This Is My Race: Ironman 70.3

 This is My Race

3:45am - the alarm goes off. Feeling like somewhere between a child on Christmas Day and the day I took my board exams, I jump up out of bed.

It’s Ironman time!

Here I go.

Shower. Breakfast. James makes my daily tea and is just as chipper as I. We are goofy and joking. He sings the triathlon song and plays the video on his I-Phone. I need this more than anything right now. I eat my 350 cal breakfast, load up my stuff and we head out into the dark cool morning to Oceanside. I cannot remember much of the drive until we get close to the exit. Then the butterflies begin to flutter.

I review my mantra: “I got this. I will do it. I’m strong. I’m a badass. I will have a blast. And most importantly, this is MY race.”

We arrive at the parking lot. I already set up my T2 gear yesterday so really do not need to be there. I ask the staff if we can just drive straight to the harbor. It is not recommended. So we park there and walk/ride a mile to the harbor start. I arrive in the parking lot among hundreds of triathletes gathering their bikes and gear bags in the dark. I am briefly intimidated by all of the surrounding $5-10,000 triathlon racing bikes.

I remind myself “this is MY race.” 

I’m fine.

James snaps a picture of me holding my bike up for my dear friend, Willow. She saw a picture of a woman powerfully holding up her bike and wrote me a letter from Costa Rica requesting such a picture of me. I’m feeling more dorky than strong at the moment; but, we take the shot anyway. James happily walks with me most of the way to the harbor. I feel calm. It’s still dark and we walk near the ocean. It is breathtaking. The palm tree lined street makes me a little giddy. Growing up in the Midwest, the palm trees still fascinate me to this day. Cyclists buzz pass me like bees. Must be those super cool Zipp wheels that create the buzz. Meanwhile, my front wheel is rubbing on something, perhaps my brake. I stop several times to adjust it and try to hold my balance while hanging onto my gear bag and looping my leg around the mylar “Welcome Home” balloon tied to my bike. The balloon is to mark my T1 spot and the Welcome Home will make me laugh after the swim.

I see the bridge and decide it is time to leave James behind and ride off. I needed him and he was so kind to walk with me as long as I needed. I was ready. It was time to get to T1, get into my headspace and prepare for the swim that lies ahead of me. I kiss him goodbye and tell him I will see him at the finish. I say that more for me as I am so scared I will not finish.

I take a breath and go. Gliding down the hill I feel the breeze and excitement I feel every single time I start on my bike. I feel free. I feel strong. I feel like I am going to the coolest party ever.

I cross the Bike out arch into T1. Wow! Incredible. Triathletes everywhere, music playing. Everyone is busy setting up gear, having a snack, getting body markings. I look for the Triathlon Club of San Diego spot. Members can park their bikes there. It’s right here and wow a great spot. I wanted to be near a landmark so I didn’t have to think after the swim. I wanted to find my bike easily. This was perfect, right next to the parking box just like the other parking lot in T2. I have a lot of space around me to move. Perfect.

I see a familiar face. I met this wonderful woman at a training and we continue to run into each other. She is parked one rack away.  I see another familiar face and say hello.  I get my body marking done and return to my bike to see a familiar volunteer. I met her at a training run and absolutely loved her. We are happy to see each other. 3 friendly familiar faces. I feel good. I text James and tell him that I talked to 3 familiar people. He is nearby and I see him in the start corral. How great!

15 minutes until the pros start. I need to get going here. I get my wetsuit on and repack my gear. James clears out of the corral and we say goodbye. I again tell him I will see him at the finish.

Looking out at the water, it feels eerie. Will I see him at the finish? Or will I see him here at the bike if I DNF (do not finish) out of the water? I get nervous and cannot organize my gear. I feel rushed. In the guide they said they would close the transition area when the pros were starting. I needed to hurry and I felt disorganized. I’m not ready yet. I need to re- order my gear. I need to re check it. What if I forget something? Which goggles will I wear? I brought two. I grab the brand new clear ones and place the older dark ones in my morning clothes bag that I have to drop off before I start. I don’t know. I take my morning clothes bag and leave T1.

The men start and I watch in amazement. They are in a perfect line at the start and swim so fast. So powerful! Amazing! Then the pro women, powerful yet graceful. I hope to spot my favorite triathletes Andy Potts and Heather Jackson. Heather has been a huge inspiration to me. As I watch it hits me that I am going to be swimming there in less than an hour. Eerie. My stomach is doing flips.

The Swim

I drop off my Morning Clothes bag and get ready to go to my start corral. I see one of the volunteers I know. I am thrilled to see her. She has a comforting energy. “I need a hug!” I ask her and she gives me a great hug and wishes me luck.

I was told in one of my training groups to go to the front of my wave to swim to the start. So I wanted to make sure that happened. I am in Wave #17 and only see signs for Waves 14. I see a few other women with the bright pink swim cap…the same color as my wave.  The announcement comes that we need to move aside as the pro men are exiting the water. In a flash, Andy Potts runs by. As always he looks larger than life. I am eagerly awaiting the women in hopes of seeing Heather Jackson. The first woman flies by and I don’t recognize her. A few later, Heather runs by strong as ever. Okay. NOW I’m ready.

I take three hits of my inhaler for my cold induced asthma. It seems empty. Theoretically there should be a lot more inhalations than I have used. I wait to see if it kicks in.  Nothing. I’m certainly anxious but no more than I have been all morning. I’m not feeling it.  Oh crap! What if it is empty? I can’t swim in cold water without it! Deep breath. Let it go. Try again in a bit.

Wave 16 is next. I am lined up with my group behind the Wave 17 sign. I take 3 more inhalations, one being a test to see if I can taste it. I could. Okay, good. Still not feeling it but it could simply be masked by race anxiety.  I ask the volunteer where I leave my inhaler and he says close to the dock. I should see a table for glasses and inhalers. I watch Wave 16 get into the water and swim to the start buoys. Deep breath….I take a VERY deep breath. We’re next.

Wave 17… please line up at the water. I do not see the table for the inhalers and glasses and ask someone. He takes it for me. I scope out which is the most efficient side to start. I move to the right. The water is warmer than my last open water practice…a balmy 58 degrees. I splash my face to acclimate and feel confident. I say aloud “I got this.”

“Wave 17…you may now enter the water.”

I get in and immediately swim hard to the start. Then I look up and realize that I veered too far to the right AWAY from my group, AWAY from the start. I turn towards the group and swim harder. I get closer and stop to catch a breath or two.

Or three….or four… Oh no, I’m feeling that all too familiar panic creeping up. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe at all.

All of Wave 17, all of the women in bright pink swim caps start.

It’s time to go? But I’m not ready? I haven’t even gotten to my starting place. I need to breathe first.  I try to swim anyway. I can’t breathe at all. I stop to try to deep breathe and relax and it’s not happening. I put my face in the water. No way! That makes it worse.  I try to breaststroke but forgot how. Oh crap I really can’t  do this. Did my inhaler fail me? I forget everything I learned including how to swim! I try to doggie paddle. What? I know how to swim! But why can’t I? Why can’t I breathe? My group gets further away and I am still at the start. I look around bobbing in the water. Oh no, someone is going to see me bobbing here and fish me out.

I am done. I am going to turn around and go home. I can’t do this and I’d rather go now before they disqualify me while I am in the water swimming. Might as well just stop now. Breathing is still really hard and I am dizzy now. There is no way I am going to swim 1.2 miles like this. And the thought of going out to the jetty scares me.

The next wave of swimmers goes past me.

I’m still at the start.

I think about the last 9 months since I signed up for the race. I think about the hard work I put into this. I think of the many days of training and accomplishments and growth. Ironically, one would think that would be enough to snap me out of this but it doesn’t. I am happy with my growth. I already proved to myself my strength and ability so why not just go home now. Great, 9 months down the drain. I wasted my time and everyone else’s. Good one Cecily.

Why?

I have so many people who know I am doing this. What will I tell them? I quit? I don’t ever quit. What will I tell my coworkers tonight? We are all going to a spa together later. I just won’t go then. They will ask on Monday. What will I tell Coach Tom? Oh man, that leaves a horrible feeling inside. I think of all of my friends and family cheering me on. The outpour of support I have received. I think about my children. I think of what Coach Tom told me the night before. “Whatever you do, I want you to promise me you will have fun in the swim.” I made that promise to him. I can’t break it.  And my kids cannot see their mother as a quitter…ever.

Okay, deep breath. I try. I know I blew it time wise and I know I will probably DNF but I will at least try and enjoy the swim. I start swimming with my head out of the water. I move forward. I begin to put my head in the water and breathe every other stroke. Not bad at all. I’m moving forward. Then every third and finally every 4^th  stroke. I sight on the buoys and in no time I am swimming. I remember Tom telling me to swim long. I stretch out.

I got this.

I pass a few buoys and am enjoying the swim! I can breathe now and I’m out of the harbor and already ¼ out. This is so much fun. The buoys seem to be going right by. I am way out and sighting on the final buoy before I turn back. The water is choppy with more and more swimmers are bumping into me. I liked having the other swimmers around. I didn’t mind swimmers bumping or crowding me. I felt camaraderie. At this point something interesting is happening in the water. I continue to swim and look up to see swimmers just bobbing around not swimming. I feel proud that I am still swimming at a steady pace. I see some swimmers hanging onto the kayaks to rest. Wow. I don’t need to rest at all. I feel great and keep swimming. I turn and try to sight but can’t see any buoy. Instead I see a giant swell of water. Wow. It’s otherworldly and must be 6 feet tall! It’s not coming towards me. It is in front of me. The water is rocky making my swim feel nearly uphill. I am fascinated. I really want to bob there and watch this phenomenon but have work to do. Okay so now what? I barely see the next buoy and head in that direction realizing that I am essentially swimming uphill. This is exciting. I make it past the big swell and am heading back.

I anticipated that the swim back would be with the current so it will go faster. Not quite. In fact it was the opposite. That’s why I made it out so fast. Now I am swimming against a current because those buoys are not passing nearly as fast as when I came out. This is great though. I’m having fun and am looking forward to swimming in the ocean another day. The water is still choppy and it is hard to sight so I sight on a building in the same line. The harbor arrives and I turn into it. I can’t wait to tell people about the big swell. Realizing that I have been out here a long time and feeling like this swim has been longer than my practice swims,  I’m pretty sure I did not make the time cutoff especially since I panicked at the start.

I swim faster and for a split second as I am getting close to the finish I decide that I am not going to the dock. I will swim past it and swim in circles refusing to get out. I don’t want them to tell me I DNF’d. They have to come and get me! I don’t really do it but was tempted. I saw a glimpse of James right there so I better get out.

The final buoy is close and its’ time to turn right into the dock. I swim until my feet can touch, look up and see a line of swimmers in blue swim caps waiting, standing. Why are they there? They were in the wave after me, I think. Oh no! They are the other DNF-ers! Oh no! They are reaching hands out to me. Oh no. I really didn’t finish! They must be supporting me and we will all go to a tent and get counseling as a group. I have to keep some semblance of pride here and at least exit the water myself so I decline their help.

Yet, James is there telling me I am a champ. I’m confused. I’m thoroughly disoriented. “Did I make it?” I ask him. “Yes of course!!!!” he says. I don’t believe him and I look at the clock. I did make it.  Oh my gosh! I made it!!!! I only lost 10 minutes from my anticipated swim time. I made it with time to spare!

I run to the table where my inhaler is and ask for it. Except I cannot really move my lips because my face is numb. They have no idea what I am saying so I just go on and run to my bike.  I struggle with running because my legs are numb. I am so happy though. I feel blessed. I made it. Mother nature gave me a chance here.

I get to my bike and two volunteers are ready to help me. They offer to help me with my wetsuit and bags. I automatically decline their help worried that I will get disqualified. I read the rulebook several times before the race. I then realize I am near the end of the group so no one is really worried that I will somehow gain an advantage and place. I accept the help.

Now what? What do I do next? I can’t think of the order to proceed. I don’t think I am cold but I don’t know. I stare at my bag. Oh yes, drink warm water. Eat a snack. I talk with the volunteers and they are trying to move me along. What’s the big rush? I am so happy to be there. I tell them I am blessed and thought I would not make it out of the swim to this point. I get my act together and try to focus. Clothes. Warm hat. Everything is on. I LOVE the warm water and miso soup. I take another bite of bar and leave the rest. The volunteer tells me I need to eat it and how important nutrition is. She sounds just like Coach Tom and all I could do was see him there telling me this.  Okay. Fine, I put the rest of the bar in my pocket and go. The volunteers pack my bags for me. I thank them. I get to the bike out and ask if I can get on now. Yes! I can!

I grin from ear to ear through the chute out and almost cry.

I’m here.

I’m on the bike.

I made it!

I will be fine!

I’m going to spend the rest of the day riding and running!

The Bike

I am feeling great. I see someone already walking up the tiny hill out of the harbor. I feel sad for them. I power up it no problem. I am not cold. I feel good, a little tired but good. It takes me a few miles before I realize it is raining. Something I had feared throughout my training. It’s a small drizzle. I reflect on what James was shouting at me on the way out. Something like “Don’t worry, it’s not rain, just fog. You will be fine.” At the time I wonder what in the hell he is saying and why. Nothing registers in my brain then. Now I see what he is saying. And no, it’s a bit more than fog. I’m fine with it. I’m not afraid. My bike is handling it well and I am glad I wore the windbreaker. Though the water on my sunglasses is annoying. I bought new tires, Continental all weathers, for this exact reason.

I review my mantra again: “I got this. I will do it. I’m strong. I’m a badass. I will have a blast. And most importantly, this is MY race.”

I am in the flats having a great time. I could almost sing.  I went from feeling completely out of control in the water to full control on the bike. I am confident on my bike. I look at my speedometer and am easily going 24mph in the flats. Coach Tom said to ride one gear easier than what feels easy, spin and to never try to go fast at the start and bank time. I will only pay for it later. I feel great right now but know this is way too fast to start. I reluctantly pull back to 20mph. I need to average 14mph for a 4 hour bike finish. I know I can go way faster and easily finish in less than 4 hours but I need to save enough energy for the run. I’m confident in my running and have had some significant breakthroughs in my training but I know things can happen. I can fatigue. The three hills in Camp Pendleton are an unknown. I feel pretty good on hills and calculated my paces prior to the race. But I have never ridden them and have received mixed reviews of the hills. I need to save some energy for those too. So I bring my pace down further to 18 and that’s it.

I see a truck with a giant digital clock on top. Must be the pros. Yes! It’s the #1 male pro, Andy Potts. He zooms past me heading back to the harbor. He looks 100% focused. What a privilege! I continually think of how lucky I am to be here. I am thrilled to enter Camp Pendleton and explore. I am thrilled to see the countryside.

Someone is on the side of the road waiting for help to change a tire. I feel so sad for her. I see help is coming. I pray that my tires stay intact but review in my head the exact process for changing my tires. Someone passes me and cheers me on. The volunteers so far have been so kind and now even the other racers.

My elation begins to settle into comfort and solitude. I welcome this. I look around and it feels like Ireland. I am surrounded by green mountains and mist in the air. The rain stopped; but, it is still wet. It smells nice.  I reach Christianitos Rd in San Clemente, the turn into the mountains before the first climb. James and I drove as far as we could before the gates to Camp Pendleton a week ago. When we drove we scoped out the first hill at a distance which didn’t seem too bad. Until now I had been riding in and out of Camp. Once I get here I will be in Camp Pendleton the rest of the ride until the last few miles. The road was rolling which I loved. My strategy was to hammer down the hills to make up for the uphills. It’s easy and requires little energy. I ride along into the base and grab a water bottle from the volunteers. I have been eating every 15 minutes and drinking my miso/carbo pro soup. I was pretty thirsty.

The ride is smooth and I see the first climb which seemed quite intimidating. It was much steeper than what we saw at a far distance in the car. It looked steeper than my mother-in-law’s hill which was rough. I realize I should have trained harder on Double Peak by my house. Here I go. Everyone is walking. I look down and push up. I will NOT walk. I refuse. 1/3 of the way up I hit a wall.

I walk.

Damn.

Nope.

I hear volunteers shouting at the top like military generals.

I won’t walk anymore!

I get on my bike and climb the rest. I pass the walkers and cannot look at them. I make it to the top and am elated and rewarded with a beautiful downhill. The views are incredible and it’s hammertime.

The other hills come which are not nearly so steep. I complete two climbs and giggle to myself. I climb the hills well, no problems. I see several cyclists again walking. They have very expensive bikes with all of the bells and whistles. I pass them right up. I think to myself, “What exactly are they paying for with those bikes if they can’t get up the hills?” I have a newfound appreciation for my little Cannondale.

Mile 50. My pace is right on track for my projected finish time. I feel centered and confident. I am still smiling and feeling so blessed that I made it this far.  I savor every minute of this race. I want to ride faster but I have to save it for the run.  I complete the last downhill and ride in the flats. There is a small headwind. Nothing bad, but enough to make me work a little to keep the projected pace. It’s nice to start seeing where I started. I am nearing the end of Camp Pendleton and heading into Oceanside. I’m happy and tired.

Suddenly out of the blue, I begin to well up with tears and long for my family. I wanted to see them more than anything right now. Must be nutrition, I thought. So I drink and eat more. I still want to see them and hope they will be at T2. I arrive at the harbor, the very place where I took off from the swim, still ever so appreciative. The volunteers guide us to the left to ride to T2. The volunteer shouts, “You are almost there and no more hills. Great job!” Yes, at this point I really am done with the smallest of hills.

I am mentally ready for the run now. They send us downhill on the strand. It’s nice but I am confused. I know T2 is uphill from here and the volunteer said no more uphills. Maybe they changed the bike finish? Anything can happen, I suppose. I am still dreaming of my family and hoping I can make a really fast finish. I want them to see me strong. Then there is the turn back uphill.

Oh no!!!

It is short, steep and just nasty.

I stand up to pedal and feel numbness in my legs. Crap! The residents are cheering me on and telling me I am so close. I make it up but am pretty upset about the last hill. The volunteer said NO MORE HILLS! Okay move on. It’s flat to T2 …really. Unfortunately the length was not far enough for me to make a grand 30mph hour finish for my family. I enter the chute and see them with incredible signs and cowbells ringing. I cry tears of joy. I am so happy to see them. I get off my bike to enter T2 and my legs are numb. I planned to run my bike in but can’t seem to naturally put one foot in front of the other while rolling my bike. Far too much coordination for me. So I walk as fast as I can. Volunteers are guiding me to my spot. I know exactly where it is. A volunteer helps my put my bike on the rack and asks if I need anything. I tell him “I am just so blessed I am here!!!!” I am a little confused. Shoes are changed, helmet off, warm clothes off. I ate a gel, drank some and now what? What am I forgetting? I’m fine and I dart off. The volunteer yells something at me. Oh I must have forgotten to remove my helmet. I feel my head and it’s off. I turn around and ask him what? He says “Good luck!” These volunteers are the best!

The Run

I am elated. I made it to the run. I finished the bike in 4 hours and few minutes over. Perfect. I have plenty of time for the run as long as nothing bad happens. I trust in my ability but also know in the past I have freaked out and lost any semblance of a finish time.

I review my mantra for the last time: “I got this. I will do it. I’m strong. I’m a badass. I will have a blast. And most importantly, this is MY race.”

I run out of T2. The legs are feeling funky. Not quite as numb but my form is way off. Oh well.  It does feel good to be running though. I see my family at the exit and they are cheering me on. I tell them, “I got this! I’m here!”

And I’m off.

I feel as if I am trudging along at a snail’s pace when I look at my Garmin and it is saying I am going 1.5 minutes faster than planned. Nope, it’s wrong. I know I am slow right now. Let’s see what it says at 1 mile.  At 1 mile it is in fact correct. Uh oh, I need to slow down. I’m a bit short of breath the entire time so it must be right. I am supposed to run a negative split. I pull back after the first mile and still feel the same. I work on my form as best as I can. I can’t quite get the pelvis tucked in like I usually do so I work on the upper body and hope the rest will follow. I see my family again at the pier going up. I didn’t realize it was an uphill and nearly tripped. It is so great to see them again. 

2 miles in, I see the sign where it says 8 mile cut off at 3:08pm. That is my last hurdle. If I make it past that in time, I will finish this race. I look at my watch and I have plenty of time but still keep in mind something can happen so I can’t get lazy. The run along the ocean is beautiful. It is a two loop course so I see people coming and going. We enter the neighborhoods and the slight uphill. A runner catches up with me and starts chatting with me. This is his 3^rd half. His last half Ironman was in Hawaii. He asks me if this is my first. I tell him “yes and I am so blessed to be here! I didn’t think I would make it out of the swim and I am here!” We chat more and I find out he is already on his second lap. Oh how I’d like to be on my second lap. It’s okay. I’m here and am doing well. My alarm goes off, time for the walk break. I have been running 3 minutes and walking 1 minute. The runner decided to keep running and we say goodbye.

I am ready for some solitude. I need to get up this hill and focus. Overall I am feeling emotionally neutral. I am pleased with that. No drama. In the past running was always dramatic for me full of negativity, frustration and disappointment in myself. Right now I am fine. I hurt, physically. In fact I hurt a lot but I can sustain for the rest of the run. My body is far stronger than my mind allows.

The run continues, I turn at the turnaround and head back to the beach and pier again. I am calculating my times as much as my foggy brain will allow. I am far better at calculations on the bike than on the run. All I know is so far I still have more than enough time to make the 8 mile cutoff. I remain focused. I have a mile to go before the cutoff which will also lead me to the second and LAST loop.

Wow! I’m doing this. I really am.

I reflect on the fact that I made it through the swim, I kicked butt on the bike and I am going to kick butt on the run. I start calculating again and am pretty close to a PR. In fact, right now if I remain at this pace I will smash my PR.  Wow, to finish and run a PR. My last PR was in my last marathon. Then, a run on fresh legs. Not a run after a 1.2 mile swim and 56 mile hilly bike ride! Wow. I am strong! At the same time I am thinking this, I am also contemplating just relaxing on the rest of the run after 8 miles and just finishing happy. I’m not that invested in the PR. At this point I can walk the rest of the way and finish in time. We’ll see.

I go up the pier for the last time and have this wonderful moment of clarity. I look around and see children at the beach and an incredible view. I take it all in. I am so lucky to be here I think to myself. This is absolutely incredible. I am smiling again. And guess who’s there? The race photographer.  I bet that will be a nice picture. A REAL picture.

Later, I see the 8 mile cutoff sign in the distance. My eyes remain focused on it. It gets closer. A volunteer is standing there. As I pass it I am elated. The volunteer cheers me on and I tell him “ I did it! I’m going to finish!” My eyes well up and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. No more cutoffs! No more racing against the clock. My watch says 2:44pm. The 8 mile cutoff is at 3:08pm and the finish cutoff is 4:18pm. I have 94 minutes to complete 5 miles. That’s an 18+ minute mile! I believe that is my CRAWLING pace! 5 miles left and now I know nothing will go wrong short of passing out or something extreme. I am still emotionally neutral and in fact pretty happy and confident. Even if I have some sort of drama, I can crawl an 18 min mile. Heck, I can stop for a tea somewhere or hop in the ocean for a quick swim and STILL make it. If I had my phone, I could check my email. I giggle at these thoughts and keep running.

Physically, I am pretty tired. I want a nap more than anything. I close my eyes for a few seconds and it is heaven. Then I have visions of tripping over something and decide it’s not a good idea to rest my eyes on the run.  I look forward to going to the spa that night with my coworkers. I had a massage scheduled for 6:30pm and will have a story to tell these wonderful women.

Thrilled to be on the second loop, I see my friend that I met at one of my training classes. She looked tired but strong and is almost finished. We say hello again and I cheer her on. I am nearing the turnaround and almost mile 11.  I saw that mile marker before and so longed to be there. Now I am. I am finally at 11.  I am taking more walk breaks. I decide to let the PR go. I am running out of energy despite my efforts at refueling on the clock. I still feel good emotionally. NO walls. Just sleepy.

The positive energy is infectious. I am on my last lap and see other runners still running the other direction. I cheer them on and see them smile.

I meet someone along the way who is walking. I walk with her for a bit. She looks strong. I ask how long she trained and she laughed. Only 2 mos.  We talk more and we are both thrilled to be at this point in the race. I tell her my story and how blessed I am to finally make it here. I really could walk the rest at this point but I need to keep it real and run. So I say goodbye and run more.

12 miles. I’m still in the neighborhood. This is starting to become the longest 2 miles of the entire 70.3 miles I am about to complete. Now I want to be done. I try to pick it up and run faster. According to my Garmin I am still within PR territory but dropping fast. I run harder and it really is not faster than what I have been doing in my run. I make the turn downhill back to the strand along the beach. I have come down this hill several times only to turn AWAY from the finish. Now I get to go to the finish. Seeing the ocean and the sign pointing me towards the finish makes me cry.  The sun came out in the last 6 miles of the run, the waves are coming in and the volunteers are cheering me on.  I am overwhelmed with happiness. It really hits me this time that I will finish. It is no longer a theory or dream. I see the finish in the distance. I start to sprint and that lasted a few seconds. Legs were not having it. Seriously? Really? I’m hot too. The next aid station is full of lively volunteers, about 6-9 on each side. I run through, grab a wet sponge and pour it on my head.  They cheer louder and all are holding their hands up for high fives. I give them all high fives. Once I make it past them the finish chute is in sight.

I stop.

I have no idea why. I suppose to take this moment in. I take a deep breath and hold back the tears. This is it. This is what I visualized for the months. I reflect on the whole race. I reflect on my fears and accomplishments. I hear my coach, Tom’s voice in his slight accent tell me to enjoy the moment. I wish he could be here to see this, to see his hard work. I can’t wait to tell him the story. When I met him, I really believed I had no chance of finishing this race. He always believed in me despite my efforts at self-sabotage. I reflect on all of my friends cheering me on from afar. They are also there in my heart. Best of all, most of my family is right there and they will see me finish. So now it’s time to see them.

And I’m off.

Running in the chute like an elated wild woman. I hear cheers. I see my family and they are high fiving me. I feel myself smiling. The announcer announces my name. I raise my fist in the air feeling strong as ever and cross the line. The volunteer gives me my medal and I hug her with tears. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!” I tell her.

My mantra now? “I got this. I did it. I was so strong. I was a total badass. I had a blast. This race is mine, all mine.”

My goals when I started per my email to Tom:

“To finish on time, not get fished out of the water or DNF.

Most important- smile when I come through the finish chute!!!!”

All goals achieved.