A Complete Race Report

To preface this post I would like to say that ANYONE can do an Ironman. You don’t need to be an olympic gold-medal swimmer, a pro-cyclist, or someone who runs a marathon “just for funzies”. You just need to be someone with a goal AND a plan to complete that goal. That's it.

Ironman WI Madison was a grueling race this year. The swim was so choppy that even one of the pros dropped out halfway through. The bike had 6,000 feet of elevation with 45mph gusts of wind and 20mph headwinds up AND downhill. The run proved to be so much harder in a downpour with 15mph winds AFTER riding for 7.5 hours in the rain and wind. By the time I finished, half of the field had dropped. 50% of racers quit throughout the race. I thought about it MANY times throughout both the swim and the bike.

That Morning:

4am alarm goes off. I had a bagel and Nutella with 32oz of peach skratch (3 scoops) for breakfast. It was pouring out but I was rather unconcerned by it because someone the day before informed me that the rain really doesn’t affect much on the bike and said it was all mental.* Walking from the hotel to the Ironman Village I slowly realized just how cold the rain was, but was mostly unfazed because I knew that I was getting in the water later anyway and the rain would be basically irrelevant for that part at least. So into the village I went, I checked my transition bags, everything was there. Going outside to unwrap the garbage bags I had previously used to waterproof my bike I was reminded, once again, that the rain and wind were VERY cold. I went back in and put on my wetsuit (which takes FOREVER when your feet are wet). I found my friend and we headed to the water to warm-up for the swim. The water was 71.3 degrees and felt AMAZING in the 50 degree windy rain.

The Swim:

At 6:37 we got out of the water, watched the Elite Triathletes start their swim at 6:45 and lined up for the swim which started at 7am. From 6:37 to 7:25 I stood out in the cold rain, shivering, waiting to get in the water. Its very common for triathletes to pee in their wetsuit in the water to warm up the water inside the suit and acclimate to the water however, for the first time in my life, I peed in my wetsuit before getting in the water to raise my body temperature while I anxiously awaited the warmth of the water. Getting in the water I felt confident. I knew I could swim 2.4 miles and I knew I would make it through the swim. What I didn’t know was that the water was CHOPPY. I hadn’t ever swam in water so choppy. While in the water I threw up 6 times and inhaled an aggressive amount of water. About 500 yards in I flipped on my back and began to backstroke. That was hands down the hardest swim I had ever done. I got kicked in the face, the body, I was swam over, waves rushed over me and I could feel my lungs filling with water. It burned. After my first lap (1.2 miles) I wanted to drop. I wanted to quit so badly, I didn’t know how I could do another lap, I honestly thought I couldn’t. I just kept telling myself that If I could keep my arms and legs moving it would be okay, and it was. The volunteers in kayaks asked if we were okay pretty frequently and I knew that if (by some off chance) I went under, I would likely be okay. I remember coming under the timing gate about 300 yards from the finish line and reminding myself that all I had to do was look like I wasn’t dying for 10 more minutes. I flipped on my stomach for the last 50 yards and ran out of the water.

Transition 1:

Running out of the water, I saw my parents and everything felt okay. I blew kisses into the crowd of people that had all gathered to watch all of the athletes pop out of the water. Running out of the water I saw the volunteers who were designated to help us get off our wetsuits. I unzipped my wetsuit, pulled it down to my waist, ran up to one of the volunteers and plopped onto the ground, smacking my head on the concrete with a force I had not imagined I would feel this early into the day. After they quickly ripped off my wetsuit I began to sprint up the rotunda that held the masses of spectators coming to watch. I saw so many people that I knew, so many people that had driven the 5+ hours at 2 in the morning to make it to the end of the swim and wish me luck on my bike. Catching my breath, I quickly hugged and thanked everyone that had come out to watch me. I was so full of gratitude. It is such a powerful feeling to see everyone that believes in you. I ran into the transition tent, was handed my bag and was guided into a tent where volunteers put my bike gear on me and sent me on my way.

The Bike:

I ran from transition to the familiar spot where I had racked my bike. I unwrapped the portable chargers that were going to keep my bike computer alive throughout the 114 mile bike ride ahead of me. I unracked my bike, waved to my parents who were watching on the balcony above me and ran to the mount line. I felt one foot clip in, them the other and I was on my way. The roads were wet and full of puddles so I went down the rotunda very slowly and cautiously. About two miles in I began to speed up as there were less and less turns and more and more people in sight on the course. As I settled into what I at the time thought was going to be a long 5.5 hours on my bike, a wave of anxiety rushed over me, not unlike the waves in the swim I had just completed. The man in front of me had dropped his water bottle about 5 feet ahead of me. At 14 miles an hour, in the wind and rain, you can not just slam on the brakes. I felt my front tire go straight over the bottle, as did the back tire and somehow managed not to fall. My initial fears about a popped tire eventually subsided and I was suddenly very alert. I realized about 6 miles in that this was not going to be an ordinary bike ride. My core temperature was dropping quickly and I was not taking in enough nutrition. At about mile 40 I was getting very tired but could delay the waves of tired by eating a gel or a handful of goldfish. I remember thinking to myself often throughout the race “you can do this, you only have __ miles left” The more I said it, the less I believed it. I had been anxious in anticipation for the three hills known to Ironman triathletes as the “three bitches”, a series of three hills back to back that caused many to slow down significantly or in some case walk their bike to the top. Due to the fact that I was cold, wet, and distracted I did not even realize I was biking up the three bitches until I had already completed my first loop and was beginning the second. Mile 60 eventually came and I could grab whatever I needed from my special needs bag. I stopped, felt one foot unclip, but this time the other did not follow. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, one leg pinned under my bike, looking at a volunteer as she told me everything would be okay. I slowly realized she was filling my back pockets with more gels and nutrition. In one swift motion she lifted me up, clipped in my other foot and was wishing me luck as my legs pedaled away. The next 54 miles were horrible, I would begin to fall asleep and then force myself to eat something to stay awake, I saw my family out on the course watching me and all I could think or say was “Get me a jacket for the run” I yelled this a total of 7 times on my bike. By mile 75 I was shaking. I could not eat, I could not drink, I could not think straight. I remember at mile 84 I saw an ambulance parked about half a mile in the distance and contemplated biking over to it and getting in. I don’t mean I kind of thought about it, I mean I actually was 90% sure I needed to get off the course. That is the last thing I remember until mile 112 when I realized I had two miles left and began to sob. I hurt so bad, I couldn’t stop shaking, I was defeated and I was going to quit after I racked my bike. So up I went, I mustered whatever power I could to get up the rotunda, unclipped, barely stayed on my feet and handed my bike off to a volunteer.

Transition 2:

I slowly stumbled into the transition tent to warm up and proclaim that my race was over when I saw one of my most motivating and close friends and knew I could not quit. I ran up and gave them a hug and thanked them for coming to watch me. I spent 30 minutes in the transition tent as volunteers handed me hot water to put my hands in, wrapped me in space blankets and informed me that I would not be allowed to continue on the course and would instead be brought down to the medical tent for immediate treatment for hypothermia. I was dead set on finishing the race at this point so when the volunteer walked away to find someone to escort me down to the medical tent I grabbed my shoes, by some miracle got them tied, stole a sweatshirt from the chair next to me and began my journey on the run.

The Run:

Staggering out of transition, I began my journey onto the run course. I could barely walk at this point and was certainly in no shape to run, but stubbornly I began to walk. As I was leaving the corral I saw my mom holding a waterproof, thick North Face jacket for me. I grabbed it, hugged her, sobbed and began to walk. I just kept telling myself “26 more miles is nothing compared to what you just did”. I knew that there was a cut off at 13.1 miles and that I had to be there by 9:30pm, that mathed out to 13 minute miles. I slowly began to feel better and jogged for a bit. About 10 miles in I felt a pop in my foot. I had previously had achilles tendonitis so I just assumed it had to do with that. I later learned it was a stress fracture. Never the less, I made the 13.1 mile cut off and was feeling pretty good. It would be a very close call as to whether I would finish but I felt confident. One of my friends joined me on the course for the last 7 miles and kept me going as my foot began to swell and the effects of the hypothermia slowly crept in. As I approached mile 19 confusion set in as I was told that I missed a cut off I did not know existed by 7 minutes and would be unable to continue. I argued with the woman for a minute but ultimately my race was over. 20 miles into the marathon I walked back to the Ironman village completely devastated,

That Night:

As I got back to the Ironman village, shaking, crying, feeling all of the effects of 17 hours in the rain I realized I had no way to contact my parents, or anyone for that matter. I walked up to a booth, borrowed a woman’s phone and called my mom. I stood there in that tent for 20 minutes completely numb. I felt nothing, not my body, not my feelings, just blank. I had decided to quit triathlons all together. I was done. The journey was over. Eventually, my family found me. I called everyone who had come to watch to tell them I did not finish and walked back to the hotel. I laid in the bathtub crying for 45 minutes as my lungs seized shut and then reopened while they warmed back up. In that bathtub I learned two things, 1. I am not a quitter and I would in fact be back in Madison next year and 2. I would not trade that race for the entire world. Without that expirience I would not be nearly as strong or motivated as I am now. I truly believe anyone can do an Ironman.



If there is one thing I want you to take away from this it is that I firmly believe ANYONE can do a race like this. Failure is inevitable and if you take your failures, learn from them and keep a positive mindset, you will be unstoppable. Get out there, find something you think is impossible for you to do, and DO IT.

*I love it when people say that because it reminds me that your brain may think things are a MUCH bigger deal than they really are and if you can control that you can do anything."