Ironman Ireland Cork

June 23, 2019

First of all, this math professor needs to bog you down with numbers and stats, because that’s how I roll.

Ironman Ireland Cork: There were 2,650 people signed up. While 2,067 showed up in Ireland, registered and planned on racing, 660 of those 2067 either DNF or DNS – meaning 32% either didn’t start or finish.

On the day, however, 232 of those 2,067 didn’t even start the race (as I saw people leaving with bikes before it even started). This means that 1,835 people started the race. Of those 1835? 428 didn’t finish. That’s 23% of those who STARTED didn’t finish. That is insane. What’s more insane? The DNF rate for women.

364 women showed up in Ireland to race, but only 314 started. 118 women didn’t make the finish line which equates to a 38% DNF. This is just incredible. I can’t even imagine the heartbreak and disappointment. But this sport brings out the best in people and I have to shout out to the lady from San Diego who approached me at dinner the night after to congratulate me. I asked if she raced and she said yes, but as I started to congratulate her as well, she said “but I didn’t finish. I got pulled from the course”.  My heart immediately broke for her. She must have been devastated. But to make the effort to congratulate me? What a class act. I don’t think I could have done that if I was in her shoes. Lesson learned.

Now, on to the novel that is my race report. I tried to keep it concise…I failed.

Even a week after the race, I still can’t wrap my head around the day. And, yes, “day” couldn’t be a more appropriate word. I’ve completed 7 half-Ironman races and this would be my first full Ironman…but nothing could prepare me for what the day had in store.

Anyone who has ever swum with me at Tower 26 knows that I always say, “The worst part of this sport is the split second after you jump into the cold pool at the start of practice”.  Who knew that Ironman Cork 2019 would be 14.5 hours of those “split seconds”.

Let’s get the typical pre-race stuff out of the way because, frankly, it was the most UN-eventful part of the race experience.  I registered, got my race bags, got my bike from TriBike Transport, accidentally swam into a school of jellyfish during my practice swim, packed all T1/T2/special needs bags, racked my bike, dropped the bags off and got my timing chip.  I even rode my bike back to the house from TriBike in the rain…joking along the way about how shitty riding in the rain was. In hindsight, I should have knocked wood and crossed my fingers when I said that because I jinxed the hell out of myself.

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Going into this race, I knew I was taking a chance with the weather. It was Ireland in June after all. I figured worst case, it might sprinkle a little off and on during the day (as it did with 70.3 Dublin in 2017). When we arrived in Ireland, I was pleasantly surprised as Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Monday were gorgeous! Blue skies and 60-70 degrees. Wait, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Monday? Yep, I skipped Sunday, because a surprise hurricane-like storm moved into southwest Ireland that day – race day.

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We had all received an email Saturday letting us know that the swim may be shortened due to the combination of cold water and air temps, which was so hard to believe because it was blue skies and warm. However, later in the day I checked the weather and all of a sudden Sunday went from “partly cloudy” and “drizzle possible in the afternoon”, to heavy rain from 3am to midnight Sunday, with 20-25mph winds, a high of 55 degrees and a “small craft advisory”.  I’m sorry, what now?

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I woke up race morning around 3:15am and, though it was still dark, just hearing that wind whipping was starting to seriously freak me out. I hadn’t even seen the ocean yet but I just knew there was no way this swim was going to happen at all – forget just shortening.

I went along and prepared as if the race was going to go off as planned. When it finally became light, I looked at the ocean and holy hell…IT WAS ANGRY AF. Swells going in 20 different directions, wind whipping, white caps…and not one buoy, lifeguard or paddler in sight.

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“Team Granich-Stewart” (Mom, Dad and Lou) and I headed out to transition around 5:00am, walking about a mile along the beach in high winds. Then, the rain started. My mom had the brilliant idea of putting their feet in plastic bags, then into their shoes and duct taping it. They also had black trash bags around their bodies – they looked like homeless people. I laughed at the time, but fast forward ½ a day and I would be running the route looking just as homeless as them.

When we got to transition, I went to my bike and put on the computer, bottles and filled my bento with almonds, sour patch kids and a collage of pictures of my friends and family. I also took the time to, um, visit the toilet. After the par-for-the-course long wait, I finally got into a porta-potty.

I sat down, did my business…and then realized that there was no toilet paper. Which, um, for some bathroom visits are ok. But, um, not this one. So I looked around and tried to figure out what to do. I looked down at my feet and saw that I was wearing long socks. Long story short? I’m now down a sock and that poor sock met a very horrific death.

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Meanwhile, most everyone was in wetsuits and ready to swim, but anybody with any common sense would take one look at that angry ocean and know there was not going to be a swim.

And, indeed, they called off the swim. We would be doing a time trial bike start by race number. I was never so happy to be an All World Athlete (AWA) and #161 as I would be one of the first to get this sh*t show on the road. I was also so very lucky that I didn’t put my wetsuit on and give up my “morning clothes” because those clothes would be a godsend later in the day.

I went into the change tent and put on a regular tri suit, short sleeve bike top, bike shorts, two sets of arm warmers, leg warmers, a vest and a long sleeve jacket. “This has to be more than plenty, I’m gonna get way too hot” I thought while I walked to my bike…

While I was lucky to get sent off right after the pros, others waited as long as 1.5 hours before they even got on the bike…shivering and getting soaked to the bone in the process.

I got the start line, mounted Green Flash, and set off for the longest day of my life…even hearing Mike Reilly say “Ok, Megan, have a good race!”. Thanks Mike!

The first 30-45 min or so were the best! While it was pouring rain, windy as hell and cold, I was warm enough from the time I spent in the tent getting into my dry bike kit. I was smiling and chatting with others on the course (and singing the entire first Wilson Phillips album). I was keeping my 180-190w pace easily and while the roads were beyond absolute and utter “fecking shite”, I was doing it. I was doing a freaking Ironman!

But then it all went downhill. After 45 minutes, I was soaked from head to toe and whatever comes after that. Every descent was miserable and now the rain was occasionally turning into hail. This was the worst cold I’ve ever experienced in my life, and I’m a skier! I prayed for hills. Any hill. Just something to get me pushing to warm up! Even on the flats I couldn’t push it too much because the roads were flooded, slippery, full of potholes…and in some cases, literally dirt/gravel roads. I was shivering and shaking and couldn’t feel my hands – which made braking very difficult. I forced myself to eat and drink as much as I could. At this point I was hanging in there. I was beyond miserable but I knew everyone else was in the same boat (a little swim joke there) and if they’re all still out there, I could do it too. At some point, however, I began to get very nauseous and couldn’t eat anything. I also couldn’t brake hardly at all because my fingers were now totally numb. I began to get dizzy and had a hard time concentrating on the road. This started to scare me because this bike course (even without these conditions) required a LOT of focus. I now know what they mean by a “technical” bike course. As a side note, I may have gone into this race with “meh” bike skills, but after this race? I can handle Le Tour.

I stopped once on the first loop to refill a bottle with regular water, take a couple bites of a Payday (thanks Jim and George for the tip!) and to regroup and have a real talk with myself.

I got through the first loop, barely, and found my team at the bottom of Windmill Hill. This 22% hill came at the end of each loop. I had tried it a few days beforehand and decided it wasn’t worth the energy suck on my legs, so I had planned on walking it. When I approached my parents and Lou, I was as miserable and as “out of it” as I’ve ever been. The video Lou took I don’t even remember. I was shaking, dizzy, eyes couldn’t focus, delusional, nauseous and my jaw was so frozen I couldn’t talk and also now couldn’t eat anything because of it. Turns out, it’s hard to chew when your jaw is numb. I can’t say for certain, but I truly believe I had hypothermia.

They gave me a good pep talk and then others in the crowd started chanting my name, urging me to just walk up that hill. Thank goodness Lou took that video because I don’t really remember the crowd chanting “Megan! Megan!” and verbally pushing me up the hill. Lou ran right beside me up the hill, gave me one last pep talk and I decided to move forward with loop #2.

Shortly after loop 2 started, I stopped at my special needs bag. I again took the time to stop, regroup and talk myself down from the ledge. I dug out my peanut butter sandwich, but couldn’t even open it my hands were so numb. One of the volunteers saw my struggle and came over to offer to HOLD THE SANDWICH while I took bites! It was at this time I realized that if I showed any more volunteers how freezing, nauseous and delusional I was, they might pull me from the course. I acted like I was ok, yanked open the bag and ate a few bites…and that was as much as I could stomach.

Turns out, that was the last thing I could eat for well over 3 hours. I don’t think I ate anything between then and the time I hit Windmill Hill the second time.

I won’t go into super details on loop #2 as this is already becoming beyond ridiculously long. I just put my head down and did what I could to keep from quitting, crying, crashing or getting pulled from the course. The descents, again, were the worst because the temperature plummeted and I would start shaking so much, my handlebars would wobble. Not a good thing on steep, wet downhills. I just kept slapping my face to keep myself focused on the road.

I hit Windmill Hill for the second and last time, saw my team again, broke down again, and had Lou run with me up the hill again. Ok, at least that part was over. I just rode 112 miles and over 7,200 feet of climbing. Now I just had to get to transition, change out of the soaking wet clothes, get warm and get to my “happy place” – the run.

When I got to the women’s change tent, I was met by a few other girls who I had talked to before the race. None of us could stop shaking. None of us could get our clothes off. None of us could eat. All of us wanted to stop. One poor girl was shivering for 15 minutes before she even attempted to take any of her bike gear off.

I’m known for long transition times, but 40 minutes was a new record for me.  I may never podium in an Ironman, but if there was a podium for transition I would be popping champagne every time.

I couldn’t get undressed. I couldn’t put on my socks. I couldn’t get on my run kit. I couldn’t put on my shoes. It took me and two other girls to zip up my run kit. It was that bad – for all of us.

I finally got situated, stood by the heaters for a minute and was about to head out when I realized: “I STILL HAVE MY MORNING CLOTHES IN THE BIKE BAG!”. I went back to my other bag, put on my camouflage sweatpants, long sleeve shirt, beanie and Patagonia jacket. I have no shame. Sure, I looked homeless. But I didn’t give any f**ks. I figured if I wore it for a few miles, I would definitely warm up from the core and then I would be off!! My run would save me! (Thank god no one got this on film…but I was quite the sight.)

I got to mile 2 and, while I was warm, it turns out that Patagonia jackets get quite heavy when they’re wet. When I found my team, I stripped down (to the laughs of the crowd who had to have been wondering WTF I was running in), got another pep talk from my team and headed off! Now I was in my element…until maybe another mile down the road when the shivering and nausea started again. I felt just as bad as on the bike. I was so cold. Thank God when I finished the first loop I got a couple space blankets to wrap around me. I figured I would wrap myself up in them and shuffle for a couple miles just to warm up and then I would shed them and get back to my 8:30 pace.  “Yeah baby! That’s the plan!” I thought. But for the next 20+ miles, I continued running…then jogging…then shuffling…then walking in my space blankets. I could not get warm the entire time. My body was so cold and shivering it hurt to move.

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I can honestly say that I would not have finished the run if it wasn’t for Lou. She would meet me at the same point of every loop and run with me for 3+ miles at a time. 3+ miles. In her soaking wet jeans, shirt, socks and shoes. She would just keep talking about anything and everything that would keep my mind off of it all. Then she would peel off and let me finish the loop, get my CHERISHED colored wristband for that loop, and then meet and repeat…for all four loops. She was my savior during that run. I know I wouldn’t have finished it without her.

I continued to shuffle along. All I could do was move forward. While my goal of sub-12 WITH a swim had been crushed, at this point my only goal was finishing under the cutoff…and not end up in the hospital.

This new goal was hard for me to accept, especially after all the tough work I had done leading up to the race. I was supposed to finish the bike in a little over 6 hours and the run somewhere around 4. But each time I thought about that, I would focus on the fact that I was still shivering uncontrollably, in a space blanket and just trying to keep water down at this point. I tried a bite of banana, a gel, a chew, bite of a jelly sandwich and even some Taytos! Nothing would go down. If I thought my body felt bad before I ate something, I would eat a small bite of anything and I would feel worse. My entire race, no joke, was fueled by maybe 5 gels, 3 chews, 1.5 sandwiches, a ¼ of a banana and a couple potato chips (…and a partridge in a pear tree). That’s all I could stomach.

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At this point, the sun was almost down. I knew I was going to finish and I knew I was going to finish under the 15 hour limit…I was going to be an Ironman! Even though another goal was to not cross that finish line in the dark, thank goodness the sun sets REALLLLLY late in Ireland. I crossed that line with just the teeny tiniest bit of daylight still going (and for those of you looking at the finisher pics below, I will contend until my dying day that the clouds covered the last bit of sun!). All I could think about was what Mike wrote in my book the day prior…”Megan, you WILL be an Ironman!”. I had to finish! I just had to.

As I approached the last 1/4 mile, I shed my best friend the space blanket and took off the beanie. I moved my bib around and made myself look acceptable for the red carpet.

I always said I would make sure to leave enough space between me and the person(s) in front of me so that my finisher pics would be good! The two guys in front of me stopped dead in their tracks out of nowhere, grabbed each other’s hands and proceeded to have a f**king photo shoot under the finish line. I stopped and jogged in place but I guess I didn’t leave enough space because most of the finisher pics are either of me with my arms down (because I didn’t time the “shaka pose” right) or those two dudes cutting me off. But they did manage to get a couple decent ones from the side, so I can’t complain too much! (Lesson learned, again!)

There may not have been an official swim leg (though I still can’t believe I swam 140.6 miles haha!) and those guys may have gotten in the way of my finish line pose, but you know what those two guys can’t get in the way of? The fact that Mike Reilly said those words:

“Megan Granich, YOU are an IRONMAN, Megan. YES, YOU ARE!”

But one does not become an Ironman if they don’t have a “team”. Team Granich-Stewart takes the prize for #1 Sherpas in Ireland! From their stiff upper lip and encouraging talk when I was losing my shit even before the race started (ok, maybe days and weeks leading up to it), to spending just as much time in the horrific weather as I did and getting soaked and chilled to the bone.

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When we finally got home after the race, they could have showered and crashed into bed. But nope, they dragged themselves out to find pizza for me. I’m not sure what else I can say because what they went through even leading up to leaving for Ireland, is phenomenal. And Lou? Forget running with me every loop – what she had to deal with on a daily basis the last couple of months? God bless her. She is a freaking saint.

My sisters, Jenny and Kate, even though they couldn’t make the trip, were just as supportive along this journey. They dealt with my one-track mind and busy schedule and never once gave me crap for showing up late (and tired and hungry) to family events like kid birthday parties or gender reveal shindigs. Thank you guys, I owe you babysitting for life!

The emotional support from my family team was beyond amazing…but without Jim Lubinski I wouldn’t have been ready physically for this challenge.

Jim may have tried to kill me, but those hard trainer workouts when I thought I couldn’t last another minute? That’s the kind of crap that gets you through circumstances like this race.  Jim?  You are the best there is and I’m so lucky and honored to have you as my coach…that is unless you’ve had enough of me by now!

Gerry Rodrigues. Mr. Tower 26.  The man whom I look up to and respect more than I can express. For 4 years, he has pushed me to become not only a better swimmer but a better person. I am more confident in the water than I ever thought I could be. Gerry, what you said to me as I gave you a hug on my way home from the Redondo ocean swim a couple Sundays ago stuck with me on race day: “You’re ready for this. You did the work. Trust the process”.  Even though the swim was cancelled, just know that I was ready to crush it…and by crush it, I mean, just swim a decent enough time not to embarrass you. 😛

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As most of you know, I am injury and accident prone. And just like Humpty Dumpty, someone always has to put me back together again. Dr. Dan. The man! If it wasn’t for Dr. Geller, I don’t know if I would have gotten to the start line.  From dealing with my anxiety and neuroticism over little pains or little pains that turned into big legit pains…he would go above and beyond. He’d get me into his office yesterday if he could…even stopping mid-ride on a weekend to respond to me or while at the airport during a layover. Dr. Dan? You are an amazing person and I can’t thank you enough.

Then, there are my friends…Team Tuesday and all my T26 comrades. All their well wishes and pep talks and even personal videos they sent me prior to the race meant more than they could ever know. I owe you guys big time. Dinner, beer and coffee beans on me!

Also, I’d like to thank Instacart and Amazon Fresh because without them, I wouldn’t have been able to get meals prepared AND finish a long trainer ride at the same time.

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Lastly, the town and the people of Youghal. They were the most amazing and inspirational part of this whole experience. From Therese at the Quality Hotel who stopped what she was doing to drive us all into town in her own car when there were no taxis nearby, to 100’s cheering on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain, to willing racers up Windmill Hill, to making a human tunnel for us to run under (granted they were all a wee bit drunk at this point), the Irish people came through and proved once again that they are the nicest people in the world. Even after the race, everyone in finisher t-shirts and medals were treated like rock stars! Every pub and restaurant we went into I was asked to take pictures and selfies with people, I was taking pictures with little kids, shop owners, other athletes…a little girl even asked me if she could take a picture with my medal. Places like The Coffee Pot, The Nook and the Imperial Hotel made us athletes feel like a million bucks! I was even gifted the coveted “Ironman Cork” flag from The Nook from Youghal natives Ger Flanagan and Anne Barry and ended up in the local paper! This town and its people are going to put Ironman Ireland Cork on the map and make it a fast sell out and bucket list race year after year – this I have no doubt.

One last note?

My favorite race sign? “Pedal faster, you’re late for Mass!”