IM Los Cabos: The Run and Being Hunted

If you missed IM Los Cabos: Pre Race/H2O click here.
If you missed IM Los Cabos: The Bike click here.

I left the tent screaming, "I feel like a million bucks."

And I did.  My legs felt great and the streets were filled with people cheering us on.  The run in Los Cabos was shaped like an M, at least, that's what I heard.  It makes sense too.  We would have six turn arounds where you could see who was in front, and who was behind.  We would run three loops of 8.5 miles (or so).

I started to see some familiar faces, and cheer out to people I knew, and didn't know.  For some reason, my race number had MEXICO instead of CANADA written on it so needless to say, I got a lot of "Vamos Mexico"  from the crowds of Mexican  supporters.   

I ran the first loop feeling great, but I was well aware of who was steadily gaining on me.  There were too many turn arounds to start counting time, but I knew it was coming on the second lap.  Upon reaching one of the water stations, I saw a girl with sunscreen.  Although it was far too late, I took a glob and rubbed it on my shoulders.   

As the sun set, and people became silhouettes I could see who was approaching.  It was mile fifteen and I looked over my right shoulder, "ahhhhhh shiiiit" was all I had.  Ricardo had caught me and I knew that was it.  He was running a lot faster than me, so I knew that matching his pace was almost impossible.  

"What happened on the swim, babe?"  I asked.

Now I would find out why he will never ask me to zip him up again.

"My wetsuit opened, and I couldn't zip it back up."

"Did you swim he whole race with it open?"

"Ya.  And I was so cold that when I got out of the water, I couldn't feel my legs.  So I sat in transition to warm up."

Oops.  First the upside-down E and then this. 

After looking at the times, I would see that Ricardo did in fact beat me on the swim, but then had a 12 minute transition.  I got on the bike 1 minute before him.  

So after our brief chat, he gave me an "I love you Babe!" and sped ahead.  

As I set out on the third lap I started to feel a little bit better. A girl with green socks who I had passed on the bike passed me and drifted by with a fast pace.  Coming up to mile nineteen, I decided to unleash the beast.  I had been carrying a Gu Espresso Love Gel with me the whole race.  Now, for those of you who know me, I am like a kid on speed when I have caffeine, so to be honest, I was afraid to take it. What the heck, I am going to see what this is all about.

Bottom left corner.  That's my back!

 At mile 20, I sped up.  Faster, and faster.  And then even faster.  A while back I read a race tip that said you go slow, slow, slow ... until there are five kilometers left.  Then you let it rip.  This worked well for me in Brasil, and with 6 miles left, i thought I might be jumping the gun.  I was going for it.  I am going to catch him. 

Without letting up, I let my pace continue and when I arrived at the last turn around, I saw him.  I was literally 300 meters behind him.  And there was about one kilometer to go. He gave me a thumbs up and yelled, "good job babe!" and then he did the unthinkable.  He sped up.  For a moment I wondered if he might wait for me, but I didn't get my hopes up. Between him and I, was Heidi gliding in her green socks.  

Although I didn't catch him .. I gave him a good scare.  That's his finishing photo. Afraid of what, or who might be lurking behind him. 

 

I sprinted into the race chute and saw the clock 12:46 and some change.  There was Ricardo smiling big and holding out my medal.  I jumped up and gave someone a high five and then cheered my way through the finish line. 

Ricardo would beet me by 2 minutes and 40 seconds ... this time.  

He put the medal around my neck, we hugged and kissed.  

And then we ate pizza.

We sat down and started to talk about the race, Ricardo was saying, "I love you babe, you are such a Rockstar."  I gave him my hand (like hand to the face) and said, "Sorry Babe, I think I am going to pass out and I don't know what to do." He picked me up and walked me to a medical bed where I layed down.  

This was the first time I have felt such an after race sensation.  I was freezing cold so they stripped my clothes off and gave me a pair of boxers, and Ricardo gave me his finisher shirt that was dry.  My race clothes were soaking wet and the temperature had dropped.  2 hours.  That's how long we stayed in the medical station, well, between it and the port-o-let.  I will spare you those details (but if you are interested in reading about such material, visit IM Cozumel: The Bike).  My brothers might appreciate that one. 

Knowing that we had to walk our bikes back to the hotel, I had a familiar flash back. I remembered being young and foolish, and drinking too much.  That feeling that you have to get up off the toilet, but you can't, but you have to, but you cant, came flooding back.  I had to get up.  "OK!"  I said.  "Let's go." 

The medical staff checked my blood pressure that had dropped really low and it was on the up.  It's now or never.

We got up, Ricardo in his race gear and me in my boxers, and arm in arm, we walked out of the race area.  

Run time: 4:38

Race time: 12:46:27

It took 24 hours (the typical amount of time it take to feel normal again), until I was ready to talk about which Ironman we will do next.  And so it has been written, Nice, France June, 2014.

Raynelle and Larry Thompson.  Ricardo and I want to be like them when we grow up. #Konabound

Thank you

Thank you to Bekah List for kicking my swim up a notch, to Vail and Sarah for making a great pre-race motivational video and to everyone who send messages along on it.  Thank you to Ellie who made my my first ever golden carrot (that was orange). Thank you to everyone who wished me well and sent messages of encouragement.  And to everyone who gave a shout out at the end.  Thanks to all who followed the live tracker and who dispatched details.  Thank you to Sergio Godinez for always taking the time to check out our aching knees, ankles, and shoulders.  Thanks to Asdeporte for another great race, and thanks to my Sweet Ricky P.  who really is the wind beneath my wings.  

 Fun fact: Bekah, my coworker and swim teacher extraordinaire says to me on Thursday, "You know what? My friend finished in between you and Ricardo."

My reply, "HEIDI in the green socks."

 

IM Los Cabos: Pre Race/H2O

We decided that we would have two travel hats. The sombreros would be our travel item, and the cowboy hats would be for outings "on the go." Before leaving the house and asking the all-telling, "what am I forgetting?" I had just successfully ruined Ricardo's tri-jersey by ironing a patch to the chest on top of what appeared to be a cotton bag. It happened to be plastic. Oops.

We packed up the car and made our way to the airport. 

 

 Carb loading was now our strategy now and we made jokes about what we would be stuffing into our faces over the next few days. We hummed and hawed about what to eat at the airport, finally deciding on pizza. It would be the first of many slices consumed over the next few days.

We checked into our hotel and made our way to race registration. With a little delay in finding my kit, we walked around the expo and picked up a few items, a tri-jersey for Ricardo, some goggles and Gu, compression sleeves and tri-shorts.  The day was relaxing and I thought little about the swim.  The following morning I would get to do a practice.  For now, it was just relaxation and some TV; ok, a LOT of tv.  I watched 4 hours straight of American Idol and 2 hours of America's Next Top Model.  Along with that, we watched a video made by my co-workers.  Within, were messages from several of my colleagues along with all of my students.  The most prominent being, “Ms. D. you have to win your boyfriend.”  Grammar lesson on the horizon.

The practice swim always calms my race nerves. If I know what the water is like, I can anticipate the swim and get out of my head before the race horn goes off. So for the next two days, we swam, we biked, and we lightly ran.  After the swim I had an armful of jellyfish stings, but this par for the course. In Cozumel, it was a body full. So I was grateful. One sting on the inside of my bicep was in the shape on an anchor, so despite the itch, I kind of felt like Popeye.  Didn’t he have an anchor tattoo? 

In 1976,  Dave Orlowski raced the first ever Ironman.  He raced in a pair of jean short cut offs and stopped at McDonalds to eat.  He finished in 3rd place with a time of 13h59m.

 On Saturday we rode over to check in our bikes and leave our transition bags.  Knowing that my shoe plate was worn down significantly, I stopped and picked up a new pair along the way. Sure enough, on the way there, my shoe disconnected from my pedal repeatedly.  The plate had worn down so much that it wouldn’t clip into my pedal anymore. So I sat at my bike, racked at 419 and used my bike tool to change the plates.

   

Ironman really starts the moment you sign up.  It's not simply a one-day event. Ricardo and I have joked about making a video called, “The Real Ironman” where we show you what’s really involved.  The farmer blows that smack you on the cheek, bathroom stops along desolate stretches on highway, toilets that don’t flush, the tears that fill up goggles, riding 125km on belly full of wine and champagne from a spontaneous Friday night with a friend, turning the lights out at 8:30pm.  But all of the sweat and tears are transformative. They can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich feel like Thanksgiving dinner, make the salted rim of a cold beer taste like it was part of you all along, and make a 3000m swim feel like flight. Training transforms you.

We checked in, and went back to the hotel.  And yes, I watched more American Idol.  I don’t even know if it was a current episode, but I enjoyed hearing Nicky Minaj’s voice and critiques.  We organized our bags, tattooed our numbers and age-group letter on our legs, and kissed goodnight. 

I thought "E" was boring, so I gave Ricardo what looked more like a hieroglyph for the race.

 At 4:00am the alarm rang and we were up.  We had a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches and took a few for the long bike ride. We suited up and locked the door behind us. Off we went to catch the bus. 

When you get to the race start there are a few buses.  One bus takes the bike "special needs" bag.  This bag is available to you at km 90 of the bike. You might put in some advil, a tube, some chocolate bars or whatever else you might "need" at 90k.  Another bus takes the run "special needs" bag and then a final bus takes the "race morning" bag. Ricardo or I have never retrieved our special needs bags. This time was no different, other than the fact that we didn’t even prepare them. We made our way to the bikes and loaded up the nutrition we would be taking on the bike. I had forgotten to put my sun glasses in my swim-to-bike bag, so I went off and loaded these in along wit a bottle of water that I could wash my feet with after running up the beach. 

Me, forgetting that the glasses on my face needed to go in this bag the day before the race.

 Back at the bikes Ricardo asked a guy in the next row to borrow his pump.  Having pumped up my tires just the day before, I hummed and hawed about filling mine.  Not wanting to be lazy, I took the pump and unscrewed my air valve.  With the front tire full, I moved to the back, unscrewed the valve and clamped on the pump.

As I started inflating, I heard some air escaping.  This is normal if the pump isn’t securely fastened.  But then:

Psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.  There's no after psssss.  Just one foul deflation.  All the air.  Gone.

"What was that?" Asked Ricardo, as I held up the entire valve of the tube.  I calmly walked my tire to the mechanics, and pleaded, "Quien es lo mejor para cambiar mi camara?" Who is the best to change my tube (or camera … I am not sure if camera is Spanish or Portuguese for tube)? A kind man took my wheel and went to town.  Telling me that he could screw the valve back on and I could use the same tube.  Sounded good to me and in a flash, he was done.  I took my bike back and racked it.  We headed off to drop our “race morning bags” and of course, I forgot to put my flip-flops in them.  Off I went to add them to my swim-to-bike bag. 

We walked down to the swim warm up and gently nestled into our suits.  I zipped up and adjusted my cap, and then tucked Ricardo into his suit and zipped him in.  He will most likely never ask me to do this again. At the water’s edge, we looked at each other and I am not sure which one of us asked, “Do you really feel like doing a warm up?” The response was “no.” And we made our way to the race start joking that that was the fastest warm-up ever. 

The Ironman announcer bellowed, “un minuto … “ One minute to race time. We hugged, we kissed and we wished each other a great race. The horn roared out.

Ricardo and I have spent the good part of the last four months exchanging the following jokes.

Me: What do you want me to say?

Ricarco: What?

Me: What do you want me to say when I pass you on the bike?  Do you want me to yell something?

Ricardo: So I will go back and shower, and then meet you at the finish line.

Me: Oh good, cause I will already be there and showered after waiting for you to cross.

Ricardo: Are you gong to be ok?

Me: What?

Ricardo: Will you be ok? When I beat you again?

And then there was this.   

His screan saver since February.  He would point to the black hamster and say, “Ricardo”, then switch to the white/brown more aero hamster with gloves, and behind, and say, “Diane.”  Only he would repeat this 5+  times.  Giggling each time.

 Off we went, all aiming for a yellow triangular buoy in the distance.  I caught the second swell.

 

 As I reached it, as with all of the buoys, I was tucked tightly inside, the closest of all swimmers to the buoy, which meant only one thing at the time.   

Claws, feet in the chest, arms that seemed detached from peoples bodies, and small space that probably looked more like fish flopping out of the water, than athletes rounding a buoy.  I quickly found a swimmer who didn’t kick and who’s pace was similar to mine.  And then I drafted.  Careful not to bat his toes, but observing his feet with every exhale.  I stayed behind him until about 3000m when I had decided to execute my race plan. Ricardo had drawn up a plan on a napkin at breakfast the day before.  This was my strategy, hit race pace at 3000m, and I stuck to it.  Pretending the water was my sandbox I clawed my arms through it making my way from buoy to buoy, feeling like a torpedo, I exited at 1:24 and change.  Respectable.

I ran my way into transition, picked up my blue bag and changed into my bike gear, and set off to unrack my bike.

To my complete surprise, Ricardo’s bike was still on the rack.

Ricardo is a MUCH faster swimmer than I am.  What happened?  As I went through the possibilities, none compelled me to figure it out.  I unracked and made my way to the mounting line.  The race had changed.  I was expecting to chase him on the bike, hunting.  Now I was the hunted.

I mounted and I rode. 

Swim time: 1:24:28
T1: 8:41 (what???)

IM Los Cabos: The bike click here.

Commitment Fobia

I came across this poster the other day and my initial reaction was I can't do that.

"Oh, there's a camel in the room" says Ricardo.  I am training for an Ironman and my water intake is at about 20oz per day, max. On weekends, it's more, but that's when I am riding 150km+.

But when I drink (and this statement is not limited to water), I drink.  I mean chug like I haven't had water in days.

So I saw the poster and thought, I can't do that. Why?  Because I have a little pink note on my desk at school that says, "hydrate." I have said it again and again ... "I need to drink more water."

And I haven't.  

So naturally, I feel like because I have failed at this goal time-and-time again, that I will fail again. 

But so what if I do?  Will I be any worse off.  No.  But I am stifled by the words "commitment." 

Does it make me a flake or a hypocrite if I don't "commit" again?

And then I come back to a simple truth.

No, it just makes me dehydrated. 

Throwing a glass back now.

Happy hydrating.

The Slowest 120 Ever

Counting to 120 isn't that hard right?

Depends.

Yesterday I counted to 120 in the pool. 120 laps. It was a 25m pool, so it's really only 3000m, but I didn't lose count. It mattered to me. I needed to reassure myself that 3000m was both doable and desirable at the same time.

This is how it went.

I dominantly breathe to my right because of a slap tear in my right shoulder. 

Push off the pool edge.  Breathe. Exhale 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ...... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe. Flip Turn ...

(this series takes about 30 seconds)

 ... 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 .....

(again, about 30 seconds)

One hundred twenty times.

So that's what I did. I counted so slowly that it took me an hour and 4 minutes.

I am not complaining. Not at all. I chose to count to 120, really, really slowly.

DO try this at home. It's amazing what you don't think about.

Oh ya  - doable: yes; desirable: 20-60, no; 60 - 120, very much so.

Peace out.

the Moral of the story is ...

M DOT

a couple of Months ago i went to pick up a set of wheels at the cervelo shop south of where i live.  (the same shop that fixed My bike after it snapped off the roof rack while driving under an iron gate that was too short ... that's another story).  while there, i noticed these cute little ironMan keychains.  they were little plexiglass M DOTs.

M DOT

naturally, i bought two.  one silver. one red.

when i got home, i gave ricardo his, and i kept the silver (Mirrored) one for myself.

then one day, i snatched my keys to open a door, and there it was. DOT.  No M.  It was like the head of my little M DOT had been decapitated.  just the head.  so I discarded of the head, and thought little about it.  after all.  what good is a head without a body?

wednesday came (months after losing M).

i had just finished up a bunch of tests at the ABC hospital across from my school.  the walk to the metro is a little sketchy, so we teachers have free access to the ABC shuttle. i normally walk.

things just feel right.  life just feels right.  not as I would have ever planned or expected, but right.

the sun was setting and a light breeze was dancing across My skin. the shuttle roared by as i left the hospital, and i hoped this tiMe it would be there once i arrived to the shuttle stand.  sure enough. it was.  i climbed up the stairs and took my seat.  second back.  on the right.

M. on the driver's console.

i wondered if what i was seeing was true.  indeed it was. getting closer, I could see the ridged upper edge where the DOT had cracked off.  

perhaps the driver's name is Mauricio, or Miguel, or Martin, or Juan Martinez.  Perhaps he has a daughter named Molly.  Maybe he is an ironMan too.  for Me, what Matters is that it Mattered.  after all. everything does.

Moral of the story: you gotta get out of your head sometimes. 

If you get it.  Leave a comment.  If you love it. Share.

Peace.

Ironman Brasil Part III: The Run "Gotta pump my arms, to keep up the fast pace."

Before Ironman Cozumel my sister collected and compiled messages from friends and family.  She printed the messages on blue-morpho butterfly cards and I carried them with me for the whole race.  Several of them are now weathered from the rain, and some are caked with pepto bismol while others are terracotta stained from being in a bag with Advil.  I love these cards.  I didn’t bring the cards with me this time but I read them all days before the race, and then again the night before.  I also happened to Skype my friend Meghan the day before.

Meg had written me the following message:

Mutha f&%kin rain,

Rainin on my face,

Gotta pump my arms,

To keep up the fast pace,

Beating up the street,

Trying to create heat,

Almost done this run,

That was so much fun.

-Rap song made up by Meghan on 20 mile run in pouring rain and 60km winds

Skyping with her the day before allowed me to get the actual tune and tempo of the rap, and sure enough, I ran out of the tent singing “mutha f&%kin rain …rainin on my face …”  (It wasn’t even raining).  The little Advil pill was rested gently in my hand as my arms pumped me along while my legs just did whatever my brain told them to.  I entered the streets and wondered how this run was really going to go down.  I had done some math on the bike (this calculation took me almost the entire 6 hours).  If I started the race at 7:00, and the swim was about 1:25 based on what the lady told me … and if I biked at an average speed of 31km/h, then I would have to do a 4:30 marathon.  Be present Diane.  remember how powerful the present is.  Enjoy the moment.  

How many countries start with the letter I? Hint: there are 9 and none obscure ~ Sally

I asked someone what time it was. “2:30.”  This was just as I had calculated (over a 6-hour bike ride); I would need a 4:30 marathon to break 12 hours.  I ran a 4:36 marathon in Cozumel, and in training for Brazil I only ran up to 21km (before getting plantar-fasciitis).  I ran that distance only once.  A 4:30 marathon would be tough, but not impossible. 

Playing like a girl doesn’t mean what it used to.  ~Danah

As I left the town and head for the hills (literally) I ran up on a water station with a port-o-let.  Chrissie Wellington mentions in her book A Life Without Limits (which I recommend to you all) that stopping a squatting is more than appropriate in Ironman.  I only pull this move in the dark and when under the influence, so it wasn’t going to happen today.  I actually stopped to use the port-o-let.  (This is the last you will hear of peeing – I promise).  I grabbed water on my way back to the road and popped my Advil. 

One can never consent to creep when one feels the impulse to soar. ~Helen Keller  via Sharon

The run in Brazil is one 21.1km loop and then two 10.5km loops.  That first loop has some bad-ass hills and the hydration stations offered water, Gatorade, Pepsi, crackers, salt and bananas.  There was no gel.  No Gel! Luckily I had stuffed a few in my tri-suit just in case.  I timed my nutrition and used my body to measure what I needed.  Water.  Pepsi. Water and salt. Pepsi and a bun. Water and a gel.  I started out with a decent pace, but then at about 5km my knees and ankles started to kill.  I think it was my ankles that hurt more.  The insides of my ankles.  Anyone? 

Every worthwhile accomplishment big or little, has its stages of drudgery and triumph; a beginning, a struggle, and a victory. ~Ghandi   via Leah

I only had 3 Advil left, so I attempted to ration.  I decided I would take one at 10km, another at 20km, and the last at 30km.  When I came in after the first loop of 21.1 I knew that I would be cutting the 12-hour mark close.  I couldn’t however, pick up my pace without feeling a lot of physical joint pain, so I didn’t.  I was so happy coming around that loop. Rather than Pepsi, Gatorade and water, the hydration station had chicken soup broth.  And it was hot.  I have heard great things about this during a race, so I took a cup and downed it.  It felt great in the stomach and was salty to taste.    

Today is your day, your mountain (big ass swim, marathon, effin long bike) is waiting so get on your way! ~Dr. Seuss  via Sara

I remember reading Ironman advice once.  It went something like this:

During the swim: hold back

For the first ½ of the bike: hold back

For the second ½ of the bike: still hold back

For the first half of the run: hold back

Between km 21-37: hold back

When there is 5km left: DON’T hold back

I held back.   I passed some familiar faces along the way and was sure to give high 5s to passing runners if I knew them.  There were several turn around points on the run so you had runners passing in both directions. When I reached the loop turn-around once again I looked at the race clock.  It said 10:57.  By the time I looped out it would be 11:00 (race time).  My current pace was about 8.5-9km/h.  If I wanted to finish the race in under 12 hours I would have to finish the last loop 10.5km, in an hour; 10.5km/h.  I have run this pace before, in five or 10km race, but now, no way.  I set off for the last loop and the sun had already set.  The weather was cooling off and the moon lit the Ironman sky (I don’t actually know if the moon was even out).  I started to pick up my pace at about 2km and following that there was a long hill.  The grade wasn't huge, but a hill is a hill is a hill, and I was 215km in.  I picked up my pace.

Reminder: I had no watch on.

I came to what I thought was about ½ way and was feeling pretty good. This is that last 5km Diane. You are allowed to give it.  Should I?  No, not should Diane, could I?  Yes.

I have met my hero and she is me ~Georgette Sheehan  via Meghan

I don’t know where these bursts come from. Out of nowhere, I started to go faster and faster.  By the time I reached the town again, I realized there was only 3km left.  I was passing people left and right (literally – again).  The girl who had passed me 10km back was now in my view.  Go Diane.  Fly.  You have this.  Don’t slow down.  Fly. I did.  When there was one kilometer left, I gunned it.  Having no idea of the time, but feeling light in my legs and determined to finish strong, I all out sprinted.  At the end, you enter a pathway of people.  Many have their hands out to high five and others are stretched into the space taking pictures.  I was flying.  As I rounded the corner into the race chute I looked up at the clock.  11:59:20.  I can’t describe this feeling; but I have felt it twice in the last month, once after Magic Carpet, and now.  I jumped up and down, and screamed “Yeahhhhhhh”  flailing my arms and laughing with pure spastic joy, I crossed the line.

Sidney, the race announcer gave me a special shout out and this time I heard it, “Diane from Canada, but living in Mexico, you …  are …  an Ironman!” 

Run time: 4:28:45

Race time: 11:59:24

Making my way out of the chute I carried my giddy little self into the massage tent. One advantage of being alone was that I could now indulge without worrying about anyone waiting.  Smiling through the entire massage, I left the tent and head on over to the medical tent to take care of a huge blood-blister.  One good look and I realized my blister could wait.  There were at least 50 people hooked up to IV. 

I collected my belongings and made my way home.  It took about 30 minutes working a dread lock out of my hair in the shower, but I got cleaned up, and then left in mad search of a burger and fries.

The side of the road look as good a place as any to eat my hard-earned meal while cheering the rest of the athletes in.  I got to see the para-athletes, 68-year-old American woman Theo (the oldest participant of the race), Mike (who raced with his wife Vanessa until km 21 when her body said “no more lady”), and Alicia, one of the last warriors to cross the finish line.  These athletes that are on the course for 16+ hours are true-blue heroes of mine.  Perseverance, determination and courage define who they are.  These are the people that demonstrate what it really means to not give up, and they live the Ironman motto: “Impossible is nothing.” 

Whether it be a sporting endeavour, raising a family, writing a book, or working on any other project that inspires you, I leave you with this:  We were born to achieve extraordinary measures.  Settling for mediocrity while comfortable, limits us from achieving our real potential.  We all have gifts to give and talents to share.  There is nothing wrong with highlighting your amazingness; in fact, it's a crime to keep it hidden.  So, get on out here.  That's right, OUT HERE!  Make magic happen.

I am extremely thankful to all of YOU.  Thank you for following, for the shout outs, for sharing your stories, and for encouraging me to keep moving forward. I was recently reminded of Aristotle's, "The total is greater than the sum of the parts."  How true this is.

And a special thank you to the Baptiste Power Yoga Institute (totally out of the box, incredible yoga/personal journey)  and Trimundo (an evolution in triathlon for Mexico) for allowing me to race with their logos on my legs.  A true marriage of two passions, yoga and triathlon.  Yogathlon if you will. 


Finally, the hugest THANK YOU and acknowledgment to Ricardo.  I met Ricardo at the finish line of Ironman Cozumel. (And proceeded to move there 2 1/2 weeks later)  Thank you Ricky P. for dragging me out of bed at 4:45 daily, for encouraging me after my goggles filled up with tears after crappy swims, and for taking me on amazing weekly adventures in the hills of Mexico.  Thank you for being the best guy a gal could ask for.  

  

Ironman Brasil Part I: The swim        Ironman Brasil Part II: The bike

Ironman Brasil part II: The bike and peeing my pants

I really had to go to the bathroom during transition but I held off because I told myself I was going to do it on the bike.  Literally, do it on the bike.  Pee my pants on the bike.  This is what Ironmen and women do!  In Cozumel I stopped at the port-o-potties four times to relieve myself; but this time, I wasn’t giving my time to the sh*%ter.  No pun intended.  No.  The problem was however, that people and cars surrounded me for a long time at the start of the bike.  Even though I was dying to go, I couldn’t. So, I pedalled on.

The bike course in Brazil is pretty flat with the exception of a few hills.  Us Clements have been blessed with claves (we call it calfitis) that have abnormal wattage potential.  I am a solid cyclist on flat, but in reality, my strength lies in the climb.  It would be the hills that gave way to passing, and passing many.  Pass the guy in the blue, pass Humberto, pass the big guy in black.  Hey that guy’s name is Ricardo. Smile. Diane passes Ricardo and many others. Yes. Yes. Yes. This is not to say that they didn’t come back and pass me on the flats, a few of them did, but I ate the hills. 

The water stations were set up every 5km or so and you could get Gatorade and water.  The Gatorade was given in plastic Gatorade bottles (that you would buy in a store) so they rattled around in your drink cage, and the water was given in a tall, green “Gatorade” bottle.  These bottles would be used to fill up the aero bottle at the front of the bike.  The problem with these bottles, was that the stream of water that came out (when any came out at all) was minimal.  It felt like you were squeezing the water through a hole the size of a syringe.  I squeezed, and squeezed, lifted and adjusted the bottle, and squeezed 45 more times until my bottle was full.  Really?  Who thought that was ok?

Km 56.  I really have to pee. By this time I had probably already had a solid 2-litres of liquids.   Just stand up Diane.  This is what people do. It will just fly off the back as you are going so fast.  Don’t slow down though.  Diane looks around. No cars. Diane looks behind. No one behind.  I stood up and let it go.  I will spare you the details but yes, I laughed at myself.  Out loud.  When are you allowed, and encouraged, to pee your pants as an adult.  I mean really?  I had to seize the moment.   Would you?

The bike was going seemingly perfectly and as I entered town for my second loop and heard, “Diaaaaaanee!”  It was Karina cheering me on and I loved the spirited scream.  That girl has lungs.   I smiled and cruised over a speed bump when my Nutella sandwich jumped out of my little bento box taking my little bag of Advil and Amodium with it. Should I stop and get them.  No.  Don’t stop Diane. But the Advil?  No Diane.  I was a little devastated with the loss of the sandwich, I am not going to lie, but more with the loss of the Advil.  My knees started hurting early on in the bike and now knowing I didn’t have any pain relief meds they really hurt.  Totally psychological. 

This was an unusual knee pain.  It felt like there were bruises behind my knee caps.  Anyone? Buler? I considered the height of my bike seat and thought for a second that maybe I should get off and raise it. Don’t get off your bike Diane.  I have become very good at listening to my race voice.  In Cozumel this voice instructed me through the marathon without a glitch, so I know it’s reliable.  I didn’t get off the bike for the entire 180km but by the end, my knees would be feeling a lot of wear.  What if I didn’t put Advil in my bike-run transition bag?  Will I ask people in the tent for Advil.  I am going to need something.  What is this pain?  What does this mean?  (Imagine double rainbow video here)

As I closed in on transition, I checked my leg to see what my lack of sunscrean had cost me by lifting my shorts.  I was surprised with my ol’ Canadian skin.  I wasn’t burnt.  A per Chrissie Wellingtons tip #35, I increased my cadence in the last 500m and started to take my feet out of my shoes.  This was the first time I ever rode 180km without stopping at least once to stretch the legs.  I didn’t know what I was up against.  As I stepped off and gave my bike to a racking volunteer, I managed an “Oh my…”  “Ooooooooh.”  “Ooof.”  Those were the only sounds/words I could make.  My legs were J-E-L-L-O.

Bike time:  5:53:32

Transition 2 (T2): Advil. Advil. OMG there’s Advil in the bag.

I was more than delighted to find Advil in the transition bag.  Along with it, two more gels, fresh socks, my shoes (Asics Kayano 18), a visor and compression cuffs (for my calfitis).  I got myself all set and slopped some sunscreen on my shoulders for good measure.  Off I went, not knowing what to do with these legs of mine.  I wanted to take an Advil right away.  But where would the first water station be?  I decided that washing the pill down with a gel might have dire consequences so I held the little guy in my hand as the sweet-sugary coating bled all over my hands. Where would the water station be?

T2:  4:51

T'was the Thursday before Iron

It's Wednesday night.  My sneakers are sill on and I am sitting on my bed in Florianopolis, Brasil.  (I spell it with an "s" because that's how they spell it here).  My bike is still disassembled and my bags are unpacked.

I will only stay here for one night.

I had two mini-moments of stress today.

1.  I never confirm flights.  Today was different.  I hopped on the Rio International website to check the status of my flight leaving at 2:19pm.  No flight scheduled.  I didn't receive a confirmation mail for my flight, just the one confirming the reservation and asking to confirm payment.  My mind started to diarrhea.  Did I pay.  Oh my God!  I hopped on my online banking and tried to retrieve a credit card statement from February.  No luck.  I frantically started searching my mail.  No confirmation.  Scene in my head: Diane hangs head at airport and cries.  She calls everyone she knows and asks for help.  I am sure I paid.  I have a reservation number.  I hopped on the Tam website and was relieved to see my name, with a flight time; 30 minutes before the scheduled departure time.  I was happy that I edged on the side of caution with my pre-scheduled taxi.  (I never pre-schedule taxis either).

He was to arrive at 11:30.

2.  At 11:05, 11:06, 11:10, 11:15, and then 11:20 (when he finally picked up) I called to confirm.  "Estoy chegando"  (I am arriving) he said with trepidation in his voice.  I asked how long he would be and he replied, "15 minutes."  I have lived in Brasil long enough to know that 15 minutes was a crock of shit.  I made my way downstairs about 20 minutes later and waited on the street.  No taxi.

Traffic in Brasil can be really bad.  I have already missed one flight on my way to a race.  Observing the street clock, I thought (to be nice and give the late driver a chance) I'll wait until 11:50 and then I am taking a car off the street.  Guess what?  He didn't arrive.  I hoped in a taxi, and tried not to clench my jaw (as I am doing right now unconsciously) as we made it for the highway.  I had 45 minutes max. to arrive.  That little voice in my head said, "Don't worry Diane, you will make it on time."  Worry needs to stop when events are out of your control.

I made it on time,  check in was a breeze and once again, I didn't have to pay extra for my bike, or my 14kg of access weight.   Thanks TAM.

Here I am.  Sneakers now on the floor.  I think I am off to get some peanut butter and dinner.

Tomorrow I get my race kit and change hotels.

I feel pretty good.  Really good actually.

Peace and Grit,
D. Time to race (2 days, 14 hours, 3 minutes)

Ironman Cozumel Trilogy - Part 4: The Sequel

The Sequel

I paid R$170 for these shoes Calvin Klein shoes and I have never worn them.  Ditch.  I like this one- piece jumpsuit.  “Should I keep it?”  I ask.  “It’s nice!” he responds, I don’t ditch it.  I wrote a blog post called to ditch or not to ditch; and guess what?  I am at it again.

“The best things in life aren’t things.”  ~ Art Buchwald

Excerpt from Ironman Cozumel Trilogy Part 3 – The Run: 

It happened again (my laugh muted).  With 200 meters left, I started to sprint.  I don’t know why I did it, but I did.  The other finishers were calm and cool, giving high fives to the rows of people lined to congratulate them.  I only know this because I looked at the finishing photos of several people.  I didn’t see anyone.  All I knew, what that I wanted to air –guitar, and I wanted it bad.  I didn’t even hear the announcer say, “Diane from Canada, You are an Ironman.”  Seriously, I didn’t hear it.  I crossed the finish line with a HUGE smile on my face, and I strummed a chord.  I jumped up and down, and up and down and was happier than words can describe.  I was truly proud and I was truly grateful. 

I had no idea what was about to unfold.  No idea that my life was going to become very clear.

I waved to Carol and stopped for another picture.  She was far from the finish line, but I stopped anyways and posed again.  The race volunteers removed my timing chip, and I made my way for the finisher photo line up.  Adrenaline was keeping my legs in motion and a smile on my face.  Seconds later, someone joined the line behind me.  I turned around and said, “Parabens, felicitaciones, congratulations … what language do you speak?”  (I think that’s what I said)

“Spanish.” I took a look at his race bib, Ricardo: Mexico.  “Felicitaciones!”  He must have seen that I was Canadian and asked if I spoke French.  I have a linguistic capacity of 1.6.  English, and 0.6 (60%) proficiency in one more language.  Currently, that language is Portuguese, so I replied with, “No, I don’t speak French.”  We congratulated each other for the race and started to talk about how great it was. 

“Was this your first Ironman?” 

“Yes.”

“Me too!”

“I loved it!”

“Me too!”

“I can’t wait to have a beer, it was my birthday last weekend and I couldn’t drink!”

“Me too”

“When is your birthday?”

“November 20”

“Mine’s on the 21^st.  How old did you turn?”

“34”

Smile.  “I turned 35”

“Not drinking for four months was the hardest part of training”

I have definitely used those exact words. This guy is like the guy version of myself.  He’s cute.

Shortly after, I saw Niva and gave her a gigantic hug.  We were Irongirls, and we were damn proud.  I made my way to the front of the line, had my picture taken and moved onward to find Karina.  I had no intention of “picking up” at the end of the race.  None whatsoever.

Athlete's Secret: My visor is on backwards, I am not wearing a sweatband on my head.

I found Karina and chatted for a bit, looked for Carol (but didn’t find her), got my bike and gear and made my way back to the hotel.  I Skyped Carol to let her know I was back at the hotel, and she came to meet me for “the” margarita.  I had been talking about this margarita for 4 long months.

Monday November 28

I wonder who that guy was behind me in line. 

Google: ironmancozumel.com/raceresults/m30-34/12:56 …. Ricardo Godinez.

Search: facebook.com/search/ricardo/godinez …. Scroll …. Guy holding bike in front of cruise ship in Cozumel, click, bingo!

Messages “Felicitaciones Ricardo! How was the cerveca? I totally missed getting a "finisher" shirt ... perhaps there will be an XXL somewhere around town. Are you going to the fiesta tonight?” Send

And Carol and I were off to get my nose pierced, traveller in hand.  As we walked, I was talking to her about the cute guy that was behind me in line, “We have birthdays one day apart, he is from Mexico, I facebook friended him this morning.”  

“Nellie!”

We stopped to take a picture of a family when a familiar voice called out, “Diane.”  I knew who it was, but I concentrated on taking the picture and didn’t look.  Snap.  Give camera back. Look. 

Ricardo and his friends were in Sr. Frogs having a well-earned beer.  He invited us to join them, but I had business in the piercing studio to take care of … so we met up after. 

Who meets at the finish line of the Ironman.  Lots of people; each unfolding in their own way. 

I am pretty sure however, none have unfolded quite like this one. 

“Was that him, Diane?” 

Diane does internal happy dance while crossing street.

“Yes, it was him.”

“Oh, he’s cute!!”

“I know!”

Athlete's Secret:  I am more nervous about the one minute on discomfort I am about to endure than I was about yesterday's race

Athlete's Secret:  It wasn't bad at all!

We joined them for drinks and conversation came very easily.  There seems to be too much in common.  We finished the race at 12:56:_ _ , our birthdays are a day apart, we are the youngest children in large families, we have moved the same amount of times in the last 17 years (18 times … see “I Traded it in for an Air Mattress” September 3). We love to swim, bike and run and people who stand and block us on escalators annoy us both.  

The rest of the trip finds us to be pretty much inseparable.  Sorry Carol. 

The rest of the trip was 2 days. 

“Come to Mexico City.” He suggests.

“Do you think that’s crazy?” I inquire.

Gmail inbox – November 28 (the day after the race)

There is currently an urgent need for a grade 4 teacher of ASF Mexico and two primary teachers for a new school in Indonesia run by a US mining company - all of which positions are to start in January. If anyone is interested in knowing more about either of these please let me know a.s.a.p.

Bob

Bob is my international job-search representative.

This was my life plan prior to Ironman Cozumel.  I had a plane ticket leaving December 20 for Thailand.  I was going to spend three months and attend the Bangkok job fair.  I was eyeing International School of Kenya but their positions were listed as tentative, and there were no confirmed openings.  I would do the following travel route.  I wasn’t committed to this plan.

Am I going to Thailand for 3 months because I feel like I should be doing something?  Am I going to get bored by myself?  What’s my objective?  I am feeling wishy-washy.  Am I making myself fit into something?

I created a chart for my type A personality needs called the “Possibility of Everything.”  (Title inspired by the book my sister Sharon sent to me in Mexico via a friend.  I listed all possibilities and then I ranked them by score in terms of how well they fit with my 4 current-core values. High score for the list was 38.

What ends up happening?  I contacted the school as soon as I got back from Mexico to see about this January job opening.  Securing the position would have its pros and cons.  The job is given internally.

Five days after my return from mexico, I am offered a position at a great school with an August start date.

“If you don’t know where you are going you might end up some place else.” 

~Yogi Berra

I cancelled my trip to Thailand, and will head to Mexico City instead.  I have always enjoyed tracing life backwards to identify what I used to call “pivotal moments.”  Those moments that helped shape and define who you are.  What I am experiencing right now, however is probably the greatest gift I have ever received.  It’s a moment in my life where everything seems right.  It feels perfectly connected and aligned.  It exactly where I want to be.  Precisely.

I know it’s crazy.  But I assure you, crazy isn’t always wrong.  I am prepared to take on life with a perspective that “anything really IS possible.”  I am also sure that what I quoted from Baron Baptiste in a previous post, “We are where we are because we got ourselves there.” Is in fact true.  Every second matters.  Every choice you make matters.  And you will get to where you want to be if you maintain focus and LIVE intentionally and actively rather than passively. 

I sprinted to that finish line, because I had to.  I move to Mexico City on Saturday.

“The best things in life aren’t things.”  ~ Art Buchwald

Tacos and Tequila will be served.  Please meet Ricardo.

Athlete's Secret:  Ricardo beat me by 27 seconds, because he had to.



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