It looks like broken dreams - Ironman Chattanooga Pt 2

photo credit Billy S

The morning started off like any other race day: early morning alarm with 5 minutes in bed wondering why I decided this was a good idea. I quickly changed into my swimsuit and snuck out of the hotel room for my pre-race swim (if you missed Part 1, the swim portion of the Ironman had been canceled)






I saw that Billy and Gerry were already there and we got to work. I swam for 45 minutes before I couldn't take the burning of the chlorine on my skin and lips. And because it was small and not a lap pool, I kept hitting my hand on the ledges and scraping myself. I still had a race to finish that day. So I wished the guys a great race day and headed back.

Gerry (center), Billy (right)

 My girl Danyell drove me down to the start and waited with me until transition opened. I also saw my partner-in-Chattanooga-adventures, Greg. We did our first and second 70.3 here (he went onto his 3rd this past year) and now our first full Ironman. What a journey! Once we were able to get into transition, Danyell and I said goodbye.

Photo credit Danyell J

 And then it was just a matter of preparing for the race. Mostly mental prep. It was unusual to not have to practice running to my bike from swim-in. I was surrounded by incredible and warm women in my age-group. 3 others on our bike rack were doing their first as well. I talked to a woman from the Run gear drop bags, who was from Japan and also doing her first IM. It was just a difference from the 70.3s I've done where otherse were cold and standoff-ish.
The morning went so fast that it was soon time for the race to start. I walked over to the bike out, where the pros were lined up all behind each other. THIS WAS INSANE. We never get a chance to do this. I stood next to Greg as I kept saying "This is amazing!" On the top of every minute, the pros started. I was within 5 feet of them, shaking my head thinking what an unbelievable opportunity this was.  Then it was the age groupers' start. They called for athletes with bib# between 100-200. They lined up two by two and with one long beep going off every 5 seconds, they were off. It seemed nerve-wrecking. The staff were giving out orders "Keep moving forward!"  "One foot in clip!" "Keep moving, ladies!" (Respectively - they were doing their jobs to keep this in order).

It was finally our turn to get in that chute. A few of us joked that the clipping in and walking was the real struggle. I turned around to one of the first-time IM athletes and said, "This is about the time I shit my pants."  And then the beep went off and I was officially in the race!!

Bike check-in (pre-race day)

It's hard to describe my first few miles. I'm trying to keep my nerves together while also trying to absorb the enormity of what's going on. "Remember to take it slow for the first hour" and "try not to crash" -- it was chaotic with all the bikes leaving every 5 seconds.  As we were going up a hill, a girl yelled out "Only 112 miles to go!" I tried to be a good sport about it "Haha! Now it's just a regular Ironman!" (Chattanooga has 4 extra miles on the bike) But inside I was screaming "It's too early for that shit!"
 As I was laughing with her, my chain locked up and I quickly caught myself and unclipped. I couldn't get my pedals to move. I had many women yell out "You ok?" (which I am so thankful for) but one did actually stop when I, in tears, said "I don't know.. brakes..." I fumbled some more as she stopped and I was able to get going again. She said if it happens again, just pedal back and it will usually unlock. Million thanks to her. I thought my race was over at mile 4.
That lit a fire within me. I had to catch up on time and was hell-bent on making my cutoff.  It happened again and again though. And my chain was loose. I didn't know what that meant but I could still go so I went with it.  I figured if I saw the support van, I'd stop.

There was one point where I thought I was losing my mind. Any time I down-shifted, it felt like it was going up and I was grinding up those hills until the chain would lock up again - forcing me to walk up so I can keep trying to get my chain going. Many thought I was just walking up the hills and a few yelled out "You've got this!... don't quit!". Many times, I cried out "It's my bike, not me!"
 I had already taken my tire off and back on a few times already because the break was locked. That's when I thought I was losing it. Flat surfaces and downhills seemed like a struggle. Think of having that bad dream where you're trying to run away but your legs feel like cement. I thought I was bonking hard and because I was so occupied with keeping my bike going that I realized I didn't really focus on eating. It seemed logical so I stuff an Uncrustable in my mouth and washed it down with Heed and Perpetuem -- all the calories, sugar and electrolytes.

photo credit Billy S

Once I'd get the bike going, I would feel hopeful again. Man, that's how a bike ride should feel! And then within minutes, it was hell all over again. I was getting passed by everyone and an older lady yelled out "Good for you for trying!" as I was trying to grind through just the flat road.

When it locked up again, I started to cry and looked up to the sky. "Why??"  I quickly went back to fixing the bike again and as I rode off, I told myself that crying is ok but I can't quit.  Quitting is not allowed - they'll have to pull me off the course.

I looked up the next hill and knew it was going to be bad news. Like clockwork, my bike locked up and I had to walk it up to fix it. I checked the breaks - they were fine. The chain was still loose but I couldn't get the pedal to move forward. I got up on my bike and pushed down on the pedal -- and that's when the derailleur broke off. I gasped and my heart dropped. Guys passing by yelling out "you ok?" and I just couldn't answer. I finally started answering "I don't know." But I knew. It was over.
One guy actually stopped and asked what's wrong. I showed him the derailleur and he knew also. "Looks like broken dreams," he said. I was sobbing by this point and he got off his bike to give me a hug and a pep talk. It didn't fix my situation but Andy, you made that moment bearable. It validated my feelings and made me feel ok to cry my heart out. My heart was broken - and yes, my dreams too (and that damn bike).

Andy said he would go talk to the people waiting at the bottom of the hill to get support out to me. Another athlete stopped by to talk to me and also confirmed my nightmare - it was probably over but that interaction made a difference.  A police officer came to stay with me as we waited on support. SAG stopped by and asked if I was in or not -- or am I going to wait on tech. I said I'd like to wait on tech. It seemed like a lifetime but they finally arrived. One of the course guides who was now waiting with me told him what had happened (I was still a mess) and they said this never happens.

They don't have a derailleur. I was out. The course guide and tech support said they may be able to put the chain on one gear to get me going. It'd be tough but it's something. It was my choice. I could try that or call it a day. I said "Yes, go for it. Anything to get me going again. I'll probably miss the cutoff but they'll have to pull me off the course." One of the techs gave me a high-five and went to work. But my bike wouldn't keep that chain on any gear. It was over. Just over. Not quite mile 40 and I was done.  I was not going to be an Ironman that day. I didn't feel like I was even given a chance. I'd barely started and it was all over. I sat beside my bike with my head behind my legs, just crying my heart out.

Run bags - pick them up after your bike in and head to changing tent

As I got into the SAG van, I saw another athlete who was bandaged up. He'd crashed - was fine - but his bike was still broken so he couldn't continue. Then we picked up another athlete who'd been nursing his bruised ribs from a crash few weeks before and now his back, that was compensating, couldn't keep him going. We were all trying to perk each other up but in tears and heartbroken.

2 hours after my bike breaking down, we were dropped off by the bike-in. My heart broke was I walked through, listening to the cheers and athletes getting ready for the run. I picked up my run bag and started walking out, which meant going towards the changing tent. I had to tell each volunteer that I'm out and can't go. I asked one how I can get my bike and was told I couldn't get it until 6:30pm. That's right, the bike rule. I said my bike broke and I can't continue. I started to cry again and asked "Do I really have to wait until then? I'm.." and sobbed until I couldn't talk. She got her captain and she ran to find an official to get the ok to get my bike. They were so kind and I wish I could they knew how much that meant to me. I wasn't trying to be defiant or rude in any way, just heartbroken and couldn't bear to stay there until transition opened up again.

I sat at the corner with my bike and just cried. I texted my husband and Danyell to let them know -- luckily, I had my phone in my white morning bag. I told Ben (hubby) to continue with their day; I didn't want to ruin their plans because my day was ruined.  Danyell said she was on her way. As I waited, one of the volunteers watching the transition entrance checked up on me regularly. Fun fact - people like to offer you cold water when you cry like a baby. I was offered a dozen times and finally got one shoved in my face! :)  I joked that the bike could go to hell as it fell over. I mentioned we could burn it and have a bonfire. When volunteers in a cart needed to get through, she told them I'd probably appreciate it if they ran it over.

My girl and her husband picked me up and took me to the hotel to clean up before eating and drinking.  By then I was more composed and ready to face my family. I was in that "deal with it by not dealing with it" mode.  I didn't want to talk about it anymore.

The next day, I saw Gerry checking out as I was getting breakfast with the family. I congratulated him - Billy had updated me on his progress the day before - and wished him well. I found Andy through the IM tracker (I had made mental note of his bib#) and thanked him for being there for me on the course. Caught up with Greg via text.  There was a lot of celebrating for athletes and I was genuinely happy for them and their accomplishments. But it still stung. I couldn't wait to leave Chattanooga...

I had to plan for my comeback. Not another IM race (have you seen the entry fees??) but my own. I was obsessed with getting this done. I don't care about my name being called out or being considered an "official" Ironman -- I want to have my race. I want my victory lap (shuffle, really) and then move on. I hate unfinished business. Time to move forward.