The Race Report, part III

One leg down and two to go.

The Bike
The bike course consists of two 90km laps with a total of about 3,500 feet of climbing. Unfortunately, the bike course map is not available online anymore so I can’t post it up. The course winds through the main roads and highways of Florianopolis. The roads are not closed to traffic except for two sections of the course. However, racers have priority of the road and either get the center lane with traffic in the outside lane or on the shoulder. The course is a series of out and backs which mean that there are many u-turns, 5 that I can recall but I think that there are a total of 7 for each lap. They need to make up the mileage somehow and this is how they do it. There’s even a section where there’s an out and back within and out and back (you need to see the map to see how that one works).

I take my first few pedal strokes out of transition. We’re not even 100 yards out and all of a sudden I see a racer ahead of me flip over off his bike from the side. That must have been how I looked when at Wildflower except there was guardrail and I don’t remember seeing him shaking his head. Poor guy. I hope he only bruised his ego. I make my way out on the course heading out of Jurere Beach.

My nutrition plan on the bike was to consume one bottle of drink mix (2 scoops powerbar drink and 2 scoops of CarboPro, ~400 calories) every two hours in addition to water as needed. Concurrently, I was to have one Clif Block every 20 minutes for the first two hours (200 calories), a Mojo bar over the next two hours (200 calories), followed by a Clif Block every 20 minutes for the last two hours. I wasn’t feeling nauseous at all coming off of the swim and onto the bike like I did at Alcatraz. I was able to take in drink no problem, but each Clif block wasn’t quite tasting right and was borderline making me feel sick. I was hoping that this feeling was just from salt water ingestion and that it would eventually pass.

The further out on the course we got from the beach, the more cars and traffic we encountered. The course was well marshaled with police at every major intersection and u-turn, filtering in cars through us where necessary and patrolling the course. While I knew that there would be cars on the course, what I wasn’t expecting was the exhaust. As I made my way through the course, the smell of the exhaust started to make me feel ill and didn’t really help my stomach settle any. The speed of the traffic varied from slow moving, idling to regular speeds. But no matter what the speed, I wasn’t faring too well with the co2 but kept pushing on.

I was able to pass a number of people out on the course especially on some of the hills, many of them were men in aero helmets (that made me feel good at the very least). My bike computer decided to be cranky and would only give me cadence so I had to rely on the course markers to gauge how fast I was going. Unfortunately the course was only marked in kilometers (does anyone else want to join me to petition to change the U.S. measuring system to metric?). It was marked every 5 km so I knew I’d be making really good time if I could stick to knocking out 30 km each hour (18.6 miles). As we approached the farthest section of the course I started to feel better as this part of the course was completely closed to traffic. This was the out and back within the out and back section. I passed Colleen, of the members of my tri club. We exchanged a few encouraging words before continuing on at our separate paces. It was really nice to see a familiar face out on the course and also to be able to speak English to someone. (The field of 1200 athletes was very international, the majority from Brazil and the rest from Mexico and other countries in Central and South America). After finishing that section we were heading back onto those previous roads and back into traffic again. I started to feel sick again. To make matters worse, my right hip started to tighten up and I could feel it with each pedal stroke. The further out I went the sicker I felt and those evil thoughts started to seep into my head.

“This sucks.”
“What am I doing?”
“Why am I doing this?”
“This isn’t worth it.”
“I should stop.”

These are normal thoughts that go through my head during races. However, they mostly happen in the swim when I’m fighting my way through a mob of frenzied type-A triathletes. As I made my way through the last out and back of the lap, the thoughts got worse as the traffic got worse (there were points where it stood at a complete standstill -- yes, more co2, please, I love it!).

“I want to stop”
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I’ve already completed an Ironman. I don’t need to prove that I can do another one.”

As I took the turn back towards Jurere Beach to complete the first lap, I almost started to cry thinking about DNF’ing (DNF is the official reference for not completing a race, “Did Not Finish.”). Choking back the urge to cry made my throat tighten and it became hard to breath. I started to hyperventilate (my first time ever). I needed to calm down and the last thing I wanted to do was get into an accident. I forced myself to take deep slow breaths and within 10 to 15 seconds, it passed. I decided to grab my special needs bag and take a short break to see how I felt. There were Pringles inside that I was looking forward too and was hoping it would calm my stomach.

I grabbed my bag and, in complete posse fashion, had a picnic in the special needs area. Okay no, not really. I just set my bike down, grabbed the Pringles and proceeded to eat them. I took my time a bit just to calm myself down, take in some clean air and have a little one-on-one with my stomach. It was now giving me gurgling sensations. Between that and the icky feeling from the exhaust, I don’t know what my body was thinking. I definitely had the energy to move forward, but I didn’t know if my stomach could handle another 56 miles of exhaust. I chatted with a few other racers who decided to stop for a bit. I decided to continue on for at least two aid stations to see how I felt before I made a decision. I finished my Pringles and shoved the two hammer gels from my special needs bag into my bento box before stepping into the port-a-pottie for a bit hoping for some kind of action to make me feel better. But still no bueno (for those inquiring about the deuce – the deuce was successfully dropped in the morning at the hotel prior to leaving for transition. I’m not sure what the excess stomach action was being caused by).

I was finally off again. I made it to special needs, the halfway point, in about 3:11. I would have definitely completed the bike in under 6:30 if I was able to maintain that pace. My original intent was to have a negative split (complete the second lap faster than the first). I had spent about 10 minutes at special needs before getting back on my bike. I didn’t’ feel better and I didn’t feel worse, but carrying those DNF thoughts in my head definitely did not make me any stronger. If anything, it made me weaker. I was riding from aid station to aid station, contemplating completion. I stopped at almost every other aid station to hit up the port-a-pottie. Still no bueno and I continued on. I physically wasn’t feeling any better or any worse. Mentally, I was killing my spirit and my physical ability.

At this point in my nutrition, I was already on my second bottle of drink mix and finished my first two hours of solid nutrition. My stomach definitely didn’t want to eat anything else, but it could still take drink mix. I was familiar with the perils of underfueling from Wildflower and didn’t want to bonk again. I knew the Pringles from special needs would hold me down for a while so I just kept drinking and then had a hammer gel about an hour in. The hammer gel went down fine, but my stomach and tastes buds weren’t really feeling it. I definitely couldn’t take any more Clif block shots. By the time I got to just about the halfway point of the lap (the out and back within and out and back) I decided to try to my Mojo bar. My stomach and mouth were definite a lot happier and I had finished it by the time I started heading back out towards Jurere Beach and back into the traffic and exhaust.

At this point in the race, I was definitely losing time. I found myself now playing leapfrog with racers I had passed earlier. The exhaust started to wear on me again and seemed worse than before now that it was later in the day. The Portuguese cheers and friendly honks did nothing for my spirit as I just wanted off the road. As I contemplated DNF’ing again, I realized that stopping at one of the aid stations to wait for SAG would take forever. I would probably make it there faster if I just finished the course on my bike. The only think positive thoughts that were going through my mind at this point was that I’d be much happier spending the rest of the day with my parents and Benito than completing the bike and spending at least 5 hours on the road, running most of it in the dark.

As I completed the turn on the last out and back, I was pretty determined that I was done. I was sick of being on my bike, I was sick of breathing in exhaust and I was sick of being sick and I think I was also sick of putting up with my own whining. I hadn’t eating anything since the Mojo bar and I no longer wanted my drink mix. I finally just tossed the bottle aside and grabbed a Gatorade at the second to last aid station and headed back.

The roads approaching Jurere Beach were comforting. I knew I would be done soon. I soon approached the point on the course where the run intersects with the bike. None of the runners looked happy to be out there. Not a very motivating site for someone wanting to DNF. Once I hit the road leading to transition at just under 7 hours. I started scanning the crowd for my parents and Benito. They spotted me before I saw them and they were cheering loud and proud. I was feeling the exact opposite and almost started to cry. I yelled over to Benito as I motioned my hand across my throat, “I’m done. It’s over, meet me at transition.”

I approached transition, dismounted my bike and a volunteer grabbed it from me. A volunteer in a headset motioned me over to the changing room and I told her I was done. I’m finished. She say okay and directed me to continue on over to the tent. Once I got to the tent, I encountered a few more volunteers and again said to them, “I’m done. I’m finished. I’m not running.” Again, they said okay and yelled out something in Portuguese. Before I knew it , a volunteer came over with just my run bag and not my dry goods bag. Again they directed me into the changing room. It seemed like none of them wanted to let me DNF by keeping me moving forward. I was a little puzzled and confused as to why no one was escorting me to the timing or took my chip. Another volunteer received me as I entered the change tent. She gave me water and grabbed my bag and started to open it. I was telling her that I was done and not running. She seemed a little confused, either because she didn’t understand English very well or because she didn’t understand why someone who was strong enough to walk into the tent by her own will wouldn’t have the strength to get out there and finish what she came to Florianopolis to do. I just sat there and drank my water and she just sat there and looked at me. She asked again if I wanted food, and I just asked for water. When she came back she brought another volunteer who spoke English. The volunteer asked if I was okay and again I answered with, “I’m done. I’m not running. I’m not finishing the race.” She asked if I needed any food or water and then explained to my volunteer. My volunteer then got up and started to help other racers. A few moments later, the English speaking volunteer asked if I needed any medical assistance or physical therapy. None of which I needed. I replied with, “I’m okay. I just want water.” So I just continued to sit there,. drinking my water, watching other racers come into the tent and then head out on to the run. My mind was racing. I was wondering what I was doing sitting there. I had imagined that it would feel good to stop, to finally do what I wanted to do for the last 60 some miles. But I wasn’t feeling happy, or at the very least relieved, at all.

I don’t know what the trigger was. Was it the girl changing into her running skirt which reminded me of Sam and Jessica, my two strong, unbending training partners this season? Was it seeing all these more determined women come into the tent after still head out on that run? Or was it the realization that I didn’t want to put those months of training to waste all because I was being a whiny little baby?

I took off my bike shoes and opened up my run bag. I slowly started to get dressed. To hell with it, I’m just going to try, at least do one lap and get that part over with before making any decision. I had to at least try. I finally finished changing, stuffed my bag and headed out.

Benito and my parents were waiting for me at the meeting point, but I had to let them know that I went out on the run. I hoped that the run out would lead me past them, but I was across the road from the transition area which was lined with barricades. I stopped when I got directly across from where we were supposed to meet and started to scan the crowd to see if I could spot them and yell over. But I couldn’t see anyone and started to think of how I could get a volunteer to go find and tell them. Before I knew it, I saw Benito waving his hands at me. He put both his hands up gesturing, “What’s up?”

I yelled over as I started to choke back tears, “I’m going to run! I’m going to try!”

He put up both his fists and pumped them and mouthed, “You can do it!”

And off I went.