Ironman 70.3 World Championship

St. George, Utah / September 18, 2021

IM 70.3 World Championship St. George 2021: The only thing missing was Toto, Dorothy and a plague of locusts.

Where do I even begin on this one? I think I’ll start with some honesty, an apology and a confession.

Let’s start with the “72-hour rule” I didn’t abide by. What’s the “72-hour rule”? It’s that window of time after a bad race where you don’t make any rash decisions or let your “Negative Nancy” come out. You give yourself time to process what happened and how you will learn from it. Sure, on race day, I was proud of being able to even finish the race (and not crash or get electrocuted). On race day, I didn’t care about my disappointing time.

But fast forward not even 12 hours later? “Competitive Megan” took over. She poured over the numbers and stats and lamented at all the mistakes within her control that would have resulted in a much better time. She took her and her “Pity Party of One” to social media – whining like a baby that it was time to quit the sport. Instead of sleeping on it for a couple of days, “Competitive Megan” went from being proud to overcome all the adversity, being able to just finish a World Championship course with a smile and enjoying the experience, to a whining, unhumble and whoa-is-me crybaby.

For this, I apologize. I guess you can say ignoring the 72-hour rule has taught me yet another lesson: Don’t ignore the 72-hour rule.

This is the race where I learned that final time doesn’t always mean success. The time wasn’t what I had hoped, but as any athlete will tell you: The bad races are the ones you learn the most from.  Aside from learning that I have better bike handling skills than I thought, that I need to stop joking around in transition and on the course with my friends and family, I also came to the realization of something I’ve known for a while – I am overtrained.

This is not by any fault of my coach. Jim is amazing. The way he plans out a race build within the season and how detailed oriented he is, it’s no wonder most of his athletes podium on a regular basis. However, after doing his prescribed workout for the day…but then hopping on Zwift for a few more hours, each and every single day (not exaggerating)? Recipe for disaster. I knew it wasn’t a good habit to get into, but riding has really helped me deal with the stress of the last 18 months of working from home. Giving myself that time each day to just spin and watch tv and relax my mind, kept me sane. While it kept me sane, it was also trashing my body to the point where I wouldn’t have been able to perform any better on Saturday had the weather been perfect. It may sound like an excuse, and maybe it is.  But from my standpoint, I see it as a huge lesson learned – finally.

Ok, now for the story of race day…

In the week leading up to the race, the weather forecast was consistent: It was going to be upwards of 100 degrees on race day. It didn’t budge much in either direction.

On Thursday, that seemed to shift a little bit. There was a little cloud icon over Saturday that said “mostly cloudy but still very warm”. By Friday morning, that little cloud icon had a lightning bolt coming out of it.  Thunderstorms were to hit St. George around 10am on Saturday bringing “devastating winds”.

After what happened at IM Ireland, my panic set in quickly. But, as with Ireland, there was nothing I could do about the weather. Only thing to do was to get to race day and see what the Gods had in store. The Gods, turn out, have one hell of a sense of humor when it comes to me, weather and races.

Race morning we were greeted with a text saying that it would be a non-wetsuit swim. My swim is bad enough with the buoyancy of a wetsuit in the more buoyant salt water…what was going to happen without the wetsuit in fresh water? After having the DNF in Santa Barbara due to being so cold after the swim WITH a wetsuit, I started to panic that would happen again.

I was wrong…sort of. As we lined up for the swim, the sun was shining, it was hot AF and even wearing only my kit and a swim skin I was sweating! Big time. When I entered the water, my first thought was “Don’t let it be cold…wait…oh wow…ok…this feels nice. Really nice. Ok, yes, this will do”.

By the second buoy, however, the lack of being able to float mixed with my own stupidity in ignoring swim workouts recently, caught up with me. I panicked. I ALMOST went to a kayak to hang on and make the terrible decision to throw in the towel right then. I refused. I absolutely mother f**king refused to give into the Bad Wolf. And even though I felt like I was swimming in a sea of Skittles because wave after wave of other women were passing me in their different wave-colored caps, I kept my head down and kept swimming.

As I turned to head back in, I wondered who turned off the lights. When I jumped in it was sunny and hot! As I came back into shore?  The sky was pitch black ahead and looked (without being overly dramatic) like the apocalypse. Ominous is a word that doesn’t even begin to describe it. I knew for sure it must have been getting close to 10:00am.

Let me back up a second to remind everyone who watched the pro race that they started over 2 hours before the women. After watching the broadcast, it was like watching a completely different day.

So…back to 10:00am. I mentioned the black clouds ahead. Did I bring up the lightning I happened to see as I was in the water? I’m no scientist, but that’s a bad thing right?

Lucky for me, I was able to finish and get out of the water and into T1. Other women behind me weren’t as lucky as 80 of them were frantically pulled from the water and onto boats for safety. Once it had let up, they brought them to shore and let them get on the bike and continue the race. Oh, and speaking of not being a scientist, I’m pretty sure sending people out on metal bikes in the middle of the desert with no cover, during lightning, isn’t smart either. But I digress.

Alright, alright…so back to 10:00am…again. I’m in T1 refusing to give into the cold that I knew would hit once that sun left and the dark clouds came in. I had a better plan this time (versus Santa Barbara) and I went into the change tent and wrapped a space blanket around my core and zipped my kit up around it. I put on cycling gloves and even put longer socks that I had cut holes into to make into another set of gloves. I looked ridiculous, but knowing that it would probably not be sunny once I finished the swim and that it wouldn’t be wetsuit legal, I put lots of “contingency plan” gear in my bike bag – including hand warmers used for skiing (don’t hate, it’s genius). I put on a long sleeve windbreaker (the famous blue one from the IM Ireland Windmill Hill debacle video) and away I went…shivering…but at least I was on the bike. Sure I was one of the last bikes on the rack, but that’s nothing new for this adult-onset swimmer.

I don’t think I even got 50 feet out on the bike when I realized just how windy it was. Signs were blowing over, announcers were telling spectators to “Get on the busses NOW!”…all the while I’m pedaling my heart out and going nowhere – possibly backwards. The wind (which IM officials have said was between 30-40mph sustained with 50+ mph gusts) was pushing me all over the place. I could barely keep upright. Since I was going uphill at the time, I thought to myself there was no way I could keep from crashing once I started on the flats and certainly on the descents. I contemplated for a couple minutes to try to crash “easy” so that it would be my excuse to get out of racing any further. But as I watched all the women ahead of me, wobbling and weaving all over the road, I told myself that if they are still riding, I can too. We all may have looked like we were riding after one too many cervezas, but we were out there doing it.

The wind was blowing red sand across the road, which while it hurt, it was actually helpful to know which direction it was coming from so I could adjust and not get blown over. I was slowly able to calm down and tell myself “You CAN handle the wind, you’re going to be ok”….until the rain started. Pouring rain.  And for some reason, this rain hurt. It was then that I realized that rain doesn’t hurt – it was now hailing – sideways. Fantastic.

This went on for the first 45 minutes of the ride. Once it subsided and the wind calmed down to, you know, normal wind, I was stoked! I was so happy that I didn’t quit after the swim or quit after getting on the bike in a hurricane. Did I mention that the swim location is technically in a town called Hurricane, Utah? Yep, you can’t make this stuff up kids.

At this point, I could start taking in some of my water and nutrition. Not much, but some. Had I tried that the first hour, I would have been blown into Arizona. I was feeling good. Not great, a little traumatized, still a little cold, but good. I can do good.

Out of nowhere, I got another boost! I saw my Sherpa team mid-ride! My parents and wifey-to-be, Lou, gave me one hell of a pick-me-up! They told me they wouldn’t be able to get to see me on the bike course due to how it’s laid out and how they needed to make sure they got to see me on the run…but they made the trek up that massive hill (my Dad’s knee will be hurting him until 2024) and surprised me with their cheering and cow bells and smiles. It was perfect timing! Absolutely perfect! I rode past and smiled ear-to-ear and simply said “It’s so good to see you guys!” Followed by “But oh man, I’ve seen some things…”.

I made myself push hard on the hills but played it super safe on the downhill. For a long while, everything seemed like it would be ok. Even the long climb up Snow Canyon was fun! I love climbing but climbing in that scenery, in nicer weather, was awesome. I was even surprised by a teammate of mine, Stephanie, near the top of the climb. She was shouting “Come on Megan! Do it for the beer!”. She definitely knows that if beer is involved, I will get it done.

Things were looking up! Until I had to go down. Downhill…about 10 miles downhill. Back into town. No big deal right? A nice cruise into T2 to recover and let the legs rest before having to run! However, a new thunderstorm showed up and said to the 10am storm, “Hold my beer”.

This time, there was no sand to give me hints on the direction of the wind. It would hit out of nowhere and blow rain in every direction which made it hard to see. I was continuing to pedal as that helps keep a bike stable in wind, but I was also braking at the same time to slow myself down. I don’t have a death wish – but God bless those women who were flying past me at insane speeds, in aero position, out of the saddle and supertucking. I don’t know if they are certified crazy or my heroes.

When I finally hit the bottom of those 10 miles and made the left turn back into town and a more enclosed and wind-shielded neighborhood, it hit me. It hit me just how dangerous and crazy the last 3+ hours were. I could not believe I had it in me. I was so relived and couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened. I started crying with relief and pride.

People keep saying “But you got through Ireland!”. There is a huge difference between IM Ireland and this race: Ireland was cold, rainy, windy and just miserable. This race was dangerous. Huge difference. I still can’t believe they didn’t pull us off the bike course during that first 45 minutes.

As I rode into T2, and the volunteers (as they always do) yell at you where to dismount, I said to one of them “Gladly!”. And when the other volunteer came to grab my bike I said “Do you want it? It’s yours”. While I was so proud of my bike, Mr. Blue, for keeping me safe, I never want to see it again.

In T2 I saw my crew cheering! I put on dry socks (which was nice not just because of the rain, but because, like a true triathlete, my bike doubled as a porta-potty at mile 30 and 53). I ate a Picky bar (which was good because all I could stomach during the ride was one bottle of calories, one gel and a bottle of water). I put on the run shoes, bib and visor and headed out…joking with my crew as well as my coach who was just outside T2 cheering me on. It meant so much to see them and I can’t thank Jim enough for sticking around to see me out on the run.

Everyone knows, I love running. Running is my favorite. Especially in the rain. Getting off the bike in the rain and leaving to run in the rain was awesome! But, in true form with how this day went, I was no sooner 3 minutes into the run when the clouds disappeared in the blink of an eye and the temperature sky rocketed. If you had asked me 10 minutes earlier that I would have to walk aid stations, put ice down my top and let the volunteers hose me down with cold water, I would have said you are one taco short of a combo plate.

So…now it was 5 billion degrees. This course is a 2-loop course that starts with a massive hill that most people I saw, were walking. A little false flat section and then a downhill that is so steep, my quads looked up at me and said “Why do you hate us?”.

After how much energy I lost navigating the weather on the bike, the little nutrition I had, and knowing my time goal for the day was not happening, I decided to walk a little and run a little – rinse and repeat. While I was walking, I would chat with others and hear their story of the bike ride. Two women I talked to said they had done 30+ IM races and this was by far the most dangerous batch of circumstances they had ever encountered.

It was nice to not be in “Super Competitive Megan” mode at this point. What did I have to prove? Nothing. I qualified to be in this race. I deserved to be here. Had I been all “aggro-Megan” I wouldn’t have enjoyed the scenery on the run, traded stories with fellow athletes or stopped to chat with my parents and Lou. I probably would have been so “in the zone” I wouldn’t have seen Heather Jackson near the finish line cheering me on and giving me one hell of a high five.

It goes without saying that I couldn’t have gotten here or gotten through the race without my family, Lou, Coach Jim, Tower 26 and my Wattie/Plush teammates. Each and every one of them played a part in getting me to that finish line. I guarantee I thought of each of you, numerous times during this race. You may not know it, but you got me to that finish line…well, that and the promise of beer…and knowing Mike Reilly would be calling me in again, just like in Ireland.

Also like Ireland, I had multiple plans. Plans A and B went to hell faster than the cow that flew by me mid-air at mile 4.

But plan C? It was to enjoy the Championship experience and finish with a smile. In that case, I popped champagne on the top of podium – for me.

Lastly, for some video comic relief…(I hope my Dad doesn’t kill me because he was so mad at himself, but this is too funny not to share) just wait for it… #youhadonejob