Ironman Coeur d’Alene 2009 Race Report, Part 2

The Race

There’s not much to say about the race: I did it, moving forward at a moderate pace, and seeing what happened. There were no physical, mental, or spiritual crises. It wasn’t, as my running coach, Joan Nesbit Mabe asked me, a vision quest. It was just a long day of exercise. I’ll let the pictures and captions tell most of the story.

Wes says I look nervous; I say the swim cap is giving me a face lift

Without purposefully avoiding the start line, I hung out in the park until about 6:55. And I was glad that I had, because once I did enter the beach, I felt a moment of awe at the sheer number of athletes lined up on the narrow strip of beach. You’ll see what I mean in this video Wes shot.

It felt like it looks: crowded. But the water wasn’t too cold, nor was it too choppy, though there was some wind. After swimming in 53-degree high chop at Worlds last year, I’ve learned that I can swim in pretty extreme conditions. On the plane home to North Carolina, I talked to a fellow IM CdA participant who teaches rescue swimming for the Coast Guard, and we agreed it was a pleasant enough swim. I was hit many times, sure, and I took one really good blow to the left goggle that felt like it would leave a shiner, but the swim went by quite smoothly, at around 36 minutes for the first 1.2 mile loop—with a draft—and 40 minutes for the second loop. I’d feared it would be boring; it wasn’t. There was plenty to pay attention to: form, breath, the swimmers around me, negotiating the light chop, finding the buoys.

En route to the wetsuit shuckers, who were wonderful and quick

I took my time in transition . . .

squeezed my hair dry . . .

and headed out on a 112-mile jaunt . . .

catching a view of Wes along the way. It was the last I’d see of him till the finishers’ chute.

The bike course is a civil mix of flat, aero-friendly roads and beautiful hills. There are a number of short, steep climbs, but nothing longer than a minute or two. Having trained with power, I knew where I wanted to cap my effort, but on these little hills, it was a matter of push myself over the cap or push my bike on foot. I did pass a few walkers on these hills.

The one and only low point of the day came around mile 60 of the bike. I wanted my lunch, to be picked up at the bike special-needs bag station around mile 62, and I was starting to feel just a little bit sorry for myself. I was feeling tired of being passed. Then a woman came by me—passing me, yep—and, reading my first name on my bib, asked, “Are you Sage Rountree?” When I told her yes, she yelled back, “I love your book!” In best southern fashion, I said, “Bless your heart! I love you!” Lisa, thanks so much. You may have nipped a downward spiral in the bud, and I’m very grateful for you. Thanks for taking the time to say that.

Entering the town of Hayden Lake, I knew I’d soon be passing my parents’ friends’ cabin, and that I’d probably see my family there for a brief moment. I told myself not to get too excited, because I didn’t want to be disappointed if they weren’t in place. But there they were, at the base of the meanest hill on the course. Coming off the preceding downhill, I was moving pretty fast, but the brief glimpse of my parents and children (I shouted only “Lily! Lily! Vivi! Hi!” and got a gleeful “Mommy!” in return) in the five seconds I passed them lifted me all the way up the hill and fed me for a good hour or so.

Passing my family around mile 80

Aid stations were so well stocked and manned by such friendly people that I stopped whenever I felt like it, probably more than necessary. It was worth it to interact with the wonderful volunteers. They held my bike while I used the portalet, then had it pointed in the right direction and loaded with a new water bottle when I came out. Watching the odometer click over to 106 was nice; my previous longest ride was 105 miles.

On to the second transition and out on the run. The course was gorgeous, with many miles run along the lakeside bike path, and the rest in the beautiful downtown area. My first two miles were fast, as I knew they would be, but I quickly settled in to a reasonable pace, just as I’d practiced in training, and I walked through each aid station to take in water and gel. It was getting cooler out, and it had begun to rain a little—a light misting rain that never soaked my shoes. Perfect weather to run a marathon, but not necessarily after 2.4 miles of swimming and 112 miles of riding. Still, it was far better than hot and sunny.

I hadn’t given much thought to how it would feel to run for that long, figuring I could think about it while it was happening. But I never needed to. I just moved ahead, looking around, checking nutrition. I expected it to become very hard at some point, possibly as early as mile 15, so I stayed as relaxed as I could. My right calf constantly threatened to cramp, so I welcomed the rolling terrain that let me shift muscle use a little. Before I knew it, I was more than half done and coming up on the Mardi Gras–themed run special needs station, staffed by jolly volunteers. One held my bag out for me and chuckled to see I’d stocked it with a Colgate Wisp disposable toothbrush. After eating so much sugar, I thought I might want it! Instead, I took only my dry socks to use as gloves.

And I kept running. Through mile 18, where I realized I couldn’t stand yet another gel and switched to cola, chicken broth, and water. Through mile 20, where a woman stood by the side of the road as I climbed to the last turnaround point. She grabbed my besocked hand and said, “You are amazing!” “No,” I replied, “You are, for standing out here in the cold and rain and sharing your energy!” Through the many house parties, where cheerleaders blared music and stood under tarpaulins, beer in hand, reacting loudly to anyone who smiled and waved at them. Through mile 25, back into town. Through the split, where finishers bore left and others headed right, to begin lap 2. Through the corner and onto Sherman Avenue—this race’s equivalent of Boston’s turn onto Boylston Street—where volunteers shouted, “You did it! Look, there’s the finish!” Through the finisher’s chute, after seeing Wes; past my family, though I didn’t realize they’d seen me finish until afterward. Wes caught a video of my finish. You’ll hear him shouting, my response, and then Mike Reilly calling my name.

A very nice woman with a firm grip received me at the finish line. She got me wrapped in a mylar blanket, put on my medal, and handed me my finisher’s shirt and hat, all while keeping her hands on me, looking in my eyes, and asking me kind questions about my race. “She’s really present,” I thought, before realizing that she was conducting triage. I passed her evaluation and was released to find my family. On the trip toward our house—where I enjoyed a glass of Champagne and some delicious leftovers while lying back in a cozy recliner—Vivi piped up from the back of the minivan, “Mommy is famous!” I recounted the story about Lisa, and we agreed that it’s good to be a little famous, if only in the eyes of your children.

For my parents’ sweet take on the experience, read their reports. Mom’s is here; Dad’s is here.

Part 1 | Part 3