by Dana-Susan Crews
Thursday, April 10
We arrived in Tempe, Arizona. Sunshine, blue skies and dry air greeted us. As we drove down Rio Salado Drive and straight toward Tempe Beach Park, immediately we saw the Ironman tents. It was quite thrilling just to be in the atmosphere of this big event. We walked passed the finish line and entered the athlete village where we stood in a small line to pick up our packets. First they handed us a paper and we had to check off a couple of things and sign it. Next we stood in line to be weighed.
Our next stop was at a long table where we were handed our bags filled with all the essentials. There were the transition bags and special needs bags. There was the timing chip and multiple stickers with our bib numbers to place on the bike, helmet, running belt and the many bags. There were detailed instructions and a schedule.
After scanning our chip, Bill and I walked around for a while through the Ironman Village. First thing I wanted to see was Town Lake. Someone who had done the swim that morning informed us that the waters were so dark you couldn’t even see your own hand right in front of you. We were also told the temperature was 65 degrees. Yikes!
Once we bought a few M-dot items, we left and checked into our hotel. We spent the evening mostly relaxing. We ate at Monti’s and got to bed early. As I quickly drifted off to sleep, I thought about how cool it was that we were finally here. It was like a dream and I could hardly believe that it was really happening.
Friday, April 11
Today started with a quick breakfast and then we were off to the Gatorade Practice Swim at Town Lake. There were a few hundred people doing the practice swim. Any time from 8-10 a.m. Ironman athletes were allowed to jump in and give it a try. We started at 8 sharp. I just wanted to get it done. I stuck my toe in first. Cold. But I quickly warmed up with the sun beating down and wearing my nice TNT wetsuit. I was happy to see a few others with TNT suits on too. I realized that on race day I would be starting my swim about 200-300 yards back so I’ll end up swimming way more than 2.4 miles. Some people did not enjoy swimming directly into the sun for that first mile, but I discovered that the sun kept me warm and gave me something to sight on. I could not see the buoys, but I could see the sun rising over the bridge. I only swam about 400-500 yards out before turning around. On the way back, I realized I could easily get lost. I could not sight well. But the truth is, just taking a small swim on this beautiful Friday morning was really amazing. It is all part of an incredible event. Ironman is not just one day. It’s many months of training and then several days of excitement. I’m in those days right now and I don’t want to forget a moment of it.
After the swim we showered and ran out to buy a battery for my Cat Eye computer on my bike. We also had lunch and then headed back to the Ironman village for shopping and to meet up with Jon and Jill who had arrived from Colorado. They did some shopping too and then we all headed to Iron Prayer.
Iron Prayer is held at most Ironman events and it’s a great time to hear some inspirational stories from Christian triathletes and have a prayer time. All of the speakers were wonderful. They included last year’s Ironman champion Heather Gollnick who reminded us that we do this for God’s glory, the president of Fellowship of Christian Athletes Endurance and a super Ironman athlete and coach from Phoenix. But I think I was most inspired by the young man who didn’t let losing use of his arm stop him. He’s an Ironman who swims with one arm, but I’m sure he’d beat me with my two arms. Although he’s done many Ironman events, his next adventure is the Ultra Man. I can’t even wrap my brain around that one.
After Iron Prayer, we headed to the banquet and mandatory athlete meeting. We saw some of our Woodlands triathletes there. We did some carbo loading and watched some cool videos and listened to some speakers including of course, Mike Reilly, “the voice of Ironman”. Bill and I were excited to also hear Frank Farrar get up and speak some. He’s someone we’ve been wanting to meet face to face for more than a year. He phoned in January of 2007 and told me he’d read an article I’d written in a magazine. He told me he was a lymphoma survivor who’d done 25 Ironmans. By the time I hung up with him, all I knew was that he was a banker and lawyer from South Dakota who owned four planes and usually flew himself to Ironman events. Later I “googled” him to discover he was also the former governor of South Dakota. Since then, Bill has kept in contact with him through phone and email. Finally tonight we got to meet him and his sweet wife. Frank will do Ironman with us on Sunday. He’s 79 years old and filled with energy and he’s one of the most delightful people you’ll ever meet.
Saturday, April 12
This day was tough. I was so sleepy all day and terribly emotional. It started with a phone call from the kids. They were doing well, but Dylan started crying because he missed us so much. Then Morgan started. It made getting through the day hard for me, being Ironmom first and Ironman second.
We ate breakfast before heading to transition with our bikes and bags. The only bags we turned in this morning were swim to bike and bike to run. Then we turned in our bikes. Once everyone had done that by 3:00 p.m., it was amazing seeing millions of dollars worth of bikes in transition.
Bill and I ate some really good pasta early afternoon and a small supper later. We went to bed early with great anticipation about tomorrow.
Race Report
2008 Ford Ironman Arizona
Tempe, Arizona
Sunday, April 13, 2008
THE ARRIVAL:
The alarm sounded at 4 a.m. and we had some coffee. Slowly we dressed in our tri suits before heading down for a yogurt and bagel. Ironman hopefuls filled the breakfast area in the hotel, nervous and excited for the long day ahead. Bill and I went back to our room and grabbed our special needs bags, morning dry clothes bag and wetsuits. We prayed for the day and got in the car, driving through the dark morning, arriving at the parking garage by 5:00 a.m. What a busy place it was as thousands of athletes and their very dedicated families and friends walked down to the Ironman village.
First stop for us was special needs bags located about 300 yards from transition. We dropped off the run special needs bag and the bike special needs bag. Then we made our way through the huge crowd to the transition bags to drop a couple more items in them. Next, we went to our bikes. That’s where we separated for a while. Bill’s bike was on the opposite end of mine. My bike was in row 27 where I quickly met several women and enjoyed a few moments of talking and laughing. I helped one lady pump her tires. She had borrowed Zipp tires and was struggling with the pump. Together we wore ourselves out, but got the air in. That was my warm up for the day! Next I pumped my tires, then got body-marked.
Bill and I found each other again and found a place to sit near the bikes and just relax for a few minutes. That’s where we saw Greg Goedeke. He had slept well and was ready for the day. We thought it was great that he had done more than just train; he had taken it a step further and used this as an opportunity to raise funds for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.
It was interesting to just sit and watch everyone. Some of these people were “Iron Virgins” as they called us Friday night. They were pretty nervous. Others had obviously done many Ironmans before. There was a young man to our left doing yoga poses and “relaxation” techniques. There were many who were talking loudly and laughing. Others were grouped together doing light stretching. Many of these athletes wore happy faces. But there were some who seemed to take the day more seriously than others (and I’m not talking about the professionals). Some of these guys with their big M-dot tattoos had the intense look of a charging bull. I thought, “They better not be near me in that swim”. But the coolest part of all was that right there in one transition area were age-groupers and pros. What other sport on the planet has that? Here we were, amateurs, right there on the same playing field as the professionals. In the same transition area. With the same rules. Facing the same mileage.
THE SWIM (2.4 miles)
At 6:30 the professionals crossed the line and started jumping into the lake. They were allowed to start 15 minutes before us to try to keep the swarm of swimmers off for at least a few minutes til some of the really fast age groupers caught up. While the pros treaded water, the rest of us crossed the line. Bill and I crossed with Mark Tefft from Lone Star Multi Sport. He looked relaxed and ready. I kissed Bill one last time before stepping down on the pier. I knew I would not be kissing him for many more hours. I was completely calm, not an ounce nervous and so glad about that. For three weeks before this race I was nervous and sometimes even a little frightened. Three weeks before this day I was in bed with strep, taking penicillin and even the day before I was exhausted, feeling like I might not even make the swim, let alone the entire race. But now, there I was on that pier at the 2008 Ford Ironman Arizona surrounded by more than 2000 athletes and thousands of fans. No anxiety. Just peace and a lot of joy to be there. I eased my way to the cement side of the lake. The water was cold on my feet, but I wanted to wait as long as possible before getting completely immersed in that water. I didn’t want to spend 30 minutes treading water. I talked to all the athletes around me. Finally no one acted superior. We were all in this together. We were all facing a 2.4 mile swim through very dark, cold waters heading for the first 1.5 miles directly into the sun. At 6:50 a.m. I finally decided to get all the way in the water. Knowing where to position myself was impossible in that moment. All I could see were thousands of swimmers. Some wore blue caps (the men) and others wore pink (us girls). I treaded water and looked ahead only to realize I could not see anything but the big, bright sun. That would be how I would sight because looking for buoys or bridges would be impossible. At 6:55, the national anthem was sung and the crowds got louder. Mike Reilly, the “voice of Ironman” got them pumped. “Today, you will be Ironmen,” he screamed out over the mic. We blue and pink caps looked like bobbing heads til he said that. Then suddenly our arms were up in the air and our voices screaming in zeal for the big day.
Boom! The cannon sounded and the swim began. Within minutes a man had kicked me so hard in my face that my goggles slipped off, filled with water and my vision was even worse than before. I had to stop as many swimmers kicked and stroked right over my body while I fixed the goggles. I thought, “Y’all won’t get away with that nonsense,” and I passed them all up. But it would not be long before I realized, of course, I had no idea where I was. I was in a pack of crazed swimmers, many of whom were kicking way too hard for wearing wetsuits. I just told myself to swim slow and steady and not let their anxiety influence my swim. I knew I was facing a 112 mile bike in the heat and wind. I knew I would need my upper body strength to endure that, so why waste it on over-swimming? I never got away from the pack through the whole swim. So I was kicked often and hard. Going into the sun was tough, but I wasn’t as bothered by it as others were. Once we turned around, it was easier to sight off the orange buoys. I was able to swim a little faster, but never got too fast for fear of tiring out. When I saw the last buoy, I was thrilled. I very slowly and carefully let the volunteer help me up the steps. Then the next volunteer grabbed me and began stripping me. I was shaking terribly and she asked if I needed medical. “No m’am,” I said with chattering teeth, “I’m just cold.” She handed me my wetsuit and I lightly jogged to transition. I grabbed my bag and ran to the changing tent.
SWIM TO BIKE TRANSITION
Here’s where I must describe the volunteers. They are amazing. There were 3500 of them out that day. They treated us like rock stars. I’ve never felt so pampered. It took me a while in the changing tent just to dry my feet, put on my socks, bike shoes, helmet, gloves, sunglasses and drink some water and Gatorade. I didn’t have to do anything with my wetsuit or clothing. The volunteers took care of everything. I ran out of the changing tent and a volunteer was standing there with sunscreen. He rubbed it all over my face, arms and legs. I didn’t have to do a thing! I went potty and ran toward my bike. I grabbed my bike and ran to the mount line, hopped on and began the longest, toughest bike journey of my life.
THE BIKE (112 miles)
The meteorologists had predicted 6-10 mph winds for this day. They were wrong! And those people who think the Ironman in Arizona is flat are wrong! The bike course is three loops including a long 15-mile stretch of straight, slight uphill through the Pima-Maricopa Indian community. I was no longer cold from the swim. It was approaching 95 degrees. The winds unfortunately were not tail winds up that hill. There were moments when I could feel the wind pushing me backward down the hill and I had to tap into my core muscles to control the bike. It wasn’t long before I saw people falling. I saw people crashing at the turns as the winds and sharp turns wiped them out. The heat was unbearable. I talked to the Lord and asked for strength to endure. If loop one was this challenging, how on earth would I endure loop two and even more difficult, loop three?
I saw Bill heading down the hill as I was getting toward the top. We screamed out to each other. That was a little boost for me. I think he was happy to see me too and know I was still in the race. I was pretty good at throwing away my water bottles and grabbing fresh ones from volunteers at the aid stations. I was not taking food from them. I had brought along pretzels and fig bars in my Bento box. But I really couldn’t eat. I was extremely nauseated. It wasn’t long into the bike that I started seeing people on the side of the road vomiting. It would happen over and over again for the rest of the day. I saw more crashes and more vomiters. I soon found it just about intolerable to refuel. I had trouble stomaching the Gatorade and craved water so desperately. But out of fear of possible hyponatremia, I took the Gatorade and sipped it through my aero bottle. Of course I was covered in salt and Gatorade and sand for most of the trip. Then around mile 40 I was covered in grease as my chain fell off the bike and I spent five minutes trying to get it back on. My fingers weren’t functioning well. A teenaged volunteer was so nice to me. I had no wipes or tissue, so he literally gave me the shirt off his back to wipe off my fingers. “The only way you can repay me,” he smiled, “is to win this race!” I guess I owe that young man a shirt!
It was probably about mile 50 when I realized a DNF was highly possible. In the wind and heat I could not get my cadence up. My whole body hurt (partly from taking penicillin and partly from months of training) . My shoulders ached from the swim and the constant having to hold on tight to keep from falling in the wind. It didn’t help me any psychologically to see so many strong athletes on the road wounded. Later I would find out that this particular Ironman event had the third largest DNF rate in the history of Ironman with 17% of the athletes not finishing. Most of those who did not finish were taken off the bike course, never even making it to the marathon. Now I realize how blessed I am that I was able to endure. The bike is my weak part. But when it comes to wind, I’m a big baby! I kept asking myself, “Why do people say this is fun?” There were a couple of times when I actually got all the way down to 7 mph going up hill into the wind. Exhausted and ready for a nice shower and nap, I made it to mile 56 and thought “Wow, only 56 more to go and then a marathon!” Welcome to Hell, DS!
My favorite part of the bike course was the area near the finish which was hard to approach when I knew I wasn’t on the last loop. The fans there were loud and encouraging. They said things that I knew were horrible lies, but I loved them for it. Things like, “You look strong, Girl” or “Way to go Iron Woman!” All along, I kept looking at my watch reminding myself that if I didn’t make it to loop three by 3 p.m. I would be disqualified and removed from the course. As I was finishing up loop two, I knew I’d make that cutoff, but loop three of that course was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. With sand and dirt and grease and sticky Gatorade all over me and lips so chapped they felt like they were on fire, I pushed and pulled and exhausted every ounce of strength left in me. I spent the majority of my time praying, but I must admit I spent a little of that time cursing the wind! I told my bike, “I love you, but I don’t want to see you for the next six months!”
Finally I got to my last big turn around and headed downhill. This time I didn’t push myself at all. I just coasted. My legs, my tooshie, my whole body hurt. A volunteer let me use her chapstick after I came out of the porta potty at the final aid station. A couple of the aid stations had run out of water by now and I was forced to sip Gatorade which was making me nauseated. I craved water. I could tell I was dehydrated. As I hopped back onto my bike, happy to be nearly finished with the ride, I wondered how on earth I would manage running a marathon. With about 8 miles to go, a panicked biker passed me by and asked, “When is the bike cutoff?” I told him it was 5:30 and he seemed suddenly very relieved as he said, “Oh, thanks, I thought it was 4:30.”
Soon I was back into town. I passed by Sun Devil Stadium and the crowds had thinned out. But then I got to the finish sign, turned right into the chute and the crowds were cheering me by name (it was on my bib) which was nice because none of our family or friends had been able to come cheer us on at the race. A volunteer grabbed my bike. I removed my shoes and realized my feet were burned and blistered on bottom. They were also pretty swollen. I walked across the timing pad and grabbed my bike to run bag.
BIKE TO RUN TRANSITION
Just before I got into the changing tent, a volunteer said, “Your husband said to tell you he’s about 15 minutes ahead of you.” I thanked the nice man for letting me know and I thought about how proud I was of Bill being out here doing this event. I was relieved to know he was still in the race. There were obviously many others who had not made it.
I hobbled into the changing tent and a volunteer quickly took my bag from me, began emptying it and helped me sit down. She asked if I needed medical attention and I smiled and said no. I told her I needed a few minutes to rest. She brought me a cup filled with ice and a few pretzels. The ice was exactly what I needed. I don't think I have ever been that hot. I saw Nora Wilson in the changing tent. She had crashed on the bike (thanks to the intense wind). Her leg and arm looked awful. She was badly bruised and swollen and had finished her bike ride using only one leg. Being the incredibly strong lady she is, she would go on to run the 26.2 miles to complete another Ironman.
I changed from my tri suit into running shorts and shirt (generously given me by Susie Schreiber from Luke’s Locker). The volunteer asked if she could put my shoes and socks on for me. I told her I could do it. I did. Then I put on my TNT hat and sunglasses, left my gear behind, and walked out where another volunteer rubbed me down with sunscreen again. I felt very dehydrated as I made my way to the run course.
THE RUN (26.2 miles)
There were spectators everywhere here and they were truly delightful. As usual, my favorite fans were the kids. They always hold their tiny hands out for a high five and no matter how bad I feel, I always smile as I high five them and thank them for their encouraging cheers. “You look good Iron Lady,” screamed one little girl. I missed my kids so desperately in that moment. The first aid station was right outside of transition so I stopped. I took a sip of water and a few sips of chicken broth, but nearly puked. I couldn’t imagine doing a marathon. My feet were covered in blisters. From the top of my head to the bottom of my feet I was in agony. But I did not endure the torture of nine months of training to get out here and DNF after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike. I was going to finish this thing no matter what!
The run course was three loops. The sun was still blaring and I was walking. Unlike the swim and bike, though, on the run I was able to talk to people. That was my “savior”. I met people from everywhere. Some were on their second or third loop, but others were afraid of not making the time cutoff because just like me, they had just begun the marathon. I encouraged them, telling them that they could definitely walk the whole thing and still finish. We had started at 5 p.m. Our cutoff for the run was midnight, although we had to be at loop three by 10:15 or we’d be disqualified and removed from the course. At the next aid station, I grabbed the cold wet sponges and drenched myself. Next I took a cup of crushed ice and another sip of chicken broth. I held on to the crushed ice and for the next two miles, I kept it in my dry mouth. I loved meeting people and actually found myself trying to encourage those who were struggling to finish. Often I felt like "Coach DS" out at the Houston Marathon and in many ways that kind of distracted me from my own pain. I stopped at every aid station on the run course. I tried sipping the cola to see if it would help with the nausea. It did not. I tried eating oranges and cookies. That made me sicker. All I wanted was water and ice and took it more and more. I know it’s important to keep salt in your system in that kind of heat, but I was so sick. Soon, I couldn’t even tolerate the water and at the aid stations where ice was available I just took ice.
As I was finishing up loop one I saw Greg again. He was slowly working on loop two. Soon I saw Bill again. He slowed down hoping I’d catch up, but I told him he shouldn’t do that because I was pretty far behind. Again, I was so glad to know he was still moving. The thought occurred to me that my wonderful husband was soon to become an Ironman. How proud I was!
When I finished loop one and came back in where the finish line was, it was painful and not just physically. I couldn’t bear hearing people cross the finish line when I knew I had two more loops to go. At the aid station I stopped and sat on the ground to empty my shoes of the rocks. One of the spectators sat next to me and asked if this was the beginning of the run loop. I told her it was. She asked if I was on my last loop. “I wish,” I smiled as I put my shoes back on. She kindly smiled back and wished me luck. “You are doing great,” she said.
I kept running into a lady I’d met who was from southern California and doing her first Ironman. She was terribly nervous about making the cutoff and I kept trying to assure her that her pace was fast enough to do it. Every time I saw her I smiled and told her she was still on target. I think I was trying to make myself believe that too, but I was getting a little concerned that I might not make it either. Finally it was dark out and I was glad that the sun was no longer beaming into our faces. I put my sunglasses on my hat. I continued walking as fast as I could. On the downhills, I lightly jogged a couple of times. But I can now tell people I know what it feels like to walk a marathon. My run was slower than my walk. I actually passed many people who were running and realized that the walk muscles were just working better on this night. As I began loop three and realized I had nine miles to go, I met Jen from North Carolina and we stayed together for about three miles. She and I had made the third loop by 9:00 so we were safe. We would have three hours to finish and we knew that we could do that. I thought about the fact that finishing was now quite probable and longed to cross that finish line. But I now was hurting worse than I ever have in my life. Even my eyes were burning. I wondered how Bill was doing and wondered if he’d finished. I continued encouraging the people around me. I continued seeing people on the ground vomiting. I could no longer tolerate even the water so the only reason for going to aid stations now was to see if they had ice and go potty if I could.
There were many little hills and they were torture. The fans on the streets were mostly gone by now and the darkness brought on some lonliness. I’ve heard the quote many times and finally it made perfect sense: “There’s no ‘I’ in team but there is in ‘Ironman’.” Now I get it. It was just me out there. There were many others struggling to get through it around me. But I was the only one in those long, dark moments who could push myself to go on. Even if I had family or friends out there cheering for me, they couldn’t have forced me to finish. That was up to me and me alone. I did not want to fall, but I was getting dizzy and the nausea I’d felt for the past 15 hours was getting stronger. I kept telling myself that vomiting was ok, but the last thing I wanted was to faint or drop out now. I had two miles to go and limped through that aid station. One of the volunteers asked if I needed medical. “No,” I softly answered. I was determined not to need medical on this race. I wanted to finish and not to have to be taken to the medical tent even at the finish line.
At mile 25 I felt relieved. Only one mile to go! I passed by a man who was limping. “Are you ok, Honey,” I asked. He painfully answered no and I said, “I know how you feel, but keep going. You will be an Ironman in one more mile.”
With great pain and nausea, I walked furiously toward the finish line. I could hear the music and the fans, the incredible noise and longed for it. I turned left and there were the volunteers screaming “Go Girl, you’re 200 yards from becoming an Ironman”. I turned left again and there was the finish line! There was Bill screaming my name. There was that chute I’d longed to see for nine months. I decided to run across the finish line. Then I heard the words I’d waited for. I’d endured 16 hours of torment just to hear those glorious words and when I did, I felt nothing but relief and joy and a depth of satisfaction like words cannot describe. “Dana-Susan Crews from The Woodlands, Texas, You are an Ironman!” I shot my arm up in victory. A volunteer put a medal around my neck. Another volunteer handed me a finisher’s shirt and cap and asked if I needed medical. “No,” I victoriously smiled, “I’m fine, thank God, I’m fine!”
There was Bill grinning. I grabbed him and kissed his cheek. “You’re an Ironman, Bill,” I smiled, “I’m so proud of you!”
“I’m so proud of you too,” he smiled. We had our photo taken together. We grabbed some pizza! We sat and wondered if we’d be able to get up again.
THE DEPARTURE
I couldn’t tolerate food. I ate a piece of pizza, but hated it. It took a while, but soon we got our bike and transition bags and walked back to the parking garage. It seemed like it had been a week ago that we were parking in that garage. We returned to the hotel. I checked my emails and discovered that several of our friends back home had actually stayed up to watch the live feed online and saw us become Ironmen. Houston time that would have been 1:00 in the morning when I finished and 12:30 when Bill finished. What incredible fans we had at home!
I showered and that was my most favorite time of the day! I crawled (almost literally) into bed. As I drifted to sleep, I thought about Bill. I think Ironman probably has a depth of meaning for him that most people out there racing don’t get. He survived cancer and now he’s an Ironman. I love him!
Next morning, we attended the breakfast and award ceremony. We sat with Mark, Raul, Nora and Dana Lyons. Dana is a USAT coach and incredible athlete. He had done his first Ironman this weekend too and qualified for Kona. His wife was there too and she was so proud of him. We stayed to watch him receive his award. Then we grabbed our DVD and certificate and walked back to transition one last time to pick up our special needs bags. My bike one was missing so I just got my run bag.
Then we left the Ironman village. As we left, I realized what we’d accomplished. I don’t know if I’ll ever do it again. Finding time to train is nearly impossible. The race itself is grueling. I know recovery will take some time. But I don’t have to ever do it again. I’m an Ironman! It is finished. And like they say, “The pain is temporary, the pride is forever!” To God be the Glory!
No comments:
Post a Comment