Here’s the story:
Shocker – I’m awake before my alarm, which had been set for
5:00 am. My dad and I drive to
Johnson’s Beach. Another shocker –
there’s traffic getting into town.
After a bit of confusion about where to park, we make it to the correct
spot. It’s a bit of a walk to the
actual beach, but I’ve still got plenty of time to get set up before my wave
start of 6:42 – I thought.
The transition area is impacted: athletes on their way out –
athletes on their way in…jostling for position. I finally get to the appropriate racks and there’s no open
space to set up my gear. I see a
small gap and make my way, yet am quickly informed by a woman that there’s no
room for me. “I think maybe I
could squeeze in right here.” “No,
there’s no room.” As I take a
moment to scan the area and see where else I could go, she turns to me yet
again and snaps, “If you’re waiting for me to move my stuff, I’m not going
to!” Geez! Luckily, the woman to
the other side of me offers to move her bike slightly so I can rack my
bike. She wishes me good luck and
heads down to the beach. I don’t
even take the time to check my watch, and just set up my gear and put on my
wetsuit. Before I know it, I hear
the announcer say, “Women thirty-five and over…go!” Wait, what?
That’s me! I look down
toward the water and sure enough, there’s a group of pink swim caps heading
upstream.
I grab my backpack to hand off to my dad, and head down to
the beach. I don’t see my dad
anywhere in the mass of people so I head to the announcer’s desk and ask what
I’m supposed to do. “Get in the
water!” he says. I stash my
backpack near some boats and hope someone can pick it up for me later.
I get in the water – oddly alone treading water at the start
balloon arch and wait for my GPS watch to link. I wait, and wait, and wait – no link. Well, I guess I’d better just start –
stopwatch instead of GPS. Up to
this moment, I’d never swum farther than a mile and a half. As I embark on my 2.4-mile swim, I
realize in my haste I hadn’t consumed my gel. Whoa – I’ve just begun an Ironman distance race with no
food! Nothing I can do about
it now. Just gotta be like Dory
from Nemo and “Just keep swimming.”
The water is calm, but the fog hanging over the water is
thick. It’s difficult to sight and
see the buoys, but the lifeguards in their kayaks are quick to bang their oars
on their kayaks and yell “Stay to the right!” anytime I veered too far to the
left. There are points where the
water is only about 2 feet deep, and I see other athletes walking, but I keep
swimming. I’ll have plenty of time
on my feet later today.
I feel great as I exit the water. No rubber legs or dizziness, and my watch says 1 hour 28
minutes. Woo-hoo! I’m right on schedule. Here comes the fun part – they actually
have people to help take off wetsuits.
Heaven-sent, let me tell you!
I find my bike and engage in the struggle of trying to put
on bike gear while wet. This could
be a sport all on it’s own! I
don’t have a bike jersey with the pockets at the back, so I stuff my sports bra
with my gels, and simply stuff my snack pack bags of goldfish in my shirt. I plug in my iPod and strap my phone to
my arm. I come out of transition
and they give you the choice to mount your bike at the bottom of the hill, or
walk on the right to the top.
Yeah, I walk to the flat before I get on my bike. My friend and
colleague Holly and her daughter are screaming my name as I enter the street.
(Holly’s husband, Brian, is also racing today.) I’m waving and saying hello as Holly runs with her phone
trying to get a pic of me on my bike.
There’s nothing like a little laughter to help the day.
Biking – 112 miles – my goal is to cut under 8 hours. To date, my longest bike ride was 91
miles. I’ve got this. The racecourse is a two lap, rolling
hills ride through Sonoma wine country. Rolling hills? I’d say so! There are no mile markers along the ride, but there are
several aid stations where volunteers are handing riders new cold bottles of
water, bananas, pieces of PB&J sandwiches, Cliff bars, and Gatorade. I’m just waiting for Chalk Hill. There’s one significant hill on the
course and I’ll pass it at miles 45 and 100. Each turn I take, I wonder… is this THE hill? I finally reach THE hill and it’s
longer than I expected. I hunker
down and make it up to the top.
Now, I just have to make it down without skidding out or falling. Success!
I stop at the halfway point to replenish my gels and
Goldfish crackers. It’s pretty
dang hot, so I take off my long-sleeved shirt and realize I have nowhere to put
the cracker packets. Hmmm…I tie
the shirt around my waist and stuff my tank with packets. I can’t wait to see the pictures and
the bumpy bulges all over my belly! Off I go for lap 2, continuing to leave my
own Hansel & Gretel trail of Goldfish at every bump in the road.
Knowing that I’ll cross that hill again at mile 100, I
realize that I’m a bit behind schedule when I see that it’s past 3:30 and I
haven’t hit the hill yet. My plan
had been to begin the marathon at 4:00 and now I know it won’t be until closer
to 5:00. No big deal – that still
gives me six hours to complete the marathon and I expect to run it in five.
I finally reach Chalk Hill for the second time and it’s
hard. I pass two women walking
their bikes up the hill and this strengthens my resolve to push harder and STAY
ON MY BIKE! It’s hot – near 90
degrees outside, my ankles are hurting, my left shoulder is aching, and my quad
muscles are on FIRE just above my knees.
I crest the hill and relish in the wind and ease of the downhill. As much as I want to just rest my legs,
I know I can’t for more than a pedal stroke or two as the pain from restarting
is worse than the pain of continuing.
As I ride the final 12 miles I begin to wonder if I’ll be
able to run at all. Between the
pain in my ankles and quad muscle insertions above the knee, I don’t know that
my legs will support me when I attempt to stand. I dismount my bike and hesitate slightly to be sure I won’t
fall. There’s no fall –and no pain! What a relief!
I get to my rack and hang my bike. It’s not quite 5:00, so I take a seat on the grass, change
my socks, put on my running shoes, drink some water, call my mom to tell her
I’m about to start the run, and off I go.
The number of spectators camped out along the first part of
the run surprises me. Not only the
sheer number of them, but the fact that they had lawn chairs, umbrellas &
tents, coolers: their own party going on.
They were shouting encouragement to all athletes as they passed by in
both directions.
I made a right turn down a residential street and began to
wonder if I would see my family.
I’d left a message with my mom before I starting running, but didn’t
know that she’d listened to her voicemail. Then, I see a familiar silhouette of a family of 4 –
stroller and all. It’s my sister
Amanda, her husband John, and my two nephews. “Andrew!” I yell as I wave to try to get their attention. “Amanda!” I yell this time and they see
me. Smiling and waving they come
closer and Andrew runs out to meet me.
I reach out my hand and he grabs it and runs with me. Go Andrew, go! Even the man next to me (on his final
lap), is cheering Andrew’s name.
Andrew returns to his parents and runs a bit further with John. A few
yards later I pass my parents – the shouts of encouragement keep my smile on my
face.
After that excitement is over, I refocus on the task at
hand: 26.2 miles. I wonder how far
I’ve traveled so far as I don’t have any form of GPS to tell me. I round a corner and see a marker. 1 mile. What?!? That
was ONLY 1 mile?!? I knew in that
moment that I was going to have trouble running the entire marathon. Where I wasn’t in pain, my legs were
weary. I grabbed a gel & had
water at the first station. It was
early to have more fuel, but I was hoping for an extra boost so I could keep my
stride. Then I came to my first
hill. I had to walk. I was also having a strange sensation
on my left pinkie toe – blister, I thought, dang it! I stopped at the top of the hill and removed my shoe. No blister – no sign of anything
strange going on there. I found
that the sensation wasn’t there when I was running, only when I walked. Well, there’s a bit of motivation to
keep up the run. It didn’t last
long. I can up to another hill,
this one more significant.
Walking, I grabbed more water, a handful of peach slices and was
joyously sprayed with a hose.
I checked the time on my phone as I passed the mile 3 marker
and knew my pace was not fast enough.
I called my dad and sister to let them know that I’d needed to start
walking so they should go grab dinner, as I didn’t know when I’d be back. I could hear the concern in their
voices and tried to reassure them that I was not upset. I was still happy – still plugging
along – no need for them to worry.
I made a deal with myself that I would let myself walk up the hills, as
long as I jogged down. I was
hopeful that I could maintain a pace to complete the marathon by 11pm and be a
race finisher.
As I passed my personal cheering squad the second time, the
group has changed slightly. John
has taken the boys back to the hotel for dinner and bedtime, but Rob (my
lifelong friend) has joined Amanda and my parents. They seem amazed that I’m running and I shouted to them
about the deal I’d made with myself.
Amanda yells to me that I look great and I reply that that’s the only
thing that really matters. :o) I also hear my name being called as I come in to
the turn-around in the high school parking lot. Holly and her daughter were in the crowd, both screaming my
name and encouraging me. I smiled
and waved for more iPhone pictures, at the same time telling Holly that I knew
I wouldn’t make the last lap. “Sure
you will!” she yells. “You’re doing great!” Well, I wasn’t giving up yet!
I had to walk portions of the flat as I came back on the
street. I was having a strange
sandpaper-y feeling on my abdomen with the impact. I held my hand above my belly button to keep my flesh from
moving with my run, and it helps.
As I pass my group again, I try to tell them about the weird core pain,
but they misunderstand and think I’m having digestion problems. I just continue jogging and raise my
arms to their cheers as I go.
Around mile 10, I have a strong enough intestinal cramping
episode that I have to stop completely.
Good ole doubled over, hands on the knees, pursed lip breathing kind of
cramps. I’m almost to a
Port-o-potty. I can make it, I
tell myself, and I did. Sitting
down was difficult, to say the least.
Luckily, there’s a handle inside that I can pull on to get myself back
to standing. No more cramps for
the remainder of the race.
It’s before mile 12 that I know there’s no chance that I’ll
make the 9pm 3rd lap cut-off.
I have all sorts of thoughts streaming through my mind. Do I keep going? Should I have my family come pick me
up? Should I do the third lap even
though I’ll still be a DNF (did not finish) according to race officials? I called my family to tell them I was
on my last lap. I assured them
that I was OK and still happy, and we agreed that they would wait at the turn
off from the road to the school parking lot. We had originally agreed on the finish line, but race
officials were clear that I wouldn’t be allowed to cross the finish line. I had some wonderful conversations with
other athletes in these last legs.
I learned about other’s motivations for doing this event, and encouraged
them to the finish.
The sun had gone down and the road was dark, and there were
no streetlights. Since I’d planned
to complete the race by 9pm, I hadn’t brought a headlamp or flashlight. There were portions of that last lap
where I had to walk, not because of physical strain, but simply for not being
able to see the road in front of me.
I came in for the last mile and had a new walking companion:
a man from Pasadena who had hit the wall on the run. This was his second Ironman distance race, and he had
completed his first one 4 hours faster that he would finish this one. He couldn’t pinpoint what had gone
wrong, but was trying to keep in good spirits. As we came up to the last half of a mile, we decided to run
to the finish. I encouraged him to
pull ahead of me: “Strong finish!”
As I passed my cheering section, it’s grown by two more: my
friend Carrie and her sister have driven up from Marin just to be there for my
finish. I smile, wave, and let
them know I’ll run in to turn in my timing chip and will return to meet them.
As I run into the parking lot, I look to the right for the
table that had been set up for runners to turn around for their next lap. It wasn’t there. The only place to go was the finish
line straight ahead. There are
bleachers packed with spectators cheering, Holly’s husband Brian is yelling my
name, and the announcer says into the microphone “Jen Checchio from Santa
Barbara!” Wait! But I’m not actually finishing! Can’t they see I only have one
bracelet? Don’t they know I’m
coming in one lap short? I see the
people at the finish line lifting a white banner for me to run through, and I
wave my hands and yell to them that I’m not a finisher. They simply wave back at me with smiles
on their faces – they haven’t heard me.
I’m not quite sure what to do, so I simply keep running. I put my hands up in the air and smile
at the photographer for my “photo finish.” A woman is putting a medal around my neck and a race
official is asking for my name and race number. I tell him the information he needs and then point to my
single bracelet on my wrist and say, “But I haven’t finished. I’m a lap short.” He and the woman look at each other as
I begin to take the medal off my neck.
They shrug and say “That’s OK, we’ll figure it out later.” She stops me from taking off the medal
and they tell me I’ve done a great job.
Wow. It’s
over. I grab some fruit and a
bottle of water and begin the walk back to my support team. I explain the favorable error at the
finish line, and my mom is a bit disappointed that they hadn’t been there to
see it. I assure her it’s OK. She’s VERY happy I’ve received a medal
though. She joked about having
plans to steal one for me. I’m going to take the medal to a trophy shop and
have them cross out the 26.2 and engrave 18 – an honest medal. :o)
We stop at McDonald’s so I can have French fries and I get a
burger since I know my body needs the protein.
I check for blisters and chafing – none to be found, except
the raw spot on the back of my neck from my wetsuit. I’m a jabbering idiot – I
can’t seem to stop talking. I’m so
full of endorphins, I don’t know if I’ll be able to turn it off and go to
sleep. A LONG hot shower helps with that.
I didn’t sleep well, and I only slept about 5 hours, but I
woke up feeling pretty darn good.
My ankles and knees were stiff, and I had to support myself with the
bathroom counter to sit on the toilet, but I’m feeling pretty good – and
STARVING! I snack on some more
Goldfish crackers (not much else available at 4:30am in our hotel room), and
finally respond to the encouraging texts I’d received during my event. I doze off for a while longer, but am
soon awake and hungry again.
As we’re driving back to Amanda’s house, I check the race
results on my phone. It’s a bit
tough to learn that had I begun my race on time and shown a little more hustle
in my transitions I would have made that last lap in time even with my struggle
on the run course. I’ve never
taken so long in transitions on ANY of my races, but I’d been so confident
about my run that I thought I had enough of a time buffer to take things a bit
more slowly. This was my first
thought that I should make another attempt at this whole Ironman thing.
I am proud of myself for what I accomplished on
Saturday. I’m amazed at what I’ve
accomplished these last two years.
Two sprint triathlons, two times over the Santa Barbara long course, 2
half marathons, 2 full marathons, a century bike ride, and so much more in
between these events. I hadn’t run
a mile since I was 10. I’d stopped
riding a bike when I was 9, and had never ridden a bike with gears. I was a good swimmer, but, other than
the 100 freestyle in high school and buoy swims in La Jolla and at Butterfly
beach, I’d never swum a mile until a few weeks before my first attempt at the
Santa Barbara Long Course. I was a
fit person. I began lifting
weights at 16 and teaching aerobics & other fitness classes in college; but
other than 2 fitness competitions (amateur status) in college, I’d never been
anything but a “gym rat.”
I cannot express how much I appreciate the support I’ve
received from family, friends, and even strangers I’ve met on this journey.
I’m still undecided as to whether or not I’ll attempt
another Ironman, but it’s not outside the realm of possibilities.
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