Post-Norseman/Pre-70.3 World Champs: Absurd and Muted

“It must be absurd to come back to work after something like that.” - a brilliant coworker
“So, is everything just kind of muted now, after Norseman?” - a very perceptive friend

"Do you want to go back and try for a black T-shirt?" - everyone else

Yes, yes, and yes (one day).

I’m feeling kind of lost after Norseman and wondering “what’s the next big thing,” even though I have another really awesome race coming up in just a few weeks. Instead of focusing on that, I’m making myself insane driving to work singing show tunes and crying in the car and relating way too much to Evita/Madonna (so what happens now? Where am I going to?). I promise I’m not a crazy person.

Until the moment that I entered the Norseman contest, my Big Goal was to race “one day” at the 70.3 World Championships. As an iron superfan, I can’t think of anything cooler than participating on the same course in a championship race with all of the top pros and age group athletes. Last year when Dawn raced the 70.3 WC, she even got Andy Potts to record a message telling me that he expected to see me at the race “next year.” HUGE, and at the time, unfathomable. I knew the work it would take. I didn't expect it to happen overnight.

Andy Potts and Dawn at the race in Vegas last year.

Then it did. It still feels ridiculous to say that I get to race at the 70.3 World Championships in Canada next month.

But it happened right in the middle of my training for Norseman. I’ve never been so focused on anything in my life. The enormity of Norseman, the impossible dream come true, made it difficult to think about anything else, including the WC race, which has been a more reasonable dream goal for a couple of years now. But then Norseman came and went. Now that it’s over, I’m feeling scattered. And everything is “kind of muted” and “absurd.” How do I come back to real life after that?

The best answer came from my friend Rene, who just raced Age Group Nationals. I messaged her to ask, “how do you handle going to a championship race where you know everyone’s as good as or better than you and not freak out, OMG, I’m freaking out right nowwww!!” Her calm and reassuring answer was, this is normal. You’re right in the middle of the post-race letdown. And you’re also smack in the middle of pre-race nerves. Of course your emotions are everywhere.

Rene is the smartest woman alive.

Thinking about what she said helps me to put some things in perspective. I’m in the middle of awesome things happening in a short period of time. I haven’t had a lot of time to think about what’s next. The future is full of possibilities that I hadn’t even considered 6 months ago (did you know that there’s a race where you swim 10 miles, island to island, running across each one? Did you know there’s a 6-day self-supported footrace across the Sahara that regular people can enter?). With this bigger view of the world comes some risk and uncertainty. So what happens now? Where am I going to? What’s the Next Big Thing? I’ll do my best to embrace and enjoy this journey instead of freaking out.

In the meantime, I’ll start to focus on Canada and remind myself that this is a dream come true. Less than three weeks!

After nearly 3 weeks, my heart and brain are still here on this mountain.

Norseman 2014 Race Report

Photo by Delly Carr.

I’m writing this race report on a plane from Oslo to Newark - this flight across the world will take less time than I spent on my bike during the Norseman Xtreme Triathlon. I’ll let that sink in for a second before I describe my race day in more detail than anyone might want.

Athlete Meeting
The mandatory pre-race meeting was held the day before the race in what I think was a high school gym. All of the athletes and their crews shuffled into a completely dark room that was lit only by the projector behind a stage with a single microphone stand. My crew (Mom, Dad, and Robert) and I sat down on the floor and without any announcement, the video from last year’s race began to play. To watch this video on a big screen in the dark in surround sound with the 260 athletes and their crew that were about to do the race - to say it was intense is an understatement.

After that came a briefing that lasted only 45 minutes before they held Q&A sessions in 6 languages around the room. We were told that of the 310 people who were entered in the race, 260 competitors from 25 countries had arrived to start, including 43 women.

Pre-Race
It’s standard to get little sleep the night before and to get up early on the morning of an ironman. This race was no exception: I think I slept maybe 1 hour total. We had packed up the car the night before. All of our luggage plus my bike needed to be ready to go in the morning because for this point-to-point race, we would not be returning to Kinsarvik afterwards. We woke up at 1:30 am and began our drive to Eidfjord at 2:15. Athlete check-in was at 3 am, then you had to be on the ferry by 3:45 before it took off at 4 to drop us in the fjord for the 5 am swim start.

After a thorough check of my bike for working brakes and a front and rear light for safety, I was escorted to my place in transition to set up. Instead of hanging racks, there were boxes on the floor to prop our bikes and gear in, and my thought was “Wow, this transition looks like Kona or the Olympics.”

One cool thing about this race is that you can have a crew member inside the transition to help you with everything. As we set up, Robert and I asked to borrow a bike pump from some guys next to us - it turns out that they were from Hampton Roads, Virginia, and I chatted their ears off about how my company has an office there. It was fun to talk to some Americans; there weren’t very many of them at this race.

I was happy to find Penny, my new BFF, outside of the transition area. Kissed my family goodbye, Robert snapped a couple of photos, and Penny and I stepped up onto the ferry.

Penny led the way and as we walked in, we saw all the guys in their wetsuits, lining the walls of the cold metal area where cars would usually go, looking intense. It looked exactly like a scene from the video. Then Penny turned to me and said, “Yeah, forget this, we’re going upstairs and stay warm,” and we went up to the top floor of the ferry; it was warm and filled with soft chairs and tables where we could comfortably sit for the 1-hour ride to the middle of the fjord.

We immediately ran into another girl, Mel, who Penny had met earlier in the week. Surrounded by intense looking guys who were either listening to iPods, sleeping, or staring into space, the three of us chatted and giggled our way to the swim start. At one point I did get a little teary and told Penny that I was so glad to have met her; I have never raced alone without my friends and I was really happy to be racing with a friend. She hugged me and we giggled some more and I felt so at ease.

When we felt the motor stop, we struggled into the top half of our wetsuits and helped zip each other up. The three of us wandered downstairs and I got ready to live the scene from the video - how cool would this be? When we got downstairs, the back of the ferry was open and the wind was whipping around as all the men were lined up to jump off the back. We saw another girl, Katarina, and the four of us stood around laughing as we pulled on our neoprene caps and then our yellow Norseman swim caps. We joked about how different the experience was from what the videos portray - instead of standing silently and looking dramatic, nervous, or terrified, the four of us grabbed a photographer and asked her to take our picture, danced around singing the song “Happy.” The entire situation was so different than I’d expected that it made me laugh uncontrollably.

Mel, me, Katarina, Penny. Photo by Camilla Hylleberg.

 Penny and I waited for the majority of the men to jump off the ferry so that nobody would jump on top of us and we could spend as little time as possible in the cold water before the race. As we approached the edge, we saw a photographer in the water below. Penny grabbed my hand, and the photographer was like, “Yes, let me get this!” So we waited, posed, counted down from three, and jumped off the ferry hand-in-hand, laughing. And then resurfaced, laughing, goggles intact. Then we took our time swimming towards the swim start, which was marked by a line of kayaks about 400 meters away.

Photo by Delly Carr.

We’d been advised to swim close to the shore because then we’d be less affected by the tide that we’d be swimming against. So Penny and I made our way to the end of the line of kayaks. We were almost to the group of swimmers lined up there when the ferry’s horn went off, signaling the start of the swim. We wished each other good luck, pressed the start buttons on our (matching) watches, and started to swim.

Swim
Because we got a late start, I knew I’d have to swim my way through the pack. My instructions were to go “balls out” for the first 20 minutes and then to settle into a rhythm while swimming aggressively.

I swam through one group of swimmers and then through another group. Each time I did this, I looked forward to see where the next pack was that I’d have to reach. It was fun trying to bridge each gap. I knew I was swimming faster than most of the people around me, but I didn’t know how well I was doing time-wise. My perceived rate of exertion was way off. I just focused on catching the next group.

About halfway through the swim, I felt my hair fluffing around on my forehead - my prized yellow Norseman cap was coming off! I stopped for a moment to adjust it, and when I did, I felt a strong cramp in my left hamstring. Oh Crap. Started swimming again and felt the hammy on every kick. Began to worry about how the day would go - if I was already cramping, what would happen when I tried to climb the first hill on my bike?

I decided it was really important to find some fast feet and get on them so that I could conserve energy and save my legs. I had been swimming alongside one man for some time, and when I caught up with him again, I picked him to draft. Another faster guy came up at this moment and in his attempt to get by, he hit me hard in the face with his hand. I cursed and decided to draft him instead - he was going faster and I thought to myself, “that’s what he gets for hitting me, he can tow me to T1.” So I jumped on his feet and stayed there for the remainder of the swim. I kicked as little as possible to try to help my hamstring. My arms felt strong and powerful as I stayed in his draft, but because my breathing was even and steady, I still didn’t have any idea of my pace. I felt someone drafting off me, and was proud that someone thought I was fast enough to draft!

The water was cold but not uncomfortable. I could feel the change in temperature as we swam through the parts where the glacier-fed streams fed into the fjord. It was noticeably warmer to be in the bubbles in a draft than to plow through the water myself, so it was even more important to stay on those fast feet.

The swim felt so long. But as we made the right turn towards Eidfjord and I knew that it was almost over, I felt a new burst of energy and swam off by myself toward Swim Out. This takes you by the pier where the ferry had been parked earlier, only now instead of a ferry, the pier was lined 3 deep with spectators. I thought I could hear my dad screaming “GO KRISTINA!”

And just like that, the swim was over. The race director helped to pull me out of the water and I took a moment to look at my watch. It said 1:11 (although the official time was 1:12) and I screamed with excitement at having exceeded my swim goal. I would have been really happy with 1:15. I had blown away my previous PR of 1:18!

Swim exit - this isn't me. It's the first guy out of the water. :)

I ran up the small sandy beach to T1, where Robert was waiting. Passed Tamsin who screamed excitedly and (I think) snapped a photo (she was waiting for Penny who was right behind me), and then got down to business.

T1
T1 took 4 minutes, which is WAY faster than any other ironman transition for me - I would have been happy with 8 minutes. But having my own personal crew member who knew me, my stuff, and what I needed made all the difference. Robert quickly helped me to throw on my bike jersey over my tri kit. Gloves, helmet, glasses, shoes, and warm wool socks. Everything was hot pink Smash, which earned me the nickname of “Pinky” or “The Pink Lady” from spectators for the rest of the day. Robert had turned on my Garmin and the front and rear light. We slipped on my race belt with number and mandatory reflective vest, and I was out on the bike course.

Bike
My parents were standing at Bike Out, and Dad yelled at me that I was in 109th place. They had counted everyone who swam past the pier before me. I planned to keep track of my place throughout the day - I needed to be in 160th place or better by 32.5k (~20 miles) of the run to earn the right to climb to the mountaintop finish. I knew that based on previous years’ results, I’d need a 7:30 on the bike to ensure that I’d get a place on the mountain. I was happy to have a little cushion with the faster-than-expected swim and T1.

I’m so glad we drove the bike course before the race, because it was a huge advantage to know what was coming. The 40k (~25 mile) steady climb out of Eidfjord was the first challenge of the course. Then we would reach a plateau with a net downhill that lasted until halfway through at 90k (56 miles). After that was a series of 3 mountain passes, followed by one final enormous steady and steep climb to Imingfjell. After that it would be 6 miles of false flat and then all downhill (some of it quite technical on poor road surfaces with unmarked switchbacks) for about 20 miles to T2. Altogether, about 10,000 feet of climbing on the bike course.

My plan was to drink a bottle of Infinit and to take a salt pill every hour, with intermittent snacking on Payday bars in between. I practiced this strategy when I raced at Buffalo Springs last month, as well as in training. I instructed Mom, who was handling my drinks, that each time I stopped (every 2 hours - 4 stops altogether), both bottles of Infinit and the bottle of water that I was carrying had to be replaced, and that it was critical that she check to make sure I was drinking all of my Infinit. The Infinit provided calories, hydration, and salt that would help me to stay strong throughout the race.

We planned to meet at Dyranut for the first exchange. I saw my family before that though, among an enormous group of spectators about halfway through the first section. People were cheering in various languages as bike after bike flew through a small section of road; I imagined that this is what riding in the Tour de France would feel like.

Mom and Dad cheering as I approached on the climb from Eidfjord.

The climb out of Eidfjord was steady, made more challenging by a strong headwind that started to pick up, but the scenery was incredible. At one point I had a steep, sheer, never-ending cliff face on one side and a rushing river on the other side, and I laughed out loud to myself that this was just like River Road in New Braunfels. We rode through low tunnels on the old road that was now traveled only by bikes and pedestrians; they were dark, lit by the flames of little gas lamps on the ground.

For one section, we had no choice but to ride through a tunnel where cars were also driving because the tunnel for bikes and pedestrians had collapsed earlier this summer due to a landslide. For almost 2 miles, it was a no-passing zone for both cars and bikes, and a pack of 15 of us crawled along in the dark behind one slow cyclist who’d had the misfortune of reaching the tunnel at the front of a pack. I was grateful that it wasn’t me holding up all of these impatient dudes. The tunnel was lit dimly by a row of lights from above, by the lights on our bikes, and by the headlights of the cars behind us. I felt like I was in a movie. Then we popped out of the tunnel and continued on the bike-only path, where you could look directly up and see the cyclists winding their way up impossibly steep looking switchbacks. And then seconds later I’d be on that section, thinking, “Oh good, this isn’t that hard.”

I made it to Dyranut in 2 and a half hours. The race manual had said that it would take the average competitor 2 hours to get there. I wasn’t worried. It was windy and there were tons of racers around me. I was watching my watts, following my plan, taking it easy to save energy for the final climbs and for the run. I was happy to see my family. I stopped briefly to run into a restaurant there to pee (there were no porta potties on this entire bike course). Mom switched out my bottles and Robert helped me dress for the cold plateau ahead. I took off, feeling good.

The windy plateau.

About 15 minutes later, my stomach had started to hurt. My family was supposed to leap ahead to the next point at Geilo, about 25 miles away. Instead, as they drove by, I yelled that I had to pee, and they pulled over and helped me to be as private as possible, on the ground behind the car, shielded by my Mom and a towel. I asked to take some Imodium and continued on my way. But my stomach continued to hurt and I couldn’t drink my Infinit without feeling sick. I realized the only thing that I could take in that didn’t cause pain was water. I have an alarm on my watch that goes off every 10 minutes reminding me to drink, and I ignored it several times before I realized that I had to take in calories or I’d ruin the rest of my race.

At this point, I was really happy to have a support crew that could contact my coach, who was standing by even though it was the middle of the night in Texas. Robert relayed a message from Dawn that I should eat gu and bananas, so that’s what I did. I tried to eat the Paydays that I had on my bike, but everything I took in made me hurt. And I still had to pee ALL THE TIME.

In retrospect, I realize that I was fueling for the hot races in Texas/Arizona/Louisiana that I’ve always done before. I usually sweat so much and I eat saltsticks and drink heavily salted Infinit because if I don’t do it, I’ll cramp on the run. This plan has always worked for me, but in the cold weather in Norway, I wasn’t sweating it out.

So I felt great for the first 2.5 hours of the bike before it became a problem. Then for the next 6 hours, my body tried to figure it out while I took in hardly any nutrition (water and bananas). Then finally, in the last 2 hours of the bike, I started to feel hungry, and after I stopped to eat at the top of the final climb (chips, gummy worms, beef jerky, bananas), my stomach began to feel better.

Throughout the nearly 9 hours that I spent on the bike, I stopped 7 times to pee and get aid from my family, including bananas, water, Motrin, Tums, and changes of clothes. At an average 3 minutes per stop, this really cost me, and I knew that nearly the entire field had passed me.

Even though I felt like crap for more than half of the bike, I am not lying when I say I enjoyed it. I yelled out loud to myself more than a few times “I can’t believe I’m doing Norseman!” When I had to slow for some sheep to cross the road ahead of me, I laughed and waved at them. One of my goals was to stay relentlessly positive and I’m glad to say that I did it. I know that this saved my race.

It's clear why they were calling me "Pinky."

The scenery was incredible. It changed so much - after the climb from Eidfjord, we reached a grassy plateau that was sparsely populated with small lakes and cabins that people use in the winter for cross-country skiing. Geilo is a bustling little town that marks a perfect halfway point. Then the three mountain passes are scenic and smell deliciously of pine, with gorgeous little houses in some sections. And then the final enormous climb to Imingfjell, although punishing to the body after such a long time on the bike, is beautiful with its switchbacks and green trees and moss-covered rocks.

The weather changed the entire time too. The climb from Eidfjord was almost warm, followed by brutal, cold crosswinds on the plateau, followed by chilly climbing and descending after Geilo, followed by pouring rain on the climb to Imingfjell and dense fog on the false flat that made it impossible to see further than 3 car lengths ahead of you. The final descent towards T2 was terrifying with fog, rain, sleet, and hail.

The rain was really starting to come down on the final climb. Dad in the background offering relentless support.

And then came the thick fog.

My family met and checked on me countless times, and after they fed me at the top of the final climb (my Mom literally fed me gummy worms like I was a baby bird), they rushed to T2 to get my running stuff ready. I was left to descend by myself in the cold and rain, completely soaked even wearing my rain gear and enormous gloves borrowed from Dawn. I couldn’t feel my hands and I couldn’t see out of my sunglasses, which I had to keep on because they protected my eyes from the bouncing sleet!

As I descended further into the valley, the weather started to clear up. Knowing I was definitely out of contention for reaching T2 in the first 160, I decided to at least try to get there in less than nine hours. NINE HOURS. OMG. I ended up making it there in 8 hours, 52 minutes.

On the last few miles into T2, I knew I needed to get as many calories as possible in before the run, so I ate everything that I had left in my bento box (1 payday and a gu) and smiled because my stomach didn’t rebel. Drank water, even though I was still immediately peeing out everything that I drank. At this point, because I was already soaked and cold, I just went ahead and peed on the bike. Like 5 times…Sorry Matt and guys at Bicycle Heaven. Please wear gloves when working on my bike. :(

T2
Robert helped me wheel my bike over to my spot, which was already all laid out for me. I changed my shorts, socks, and shoes. Grabbed my visor and my fuel belt. Ran to a porta-potty (yes!!!!). Then poked my head out and screamed at Robert that I’d forgotten my Garmin. He rushed it over to me. On my way out of transition, a woman holding a sign with a number on it (209? 212? 219? - I can’t remember) asked me what my number was and I told her “44.” Then started running.

T2 was a blur. Photo by Dad.

Run
After feeling so bad on the bike, I had no idea how the run was going to go. I realized pretty quickly within the first mile that the number the woman had been holding up was my place in the race - I was in the 200s but I wasn’t in last place. OK, try to run and finish without peeing or pooping on the course. That was my goal.

After about a mile, I caught and passed another runner. Then I took a gu with water and didn’t feel sick. Then I caught and passed another runner. And then I realized that this race was not over. Maybe I could run myself into a place below 200 - that would be acceptable. That became my goal.

I ticked off the miles and marveled that each one was in the 9-minute range. I changed my goal - I’m going to run 9-minute miles for the first 15 miles to Zombie Hill. That way I can prove that I’m good at running, and at Zombie Hill, I can walk. As I ran, my support team leapfrogged me and told me how great I looked. And then other runners’ support teams started cheering loudly for me. They’d been cheering for me on the bike course too, but now they sounded excited. “Great pace, Pinky!” “You look great!” “Keep up the pace!”

As I ran alongside the beautiful river on the course that I’d been looking forward to running for a week, I felt stronger and stronger. Took in my nutrition and felt good. Robert leaned out the window and yelled at me that Dawn had said “Don’t forget, everyone is hurting. You’re still racing. Find one more gear, dig deep. Go get it. Don’t give up.” This is what Hillary had told her when she was suffering at Ironman Texas. And I realized that of course she was right.

Passing runners one by one, I could tell that they were hurting and yet I was flying. I felt like I was running downhill (Dad told me later that I wasn’t, and I just couldn’t believe him). I wondered how long I could last, but with every runner that I passed, my confidence grew and my pace stayed the same. I started to wonder if I could pick off the 50-something people that I’d need to pass to be able to climb the mountain, and I kept on running, taking in the scenery, taking strength from passing people, and enjoying the little game that I was playing. From the reactions of the other participants and the support crews as I passed them, I realized that I was doing something extraordinary.

Flying on the most gorgeous run course.

By the time I reached the 25k (~15 mile) checkpoint at the start of Zombie Hill, I had passed 18 people. I’d run 2:08 for the first half of the marathon - I’ve only run faster than that one time at the end of a triathlon. I was thrilled, but it wasn’t enough yet. I wondered what Zombie Hill would be like and if I’d be able to power past people there too. Dad joined me to pace me up the hill, and for the next 4+ miles, we walked and walked up the relentlessly continuous 7-10% hill. Robert and Mom leapfrogged and checked in on us from the car.

Zombie Hill - Dad pacing me and another athlete up the hill.

I was so tired that I couldn’t even fully extend my arm to take water from Dad when he offered it. I couldn’t eat, breathe, and walk at the same time, so I stopped every once in a while to take a few bites of banana. I began to understand why it was called Zombie Hill. Dad kept an awesome pace - he’s been training at an incline on a treadmill for hours every day this summer and it paid off! He kept telling me how proud he was, and I was too tired to respond. We walked the 4 miles at a 16-19 minute mile pace.

Then we reached the checkpoint at 32.5k (20ish miles), the one that would determine if you went up the mountain or not. I had passed maybe 4 people on the hill. I turned to Dad about a half-mile before the checkpoint and said “I don’t think I’m going up the mountain today,” and he gently replied, “No, I don’t think so.” Of course he had known for an hour that it wasn’t going to happen, because he’d been informed that 160 had already made it to the checkpoint, but he hadn’t told me and I had never given up hope.

We were directed towards the secondary finish line (along the beautiful road that I had run on a training run earlier in the week). I asked one of the officials if he could just tell me what my placement was. “194,” he said, “You did well. You made the time cutoff (14:30) by 20 minutes but too many people got here ahead of you.” I was happy to have moved up in position but sad to miss out on the black t-shirt and the climb to Gaustatoppen. I started to cry a little bit and then shook it off.

As we turned the corner, I looked at my watch - 3:50 for the first ~20 miles of the marathon. The next mini-goal kicked in. “Dad, this is what’s happening now. We have less than 10k (6.2 miles) left to go and I’m getting a new ironman marathon PR today.” He had only planned to walk Zombie Hill with me - he hasn’t run in 5 years - but he looked at me excitedly and was like “OK! Let’s go!” and we took off running. My ironman marathon PR (from Ironman Texas last year) was 5:57. I realized almost immediately that I’d be able to beat that if we just walked the 10k to the finish, so I amended the goal - how about let’s try to go under 5 hours.

We had to pass the finish line to do 2 out-and-back loops to finish the final 4 miles. As we ran the flats and downhills and walked the uphills, spectators and athletes alike were yelling encouragement and marveling at my pace. At this point, Dad and I were the only people out there who were running. Nearly everyone else was walking. It was an amazing feeling. As we reached the turnaround point at the end of our first loop, an official slipped an orange rubber band over my wrist. This would prove that we’d already done one loop. We ran back towards the finish line, and then I headed out for the second loop by myself (Dad called it a victory lap). It seemed to take no time at all to run this loop. I smiled and laughed and talked to the spectators and told them that I loved them. I congratulated the other runners on the course. I took my yellow rubber band from the turnaround point. On my way back with less than half a mile to the finish, I saw Mohamed Lahna, an athlete with a prosthetic leg who had done the entire race ahead of me except for these last few miles. He simply told me “Run” and I got choked up, thinking if this dude is telling me to run, I need to RUN.

Two little bands proved that I'd completed the last two loops of the run course.

I ended up with a time of 5:06 for the marathon - 51 minutes faster than my previous PR - OMG. I ran through the cheering spectators to the finish line which was marked off by some tiny cones and spray painted arrows on the floor. I almost ran right past it! No music, no finishers chute, no Mike Reilly. No thousands of screaming spectators. No catchers, no medical tent. No finish line photographer. Just a timing mat under an archway, which I crossed with so much satisfaction with my parents and Robert there to greet me.

Happy finisher with awesome crew.

A soft-spoken female volunteer walked over to me and whispered, “Congratulations. You’re a Norseman.” And then another volunteer asked me if l would like some soup, which was served to me in a coffee cup along with a small slice of bread. And that was it. Finish time 15:21 on one of the toughest ironman courses in the world.

Post-Race
The following day, there was an awards ceremony followed by an official group photo of everyone in their t-shirts. I was bummed to be standing there in a white t-shirt amongst all of the folks who were proudly wearing black. Despite this, I had fun taking photos with my new friends and exchanging stories with them and the support crews that had cheered for me all day. I particularly enjoyed hearing about Penny’s ridiculous day (she's amazing; under such difficult circumstances, she ended up fighting her way to being the 160th person to pass the checkpoint).

All of the participants signed this banner to mark our place in history!

Days later, I’m still disappointed about not getting the full experience with the mountain climb and black t-shirt. I knew before I started that it would take a perfect day to be able to get up there to the mountaintop finish and I didn’t have one. But the experience was incredible and I’m proud of my accomplishment. I’m still incredulous over how I ran so well off a freaking nine-hour bike ride.

Learning that I can keep a positive attitude when things are going wrong for SIX HOURS - well, I can’t imagine how that’s going to help me in my racing after this. The future feels big and bright and full of possibility after what I experienced and learned about myself here at Norseman. It was truly the opportunity of a lifetime. I enjoyed every minute; I think it’s the greatest race in the world, and I think everyone should rush out and sign up for next year’s lottery. I also think I’ll want to make another attempt at that Black T-Shirt one day.

I’m so thankful for the support of my parents, especially my Dad who ran nearly the last 9 miles of the race with me. I’m grateful to my husband, Robert, for helping me and understanding me through all the training and through the execution of this race plan. I can’t say enough about what my coach, Dawn Elder, has done for me over the 3+ months that I trained for this race - the trips to train in Arizona, the research that she did to figure out how to get me ready, the help with the mental preparation that it would take to stay strong through the race. Thank you to Chris Aarhus for all the instruction in climbing, handling, and descending on the bike - I can’t believe how much better I’ve gotten at this. Thank you to Matt and Greg and the guys at Bicycle Heaven who set me up with a perfectly dialed bike with fabulous wheels, taught us how to safely transport it to Norway and put it back together again, and provided laughs and entertainment along the way. Thank you to Justin and the folks at Promotion Physical Therapy who helped keep me healthy (both physically and mentally in the days leading up to the race). And of course, thank you to everyone who voted for me in the Facebook contest and to blueseventy for my race entry and sweet wetsuit and gear! Thank you to my friends and coworkers who encouraged me and listened to me talk about this race all summer. And finally to my amazing training buddies who were out there every weekend training with me and pushing me to exceed my own expectations - thank you, thank you, thank you. Norseman 2014, the greatest adventure of my life (so far), is in the books!

*All photos by Robert Cordova unless otherwise noted.

Norseman: Swimming in the Fjord!

Today was athlete check in, plus the usual prescribed pre-race short swim/bike/run. It was a really good day...but of course the highlight was the swim!

I ran this morning in Kinsarvik and then we drove over to Eidfjord to do everything else. The very low-key athlete check-in was held in a small hotel conference room. The crew and athletes were friendly and the general vibe around the place was "savor it, enjoy it, have fun." I loved hearing that and feeling the positive energy. We spent some time in the Q&A corner with some very helpful crew members who had done the crew race last weekend - 8 members of the crew raced the entire distance last weekend! They were full of great advice and I'm really glad we stopped to talk with them.

Can't help posting more pics from my run today.

And another one. Gorgeous views EVERYWHERE.

After the very quick check-in where I received the usual stickers for my bike, bib, etc., and Robert received his support team shirt and a wristband that will let him into the transitions to help me, we walked over to see the swim start. I saw another woman wearing a wetsuit and asked her if she was going to swim. I then scrambled around quickly to grab my swim stuff so that I could hop in with her - there is always safety in numbers, especially when you're swimming in a fjord with 2 cruise ships parked in it.

Athlete check-in.

Ok, so this plus the wristband makes it really real.

There's a cruise ship parked right in front of Swim Out.

It turns out that my new friend Penny is a blueseventy ambassador, so she had all the same swim stuff as me - we were matchy matchy from head to toe in our wetsuits, booties, and neoprene caps. This made me laugh and miss my friendies back home.

I was surprised that the water wasn't as cold as I thought it would be (about 60 degrees today). Of course that can change in 2 days - but I was very comfy swimming in my wetsuit, booties, and cap. We swam for about 15 minutes and each breath I took, I was thrilled to see the mountains around me as I looked up from the water. When we finished the swim, we took a couple of pictures and then Penny suggested a practice jump off the dock! After we climbed out, we had to laugh, because at that moment several small children jumped into the water in just their swimsuits. I guess it all depends on what you're used to.

Penny = carefree jumper. Kris = cautious goggle holder. 

Tomorrow there will be a blueseventy swim in the morning and I can't wait to swim again. I am definitely savoring this and taking it all in. Then there's the mandatory athlete meeting at 3 pm...and then I'm sure time will fly by until the race starts on Saturday morning! You can track me here: http://www.nxtri.com/live/

A rare photo of the photographer - my hubby and support crew, Robert. :)

Norseman: Getting to Know the Course

I'll admit that when Dad's itinerary for this trip included getting here nearly a week early, that I grumbled about it - why arrive early? Why not use the vacation days to enjoy Norway after the race instead? So far, though, I've been proven wrong. It's been really good to get here early and get to know the course.

We arrived in Rjukan (where the race ends) on Monday and left this morning (Wednesday) to drive along almost the entire 140 miles of the course to Eidfjord (where the race starts). This allowed for some awesome training in the warm, sunny area around Rjukan/Gaustatoppen. They've been having unseasonably warm weather and it was in the 80s yesterday when I went out to ride and run. I can't think of many things that make me happier than being on my bike, and yesterday's easy spin along part of the run course was incredible. I just took in the scenery and chilled out a bit.

Dad and I got in a couple miles of training on Zombie Hill. We practiced walking/running up it while Robert practiced driving the support vehicle and parking All Four Wheels Off the Road, as instructed in the support crew guide.

We drove up to the entrance to Gaustatoppen and I posed for this picture, then went home for a nap. Hoping I'll get there fast enough to go through that gate on Saturday. Robert and Dad climbed to the top (3 miles) and got to see where the finish line will be!

I received this in my email yesterday...it's getting real.

I was apprehensive about the drive from Rjukan to Eidfjord, but ended up being glad that I got to see the bike course. (Everything looks worse from a car - right, Shelly!?!) We took note of the kilometers that passed between the bottom of Zombie Hill and where we expected T2 to be - this is where the bike will end on Saturday and the run will begin. It's the most scenic run course I've ever seen! Cannot wait to run it this weekend.

Then we started paying attention to the bike course: what the climbs were like (challenging but not impossible), what the road surface was like (perfect in some areas, pretty crappy in others, a fair share of surface not unlike Texas chip seal, and three sections that are just gravel), what the weather was like (constantly changing - sun, wind, hot, cold, rain). It was really good to be able to see everything that I'll do on Saturday - just in the opposite direction.

Once we climbed from the valley onto the Hardangervidda plateau, the weather changed dramatically. The temperature dropped from 80 to 50 degrees, the wind picked up, and the sun went away.

The yellow building is where support crews will be parked on Saturday, waiting for their athletes to complete the first climb out of Eidfjord.

And then you have this to look forward to. Three climbs and descents followed by one final, enormous climb (not pictured here) up to Imingfjell, followed by a long descent into T2.

It took quite a bit of the day to do the drive, and when we arrived in Eidfjord it was exciting to see banners for Norseman and to see, in person, the town that I've only viewed in photos and YouTube videos.

Eidfjord and surrounding area = gorgeous.

We drove about 30 minutes past Eidfjord to where we're staying at Kinsarvik in a cosy little cabin for the next few days. Tomorrow I'll get to swim in the fjord (!!!) and put all of my awesome blueseventy cold weather gear to good use! I'll also get in a little bike and run, in addition to checking in. And then start counting down the days - race day is approaching quickly!

Norseman: Travel to Rjukan (Zombie Hill and Gaustatoppen)

Norway is beautiful. After an uneventful day of traveling (yippee!), Robert, Mom, Dad, and I landed in Oslo yesterday and made our way to Rjukan, the town where the race ends. Every single view on the 2.5 hour drive was as scenic as the photo above.

We packed everything I need for the trip into these 2 bags (plus this little camelbak). The helmet was a fun airport conversation piece. So was the multi-tool in my carryon that was investigated thoroughly at security in San Antonio. They didn't have anything to say about the giant bag of white powder (Infinit) that I was also carrying.

Robert relaxing for a few minutes with all our stuff. Traveling with the bike was a little scary but it all worked out. It cost $100 to fly with it on United. Someone with the exact same bike box as me traveled from Newark to Oslo on the same day - but not for Norseman. Their box was somewhat crumpled when it came off the plane, which scared me, until I saw a second one (mine) come out unscathed. Yippee - everything was awesome...

...until we couldn't fit it in the rental car. So we took everything out of the box and checked the box at the airport to pick up when we leave. Multiple trips to Arizona with Dawn prepared me to pack luggage for 4 plus a bike into the back of a tiny wagon.

Over the next couple of days we'll drive the point-to-point race course backwards to get to Eidfjord, where the race starts. I spent my time on the drive to Rjukan staring out the window and listening to an inspirational mix on my iPod that Dawn made for me. Smiling and thinking Nothing But Positive Thoughts. Many of them revolved around "this is kind of like Mt. Lemmon."

For the first 160 lucky competitors who reach the cutoff at 32k of the marathon, the finish line will be at the end of a 3-mile hike up to the top of Gaustatoppen. But first, all the competitors "run" up Zombie Hill - a 3-mile climb up a paved, switchbacky road. We saw both for the first time today.

Our first view of Gaustatoppen. You drive through a beautiful valley with giant steep cliffs on either side, and then the mountain appears. I'm keeping the word "scared" out of my vocabulary...so instead I just started giggling when I saw it.

The first part of the run course is supposed to be relatively flat. Until you reach this signpost and take a left to start the climb up Zombie Hill.

...which was marked on the ground right after the turn. I made Dad pull over so that I could take a photo. 

We drove up Zombie Hill and turned left towards the cabin where we're staying, instead of continuing straight along the race course to Gaustatoppen. We're staying just a little way down the road from where the race will end for the folks who don't make the cutoff - if you don't get there within the first 160 participants, you end the last 3 miles of the race on what had been described as "a flat road in the valley below." Having now driven it a couple of times and run along part of it once, I can say without hesitation that It Is Not Flat. 

After settling into our very cute cabin, I went out for an easy 30 minute shakeout run. I couldn't stop smiling the entire time. It was so ridiculous to be running along this gorgeous, scenic road with Gaustatoppen constantly in my view.

Gaustatoppen: the view from my run. Amazeballs.

The view from our cabin. How crazy to wake up (too early) in the morning and see the mountain that I've been thinking about all summer.

Robert built my bike last night and I took it out for a quick test. This photo was taken at 10:30 pm. That's snow on the mountain behind me.

After my run, we drove down to Rjukan to shop for groceries. I realized that we'd be driving up and down Zombie Hill quite a bit over the next couple of days - I'm determined to make friends with it. Dad and I are going to practice a bit on it today - we're thinking he'll pace me on this section of the race.

Today I'll also take my bike for an easy spin along the flat-ish part of the run course in the valley. My support crew will be hiking up Gaustatoppen while I do this, and they'll be instructed to come back with Nothing But Positive Comments. 

And finally for today, a few more photos: 

This is posted next to the front door of our cabin. I've looked for the fox but haven't seen any sign of it - I haven't seen any cats or coyotes either. ;)

And after all our joking...apparently #norwegia means "cheese?"

This brochure gives me hope. If a baby can do it, so can I.

Norseman: Taper Madness and Here We Go

Fourteen weeks of training and one week of taper have passed since I won my slot to Norseman in the blueseventy Facebook contest in April. And just like that, it's less than a week away: the race is on Saturday, August 2. I've spent the last few days saying to myself things like "next time I run it will be in Norway" or "next time I swim it will be in a fjord." It's all very surreal and I'm excited to take the next step of the journey, which is our actual journey across the ocean to Norway!

Time for a little reflection first, though. When I was training for Ironman Texas last year, I posted an entry about how ironman training is hard (it is). I went back and reread it a few weeks ago and at the time, I thought, well, I'm not falling apart, I must be soooo much stronger and fitter than last year!

Then it hit, and not without good reason. After a race at Buffalo Springs immediately followed by a week of hard training in Arizona, I thought it would be a great idea to do the Castroville time trial in the middle of the next weekend's 80 mile training ride (Dawn did not approve), followed by an hour and a half run on trails, followed by a long run the next day. So guess what, I'm not invincible, I cracked, had a lackluster ride and two terrible runs, and then I cried and begged Dawn to give me a REAL TAPER because I really, really needed it.

I did get a new 40K TT pr, though, plus a little bit of hardware. So that was fun. :)

Dawn agreed, and scaled my training way back. Which, after like two days, left me smack in the middle of TAPER MADNESS. OMG, I'm getting fat. I'm losing fitness. I'm going to get sick. I can't stand not doing anything. But mostly, OMG, I'm going to get fat. So I made the rookie mistake of throwing in an extra swim (hey, one more easy swim won't hurt - except I didn't take it easy), and going to the gym every day at lunch to do pushups and planks and crunches (I've usually gotten these core workouts in twice a week).

It shouldn't have been a surprise that I woke up a couple of days later with a painful shoulder, and by the end of that day, I could barely lift it. I immediately had it checked out by the amazing Justin at Promotion Physical Therapy. He told me it was tendinitis brought on by an increase in volume when I should have been resting. He put me on ibuprofen and scolded me. Dawn scolded me, and I scolded myself for making rookie mistakes - you're supposed to get a little bit fat in the taper. Rest is so important. Come on Kris, you're smarter than this. But it's amazing how the Taper Madness really does take over.

I got it together after that and did the taper the way it's supposed to be done. Some shorter workouts with bursts of intensity to keep the fitness there. And now I feel really, really good going into race week.

After all that - I'll say the training part was almost easy compared to handling the logistics of this race! Training is something that's hard, but that I understand. Packing up everything I'll need for a nine-day trip across the world is not. And planning for everything that needs to happen was pretty stressful. But it's all done. The bike is in the box. The bags are packed. Robert, Mom, Dad, and I are ready for this adventure.

My poor little bike all broken down inside a box. Thank you Orissa for lending me the box, and thank you Greg at Bicycle Heaven for teaching us how to pack it up and build it back together again!

Matt scolded me too. I can't remember what for, but I'm sure I deserved it. ;) These guys are GREAT; they put brand-new awesome tires on my race wheels to handle the questionable road conditions in Norway.

A super fun send-off from the Iron Whiners! Love love love these people. 

One more swim at Landa yesterday to practice in the neoprene cap (it works great). Got one last "good luck" wetsuit zip from Brian and then a fabulous ride with Trent on one of my favorite roads (River Road!) - a great way to spend a last day of training in Texas before the race.

I want to say thank you for all the good luck wishes and prayers. It's a little overwhelming and it means a lot to me that people want the best for me in this journey. I hope to make everyone proud and have some super fun stories to tell when I get home.

The next time I write a blog entry, it will be in Norway!