IM Coeur d'Alene

The first race where I truly wanted to DNF because it was too challenging -- or at least that is what I told myself at the time. 

Course & Weather: 2.4 mile swim in 2-loops in Coeur d'Alene lake @56F, 112 mile hilly bike in 2-loops @78F, and 26.2 mile run in 2-loops @75F. 14:00:58

Race-Day Food:
400 PB with almonds
300 Granola
100 Gel
400 2 Protein:Carb drinks
400 2 Electrolyte drinks
200 4 half bananas
100 1 Ferro Roche chocolate
300 Salt & Pepper Chips
500 large PB with almonds
800 5 mini energy bars
100 bag of pretzels
100 Chips
100 2 cookies
100 1 electrolyte bottle
300 several small cups of cola
4,200 Total

Results Summary:
Swim 1:40:52
T1 11:02
Bike 7:36:27
T2 10:03
Run 4:22:34
Total 14:00:58

The Drive:
My journey began in Playa Del Rey, where I lived for almost a decade. Van packed, bikes racked, food stored, my dad, little brother, my friend Sef, and I set out on a 1,251 mile drive from Los Angeles to Coeur d'Alene. Our departure time was 2:00pm on a Thursday; we arrived in Idaho 2:00pm the next day. Crossing five states within 24 hours would test not only our patience, but also our tolerance to sit for that long of a road trip. This was our longest road trip so we allowed ourselves to enjoy the sights along the way and stop almost every two hours. 

Expo:
Ironman events require athletes to check-in two days in advance. We are required to sign waivers, collect bib numbers, bib stickers, gear bags, chip, and bracelets at the athlete check-in. Once completed, the expo and official Ironman merchandise store is a place to really enjoy if you're a shopper. One day prior, we are required to drop off our bike, bike gear bag, and run gear bag. All the set up for our gear is tedious in itself.

Pre-Race meal:
I love carb loading. I love eating. This is where I truly enjoy myself: fueling. Saturday afternoon we dropped off our bikes and gear bags and went to dinner together. Our dinner menu included appetizers of bruschetta, ceviche, and mozzarella honey-dipped bread; main courses were spinach salad, pesto pizza, and short rib panini; and dessert was deep fried ice-cream. Years later, Tony could not believe how much I can eat. 

Race Day:
Lights out 9:00 pm, alarm was at 5:00 am. Of course, I was wide awake by 2:00 am. By 4:00 am, I went through my morning routine. By 5:30 am, we were on our way to the start. The last minute checklist: potty break, body marked, bike check, gear check, and portable john again. 6:30 am the cannon blasted sending off the pros. Quick sunscreen and body glide application to slide into my wetsuit. The 2,300+ field had a record percentage of females this year at 27% females, 73% males. Despite these numbers, standing in a corner, I still felt alone even though it was as noisy and crowded as can be, I knew that in a few minutes it would just be me and my thoughts. Why was I so scared? "Good luck sis," my brother consoled. "You can do it, Cachito. Go!" were the last words I heard my dad say. One last wave tothem, I turned around to face the bone-chilling lake and didn't look back because I knew if I did, I would be in tears.

Swim:
One last adjustment to my cap and goggles, the cannon went off at 7:00 am. The race had begun for 2,300 hopeful starters. Looking to the left and to the right, all I could see were hundreds of swimmers. Attempting to calmly step into the water was fruitless. The moment water slowly crept into my wetsuit, I could feel my heart rate jump and my lungs beginning to gasp for air as if I was drowning. Breathe. Breathe. Survive the swim. It didn't help that I had caught a cold the day before much worse had to deal with unforeseen womanly issues on race day. Dealing with my menstrual cycle and racing is something I have accepted and learned how to cope with. The moment I put my head into the water, my breathing went into panic. It would be so much easier to just turn back right now.... This was the first time I really didn't want to suffer. I didn't want to continue. But why? Why did I allow this extreme discomfort dominate my mind when I knew I could do this? It was the most difficult internal battle I had mentally as I struggled to capture my breath, not be punched by another swimmer, and not feel like I was dying. When you go into panic mode while you're in the water, it can be the most terrifying experience. After potentially 10-15 minutes of floating there I finally was able to control my breathing and turn around to swim. Stroke by stroke, I repeated the same phrase over and over: you are a strong, suck it up, and do this. I finished the first loop in 53 minutes, where it should have taken me a relaxed 40 minutes. I was able to spot my dad and little brother cheering and into the water I went again for the second loop -- this can be so disheartening when already the first loop was as daunting as it was. Second loop: 47 minutes totaling 1:40:52. I couldn't feel my hands, my toes were numb, and my face had lost sensation. The water at 56F was by far the coldest water I had swam in. Many swimmers were treated for hypothermia. 

T1:
Climbing out of the water, I attempted to run to my bike gear but my body didn't go. I shuffled to the wetsuit strippers. Volunteers kindly handed me my bike gear bag, guided me to the women's changing tent, and led me to my bike after my changing was done. I might have taken too long in T1 with 11:02, but I couldn't help but look around at others still shaken from that swim. Women in my tent shivered uncontrollably and had lost color from their face. 

Bike:
Helmet, gloves, shoes clipped, and one gel packet dangling from my mouth, I exited T1. The clouds had parted and the sun rays gleamed through in a comfortable mid 60s range. Then I saw my dad and little brother shouting, "Go, Nadia!!! Goooo!" Full of smiles and joy, it was the fuel I need to get mentally reenergized. This was the longest segment of the day, but somehow a blur. All I could remember was pain. My hands had cramped from the cold water. My feet were numb and senseless. My thighs screamed in the beginning. None of my long rides had been this way so why now? By mile 30, I can finally gain the full sensation of my hands. At mile 40, I see my Dad and Jr. ringing those cow bells enthusiastically shouting my name. It is so comforting to the heart to see family out there. At mile 50, my thighs still burn. Hill after hill after hill. Coeur d'Alene is beautiful, however, these hills make you work. At mile 60, my special needs bag was waiting and I looked forward to my peanut butter sandwich, chocolate, salty chips, and almond nutty bar. For me in the beginning years of triathlon, I loved to treat myself with solid foods. It wasn't until later I learned a more efficient way to fuel on the bike and entire triathlon course. At mile 90, I see my Dad & Jr again. Finally, I can feel like I am almost done. Almost. These last miles all I can think of: I can't wait to run. Finally ahead, a volunteer signaled me to dismount. 

T2:
Taking those first few steps after a long ride are always interesting like watching a newborn fawn attempting to walk for the first time. It can be comedic. Another volunteer handed me my run gear bag, guided me to the women's changing tent, and provided any support I needed. I took my time to do a full change so I can feel "fresh" for the run. 10:03.

Run:
Exiting T2, my dad found me, cowbells rattling in the air, and grin from cheek to cheek. Now, I was sincerely smiling. As tired and worn out as I already was, it felt refreshing to not be peddling anymore. As I started my run, each leg felt like a hundred pounds; however, I had practiced running tired a few times so it felt very familiar. With a gel dissolving in mouth, my pace dropped down to 7:30 min/mi. I quickly needed to correct this or else the distance would force me to slow down to a march. With the sun blanketing the pavement and the lake glistening off in the sidelines, the first few miles were mentally relaxing. I began passing runners one by one and counting them was a way to pass time mentally. 40 so far. I wasn't a strong cyclist, therefore, I was able to pick off athletes on the run. At mile 6, I saw my dad. "How are you feeling?" I'm actually feeling great. Averaging now 8:15 min/mi. I passed the time by continuing to count runners that I passed now up to 80. At mile 10, I was almost done with the first loop and still feeling great. The crowds were amazing. The soda tasted amazing. Then the course split. Runners finishing their second loop take a left to the finish. Runners finishing their first loop take a right for another loop. My body then took a dive at this point when I turned onto my second loop.My legs no longer wanted to go further. My thighs throbbed. My hamstrings screamed. How could I go from feeling absolutely great one mile and then Mile 14 I felt like death. By mile 16, I was now down to a shuffle through the hills. By mile 18, my joints began to throb. My race didn't look as dark as it did until at this point. Eight more miles to go and I was emotionally beaten. Physically beaten. I picked up my head to a familiar sound and under my visor I saw, my dad and brother with looks of concern. "C'mon Cachito. Last loop, make the turn, and keep the pace." My first tears rolled down my cheek: Papa Dog, this hurts so much. Why had I not done more brick sessions? More bike and run mileage? This wasn't the point to ask but it's amazing what mind games your head can play with you while you're out there cursing the race itself that you chose to be in. At mile 20, my pace had slowed down from a 9:00 min/mi to a 12:00 min/mi shuffle. At mile 20, I saw my little brother again. "Here we go sis. You can do it and bring it back down to 10:00 min/mi to finish before 9:00 pm" What? I couldn't do the simple math. Depleted brain doesn't work the same. I felt defeated that I struggled so much but with my little brother's encouraging words, I continued to shuffle a little stronger with each mile. "Ok sis. Finish strong. We will see you at the finish!" Mile after mile felt excruciating until I finally saw the finish line lit up ahead in the darkness. My eyes became doused with watery joy as my legs carried me through the finish: "Congratulations, Nadia! You are an Ironman!" A volunteer dressed the medal over my neck and first thing I hear through the crowd with tears down his cheeks, "You did it hija!! I'm so proud of you! You are my Ironwoman!" Nothing can ever replace that feeling. Nothing. Thank you to my family. I could not have done it without them.