I had mixed feelings as I headed to DIA on my way to catch my flight last Wednesday evening. I was excited to head back to this race as I competed in the same event last year. However, I was a little apprehensive because I find it stressful to travel to triathlons all by myself because I have so much equipment and never know what kind of help I am going to find at my destination and with the added step of having to go through customs, I was a little anxious. I will never forget how my father taught me at an early age, “never travel with more luggage than you can carry by yourself” and here I was heading to the airport with a handcycle, racing chair, wheelbag, duffle bag and a backpack. I didn’t know whom I was meeting at the other end, just that someone would be waiving a sign that said, “Tricia Downing.”

Of course it was all fine when I got there, a driver picked me up and took me to the Hilton Hyde Park which was where all of the U.S. racers where staying. There was a full squad of elite racers who would compete in the London stop of the World Championship Series and four PC athletes (including me) who would compete in the London Paratriathlon. Our hotel was great as it was “technically” right across the street from the venue (Hyde Park), but considering the fact that you could walk several miles and still not get all the way through the park, we still weren’t exactly “right there.”

My first afternoon there, I took the opportunity to go for a “walk” and find a Vodaphone store. Since my cell phone doesn’t have international coverage, I had to go charge the international phone that Steve and I bought last time we traveled. It was only about a five block push before I got where I was going and I went in, purchased my SIM card and the woman at the counter offered to charge it for me since my charger was purchased in Australia and I couldn’t plug it in until I found an adapter. I left the phone there, went and bought an adapter and decided to look around while my phone was charging. Unfortnately, that was all I could do as every store, restaurant, etc. that I wanted to go to had at least one step out front. I couldn’t have shopped if I had wanted to. Good for my wallet, not so good for morale. Finally, I found a convenience store called EAT. with lots of yummy, healthy food, where I parked it for lunch, but other than that, I had a hard time finding much else to do. I went back and got my phone and headed to the hotel. That night we went out to dinner with the elite coaches and ran into the same thing. At least I had some people to help me into the restaurant, but of course, as soon as I decided I had to pee, I learned the restrooms were downstairs. I have to say, I know that the ADA is not perfect, but I realized just how good I have it at home.

Friday, I woke up and had the chance to test out both my handcycle and racing chair through Hyde Park before having to get them over to transition. It was purely for convenience sake that we took my stuff over on Friday, but it ended up being a major hike as we met our race contact at the furthest part of the park. Long story, but suffice it to say…Amanda (our Paratriathlon liaison from USAT), Todd (our mechanic) and I made about a four-mile trek that afternoon.

Later on Friday was when all of the real race activity began. There was a meeting for all paratriathlon participants at Imperial College, which is actually where I stayed last year. Amanda and two other U.S. athletes, JP and Matt, and I headed over to the meeting together where we met with our fourth teammate Megan, to listen to all the pertinent information about this year’s race.

One of the coolest things about the whole weekend happened in that room before the meeting began. Because paratriathlon is growing and taking place on an international stage, there have been some changes in the sport. As we grow and in numbers there must be increased accountability, consistency and attention to logistics. So…one of the changes is in the rules. Or let’s just say, now there ARE rules…in general (before now, the rules have been a lot more loose). Of course there have always been the usual triathlon rules, but now there are paratriathlon rules. For example, wheelers must now wear a band around their legs so that there is a level playing field between competitors. Those with incomplete injuries or some movement in their legs cannot benefit from a kick while others of us, with no movement, are not at a disadvantage. Another new rule says you must have a mirror on your bike or your helmet. Since I don’t ride with one on my bike at home, I had to make a special effort to get one and to have available for this race, but also because I don’t ride with one on my bike at home, I actually forgot the mirror in my garage at home. Realizing this in the car on the way to the airport, I panicked, and send an immediate Facebook message to one of the Brittish team members, David Cooke, who I met at the race last year. He wrote back and said he didn’t have a mirror but he’d check with his teammates. It was cool because, not only did he get the word out, but they came up with a mirror for me (albeit a compact with duct tape), but several of them followed-up with genuine concern as they arrived at the meeting. It doesn’t seem like a big deal but things like this are one of the reasons I love to do triathlons. I love meeting all the people and even though we’re from different areas of the world, we come together to do something that we love and have in common and create friendships that extend beyond borders. Geeky maybe, but I thought it was way cool. But it was also cool that Amanda had already been to the bike store that day to pick up a mirror (or helmet decoration, as I call it) for me.

Anyway, as the meeting progressed we learned that this was to be the second largest paratriathlon in the world (NYC Triathlon was larger) and the largest in the UK and Europe with 48 athletes from nine countries. All six triathlon classes were represented (I’m a T1…wheeler) and I learned sitting there in the room that there were three women in my division, two Brits and me (incidentally, the same girls who worked to find me a mirror for my handcycle).

Another part of becoming accountable in paratriathlon is learning about drug testing because it is now a reality of our sport. We had to listen to a presentation and watch a video about the process. Ordinarily a somewhat boring subject, but to keep our attention (at least that of the women) the presenter told us we’d get to see a nice pair of buttocks in the video. Now, I’m not sure watching a guy from the backside while he pees for the official is really what you’re looking to see, but she was true to her word. We did see a naked butt.

The final thing we had to learn was the system they have developed to get us out of the water. At any and every other triathlon I have done, I have been carried out of the water, usually by two strapping guys, in a fireman’s carry. The new standard is that the water handlers hold a sling-type seat between them and you swim in, turn on your back, put your butt on the sling, drape your armpits over the handlers shoulders and basically put your hands on their butts for stability. We did it last year and I guess it works out okay, once you’ve done it a time and figured out what you are doing. Whatever makes them happy. I guess it’s easier on the handlers.

With the meeting done, Amanda and I hailed a cab and headed back to the hotel. Inside the cab we told the driver about the race the next day and in a lovely Brittish accent he said, “where are you doing the swim? In the Serpentine?” We answered in the affirmative and the only thing he said in response was “well, don’t swallow the water!” Ugh! Just what I needed to hear after years of repercussions of drinking the water in the Hudson. And funny, because I had just given that exact advice to Susan Katz before she headed to the NYC Triathlon just the week before. Then that night, Amanda and I were out to dinner and a woman sitting next to us had overheard us talking about the race and she said, “I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but you’re not going to be swimming in the Serpentine are you?” This statement followed by a scrunched up sour face. Oy!

I didn’t get a great night of sleep on Friday…my traveling and jet lag had caught up to me and I was wide awake from about 2am to 4am reading my friend Polly’s new book (3mph: One Woman’s Walk Around the World…check it out: www.pollyletofsky.com). Anyway…I had set my alarm for 8am and when it went off, of course, I couldn’t get up, so I rolled over and didn’t get up until 10:30am! I bounded out of bed, went to EAT. for lunch, put on my super suit (my USA team suit) and headed to the race! Luckily, we didn’t start until 3:45pm.

(If you’re still reading this, you have a lot of patience and time on your hands, so to reward you, here’s how the race went down.)

The format—super sprint
The distances—400m swim, 10K bike, 3.5K run
The competitors—Jane Egan (GBR), Anna Turney (GBR), Tricia Downing (USA)

This is a very cool race because it’s not your typical parking lot transition with millions of bikes and people milling around. We used the same blue-carpeted transition area as the elites, with a sign posted at our area with our name, country and flag represented. On the ground we each had a white tub to hold all of our belongings. As we walked (rolled) out onto the pier, they announced each of us and we started together in one wave. I swam my usual backstroke (without a guide this time), but it was great because the buoys are tall and easy to sight even from your back, so I got through the swim relatively quickly in 9:05. I didn’t see Anna when I got out, but I saw Jane and she was exiting right behind me, but she got her wetsuit off quicker and pushed to her handcycle faster. I tried to get in my handcycle as quickly as possible, but she was still faster. I chased her out of transition, but she was already gone around the corner and out of sight. As I entered the course, I thought Jane might be my main competition, but then in no time, Anna blew right past me. In that moment, I thought, “seriously, am I going to get third place in this race???” But then another voice in my head said my favorite power phrase, “it isn’t over till it’s over.” That’s my way of psyching myself up to get in gear. I hit it hard and didn’t take long to pass Anna right back. Then I saw Jane ahead of me and I surged again knowing that one thing I had going for me was the small hill that led into transition and the second bike lap. Once I passed her, I didn’t look back (mostly because I can’t see behind me, and I had haphazardly attached the mirror to my helmet because I knew I wasn’t going to use it anyway). When I crossed into T2, I was in front, but as I was transferring into my racing chair, Anna slipped in to hers and got off quicker. Then just as I was taking off, Jane was back from the ride and in her chair. In the run out chute we were neck-and-neck. Three abreast. I shouted, “ladies, we can’t all fit through this chute together!” but they didn’t listen, so I held my ground. Somehow we all made it out at once without anyone crashing. At that point, I realized I had just about two miles to get in front and stay in front. Luckily I was able to do just that and once I passed Jane and Anna, I didn’t see them again until I had crossed the finish line in first! It was a great victory for me because I didn’t have such a great race in London last year. Final times: Trish—44:53, Jane—45: 30, Anna—48:40.

Just before the awards ceremony, I was interviewed by some folks from the ITU as the race winner for my category. They asked me about triathlon becoming a Paralympic sport and what it will mean to me once it is part of the Games. I shared with them that I would love to be there to compete, but I know my triathlon days will be behind me by that point (it’s likely another six years away), but I am proud to have been a part of the growth of the sport and helping it get to where it is today. When I first started, I didn’t know of any females in chairs doing tris and now there is a nice handful participating in the big races. I feel like my job has been to be a pioneer and hopefully set the stage for many to come after me. My triathlon days are probably numbered, but I’m not done just yet.

On Sunday the same driver that picked me up from the airport came again to pick me up and take me back. He asked me how I did in the race and when I told him that I had won, he exclaimed, “that’s BRILLIANT!” I love that expression as it’s so much more eloquent than the usual American, “Great. Awesome. or Sweet. To have your performance labeled as brilliant is just plain cool in my book.

Now that I’m home again, It’s time to switch my focus to my nemesis, my long-time companion and my biggest goal…the Ironman. Hawaii here I come. Game on!

I recently bought your book and read it straight through—incredible is too mild a word to describe it.

Even knowing a little about you and what happened before I read it, I broke down and wept and continued weeping throughout the book……..some tears of pain, others of joy.

My words could never convey the deepness and darkness of those moments for you. The clarity of the physical and heart wrenching emotional experiences, from page one to the end,  had me  there with you.  I cheered you, I urged you on, I hugged you in my heart.

In my own way I suffered with you.I felt the love of your amazing family and friends.
It was heartbreaking and heartwarming……..it made me angry and sad, ……….it left me feeling astonished and applauding your strength, tenacity and grace.

But most of all, it gave me my own “cycle of hope”. Thank you. I hope our paths cross again.

Sincerely,

Lewie Levy

Santa Barbara, Calif.

But it didn’t start out this way. At the beginning of 2010, I decided I wanted to keep my race schedule simple. Maybe some Olympic distance races and my big goal race of the year, the Duathlon World Championships. I competed at Duathlon Worlds last year and won (OK…I wasn’t really competing against anyone), but the organizers of this year’s race in Scotland, promised a good wheelie field, so I wanted to go and see how I would truly stack up. Therefore, at the end of May, I traveled to the Apple Duathlon in Sartell, Minnesota and qualified for the race. Plus, my year didn’t start off well anyway, with tendonitis in my elbow, which kept me from doing any exercise the whole month of February and a busy spring on the horizon. But there was one little thing that made me start thinking differently. The last week of March a new handcycle arrived at my door, with the help of a grant from the Challenged Athletes Foundation and the first day I took it out, I realized something…I was noticeably faster. I also re-did my seating position in my racing chair due to some blood clots that put me in the hospital in November and caused me not to be able to sit in a kneeling position any longer. That made a big difference in my pushing and I was getting faster in that too. So I decided to start entering road races just for fun and was having a great time hanging out with the other wheelers—traveling to the Salt Lake City Marathon, Bloomsday, Grand Rapids. I was doing well as I was racing myself into shape and the more I thought about it, the more I started considering that with increased speed maybe I could consider more.

I found out that the Buffalo Springs Lake Triathlon (BSLT) was going to be the site of the new 70.3 championships for the wheelies and it sounded a little bit intriguing. But, I was still hesitant to commit to doing the race that has given me the most grief of my wheelchair triathlon career, so I sat on that thought for a long time. I had a lot going on as I had eight out-of-town trips in eight weeks, not a lot of time to train and still that concern over this course that has plagued me. Finally, two weeks before the race, I officially entered, the next week I spent an afternoon on the phone looking for a hotel room and on Friday, June 25^th my friend and swim guide, Diana, and I got in her car and headed to Lubbock, Texas for the big race.

Here’s the thing though. This year was different. There is a new kid on the block and she’s FAST! Her name is Susan Katz and she did BSLT last year with a bike time that beat my 2006 time by an hour! Holy smokes, is all I could think of her when I saw her 2009 times. But, I figured, maybe I could get a lot closer to her on my new bike now that I was so much faster. Still…I was worried. I learned back when I started cycling, to NEVER underestimate a competitor. I can remember vividly the City Park criterium that I did with my regular cat IV competitors one weekend and as we were at the start line, a certain Sarah Conrad pulled up on a ragged brown Bianchi and we all looked at her like, “She’s no threat. Look at that bike.” But the entire field was schooled that day and it was a lesson we would never forget. Sarah kicked our collective ass! The other thing I have learned in my years of competition, is that over-confidence kills. I didn’t want to go into the race over-thinking my abilities. And plus, since I didn’t do the training that this race requires, I decided to work on some of the other things I could control, like my attitude, confidence and mental preparation.

Yesterday (Saturday) we did the usual pre-race stuff, but I had the added challenge of a medical issue. I woke up and felt like complete crap. I knew that in my current state I would not be able to perform as I needed, so I called my favorite nurse practicioner, Cathy Edstrom-Clark, one of my swim teammates from my 8-and-under days and she immediately called in a prescription that literally saved my race!

Then we headed to the lake to meet with our handlers (we had to have our helpers assigned to us this year, so Diana and Steve couldn’t help me at all, once the race started). I had two wonderful gentlemen, who are also local body builders (read: super buff) as my help. We had the opportunity to give them a quick training session of getting us into and out of the water and then to strip our wetsuits and help with T1 and T2. At one point after I did my short swim I told them, “why don’t you guys carry me to my chair and then we can practice getting my pants off.” As soon I as I said that, I realized how it sounded. Diana and I got a big laugh off of that one. But these guys had great senses of humor and were completely at ease from the very beginning. Chris and Sid were great!

After the practice at the lake, Diana picked Steve up at the airport, there was a race briefing, dinner and off to bed for a 3 a.m. wake-up call.

Three a.m. came early as it always does. Steve, Diana and I got up and headed out the door of our hotel and I was feeling much less than confident. I knew this was going to be a difficult race against Susan and I just wasn’t sure how it was going to go. But we blasted a bunch of motivational tunes in the car and I was starting to get ready for the challenge ahead.

Our wave went off at 6:35 and I started right next to Susan. Fortunately, even though we are competitors, I enjoy being around her…she’s super friendly and out-going and a really great person. We wished each other good luck and we were off.

Now I knew by looking at her last year’s times that I could probably get her in the swim, I’d have to hang on for dear life on the bike (and likely get passed) and then it was anybody’s guess who’d have something left in the tank for the run.

Diana guided me off on a perfect swim and for once, I did not have to sit up a single time to see how much further, adjust my goggles or stop for another other reason. In my mind, I had a chant that I went through the whole swim. The right arm coincided with “strong,” and the left arm, “so-strong.” So for 42 minutes, all I said to myself was “strong, so-strong, strong, so-strong” but it must have been the right message to my brain and body because I felt good the whole way.

When we got to the beach, Sid and Chris rushed in and got me and put me in my chair. This year though, there were new rules. We couldn’t be pushed from the swim exit to our equipment. We had to push ourselves. Ugh. That was hard because our stuff was at the back of the transition area. It seemed like a big push, even though it really wasn’t.

I knew I didn’t have a lot of time, but I had a quick transition (mostly because I only wore wetsuit pants, not a whole wetsuit) and I was off on the bike. I figured I had between 10-15 minutes before Susan got out of the water, but I wasn’t sure. As I left, I hit 18mph or more in several spots and my speed rarely went below 13. That’s really good for me, so I was thinking I was making time on Susan. But, in reality at about 1 hour 19 minutes as I was heading one way down the road I saw her pass on the other side. She was headed to the turnaround I had just passed and wasn’t far behind. My immediate thought was “oh S#$T! She’s caught me already.” But I also realized something else. I was going hard but staying right where I needed to be, paying very close attention to my power and speed. I know how important it is to do that when racing 56 miles, and I decided that no matter what, I would do what I needed to, to stay within my ability so that I could last the whole race. As it turns out, over the course of the rest of the bike, I realized that Susan was slowing down and looked to be struggling on the hills (there are a lot of out-and-backs on the course, so you pass other racers a lot). I figured she blew her whole wad trying to catch me and then blew up. Lucky for me. Had the course been flat, I might not have been so lucky. The thing is that lately, I have come to the conclusion that I’m getting pretty strong on hills. If you ever asked my bike racing friends, they would say that “Trish is not, not, not, NOT a hill-climber” but it’s never too late to change, right? It’s becoming more of my strength, so I thought I would use it today. I also felt like I took advantage of some strategy and experience to out race an athlete who is technically probably faster than me.

On the last few hills, I was cooked. So was she. I kept going. So did she. But I did go a little faster. Once I realized I was probably going to beat her, I turned my thoughts to the eight-hour time cut and Kona. Did I really want to actually commit myself to another year of training for an Ironman? I’ve already trained for five and it’s taken a lot out of me. You’ve ready about this or seen if first hand if you’ve followed me through my Ironman drama over the past five years you know that that distance has chewed me up and spit me out. It has caused more stress, disappointment and trauma in my life than is probably necessary. So after I completed the Beach 2 Battleship Iron distance race in 2008 I decided that would be the end. No more. Done. Fini. But today, I started thinking. My first goal in coming to this race was to win. My second goal was to beat eight hours, because I wasn’t able to do that in 2006. But, if I reached both of those, I would be eligible to go to Kona.

On I went.

When I got on the run I had visions of the first hill which gave me such trouble in 2006 and where, incindentally, Susan crashed in her descent last year. We asked the officials if my handler could just walk behind me, should I miss a hand placement and go careening off backwards. Sid was allowed to do that and he talked me through it the whole way. But just before I had hit that hill, I went by a runner who told me he worked with the Achilles Track Club in New York and he said I’m going to tell you what I tell my other runners, “You OWN this shit!”  So that’s what I said to myself during the run. But on that first hill, it was more like, “you…own…this…shit…ugh…you…own…this…shit.” It got me to the top and I hit the flats as hard as I could as Sid drove to the next hill. Again, he walked behind and cheered me up. At the top of that hill, you think the turnaround is right around the corner, but it’s not. I started to feel sick as I hadn’t eaten enough through the bike and only had gels on the run. I thought I was going to throw up. I slowed to 3 and 4 miles per hour. I started to see the eight hours dwindle away. Plus, I didn’t know my actual time because I did not wear a watch and when I went up the big hills at 0 miles per hour, my computer didn’t advance the time. I had no idea where I stood with the time cut. When I finally hit the turnaround I had a slight downhill and just tried to settle into a groove. Then a big downhill and then the last uphill. At this point, Sid was working me pretty hard with his hard-nosed, tough love encouragement. He was supporting me with his words to push up the hill like a bad-ass. At the top, he left me to finish the last four miles or so around the lake that seemed to last forever.

I pushed as hard as I could and was surprised when I didn’t just make the time cut, but I crushed it by 29 minutes. Seven hours, 31 minutes and 26 seconds. Almost a full hour faster than in 2006 and with far less training. It was awesome!

At the awards ceremony tonight, I was awarded a slot to the Hawaii Ironman in October! Does the new bike mean I will definitely make the time cut this time around? No, of course there are no guarantees in the Ironman, but at least this time I feel like I have a fighting chance. The training will be tough as I feel quite burned out on the long-distance training thing, but I think if Rocky can go that one more round (I mean, isn’t he up to Rocky V or X or something), then I can too.

Stay tuned, as the saga continues…

But, before I go, I have HUGE thank yous to my support crew. First of all, my Coach Neal who has helped me build such a great base over the years, Coach Kathy who helped me prepare for this race, Larry Emerson and Jen Bars (www.jenbars.com)  and Mountain Fitness Training Center for sponsoring me with personal training sessions and Bernadette Hunter who helped me get my head straightened out prior to the race.

Thanks goes to my family and friends who are a constant support in all of my athletic endeavors.

I appreciate the support of the Challenged Athletes Foundation for help in getting a new bike. And to Mike and Marti Greer for being awesome hosts to the 70.3 National Wheelchair Championships. I also appreciate having so much support from the other wheelers who were at BSLT this weekend.

Huge thanks to Jill Prichard from the Challenged Athletes Foundation who saved my life not once, but twice today.

Cathy Edstrom-Clark who helped me get my energy and health back.

Chris and Sid for being super awesome handlers, cheerleaders and overall really fun dudes.

Couldn’t have done this trip without my friend and massage therapist Diana, who pitched in, in MANY ways. She drove me to Texas in her car so I wouldn’t have to rent one, swam with me, got the knots out of my back and pretty much took care of me the whole weekend.

And, to my awesome husband Steve who put in over 15 hours of work getting my equipment fixed, tuned and up-to-speed for this race. He puts up with me and my neurosis surrounding sports and competition and everything else I do. I really couldn’t do any of this without his help and support and total buy-in.

And last, I would be remiss if I didn’t give a huge shout-out to my new friend, Johnny G, who gave me the world’s best pep talk and helped me find the 8 minutes (plus) that I never knew I had.

Thanks to all of you!!!

(By the way…if you haven’t read all my other race reports, come to my signing party for my new book Cycle of Hope: A Journey from Paralysis to Possibility at Lala’s Wine Bar and Pizzeria—7^th and Logan Street…Tuesday, June 29^th from 5:30pm-7:30pm).

In addition, on the 15th, I will also launch my new book—Cycle of Hope: A Journey from Paralysis to Possibility. It chronicles my experiences from bike racer, to injury and return to sports as a physically challenged athlete. It will be available on my website and Amazon.com, but you will have the opportunity to purchase a signed copy at the event!

Here are the details:

CAMP DISCOVERY FUNDRAISER

When: Tuesday, June 15^th—5:30 p.m. to 9:00 p.m.

Where: The Melting Pot of Littleton, 2707 W. Main Street, Littleton, CO 80120

What: A romantic evening on the patio, including a four-course fondue dinner (cheese fondue, salad, entrée and chocolate fondue), book signing and silent auction

Cost: $59/person (alcohol not included, + soft drinks, tea and coffee are included)

To Register:

Advance ticket sales only. A limited number of tickets will be available.

Ticket purchases are tax-deductible. 
All donations will be made to Camp Discovery via the 
Challenged Athletes Foundation (CAF)

Visit my CAF Race for a Reason page on the Kintera website (it will prompt you to enter a donation amount. Please enter $59 per ticket you are requesting). I will follow-up with you via email to confirm your donation.

You can also pay by check (made out to CAF)—please contact me if you would like to mail your payment

Questions: Contact—Tricia Downing, ladyterp_td@hotmail.com, 303.358.2768

When I was just out of college and struggling to find a job in my field of study (broadcast journalism), I had a friend who landed a job with the Spokesman Review Newspaper in Spokane. We happened to talk on the phone one night and she told me that I should come to Spokane to look for work with one of the local television stations. It didn’t sound like such a bad idea, since I had no job prospects in Denver, so I sent my resume to a couple of stations and ended up getting invited for an interview at one of them. I flew up to Washington State and my friend, Bonnie, and my cousin Tim (who was also living in Spokane at the time) helped me out by chauffeuring me around town and entertaining me for a couple of days. At the end of my visit, I ended up getting the offer for a position at KREM TV channel 2 as a part-time broadcast technician, for the whopping salary of $6.50/hour. I figured it was as good an offer as any, so in September of 1992, I moved to Spokane, Washington. I lived there for two years and worked for one year as a live studio tech for the nightly news doing camera, teleprompter, floor directing and character generator and another year as a promotions producer. My life revolved around life at KREM, since we worked such weird shifts:  4:30pm-6:30pm and 9:30pm-11:30pm. As a result, we ended spending most of our time with the TV crew. Plus, my roommate was a news producer and my next door neighbor was a director for the newscasts, my closest friends were co-workers and even I even dated a guy from the station. I was the newest young punk on the block and looking back on my days at KREM I was just a kid.

Although, things have changed and only one of my friends still works at the station, it was great knowing I was coming back to Spokane for the race and to see the group. On the shuttle bus from the airport to the hotel, I looked out of the window only to see a big billboard of one of the anchors I used to work with in the nightly newscasts (albeit she is now working for another station), but I immediately thought, “aaaahhhhh, home!”

I got to the hotel and had a couple of hours to relax before I met my KREM friends at one of our old haunts, Azteca restaurant. It was a great night of reminiscing about old times…and it was a BIG reminder about how I am now one of the “old folks” and not that young 22-year-old punk that I used to be.

Saturday was full of more activity race registration and visiting with another KREM friend for lunch. I also went on a course tour that is required for the first year racers—Bloomsday rookies. Even though I am not a rookie (this was my third Bloomsday) I decided to go and was glad I did. There are some real screaming downhills on the course as well as some tough uphills, and I did myself a favor to refresh my memory of the course. Plus, one of the Bloomsday veterans, Craig Blanchette was on the bus and gave some great tips and insight into the course.

When this morning finally rolled around, it was time to race. Now, as a wheelchair racer, you don’t get the full impact of what Bloomsday truly is. And, as a visitor, you really only get part of the story. Bloomsday in Spokane is really big. Huge. When I worked for KREM it was a day that you didn’t dare ask to have off. We covered the race live and everybody had to work. Everybody in town either does the race or stays as far from downtown as possible. This year there were 55,000 people registered for the event. That’s a LOT of people! The race starts on a main street through downtown called Riverside and I remember one year looking down from a highrise building and just seeing streams of people flowing through every street downtown. It truly is a sight. Many of the racers wear old clothing to the start and prior to the race they throw off sweatshirts and jackets into the trees and off on to the road and they are later picked up by race volunteers and donated locally, but the whole street looks like a five-year-old’s bedroom with clothes strewn about.

Being in the wheelchair field is a little bit different of an experience because we start first and never even see the organized chaos happening behind us. But sitting at the start line I know all those people are behind me. I did Bloomsday in 1995 (pre-accident), after having moved away from Spokane, and coming back for the weekend to spend with friends. I ran with my friend, Billy….if you could call it running. There were so many people starting and the roads narrow enough, that we couldn’t even break into a “trot” until almost mile three. Then we ran for a couple of miles and finally hit Doomsday Hill—which is every bit as intimidating as its name implies. But I’ll get back to that.

Anyway…in today’s race there were six women in the open division and 53 wheelers all together. That’s a pretty big field. The Bloomsday folks take good care of us helping us to get here with flights, hotel, race registration, food, etc. It’s a first-class operation. Sizing up the women’s field, there were two shoe-ins for first and second place. Third place was a challenge and the other three of us would duke it out for forth, fifth and sixth. There was one other gal, Sandra, who like me, was double the age of all the rest of the female field. We were the old…um, mature racers—the forty-somethings. It was fun to have someone else in my age and speed range.

As the gun we took off and actually for the first time ever, I could keep an eye on the lead racers beyond the first 10 feet of the race. I think I had my eye on the “fast girls” for almost a half mile. Doesn’t seem like much, but for me it’s an accomplishment. I have a notoriously slow start, but I think my new chair setup is helping with that. I took off and didn’t have Sandra next to me, but I knew she would be my main competition so I didn’t spend much time wondering where she was. The race starts out with about a mile of flat, but then hits a pretty wicked downhill. I’m a wimp on the descents and Sandra had said that she loved them, so I had to try my hardest not to ride the brakes. When I saw my speedometer hit 40mph I had to say over and over in my mind, don’t panic, don’t panic and then you-can-do-it, you-can-do-it. It worked. A couple of years ago I was freaked out when my speedometer hit 27mph. I was so proud of myself, but then at the bottom of the hill, Sandra pulled up right beside me. Fortunately, I learned on the course tour that this was more of a climbers course and I know that if I’m weighing climbing or descending, I’m a much better climber. So I gradually pushed ahead and tried to keep my intensity up on the hills. I passed a couple of the guys and kept going until the second screaming downhill, which really tested my courage. As I was going down I went back to my you-can-do-it mantra, until I looked down and realized I was going 42mph! Then my mantra turned to ho-ly shit, ho-ly shit. I just hung on as long as I could and then had to start feathering the brakes because I was freaking out and there was a sweeping right hand turn coming up. That’s where I hit Doomsday Hill. My speed dropped to 4mph as I climbed this grinding hill. There’s a debate about how long it is…probably ¾ mile climb, but when you get to the top it doesn’t flatten out, it just isn’t as intense. Finally you take a couple of turns and get on a truly flat road that lasts a couple of miles to the finish.

I crossed the line of the 12K race in 45 minutes 50 seconds in forth place. The winner crossed in 35:15 and Sandra behind me in 48:33. Even though I was nowhere near winning, this race is a tough one and everyone who finishes deserves a nice congratulations. So I will count the finish as a victory and move on to the next. My strategy of racing myself into shape is moving along.

More next week when I head to Grand Rapids, Michigan!

Thursday night before I left, I called my mom to tell her where I would be for the weekend and she could tell by my voice on the phone that I had a cold. “Do you ever NOT get sick right before a big race?” she asked. I have to admit she had a point. It does seem to be a trend with me that I get sick before the big events. Don’t know why. I’d sure fix it if I could!

On Friday, I traveled to Salt Lake City for my third crack at the local marathon. I actually really like that race. I find it to be a fast course with pretty scenery and a nice, close trip to Denver. I was fortunate to have the offer to stay with my friend and fellow wheeler, Muffy Davis, who is a Paralympic medalist and skier extrordinaire. She picked me up at the airport and we headed to registration to pick up our numbers. Muffy does the race in a handcycle and I do it in my racing chair so we aren’t in the same category and didn’t race directly against each other. That made our time together very relaxing in that we didn’t have to spend much time worrying about who was going to come in second, but what was also cool, is that both of us have done the race before (this was my third SLC and her fourth) and neither of us has ever placed anywhere but first. So, we were striving to keep the perfect record between the two of us. Friday night my friend Laura, who I met as a race volunteer several years ago, came and took me out for my pre-race dinner.

When I got home from dinner, I was exhausted. My cold was getting me down, I had gone through what seemed like three boxes of Kleenex that afternoon alone, and was coughing up a storm. Not an ideal day for this marathon eve. For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to take some cold medicine at 10 o’clock when I went to bed—I figured it would at least help with decongestion and maybe I’d feel better for the race. But, when I woke up six hours later at 4 a.m., all I felt was that woozy, tired, blah feeling of a cold medicine hangover. My first thoughts were to just back out of the race.

I got ready slowly and finally after an hour was prepared to head out the door. Muffy and I got to the racecourse in about 20 minutes, but then had to park. Unfortunately, where we had planned to park was blocked off by security and it took almost ten minutes to talk our way into that lot; otherwise we would have had to park much further away and we were running out of time. Our start time was 6:10 a.m. Finally, once we were allowed to park, we had to hustle to our staging area, get ready and head to the start line. The stress of having to get my chair and myself ready in less than 15 minutes, helped snap me out of my cold medicine slump. I wasn’t thinking when I packed, about the early start time and how we’d be racing for almost half of the race in the dark. I had only my dark glasses, so from the start to about the half marathon mark, I wore them on the end of my nose like my grandma used to do with her reading glasses.

The course starts on a really fast downhill with a hairpin turn at the bottom, so I’ve learned that it’s safest just to ride my brake down the hill…no sense in crashing in the first half mile. Once I got past that, my only goal was to make it to the finish. I wasn’t feeling 100%, so my only hope was to survive the race. But I was soon reminded of how fast that course is and how much I love that race and I realized I was cruising! When I got the half marathon mark I looked down at my clock and saw that I was on pace for a PR! With that motivation I started to take the race much more serious and I tried to push myself, despite how awful I felt! I remembered Muffy telling me that there were some changes to the course and that there was a hill in the last mile, so I knew I would have to keep my speed up until then, because that would slow me down. Aside from a close call with a sunken down manhole cover and a cat, things went pretty well. When I got to the final two miles I was going up a gradual grade, but keeping my speed up and I was thinking that maybe Muffy exaggerated the final hill, but finally I looked up and saw it. It wasn’t huge by any stretch, but when you see any hill in mile 25, it’s really not encouraging. My speed dropped considerably and my time was ticking away and I saw my PR come and go. Then at the end of the race, the marathon crosses over the 5K course and there is a little people dodging to do, so I knew it wasn’t going to be the day I set any records. But I did cross the line in two hours and eighteen minutes, only three minutes off my best marathon time! I was pretty happy with the finish, mostly because I actually made it, even though I felt like crap. And I was lucky…all the other female competitors raced in handcycles, so I was the first (and only) female racer in my division. Muffy won her race too, so as we left the finish line we were both in smiles, keeping our streaks alive and having had a great day! Not bad for a sick girl with only a few workouts under her belt. Now I can’t wait for the next workout/race…

When I started this season, I knew I didn’t have it in me to do a huge quantity of racing, so I went for quality. I wanted to compete in the Triathlon World Championships in Gold Coast, Australia, but I also knew that would be a long shot financially, so when I found out that duathlon would have a ParaTri (formerly known as AWAD-Athletes with a Disability, and more formerly known as PC-Physically Challenged) division, I jumped at the chance to qualify. My VISA card could handle a trip to the east coast better than halfway around the world. Therefore, Steve and I traveled to the Apple Du in Sartell, Minn., in May where I qualified for Duathlon Worlds. Since then my season has consisted of four time trials, a sprint triathlon and a super sprint tri. Much less than I normally do in a year.

We arrived in Charlotte, N.C. on Thursday night and were fortunate to have the offer to stay with a friend, Mike Savicki who lives just about 35 minutes from the racecourse. The great thing about staying at Mike’s house is that it is totally accessible (he’s in a chair too), it’s right on the lake (BEAUTIFUL), he has all the spare equipment I could have needed and tonight he took us out on his boat. Not only that, but his pantry is stocked better than the shelves at Safeway and he’s very “motherly” for a guy…he would not let us leave the house yesterday without raincoats, an umbrella, enough food and Gatorade…we were definitely prepared!

On to the race! The event took place at Lowe’s Motor Speedway, home to the two of the biggest races on the NASCAR circuit. And even part of the race took place on the apron of the track. Looking at the map the course was anyone’s guess as it was so confusing, but by the time we got my equipment to the transition area (which was in the infield by all the car garages) and took the Team USA picture, we didn’t have time or the means to travel the course. I had no idea what I was in for. Good and bad, looking back.

Yesterday we had a leisurely morning, which is rare in racing, but my division didn’t go off until 3:30pm, so we didn’t even leave Mike’s place until 12:30 or so. I liked not having to get up early, but I don’t think afternoon is my ultimate time for racing. As we backed out of the driveway, the sky was overcast and misting rain. It didn’t seem like such a big deal as it helped cool things down a bit, but as we approached the track, the mist had turned into a light rain. We got there as the elite men were on the bike course and seeing them go downhill through the tunnel and make tight turns, in a group, on wet, painted roads made me flinch every time. We could see a couple of racers had already gone down and once we got into the infield we saw a one guy crash just feet away from us. Things were starting to get real slippery and the age group race hadn’t even started yet.

Once that race was over, they had the elite and junior award ceremonies and then it was on to the age groupers. We all lined up at the start line with the PC athletes in front and racers from 18-years-old to 84, behind us.

Since this was the first time for a ParaTri division in the duathlon it was SMALL. Just five of us to be exact and I was the only female and the only wheelchair. There were fours Americans and one Italian. I was feeling pretty good about things. I figured that I would be able to take off on the run and get a gap on the field, then hold steady on the bike and then catch back up on the second run. Funny how I always have great plans and they almost never work out. The horn sounded and off we went.

The beginning of the run was only about 200 meters on the apron, then went into the infield, curved around like a snake through some grassy areas at the end of the track and out through the tunnel that leads you from the track to the outside world. Before I even got to the tunnel I heard my tire go “pssssssssssss” and I thought, “oh crap!” I don’t know how I already had a hole in my tire since we had checked them and filled them up earlier, but I kept pushing hoping that Steve had put some Stan’s in the tire. I headed for the tunnel and went full speed down the hill into the tunnel and as I hit the bottom, I hit a grate in the ground full force and it sounded like my disk wheels were going to crack and then the “pssssss” turned into “PSSSSSSSSSSSSS” and I was now facing a hill that went straight up. I started up forward and immediately knew that this was a backward climbing hill. In the meantime, my sunglasses were fogging up, I was breaking out in a massive downpour of sweat because of the humidity, so I threw off my favorite pink Rudy sunglasses, hoping I wasn’t saying goodbye to them forever (but knowing I would never get them back), turned around and started pulling up the hill. I finally made it and turned around only to have another hill staring me in the face. The course wrapped through the concourses of the track, to a bridge that went over the highway and came back over another bridge. As I pushed through the first lap (which was only 3.1 miles per lap), the rain started FOR REAL. Even though I had a huge supply of Klister on my chair, I kept coating my gloves and they’d grip for a while, but it was just too wet to keep them tacky for long. The hills were so steep and hundreds of runners had caught me and my gloves were so slippery, I had to go up everything backwards. That was FIVE hills per 5K lap that I had to turn around and pull up. It took me 1 hour and 11 minutes to go 10K, when I was planning for 38 minutes or less. The good news, the Stan’s sealed up the hole in my tire and though the air was low it was enough to keep me going. When I pulled up in transition, I was soaked! Steve helped me out of my chair and on to the bike. I grabbed my short-sleeved cycling raincoat, some gels and was off. The bike course was two 20K laps and I was wishing for more food. Based on my time at the Apple Du, I was going for 2:55 to three hours for this race, but it was obvious after the run, that I was way off my time. In the first 10K of the race, I went from chasing a PR to survival mode.

As I rode off to the bike course, I was surrounded with other racers, which was good for support, but bad for splash back. It was raining steadily and my front wheel, being exactly the height of my face, was throwing gallons of water and dirt directly into my eyes. Now I really wished for my Rudy’s, but they probably wouldn’t have helped. There were a couple of screaming downhills where I was going over 30 mph, but not being able to see a thing with all the water in my face and at the bottom, a sharp turn to the right. I’d go back and forth squinting one eye and then the other trying to keep at least some sort of sight on the course and hoping not to take out any cyclists.

After the first lap outside of the complex, we came back into the speedway and rode almost all the way around on the track. At one point the wind was behind my back and I was cruising. But as soon as I passed by transition and headed back out of the complex for my second lap, it began to POUR. And at this point, I was all alone on the racecourse. I was thankful for my jacket as I started to shiver and get very cold. The water was getting deep along the course and I was thinking to myself, “if I had wanted to get wet, I would have done a TRIATHLON.”

Finally I could hear a vehicle behind me and I kept waiting for them to pass, but then I realized that someone had sent a follow vehicle out for me. That was nice…maybe they could save me from drowning.

When I got back into transition to get ready for the final 5K, Steve told me to hurry up. He said the ITU officials wanted to pull me from the course (for “safety reasons” … it was getting dark and was VERY wet), but the USAT folks were sticking up for me to stay in the race. He helped me get in the chair and I told him to follow me over to the tunnel so he could be there in case of disaster. He jumped in a golf cart with Casey, a gal from USAT. As the sky got dark and all the street lights came on, they followed me through the whole course. I kept seeing racers leaving with their bikes in hand-most had already left. At that point, all I wanted was to finish.

When we pulled back into the track, they were taking down fencing and bike racks, but there was still an announcer, a finish line and a couple of straggling athletes. It felt like the two Ironman races I have finished late into the night, and it felt almost as difficult.

For a race that I was expecting to go three hours, fighting through to 4:10 was a killer both mentally and physically. The entire time, I kept telling myself that I had to finish no matter what. The last time I went to Worlds was in 2003 in New Zealand when I was pulled from the water with hypothermia and didn’t get to finish. It didn’t matter this time that I was the Lanterne Rouge or as Mike says, “DFL.” I finished and for that, I am the World Champion in my division.

As Steve and I walked to the car, the guy who had been following me on the bike, drove up, got out of the car and said, “I can’t give you a medal for your race, but I want to give you this.” He gave me a commemorative gold coin from one of the events at the track. He said, “you inspired us tonight. All the EMT and security staff enjoyed watching you and your determination. You are amazing.”

The things that made it all worthwhile, were wearing the read and blue, being cheered on by all of my USA teammates and the standing ovation I received at this morning’s award ceremony. No, it wasn’t the athletic performance of a lifetime, but I had to dig deep for this one. And maybe sometimes it’s just as well to inspire as to be fast.

B2B Ironman Race Report (November 2, 2008)

I like to think that I’m not a quitter. So I guess that’s how I managed to get myself registered for yet another Ironman.

This time I headed to Wilmington, North Carolina for the Beach 2 Battleship Iron distance triathlon, a first year event. I decided to go to the race for a couple of reasons. First of all, the website said the course was fast and was a great place to set a PR. The other is that it was a small, low-key, first year race, similar to the Redman where I had my first shot of finishing an Ironman in 2005. I had hopes that the race director would allow me to continue through the bike time cut in case I was unable to make it. My goal: a chance to cross the finish line, making the bike cut or not.

Steve and I arrived in Wilmington on Tuesday, October 28^th.  I could tell the minute we headed out of the airport that I was in trouble. It was 9:00pm and it was FREEZING outside. Not like Colorado freezing or 32 degrees freezing, but definitely not my idea of triathlon weather. Although I had brought some warm clothes for the race, I wasn’t sure I had enough to keep me warm in the current conditions.

We spent Wednesday and part of Thursday checking out the town and the course trying to figure out the logistics of this somewhat complicated race. There were two different transition areas to locate, the swim was a point-to-point and we had to figure out how everything would happen in between.

On Thursday afternoon, Roberta, my friend and swim guide, joined us in Wilmington, as well as my east coast cheering section—my sorority sister Sandy and her husband Marc, kids Kira and Kylan and her Grandma and Paw Paw. We all met for dinner and the last relaxing hours before race day.

By the time I was heading for bed on Thursday, I could feel a slight ache coming on in my throat and the feeling that I was coming down with a cold. I didn’t sleep well that night because I kept trying to concentrate on making it go away. No luck. I awoke and knew all my thoughts of keeping it away hadn’t worked. But we had a lot to get done so I sucked it up.

Friday was for last minute equipment adjustments, a short ride and the race briefing. Roberta offered to make our sandwiches that we’d take along for the day so Steve and I headed out to the parking lot to test out my racing chair and make sure it was working properly. I got in the chair and as I was wiggling down in, when we heard a “THUNK!” Steve was standing in front of the chair looking at me and we looked around a second, but didn’t really think much of it. Then Steve walked around the back of my chair to help fasten me in and that’s when he said, “uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh what?”

“Um, your frame just cracked.

“Cracked?”

“Yeah, it’s snapped.”

I tried to give the chair a push on the rims and I moved forward about three inches. It was clear then that we had a problem.

I had known the tubing was weak and compromised from all the airline travel this year, but there hadn’t been time or money to get a new chair, so Steve had taken it apart and packed it carefully in a box for the flight. Unfortunately, it was closer to the end of it’s life than we could predict.

 I jumped out of the chair and looked down and sure enough the back of the frame was snapped in half in the back corner and to make things worse, as I had gotten out, I had inadvertently dragged my thigh across the jagged edges of the metal. Fortunately, I didn’t feel the pain of the eight-inch scrape down my leg. Already stressed and on edge about the race, I took my helmet off, slammed it to the ground and began throwing a tantrum. After screaming, crying and finishing my rant, I yelled at Steve “what are we going to do now?!?! I didn’t not train all this time to not race!”

Steve said, “Well, we need a welder.”

“How are we going to find a welder?!?!”

I went back to the hotel room and immediately got on the phone. I made calls to see if there might be someone local who could help me out with a chair to borrow. At the same time, Steve was in the hotel lobby with the phone book calling local welders. On his third call he struck gold when he talked to a man named Don, who could weld the thin aluminum of my racing chair. Don gave Steve an address and said to come on over.

Steve, Roberta and I piled into the car and started driving. About 20 minutes later we were in a residential neighborhood. When we came upon the address that Don had given Steve it was a house with a welding shop in the garage. Don emerged from the shop, as Steve unloaded the racing chair. He handed it off to Don and the two of them headed into the shop. Roberta and I didn’t even have to get out of the van, we just watched as Don took over and spent less than 10 minutes fixing the problem that earlier seemed like the end of the world. He was a nice, no nonsense guy who did us a great favor. Didn’t even charge for his work, just said it was great that I could race and good luck.

After that we were back in business, but our running around didn’t give me time for a bike ride which I had hoped for, so we took the racing chair to our next stop where we would have the race briefing. We put the wheels on the chair in the parking lot and I took a couple of laps to make sure everything was working and then we went to the meeting.

It was a pretty typical race meeting except for the added surprise of seeing an old cycling friend who I hadn’t seen since before my accident and meeting two guy wheelers who were doing the ½ Ironman as their first triathlon ever!

When we left the meeting there was still a lot of driving around to do. First, we had to find the beach where the race would start. Then off to T1, where Steve and Roberta would later bring my bike, then back to the hotel so I could get my things together. I had a quick dinner and was in bed by 8pm since we had to leave the hotel by 4:45am.

Race morning was chilly and dark. I was full of dread. My cold had me feeling less than ideal and I was anxious about the day. Steve, Roberta and my friend Sandy and I piled in the van and headed to T1 to drop off my special needs bags and then headed to the beach. While all the other racers had to take a bus from T1 to the beach since there was little parking there, we got a special “P.C.” parking pass and could drive ourselves. As the busses arrived the athletes had piled out and stood shivering in the cold waiting for race time. All the while we had the heat cranked in the van and we sat in there relaxing (well, at least there are a few perks for the wheelers). We also go to the beach early enough that I could get an extra 30 minute nap in the van. We ran into Kelly Bruno, a super amputee athlete who we know through CAF, and her mother so we invited them into our little heated party. Eventually it was wetsuit time and it was quite a sight to see me, Kelly and Roberta in the back of the van trying to wiggle into wetsuits and make last minute preparations.

When we headed for the beach, Steve and Roberta started to carry me in a fireman’s carry, but we soon learned that it was about a ¼ mile walk to get to the edge of the water. So Steve ran back and got the van and four-wheeled across the sand, picked us up and dropped us at the water’s edge.

I don’t know what the worst part of the Ironman is. When I think about it, I think each of the events overwhelms me in its own way. For me the swim is stressful with the waves and other racers crowding me and not being able to see my way along the course. The bike is long and causes a great deal of anxiety because of the time cut. The run, if I make it that far is, well, it’s a marathon. Enough said?

The one thing this swim had going for it was that it was in salt water, but instead of being an ocean swim, it was actually a protected channel. And, we would be swimming with the tide. They said it would be fast and I was hoping that was true. The other good thing about the swim, was that it was mostly a straight shot, point-to-point. For some reason, that seems to be better for me. Also, not having the waves I had to fight in Hawaii or the turbulence of Coeur d’Alene, I was able to lie back and relax through the swim. I only had to stop three times during the whole swim, which is a record for me. One time was because I couldn’t figure out what Roberta was trying to tell me, and the two other times, I had to clear my goggles because I had salt water in my eye. Each time, Roberta would tell me my time and it would give me more motivation because we were going so fast! I couldn’t believe when we reached the dock and we had done a 1:10!! That’s 20 minutes faster than my PR, thank you very much, Mr. Current. Steve was at the dock along with a couple of other guys, to pull us out.

Then we had to get across the street to T1. Towards the end of the swim, my hands were cold and I was unable to keep my fingers together on my right hand to catch the water very well, but I didn’t realize until I got in the changing tent just how frozen my hands were. The air didn’t help because it wasn’t warm either. I couldn’t do a thing for myself. My hands just weren’t responding. Roberta literally stripped me naked, put on my jog bra, my long-sleeved shirt, jersey and socks. All I did was try to hold myself up. Then she pushed me to my bike and she and Steve got me ready to go and saw me off.

Too bad what I saved in swim time, I sucked up in transition time, but I still had nine hours to do the 112-mile bike course, so I pushed on. As I was trying to peddle with hands I could barely feel, I was trying to figure out how best to get through the beginning of the ride. I started blowing on my hands through my gloves, but that wasn’t warming them. Then I thought I could stop and try to warm them up on the pavement. I tried to wiggle my fingers; anything to get the circulation going. I tried to reach into my food bag to get a gel, but when I clinched my fingers together and pulled them out of the bag, I realized they didn’t pick anything up. I tried again and again and couldn’t get them to grasp anything. I started thinking of my right hand as ‘robot hand’ because it was like it wasn’t even connected to my body. Since that wasn’t working, I decided to concentrate on keeping my speed up and although I couldn’t get a good grip on the pedals, my speed was okay so I wasn’t too concerned about my progress.

After an hour, I could finally feel my fingers and get some food into my body. My speed was under control and I was still with the field of the ½ Ironman racers who had started behind us, so I wasn’t on the road alone. After a couple of hours though, the other racers thinned out and then finally were gone. Of course, it wasn’t a first, to be on the a race course alone so it wasn’t so bad, until I got to a fork in the road where I wasn’t sure which way to go on the poorly marked (actually UNmarked) course. Even though we had driven the course a couple of days before, the map on the website was vague and we ended up missing several roads.

I started to make a turn and then decided against it, then went up the road, then turned around and turned around again. I began to panic! I was on my time schedule and knew I didn’t have time for mistakes. Finally, I decided to go with my gut, but I kept watching the ground for empty gel packs, water bottles; anything that would signify that the riders had followed this road. Eventually I saw a clearing in the woods that I remembered driving by with Steve so I began to relax. But by hour three of riding into a breeze, up some slight grades and beginning to tire, my speed was slowing below where it needed to be. I was frustrated.

I was wondering where Steve, Roberta and Sandy were in the van and I was starting to get bummed that my day was going downhill.

By about 50 miles, the van showed up and my support crew jumped out and cheered for me. As I passed, I warned them that I was off pace and I wasn’t going to make it. In the back of my mind I was still hoping for a massive tail wind for my way back to transition, but I knew it would take a slight miracle to make it in 10:15 (this time cut was 15 minutes faster than the other races I’ve done).

As I passed my crew there was another fork in the road and I began to ride straight along the road. Behind me they said, “take a right here Trish!”

I was skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

So, I took a right.

Wrong! Now I wasn’t just frustrated or bummed. I was MAD! I was mad about being off course, I was mad at the crew’s wrong call, I was mad about the lack of course markings, I was mad about being slower than I needed to be. I threw my water bottle down at the ground, flung my food across the road, yelled, screamed and threw a tantrum. How could everything about this race be so dumb!

That was the beginning of the end. Once back on course, mentally I was broken down. I was over it. The day wasn’t going where I had anticipated and I didn’t want to be out there. Unfortunately, I had a good five hours left of riding. I pulled over and told the crew I was quitting the race.

“Don’t do that, you’ll regret it,” they told me. So, I kept going.

At some point, we had another support vehicle from the race start traveling with us. Two volunteers, Lou and Jonathan, drove in a truck in front of me, while Steve, Roberta and Sandy trailed me from behind.

Even with all the support I tried to quit again. No sympathy. So I said, “fine I’ll keep going if you call the race director and make sure that I’m not going to get pulled from the course at the time cut or kept from doing the run.” They called and confirmed. I had the green light.

At this point there was not a positive thought going through my head. I was mad at everyone in the van behind me. I was mad at the road in front of me.

Finally, I thought, REALLY, I AM QUITTING. I DON’T CARE ABOUT THIS ANY MORE! When the crew got out to see why I had stopped, I could feel a blanket of guilt suffocate me. Like I was going to let everyone down if I quit. I know they worked hard to get me there, but I wasn’t feeling support at this moment from my crew. I rode off without saying anything.

“Fine. I’ll do it,” I thought. “But don’t expect me to be nice about it.” I just kept my eye on Lou and Jonathan and wondered what drove them to want to stay with me for four hours and 10mph.

Whenever they asked me anything from the van or when they stopped to give me warm clothes, I gave one-word answers, if I said anything at all. I was pissed off and wanted them to know it.

After 10 hours and 20 minutes on the bike (and almost 12 hours after the race had started), I pulled into T2. This was another fiasco as I still did not want to go on and I couldn’t get squeezed into my racing chair (apparently I’ve gained weight) and I was all sweaty and sticky. I got in there and was sitting totally crooked and couldn’t get straight and settled in comfortably and had 26.2 miles ahead of me to push.

But, I headed off. “I’ll do one lap,” I thought. As I left transition, Steve, Roberta, Sandy and her family were there cheering me on my way. In the back of my head I knew I should just suck it up, but I was just in a bad mood that couldn’t be broken.

It was dark and there were still runners on the course. I slowed to talk to a few and told myself if I could find just one person who was still on their first lap like I was (the run course was two laps), then I would stick it out. But everyone was on their second loop. Great.

We hadn’t pre-driven the course and I thought it was supposed to be flat. I climbed up and over two bridges and then hit a hill downtown that was so steep I had to go up backwards. Then I started settling in a little but there were so many turns and I was still so mad, that I wasn’t doing myself any favors. Finally, after much longer than I’d like to admit, I finished my first lap.

As I set out on my second lap I started to pick it up a little, but as I crossed the first bridge, I realized the lighted arrows that marked the course had been taken down. Although the 17-hour time cut had not yet expired, they had figured that no runners should just be starting their second loop so they started taking down the course. They obviously had forgotten about the lone wheeler out there.

The run course was dark. And empty. No people anywhere. I was literally scared and thought I had better just turn around. It didn’t strike me as being safe to head out in a town I didn’t know, that wasn’t well lit and with turns on the course that I didn’t know or remember from the first lap.

Fortunately, I had paid just enough attention to some random curbs, potholes, and turns to remember the beginning of the course, but I knew I better hustle because once I got to the park I would be out of luck if the arrows were all gone. The park we went through was pitch black and was more like a forest with a winding path through it and there was NO WAY I could remember the course. About mile four or so of my lap I saw a police officer and asked him if he had communication with the race director or anyone who could alert the marshals and aid stations to keep the course open. He didn’t but he said, “I’ll follow you the whole way until you get to the finish.”

I took off at FULL speed and chased down the course. Once I got to mile six or seven, there were still some remnants of the course, but when I got to the park there was a curb that I had to get over. On the first lap there were volunteers there to help me, but this time, there was no one. I turned around to find that even the policeman wasn’t behind me. At this point, I started to get angry again, “I have come this far and NOW THIS!”

Just then, my escort pulled up and got out of the car. I asked him to get me over the curb, so he did and I took off. He couldn’t follow me on the path, but he could keep an eye on me as he drove the perimeter road.

By the time I got to about mile 23, I saw a few straggling runners, so I knew I’d be able to find my way to the finish. The officer followed me up and over the final bridge and then pulled off as I headed toward the line.

It wasn’t the grandest finish line crossing because I was still feeling sour from the day, but it was a victory for my support crew who were all excited when I crossed the line at 16 hours and 20 minutes. I may not have made the bike cut, but I did make the 17-hour overall time, which is better than my 18-hour performance at the Redman three years ago.

It took until our van pulled up in the hotel parking lot that I was ready to say a word to my support crew. I was grateful to have had such a dedicated crew, but is it possible that they were just a little too supportive?

The truth is, they know me. They know my goal if I didn’t make the bike time cut was to finish an Ironman in under 17 hours. They know how disappointing a DNF is and how you can never go back and change it.

One of my biggest pet peeves is people who think they know me better than I know myself. Fortunately or unfortunately, this time my support crew thought they knew what was best and the amazing part was that they were actually right. I will not say this was one of the best races of my life, but it was truly a test. And it was a test for everyone involved. It took mental, physical and emotional strength for all of us to get through this race. I might have been the one who physically crossed the finish line, but I didn’t earn the medal. This one was for my support crew. If it weren’t for them I would have hung it up at 56 miles of the bike. Thank goodness not only for those we love, but for those who truly love us back!