My first half-IronmanBy Alison Colavecchia
7.21.01 (www.slowtwitch.com)
I started this piece about four different times, but none of those versions passed the "George Test." This is where I reread what I have written and ask myself whether I have written from a place of truth or not. This is the yardstick with which I hope always to measure the quality of my work. I adopted it from Dr. George Sheehan. Plus there are folks now who can clearly tell the difference if I am not "true to form" and would undoubtedly call me on any attempts to slide one by. So as I read these pieces I asked myself this question: Are they representative of my endurance apprenticeship? I tried writing from a few different angles, attempting to pull some element of angst from here or there because that is often where I get grist for my writing mill, and there was no shortage of angst or telling moments from the race. But these pieces just didn't cut it.
For in truth, I loved this day, this race. All of it. Even the hard parts.
During this race, actually the whole weekend, I was reminded over and over again why I feel so passionately about this sport. It was a veritable tri-fest from the highway drive into town to the coffee and burger fill-up for the trip home. There were bikes on top of cars everywhere. There were people walking around town before and after the race with orange bracelets on! After the race was over, people were walking around with finisher's medals on and I was one of them! It felt so cool to be a part of it all.
I loved the feeling I got when I joined the peloton of cars with bikes heading toward the race. I loved the camaraderie that was present through the registration process and again as everyone set up the next morning before the race. I loved that palpable mix of excitement and fear that marked the start of the swim. I loved the amazing legs that sailed past me on the bike. I loved that this time, I was able to just let all passers go and enjoy the parade of beautiful bikes. I even managed to say hi to those who were in the mood to be social. I loved the steadiness of my pace as my body worked its way through the swim and the bike. I loved that I took note of the pastoral scenery we were riding through (once the fog lifted). Above all, though, I loved discovering that even if I am down for the count, I have the capacity to regroup, come up with a new plan and get back up to go another round.
Were there things I didn’t like about the race? Absolutely.
I didn’t like the fact that I slept for less than three hours the night before the race. I didn’t like finding out there would be a mass start less than 24 hours prior to the race. I didn’t like being uncertain about where to seed myself for the swim start. I didn’t like the fact that in one section, the seaweed was less than 12 inches from my face. I didn’t like that it was raining when we got out of the water and that it didn’t let up until I was almost off my bike. I didn’t like the fact that the rain soaked my Sharkies and required me to keep wiping off my glasses. I didn’t like feeling as though I were going to have a visit from the contents of my stomach at the slightest misstep. I didn’t like that the hills kept coming one after the other non-stop until the end. I didn’t like that I could have wrung a pint of water from my socks when I changed into my running things. I didn’t like the fact that the sun had become a blazing furnace by the time I hit the run course, and I surely hated the lack of shade along the entire course. I didn't care that a further whack of people passed me on the run. I didn’t like the perkiness of the guy who asked to join me about mile 9. I didn’t like the fact that the Coke was hot.
Most of all, though, I didn’t like the meltdown that occurred at mile 2 of the run. I didn’t like feeling that after all the hard work, after a decent swim and bike, it was now a battle to just move forward.
At this point, I truly believed that my finish was in jeopardy. Within the first two miles my heart rate had risen by more than 20 beats per minute. It was hot. I became overwhelmed by that sickening sensation that I was cooking from the inside out. I knew that if I continued as I was, there was a possibility I would not finish. I needed a new plan. I decided to run/walk. I planned to run for eight minutes and walk for two—no clue why this plan and not some other, it just sounded good at the time. I decided that if I needed to I would walk all the hills. I also decided that I would do whatever I needed to finish this thing: I peed in the bushes rather than wait for the porta-potty; I craved Coke so I drank it even though I wasn’t sure that it would agree with me (it did); I stayed with the perky guy who, although he was way more chatty than I, grew on me and didn’t think my plan to run/walk was "wussy." I even managed to answer him with a few complete sentences. He was good company and helped me return to my prior focus.
My race was reduced to eight-minute bites. I checked my watch not for the hours but rather for the minutes: Could I walk yet?
About mile 10, Drew (the perky guy) stated that even though we were walking, if we maintained our steady pace we would finish in less than six hours. What? I checked my watch, and that is when it dawned on me that I had been adding 30 minutes for my swim to my heart rate monitor time, which was in fact on real time! This moment after over five hours of racing is hard to describe—talk about free speed! I was jubilant! My whole body relaxed and I realized that even if I had to walk the last three miles I was still intact physically, mentally and spiritually. I would finish and far surpass my 6:26 goal. At this point, I actually began to review the day and smile.
Despite, or perhaps because of, some of the difficult moments, the day had been glorious. I felt proud to be a triathlete! I was not going to finish this race with the promise to myself of never doing another one (been there). I was going to finish still loving this sport, still wanting to do my Ironman.
Together, Drew and I ran the last few miles with one walk up the last hill. Being the gentleman he’d demonstrated he was, he offered me a trip down the finish chute alone and there I was, at the finish in 5:48. There to greet me was my dearest and oldest friend who has about THE best cheering voice you could ever ask for. I was a half Ironwoman. We were both proud of me!
On checking the results afterward, I found to my total amazement that I had run a half-marathon time that was only six minutes from my personal best. I was stumped. In fact, I checked the website several times later on to make sure more time hadn’t been added. That I could walk that much and still do a decent job (for me) on the run was completely educational. Go figure!
The learning didn't stop there, though.
Sportswriters have for generations reminded us that sport imitates life and/or that life imitates sport. I had reached mile 2 at home, too. While I had been "away" getting ready for my race, a family member had begun her chemotherapy, I had started a new job with longer hours and a longer commute, the children had finished the school year, we had two children’s birthday’s, and our childcare arrangements were clearly needing attention. As if this weren't enough, I looked around my house—at the laundry, pets and other neglected tasks of the last few weeks—and it all just hit. I couldn't fathom how to get it all back on track. I knew of no way to fix it all, quickly.
Driving in to work the next morning, I was thinking about this piece and realized that in the rest of my life I now needed a plan that better reflected our new circumstances. It was time for a run/walk strategy. At the pace I had been trying to keep, I was clearly heading for a DNF.
While the memory of mile 2 is with me for life, so too is the memory of picking myself up off the road (thankfully, only figuratively!) and getting myself to move again. Perhaps it is this capacity to teach that makes me love this sport so. Now, I am taking a few weeks to move forward in any way I can and have given myself permission to provide myself with whatever it takes to maintain forward momentum. The things that I have control over will, bite by bite, all get taken care of. I know they will; I have proof.
The race itself was difficult and asked a lot of me but I answered and finished. In fact, I did more than just finish—I did my very best and that made me an equal to every other triathlete out there on the course. So do I feel like a new, different or better person after completing my half-Ironman? No. Do I feel a little more like myself, like the self I imagine I am capable of being? You bet!
Still tri’n
Alison Colavecchia
Half-Ironwoman
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