Iron Man France, June 22 2008

If you look up my name on Ironmanfrance.com, it will say DNF (Did Not Finish). That couldn't be farther from the truth. Here's the story of my whole Ironman France day, of course, in way more detail than would be necessary.

It started when every alarm Rob and I could get our hands on went off at 4:00. I did everything according to plan: had my oatmeal and banana, got dressed, and took a sharpie to write two inspirational phrases on my arms:

The first phrase I got from my friend Carrie at Wildflower last year: "Fee privileged." I really wanted to be reminded that some people would give anything to be healthy enough to be in the pain I'd be in, and that if for some reason I didn't finish, I am lucky to be healthy enough to even have tried.

The second phrase was "Race your own race." This was a great reminder for me when I kept comparing myself to others, my equipment to others, my time to others...
We walked down to the start area at 4:45. The streets were still alive and kicking with people who were still partying from the night before.

It was already very warm out. Uh-oh.

We got to the transition area, and Rob took pictures and videotaped me getting ready from the other side of the fence. I was surprised how calm I felt. Last year, at Wildflower, I couldn't stop crying because of all of my fears before the race. Even though I have been fearful of this ironman for months, when it came down to the day, I felt very relaxed about it. This is also surprising after how I felt last night when the very awful body-marker had a terrible conversation with me. It went something like this:

"So, you know that the bike course is very hard, yes?"
"Yes."
"It's very hilly."
"I know."
"How long do you think it'll take you to do the bike course?"
"8 - 8 1/2 hours, I tihink." To which this very cruel man shook his head solemnly "NO" with a big frown on his face.
"No. Ten hours. At least."

He continued to tell me how hard the race was, and about the cut-offs, and why did I choose Ironman France as my first ironman? He kept frowning and shaking his head. I listened to him for too long before I was able to break away from his evil spell, and he almost had me in tears. I felt like he took away my right to feel positive about the next day, and for that I was realy upset.

But, back to the race report... I was surprised that despite that conversation, I WAS feeling positive about the day, and that I was ready for this.

I did the whole "3 times in the porta potty line," put all my nutrition on my bike, pumped up my tires, and got on my wetsuit. It was time to head over to the beach.
Rob followed me for as long as he could, but eventually lost me as every athlete went down to the rocky shore en masse. It felt like the whole world came out for the swim start. People lined up everywhere to watch. I was a little concerned that the slowest swim corral was 1:25, as I knew I'd swim between 1:30 and 1:40. I missed my chance to warm-up because it took so long to get down there with all of the crowds. I saw Jenny there, who wanted to place herself in the back. I wanted to be closer to the front because I didn't want to have to run on the rocks to enter the water. For some reason, I wasn't intimidated by the crowds that day. I was, again, really surprised how calm I felt during the whole waiting time.

I imagined a very exciting start, as it is in the Ironman France video on my facebook page. But, I never heard any announcement or gun go off. Just, all of a sudden, people started entering the water, and it was time!

The first thing that happened was that I got hit in the head with a flip-flop. It was someone's bright idea to wear them up until he starts swimming to protect his feet. It wasn't a big deal; it just surprised me. :-) Then, in less than a minute's time, I saw a jellyfish. I did an instant replay of that "hips out of the water scenario." I was really concerned about being stung, as that is a real unknown for me. I did see about 8 jellyfish total on that swim, of about 3 different types. But, thank goodness, I never did get stung!

Besides the jellyfish sightings, despite what it looks like on the video, this was one of the calmest, relaxed open water swim starts I've ever experienced. Having swum by myself the last few days, I took a lot of comfort in being surrounded by so many people. Everyone really just took their own space. There was a little accidental bumping into each other, but nothing fierce. The buoys were hard to sight (although the water was indeed calm, unlike earlier in the week) because someone had a bright idea of making the men's swim caps the exact same color as the buoys. (The women's were pink, of course, just like our bib numbers.) I stopped trying to sight the buoys until they were much closer, and just swam with the pack.

It was warm, I had space, and I felt strong. I was excited at how quickly the land exit came up (before you get back in to do your second, smaller loop.) In actuality, it was 59 minutes at that point, which was exactly what I predicted. Rob was standing knee deep in the water as I ran by. I gave him a soaking wet hug in what seemed to be a "swimming drunken stupor" and dove back into the water. The second lap was just as comfortable as the first. I think my pace was pretty consistent throughout the swim.

Getting out of the water was fun; volunteers reach in, grab you, and pull you out. I took off the top half of my wetsuit right away, and then saw my time: 1:33:33!!! Considering that I swam :48 at Wildflower practice weekend, I see this as a nice PR.

(Big PRs, mind you, are not necessarily the best thing during the actual race. The events that follow in the day make me wonder if I went out too hard....)

I ran up the ramp, received my transition bag from the volunteer, and completed my well-rehearsed transition. (Rob is going to put this hysterical rehearsal video on You-Tube one day.) The volunteer was very helpful. She put on my race number belt and sunscreen for me while I did everything else. (Those volunteers work just as hard as the athletes, in my opinion.) I ran to my bike, which was all the way at the far end of the transition area. (I want to say it was a 1/2 mile long, but I'm not sure if I'm exaggerating.) On the way, I saw our hotel receptionist, Marielle, cheering me on! I grabbed my bike, and I was off, with Rob cheering right behind me.
I knew I had to go out slow on the bike. The most common advice I received from everyone was "don't go out too hard," and "pace yourself." I really thought I was pacing myself. Everyone was passing me, and with a tail wind, I was comfortably riding about 17 mph. My heart was racing with excitement, and I consciously took deep breaths to relax it. I felt like I was on a liesurely ride. I got to the first hill, which was a short (three tenths of a mile) climb at about 10% grade. It definitely wasn't any harder than the climbs we do in the bay area, and it being so short, if felt like nothing to me. (Some people were actually walking their bikes. Maybe that's a strategy to keep them from going out too hard?)

Anyway, there was a short climb after that, and then a long stretch of flats and descents, with a tail wind (through the cutest towns and most beautiful scenery). I felt so good at this point. In hindsight, I know I should have held back more (even though I really thought I was). I wasn't consciously pushing myself to go hard, but I think in my enthusiasm for the scenery, and in my excitement for how easy that part of the course was, I just didn't realize that I was leaving so much of my energy out there on the course.

I realized it at the bottom of the climb to Col de L'Ecre. This is a 12 mile climb that rises about 1000 feet. It's really not that steep, just a constant climb. This was only at about 30 miles into the ride, and spinning myself up this mountain, switchback after switchback, with not an ounce of shade, was incredibly difficult. The scenery was breathtaking, but the climb was still really painful. This is where I started thinking I definitely should have saved more from the swim and the beginning of the bike, and it was only mile 30! I started getting a headache, so I tried to increase my water intake, but then I would get bloated and not be able to take the perpetuem. My nutrition was a mess.

I knew I had to pull it together. I forced myself to stick with my nutrition plan, because I knew that without calories, I'd never finish. I had a just-in-case powerbar and gel in my pocket, but I couldn't bear the thought of eating them. A few times on the ride, I vomited right on my bike (and kept on going!). I think the heat had something to do with that.

I was not the only one who had difficulty on this ride, especially due to the extreme heat and humidity. The ride itself was punctuated by the frequent sound of the ambulance coming by to rescue someone. All along the course, at several places on the side of the road, you would see an athlete passed out, or on a stretcher getting medical attention. I was devastated to see one athlete who had his head resting in his hands, looked up for a moment, and then ripped off his timing chip as if to say he quit. Keeping perspective, and knowing that Coach Mike would say, "Just keep moving," I plowed on, past the people lying on the ground, and past the people walking their bikes.

The descents on this course were exciting and scary at the same time. There were minimal barriers between the road and the sheer cliffs, these little rock walls, with about 3 feet of space between each one. Good to keep a car from going over, but not a bike! I know that a lot of people fell on the course because you could see all the awful road rashes when looking at the athletes on the run course. I was blessed with not only not falling, but no flats or mechanical issues either!

No matter what could have happened, if I had missed the cut-offs, or if I had to be pulled for medical reasons, and despite the heat, this ride was totaly worth it, and I'd recommend it to anyone. The climbs were hard, but the surrounding beauty was nothing like I had ever seen. Parts of it were more breathtaking than the views at Big Sur, especially when we got to the height of the elevation. It was the most amazing tour of this area, and I will never forget the scenery: the rock formations that sometimes arched right over the road, the sheer cliffs that dropped off into the most amazing valleys, and the cutest old towns with narrow streets.
What is also memorable about this bike ride was the spectators. No matter how remote we ended up, there was someone there to shout, "Allez, Allez!" (Go, Go!), or "Avec Courage!" (With Courage!), or "A Vo!" (To you!), or "Bravo!!!" They always seemed surprised by me, and I got more cheers than anyone else! I think it's because I'm a woman (only 9% of the racers are women), and maybe it's because I look so young and tiny. Maybe they thought a "little girl" was doing the race. :-)

I was feeling awful, but I was so happy to have done the whole bike course. I made it back in 8:24:45. (In your face, mean body marker man!)

Just like with my PR in the swim, it's really a mixed bag of feelings to have done so well on the bike. Had I taken longer, I may have had more energy for the run, to keep up a decent pace. Nevertheless, I'm really content with my times. There are so many factors that go into someone bonking: nutrition, heat, going out too hard.... it's not a perfect science and I can't be upset with myself for not doing it perfectly.

So, I dismounted my bike (Ow!) and I had to run it all the way to the far end of the bike park because they valet the bikes in the order they are received. I ran to the porta-potty, now realizing I have severe GI distress, and then head out to the changing tent. For some reason, there were no volunteers to help me, but that may have been for the best. I was at an emotional low, and I had to pull myself together. (I always am better at pulling myself together when I'm alone than when someone's trying to help me do it!) So, I emptied out my transition bag, and I allowed the tears to come. By this point, I was very happy with my times, but I was hurting (not so much the muscles, but the overall energy and GI well-being). I was exhausted, dizzy, nauseas, and couldn't imagine that I was about to run a whole marathon. I had about 5 hours and 40 minutes to do it if I was going to make the 16 hour cut-off.

Within my first few steps, I knew that I didn't have even a 12 minute mile pace in me. I made it to the first turn around (mile 3.25) in about 40 minutes. During that stretch, I had stopped to get hosed off, fill my water bottle, went to the bathroom again, and that just wasn't going to allow me to get a good pace. I told myself that I shouldn't stop so much, so on the first return, I only did the quick "grab and go" at the water stops. I still didn't make it in much faster. By this point, I was sure that I wasn't going to make the 16 hour cut-off. I considered stopping, so that I might recover fast enough to race Vineman, but then I quickly thought, NO.

I came to France to do an Ironman Triathlon, and that is exactly what I'm going to do.

So, I kept going. My body was stiff and tight, and my feet hurt, but I definitely wasn't dealing with any overuse injuries or anything horrible. My slowness came from just not having any more fuel in me. I tried to take tiny sips of gel with my water, but for the first two laps, while it was still hot, I couldn't keep it down. I vomited several times on the run course. (Believe me, I wasn't the only one. So many people were!) At this point, I had no idea what I had taken, and what had come back up, so it was really hard to keep track of how many endurolytes I had taken, and how many calories I had.

As the sun started to set and I had shade to run in, I started to feel better. Not better enough to pick up my pace, but I stopped vomiting at least, so I was able to get a few more calories in me. I wallowed in a bit of self-pity at every athlete who passed me who had more bracelets than I did. (You get one at the end of each lap, and you need three before you can enter the finish chute.) I knew that everyone who was passing me, walking slowly and comfortably, was going to officially finish. But, I couldn't focus on that for too long. ("Race your own race.")

I finally got the the end of the third lap (out of 4) at 9:40. The cut-off at this point was 9:30. A volunteer told me that I had to stop because I didn't make the cut-off. It was no surprise to me that I wasn't going to be an official finisher, but I didn't expect that they might not let me run on my own, for my own satisfaction of knowing I could do it. The tears hit hard, and the volunteer felt badly. He did take my race number because he had to, but left my chip on my ankle. He told me that while I can't be an official finisher, I can go ahead and run the last lap on my own. Rob joined me, as my travelling aid station (and great emotional support!). He carried my water bottle for me, and I finally broke out the caffeinated gel. We trudged on in the darkness, past the aid stations that were packing up, past streets that were emptying, passed Ironman Finishers wearing their medals and smiles and heading back to their hotels.
We approached the finish line sooner than we expected. Rob ran ahead to get a picture, and I ran through, arms up high, and very proud. I did it! There were a few people who noticed me coming in and cheered me on. (More like, a few people were surprised to see another finsiher coming in...) The clock was still running:

16:47:??

I completed an Ironman in under 17 hours. Almost all Ironman Triathlons in the world have a 17 hour cut-off . Just not in France.

On the other side of the finish line, some people were packing and cleaning up while other people were sipping champagne. Someone noticed me and yelled, "A finisher?!? We have another finisher?!?" More cheers.

The same volunteer (Andre) who pulled my bib came up to me. He said that he was so happy that I finished. I know he felt really badly about pulling my bib. I asked him if it was possible to still get a medal. He raised his eyebrows and said he'd be right back. He was gone for awhile, long enough that we wondered if he forgot about us. Eventually he returned, with his hands behind his back:

"I have a little present for you. I was not able to get you a medal," he teased, "but tomorrow morning, go to the finisher's tent, and they are going to do a free engraving of.... THIS.... for you!"

And he put the medal around my neck. He continued,

"And they are going to write on it: Jennifer Sussman: The Last Finisher!"

I had never felt more elated in my entire life. Hundreds of people did not even finish. I couldn't be more pleased, and proud, to be last.