In Dad's Footsteps (Houston Marathon Race Report 2015)

In 1989, at age 40, my Dad ran a 2:48 at the Houston marathon to qualify for Boston. I was 13 years old at the time, and I remember spectating the race with Mom and Adam. Mom dragged two reluctant kids all over downtown Houston to provide cheers and support for Dad along the course. I was unimpressed with the entire situation, typical for my age, but I remember how Mom rushed us from mile marker to mile marker, offering relentless support to Dad as he went flying by. I also remember Dad's spectacular collapse at the finish line - the first time I ever saw him as anything other than strong and tough; my usually stoic father showed such emotion as he greeted Mom after reaching his goal.

Those are pretty big shoes to fill. To be honest, for years I never even considered the possibility of a BQ. I've been a 10-minute-mile runner forever.

Then, last winter, something happened. A question snuck into my mind and eventually I became brave enough to say it out loud to Dawn. "Do you think I can improve my running enough in two years to qualify for Boston at age 40? Because it would be really cool to do that at the Houston marathon and (literally) follow in my Dad's footsteps."

At the time, I had completed 5 marathons. My PR was a 4:46. I'd need to take an hour off my best time to get the 3:45 I'd need to qualify for Boston. Was I being ridiculous? Here's why I love Dawn - she immediately and confidently replied, "YES, OF COURSE YOU CAN." And I started to really consider it.

A year went by and some confidence was built and I raced in San Antonio in December 2014 and went sub-4 for the first time. I'd need 12 more minutes to make that BQ time. The Houston marathon was coming up in just 6 weeks. I started to believe that I could do it, although I didn't really "have to" until next year, to make the magic "BQ at 40 in Houston" goal.

When I lined up to race last Sunday, my entire family was there to support me. Mom and Dad were there. Adam and Jen and their adorable children had driven in from Louisiana and were going to be on the course cheering. Because this was Dad's race course and a part of our family's history, this was a big deal for me. It was emotional. And I was going to go for it.

Hazel, Jen, William, and Henry waiting at Mile 15.

 It was weird to stand in the corral at a start line by myself. No Shelly or the girls. Just me and my goal, and a note written on my hand with a Sharpie, "How bad do you want it?" (Thank you Bree). As teammate Trent passed me in the first mile of the race in pursuit of his own BQ, I looked at my hand for the hundredth time, picked up my shoulders, and went for it. I raced my heart out, I ran at the intended pace for 17 miles, and then began the inevitable fade. I'd find myself falling off the pace and then struggling to turn my feet over faster to pick it up again. Even with the bottle of Coke that my amazing friend Rene provided at mile 21, I couldn't keep up the pace, but I tried my very best. I am so proud of this race.

I didn't qualify for Boston. With a 3:52 finish, I did chip 5 minutes off my time. I'll make a Smart Plan to make the whole dream come true next January in Houston when I'm 40 - I've already signed up for the race. I need to find 7 minutes to make that BQ time. I know that I can do it.

Although I didn't reach my goal, the race was incredible. A gorgeous course with hundreds of thousands of screaming spectators, ridiculously well organized and supported, with perfect weather. I'll recommend this race to everyone; it was so much fun. Even with thick crowds and the relentless pounding of a flat course that ends with 3 miles of punishing hills (yes, there are hills in downtown Houston, I didn't believe it either).

The joy at this race was in sharing it with my family. At multiple points along the way, they were there yelling support and providing "Pinky 5's," a salute invented on race day by my ridiculously cute nephews. When I saw them for the first time at mile 15, I lost my composure for a few minutes afterwards and had to gasp for breath as I tried to stop crying. I was following in my Dad's footsteps while chasing my own dream and they were all there sharing it with me - it was overwhelming.

Saw the family, smiled, and then melted down for a quarter of a mile. :)

It was similarly emotional to have Dad run alongside me as they caught me again at mile 23. Our conversation went like this: "You're doing great." "I'm not going to make my goal, but it's okay, I'm going to PR." "You're not far off your goal." "I know. I just need to learn how to be in pain for 10 miles. I'll get it." (That's an example of a ridiculous change in mindset - I'm beginning to crave that pain, as Dawn says). And then I ran off to finish the race.

Running with Dad on the Houston Marathon course. Pretty amazing (He's far right, in Pink, on purpose). 

My Dad has always been the Real Runner in the family. He's been in my corner for as long as I've been doing this, but now something has changed. He's coaching me, giving me advice; he really believes I can qualify for Boston, which means he thinks I'm a Real Runner too. Somewhere along the way, I'm going to believe it as well. Houston 2016 is a year away, and I'll be ready.

Running Like a Swimmer

The other day, I was talking with a coworker that I've been informally coaching for over a year as he's transformed himself into a pretty good runner. Vincent reminded me of something that I told him a while back that I didn't even remember saying - "Just go for it. What's the worst that can happen?" He told me that on a 20 mile run last weekend, as he picked up the pace, he thought to himself, "the worst thing that will happen is that my wife will have to come and pick me up." As a result, he ran faster than he's ever run before, because he got rid of fear.

I've posted quite a few times about putting fear aside and going for it. But having a goal of a BQ at the Houston marathon in a few weeks brings up a whole new level of scary, turbulent fear. What if I fail? What if I hurt myself? ...what if I give up?

There's such an enormous contrast between how I feel as a runner and how I feel as a swimmer. I will confidently tell you, "I am a swimmer." Between swimming, biking, and running, I'm definitely best at swimming. Because it's what I'm good at, it's what I love - I mean LOVE. Love it so much that I'll ask my coach for a 100x100 swim for my birthday. Love it so much that I will fearlessly set big goals for a timed event. Love it so much that when I see a difficult set on my workout plan, my thought is "cool! Let me see if I can do this," not (as I do when I see a similar running workout), "crap, I hope I don't fail."

The confidence and joy that I feel in swimming allows me to push through one difficult workout after the next, which, of course, builds strength and makes me faster, which provides more confidence and joy. Clearly, this is a pattern. So how to translate it to running? How do I run with confidence, when in the back of my mind, I'm always saying, "what if I fail?"

This morning, I happily swam to a new PR for the hour swim at Monica's Mile - 3800 yards, which is 200 more than last year. I felt physically sick for the rest of the day because of the effort I put into the swim. But I still had a 2.5 hour run to do, with goal paces that I was supposed to reach. Ugggggg.

I put off the run until I realized that I'd run (haha) out of daylight to do it. Then I headed out on an out-and-back route in which I was supposed to start out slowish and then hold a 9 minute mile pace or better for the last hour and a half...on a false flat, into a huge headwind. 

I went out too fast. My first few miles were at an 8:45ish pace. I thought about my own advice that Vincent had repeated back to me. What's the worst that can happen? (Well, I could end up an hour and 15 minutes away from my car, walking, and it could get dark, and I could get murdered. But we won't think about that.) I made an effort to just go for it and see what happened. I forced myself to be confident. I embraced the challenge and chose to run like I swim. I bet you can guess what happened next (or I wouldn't be blogging about it - ha)...I held the pace I started with. I even ran a negative split on the way back! Talk about a confidence builder.

What's the worst that can happen? My answer: you can finish this race knowing you didn't try your best. Whatever happens in Houston, I vow to run with confidence, even if I have to remind myself every mile to run like I'm swimming. I might even start to tell you confidently, "I am a runner." And I'll re-read this post a thousand times in the next couple of weeks to remind myself.

Super happy fun times at my 100x100 birthday swim - thanks to the lovely ladies, Dawn, Michelle, and Linda for joining me on Christmas Day to swim!

Some of the Tri-Belief crew (although no matchy suits this year) - Trent, Orissa, Linda, me, and Shelly at Monica's Mile, year 3! An awesome event, as always. A thousand thank yous to Bree Soileau for timing me today!

Dawn's version of "don't be afraid." This has been on my desk at work since 2011 when, during marathon training, Shelly and I asked "what's the worst that could happen?" for the first time.

San Antonio Rock n Roll Marathon Race Report 2014

There's a THREE at the front of my marathon PR. Last Sunday, under perfect conditions, I ran a perfect race and grabbed a new marathon PR of 3:57. I can't even describe how amazing that feels. Really, I can't. I've tried and deleted at least 7 attempts at this post over the last week.

There's not very much for me to say about the race itself. I described the course in last year's report, and it hasn't changed (neither have the crowds). I'd rather talk about the reason that I had the kind of day that results in a 33-minute PR at a distance that I haven't been able to understand in 6 tries, until now, lucky number 7.

Except that I'm not going to credit luck. I wasn't lucky last Sunday. Yes, it's lucky that the weather was great: mid 50s and overcast. (And I did wish on a star that fell right behind the porta potties at the park n ride before the race!) But otherwise, luck is not the reason that I achieved something that constantly eluded me before. I was successful because I changed my mindset approaching the race.

When I'm talking about marathon or ironman, I tend to go on and on about having "respect for the distance." Clearly, that's important. There are some things that you just can't fake or muscle through, and marathon and ironman are two of them. Both take preparation, consistent training, dedication, and heart. However, as far as marathon is concerned (and maybe ironman too) I've been disguising fear as respect, and there's a difference.

Respect: This is a tough distance and I've set a hard goal, but I've trained, I'm ready, and I'm going to do my best to accomplish something and have some fun today.

Fear: Marathons are hard, so it's ok if you don't reach your goal.

In the week leading up to the race, I solicited the advice of everyone I could think of who would help me to get into the right mental place. People that I really look up to: Dad; Dawn, my coach; Trent and Rene, my super fast training buddies; and finally, in a desperate, late-night plea the day before the race: Bree, my Worlds-crushing travel buddy. They all said the same thing. Of course you can do it. Then, more importantly, they proved it to me: you ran that pace at Buffalo Springs and Norseman, off the bike. You ran faster than that pace on multiple long training runs. You can do it. You have it in you. It'll probably be easy. Try. Have fun. Go get it.

I cried over this. What if I fail? I've told tons of people my goal of going sub-4: what if I end up having a terrible day out there? I'll disappoint people, I'll look stupid. Looking back, it seems ridiculous to have struggled so much over something that doesn't really matter in the whole scheme of things. But oh my goodness, I struggled.

On race morning, under perfect conditions, I still think it could have gone either way. I consciously decided as I crossed the start line to put fear away and to have fun chasing a goal. And sure enough, mile after mile, my Garmin proved to me that I was doing it: one 9-minute mile after the next. For someone who has considered herself a 10-minute-mile runner for 15+ years, this was just huge.

Super happy to not be cramping at mile 18.

Even after my iPod crapped out at mile 8 and Shelly took off to crush the half, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I kept on running steady. Seeing Mom and Dad at mile 13, 18, and 24, out on the lonely back half of the course, gave me a boost. Using positive thoughts and singing a little to myself, taking strength from passing people, smiling as spectators called me "Pinky" like they've done at races all year, pretending that I was running in Norway, channeling that joy, I made my way to the finish line. My feet were burning and my legs threatened to cramp with every step after mile 24, but I didn't slow down. With half a mile to go, I checked my Garmin and knew that I was going to make it. I started smiling then. I beat my goal by 3 minutes and smiled so much as I crossed the finish line that the announcer even said "Now there's a smile, Kristina Cordova, Smash!" (Then I burst into tears.)

Photo by Dad at mile 24. I had so much I wanted to say, but all I could get out was a four-letter word. (Sorry Mom.)

I'm really proud of myself for reaching my goal, for putting fear away and going for it. It was hard, it hurt, but I didn't let myself stop or slow down or settle for something less than my best. As always, this is the stuff that will help going forwards, in racing and in life. Make new goals. Get comfortable being uncomfortable, and you'll reap the benefits. Hard work works, and so does believing in yourself. I proved it last Sunday. The future is wide open, and I'm so excited to see what happens next. I know I just keep saying this, but it's true.

In fact, what happens next is the Houston marathon in January. And I'll put the goal out there: I want to qualify for Boston. I'm 12 minutes away. Every marathon I run after this, that's what I'll be aiming at. Mindset = changed. And I refuse to be afraid.

The Next Chapter: Meet Coach Kris

You don't have to have a coach to do an ironman, but it certainly makes it easier.

In 2010, when Shelly and I decided to attempt our first half ironman, we found a coach at a local shop. Of course it was Dawn Elder, and she remembers us walking in with our notepads, eyes wide, ready to write down everything she said. After a successful first 70.3, we were both hooked, and we turned to Dawn to help us through the next big goal (a faster marathon!), and the next one (a faster 70.3!), and the next one (Ironman!!!).

I've put all my trust into my coach over the past 4 years, and in turn she's helped me to reach goals and believe that I can chase bigger ones. Before this turns into a Love Letter to My Coachie, I'll just say that as we've traveled this road together, I've learned about Dawn's mission and motivation. I fully agree with her philosophy that it's not about the finish line, but the journey. Her greatest pride is in helping others to find their strength (not just physical, but mental, and emotional) through the journey of Ironman. This philosophy speaks to me; it inspires me.

Those are happy, grateful tears after reaching a huge goal this summer at Buffalo Springs!

You've heard me talk about Coachie (Dawn) and Grand Coachie (Hillary Biscay). Even Great-Grand Coachie (Siri Lindley - Hillary's coach) has made an appearance in some of Dawn's Facebook posts. I've always thought that it's so cool that each coach gives their knowledge to their athletes, and that this knowledge keeps getting passed down through "generations" until we all benefit.

So, I'm really proud and excited to tell you that I'm joining Dawn as a Tri-Belief associate coach. Coaching is something I've been interested in for years, and I feel honored that my coach and mentor thinks it's something I'll be good at. It feels like a really good fit - my friends have been jokingly calling me Coachie Junior for a while (although that may just be their way of telling me I'm being a bossy know-it-all). Anyway...meet Coach Kris!

As I work toward certifications, I'll be coaching under Dawn, learning from her, drawing from my own experience, and passing along the Tri-Belief philosophy while helping other athletes chase their dreams. And I can't wait!

In fact, I've been coaching two amazing women for a couple of months now, under Dawn's careful eye. And even though neither of these ladies has raced yet with me as their coach, I'm already so proud of them as I read their workout logs and watch their progress. It's an incredible feeling to be a part of someone else's success. I am so excited about this new chapter.

An Open Love Letter to My BFFs

I considered apologizing in advance for the unquestionably sentimental post that you're about to read...but then I changed my mind. I'm not sorry to send out some love and gratitude into the universe today after an amazing ride this morning with my incredible, strong, fun, fearless friends!

Aixa, me, Linda (birthday girl!), Shelly, Orissa

I remember 7 (!!) years ago talking with Shelly, my coworker-turned-training-partner-BFF, about how you know who your friends are. How do you determine if someone's your friend or just your coworker? Is it the amount of time you spend together outside of work? How do work-related Happy Hours fit into the equation? What if you start training together every day for marathons and triathlons, and with the 40-hour work weeks and 15-hour training weeks, ultimately spending more time together than with your families? Of course we were defining our own relationship, but through the years as we've met more people through this sport, we've continued to discuss the subject and ask the question - what defines a training buddy? When do training buddies become friends?

Well, all of a sudden, 2 became 5. How cool is that?!

We can credit our coach, Dawn Elder, for putting together the coolest group of girls that I know, simply because we happen to be triathletes who work with the same coach and train for the same events. When you put in hours, weeks, months, years together training for Ironman, you can't help but develop a unique relationship. To ride your bikes together and run together for hours at a time, you learn each others' strengths and weaknesses. You share hopes and fears as you work together pursuing the same dream. There's a trust and respect that comes with sharing these experiences. You learn how to build each other up and say the right things and ultimately become each others' biggest cheerleaders.

We can thank Dawn (far right) for introducing us. 

Not that it's all fun and games. At any given time, 3 of the 5 of us are in the same age group, competing for the same prize. That's not easy, especially if you're the one having the bad day.

Over the years, the 5 of us have been through a lot of stuff together beyond the races and epic training days. There's been the wonderful stuff - weddings and babies. And there's been the crappy stuff that nobody else needs to hear about.

Today, we went out and rode to Castroville for a donut to celebrate Linda's birthday, and it was the first time the 5 of us have ridden our bikes together in a really long time. It was amazing to all be together again doing the thing that started our friendships in the first place. The thing I feel really blessed about is that the friendship is real and strong and present regardless of triathlon. In sharing the important things in our lives together, in being there for each other in tough times as well as celebrations, our friendship clearly goes beyond the sport, and I'm so grateful.

I remember watching Sex and the City years ago and being jealous of the friendships that were highlighted so well on that show. I thought at the time that it would be impossible for real women to have relationships like that, because at the time, I simply didn't have them. But now, I feel so lucky to look at my amazing friends and know that I have that kind of loving family, support system, group of incredible friends.

Just another reason to be grateful to the sport of triathlon and how it's enriched my life. Happy birthday, Linda! And here's to many more years training, racing, and competing together. I love you girls.

Hello, Running!

Triathlon season is over (for me), which naturally means that the marathon season begins. There's been a rest period though, which I really needed. After I made the decision last November to "be great at something," I hit the ground running (and biking, and swimming) and just kept finding another gear, training hard at triathlon until 70.3 Worlds last month, barely resting for a couple of days after Norseman in August. I never really took a break, and I didn't realize how physically, mentally, and emotionally broken down and exhausted I had become.

I'm not complaining. It's been an amazing season, filled with success that I worked hard for. Triathlon is the love of my life. But some rest was long overdue. So, for the past six weeks, I've had only one workout a day on the schedule. It's been luxurious to get on the road bike and ride some hills with no regard for speed or distance, instead of chasing watts on the tri bike on the trainer - I think I've done one trainer ride since Norseman. I've also scaled back significantly on the swimming - this isn't luxurious - I miss it. (I don't, however, miss getting up so early in the morning to do it.)

Rest is important, I know this. You can't keep pushing on forever, you can't just continuously improve. At some point, you have to scale it back and rest and let the gains from the season come to you. Otherwise you'll end up totally burned out. I was told this twice yesterday by two ridiculously knowledgeable people (Dawn Elder and Matt Hamlin, in two separate, unrelated conversations). I know that it "wouldn't hurt, you know, to gain three or four pounds and play at a sport other than triathlon for a couple of days." Although I'm not going with the suggestion to join a ladies' sand volleyball league, I do understand the importance and benefit of losing focus for a little while.

That being said, of course, I've been slowly ramping the running back up. I'm training for the Rock n Roll Marathon in December - as usual, the girls and I have signed up for it as an annual fun event. I know it probably sounds ridiculous to say that marathon training is resting, but mentally, I think this does count as rest for me. The hours of training per week have scaled back since Norseman, and I've gotten a little bit fat. I don't think this is a bad thing. In fact, I recommend it!

The best thing is that as the weather cools, I'm remembering why I love running - it simply feels so good to go outside and run. Although I fought it when they first started showing up on my plan, lately I've been enjoying "naked" runs (without the Garmin - no data, just running for time and volume). Another surprising source of joy - hill repeats! Both are a welcome change from the speed workouts on the treadmill that I attacked all summer. I've been getting to run with Shelly again on our lunch break at work, which makes me incredibly happy because it's just like old times (like, old times - I'm talking the pre-triathlon days!).

And now the long runs begin, not that I didn't run long while training for Norseman, but there's something about the 14-, 16-, 18-mile runs of a stand-alone marathon build that speak to me. Even though we don't really have a change in actual seasons here in Texas, these weekend long runs symbolize a change in seasons from triathlon to marathon, and I just love it. For me, the path to endurance sports started with running, and to go back to it every fall brings me happiness that I forget about until it happens again each year. Not to mention the ease and speed that comes with a drop in temperature and humidity.

I've been kind of lost lately, but yesterday on my long run, I felt that joy that only comes when you're running alone for hours, feeling the wind on your face and the earth passing beneath your feet. There's something about being in that moment, aware only of the movement of your own body through space, that gives validity to the joke that "I run because it's cheaper than therapy." It's a point that's even beyond being lost in your own thoughts - it's just you and your feet and the road. There's nothing like it.

I remember how I used to tell Shelly that instead of dreading difficult workouts, we needed to be grateful for every training session that our bodies are able to do, because you never know what might happen. As corny as it sounds, I'm so grateful to be able to be grateful for that - to know what this feels like. So I welcome the new season. Hello, Running. Let's hang out a while.

Ok, every run hasn't been awesome. I had my first trip-over-my-own feet faceplant last week that resulted in bruised knees, chin, and an amazingly M-Dot shaped scrape right over my heart. I'm choosing to look at this as a positive sign for great things to come. ;)

70.3 Worlds Race Report 2014

The 70.3 World Championships in Mont Tremblant, Canada, was a truly unique experience to round out an incredible 2014 triathlon season.

Bree Soileau, owner and coach of Alamo 180, and I unexpectedly earned our slots to Worlds at Buffalo Springs in Lubbock in June. At that moment, with Norseman on my mind and Ironman Arizona on hers, we quickly joined forces to get ourselves to Canada to race. We found flights, a condo to stay in, and a Sherpa, her friend Mary Evelyn. Bree and I really didn't know each other at all before the race except by name.

She turned out to be the perfect person to share this experience with. Dawn was at the race too, along with a couple of other friends - but Bree and I were the only ones experiencing everything for the first time. I felt happily free to giggle and squeal excitedly about everything along with someone else who was equally excited about the event.

We arrived on Thursday in Montreal and drove the two hours to Mont Tremblant in the dark. Mary Evelyn would join us later on Friday night.

Everywhere we went, starting in the airport upon arrival, we were greeted in French and English with congratulations for qualifying. It felt incredibly special. The Ironman Village was huge and festive, with tons of booths and crowds. It had the feeling of a full Ironman event, but on an even grander, larger scale. I had heard that Mont Tremblant goes all out for Ironman, but to experience it first hand, it's clear why WTC picked this venue for the first Worlds race outside of the U.S. There were signs all around the gorgeous resort town celebrating Ironman. They have a 70.3 race and a full Ironman event here each year and they had repaved all of the roads with buttery, smooth asphalt to prepare for this year's events. Even a portion of the run course that had formerly been a trail was freshly paved for the race.

The athletes seemed different here too. Unlike the usual stressed out, intense atmosphere around most races, this one had a celebratory mood. As we stood in line for packet pickup and shopped and milled around the village, athletes greeted each other, congratulating each other on their qualification and asking each other where they qualified. Bree and I were proud to note that people were impressed that we'd gotten our spots at Buffalo Springs - everyone knows what a difficult course it is. We also noted that it seemed that for most of the athletes, it was a second or third trip to Worlds.

We spent a lot of time enjoying the athlete village.

On Friday we picked up our packets and went to the practice swim. The lake was beautiful, although warmer than I expected. It was so clear and fresh that I wanted to just drink it! I was surprised to find that I felt overheated in my longsleeve wetsuit on our easy 30 minute swim. The highlight was a stop for a drink at a coffee boat along the course - I'd heard about the coffee boat at Kona and it was really fun that a local coffee shop had created a version of that experience here.

We attended the welcome dinner and enjoyed the celebration. We learned that 2700 athletes were taking part in the event from 32 countries. They had qualified at 61 races around the world. 65% were men. 800 were Americans, and 400 were Canadian. There was also a huge showing of athletes from Australia and the UK.

Mary Evelyn arrived that night and we chatted and giggled a little in the condo before turning in early for a big day ahead. On Saturday, Bree and I picked up our bikes from Tri Bike Transport and took them out for a quick shakeout ride to run through the gears. Checked the bikes in to transition and shopped a little, got some lunch, checked in our gear bags, bought breakfast to prepare the following morning, and finally settled down to rest a little. All three of us were exhausted, sunburned, and seemed to be catching a cold.

The gang's all here! Bree, Mary Evelyn, and me

T1 bags, swim to bike

Setting up T2 bags

Loved having a Norwegian flag to use as a landmark to find my row in T2!

Race morning began at 4:30 on Sunday. We grabbed some quick breakfast, headed to transition and then to the swim start. We had a while to wait to start - the pros went off at 8, Bree went at 8:30, and I started with one of the last waves of the day at 8:52.

The highlight of my morning was meeting Jordan Rapp! I was waiting in line for porta potties and I saw him standing off to the side getting ready. After being too shy on Friday to approach pro Terenzo Bozzone as we stood side by side for a moment at the swim practice, I was unwilling to give up the opportunity to meet one of my pro heroes. I jumped out of line to introduce myself and to wish him a good race. He very politely wished me the same and I ran back to the line smiling. OMG! The other pro sighting of the weekend was in the airport on the way home - Jesse Thomas was on the same flight as us and we boldly took the opportunity to meet him. He was gracious and friendly as well. So cool.

Swim start shenanigans. It was definitely cold outside!

When it was finally time for my wave to start, I ran into the water with 115 other women and we furiously started swimming for the first buoy. I settled in pretty quickly, found some feet to chase, and, as usual, had no idea how I was doing. I felt fast, but couldn't predict what my time would be. I was surprised that although our pack stayed together, there was none of the usual pushing and shoving. We didn't swim over any of the packs in front of us, and nobody swam over us from the waves behind us. After one of the smoothest swims ever, in which I did spend time looking up at the mountains and clouds around me and feeling grateful to be at Worlds, I ran out of the water with a new personal best swim time: 33 minutes. Yessss!

T1 included a 400 meter run down a red carpet to the transition area. I grabbed my bag, put on my helmet and shoes, exited the tent, and was immediately disconcerted because the entire transition was empty of bikes. Because our wave went so late, there were probably only 300 bikes of 2700 left in the transition when I got there. Grabbed my bike, ran out past the bike mount line, and settled in with a plan to be relentlessly positive and grateful, and to stay in the moment.

This immediately became impossible to do as I headed out onto the first stretch of the bike onto a highway that, although buttery smooth, was pretty much uphill into a headwind. As I tried to find a rhythm and settle in, it seemed like the entire rest of the field was on its way back on this long out-and-back section. Enormous packs of super fast guys blazing back into town, riding five across in pelotons that sounded like a swarm of bees as they passed. Ugh, this is the drafting they talk about at Worlds. It makes sense. You send out 200 guys at a time who are all about the same speed, and what are they going to do? It's hard to stay legal. But I was frustrated to see that so many of them clearly weren't even trying to. 

I began to feel discouraged. I'd spent the last few weeks since Norseman feeling either great or terrible at every training session; it's been weird to go out and never know what I'm going to feel like. I fought the feeling of "this feels terrible today" for the first 20 miles of the bike. I had to remind myself "this is awesome! This is Worlds!" and tried to feel like I felt at Norseman, but it wasn't happening.

Then I hit the turnaround. Sweet, amazing, beautiful, screaming fast section of downhill/tailwind to make up for the struggle of the first part. I focused on hitting my watts and not wasting the free speed. Started feeling physically great and mentally happy, even though I was at the back of the pack and would continue to be all day, partly because of the late start and partly because of the amazing talent of the rest of the field. I worked on feeling honored to have the opportunity to race with this caliber of athlete, rather than feeling disappointed that I was getting my ass handed to me by 2000 people.

After the highway section, we rode through a cute little town where all the residents had turned out to spectate. We then turned onto the last out-and-back section that we had been warned about - 10k of tough uphills out, and 10k of downhill back. Some of the hills were a struggle to get over, and I felt discouraged again. At the final turnaround, again, the net downhill allowed a screaming fast return to the transition area. I wanted a bike split under 3 hours; I ended up with 3:02.

T2 was a blur. I was happily in and out in 2 minutes, took the time to duck into a porta potty before I started the run, and took off running on the 2-loop, out-and-back course. 

I wanted a run PR. I wanted to go under 2 hours. I had come ridiculously close at Buffalo Springs on a hot, hilly course, and I assumed that running "anywhere else" it would be a piece of cake to carve ~30 seconds off my run PR time. Nope. This run course was no joke. Even though the weather was gorgeous - cool and overcast in the 60s - the relentless rolling hills made it impossible to find a rhythm. It was so crowded; as I started my first lap, nearly the entire field was out there on the course. It was discouraging to have super fast athletes on their second lap passing me like I was standing still as I worked my way through my first. These people can run.

That's what was so weird - nobody walked. NOBODY WALKED. Every half-ironman and ironman event I've participated in, by the time you get to the run, especially on looped courses, at least half of the field is walking. Here, though, everyone was running. And everyone was running FAST. It makes sense. These people are the best in the world, and it showed. Again, I worked really hard at keeping my spirits up and feeling grateful to be part of the event, yelling encouragement at other athletes dressed in Smash kits, and getting a boost from seeing Dawn, Bree, Susan Gershenhorn (another Tri-Belief athlete) and Marc Rubin (a friend from tri camp) out on the course.

As I approached the village for the first time, the crowd support was incredible. At that point I didn't have to try to feel good. I smiled uncontrollably for at least 4 miles, just taking it in. People were yelling at me, "Go Pinky!" which made me laugh and think of Norseman. The volunteers and the spectators were screaming and handing out high-fives. Calling us heroes. Telling us we were the best in the world. It was so much fun to run through this section. 

Back out onto the course for the second loop, I was hurting and just focused on getting it done. I was close to that PR time, and I wanted it really badly. But not badly enough to make my legs go faster. I ended up with a run time of 2:03; not bad for a difficult course, but certainly a disappointment. 

I pushed those feelings aside to enjoy myself running down the final stretch to the finish line, which was as awesome as any Ironman finish line I've ever seen. So brightly colored and full of screaming crowds and a big screen TV and an awesome announcer. I was so happy to see Mary Evelyn and Bree (who had an incredible race - see her report here) yelling at me as I turned the corner to the finish. And then it was done, my chip was removed, an enormous medal was placed around my neck, I was wrapped in a space blanket, drinking chocolate milk and coming down from the high of the day. Finish time 5:47; back of the pack, bottom of my age group. But it was the freaking World Championships, a dream come true - what a way to end the season!

So much happiness running down that final stretch.

We had champagne waiting for us at the condo and we dipped into it as we showered and dressed for a celebratory dinner with Dawn and friends. Continued savoring and taking in the experience, drinking beers with a bunch of happy athletes celebrating the day. It was fun. Everything was fun! Dawn had urged me to spend the entire trip Present and In the Moment, and I really did.

Our condo host left us a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Not your smartest recovery drink, but it was fun!

Dinner and drinks with the Coachie. Me, Dawn, Susan

The next day was a little less fun. We drove in rush hour traffic to the Montreal airport and barely made it through security for our flight. Spent the entire day traveling, sick and tired, but happy. We arrived home to an awesome greeting in the airport from the Alamo 180 welcome committee, which put the icing on the cake of this wonderful weekend.

Alamo 180 welcome wagon awesomeness!

I want to say thank you to my incredible coach Dawn Elder, who helped me pick right up where I left off after Norseman to get me ready for this race. Thank you to Bicycle Heaven for setting me up on great wheels and making sure my bike was ready to race. Thank you to my amazing travel buddies Bree and Mary Evelyn for making this adventure even more fun! Thank you to my friends and family for all your encouragement, and for not defriending me on Facebook for all the posting that I did about Worlds! And as always, thank you to my husband, Robert, for being relentlessly supportive about this dream that I'm living. 

The most amazing season of my life is over, the report is written, and now I'm just looking forward to chilling out for a while before I plan the next chapter. Thank you for reading!