Ironman World Championship 1.6 (The 4 and the 0 of the 140.6 apparently weren’t meant to be).
Before I go any further, my biggest congratulations to all who finished the race! You all are amazing athletes who should take such pride in that accomplishment. I know it was a brutal day out there but you grabbed the bull by its horns and kicked it’s ass! Well done all!
Ok, so, what happened to the other 139 miles?
Everyone who has ever attempted a full will tell you it’s “the journey” leading up to it and getting to the start line is the hardest part. The race itself is a “victory lap”. Unfortunately, my victory lap got cut short. Very, very short.
I’m not going to go into the “Woah is me. I worked so hard for months and months…boohoo”. This can happen to anyone – and Saturday it happened to me.
The week leading up to the race had gone as well as can be expected. I hadn’t been doing much running at all due to nagging ankle and calf issues that just wouldn’t die down even after 10+ days of rest. But as they say, “the hay was in the barn”. I decided to focus on the swim leading up to Saturday. The plan was to go to the practice swim first thing Tuesday morning when it opened, but the high winds had a different plan and it was cancelled.
I got up first thing on Wednesday, jumped in the wetsuit (complete with a space blanket wrapped around my core, 2 caps + neoprene cap and hand warmers in my back kit pocket. Don’t knock it until you try it) and drove down to Sand Hallow.
The main goal was to mimic as much of race day as possible – including trying to swim as close to 2.4 miles as I could. I wanted to see how long it would take and how my body would adapt to the cold. Long story short, I jumped in the 58-degree water, did four loops of the practice course they set up and hit just about 2 miles. I wasn’t too cold when I got out and it was a HUGE confidence booster.
64 degrees??? I couldn’t believe my luck. Had to confirm with the “Voice of Ironman”
Fast forward to race day, my sherpa team (Lou, Mom and Dad) wrapped me up the exact same way as Wednesday. I was nervous, very nervous in fact. But knowing how great Wednesday’s practice was, I leaned on that experience and “trusted the training”.
It was almost go time. I had 12 minutes until our wave started going in, or at least I thought. Mike Reilly was off to the side and announced the water temp was 64. 64!!! I couldn’t believe my luck. I even walked over to him and confirmed he said 64 and not 44! He confirmed it, wished me luck…and then I heard the beeps starting. My immediate reaction was “WTF? It’s 7:35. We aren’t supposed to start until 7:47.” Before I knew it, I was in the water.
My first thought was “Wow, this water is a LOT warmer!” It was so warm, I didn’t even get the ice cream headache. My second thought was “Ok, Megan, do what you did on Wednesday. Focus on ONE buoy at a time and tick them off!”.
I was swimming along, buoy to buoy…1, 2, 3…and even thinking the first thing I was going to say to my team out of the water was “I’m never NOT doing a practice swim again. That was huge!”.
But then I started not to feel right. Shortness of breath and the feeling of constantly having to clear my throat. My exhales underwater turned into the opportunity to try to clear my throat. Then I noticed that I was starting to wheeze. I figured it was just anxiety and it would pass as soon as I slowed my breathing and focused on just ticking off those buoys…and thinking of funny things friends had said leading up to the big day and things I wanted to use for motivation. It worked for a little while but then the shortness of breath got worse, the chest and throat felt like I was hit with sudden onset bronchitis or some shit and the wheezing was getting worse.
Now I was going buoy to buoy, yes, but having to stop and hang on to each one to try to catch my breath and cough. Then it became not just buoy – stop – buoy – stop. It was now buoy – stop and hold on to a kayak – buoy – hold on to a kayak – buoy…(I was less than a mile from the finish and knew that even though it would suck, I had to keep moving forward!)
Who knew this would be the only race footage
It was just getting worse and worse and worse. Clearly, the medical staff on the inflatable pontoon was watching this. They came up to me while hanging on to my 507th kayak and asked what was wrong. I told them the deal. They said “Well, we can clearly hear you wheezing and since it’s only getting worse and you can’t clear your chest, why don’t we take you over to the medical boat and get you checked out?” I asked “Ok, well if you check me out and I’m ok, can I hop back in?” They said “No, I’m sorry. That would be the end of your day unfortunately”. I immediately said “Well, I guess I’ll just keep plugging along at these buoys then.”
I turned around from hanging on the side of the pontoon to start swimming again and one guy grabbed one arm and another grabbed the other (practically ripping my arms out of my sockets) and pulled me into the boat.
And with that. It was done.
They motored me over to the bigger medical boat to get “checked out”. This consisted of them offering me a space blanket and asking how I was feeling now. I told them I was fine but I just needed to get a good cough and get junk out of my chest, stop wheezing, catch my breath and move on. They kept saying that this was happening to a lot of swimmers because of the cold water. It pissed me off because I WAS NOT COLD! At all!! But it was too late. The timing chip was removed, bib number radioed in.
Needless to say, I and two other girls on the boat who got pulled out, were crying pretty badly and holding on to each other to keep from completely breaking down. I won’t forget their faces as long as I live. I’m tearing up just writing this but also laughing a bit at the memory of when the staff made us put on life vests for the ride back to shore. Of all the ironic things they could have asked us to do. We looked at them and said, “Seriously?”.
After I got back to land and re-united with Lou and my parents, they insisted I go to the medical tent. So I went. Oxygen level was low 90s and BP was totally fine. I was now OUT of the wetsuit, still NOT COLD, but still wheezing and trying to clear the gunk out of my chest. It took most of the day to subside but even now, days out, I’m still trying to clear out what feels like gunk in my throat and chest.
It goes without saying that I am beyond devasted. While it’s a “first world problem”, I feel almost like I’m mourning a death. Then again, since Mercury went into retrograde on May 10, I should have known a race on May 7th would be problematic!
So, what’s next? First of all, embrace the suck. Embrace the sadness. Then, it’s time to move on. I’m going to a doctor to see if he can figure out what happened and hopefully, if we can diagnose it right, find a solution so it doesn’t happen again. From what I’ve been told, it was most likely either SIPE (swimming induced pulmonary edema) or cold water/sports induced asthma – I’m hoping for the latter.
D.G.A.F – Jim Crane’s IM racing mantra “I get to the start line, and then I finish. Everything in between? I don’t give a f***” Along side my coach’s mantra to me, which I constantly hear in my head “Megan. Relax. You’re fine.”
I cannot thank everyone enough who messaged and called me to see if I was ok. Every single last one of you made such a difference. A special thank you to Lynn Holmquist who was there and saw me in line to get back on the shuttle and gave me the biggest, strongest hug and pep talk. It was divine intervention to see someone from Tower 26 at that moment.
Then, there was a man who came up to me as I was face down crying sitting at a table, put his arm around me and talked to me for a good 5 minutes. I didn’t say a word, he just talked to me.
There was also a woman whose husband was doing the “T1 walk of shame – spandex edition” as well, who also hugged me so hard and started crying with me.
Add to that, when I walked in to collect my bike gear bag, the volunteers were cheering for me, thinking I was coming to change and get on the bike. When I told them I was out, one after another they came up and hugged me, gave me a quick pep talk and genuinely looked me in the eyes and told me I was going to be ok.
But the most vital people in my life, Lou and my parents, picked up the pieces and tried their damnest to help me cope. They insisted we stay and watch the pros finish (as they know that’s something on my bucket list – but that I wouldn’t have gotten to do if I was racing) and when we finally got back home, they kept the tequila coming. Lou, Dad and Mom…I love you so much.
I know they are just as devastated as I am. They have had to deal with the ups and downs for months during “the journey” and had so much emotionally invested. I feel horrible to have let them down. And horrible isn’t even a strong enough word.
And, a word to my Coach, Jim Lubinski. He prepared me perfectly for this race. I mean, perfectly. When I was worried, he would always say “Megan. Relax. You’re fine”….and in such a way that I constantly heard him saying that in my head on long or hard training days. I even wrote “Relax. You’re fine.” on my leg in Sharpie to look at while riding the bike during the race. Jim, I’m SO sorry that I had the result I did. I know you’ll say we’ll learn from this one and adjust and kick ass the next time…but I’m still very sorry I couldn’t come through and show you just how well you prepared me. Please, don’t let me go as your athlete 😉
This is what it’s all about.
Anyone who knows me, knows that I can do some major damage at an Ironman merch tent. So, you can only imagine the damage I did on the AMEX last week. Part of me says “Hey! None of it says ‘finisher’ on it, keep it! Not many people can say they towed the start line at an IM World Championship.” The other part of me says “All this stuff has bad ju-ju!”. Maybe I should take a poll…keep or sell?
Anyway…onwards and upwards and don’t look back! (unless it’s to watch wave after wave of other age groups swim over on top of you).
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
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.
Get up at 6am and you too can get a bad ass picture on the empty streets of Youghal.
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.
The start of the longest day of my life…
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.
It’s so official looking!
Trying to sort out special needs
Look who feels like a pro!
I packed enough crap to finish the race…and go camping for a month.
Trying to sneak a beer into my run special needs!
Sherpas are ready to roll!
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.
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?
Contemplating why I’m doing this.
“You be good to me tomorrow Green Flash!”
It takes a village…
Before swimming into a school of jellyfish
Representing Tower 26!
Hill? Please.
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.
Not ideal…
My Team!
“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.
Windmill Hill
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!
Don’t let the smile fool you…
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!
Goofing off for the camera before all heck broke loose
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.
Just a wee bit of rain…
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.
“Hold on for one more day…”
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.
That is not a smile. It’s a frozen face.
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.
Stopping for a chat in my attractive race kit.
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.
My hero.
Run clothes?
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.
Not the run I had planned
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.
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.
Shaka or rock n roll? You decide!
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!”
I am an IRONMAN! Now give me my medal, my t-shirt…and a hot Jameson.
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.
We did it!!
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.
My Team the day after. Still traumatized.
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. 😛
The weather the day after. Really?
Post race feast!
Team work makes the dream work.
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.
3rd place overall Amanda Wendorff!
Dan from the Old Imperial hotel showing off his supporter wall
Ger and I with The Nook van!
Anne from The Nook and my Sherpas
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!”
The Ironman Professor 