Kansas Kicked My Ass - A Blessing in Disguise

climb. climb. wind. wind and climb. Repeat. christ does this ever fucking end?

"The last straight away into the park is supposed to be a tail wind, but it's now turned to a head wind" - volunteer bike aid 3

So Kansas. You think it's flat. It's not. It has some nice big rollers. Big rollers that are not fat girl friendly. I kept thinking that through my head the entire bike. Oh wait. let me back up.

I didn't feel nervous about the race at all. I was exciting, the bike course looked like it would be fun. The weather race day looked favorable, some winds, but not nearly as bad as they have been in the past. My goal for the day was to finish. We left the hotel at 4:15 and got set up in transition. The time before the swim always makes me the most anxious, you're waiting to start, nervous energy, this was no exception.

The swim

The water was a nice temperature, I skipped the wetsuit since my swim is worse with it. I'm glad I did because the water was just fine. It was a wave start about 25 meters from shore. Our wave took off and I was going nice and steady. Exhaling all my water. It was pretty rough water leaving the shore. I looked up to sight the buoy marked #2, noticed my wave was gone, no big deal, I'm used to being at the back of the pack. Then I see a paddleboarder, she tells me I'm not supposed to be inside the yellow buoy. Fuck! I had been sighting to the return buoy on the other side. Well hell, the one thing I usually do decently is swim straight and sight well. Oh well, probably about 150-200 meters out of my way, but I wasn't going to freak out, I rejoined a few from my wave. I kept swimming, knocking one buoy out at a time. Finally hit a red - TURN! then another! Headed back to shore. Right around the last turn I got kicked in the head for the first time. My initial reaction was to want to punch him, but it's all a part of the OWS (open water swim). The entire time of the swim I was relaxed. I KNEW I would exit the swim in time. I improved some from my Cedar Point time last year, I'm happy.

The pavement hurt my feet like hell going into T1. I need to toughen up. I don't even remember how many rocks I stepped on. Took off onto the bike.

Five hours of Hell - err the bike

So coming out of transition you have a hill to climb. My heart rate was already high coming out of the swim. I get on Sassy and we climb. and climb. There's tons of spectators, makes me more nervous with the climb. Get. to. the. top. Whew, now I can cruise out toward the park exit. Decent speeds coming out, remembering to pace myself since I always go out too fast. I knew this course was going to be a challenge for me. First two larger rollers were fine, came across the damn and hit the next climb. That one was a tough fucker. Go to the Kansas Ironman page, look at the faces of the pros climbing.

Finally out on flats, in a pretty good pack. Then more climbing. I felt like all I did was climb. All I did was see 10mph on my cateye. I know there's a downside to every hill, but I guess it wasn't enough reward for all that climbing. To be fair there were a few hills that going down I hit 35mph, that was fun, then it was followed by a coast up and a tough climb to the crest. I see the pros going to finish the last 10 miles. I climb into aid 1 and stop for a few seconds to fill my bottles. Normally I would just grab a bottle as I went buy but I didn't feel stable coming out of climb. Then going into the first turn I see Brian and Chrisann, cheering for them both. Now back to more climbing. And more fucking wind. And sometimes both at the same time.

In the middle of a hill I start to beginning wheezing and my adductors are cramping bad. The cramp starts just near my knee and is up into my groin. Fuck. I really need to stretch. So I turn onto the last road off the hill about .5 miles before the peak of the hill. I am concentrating on my cramp and can't clip out in time and I'm in gravel. I'm starting to go over to the left and don't think and try to tilt back to the right and end up kinda flipping over the left side of my bike. Crashed onto my left shoulder (I fell correct again! ha) and the crank cut my inner right ankle in 5 places. I have three scratches that will later turn into bruises on my right inner knee and the back of my left thigh is bruised. Of course at the time I don't feel anything. I hit so hard I thought I cracked my frame. But didn't see anything so got back on the bike and actually zipped up the rest of the hill.

It was a long bike. 56 miles on a good day should take me about 3:30-3:40. I figured this course would take me 4:15 tops. Nope. 4:55. bitches. Oh well. Long training day, right?

Life at the back of the pack. I'm used to it. What do you see? Not many people. If there's an out and back you'll see a few people behind you and are jealous of the few people that are ahead of you. You get to aid stations and the Ironman perform is warm, which that shit is NAST-AY when it's cold, let alone warm. The water is warm. The bananas are disgustingly brown. Oh, and the penalty box is gone. They don't give penalties to slow people I guess.

At four hours in I'm done. I'm so fucking over this course. I've yet to pee since the swim, so even though I've had 5 bottles of water and 2 perform I'm still dehydrated. WTF, mental note review this with Heather. I see a hill coming and try to cry out of frustration but there's no tears.

At this point my small ring, granny gears and I are great friends. Now Sassy's not really shifting right. I shift a small gear and it takes 7 pedal strokes for the chain to move. That's not right. Then I drop my chain. FuckingA. I get off to put it back on, spin the back wheel with the crank and there's way too much resistance. Why is it so hard. Something up. At this point my thought is oh god, I would love for my bike to break so I can be forced to not be able to finish and not feel bad. SAG happens to be behind me. He gets things adjusted but has to take my back wheel off and make some adjusted. WTF. Has my wheel been giving me extra resistance all this time? For like the last 30 miles? whatever, no excuses.

I go through the final aid station and the volunteer informs me that the tailwind has turned into a headwind. Of fuckingcourse it has. I thank the volunteers and take on the last 12 miles of the course.

I'm on a straightaway that has a tailwind and cruising along and I see two wild turkeys on the side of the road. one darts across the road right in front of me. WTF?! I swerve to miss it. What a story that would have made.

As I'm climbing the last big climb before going into the park, I pass mile marker 50. The red truck is behind me, they tell me that T2 closes at 12:55 and I had better hurry (or something like that). The headwind coming across the damn is just stupid. He comes next to me and says to ride behind him. Whatever, at this point I'm game and I ride behind his bumper. My legs are cramping so much I'm crying without realizing it. I want to just stop and get off. No, fucking go forward. Finally onto the last giant roller before T2, I go flying down the hill at 32MPH behind two other girls. There's a lot of traffic, because you know, most people are now done with the race and are leaving. The car in front of us STOPS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL. There's no room to go to the right, to the left we'll hit on coming traffic. Are you fucking kidding me?! We have to stop so we don't hit the car. There's no momentum to take us up the hill. My legs are toast and there's not another climb left in the deck of cards. I hop off my bike and take off running. I get to the top of this hill and I see the red truck driver, an Ironman employee named Brian stop, get out and push the girl in front of me as she gets back on her bike. I'm starting to pedal and he comes back to push me. So not okay. So does not matter, I want to be done and he wants to see me get to T2. He follows us in, honking his horn to clear traffic. Which also brings attention from runners and finishers. People aren't laughing, they're not snickering at us. They are cheering the last three girls in, rooting us on, encouraging us.

I get to T2 and assume my day's over and ask. The volunteer says do you want it to be? I don't even think, I scream no and take off running to rack my bike. I swap my shoes and take out for the run. It's hot. My shirt fits like shit. My legs are tired and cramping. My tank is on E, both physically and emotionally. But I do a run/walk to the first aid station. At this point I'm pretty sure I won't make the race cut off, but I'll try. Maybe a miracle will happen. I see Brian's car and run down to it to try to change my shirt, but no dice, it's locked for the first time that weekend- ha.

The first three miles sucked ass. I was at 20 minute miles. It's down the hill to T1 and then back up it. It took forever. I ran into Brian on my way down and asked him to find me a new shirt in my stuff. He  had just gathered up all his stuff after finishing his race, but like a saint he brought it to me. I tried to convince him to convince me to quit. He gave encouraging words, ultimately leaving it to me and I kept going. The other 3 plus miles of the loop are in the camp ground. This part of the run was easier, I was picking up the pace some and the running was feeling better. I was now starting to pee so I knew I was hydrating. I thought I would run to the finish after the first loop and turn in my timing chip and call it a day.

Then I ran past a group of campers who had finished. I heard a guy read the back of my shirt "You. Inspired" He said "damn right I am inspired, you go girl." Then it clicked. Fuck the finish time. Fuck the rules. They can come get my timing chip, it doesn't matter I'm going to finish 70.3 miles today. I've done a loop, I know the course, I'll finish, even if its in an empty field. I see Brian and he's again amazing and gets all my shit out of transition for me and takes it to the car. I ask if he's okay waiting for me to finish, he of course is.

I go to start my second loop and a biker comes after me saying I didn't make the 10K cutoff and my day is over. I tell him he can have my chip, I'm going to keep running. He says there will be no aid stations and the roads will be open. I say that's okay, take off my chip and give it to him. This girl next to me says "give her the chip, what's the big deal?" People are cheering for me. I thought for sure I'd get weird looks and laughs, but no, people are telling me to finish strong.

Brian meets me with a bottle of water and we develop a plan so he can get me more at various places on the course, because it's hot at this point and without it, it might get dicey. He's my own personal mobile aid station and I could never thank him enough to show my gratitude. The red truck shows up again and drives besides me as I shuffle. I tell him I don't need a timing chip and then get choked up and say nor a medal to go 70.3 miles today. He smiles and says, you finish this, you've got it, and I'll save you a medal at the finish. He asks my name, turns out his is Brian. That's three fantastically supportive Brian's on my Ironman journey, I'd say it's a good name :)

As I get into the camp ground again and most of the campers have packed up and gone home. But the ones that are still there stand up as I jog by and they root me on. A guy finisher about 23 years old chases me down and gives me another bottle of water. People clap and tell me to finish strong. Another camp site asks if I need anything, I tell them not now, but I would love some fruit on my way back. He hops up and goes into the camper. I finally hit the last run turnaround and make my way back. A woman says she's inspired and hands me a gatorade. About this time the Ironman clock has officially ended, but I'm still going. I see Brian again and he goes the last mile or so with me. We go by the fruit camper again and his daughter is running besides me cheering me on and he offers me sliced oranges and gels.

I'm doing my best to try to fight off tears, but they can't be stopped. The generosity and support of complete strangers is so overwhelming. It's so nice to know good people are all around us, willing to help someone else out.

I finally round my way to the finish line where the staff is taking everything down. The clock and arch are long gone, but the finisher's chute is still there. I run to the finish and see Brian Mays, the guy from the red truck and the race director are standing there ready to put my finishers medal on and give me a hat. The entire staff is cheering for me. The race director says that's why they do these races, for the pros and for the every day people who push themselves. They've never seen anyone finish it after their chip is taken. I do know I am not alone. I have a friend that finished IM Louisville after midnight. It's not the official finish that makes you and Ironman. It's the journey and the tenacity to complete the distance you set out to achieve.

It was a tough day. It was a roller coaster of emotions. It wasn't the day I expected to have. Cedar Point in September, I didn't deserve to finish. I hadn't put in the training. But I finished, on their official time. This race I trained my ass off and I deserved to finish, but I didn't finish with an official time. It's fucked up in my head, but it's life. Not everything goes to plan. I don't want to make excuses. I should have trained more in Southern Indiana but I didn't realize it until after. I do know that the Chrissy in 2012 would have NOT been able to finish this race, official time or not.

So many times I wanted to Fuck Everything And Run. That's FEAR. Instead I faced everything and raced, albeit slow, but I finished every fucking mile. 

I believe this race was a blessing in disguise. I got my ass handed to me. I even got a shitty email from a "friend" calling out my ability to do an Ironman and not die and questioning my life. But I learned more lessons as I continue to train for Arizona. Had I had a great day, had I crushed it, I wouldn't have realized some of these things. These lessons are the silver lining. 

I realize I DO NOT want to have that red truck (purple, green, whatever the fucking color) follow me in Arizona. I DO NOT want to have someone coming after my timing chip. I WANT to finish with the finish line still alive and well. It's my dream to hear Mike Reilly's voice say "Chrissy Vasquez from Fishers, Indiana, You are an Ironman." To get there, I need to be more diligent in my training, I need to get more rest, work on my mental toughness and I need to continue to take care of me. I also learned, that shit happens. How do I cope if something goes wrong? A million things can happen before the start line and race day, shit that you can't plan for or calculate. 

Life's not always about what goes right. It's about how you handle things when something doesn't go right. How do you adapt and overcome. This has made me stronger.

People see this as a threat to my health. The truth is? It's great for my health. For once in my life I'm putting ME first. MY training comes first. I finally love myself enough to do that. And I would say despite all the falls, cuts, bruises, allergies, blisters and shit, I'm the healthiest I've ever been. One day post race I feel amazing, I really haven't felt this good physically after a race, ever.

My goal for the day was to finish and 70.3 miles I did go.