Part 1: Ironman Timberman 70.3 Race Report

Weeks until the full Ironman in Wisconsin: 3.5 (The 0.5 is key!)

Wow. I did it! I completed the Ironman Timberman 70.3. Unreal.

Part of me realizes that it is a huge accomplishment. Part of me thinks that it’s no big deal. Let me explain why.

Taking my body through 70.3 miles – a 1.2 mile swim, a 56 mile bike ride, and a 13.1 mile run – while managing type 1 diabetes IS a huge accomplishment. Dealing with an incredible heat wave (the mercury rose to 35/95 degrees!) made the effort all the more intense. My body was sweating. A lot. Again, a huge accomplishment to manage the miles, the diabetes, and the heat. Go me!

Then again, I spent the day swimming, riding my bike, and running. I was relaxed as I swam (nothing beats the water), really enjoyed the (majority) of the bike, and as hot as I was for the run, I absolutely loved the simple pleasure of placing one foot in front of the other. Running will always be my first love.

So many thoughts and emotions are running through my mind, and in order to save you time (I know not everyone is interested in the same things), and help organize the words on this page, I will divide the blog into 2 parts (Part 1: The race Part 2: My diabetes and nutrition strategy) and a few sections. Read some or all – get the flavor of the entire weekend and race or focus on a few aspects. This might (or definitely will) be a monster blog. Let’s go!

1. Pre-race logistics

The Ironman Timberman 70.3 course is located in Gilford, New Hampshire. It’s in the lakes region of NH and it is absolutely stunning there. Mountains, lakes, winding roads – such a great area to spend a weekend. After flying in from Toronto to Montreal (I packed up my bike for the first time! Woo hoo! Thanks Lori for the bag!) I was picked up by my mother and we spent a night at our cottage near the Vermont border.

Put my bike back together, without the help of YouTube this time! Woo hoo!

I put my bike back together on Friday, made sure it was in working order, and we left for Gilford on Saturday. Although the US does not feel like a foreign country at times, having an ‘international’ race means that you have to cross a border, wait in lines, and figure out directions. You likely have no cell service, and will have to find your way the old fashioned way – with maps and friendly strangers. After a long border crossing (pretty sure half the people were racers – compression socks and bikes definitely gave their identity away!) we drove through the mountains of Vermont and New Hampshire, took a few wrong turns, met a few friendly strangers, and made it to the Gunstock Mountain Resort for the athlete check-in and briefing.

A festival like atmosphere at the Timberman athlete expo and check-in.

The check-in was smooth and quick. No bells and whistles, no long lines. Just friendly (I might say that a few times!) volunteers helping me get the right boxes checked. It was incredibly hot and humid as my mom and I meandered through the festival-like expo. After listening to the athlete briefing (‘Don’t litter. Stay 5 bike lengths away, be fast and qualify for the Worlds..’) we then headed down to Ellacoya State Park, the transition and start/finish area which was a 10 min drive away, so that I could check my bike into transition.

I then went over to the mechanics (most transition areas at Ironman events will have a few bike mechanics on hand to help with tune-ups, flats, etc..) to have the ‘Yes! You’ve put your bike back together safely!’ and was pleased when the young guy only had one minor adjustment, which he called ‘a bike snob’ adjustment. I placed my front wheel the wrong way. If the quick release is on the right or the left won’t matter for my goal of moving forwards – but I smiled, and accepted his ‘edit’.

The transition is in Ellacoya park, right by the beach. Plan to come early! You never know if a thunderstorm will close the transition area early.

I managed to check my bike right before the volunteers unexpectedly closed transition due to a severe thunderstorm warning (note to self: give yourself plenty of time to check your bike) and ran back to the car. Spent the night at a hotel past the bike turn around (Red Roof Inn – highly recommend it) and was able to drive along about 30 miles of the bike course! (The Greystone Inn on the run course would also be a great location – on the lake, and right by transition. Will keep it in mind if I ever do Timberman again.)

2. Race morning

Race mornings are odd – you see fellow athletes up at the crack of dawn. You say hello. Wish each other good luck. You realize that you are so fortunate to be able to participate in a sport that allows you to move your body and experience the outdoors. You always feel somewhat silly drinking coffee though, in lycra, at 4:45am.

My alarm went off at 4:30am and I was at the Gunstock Resort by 5:45am. Shuttle buses took the athletes (first) and the spectators to the transition. I set up my space (so proud that I had fewer things – kept the transition simple), and was body-marked by a kind woman who saw my insulin pump and mentioned that she trains an athlete with type 1. I shared my hesitation – this was my first race with an insulin pump! – and she calmly asked me: “But you always know how you feel, right?” Yes, I do. I do. Even though technology and metrics (be it insulin pumps or Garmin watches) can help us become better athletes, it is our body that speaks to us, tells us how we are doing, how far we can push, how long we can go. Listen to your body. Have that moment of reflection. Pause. Breathe. Make the smart decision.

3. Swim

Lake Winnipesaukee is a gorgeous lake. White sandy beaches, clear water, and stunning views. I was excited to get in the water and start swimming. The morning race nerves had kicked in and although I am usually calm and collected, this morning I was neither. I was impatient, and stressed. Surrounded by too many people (I don’t like crowds) and hot, I simply wanted to swim.

All suited up and ready to swim. Looking out onto the lake and visualizing a successful race day. Let’s do this!

Ironman events are quite complex. The wave starts, the pre-race details, and the number of things that you need to do in order to actually start the swim can be overwhelming. I simply wanted to start my day. To swim, to bike, and to run. I enjoy the triathlon lifestyle more than I enjoy the races. I have come to realize that although I like the competitive nature of races, I participate in this sport because I love to train. I love the simplicity of going for a run, or jumping in the pool. Ironman events are fun, but far from simple.

My favorite cheerleader, in life, and in athletics. My mother.

Cheered on by my mother, I took to the starting line and had my first in-water start. The water felt warm and I knew it would be a hot day. The bell rang, and we were off! Purposely using my arms far more than my legs,  I swam steadily and reminded myself that if I start slow I will finish strong. A few kicks and foot grabs (who grabs your foot and pushes you aside?! Really.), some glaring sun and poor visibility (lost a contact lens and swam into the rising sun) later, I came out of the water, got stripped thanks to the wetsuit peelers, and ran into transition feeling strong.

Smiling as I come out of the water. Love the swim!

4. T1

Don’t remember too much about my first transition. Cleaned my feet with wet wipes (best idea!) , slipped on my bike shoes, helmet, and sunglasses, quickly checked my blood sugar (a Diabetes management summary will be in Part 2 of this Race Report), and stuffed my nutrition into my tri top.

5. Bike

The night before the race I was reading Timberman race reports and came across one where it was mentioned that Timberman was far easier than the Muskoka 70.3, except for one ‘monster’ hill. In another report I read about the ‘beast’, a steep, long hill that really hits you hard, even if you spin up it properly. Having trained on the Muskoka 70.3 course a few weeks ago, I knew that I could get up hills. Did I love it? No. But could I do it? Yes.

Luckily I was also aware that right out of transition there was a bit of a climb, and hence was prepared and in the right gear. The first 10 miles were fairly easy – When you know you are going out for 90km there is no need to push the pace right at the start. (From my perspective at least. My goal was to finish comfortably, with my smile on my face.) Coming closer to mile 10 I mentally prepared for the monster hill. I knew I would spin as much as possible. And there it was! Miss – Ameri…I mean. Miss Monster hill! Hilly, and never-ending, a quiet road in the forest. So unassuming. So peaceful. So unforgiving. I managed to spin up the majority of the hill (with ‘The ants go marching one by one hurrah, hurrah’ on repeat – no idea why since I haven’t heard that song in years!) until I came to the last turn and I saw that the hill kept on going, and going, for a final stretch. And, then I did what most cyclists would likely not do. I walked my bike. I followed the ‘walk-your-bike’ train (made up of men, women, young and old) who decided that it’s best to save the legs at this stage in the race. Still pretty proud that I managed to ride up the majority of the monster. Maybe next time (Eek. Already thinking about next time!) I’ll get up the entire thing!

A few other points on the bike:

1. I counted about 7 or 8 flats, all within the first hour. Since it was such a hot day I made sure not to over-inflate my tubes, but wonder if others had made the mistake of leaving the normal pressure in their tubes.

2. The majority of the bike is on route 106 – a fairly busy street open to traffic. The shoulder was nice and roomy, and the police and the volunteers did a fantastic job at directing traffic. I felt safe, and taken care of. The road though was wide open with little shady respite. As the hours ticked by my legs continued to feel strong. I was drinking (a lot!) and trying my best to eat as much as possible. Aid stations were every 15 or so miles, and the volunteers, as always, were incredibly kind and helpful.

3. What goes up must come down: Riding down the monster hill was fun! And fast! Very very fast. Although I still don’t absolutely love the bike portion of triathlons, I definitely love sections of it. Flying down hills surrounded by forests and blue skies for instance? Yes please! Sign me up.

6. T2

Again, I don’t remember too much about this transition. Rolling into transition, and checking my watch, I realized that I was fairly consistent on my bike, still felt strong, and still had ample time to even walk the entire half marathon ahead of me. And that’s when it hit me. In between dismounting my bike, and lacing up my runners, I knew that I would be able to finish this race. I knew that my type 1 diabetes would not mess up my finish. I knew that I would need a new goal – because clearly this one could be accomplished. I shed a tear. I smiled. Damn life, you’re good. You’re really really good.

That’s the funny thing about goals – you make them so that you feel a tinge of discomfort, even doubt. You push yourself just a little bit past your limits so that you can grow and develop, both as an athlete but also as a person. And then you consistently train or take the necessary daily steps to make your goal a reality. Then boom. It happens. You accomplish the goal. You realize that your limits CAN be pushed. Don’t let your mind hold you back. Reach, push, dream. Then dream some more.

Hear me? Reach. Push. Dream. Then dream a little more.

I waved to my mom – the best race and life cheerleader a child could ask for – and headed out on the run course, knowing I would be an Ironman 70.3 finisher!

Just a half marathon left! Ouff it was hot!

7. Run

I will be honest. For the last 10-15 miles of the bike I was looking forward to the run. I knew that the day was getting unbearably hot (it was 35/95 by the time I started the run) and that I would do more shuffling than actual running. I didn’t care. I wanted to experience the freedom of simply moving my feet, my legs, and my arms.

The run course is a two loop circuit that hugs the lake. It was incredibly sunny and included one hill. I had no strategy going into the run. I knew that I could push myself if I felt good – but also knew that I would take walk breaks if I needed to. My legs and my lungs felt great – I had no pains, I was not gasping for air. I was hot though. To the point where I would take ice cubes from every aid station (Thanks Heather for the suggestion!) and dump them down my bra. I would pour water on my head. I would put sponges in my tri top. When you’re running in an oven (no, really!) you become incredibly lethargic. Your body doesn’t want to continue. It wants to stop. Mentally I just kept pushing myself to move forwards and see this race through. I wasn’t aiming for any particular time. I knew I could run 20 km in about 2 hours (ran it in Muskoka a few weeks back) and so now my decisions were based on being smart – staying cool, and finishing strong. And so I trekked on. Past seemingly fit and young men who must have under-hydrated, and alongside others who would shout ‘This is the longest mile ever’ or ‘Why must we run alongside the lake? Such a tease!’

Right left. Right left. You are stronger than you think. Right left. Right left.

After a false and cruel fake finish – runners have to start the run down the finisher’s chute before starting on the second loop – I stopped to chat briefly with my mom before heading out. Slow and steady I told myself. One foot in front of the other. And lots and lots of ice. And water. And gatorade. I knew better than to push my body in this heat.

8. The Finish!

Turning the corner into the finish I was cheered on by so many strangers. I felt strong. I was smiling. I was soaking in the experience. All of my training, all of my diabetes management nonsense behind me, I did it. Wow. I did it! I completed the Ironman Timberman 70.3. Unreal.

Right after the finish, when I really wanted to sit down and my paparazzi mother wanted a few pictures. This shot makes me laugh – and tells the honest story. Hot, sweaty, and slightly disoriented, I am an Ironman 70.3er!

Remember, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again! Hold onto your goals and take the necessary steps to make them happen. Absolutely anything is possible if you put your mind to it.

Part 2: My Type 1 Diabetes and Nutrition strategy will be up another day! As always, thanks for reading, and thanks for the support. Means the world.

xo

Animas Canada has graciously chosen to support me with the Dexcom CGM as I train for and race Ironman Wisconsin. I believe in full transparency and appreciate that Animas Canada does not review or approve my blog posts. They want me to share my honest experience with the device. As always, all opinions and posts are purely my own.