Imagine what my thoughts primarily revolved around about 10 days out from race day? Just how accurate is this Weather App anyway? It seemed with each passing day, the weather only improved. Where once the temperatures hovered in the 90s, they suddenly started to plummet into the 80s. As a result, coming off a relatively good race for me in Victoria just two weeks prior, I felt relieved that I'd have the chance to use my fitness to my best abilities. Not having to contend with Mother Nature made my job slightly less unpredictable.
Race morning had arrived, and walking from our parking spot at NIC toward the Bandshell, I gazed I ntently upon the water. Just last weekend we had come over for a training day to run the new course and hop into the water, but the choppy and rambunctious conditions dissuaded us from starting with our swim. Today, however, the water looked calm and enticing. Perfect.
Compared to the horrendous swim start at Victoria 70.3 just two weeks prior, CDA race staff had it figured out. Volunteers used the entire beach to organize athletes into their desired start position. Each start position was accessible from all sides so as not to cram athletes into some chute designed for cattle. Bryan and I started toward the front of the group so as to allow us the chance to better know our position relative to our competitors once out of the water. Volunteers ushered us over the timing mat in a single file, which I thought made for a stellar and seamless entrance to an already perfect lake surface. No flailing arms, no kicking feet to knock off my goggles, and no jostling for position when plenty of water awaited us in whichever direction we opted to swim.
I exited the water feeling confident I'd swam my fastest 1.2 miles yet. Sure enough, I ran out of the water with a time of 29:51, checking a goal off my list that I've not yet seemed to achieve for the past 3 years, until today. Once on land, I embarked upon a significant transition run toward the transition area itself. I'm confident this run wasn't nearly as long as the one I'd encountered in Mont Tremblant two years ago, nor the one in Henderson for the World Championships in 2012 and 2013, but it left my legs numb and my lungs burning before I'd even mounted my bike.
Once on the bike, however, I focused sharply on my effort. My power meter reined me in, but having a girl pass me before reaching the turn around at Higgin's Point made me push harder than I should have. Yet my mental "refresh" button helped to keep me from going too hard, and I eventually let her have the lead as we made our way back into town.
Having my parents spectating today really meant a lot. I had to take an extra gulp of air to hold back my emotions when I spotted the two of them waving and cheering for me as I flew out of town to make my way toward Highway 95 and the grand ol' Cougar Gulch climb. By the time I'd reached this hill, I had this gut feeling that my legs weren't quite with me. I'd been burping a lot coming out of the water, which I normally do initially. Generally, though, I'd have been through with that in the first 20 minutes of the bike ride. Today, however, I'm convinced my nutrition wasn't settling, and therefore, my legs might be attempting to pedal on an emptier tank. Regardless, you pedal onward (and upward in this case). My wattage numbers held steady up the hill, and they continued to hover around 200 watts. Yet as the ride progressed, they began to fall, and any effort to keep those numbers where I wanted them to stay seemed difficult.
I hit the turnaround and distinctly remember a 27 year old woman pass me at about the 40 mile mark. She ignited a small spark that left me telling myself over and over again, Meghan, you have to push your effort. That's what it takes to win. We toggled back and forth a couple times, but in the end, she maintained her lead. By that point, she had been the 4th woman to pass me on the bike. Generally, I'm not used to that. I'm the one passing other women.
I rode into transition feeling incredibly aprehensive. On the bike alone, I knew I had slipped about 5 positions. I donned my Clifton 2's, which had been smothered in Ruby's Lube the night before, and headed out of the transition area, fully aware that I'd beat at least one of those women out of the chute. It didn't take but a mile for me to find the one lady I'd vied for position with out at Higgin's Point. Just as I'd thought, she didn't look like a runner. That left three more women to track down. One of those women had the 27 written on her calf.
|Photo by Craig Thorsen|
From then onward, I ran as though I had everything to lose. I let these two professional women dictate the pace, which seemed to match my goal pace anyway, until one of them began to slip away. She kept motioning me to follow her and try to keep up, but I couldn't. Eventually, I pulled away from the last professional also, and before I knew it, had started my second lap.
I saw the 7th mile marker before I knew what had happened to miles 5 and 6. Up until now, I don't think that has ever happened. My legs felt incredibly heavy as I started to rely more and more on the aid stations for water and coke. By mile 10, I had also eaten a couple gels, thinking that perhaps some electrolytes would calm my cramping quadriceps muscles. My heart felt excited when I ran past the 11th mile marker, because despite my failing legs, I knew I could survive those last two miles. Craig Thorsen, sitting calmly under a tree just before Sanders beach, asked me how I felt. At that point, I couldn't tell him anything verbally. I simply raised my arms as if to say, I have no idea how much further I can go.
|Ahhh... Sherman Avenue!|
Approaching McEuen park again, my mind had left my body. I could no longer formulate any clear thought. I could, however, decipher the sign that directed me to the finish line instead of out for another lap. The road to Sherman Avenue took an eternity to traverse. Turning onto the road itself, though, brought back the same memories I'd had when I had finally brought my 11+ hour day to a close in 2013, completing my first full Ironman. It all seemed the same. Ecstatic spectators, beautiful hanging flower baskets. Loud music. Cheers from family and friends. And yes, the announcement that Meghan Faulkenberry, from Nine Miles Falls, Washington, is our second amateur woman finisher of the day.
Definitely not my fastest day, but a day of learning and achievement, nonetheless. In the near future, I look forward to recovering and then working to gain strength in areas I find lacking. Ironman Calgary 70.3 will allow me to once again test myself in my efforts to prepare for the World Championships in September.