MY SUPPORT CREW

Behind every athlete is a team of people cheering them on.

I have such a team.  Some of them have t-shirts, some ring cowbells, and some hand out water and ice.  I want to dedicate this post to those of you who have tirelessly supported me on this journey.  You were there when I withdrew from Ironman Boulder, letting me cry and talk it out.  You were there when I crossed the finish line in Coeur d'Alene.  You were there for everything in between.  Whether you thought I was crazy, or stupid, or driven, or committed, thank you to all who followed me, prayed for me, and encouraged me along the way.  Without you, none of it has meaning.  It means the world that I can share my experience with you.

I will post a race recap in a few days...I'm still reeling from such a huge experience.

So, I'd never heard of Coeur d'Alene, Idaho until I started following the Ironman circuit.  This idyllic town of 44,000 or so is a resort destination for so many water sports, outdoor enthusiasts, and of course, triathletes.  It is picturesque and quiet until 3000 athletes and their companions descend upon it.  Imagine Estes Park or Lake Geneva, and you have a good idea of what it looks and feels like.  However, I'm still not sure WHERE exactly it is.  It could be the post-race fog I'm in, but it just seems like it's a world away from anywhere.  I think it's in Northern Idaho...about 45 minutes from Spokane, but that doesn't help me much either.

So in this quiet and quaint town, live AVID Ironman supporters.  If they are not volunteering for the event, they are out on the streets and highways cheering on complete strangers from their front lawns and driveways.  I can't tell you how many people had their sprinklers on and pointing into the streets. Many took their garden hoses and doused runners as they came by.  Some had fun music playing from their home sound systems loud enough to get us pumped up.  There was even a local band at one of the aid stations.  Given the heat out on the bike course, some folks were out there all day standing by the side of the road cheering us on...it was hard enough for the athletes out there, but these folks were HARD CORE!  Others would load up their cars and drive up and down the highway honking their horns and ringing cowbells out the window as we slogged our way up each and every hill.  So to the people of Coeur d'Alene, I say thank you for sharing your town with us, for your hospitality, and for your gracious support of so many people you have never met.  I've never felt more welcome anywhere.

As if the residents were not enough, then you have the volunteers.  Many of these people are locals, but many more are athlete supporters who don't want to sit around and wait for something to happen all day.  In spite of the previous paragraph, triathlon is not much of a spectator sport ("Here she comes....and there she goes...wanna go get lunch?).  Simply put, an event of this size does not happen without an army of people to make sure the athletes get through the day.  Here is what the athlete sees: kayakers and paddle boarders guiding the swimmers through, transition help ranging from wetsuit strippers to sunscreen smearers to someone who quite literally helped me hook my bra, because I couldn't after swimming for 2.4 miles.  Bike Aid stations.  Run Aid stations.  The guy on the motorcycle who sat with me while I recovered from the early signs of heat exhaustion.  The ladies in the sag wagon who gave me ice cold water -- I think it's because of these last folks that I figured out the secret to finishing.  The CDA tri team who was out there shoving ice in places I didn't know you could shove ice.  They ran behind me so I wouldn't stop!  The bike aid station guys who took running starts to hand water bottles to cyclists at 10 miles an hour!  The finish line support that included someone to take of my timing chip so I didn't have to lean over and pass out.  The police, fire, and rescue crews!  Nuff said on that.  The kids who sacrificed their voices and perhaps some of their dignity running after me with my special needs bags, water and bananas.  Every time I race, I declare a "Hug a volunteer day."  Many are surprised by this, but all welcome it...until later in the race when who knows what I smell like.  This is just what the athlete sees, and it barely scratches the surface.  I could truly spend an entire post on how awesome these people are...

Social media is full of support.  The page titled, "You know you're an Ironman when..." is mostly funny insights on the weirdness of this tribe.  For example, you know you're an Ironman when: 6:00am is sleeping in; a two and a half hour bike ride is considered "recovery"; you just had lunch an hour ago, but you are starving again.  Most of these funny ones are kind of my quote of the day calendar.  They make me smile, motivate me, or otherwise remind me I'm not alone.  The Coeur d'Alene Facebook page is more specific to this years race, and really helped me through training.  By following this group, I got insight on the course, the water, the roads, and just had support through the hardest part.  One person in particular, Jim, was hilarious.  His sense of humor through the rough times got me to the other side.  Many others offered us first-timers advice (when we asked for it), and props when we needed it.  Unfortunately, many of my favorite people from this page DNF'd, and my heart just breaks for them.

Now, it seems strange to be grateful for someone who was just doing what I paid him lots of money to do, but Coach Kirk Blackmon really did help me through this.  Every athlete knows what works best for them.  Asking advice from ten different triathletes will yield ten different answers.  While sometimes this is valuable, other times its just overwhelming.  Captain Kirk helped me sift through all of this to help me find the right solutions for me.  When I got frustrated before spring break and before taper, he reassured me I was in the right frame of mind.  It means I was actually working hard enough to be ready for my day.  Kirk did not give me a one size fits all plan.  He paid special attention to the fact that I am a very strong swimmer, and weak cyclist, and an average to slow runner.  My plan was based on mileage not hours...something rare in triathlon plans.  Coach kept me going when I hated to do it.  Being accountable to someone makes a big difference.

My "fans" are all of you reading this right now.  If you cheered for me, prayed for me, "liked" a post or otherwise supported me, thank you.  It's funny, but there were a couple of times when it got tough and when I thought of all of you rooting me on, I kept me going.  So thank you for the prayers and the kudos.  I never went into this looking to impress anyone, so if I ever came off as sounding arrogant, I apologize.  You have all been so supportive, even if you couldn't wrap your head around why someone so seemingly normal would do such a crazy thing.  I am so grateful to you for every bit of encouragement.

Then there are those of you who went above and beyond.  Julie, you rode with me up Lookout and several other times since.  You ran with me and chatted, keeping my mind off the crazy fast pace. Jim, thank you in hindsight for planning that route.  I wasn't happy at the time, but after Sunday, I've had a change of heart.  My brother Chris has been to several races, and even rescued me from my own horrible navigation skills...I might have made it to the Kansas border if it hadn't been for you...

Mark, if it weren't for you, I may not have done an Ironman at all.  It wasn't something I would have ever put on my radar.  Thank you for opening that door.  Thank you also for talking me in off of so many ledges as I had bad training days, I freaked out about race day, and offering advice when I asked for it.  I simply would not have done it without you.

To my wonderful man, Dave.  You sat next to me as I committed to the race.  You let me cry when I got overwhelmed, you encouraged me from start to finish, you even bragged about me.  You played with Soren when I need to get in a big workout.  You were right there when I crossed the finish line.  From beginning to end of this phase in my journey, you were with me every step of the way.  Some have said about Ironman athletes, "if you are still in a healthy relationship, you didn't train hard enough."  I wholeheartedly disagree.  If you are still in a healthy relationship after an Ironman, never, EVER let them go.  I COULD not have done this without you.

To my awesome boy, Soren.  I needed to train for an Ironman just to keep up with you!  You inspire me to want to be around for a long time.  As the Captain of my Support Crew, you led the way to 140.6.  You have me back now, kiddo.  Thank you for being so patient with me when I was so tired and cranky and sore.  I love you to the moon and back, buddy.

QUE SERA, SERA

Taper is over.  I have reclaimed Gary from transit, and I am sitting in a hotel a couple of miles from the Athlete Village.  With a cup of bad hotel coffeepot java, my head is swirling.

It's all over but the shouting.  The weather report for Sunday includes a heat index of 108.  You read that right.  Depending on what websites you look at, the range is from 102 to 108.  Ugh.

This season, I have not had much of a chance to train in hot weather like this, or even close to it for that matter.  The warmest bike ride I ever did was a pleasant 85, while the warmest run came in around 90.  We've had a cooler spring than normal, with snow coming well into May.  The hottest it's been in Denver is 95ish, and that coming only during the last few weeks of training, when the hard stuff was over anyway.  So training for race day conditions?  Lacking somewhat.

Racing in the heat of the day in the middle of summer is uncharted territory for me.  When I'm not training for an Ironman, I avoid the heat.  I hate running in the hot, so I run first thing in the morning during the summer.  If it's hot, Gary stays on the trainer.  I do a lot of swimming.  This time though, I don't have a choice, and I don't quite know how to handle it.  Everyone and their hairdresser has opinions on how to beat the heat, but the general consensus is, "don't try anything new on race day!!" Ok, by that logic, then I shouldn't be racing, because 108 will be very new for me.  Very new indeed.  I shouldn't try salt tabs, that will keep my fluid and electrolytes in check.  I should try the new are coolers I found, because I never trained with them...I'll have you know I'm going to do whatever I can to stay cool!

The CDA Facebook page has been abuzz with rumors of canceling, shortening or altering the race because of the heat.  Some of those rumors came true, some are still just that...rumors.  One thing that has changed for sure is the start time of the race.  As of right now, Officials have moved the race up one hour, so transition opens at 4:00 AM, and I'm in the water by 6:00.  This is fine, because I won't be sleeping anyway, but this really only benefits the pros, who will be finished before it gets really hot.  For folks like me however, one hour time difference still puts me on the run at the absolute worst time of the day.  It's not up to me, but moving the race up an hour seems a little pointless when you are talking triple digit temps.

Another bit of news that has come up just this morning is that race officials will wait until Saturday night to make the call on shortening the race.  See the full story here.  The thumbnail sketch: It's not just about the athletes.  It's about the volunteers, spectators, and (contrary to what some athletes think), life in general that is still going on outside of the race.  The idea of shortening the race has some athletes completely pissed off.  To them I say this.  Get. Over. Yourself.  Yes, we have all put countless hours and dollars into this sport, and yes, if they shorten the race we will all be a little disappointed and frustrated.  But frankly, it's not just about you.  Sorry, not sorry.  I'm not worried about the athletes in this heat.  I'm worried about my traveling companions/support crew, and the rest of the volunteers.  I plan on not only hugging volunteers, but emergency responders as well.  Yes, EMS will "just be doing their job," but that doesn't make them immune to the heat.

My take is this: It's completely out of my hands.  If they shorten the race, I will feel very complicated emotions, including (but not limited to) disappointment, frustration, relief, and then a sense of "well, what next."  But no matter what, I can't do anything about it, and complaining will not fix it.  I'll cry and laugh, but hopefully not complain.

The only thing I have no control over is the weather.  If I could, I would request a high of 70 degrees, partly cloudy.  Maybe 75, if there were afternoon showers (about 3:00, so after I'm off the bike).  I am not an evil scientist with a weather controlling death ray, therefore, I get what I get.

As of now, the race distance has not changed.  There are triathletes out there that will call BS on me when I say this.  I have no expectations on my finish time.  16:59:59 is my ideal.  My coach thinks sub-14.  I thought of sub-15 at minimum, but 13:30 as a lofty goal.  I have friends have their own ideas on how fast I will finish.  I'm not listening to any of it anymore, because only one problem needs to come up arises and those aggressive time goals are obliterated.  One flat tire will add 15 minutes (or more) to my time.  I will have to use the restroom (it's a long day, and I hope to stay hydrated).  The heat alone will push my run pace a full minute per mile slower at the very least.  I just want to finish.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm looking forward to running/staggering/crawling up the red carpet surrounded by locals screaming and cheering for complete strangers, and I will for a brief shining moment feel like a rock star, in every way imaginable...both positive and negative.  Positive, because of all the people screaming for me, and negative because I will feel like I was on an all night bender.

It could be 9:00 pm or 11:59.  I don't care.  Do I want to finish as fast as possible?  Of course I do.  But I also want to savor the day, enjoy myself, and close the book on this phase in my life.

POSER?

DISCLAIMER: What you are about to read is not really how I feel all the time.  What follows is a representation of a disease called jealousy...a symptom of poor self-esteem.  And not just mine.  You could take the word triathlete and replace it with runner, yogini, businessperson, parent, spouse.  We each have demons, and sometimes they pop their heads up when you least expect them.  What I believe is that I am a dedicated triathlete.  I will follow my own path, and do what I think is right for me.  What follows is not a pity-party, just observations about how we can fall victim to our own perceived short-comings...emphasis on the word "perceived".  I believe I am the best triathlete I can be, and most days, that's all that matters.

This season, I followed a couple of Ironman Facebook pages.  One is called, "you know you are an Ironman when..." and the other is the Ironman Coeur d'Alene training group.  Both offer sound advice that one may or may not take into consideration for their own journey.  There are many opinions on nutrition and hydration, recovery options and gear reviews.  Overall it's a great resource for athletes of every level, and I've gotten a lot of good information from these groups, as well as a few laughs.

However one thing became very clear as I continued my voyage to 140.6.  There are some hard core triathletes out there.  I learned something else, too.  I am not one of them.  For every one of you that has complimented me on my dedication to this sport (first of all thank you), there are people out there who are so over the top for triathlon, they are already up the next hill.  I mean this literally, and as a metaphor.  These are the folks to crunch more data per workout than I will in a whole season.  They custom order their nutrition and know their way around their bikes.

Jealousy is a terrible companion, and nowhere in my life have I felt its presence more than when I look at other triathletes.  We all have our own methods and our own ways of doing things, but when I get close to other athletes, my demons of poor self-esteem come niggling back. I have to wonder if I'm just not enough...not __________ enough: fill in the blank (skinny, fast, fit, strong). I don't notice all the time, but when I'm out on the bike or running for hours at a time, I notice.  I notice when someone passes me up a hill (which happens a lot).  I notice when I see someone running toward me on the path and she looks more like she's flying than running.  I notice at the pool...maybe my shoulders could be stronger, or I try to out swim the guy in the lane next to me.  I notice when someone has the audacity to look like they are enjoying themselves when running in 90 degree weather.

Bike envy is the worst.  While Gary is a great bike and has served me well, he is an entry-level Time Trial bike.  I added a few components to make him fit better, but there are few bells and whistles.  When I go to race expos or set my bike up on transition, bike envy is the first thing that hits me.  I feel like I brought my tricycle.  It's made a bit worse by the pictures on the aforementioned Facebook pages that make me sometimes want to hide my little bike.  It just feels like I don't belong next to someone's $6000 Shiv with Razr wheels and custom solid carbon fiber frame.  And it's likely that this is their "race only" bike.  A lot of REAL triathletes have at least two bikes.  One road bike on which they do the bulk of their training, and their TT bike that they have to get special permission from the Smithsonian to use.  I can barely afford to keep one bike...and he's lucky he's not wearing concrete shoes.

Training is another way in which I differ.  Although I followed my coach's plan almost to the letter, I did one 100 mile ride.  I slogged through hot, long runs, and every minute of it sucked after a while.  When I fire up my computer and check the CDA training page, for every one of me who is complaining about the heat and/or duration of their runs, there is another who can't wait to get out for their 3rd century ride of the season, or pile on hours of brick runs.

And time goals.  Going into this season, I had an idea of how long it would take me to finish.  I'm not even going to recap those, because frankly, it doesn't matter.  The one thing I have no control over will make any time goals practically unattainable.  The weather is going to be in the mid-to upper 90s on race day.  Finishing is the only goal I care about (finishing without a trip to the medical tent is even better), and I'm throwing out all other time goals.  I don't know, does that lessen my credibility as a triathlete?

Then there's the "one and done" philosophy.  I have this misperception that anyone who subscribes to the idea of doing one full distance race and calling it quits isn't really a "serious" triathlete.  Unfortunately, there are actually people out there who believe that.  I have a few choice four letter words for those people.  Look, I get it.  The IM community will tell me up and down that once I cross that finish line, I'll want to do another one.  And another after that...and after that.  I can tell you right now, that if I cross that finish line, yes.  I may want to cross another IM finish line.  Sure!  Sounds like fun!!  Crossing the finish line is not the issue.  It's the 5 months of training before that I'm not crazy about.  So much of my life has been put on hold to get this done.  I miss my crazy, diverse life, and giving all that up for a second IM finish is not important to me.  Sorry, not sorry.  

I won't say never.  Because maybe I'll come to a point in my life when it makes sense to do another Ironman, but frankly, I cannot come up with what that would look like.  I just want to get this one done and go back to enjoying the training.  I want to enjoy races like Run Disney, easy sprint and Olympic triathlons, and maybe another 70.3 or two next year.  But another full distance?  Not feeling it.

My bike is average.  My riding is middle of the pack.  I'm a terrible climber.  I freak out when I go over 30 miles per hour downhill.  I am a slow runner.  I walk more than I run.  I despise running after 10 a.m.  I carry a few extra pounds, drink a glass of wine on occasion and eat ice cream after my really long days.  I don't have $20,000 worth of bikes and cycling gear.  I don't have an M-Dot tattoo, and I may not get one.  I don't like spending hundreds of dollars a month on coaching, massages, race nutrition and replacement gear.  I don't want to train for 5 months at the expense of singing in church, going out to movies, playing with my kid, quilting, or visiting my family.

Because of all of this, some may see me as a poser.  A wannabe.  Maybe I am.  But since my opinion is the only one that matters, I don't think so.  I'm as ready as I'm going to get, and I'm not looking back on this training season wondering if I've done enough.  I plan on running my race, my pace.  I will get passed repeatedly, likely even lapped.  I don't care.  In 9 days, I will hear someone call out "Heather Jergensen, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN."  And I will scream, cry, jump for joy, and collapse in a heap.  Because in that moment, I won't be pretending.  It will all be real.

TAPER -- THE BLESSING AND THE CURSE

It's finally here!  The long awaited taper.  This is the time when I get to drop much of the training volume and intensity while my body repairs itself.  This is the time when my muscles absorb what they've learned in the last 5 months and get ready for June 28th.  This is also the time when I go out of my mind with race-day weather obsession, fear of not actually being ready, and boredom.

This time through the taper period is different.  I'm chalking it up in part to the distances I've covered, but also that maybe I trained well.  I am very surprised by my lack of motivation to get out for even short workouts.  I'm winded going up the stairs.  My quads scream at me out of fatigue, because they are very comfortable on the couch, thank you very much.  I've lost quite a bit of my appetite, which for a while, made no sense.

Here's some perspective, though.  Since I began training with my coach in mid-January, I have ridden over 1800 miles, run over 410 miles, and swam almost 60 miles.  Even typing that, I have to shake my head in wonder.  The last 6 weeks, I have recorded progressively longer bike rides than I have ever completed.  One week I hit 65, then 70, 80, 90, then finally, my first Century+ at 101.  My training volume each week was over 13 hours on the "recovery" weeks and over 19 on my hardest weeks.

So it goes without saying, I suppose, that my first week of taper is a little rough.  I simply can't get enough sleep, and I feel constantly dehydrated.  Evidently, though, this is normal.  If you are training right, the first week into taper SHOULD feel like this.  Imagine my relief, because frankly, I thought I broke myself.

For me, the hard part is getting in some of these workouts now that my son is on summer break.  Between his swim team, a waterpark visit and some significant heat followed by significant rain, I've had to juggle more of my training schedule than I have all season.  And that right there, makes me glad that I dropped out of an August race a year ago.

Looking ahead, I'm 15 days out from Ironman Coeur d'Alene.  Next week, my taper gets better with further reduced volume and supposedly a bump in energy, which means I might have some extra brain power to catch up on the blog.  I have 60 miles left to ride before I drop Gary off at the bike shop to ship him to Idaho.  There is an open water race I'll do next Saturday, and it may be my only chance to get in a lake swim before the Big Day (you should see my new 2XU wetsuit though...it's really fast).

So am I ready?  Well, if I'm not, there is nothing I can do about it now.  What's done is done, and here is what I've learned.  The physical challenge of training for a 140.6 mile race is nothing to sneeze at, but my mental toughness is the muscle that has grown the most.  There were days I hated my bike, didn't want to lace up my kicks, and not even a swim workout sounded appealing.  But I went, sometimes griping all the way, sometimes enjoying the work.  But every time, I got stronger, just because I went.  I looked only at one workout at a time.  I stayed in the moment, and didn't look ahead to the next 6 mile run loop.  My mantra with every breath was "one mile at a time."  And I did it.  I got through this training season.  I got through lots of rain, followed by lots of heat.  I feel good about the season, and feel ready enough to finish in 16:59:59.

Today, I have friends who are participating in IMBoulder 70.3, and I'm excited for them.  I wish them well, and will cheer them from afar (because somehow I have to get in a 16 mile run myself).  I'm glad I'm not doing that race this year, but hope to do it next year.  All the best to you, Casey, Jim and Julie -- enjoy the day!