Dear Arizona, WTF? Ironman AZ and other stuff

Dear Arizona,

WTF? I thought we were friends. More than friends--lovers even. I know I left you nine years ago, but I always come back to see how you're doing. To hike and bike your trails. To go out to dinner. To just hang out.

I always defend you when people say you're too hot (there's no such thing!) or that there's no vegetation in the desert (there is, too!) or that you're flat (hello, Flagstaff!). I'm your biggest fan. I love you and will always love you.

So I am hurt that the only two times I have come to compete in Tempe's Ironman, you have raged against me with a tidal wave of dust storms, gale-force winds and now, random patches of torrential rain.

Let's review your misbehaving, shall we?

IMAZ, April 2007. My very first Ironman and my very first marathon. I saved myself for you. And how do you repay me? With a pre-race sand storm that colored my teeth brown and made my mom refuse to let my sandy bum in her car to take me home. Then, on race day, you blew so hard on the bike that if I didn't pedal for a few seconds, I'd stop completely, even on a downhill.

IMAZ, April 2008, November 2008 and 2009. You were gorgeous and seemed so happy. You caressed my friends with curls of sunshine, let the air hang in place and seemed to be a true Ironman fan. I rode my bike out to the Beeline to cheer, happily and without fear of retaliation on your part. Whatever pissed you off in 2007 seemed to have passed.

IMAZ 2010. Sunday. I arrived Wednesday night to a gorgeous Phoenician evening. For three days, you almost made it up to 80 degrees, my favorite temperature. No clouds in the sky. When I arrived, my sinuses were flaring and my lungs were burning, but you helped bring me back to un-couch-ridden life by Saturday, just in time.

Just in time for you to blow me backwards on the bike again. To pelt me with rain. To play mind tricks with my already fragile head. To rain so hard right before I finished the bike that instead of finishing to throngs of people admiring my hot-pink knee socks, I cycled into what looked like the aftermath of an explosion--a deserted intersection with a water bottle slowly rolling across the road.

I read in the paper yesterday that I should be making a list of what I'm thankful for right now. So instead of railing on you any further for Sunday's hissy-fit, I will now praise you for what you did right.

Despite the rain and wind, your temperature was absolute perfection. I was never hot or cold--even in Tempe Town Lake. For that, I cannot thank you enough. I didn't mind the rain because the bike course is not technical, and it was not cold. (The wind, however, was unforgivable. Particularly because you started blowing right at the swim turn around, creating a current that sucked me away from the swim finish.)

Because of your clouds, I did not get sunburned, despite not putting any sunscreen on, except for on my face during the run. Apparently I looked pretty funny. People laughed at me. But I will take un-rubbed in sunscreen any day for a 1:29 Ironman T2.

Monday you were gorgeous again, leading me to believe that you are hell-bent on keeping me from achieving an Ironman personal record here, but that you still love me because you know how much I like warmth and sunshine.

So, Arizona, even though you cried and huffed and puffed about on Sunday, I know you still love me because if there's anything I dislike more than a whomping headwind, it's being cold--and you didn't let me get cold.

It's OK. Don't be shy about it. I still love you, too. And I'll be back. And next time--the third time I do IMAZ--maybe we can work together to create the most spectacular race day ever.

Love your (still) biggest fan,
Erin

Outside Magazine Is Pretty Freakin' Cool

Yo! My blogging efforts have recently been hijacked by Outside Magazine's blog. This week, I got to speak with my fifth grade teacher, who happens to be one of the world's most inspirational people, Erik Weihenmayer, 19-year old professional surfer, Sage Erickson, and one of the stars of a new surf movie, Chris Christenson.

It's been rad.

And when I'm not at Outside, I'm outside, training for the Tahoe-Sierra 100-mile mountain bike race, and Ironman Arizona--with 2 bum hamstrings and a pissed-off rotator cuff. I met a spiritual healer while searching for a place in Santa Fe, but thought she was a little off her rocker. Maybe I should give her a shot...IM will be hard to finish with no run or swim training...

Ironman Arizona 2009-The Photos

While I was running around shooting video, I shot a bunch of photos, too. Here are some of my favorites from IMAZ '09.

Ironman Arizona 2009--Spousal Competition

When Iron-couple Jim and Meredith Davidson take on IMAZ together, competition takes a back seat to love.

Or does it?

The Cure for Iron(man) Deficiency: Covering Ironman

Last Saturday, I put my multimedia skills to the test.

Armed with my dad's Canon EOS Digital Rebel, my Canon ZR10 (yes it's old...and awesome), my dad's tripod, and one spare Lithium Ion battery (yes, all of my equipment magically took the same exact type of battery), I entered Tempe Beach Park around 6am and got crackin' on what would become the greatest of all Ironman tales.

I flashed my media wristband (see below), and entered transition, voyeuristically filming people bodygliding it up, yanking on wetsuits, and doing other strange things that aspiring Ironmen do just before they are herded in to dark, cold water at 6:45am on a Sunday.

I had one goal in mind: to tell a story about normal people doing Ironman. If that sounds ridiculously boring, let me explain. Typical Ironman media involves pro coverage, and coverage of the most inspiring story of overcoming all odds to complete an Ironman. Not to disregard the importance of these stories, because they must be told and deserve to be told, but there are over 2,000 other people competing who aren't pro and have never lost a limb. Or had a sex change and done Ironman both as Sam and as Samantha. (Although if that were to occur, and I don't think it has, I would gladly tell that story.)

Perhaps the predictable coverage has something to do with the fact that although our sport is a huge part of our (triathletes) lives, it isn't a huge part of the general population's life. Therefore, there aren't enough media people to tell the bazillion rad stories that come packaged with an event of this magnitude. So they stick to the pros and the stories of inspiration that always make me cry.

Enter the unpaid grad student.

I don't know if my story of fat boy becomes triathlete, meets girl, trains with girl, marries girl, then does IMAZ with girl will make anyone cry. But who said the amount of tears shed is directly proportional to the informational or entertainment value of a story?

So while the other media people were scrambling to catch the pros coming out of the water, I flashed my wristband and strolled on into the wetsuit stripping area to film my couple getting stripped. Unfortunately, I missed the middle-aged guy who sat down with a poo-eating grin on his face then had his wetsuit torn off to reveal, to the horror of his strippers and glee of the spectators, his shiny tiny thong.

Eventually, my assistant, coachubby, and I worked out a system where he would stand on the lookout for my couple, call me when they were approaching, and then I'd turn on my video camera and chase them around in transition.

Being in the action did something to me. It reignited the Ironman flame. I strayed with ultracycling this year after becoming a little triathletically disillusioned (sports psychology term), but the excitement of the racers, the enthusiasm of the volunteers, and the fun of being at home did something to my brain. I want to go back. And I want to kick ass.

Coachubby and I signed up for 2010 the next day.

See you out there!

And my Ironlove story will come just in time for xmas. I'm taking my computer's death while working on that project as a sign that I should be studying for finals right now instead.

Plus my video camera hooked up to my computer via firewire. My new computer does not have a firewire port. Thank you, Mac. Suggestions on how to resolve this issue are greatly appreciated.

Rotten Apple

Of all the things that can't handle Ironman, I did not think my computer would be one of them.

I spent 3 days reporting from IMAZ, working on a kick ass multimedia project that I would then use to wow the editors of Outside Magazine who would then pick me as their kick ass online intern, only to have my computer decide it was too much to handle and blow up.

When I woke up this morning, all it would give me was the spool of death. No Final Cut awesomeness. No dragging in of rad photos from Ironman. No copying of rad video clips. Just a rainbow-colored spool of death. It should be a spinning skull and crossbones, not a rainbow. That's just rubbing it in, Mac people.

The Mac geniuses erased my entire hard drive. It was the only way, they said.

The cold I got from staying up for several days straight to report IMAZ came in handy--when my eyes welled up with tears, I had an excuse other than being really, really attached to the virtual world of me that I'd built up on my hard drive over the past 4.5 years.

So now my computer works, but it's like it has Alzheimer's. It looks the same, but it's completely lost its personality. It's like looking at a cold, hard piece of silver metal instead of a reflection of the last 4 years of my life.

It looks like it did in 2005.

Photos- gone. Music-gone. Every file from this quarter of school- gone. Most of the programs I use- gone. Some of it is backed up, but not all.

I have finals in a week.

If I didn't have to complete this quarter with this computer, I would bunny hop on it with all 4 of my bikes until it became a pile of computer mush that I would then feed to a metal grinder. Then I would scatter its computer ashes somewhere computers hate to be. Like in water. Deep, cold water.

But for now, my rotten Apple is letting me write this blog. So for that, I must be thankful.

It is Thanksgiving, after all.

I am also thankful that all of the photos and video from IMAZ still live on a backup hard drive and tapes, respectively.

It's strange to become so attached to a machine. I saw my computer as something with a unique personality--as a reflection of me. I suppose this is a weird thing only the generations that grew up with computers experience.

So thank you, rotten Apple, for dying today so I'd realize that I am not the sum of my virtual components.

But I'd still like them back. Just 'cuz.

2 Ironman Arizonas?

In 2008, IMAZ is on...twice! Race organizers say that the "event is being moved to avoid high winds and warm temperatures that have plagued the first three years of the event, with each race held during April." Putting on two events next year will allow IMAZ to offer qualifying spots for Kona, which would disappear if there weren't a race between April 2008 and November 2009.

What are your thoughts? IMAZ was my first Ironman, so I am pretty bummed it won't continue as one of the early season races. There was something very hardcore about training in December and January, then racing in ridiculous headwinds, that made doing IMAZ extremely satisfying.

I suppose if you're one of those people who want everything to go perfectly, and would prefer a high temperature in the high '60s, the November race will be an ideal option. However, if you're like me, you loose all motivation around Thanksgiving, and would have to anticipate a 5-10lb pre-race weight gain.

Being from AZ, I prefer the warmer temperatures. The wind at last year's race was a definite advantage to those with rock solid mental skills (and ginormous quads). I suppose the possibility of racing 2 IMAZs in one year might make some crazy AZ-loving triathletes try to go for the double (then we can compare their times and try to deduce if the move to November really helped anybody out...not taking into account the possibility that said crazy triathletes could train their butts off and become infinitely faster between April and November...)

I suppose there is only one reason this makes me truly sad. It's like if you finally got to witness a New Orleans Mardi Gras, then a few years later, they moved it to November. Automatically, you get old person syndrome and start to say, "Well, I remember when Mardi Gras was in February!" (Obviously, this could never happen...and Mardi Gras has been going on for a little longer then IMAZ...but hopefully you get my point.)

And one more reason: I like Spring more than Winter/Fall. So as a personal preference, I'd rather go to Phoenix in April.

And one more reason: It's easier to get motivated to train right after I've gorged myself over Xmas and feel an itch to get back to super-triathlete mode than it is to get motivated after having already been training for several moths for other races.

What do you think? IMAZ at the end of November: good or bad?

How to Beat the Post-Ironman Blues

You planned your whole life around the event--maybe even for an entire year. Then it's all over in a single day. It's easy to feel lost and uncertain after the post-IM endorphins run their course. What's your purpose now? What are you doing? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH ALL THIS FREE TIME!?

Here are some suggestions, in absolutely no order of importance:

1. Plan a wedding. If it is yours, you won't even have a second to think about what you're doing with your time. Your new purpose: to be an Ironman Newlywed. And it's going to happen in style. Of course, you can always offer to help plan a friend's wedding--complete with bike-chain sculptures and FRS cocktails.


2. Try a sport you've never done before. Surfing? Mountain biking? Rollerblading? The thought of getting back on your road bike a week after IM could make your mind (or other places) go numb, so forget about "training" and just try something new.


3. Go to the gym and do some random machine (no treadmill!) like the elliptical or those silly walking dual treadmill things so you can show off all of your finisher gear to the gym rats. Wear your new jersey, hat, socks, shorts, and bring your IM waterbottle. You are so cool right now.


4. Invent a new sports food. In those weeks after your Ironman, the thought of eating another sports drink, bar, or gel will make your stomach turn. If you're TriDiva, the thought of eating massive amounts of anything chocolate or related to chocolate will make you salivate and jump for joy. Heck, you could even bake a chocolate cake and pass it off as the new super-fuel of 2007. You just finished an Ironman. Nobody is allowed to question your post-race re-fueling methods.


5. Sign up for another Ironman. Hey, if you know you're going to do one next year, you can continue to call whatever you're doing something related to your future Ironman. You are not being a fat, chocolate-eating slob right now, you are in recovery. When you go to the gym to show off your gear, you're not becoming a gym dork, you are "cross training" or "base-building".

You can beat the post-Ironman blues. Remember, it's a common affliction, and although TriDiva is not familiar with any PIB support groups, your triathlon buddies and family are here to help you through it, just like they were there for you all through your training. And all through race day...maybe you should bake them a chocolate cake...

Happy Recovery!

Ironman Arizona '07--The RUN

Only a marathon left. This day was going fast!

Right off the bat, I had to use the porta potty. Luckily, there was one just after exiting transition. I felt like I wasn’t going very fast. I stopped at all of the aid stations to make sure I got all the calories I could from their cups of Gatorade (the yummy yellow kind now, horray!) and part of a banana ever 3rd aid station.

The thought of eating another gel made me want to puke.

The course was 3 figure-8 loops, which I liked. It made it mentally easy to break it down, and I got to see my cheer squad. A lot. And eventually I got to see all of my friends, too, as I lapped them.

My mantra for the first loop? Just chill. Enjoy the scenery and sneaking up on my cheer squad. I don’t believe anything is cooler than deciding to do a crazy workout and having thousands of people around to help you do it. Strategically placed porta potties. Gatorade when you want it. Water. Food. Everything’s out there so you can get what you need and continue on your journey. When I would go for long runs in Phoenix, I’d have to wait until it was dark outside, so if I had to use the bathroom, I could hide in someone’s hedges and go. Or, I’d drive around, figure out which houses were under construction, had porta potties in the front yard, then wait until Sunday, when nobody would be working, to do my long run. No fun at all.

After completing the first loop, I decided my mantra for the second loop would be: Just chill. Yes, the same mantra. I figured I was at a pace I could hold, and considering I had never ever run more than 20 miles before, I wasn’t sure if I could ever push it and finish. Better play it safe.

My cheer squad was all over the place. Just after I crossed the bridge at Scottsdale Road, where I had to put my visor on backward since the wind was trying hard to knock it off my head and I didn’t want to loose it to the lake, I saw them. Cheering like maniacs. Then I saw them again under the Mill Avenue bridge. Then I saw them again on the North side of the bridge. And then I saw two of my friends walking together. They cheered for me.

Coachancé gave me a double “high 5!” and, here’s where biotch, well, um, “in the zone” TriDiva comes in. My thought at this point? Please, don’t let him run along side me. I will then realize how dreadfully slow I am going and be sad. Don’t let him jog beside me. Shoo!

Not a very kind thought toward the love of my life and the man who was currently carrying my ring for me in his Camelback so I could stick it on my bloated pinky as soon as I finished.

As the final loop approached, I became pretty euphoric. I AM going to be an Ironman. No doubt about it. And the coolest part? I’m going to do it before sunset just like I wanted. As long as I don’t walk.

All of that training, my cool coachancé me-specific training plans, all of those psycho runs in the Santa Monica mountains. Including that one time where I freaked out because I got dehydrated and got the freezies, but was instantly restored when I saw my coachancé cheering for me by the car as I finished. He has been cheering for me for months, and has cheered for me during every workout. I am so blessed, and all of those moments are culminating to this point, and I only have less than 9 miles left! I want to cry.

But first, I have to poo. Every time I’ve eaten a banana, I’ve gotten the most horrendous stomach cramps about 2 minutes afterward, fart a minute after that and feel better. But I don’t really want to eat anymore. I don’t want to wait in line for a porta-potty, but I can’t help it. There’s no way I’ll make it another mile without one.

For heaven’s sake! Get out of the porta-potty! I’m on a mission! Don’t mess this up for me people!

I’m in! I go to the bathroom, then I’m back out on the trail. (See the pissyness coming through?) I smile for the camera I’ve passed 2 times already. The biggest, most victorious smile I can muster.

Hey! There’s my Ironcheersquad again! They’re everywhere!

Apparently, my padre was surprised that I was still running. Well, duh! I wasn’t going to walk. I did train for this!

The little inspirational quotes on all of the mile markers came in handy now. “Pain is only weakness leaving the body.” Hell yea! And I don’t know if any of them actually said this, but I like “pain is only temporary”, and my other mantra (besides today’s “just chill”): “it’s supposed to hurt”. So no wussing out! Bring on the pain!

I was a little sad I’d never be coming back around this part of the run loop again. This was the last time I’d pass the aid station with the man with the loud speaker under the bridge. The last time I’d come over Scottsdale road and almost get blown into the lake.

All of the volunteers and other Ironcheerers kept saying, “Good pace! Keep it up!” which made me incredibly happy. Even if they said it to everyone, I was only concentrating on me now. Oh! There’s my cheer squad again! I’m too tired to smile. It takes too much of the energy I need to drive to my legs. Sorry.

A volunteer near mile 24 asks me if it’s my last lap, after saying, “Great pace!”

YES! I say.

“You’re going to finish early!”

Woo hoo! Whatever that means. But yes, I’m going to finish before sunset, darn it! Push it TriDiva, you’ve only got 2 miles to go! I haul as much bum as I can. The last 5 miles, I couldn’t eat anything at the aid stations. My stomach was sick of eating. And sick of processing everything. And probably wanted to cross the finish line more than my brain at this point.

Then I begin to cross the Mill Avenue bridge. This is it. It's all over. Unless I trip and fall on my face and break my entire body, I'm going to be an Ironman.

I kick it in. The crowd gathered around the chute is going wild for everyone. It is amazing. I hear coachancé and hairystomach screaming. This is it. I am done. It’s all over. I am an Ironman. I didn’t pause to take in the crowd. Oh, no. I sprinted down that chute. The girls at the end barely had enough time to grab ahold of the tape after the guy in front of me blew through it so I could get my finisher photo breaking the tape as well.

Oh crap! What am I gonna do to cross the finish line! Coachancé asked me about it before and told me I should think about it. I do a very generic, but empowering fists in the air pose as I run through the tape.

It’s over. Done. Kaput. I am an IRONMAN!

IM Arizona--The RUN

It's coming...

The final portion of IM AZ.

Will TriDiva become an Ironman?

Will her stomach hold out on the run?

Will she make it before sunset?

Check back tomorrow to find out.

Happy training!

Ironman Arizona '07--The BIKE

And now, for the bike!

Apparently Coachancé thought I was going to hit everyone riding out of the narrow chute that led to the road at the start of the bike. I’m way cooler than that. It felt great to get on Stealth Pinky and ride (for some reason the hammies didn’t want to swim anymore).

We went out past the “hot corner” where all the spectators stood. I was flying with zero effort! I was invincible! It is an out and back course, and I made it out in less than an hour. Could it really be true—I might actually do the bike in 6 hours or less! I rule! Taper rocks!

But no. As much as I would like to believe my athletic prowess got me out on the course with lightening speed, there was also, you know, a massive tailwind. That then, in turn, became a massive head wind. That effortless 22mph average very quickly became an effort-ful 9-10mph.

OK, no problemo, I thought. I’ll gladly fight this headwind for the fun of flying back out on the course. Just stick with my nutrition plan and keep eating those electrolyte tablets and I would be a-ok.

Honestly, nothing is greater than getting to ride a century without any inkling of fear that I will be smashed, maimed, or otherwise murdered by an idiot controlling a massive amount of steel. Because riding centuries in Los Angeles? Super not cool. In fact, people die every year on the roads I ride on. And it’s not always because they got “in the zone” and weren’t paying attention. Those idiots with steel battle-cages drive too fast, and try to paint their nails, eat, talk on the phone, and veer into the very narrow shoulder reserved for fit, awesome people, and thereby rid the world of its more highly esteemed members, one at a time.

So no matter what, this 112 miles was going to be awesome. Headwind or not. Bring it on.

My Ironcheersquad positioned themselves close to the turn around in a very conspicuous area, and were ready for me as I flew by. Coachancé’s white board read: Just Keep Spinnin’…

Good plan.

I flew out on the course again. This time, I had to go potty. Thus began the great internal battle: to pee myself or not to pee myself. This is a long race, and running in my own pee for the rest of the day might not be worth the minute or so it’d take to stop at a porta-potty. But it’s also a source or pride to pee oneself in a race. No joke.

What to do, what to do…

OK, now it’s not just pee. I’m going to have to stop. There are porta potties at the turn around, I’ll stop there.

But no! They are all taken, and there’s no way in heck I’m waiting in line! I’m on a 6 hour pace here.

Turning toward the head wind again, I try to turn my thoughts toward spinnin’ and “just chillin’” and try not to think about the intestinal rage that is developing. Then, I concentrate my developing anger on the riders who are obviously riding in packs as they blow by me. Constantly. Aren’t they going to go in the “penalty tents”. Nope. Nada. But I will not join on the back of them. I will never get a drafting penalty. I can do this all on my own. I am the greatest, I am a machine.

I need to poo. I skip the “special needs” station, because I have discovered that I really don’t care what I’m drinking, and as long as I have water to trade off with sips of the disgusting orange Gatorade I have somehow acquired, I’ll be fine.

Next porta potty: 5 miles out. I can do this. I can do this.

YES! I get there and nobody is in line. A very kind volunteer takes my bike and I run inside.

Ahhhh. Relief.

Back on the bike. I am kicking ass! I rock! The headwind sucks, but I get to fly out again! This is the best day ever!

Again, my awesome Ironcheersquad is waiting for me. Well, kind of, I yell at them and then they turn in astonishment as I whiz by. Guess I came in earlier than expected. Because I am that cool. I go out on my third loop at 4 hours of riding.

By this point, my crotch is ready for me to run, even if I’d like to bike all day. I can’t stay in the aero position for too long. Like for more than 30 seconds. But I figure sitting up and making myself into a sail can’t hurt—it’ll only help the wind push me out faster.

So out I go, passing supporters and aid stations. I can’t believe the bike is almost over! All of my crazy lonely century rides and intervals and early mornings when I came home and couldn’t feel my body for 2 hours after the ride—all of that comes down to this. All of that training, and now I am a human sail. And hey! Some girl in my age group is passing me! That’s ok. I’ll get her in the run.

I round the turnabout at just under 5 hours. Freakin’ sweet!

Then something not so cool happens. The wind picks up (as if it could get any stronger). Whatever, I think. I’m almost done! I rock! I see the camera guy and make a big goofy smile. I’m 2/3 of the way to becoming an Ironman! Woo hoo!

Just keep spinnin’…just keep spinnin’…I’m going 9 mph…but there’s no point in pushing it now, because it’s almost time to run my first marathon. Don’t try too hard against the wind, or you won’t be able to run…(Thoughts from inside my head…but I’m sure you guessed that already.)

I come in significantly over 6 hours. Coachancé’s sign, witnessed just before the last half mile, reads: Wind Blows. I’m with stupid. With an arrow pointing to our friend, who flashes his hairy stomach at me. Nice.

IMAZ--The BIKE (a teaser)

The bike was windy

it was indeed

but going out was fun

with the wind behind my knees

So coming back was just a minor

bump in the road

so I could fly out on the course again

and feel invincible

There were people cheering

and helping us along

there were even people out there

singing Ironman songs

It was a most fabulous ride

the best by far

because there was no chance in hell

I'd be hit by a car.

More on IMAZ's bike to come! Stay tuned!

Happy Tuesday!

Ironman Arizona '07--The SWIM

TriDiva recounts IMAZ, one event at a time. Time to get your feet wet!

I suited up and headed toward the staging area. As soon as they let us get in the water, I jumped in. I was hell bent on starting in the front of everyone else, and didn’t care if I had to float for half an hour to do so.

Snippets of conversation from the water:

“If this starting buoy is black, is the buoy at the other end black, too? How the hell are we supposed to see that!?”

“I’m not counting on being first to the other buoy. Just follow these people and we’ll get there.”

Honestly, I couldn’t even see the end of the lake, so what did I care about the buoy color? What I did care about: the color of the female caps. They were dark blue. Whose brizilliant idea was that!? Our heads blended right in with the strange murkyness that is Tempe Town Lake. Not that I was planning on drowning, but if I went under, nobody would ever know.

The pros left 15 minutes ahead of us ordinary folk, then we all swam up to the imaginary line across the lake. I could see my coachancé's sign all the way on to the side—it was bright pink and said “Go Triathlete Diva!” on it, with a cartoon of a sexy triathlete, and a white board attached so he could change what it said along the way.

I felt great knowing coachancé and the rest of my cheer squad (my parents and 2 of coachancé and my friends) were all over there for me, and would be out there for me all day long. My dad, I found out later, was somehow able to pick me out in the washing machine that is an Ironman start, and walked along side me the entire swim.

The Start

Then it came. 10 seconds. The gun fired and I sprinted to try to get out ahead a little bit so I wouldn’t be trampled. That didn’t work so well. Everyone else sprinted too, and everyone else who had positioned themselves toward the front certainly did so because they were good swimmers. I freaked out. People were swimming on me. I knew this would happen, but the feeling of being dragged under combined with the knowledge that my little blue head wouldn’t be seen popping below the waves made me freak.

Then three most wonderful things happened:

1. I saw the camera crew filming me. Somebody was watching. Horray!

2. I remembered my Ironman friend’s only words of advice for the day: Just Chill. Very helpful indeed.

3. We passed a buoy and I was so close to it—whoever I was unintentionally following had dead-on sighting and that made me very excited.

Not until the first buoy (about a mile into it) at the end of the lake did the mass attempt at drowning fellow competitors die down. Now we could do all that stuff coaches tell you to do, like settle into a rhythm, pay attention to your stroke, monitor your breathing, etc…

I got all excited because even without the masses in front of me to follow, I still was dead-on in sighting the buoys. I don’t believe that has ever happened to me before. Ever. The last time I swam in this lake, a dude in a kayak bopped me on the head and told me I was going the wrong way. Embarrassing much? But today was my day. I was kicking butt, just as I had intended. (And by kicking butt, I mean trying to meet my goal of doing the swim in an hour. Not racing people.)

As I neared the last turn to head toward the giant “steps of aquatic accomplishment”, I couldn’t believe that that part of my Ironman was already over. I almost wanted to go slower so it wouldn’t be over so quickly. Almost. All those months in the pool. All of those crazy freezing 5 am workouts. All of those (well, ok, only 2) freaky death-defying ocean swims. All of that boiled down to this, and it was over! I almost wanted to cry. Heck, I almost wanted to cry before we all even got in the water because I was just so overwhelmed by the crowd and the positive energy and the support and love that my friends and family gave me through my journey-and all of that was about this day. It made me an emotional nutcase.

I reached the steps and very friendly volunteers were there to drag me out of the water. Then came quite possibly my favorite invention ever: the wetsuit stripper. I pulled my top off, sat my bum down on the ground and watched it fly! I have always stunk at taking my wetsuit off, so that was quite gratifying to watch it peel so nicely from my Tempe Town Lake- green body.

Running down the chute and into transition was awesome. There were so many people cheering everywhere. I felt like a rock star. Until I got to the transition, and my screaming out my number fell on deaf ears. WHERE THE HECK WAS MY BAG!!! Will nobody find it for me! I panicked as I looked at a sea of white bags. Which one had my helmet and new glasses and bike shoes in it? Heck if I knew.

Finally, a very nice man shoved it in my arms, and a bunch of other volunteers made sure I didn’t accidentally veer into the men’s change tent. Then somebody ripped my bag open, dumped the contents on the ground, put my number belt on me and helped me get everything else and I was off.

Then again. I shouted my number. Where was my bike! I knew where it was, and I almost got to it in my cleats before a very nice gentleman noticed me looking around and ran to get it for me.

Although those periods of waiting seemed like an eternity, but I only spent 4 minutes in transition, so all of that Tempe Town Lake water in my ears must’ve jacked up my perception of time…or something. It was a blast to have all of those awesome volunteers helping us do everything, though.

And now, for the bike!

Stay tuned...

Happy Training! (Or Resting!)

The Ironman Tattoo- To Ink Yourself or Not

After completing an Ironman, you are compelled to spend just as much as the Ironman cost in the first place to buy all sorts of clothes that say "Finisher" on them so you can begin your life-long journey of bragging. But you can only wear those 2 t-shirts so many times in a row, and spandex trisuits aren't work-appropriate. So how do you brag on a daily basis about your super-human accomplishment without getting fired for wearing spandex or for smelling like BO from weeks on end of wearing the same thing?

You can get a TATTOO!

It's an idea every Ironman finisher must grapple with. To ink or not to ink? Maybe you want it as a personal reminder that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to, so you'll stick it somewhere not too obvious. Maybe you want to brag. A lot. So you 'll stick it on the back of your calf so all of those roadies you fly by on your training rides will know they're getting their butts kicked by a triathlete. Whatever your reason or desired position, here are a few neat tattoos people have gotten over the years.

Or you can go the route of TriDiva, and possibly order hundreds of fake tattoos so you can brag whenever you want without winding up with a dotted squiggly line on your arm when your skin starts to sag when you're 70 and your grandkids wonder why you got a worm tattooed on your bicep.

Happy Bragging!

What Makes an Ironman?

Inspired by IMAZ and Dr. Seuss:

Some are red

Some are blue

Some are veterans

Some are new

Some are young

Some are old

Some are skinny

Some are bold

Some have lots of family and friends

Some come alone

Some live just around the bend

Some are far from home

Some do it to prove a point

Some just because they can

Some wanted to finish before night fell

Some just hoped to become an Ironman

All are fighters

All are stong

All inspire

All went all day long

All have will, determination, and heart

All accomplished so much even before the start

All because they said, "I can"

These very different people became an Ironman!

Congratulations to all of you Ironmen, and Ironmen of the Future (IOTF). Remember, one Ironman gives you bragging rights for life--and you can start bragging before you even get your finisher hat!

Happy training! (Or resting/eating like a piggy!)

Ironman Arizona--An Overview in Haiku

Just before the race:

I hope I have pooped

Everything that could come out

Porta-Johns stink bad

Swim:

My cap is dark blue

If I drown, no one will see

Oh look! The film crew!

Bike:

I am so awesome!

I fly out with no effort

Head winds check ego

Run:

Must run the whole time

Must finish before sunset

Ironman--that's me!

Recap:

'Twas very windy

Which made the run not too hot

Must eat a pizza

2 days later:

I will not ever

Ever wear spandex again

Ok, that's a lie

More on IMAZ to come! Stick around! (Ok, so you can get some work done...get a massage...eat a loaf of bread...and come back tomorrow!)

An Ironman Checklist

Well, a rather unconventional one. You should already remember your wetsuit, shoes, sunglasses, bike, etc... but the items below are every bit as important. Don't forget these!:

• your fabulous smile


• your sense of humor


• your mantra (I ROCK! No Pain No Gain! etc...)


• your cheering squad (coachancé, parents, friends, brother/sister...)


• a sense of readiness and excitement


• your well-rested body


• your well-hydrated body


• a feeling like you're going to conquer the world and kick mucho butt!

If you're racing this weekend, have fun! Look for a black bike with pink flames, pink handlebars, and a pink seat, then cheer / wave hi. That'll be TriDiva.

Good luck!

PS. TriDiva will return next Tuesday with tales from AZ. If it doesn't hurt too much to type.

Ironman Mantras--Which One Will You Use?

You don't have to be doing an Ironman to have a mantra that'll kick you into high gear and take your race to the next level. They're even super helpful in tough workouts.

So without further adoo, here are some mantras to get you going if you haven't already found one that works wonders for you. TriDiva will be using them at IMAZ on Sunday (for more information on what it is called when you conspicuously drop hints that you are doing an Ironman aka how to brag about doing an Ironman before you've actually done one, check out this article).

TriDiva's IMAZ Psych-Up Mantras!

TriDiva's personal favorite, which will certainly be used over and over on Sunday: “I’m the greatest! I’m a machine!”

Another helpful one: “It’s supposed to hurt.”

On the bike: “Spin to win!”

Swimming: “Sleek! Strong! Fast!” This is effortless! I am amazing!

Running: “I am so strong! So fast! So ready!”

Bring it on!

And of course, it has to be said it again, because TriDiva loves it so: “I’m the greatest! I’m a machine!”

Happy Training!

How to Brag About Doing an Ironman

For those of you who thought you could only brag AFTER the race...think again! Check out this guide to being the most boastful, proud person you can possibly be! (Come on, you didn't just sign up or complete an Ironman with no intention of letting everyone you know know about your athletic prowess!)

For the original article, click here.

Here is is reprinted:

Before I started to train an Ironman, I bought a training plan; I read books on hydration and fuel replacement, I listened to endless hours of advice from elite and pro triathletes. This information did help me finish, but it did not teach me how to correctly brag about being an Ironman.

My friends and I came up with a six phase program which will aid you in bragging about your Ironman . Use this plan from the moment you register until well after the race is complete for the most bang for your bragging buck.

Sign Up Phase: For most Ironman events, you have to register up to one year in advance. This gives you plenty of time to brag about doing an Ironman. During this phase, you must let all of your non-Ironman friends know you can't hang out with them anymore, because you just signed up for an Ironman. If you don't have any Ironman friends, then go to a place where runners or bikers hang out. Look for the Ironman

symbol (M Dot) on their training clothes. An Ironman would never be caught running or biking without their Ironman stuff.

Training Phase: Training for an Ironman can be compared to having a part time job. You must let everyone you meet know this. This can be accomplished by sighing loudly at work, mumbling how tired you are because you just biked 100 miles, because you are in training for an Ironman. You can also skillfully steer the conversation with your neighbors and co-workers to your Ironman training. Here is an example:

SNEAK PEEK! TriDiva does Arizona!

From the super secret vaults of Triathlete Diva's IMAZ extravaganza book: How to explain the goal of an Ironman to people who don't ride their bike hundreds of miles for fun. Read on!

Breaking the News to Mom and Dad

When I first told my mom I was going to do an Ironman, she freaked out. Unlike most people who respond with "Wow" or "Impressive," my mom asked "Why?" "Because I can" was my response. I like to consider myself an endurance athlete and tend to beat more people the longer a race goes, so by doing one of the longest races mankind's come up with yet, I should beat scores of people in Arizona. Awesome.

Then it came. The lecture I knew I had in store for me. It was the same one I got when I told her I wanted to run my first half marathon. And my second and my third and my fourth. This is how it usually breaks down:

Me: Mom, I'm going to run a half marathon.

Mom: Why on God's earth would you want to do that?

Me: Because I can.

Mom: You'll get diabetes.