My Ironman journey started 4 years ago this month in Madison, Wisconsin. IMWI was my first real-life exposure to a full Ironman. I spectated with Sally and Shelby as so many of our friends and training buddies completed their first full Ironman. It was in the dark on the run course as I ran out to find my friend Mayra that I started to believe I too could take on this goal. I saw athletes of all shapes, sizes, abilities and fitness putting one foot in front of the other. There was no shame in walking. Heck, there was an overwhelming sense of strength in the communal suffering. People encouraged each other and lifted one another up as they made relentless forward progress. 

As most know, my relationship with 140.6 these past 4 years has been more heartbreak than victory. Louisville 2018, swim shortened to 0.9 miles, constant rain and bitter cold for the entire bike, a negative split marathon out of necessity. That swim remains my scariest open-water swim ever. I now fondly call it “a waterslide of a swim.” That bike remains my proudest bike leg ever. I will always love the Louisville bike course for its intense challenges and amazing beauty. That run remains my favorite marathon ever simply because of Shelby and a Lime bike. 

I returned to Louisville in 2019 on a mission to do better on that course and to get the entire swim in. AlgaeMan was a crushing disappointment before it ever started. No swim due to toxic blue algae. I had my pity party in the hotel room the day before race day. And then I ran in the rain that evening before my first duathlon. I ran hard. I ran angry. I ran yelling, cursing and swearing at Louisville. My heart wasn’t in it any longer, but this was Grete’s first Ironman spectating. I showed up and did the work because above all else I believe I have to follow what I preach to her and to the athletes I coach. I will always remember Grete yelling at me in the dark before I could see her. “No walking! Make it hurt MORE!!!!” Yes, they are always listening and watching us. That kid gave me the verbal kick in the pants that I needed to stop sulking and finish that third loop of the run. 

True to who I am, I registered for Louisville 2020. Third times a charm, I thought. Louisville certainly won’t go 3 for 3 on breaking my heart, I thought. BAM!!! Covid. BAM!!! Police brutality, over and over and over. Protests. Looting. Fourth Street Live, the iconic finish line of Louisville, gutted. BAM!!! IMLOU gone, gone for good. As with so much of 2020, I understood the decision, I accepted it, I still do not like it. 

Many months later, Ironman provided deferral options. The only full Ironman option was IMCHOO 2021. Heavy sigh, I did not like this option at all. Nevertheless we persist. Truth be told, I was terrified of IMCHOO with its 4 extra bike miles, reputation for being an oven of heat and humidity (see race reports for 70.3 Chattanooga 2018 and 2021) AND layer on that the infamous Barton loop on the run course…that you have to run twice. When John completed Lake Placid, I knew it was time for me to hunker down and get to training for this full Ironman. I dawdled. I went begrudgingly. I told myself and others that I did not pick this race. Ah yes, that had to be the reason why I was not focused…not focused on training, not focused on giving it my all day in and day out, not focused on the details. 

Often when we are afraid of a big goal that we really really want to accomplish, we ironically become paralyzed by the fear. It’s easier for us to do nothing and fail than to work hard day in and day out, give it all we have, and accept that we may indeed still fail. In 2018, my friend Mayra knocked me out that paralysis phase by giving me “the come to Jesus” Ironman talk. I’ll boil it down for you. “It’s time to get your shit together and take this training seriously.“ This year my coach provided that talk. No need for me to paraphrase as he is a man of few words. One simple text message…“Time to re-focus.” I didn’t like hearing that. I understood it, I accepted it, but I didn’t like it. 

And then I got busy. Head down, blinders on. A weird thing happened along the way. I found myself saying to myself, “Self, this is almost over and I’m going to miss this when it’s over.” For 4 weeks before race day, I’d have that thought at least once a week. Race day it showed up again, in the last half of that marathon. Yes, I wanted the pain to stop. Yes, I wanted the daylong race to be finished. I did not want the unique journey of growth that we call Ironman to be over. This time around I realize as one phase comes to an end, another begins. There is no end but rather a spectrum, a blending, as we learn and grow, over and over again. 

Now that the scene is set, here’s how my race day unfolded. Hold onto your tri shorts, it’s a bumpy ride. 

The Swim

2.4 miles in the river with great views and under 3 bridges

Practice swim at the dam’s day use area with Karie, Audrey and Fawn.

I hung out in the swim corral with Karie, Ryan Grubb and John (aka Master Sherpa o’ Da Day). When the national anthem began, I became emotional like I did at Athlete Checkin. To shake off the positive emotions of really finally getting to race a full course, I prayed. I’m not a typical prayer. I mostly talk to The Universe and my Angels. Today’s prayer went like this: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. The Universe has my back. Please keep me safe out there today. Jay, please ride with me and keep me upright with the rubber on the road. Jay, watch over me today and keep me safe on the open roads. Today I race with gratitude. I get to do this. It is an honor that my body is able to do this. Today is a gift and I’m grateful for it. Be the goldfish, J-Ho. Act as if. And remember above all else, adversity reveals. All my angels in heaven, be with me today and keep me safe for 144.6 miles. Thank you.”

Then I moved up in the swim start. I placed myself in the swim corral way above my pay grade on purpose. I'd rather get swum into with lots of contact than have to navigate around people. I looked around and saw so many men athletes. Doubt kept in. I didn’t belong this far forward. I saw a German Shepherd laying to my right. I put my fist toward its nose. She smelled me and licked my hand. “Her name is Biscuit,” a man said, “She’s my daughter’s dog. She’s racing her first full today.” Biscuit…biscuits with the boss…Ted Lasso…goldfish. I petted Biscuit and thanked her for the pet therapy. As the crowded advanced, I took a few steps away from Biscuit. I felt something on my right foot. I looked down to see Biscuit licking my foot. I realized the first angels of the day had shown themselves. Griffey and Stanley were easing my anxiety and saying, “All is well. It’s time. Go on.”

After one last wave and blown kiss to John, I walked the dock and stepped off into the water. I swam closer to the kayaks and paddle boards on the left than the buoys on the right. A bit of traffic to start. ”Settle, slow it down,” I told myself, “Focus on a strong pull, watch the beautiful shore and take it all in." Groups of swimmers would periodically engulf me and then it was back to quiet solo cruising until the next round of swimmers. For the most part, this was an uneventful swim with plenty of cool things to look at with each breath (left-side breathing for the win).

The Gatorade penis (hey, it looks like it and that’s what we all call it) caught me by surprise. I didn't think I was that close to the swim finish when I sighted and saw it. I popped up into a breast stroke to verify the swim finish arch and stairs were up on my left. This time no slamming of my knee on the stairs. I was cautious and grabbed the railing first, then planted my foot and stood up with a gentle assistance of the volunteer. (Here’s a video of me swimming. I’m the pink cap with bare arms.)

I looked at my watch and was completely stunned to see 1:06. And I was suddenly grateful for all those long-ass pool sessions with interval work. This felt like a cake walk thanks to Chattanooga's cityscape keeping my brain busy while my arms instinctually did the work. 

I ran toward transition and saw Coach at the fencing. High-fived him and heard him yell, “Great swim.” For the woman who taught herself how to swim freestyle in the LifeTime pool while wrestling with anxiety, this was the biggest compliment I didn’t see coming. Truth be told, this season of racing I’ve delighted in the fact that my swim ranks so high among my age group. It’s a point of pride for me. I no longer survive the swim; I thrive.

T1: Swim to Bike Transition

Transitions for a full Ironman are a bit different. It’s a logistical web to navigate, but it works. Your bike is racked and waiting…alone (photo is from Bike Checkin the day before). All your gear for the bike leg is in a bag labeled Bike Gear Bag that you drop off the day before and it is in its own corral (see video of me so focused on finding my bag I never heard John’s cheers). You grab your bag and go to the changing tent to get all ready to ride. Then you run out, grab your bike off the rack and run with it to Bike Out.

Name of the game was no wardrobe changes as I am not a rockstar putting on a concert show. I ain’t got time for that. This was a conscious choice. Pick you poison, J-Ho, comfort over time or time over comfort. I made a different choice this time around…time over comfort. First full Ironman with no costume changes.

Cris came into the tent soon after me and left before me. We both cheered each other on. Having only met at C26 Camp in June, I was overwhelmed by her support. 

I tried putting on arm sleeves and said screw it. I tried putting plastic bags under my jersey and said screw it. I put on Fawn's throwaway gloves and got the hell out of there.

The Bike

116 miles of pavement — smooth delicious asphalt, railroad tracks,
false railroad tracks, cracks for miles of teeth chattering, rollers on beautiful concrete, cowboy and cow crossing signs, and
more fire hydrants than you can count.

I confess I overbiked and from out of the gate. Coach had given me the power range of 90-105 max. I didn’t like that. I accepted it. I understood it. I didn’t like it. I didn’t know how I was going to ride 116 miles with rollers (2 big climbs twice) and stay in those numbers. I did know I was going to try my best. I’m pretty damn happy that my normalized powers was only 109 and average power 85 over the entirety of this course. And that’s with the bike computer spitting out 5,200 feet of elevation gain. IMLOU is 5,436 feet of elevation gain. You’d think this discrepancy in the 4,800 feet of elevation gain listed in the Athlete Guide would irk me. Nope, instead it was an opportunity to see how far I’ve come on the bike. I’ve worked really hard at getting better, stronger, fitter and faster on the bike. This metric validated it for me.

Much like IMLOU 2019, Karie passed me on a long climb. It was about Mile 30. Daniel Barnes (I didn’t know his name until the run course in the dark) had just passed me with a "Hurry slowly, C26" when Karie yelled "I know that sexy ass,” just as she did at 2019 IMLOU. I was mentally bitching about the long climb and how I’d rather bike Andrews, the infamous pincher on the 70.3 course. Nothing gets me out of my negative headspace like that woman passing me on an uphill. In my mind I heard her yell, “Quit your bitchin’.”

About Mile 37 I dropped my tube of Base Salts while grabbing a flask of Liquid Shot. I debated what to do for all of 2 seconds. Hard stop. Dropped hydration and nutrition is always a non-negotiable hard stop. A guy asked me as I stood there waiting for a break in the bikes if I was ok. I said, “Yes, just dropped my Base Salts and I’ve got to find them.” His response: God yes, you need those for sure. I found the tube...without its cap and 2/3 spilled on the road. I got back to work riding with the tube in my left hand and my thumb as the cap. And I prayed I was smart enough to put a spare tube of Base Salts in my special needs bag. 

I saw John several times on the bike course. That lifted my spirits immensely. I did not expect to see him at all out on the bike course. I had provided him with Mayra’s horn and told him that if I heard it, I’d know he was nearby…or within 2 miles, as Iron Fan told me at Lake Placid. 

A speedy guy went flying by in a green kit that looked oddly familiar to me. A referee cruised next to him on the back of a motorcycle. Then it hit me. ”I think I just got passed by Lionel Sanders,” I yelled out loud to myself. The referee looked back at me with a big grin and yelled, "I think you sure did." Swoon. Most memorable moment on the bike. 

Another pro came flying up yelling "left" on repeat with a German accent. He had to shoot the gap between two people riding side by side. When the third pro came flying by also yelling left nonstop behind me, I yelled up ahead, "Pros back!! Stay to the right!!! Make room for the pros!!! Don't be a dick or a diva!! Pros back!!" People didn't listen. But a woman riding with a camelback passed me and said, "I heard you yelling at them. Way to give them hell. They didn't listen to me either." 

I got to special needs and found in my bag … no tube of Base Salts. "It is what it is,” I told myself, "Find a way." I replaced my hydration with prepped bottles on ice in the special needs bag and I took off.

Back on the Georgia flat highway of delicious asphalt, a woman said, "Passing on your right...only because there's a car back." I looked left to see a guy passing me and a car behind him. I looked right and saw her passing me on the shoulder. "You mean only because you didn't want to wait for him to pass me on the left,” I said. She did not respond. Have I mentioned how much I hate it when people break the rules? Have I mentioned that at least once an Ironman-branded race I am passed on the right? Biggest pet peeve of mine.

On some random roller a woman with flat pedals passed me. J-Ho iOS 2.5 would have bitched and moaned about how this is was proof she still sucks at biking. J-Ho iOS 5.0 laughed and said out loud to herself, “Hi, Clare. Thanks for riding with me today.” When I saw a woman with flat pedals on a pricey tri bike later on, I wondered why she’d blow all that money on an aerodynamic bike to not gain pedaling efficiency by clipping in, Then I shook my head and mumbled, “You do you.” 

About Mile 63, the sad tube of Base Salts was gone for good. I was refilling the cockpit hydration unit with my right hand and still had the tube in my left when I hit a patch of rough road. The tube fell to the ground and I said, "It's gone. It's gone for good." Instead of freaking out, I looked at the words I wrote with Sharpies on my forearm…Goldfish. Gratitude. Act as if. Adversity reveals…and I was calm and confident, knowing I’d figure it out as best I could.

I kept riding and only stopped twice to loosen my bike shoes due to swelling. A long stretch of rough road beat up the body on the second loop. It was teeth rattling rough and knowing it was coming didn’t make it better the second time around. Be the goldfish, J-Ho. But the long climb was easier the second time around. And I loved that stretch on beautiful pavement after the turn onto Hog Jowl. I was screaming happily on the descents there and slingshotting up the next roller. I was having a blast. One descent the wind blew and leaves fell from the trees. I smiled, knowing this was Jay playing just as he did at his Queeny Park memorial with the race bibs as flags.

I came up on a woman stopped at the top of a medium climb with a dropped chain. When I asked if she was ok, she said, "Well, not the way I wanted my race to end. My chain is off the bike." I yelled, "Well fix it and get back at it." She said, "I don't know how. Can you help?" A guy biking next to me said, "Don't do it. It's a DQ." I yelled back to her, "If I did, would you ride the rest with me and fix a flat if I got one?" No response. Truth be told, I could have fixed the chain in 60 seconds or less and I'm not sure it qualifies as outside assistance. Truth be told, I wasn't going to risk a DQ for someone else’s dropped chain. 

About Mile 84 I saw Audrey stopped at aid station and yelled, "Hi, Audrey." We met at C26 Camp in June. She’s an ultra runner who just turned 24 and this was her first ironman. That’s right, no sprints or 70.3s before this. At camp just a few months ago, she hadn’t swum in open water before. Heck, Saturday she was going back to the dam swim area to try a sleeveless wetsuit after swimming Friday in a full-sleeved wetsuit for her first wetsuit swim ever. She caught me soon thereafter and said she'd see me again later. I chuckled, knowing she'd be on the run in no time and that's her jam. 

After catching the lady who passed me on the right allegedly due to the car back, she passed me on the left on the next hill. She said, ”There’s a car back. I wanted you to know." My response: OK, thanks, nothing I can do about that. And it occurred to me this woman was really uncomfortable riding in traffic. The next descents had her and a guy coasting side-by-side with that car crawling in front of me. When I had to brake to not hit the car. I had had enough. This was a repeat of the end of the bike at IMLOU 2018. Then I cried and felt helpless to navigate the problem and instead cried in defeat, saying. “And this is how we miss the bike cutoff.” This time I yelled, "Please pedal on the descents. I'm braking because of the car between us. Please pedal!!” The driver waved to me and then passed as soon as she could. And I passed them. Definitively passed them. (Video of my encouraging husband.)

That climb out of Chickamauga was rough the second time but do-able. Then it was the home stretch back to downtown. My right foot was on fire. The most painful on fire I’ve experienced. Every push on the right pedal had me grimacing. I was working so hard to go so slow that I wondered if I had a flat. So I stopped and assessed my tires and loosened both shoes again. No flats. Loosening the shoes no longer helped with the foot pain. I finished those city miles moaning in pain. When I dismounted, I took off my bike shoes and Frankenstein walked into run gear corral. 

T2: Bike to Run Transition

Yes, I needed a photo. Stay with me; this photo of Karie and me after Athlete Checkin at the Little Debbie finish line photo booth fits the bill. You’d think a race sponsored by Little Debbie would have snack cakes everywhere —- in the changing tent at transition, on the shuttle bus to swim start, most definitely on the run. Yes, without a doubt a buffet of Little Debbie delicious treats at every run aid station. After all, IMLOU 2018 had huge chocolate chip cookies on trays. Sadly no Little Debbie snacks anywhere. But the Run Gear Bag volunteers were eating pepperoni pizza.

Despite calling out my number and hearing the lead volunteer yell it on a megaphone, I collected my own bag. I opened it right there in the gear bag lane and put on my running shoes. A teenage volunteer said, "Ma'am, there is a changing tent right there." Me: My feet hurt too bad to walk without my running shoes. With my shoes untied, I walked into the changing tent. Put on hydration vest, reapplied sunscreen, grabbed hat and race belt. Then I was off, hobbling but far less foot pain. A Little Debbie Swiss roll would have been heavenly as I left transition. Just sayin’, Ironman. Instead I was once again oddly emotional.

The Run:
Mounds of Opportunity

After catching these 2 badass hometown ladies in transition and swim shuttle drop-off, I didn’t see them again until the run. They both caught me and dropped me like a bad habit. Next I saw them cheering me into the finish line from the other side of the fencing. Great work, Anna and Amy!!! Congratulations on your first IM!!!

Within the first half mile, that right foot pain resolved. It felt more bruised or blistered than anything else. I focused on running with a strong, sturdy and complete foot strike. No rolling to a side. I needed to keep the feet feeling ok for as long as possible. 

I adopted the plan of walking hills, falling forward on descents and shuffling on the flats from aid station to aid station. Took in a Spring mango gel and pushed Base Salt now that I had a fresh new tube. Stomach felt bloated and full. Dry heaves and belching. At aid stations I took water and Coke until broth was available. Then it was broth and Coke. Then they ran out of Coke and not every station had broth. I took sips of Skratch in my hydration vest with Base Salt at every aid station. The cooling towel around my neck came in handy when salty sweat burned my eyes. I wiped my face with that cooling towel so much that I chapped my poor skin.

On the long lonely stretch of highway out to the Riverwalk turn, I was more walking than shuffling. The sun was beating down on us and no one was talking. I was frustrated with myself when a solid yellow butterfly flew beside me for a few seconds. It was Jay. It was like several races this season when he’d finish and run the run course backwards cheering us all on. I needed that, Jay, you got me back on track with my strategy. You got me out of my head and back to work. 

An aid station on the Riverwalk gave me a view of those behind me. Damn if I didn’t see a Maplewood Bicycle jersey and I knew it was Diane. She caught up to me and we chatted about our race days. We did our best pose for the camera man and turns out we ended up photobombing the guy passing us. Nicely done, Diane!! Sorry, Mister 482.

Coming up Battery the first time, I told John that I was afraid I wouldn't make the finish line cutoff, that I was afraid because I was dizzy and lightheaded. I told him hat I needed to know time of day for MY START. He told me that he needed to look it up. I saw Team Krausen and asked about Robbie. When Momma Krausen said, “He’s feeling better now that he’s coking it up,” I knew my problem solving for the stomach issue was on point. Emily Horvath distracted me by walking with me to the decent onto the highway and Barton. All I could hear was her talking to me. 

Seconds later I made the sharp right turn onto the highway. Noise went from fairly quiet to booming in an instant. An enormous crowd on both sides of the run path was cheering madly. Music was playing. I had all the feels. I started to cry a bit. People kept saying, “Oh no, you’re doing great. You’re going to make it.” I tried to explain that these were happy tears. I’m not sure anyone understood me. 

I caught up to Robbie on Barton. Ryan caught up to me and I sent him to stick with Robbie. I saw Daniel Barnes again and asked what the hell happened to his face. A person cut him off at an aid station and went down right in front of him. Daniel told me that he wrecked and shook it off because his bike was fine. The guy had road rash on his left face, shoulder and arm. I told him he inspired me. We spent the next half of the run passing each other over and over. 

I set my mind to running up the pedestrian bridge at least the first time. Almost to the top of it, I saw Coach and Somer off to my right. I ran over and gave high-fives despite being completely disgusting. I heard Coach say, “Look at you cruising.” My thought: I can’t possibly look as good as that sounds, but I’ll take the positive vibes. And then I saw John near the end of the bridge.

Coming into special needs I was saying out loud to myself, "Tylenol and headlamp." I was so sweaty and swollen that my hands couldn't rip open the Tylenol packet. I even took the hotel Nutella for a jolt when Coke wasn't available. But I couldn't open it. Finally got Tylenol open and choked that down. I think it made only a minor difference in my pain level and I regretted questioning my kidneys’ ability to handle Advil on top of the ironman stress. My right glute was on the verge of cramping from early on in the run. Then the hills hit my quads and hamstrings. When I missed a portapotty, I decided to just let it rip and pee while shuffling. Despite not being able to tolerate more than a banana after that Spring gel, I was still hydrated enough to pee three times on the run. Proof my kidneys were beyond fine. 

In the darkness of the Riverwalk on the second loop, something touched my head. I thought this was me not being aware of the low-hanging trees in the dark while feeling lightheaded. Then it happened again. I looked up to see a single leaf falling straight down in front of me as I walked. I smiled, knowing this was Jay reminding me that I’m an aerobic machine and to stop being afraid of falling while shuffling. Oddly enough the dizziness dissipated as I started running again. And it didn’t return. 

Back on the Barton loop, a young woman mumbled, "I don't think I'm going to make it to the finish in time." I said as I shuffled next to Daniel, "Ted Lasso would tell you to believe." She said, "I don't know what that means." Me: It means believe in yourself. And she began running. I never saw her again. 

A nice woman named Shannon told me that she had spent the day chasing me from swim finish on. We chatted as I shuffled and spoke in full sentences. Her: Was this my first full? Me: Yes but no. And I told her about Louisville. She asked my thoughts on IMWI. I told her it is an amazing race with an incredible finish line. I told her that IMFL was disappointing to me after experiencing IMWI and IMLOU’s finish lines. When we got to the dark underpass, I told her "We are strong af" and that I was no longer stopping at aid stations, that it was time to go. She cheered me on as I ran away from her. 

I got to the pedestrian bridge and yelled at myself to lift my feet up, that we didn't come this far to fall now. Coming off the bridge, I mumbled "Adversity reveals" on repeat until the big downhill by a few tri club tents. "Kick, J-Ho, kick. Fucking kick now,” I yelled. “Make it hurt even more." Those spectators went from quietly talking to each other to cheering me on. On the red carpet, I passed a guy walking. I said, "Come on, man, run it in … if you can." No response. I saw Renee, Anna and Amy at the fencing cheering me on. I gave high-fives and heard Anna say, “Get on this side of the fence now.” I tried to find John. I heard the horn and looked back to see him. I put my hands up and then on my face. It was done. 

I crossed the finish line a bit dazed and confused. Fawn, who started her day with volunteering at swim start at 4:15am, came out of nowhere in the finisher chute (another volunteer shift) to hug me. I said, "Don't touch me. I'm so disgusting." Big long hug and she said, "I want to introduce you to the overall winner. This is Joe Skipper. He's here to give you your medal." I was stunned silent. I gave the guy a hug, thanked him for returning to the finish line, and got a photo with him. I finally saw John with Karie and her husband Lance. Fawn told the volunteer to give me my ankle strap, that I wanted to keep it and that that was allowed. I had no idea! The woman floored me again. And Karie...she waited an hour after finishing to see me finish. So grateful for both of these women and how they show up for me and love me just the way I am. 

Out of the finisher chute, I saw Daniel and congratulated him with a hand on his sore shoulder. Good thing the guy has three little kids and took it very well. This is what I love about Ironman. The collective experience brings strangers together to inspire and motivate each other to finish strong.

Slow walk back to the hotel. The body was the sorest its ever been with chaffing everywhere, in places I’ve never chaffed before. I sat down on my Steelhead towel on the couch and drank my recovery shake. I saw dried blood down both my legs and thought, “What the hell is this? I didn’t know I was bleeding. What am I bleeding from?” The seam of my tri shorts chaffed so badly that I had two oozing wounds. After a shower of chaffing screams, I spent a few hours tossing and turning in bed. I couldn’t get comfortable and would moan in discomfort. I prefer to think my sleeplessness was from all the Coke consumed in those 26.2 miles...and the adrenaline of finally completing a true full Ironman. 

Thank you, Chattanooga!

I love you, hills and all. Adversity revealed a heck of a lot. And I’m eternally grateful for that. See you in May for our third 70.3 together. I’m so getting Ice Cream Show afterward. Hard stop. It’s a non-negotiable.