As requested....

Far too infrequently, I sit down after a race and write up a race report. In fact, thinking about it, I have only written two that I can remember. Now that I'm a "blogger" this will likely change.

It has been requested that I post my Ironman race report. (My first, and to date only, Ironman was Ironman Lake Placid in 2007.) This was written as an email that I sent to friends and family. Every so often, when I need inspiration, courage or a reminder of my abilities, I reread my write-up. So I post it now to serve as inspiration, motivation or maybe just a good read.
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July 22, 2007

Well, I did it.

Three years of planning, six months doing intense focused training, thousands of miles covered while swimming, biking and running, countless calories consumed and burned, hundreds of dollars spent on equipment all in preparation for one day (albeit one very long day). All that time, money and energy for 14 hours, 6 minutes and 47 seconds. Two days ago, I completed what will very well always be the most amazing, astounding, phenomenal, spectacular, breathtaking, extraordinary, impressive, miraculous, staggering, stunning, wonderful, unreal, crazy experience of my whole life.

You each have helped me in making this day happen. Whether it was the simple act of saying "good luck"; telling me "your crazy" (which I am); asking me how my training was going; coming along with me on a training run or bike ride; always, always encouraging me; never letting me think that I would do any less than great (even at those times when the training was so tough that I couldn't fathom how I would ever do the actual event); always seeming astounded at my training and my ultimate goal; calling me an Ironman even before I earned the title, allowing me to envision crossing that finish line and hearing those words; questioning my sanity, but never my intentions; freaking out with me as race day got closer and closer; assuring me that no matter what, I would finish and it would all be worth it; and most of all, for supporting me through the whole journey. I can't imagine having done it without each one of you.

A race of this magnitude takes a great deal of sacrifice on my part, but it also takes sacrifice on the part of my friends and family who support me. You have allowed me to use the "I'm tired" or "I have to go for a long run or ride tomorrow" excuse more times than I should. You've come on runs with me or biked along side of me on my crazy adventures. I did this for myself, as a goal, as a challenge, as a dream, as another chapter in my crazy adventures. But I did it because of all of you. Without your support, I never would have been able to start. The goal would have stayed a goal, the dream just a dream, I would have no challenge and no further chapters would be written.

I want to share with you a recap of the day. I won't do a minute by minute play-by-play because it would take me fourteen hours to write and you equally as long to read-- I wouldn't want to make you suffer like that.

The day started early. Somewhere in the 3 o'clock hour I awoke first, looking at my watch wondering what time it was. From then on, every 20 minutes my eyes would shoot open again as I would look at my watch wondering if it was 5am, when my alarm would go off. Two minutes before 5, I could no longer stare at the back of my eyelids, the anticipation was becoming too much. I was dreadfully nervous about what was ahead, but anxious about getting started. My clothes were fully lied out in perfect order, for fear that I would forget to put on something- although in hindsight, I wonder how I could have messed up putting on ONLY a bra and spandex shorts. But with the nerves I had been feeling the day before, I'm lucky that I didn't walk out with my bra around my feet and my shorts on my head.

My friend Bess (who was sleeping in the same room) woke up shortly after I did. For several minutes, we said nothing. There was that sense that no words were necessary. I tried to eat breakfast, but the rock in my stomach was consuming much of my appetite. I packed some food and Gatorade, but it went uneaten. Our rental house looked out onto Main Street and I could see the stream of athletes passing by on their way to the start. Some were talking to each other, others were smiling, most were munching or drinking something. I was silent. I grabbed my wetsuit and walked out the door. It was an eerie feeling leaving for such a long day with only a wetsuit and the clothes on my back. (The rest of my gear was already at the race area.) Bess and I walked the block up to the race start. I went through the motions.

Went to my gear bags- they were still there- check. Went to my bike- took off the plastic bags protecting the seat and bars from the morning dew, put my water bottles on the bike, squeezed my tires (for a reason unknown, I wasn't going to put any extra air in because I was too nervous that it would do more harm than good), patted the seat for encouragement like you would to a small child on the head, everything seemed well, at least as well as it was going to be- check. Went to get body marked- nothing like having a stranger draw on you with permanent marker at 5:30am- check. Went to drop off my food bags- check. Put on my wetsuit- probably the biggest challenge of the day...damn wetsuit- check.

My nerves were beginning to fade at this point. I was told that it wouldn't be until the gun went off and the swim began that I wouldn't be nervous anymore. The crowds were out, each with there own set of colorful signs. Some people were already in the water, gliding around, warming up, or just trying to keep calm. I watched the start of the pro women's race from the side of the lake. It was only 35 minutes then until the official start- by the time everyone else started at 7am, the pros would be well over half way done...good thing they started them early, I wouldn't have wanted to get in their way! I made my way over to the other side of the lake. Standing close to the start line were my parents and Julie, Andrea, Rachel and Shawn. Walking over to them was when it all hit me. I fell into my dad's arm and began sobbing. The nerves, emotion, fear and excitement all caught up to me at that point. The countdown was on, the crowds were cheering, there was no turning back now, the biggest day of my life was about to begin...ready or not.

Composing myself, I put on my swim cap and goggles, said goodbye, and just went. I couldn't focus on being nervous, I just had to move on. Getting into the water eased me. Stretching out my arms as I swam towards the start line. There were hundreds of people directly under the long start line. Hundreds more stood on the shallow sand along the side of the lake, where they would wait until the crowds dispersed. I was with Ken treading water and waiting. I remember him asking me what time it was.

"6:59" I replied.

"Well then, we should go" he said back.

And then, all of a sudden, I look in front of me and everyone ahead is swimming. I heard no countdown, I heard no gun or cannon, it just happened. Without notice, the day had begun. I found a spot and began swimming. Right arm, left arm, right arm, breathe...kick, kick, kick. The start was hectic- people swimming over each other, grabbing body parts that are usually only grabbed in private, pushing, kicking, but never in a malicious sense. Each person was simply trying to find their space among 2500 people in a relatively small lake. In the midst of the chaos of 10000 flailing limbs in a sea of neoprene wetsuits, there was an odd sense of serenity. Each person knew that the task ahead was none too easy. No matter how many times it's been done before, each time brings a new unknown. A list of uncontrollable factors- the weather, the course, the people, how you feel, something breaking, getting injured- each that could make or break the day, streams continuously through each athlete's head. It's being able to mentally focus on the here-and-now, each stroke, each pedal, each stride, mile by mile, never thinking "what if?"

I continued swimming, pretending that I was alone in my own lane at the pool, forgetting about the thousands that were swimming all around me. It made the swim simple. After getting out of the water after finishing the first 1.2 mile lap, I walked back into the shallow water slowly, allowing myself to hear the announcer, see the fans lined up along the beach, enjoy the moment...and take a little break. And then I began swimming again. "I've done this once, I'll just do it again, easy the first time, easier the second." And it was. After the turn-around at the end of the lake, I was so focused and in a rhythm that in order to keep my mind occupied, I counted my strokes. (In case you're wondering, 1031 strokes from the turnaround to the shore). As I was coming back towards the beach at the end of the second lap, I said to myself "slow down, make this last a little longer, enjoy it." I couldn't believe that I, Bess Staebler, was enjoying swimming, especially after swimming over two miles. But I didn't slow down, I kept my pace and then I saw sand. Getting out of the water, I looked again up at the crowds and made my way to get my wetsuit taken off. Truly the most phenomenal part of Ironman is the fact that they have "wetsuit strippers" who do all the hard work of taking off your wetsuit. I thoroughly enjoy this aspect because, by far, my least favorite part of triathlons is getting my damn wetsuit off. As I walked up the beach on to the carpet, a lovely looking gentleman stepped out several yards in front of me and motioned me towards him and his spot on the carpet. I laid down on the ground and in less than 10 seconds he had my whole wetsuit off- lie down, arms off, butt up, middle off, point the toes, feet off. AMAZING! After he pulled my midsection off I began to giggle uncontrollably. He wrapped my wetsuit into a tight ball, handed it to me and wished me a good race. And I was off.

Moving right along. As I made my way into the transition area, I reminded myself to take my time. There's no rush on a day like this. Five minutes extra would likely mean nothing in the end. Time went by but before I knew it, I had checked, rechecked and checked again and I was ready to go. Off and onto the bike. Now this would be a while. Knowing that the greater part of my day would be spent with my ass on a bike seat, pedaling round and round and round. Feeling good, strong and ready, the first few hills seemed like nothing. I flew up them, momentarily forgetting about the 112 miles ahead of me, surely not all of them would feel like this. So just as I did in the swim, I got in my rhythm. I knew that I would have to keep my mind occupied somehow because it was going to be a long ride. Even at my fastest, it would be long, really long.

I have a tendency to get songs stuck in my head while I ride and, unfortunately, they're usually ones that I don't know that well and that I don't really like. So I tried to think of something that I could sing, that I knew and that would occupy some solid time. And that is why for 7 and half hours, I sang the entire soundtrack to The Sound of Music...several times. And yes, when there was no one around me, I sang out loud (and proud). The hills of Lake Placid were alive with the sound of my singing. I think at one point I even began making up my own lyrics to "My Favorite Things" with things that I would have liked at that time (mile 70 or so of the bike ride). This included, most importantly, not being on my bike anymore.

Many people have asked what the hardest part of the day was. Certainly it was the second loop of the bike (miles 56-112). There's nothing like biking 56 miles, getting back into town, seeing some people already running, only to know that you have to go out and do it all again. And the hills got much longer and steeper the second time around...although they say it was the same route. There was no sense in rushing it thought. The more I pushed myself, the more tired I would be. And I still had a marathon to run. Coming back into town at the end of the bike was a phenomenal feeling. I knew that once I got off my bike, the rest was cake. Biking comes with a lot of uncontrollable variables because you are reliant on a machine which can break, not work or malfunction. With running, you only need your body and your mind. No matter how tired I would be, I knew that I could do the marathon. Run, walk or crawl were my options. The first two I was completely open to doing, the third, I would prefer not to have to do, but it was good to know it was an option.

As I rode around the tight corners of downtown Lake Placid, through the screams of the thousands of people lining the street two three and four bodies deep, waving signs, ringing bells, motivating, cheering. I heard the announcer say "and here comes Elizabeth Staebler, just 23 years old from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." And I started pedaling faster, charging up the last little hill and zooming down into the the finish of the bike ride. Again I made sure to remind myself to take my time in the transition area. I changed my clothes, got my left leg massaged, rebraided my hair and mentally prepared to run a marathon. Nothing like having a nice swim and bike ride as a warm up for a marathon. I worried about how my legs would feel when I started running. And then I started and surprisingly my legs felt fine. I think my legs were so numb that I could have sawed them off with a rusty axe and not felt any pain. Surprisingly, however, when I started running my chest and core were absurdly sore. I guess being hunched over on a bike for 7 hours really does a workout for your abs. I felt like I wanted to pull my skin off. But persevere...I kept going.

I told myself at the beginning that I would do 20 minutes of running and two minutes of walking. That lasted ONE cycle. The running became less (more dictated by the water and food stations locations) and then walking lasted a little longer. And sometimes I forgot to look at my watch so I didn't know when I stopped last. More than anything I was just enjoying it. I couldn't stop smiling. Whether it was chating with the other people running sharing stories of the last many, many hours, seeing my parents or my friends and having them excitedly cheer me along (or having them run in front of me up a hill that I was planning on walking up telling me to catch her and teasing me that this was the only time that she was beating me-- thanks Bess!), the wonderful volunteers at the water/food stations who would have gone over the moon to get me anything I wanted- including the best piece of watermelon that I've EVER had and I don't like watermelon, seeing Ken, Jess, Steve, Lt Tom (my buddy from the New Hampshire police department), hearing the roar of the crowds as you ran back into town, seeing people furthur along that me closer to finishing the race looking so excited and relieved knowing that sooner than later that would be me, the smile never left my face. It was one of those things that I just couldn't help. I had no idea how I would feel while running so the fact that I felt good was a HUGE relief. As I came into town and went to run the last 2 miles before entering the Olympic Stadium for the finish, my body suddenly felt as if I'd done nothing all day. A surge of energy came over me and I felt like I was flying. I wanted to be done, I wanted to feel that sensation of crossing the finish line, I wanted to take my shoes off, I wanted to take a shower.

And then I was back. As I turned the corner and saw the Olympic Stadium ahead of me a rush of emotion came over me. As I entered the stadium, I began sobbing. The ups and downs of the day all caught up to me at that very moment. It had been over 14 hours, but it felt like only several hours, albeit a jam packed several hours. There was a guy running along side of me who asked "you first or me?" I told him to go first because I wanted to enjoy the moment, make the day last just several seconds longer. And then the finish line was there. Excitedly I threw my hat in the air (ala Mary Tyler Moore). "Elizabeth Staebler, You are an Ironman" and I grabbed the finishing tape. 14 hours, 6 minutes and 47 seconds was over. And I was still walking. I hugged my dad and then went to find the rest of my "fan club." Seeing them at the far end of the finish chute, I weaseled my way towards them. I gave them each a sweaty grimmy hug. In my mom's arms I began crying again and she sobbed too. Then I relished. This was my moment. I was an Ironman.

And that's my story....sorry it took so long to tell...it was a long day.

This was the ultimate test of my endurance, commitment, motivation, willpower, heart, determination and spirit. The feeling I had crossing the finishing line knowing I had completed the ultimate and the feeling that I still have now is completely indescribable. I encourage each of you to find a similar test for yourself. It need not be an Ironman, but it should be something that presents you with your own individual challenge. The feeling of personal accomplishment you'll have is incomprehensible.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming along with me on this journey. It's one I'll never forget.

And yes, I will do another one.

P.S. I realized the coolest coincidence. I finished a 140.6 mile race in 14h:06min..............I think I have a new favorite number.
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