waited for my start. Before too long I was in my borrowed wetsuit, knee deep in water, waiting for the whistle. The swim passed quickly and apart from choppy water, there were no major disasters. The bike ride was one of the most fun I'd ever had, roads closed and no stoplights made the 56 miles pass more quickly than expected and then it was time to run. Just a half marathon. This was the part I had done before. It was also the most (actually, second most) painful half marathon I'd ever run (see the second half of the ING Georgia to read about the first). What you may not know about Raleigh is that summers are hot. Actually, quite hot. We'd been lucky in training thus far, with few days coming close to 90. However, June 2nd (I guess that's technically late spring) brought with it temperatures in the mid 90s and heat I felt rising from the pavement the minute my bike stopped. It was a somewhat hilly (at least it felt like I was running uphill most of the time), out and back run during which I spent a great deal of time watching for friends running the opposite direction. After the longest 12.75 miles ever, I was almost done and approached the turn down Fayetteville Street.
If you've ever visited Raleigh, you've probably strolled down Fayetteville Street. It's a street lined with restaurants, connecting the capitol building and performing arts center. It's a gentle downhill, and this day was lined with spectators. I have never felt as loved as I did during this last 3 tenths of a mile. As I turned to head down Fayetteville, a group of friends appeared cheering on my right. "Okay," I said to myself, I can pick it up for a few yards, I can look strong and try to impress them. 25 yards later, I had passed the group of friends, looked tough, and was ready to slow down. Then I heard cheering and saw another group of friends, okay, maybe I could keep the pace up a little further, for this group too. This time, as I prepared to slow down, my family appeared on the left. This pattern continued the whole length of Fayetteville Street. I was amazed at the number of friends, from work, run clubs, and church, along with family who had come out to cheer on the end of the race (and at the fact they were perfectly spaced the entire length of the street which prevented me from slowing down). They pushed me through to the end and I cannot think of another time I felt so loved and honored by so many people (given the state of my legs, I couldn't feel much else).
As with most of my other races, I look back at the Raleigh half and ask myself what I learned. I learned that I like biking, it's not as boring as it looks, and bike shorts and shoes look kind of cool. I learned that swimming leads to upper body strength, which in turn leads to your favorite shirts being a little snug in the shoulders. I learned to push myself and that I am fortunate to have a phenomenal network of training partners, friends, and family. A few days after the race someone asked if I would ever do another one. Tomorrow? No. Someday? Of course.
