140.6—Daybreak
Photos: Vardo getting bodymarked (pretty sure she'll kill me for posting that one); Vardo and I and our flyaway hair; Vardo and I with her Sherpa crew (aka Cara, Sparkle, and Sunshine); the world's best Sherpa crew (Steph the pregnant wonder, Jenny, and Theresa); and the Kraft gang right before we headed down.
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Somehow—not quite sure how—both Vardo and I managed to get some sleep Saturday night, but the 4 a.m. alarms we had set on our phones still came crazy early. Knowing that this was showtime, though, we both managed to roll out of bed, then set about making our traditional pre-race breakfasts—for me, a peanut butter and jelly bagel bread sandwich, banana, and Diet Coke, along with a bottle of water. With that safely digesting, I started getting ready—I put on my Kraft tri-suit, warm-up pants, and my Kraft thermal jacket along with socks and slides—it was too darn cold to go barefoot or sans warm clothes, so I knew I’d be bestowing much of my apparel on my Sherpa crew a bit later. We both did one last check of our special needs bags, grabbed our goggles, swim caps, and wetsuits, and headed down to the transition rooms at Monona Terrace. Vardo had to drop off her gloves in her T1 bag and I needed to drop off a packet of notes Theresa collected for me (she ended up getting way more than I ever could’ve used on the back half of the marathon, so I decided to start the run with some as well). We both took care of our gear bags, then met up again and headed out to body marking.
It’s not uncommon for me to start a race day in the dark and waiting for body marking, but to be surrounded by incredibly fit, anxious people in the cold pre-dawn hours made things start sinking in for me—this was truly the real deal, and I was in line to make it happen. As we made our way to the front of the line (while juggling wetsuits, special need bags, and my bike pump), I tried to stay calm and warm—both were a bit difficult, but I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I’d be at that point. We eventually both got marked—on the front of both legs, both shoulders, and right calf—then took off for our bikes to get them ready. After pulling off the trash bags from my seat and aerobars and checking everything over one last time (I’d heard horror stories of brakes rubbing the whole time, derailleurs crapping out mid-ride, etc. and I wanted to make darn sure Tack was ready to go), I pumped up my tires—not that anyone really cares, but I ride my Zipps at 140 psi, so I pumped away and got them ready to go.
From there, we had one more stop to make—dropping our stuff off at the special needs drop-off point. We headed up to the capital square area, found the appropriate cardboard bins for both the run and bike bags, and tossed ours in with the blind trust that we would see them again before the end of the day. It was weird—really weird—to know that, with that final action, I was as ready as I was going to be, at least from an equipment standpoint…all that planning, all that obsessing, all those checklists came down to one final moment of double-checking the number range on the bin and chucking my precious nutrition bottle, running jacket, etc. into it.
We headed back over to body marking area to meet up with our respective Sherpa crews—we had made arrangements to meet up with them at 6 am, and, like the awesome reliable Sherpa crews that they were, they were all waiting for us when we got over there. Jenny, Steph, and Theresa were decked out in their Iowa State shirts—we hadn’t planned for outerwear when we came up with that idea, but all three had skillfully worn their t-shirts outside of their jackets. Fashionable?? Probably not. Visible and memorable? Absolutely…
Cara, Sparkle, and Sunshine were there as well, and Vardo and I spent a few minutes just hanging out with them. Again, surprisingly I wasn’t all that nervous—I guess by that point I had figured out there was nothing else that I could’ve done to prepare. After a few minutes and what seemed like a ton of photo opps, Vardo and I plopped down on the curb and started putting our wetsuits on. Thankfully, it was still dry at this point—cold, but not raining at least—so things went on well. We talked a few more minutes, took some more pictures, handed our warm clothes and shoes off to our Sherpa crews, and I read through the lyrics to “Defying Gravity” from the musical Wicked one last time to get psyched up for the day.
I had made arrangements to meet up with the Kraft gang at 6:30, so Vardo and I wandered over to the pre-arranged meeting spot to find Erin, Jeremy, Sue, and Michele all decked out in their finest wetsuit attire as well. It was good to see them—there was definitely something comforting in having my friends and training partners together for the final few moments before we made our way down the helix to the swim start. We took a couple more pictures—actually the only shots I have of the Kraft gang together, hugged our friends, and started making our way down to the swim start with the other athletes.
I can’t really describe my emotions as I headed down to the swim start—I remember being a little nervous, especially about the 112 miles of mechanical uncertainty on the bike and the seemingly unavoidable rain that was clearly on the way…apprehensive about the mass swim start with 2500 of my closest triathlete acquaintances…thankful that so many of my friends and family had trekked to Madison to support me through the race…concerned that my mom would worry herself sick and that Steph would wear her pregnant self out…but mostly excited to put to the test the thousands of training miles and months of sacrifice and training. I felt like I was in a really good place mentally and ready to take on the day.
Along the way down, we saw Kristie and Eric (stopped for a picture), Vardo’s family, my parents, and finally Erin’s husband and mom—I’m sure we missed others, too, but man, there were a lot of people to scan along the way. At the bottom of the helix, Vardo gave me a high five and took off to find the Des Moines crew—somehow each of us felt more comfortable starting with our training groups. We joined the throng of mostly white-capped athletes (the guys had white and the women had dark blue) and continued to make our way to the arch, pausing only briefly to acknowledge the national anthem while getting herded across the timing mats and into the water.
Sue, Erin, Michele and I ended up staying together into the water—I can’t begin to express how grateful that I had a final few moments of advice and encouragement from my Iron mentors and friends. As we swam out to where we would self-seed (sort of close to the shore and sort of toward the back, although I really have no idea if that’s where we ended up relative to the mass of swimmers or not), I remember looking around and being amazed that I was a part of this thing—this incredible spectacle of white and blue caps bobbing around as far as I could see, in spite of the cold, dismal weather and in spite of the choppy water. I tried to take it all in—the noise from the crowds along shore, the sound of the blades from the helicopter flying above, the looks of focused anticipation on the faces of my fellow athletes in the water. And then, in a moment that officially kicked off the start of the greatest day of my life, the cannon went off, and the race began.
It’s not uncommon for me to start a race day in the dark and waiting for body marking, but to be surrounded by incredibly fit, anxious people in the cold pre-dawn hours made things start sinking in for me—this was truly the real deal, and I was in line to make it happen. As we made our way to the front of the line (while juggling wetsuits, special need bags, and my bike pump), I tried to stay calm and warm—both were a bit difficult, but I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I’d be at that point. We eventually both got marked—on the front of both legs, both shoulders, and right calf—then took off for our bikes to get them ready. After pulling off the trash bags from my seat and aerobars and checking everything over one last time (I’d heard horror stories of brakes rubbing the whole time, derailleurs crapping out mid-ride, etc. and I wanted to make darn sure Tack was ready to go), I pumped up my tires—not that anyone really cares, but I ride my Zipps at 140 psi, so I pumped away and got them ready to go.
From there, we had one more stop to make—dropping our stuff off at the special needs drop-off point. We headed up to the capital square area, found the appropriate cardboard bins for both the run and bike bags, and tossed ours in with the blind trust that we would see them again before the end of the day. It was weird—really weird—to know that, with that final action, I was as ready as I was going to be, at least from an equipment standpoint…all that planning, all that obsessing, all those checklists came down to one final moment of double-checking the number range on the bin and chucking my precious nutrition bottle, running jacket, etc. into it.
We headed back over to body marking area to meet up with our respective Sherpa crews—we had made arrangements to meet up with them at 6 am, and, like the awesome reliable Sherpa crews that they were, they were all waiting for us when we got over there. Jenny, Steph, and Theresa were decked out in their Iowa State shirts—we hadn’t planned for outerwear when we came up with that idea, but all three had skillfully worn their t-shirts outside of their jackets. Fashionable?? Probably not. Visible and memorable? Absolutely…
Cara, Sparkle, and Sunshine were there as well, and Vardo and I spent a few minutes just hanging out with them. Again, surprisingly I wasn’t all that nervous—I guess by that point I had figured out there was nothing else that I could’ve done to prepare. After a few minutes and what seemed like a ton of photo opps, Vardo and I plopped down on the curb and started putting our wetsuits on. Thankfully, it was still dry at this point—cold, but not raining at least—so things went on well. We talked a few more minutes, took some more pictures, handed our warm clothes and shoes off to our Sherpa crews, and I read through the lyrics to “Defying Gravity” from the musical Wicked one last time to get psyched up for the day.
I had made arrangements to meet up with the Kraft gang at 6:30, so Vardo and I wandered over to the pre-arranged meeting spot to find Erin, Jeremy, Sue, and Michele all decked out in their finest wetsuit attire as well. It was good to see them—there was definitely something comforting in having my friends and training partners together for the final few moments before we made our way down the helix to the swim start. We took a couple more pictures—actually the only shots I have of the Kraft gang together, hugged our friends, and started making our way down to the swim start with the other athletes.
I can’t really describe my emotions as I headed down to the swim start—I remember being a little nervous, especially about the 112 miles of mechanical uncertainty on the bike and the seemingly unavoidable rain that was clearly on the way…apprehensive about the mass swim start with 2500 of my closest triathlete acquaintances…thankful that so many of my friends and family had trekked to Madison to support me through the race…concerned that my mom would worry herself sick and that Steph would wear her pregnant self out…but mostly excited to put to the test the thousands of training miles and months of sacrifice and training. I felt like I was in a really good place mentally and ready to take on the day.
Along the way down, we saw Kristie and Eric (stopped for a picture), Vardo’s family, my parents, and finally Erin’s husband and mom—I’m sure we missed others, too, but man, there were a lot of people to scan along the way. At the bottom of the helix, Vardo gave me a high five and took off to find the Des Moines crew—somehow each of us felt more comfortable starting with our training groups. We joined the throng of mostly white-capped athletes (the guys had white and the women had dark blue) and continued to make our way to the arch, pausing only briefly to acknowledge the national anthem while getting herded across the timing mats and into the water.
Sue, Erin, Michele and I ended up staying together into the water—I can’t begin to express how grateful that I had a final few moments of advice and encouragement from my Iron mentors and friends. As we swam out to where we would self-seed (sort of close to the shore and sort of toward the back, although I really have no idea if that’s where we ended up relative to the mass of swimmers or not), I remember looking around and being amazed that I was a part of this thing—this incredible spectacle of white and blue caps bobbing around as far as I could see, in spite of the cold, dismal weather and in spite of the choppy water. I tried to take it all in—the noise from the crowds along shore, the sound of the blades from the helicopter flying above, the looks of focused anticipation on the faces of my fellow athletes in the water. And then, in a moment that officially kicked off the start of the greatest day of my life, the cannon went off, and the race began.
posted by roehr @ 1:32 PM
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