photo by witsup.com 1st - 8:52:51
swim - 54:44 (7th)
bike - 4:48:01 (5th)
run - 3:06:32 (2nd)
photo by Joanne Baxas I'm not sure how many times I visualized just how my race in Melbourne would pan out but every time it had me crossing the line first with a huge smile on my face. It wasn't just the finish line that I imagined. I went through my entire race section by section. My final visualisations were what I thought would be conservative. In brief, I'd have a decent swim exiting the water around 3min behind the leaders. I'd get off the bike with a 5min deficit. In past races with long bike legs, I've always hammered the first half of the bike to try get to the lead ASAP but this time I really wanted to conserve a little energy to have a good run. And then for the run I had strict instructions from Jared to run no faster than low 4's (4min/km). "4:0- something will be enough" he said.
So how close was my visualization to the real thing? This is how it all unfolded...
So how close was my visualization to the real thing? This is how it all unfolded...
photo by witsup.com Melbourne definitely delivered on the weather side of things. Known for it's 'four seasons in one day' Melbourne actually threw us a pretty decent day. The water was calm in the morning and not too chilly and a beach start was great. The super fast swimmers - Annabel, Laura, Caroline and Bree got away really fast and were out of sight for the entire swim. But the next pack which included Mirinda, Kym and Ashley also got off to a good start putting some distance between me and them (maybe that means I got a bad start. Sounds better in my head if I say they got a good start though). My goggles fogged while standing on the start line so I couldn't see too well and was worried about sighting the whole 3.8km on my own so I put on a surge to catch this group by the first turn buoy at 850m and was content to sit around and let them navigate the swim for me. I felt very in control and didn't push the swim too hard. I exited the water in 7th place but managed to get through T1 and on to my bike in 4th.
photo by Delly Carr I passed Bree to move me into third early into the 180km bike leg leaving only Caroline and Annabel up ahead. This was my first race working with power on the bike. I got my Quarq power meter last August but not knowing much about power I only ever looked at it after sessions and races so that I could get a good idea of how I naturally ride. By March Jared and I were confident of what sort of watts I could hold for 180km. Ironman racing is very different to 70.3. It requires patience and pacing. So for the first hour my eyes were glued to my power meter. It was surprising and a little unnerving to be sitting at the planned watts yet it feeling too easy for the first half of the race. As it turned out, it was a good thing I rode within these limits and not how I would usually attack the bike.
photo by witsup.com The bike was pretty uneventful for me. I actually thought at times it was like swimming in the pool only instead of staring at a black line I was staring at a white line. It was just me and long straight lonely roads for 180km. The girls up in front were never in sight and the age group men were far enough back to never be in the picture. Out, back, out, back, head wind, tail wind, head wind, tail wind. There was no time that I really had to get out of my saddle but to avoid cramping I danced on my pedals coming out of the turn at the end of each lap. I used my brakes just 3 times in 5hrs including the time to dismount at the end. Like I said.. pretty uneventful. After the first lap I was still about the same distance behind Caroline out front but on the next 'out' section (3rd quarter) into the head wind I had reports that I'd made up some ground. I was told I got within 1:40 of the two lead girls but at 135km (now heading back with the tail wind for the last stretch) I started to fall back. My left VMO (medial quad) started cramping and then my legs turned to jelly. The tail wind made me feel like I was flying but my power was telling me different (again, very interesting to have live power readings telling me what was really going on in my body). Next time I think I'll take a little more nutrition to get me through the last hr of the bike. I didn't panic and thought about my pre race visualization of a 5min deficit off the bike. I won't lose that much time. "Your fine" I told myself. "Work on freeing up the VMO rather than trying to hammer the last 40km".
photo by witsup.com When I got to T2 my left VMO was far from freed up. It was cramping bad by now! My standard process in T2 is typically to grab my 'most treasured valuables'... race belt, visor, gels... and bolt out of there like the tent is a blazing inferno and we're all gonna die. Today, however my VMO was calling the shots instead of my instincts. I sat down in the nice plastic chair provided and took my time finding everything I needed from my T2 bag, slipped my new Type-A6 Saucony's on and contemplated standing back up again to find the nearest exit. I started walking out of the change tent (yes, I said walking) while actively flexing my knee to stretch out the cramping quad. Once I exited the tent and reappeared to the real world - to all the screaming spectators and blearing speakers I began to run while throwing in some gentle flick back stretches. Kind of like a runner, doing the last couple drills before the race starts. At first it felt like my VMO was gonna rip off the bone but I kept my cool - this HAS happened before. And it DOES free up with running. I was now apparently 4:13 down on the leaders leaving T2. As soon as I got going around the first bend my body clicked straight into pace and the cramp did free up a few k's in. 'Just stay patient and tick off low 4's' I kept repeating in my head.
photo by Delly Carr 12km in to the marathon I could feel my feet heating up on the hot bitumen road. At 14km I passed Annabel to move into second. Caroline was still a couple minutes ahead, but I could already see her up the road because the road was sooo long and straight for the first 18km. This helped me feel more comfortable knowing I could see the lead already. At 19km, I took the lead. Not that I knew it at the time. The course had moved onto the windy footpaths and Caroline ducked into the porta loo while I was busy grabbing my special needs bag. The next km I thought to myself "man, Caroline must have seen me coming, she's just thrown down a 3min30 k to get rid of me!". I still thought I was in second. It wasn't until my 'lead cyclist' (they never actually lead the way in this race for some reason) went past me to clear the path up ahead that I saw she had a "1st female" shirt on. By now I could feel my feet blistering under the ball of my foot and it was getting quite sore but I didn't want to acknowledge it. It's happened before in the past so I knew the consequences if it was what I thought it was. I was on a mission to block it from my thoughts so I could get as far as I could before I had to seriously do something about it. Do what?! I was hoping that answer would pop into my head before it was too late.
photo by Delly Carr The inevitable did of course eventually come. I reached my breaking point at about 28k in to the marathon. As much as I wanted the win and the race had gone to plan up till now, I couldn't convince my brain to take anymore steps. If each agonising step would take me only one meter, I had another 1000 searing stabs of pain to endure just to make another 1km. In the past, we've cut holes in the bottom of my shoe or excavated holes through the ball of my foot to relieve the pain. Neither were at all remotely possibile to execute by myself mid race! 28k in, 4min lead at my last time update... but 14k still left to run and I had no miraculous idea for how to continue. I had the lead cyclist behind me, media motor bike a step to my right, police car to their right, police bike up in front and the helicopter over head. I stopped. I rocked back onto my heels gave an audible sigh of relief. It felt like I was slowly pulling out that sharp knife that had been stabbing into my feet. It felt soooo good. All the bikes around me slammed on their brakes and all said out loud in unison "She's stopped!". None of them knew what was going on just yet. One minute I was running ok and looked fine, the next I was standing there, hands on knees, lifting my feet up and down as if I'd been standing on hot coals for the past couple hours. Only I knew it'd been coming on for quite a while. I had concerned spectators yelling at me to take salt tablets and coke "that's all that'll get you through now" they said. "If only!" I thought. I need an idea...
photo by witsup.com The lead cyclist asked if I was ok and I said "blisters! I have blisters... Is there any medical on course?" One of the kind media motos offered a band aid they had on them. It was a nice gesture, but I wished it was the kind of blister you can pop and put a band aid over. I wouldn't be allowed to accept outside assistance anyway so I had to refuse. The lead cyclist radioed ahead to the next aid station and they had band aids. But they were 2km away. I tried to stay positive, that band aids would help but I knew deep down they wouldn't. Under my feet were deep blood blisters under calluses on the balls of my feet about 20-30cm in diameter. They resemble more of a deep bruise or internal bleeding than a blister. Then out of the bushes I heard Jared yell "try Vaseline". So I yelled ahead to my cyclist again "do they have Vaseline at the aid station?". They did! That was my motivation to keep moving ahead in the hope it might do something. I knew a walk would be too slow so I had to start shuffling. I was trying to avoid the balls of my feet so I can totally understand why everyone thought I was cramping. Have you ever tried to run on the outside of your foot before? You look like a waddling duck that's cramping in both hammys and busting to go to the dunny. I also forgot that the cameras were on me the whole time so I'm sure you've all seen the footage.
by by witsup.com About 12minutes later I made it to the 30km aid station (yep 2k in 12mins). That was the longest 2km of my life. I ran straight through to the end of the aid station tables, bum on ground, shoes and socks off and smothered my feet with Vaseline. Socks and shoes back on and back up and running. It still hurt. A lot! So I told myself "it'll take a k or so to work". Here I was bribing myself to get through the next 1km. At this point my lead had dwindled down to just under 1min to Caroline. Once at 31km I thought "1 more km and then you're into the last 10, that's nothing". Jared popped up again and told me I was extending my lead again. "As long as you're 'running' you're running faster than the others" he said. That gave me a tiny flicker of confidence that maybe I could still be 'in the race' so long as I did anything but walk or stop. Looking back now, something at around the 30k mark must've helped to reboot the system enough for me to think there's hope of continuing. Whether it was the chance to sit down for a little bit, the vaseline on the feet, or the knowledge that as long as I kept moving forward at any pace (barring walking) I was still in this race. Something refreshed my mental state. Even though the pain kept shooting from the pavement up through my feet like a flare exploding with each step, the 'k-to-go-counter' in my head began working down through the single digits. With the number getting closer and closer to zero I was feeling a little more confident that I might finish. The crowd got thicker and louder with each km and that also started to squash the urge to get off my feet and stop as I got closer.
photo by Delly Carr When I finally saw the Ironman finish line carpet I had a smile on my face from ear to ear. I was absolutely stoked and excited to take the win at the Asia Pacific Champs but the real reason my smile was so big was because I was laughing. I was laughing at the excruciating pain in my feet, laughing at the fact that I dodged a major bullet today and laughing at the thought of anyone "enjoying" this crazy sport. If I didn't laugh I would have cried. I couldn't believe I did it. At 28km I had no idea how it could be remotely possible for me to get to the finish on my own two feet. I was sure it was the end of the line for me. And somehow, even though that was one of the most painful places I've been to in a race...for the longest period of time in a race... it felt so good to have survived it to the end!
photo by witsup.com I'd like to thank every single person that yelled 'Go Mel!' along the course. Thankfully my race number says "Mel" on it so you all knew what to call out. I heard every single cheer loud and clear. Cheers from the smallest of kiddies, to volunteers, family, friends, past training partners, past coaches, dogs and cats. I heard them all. I might not have looked like I registered on the outside, but I took them all in and I thank you now for them all!
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