Photo by B Goodell / Unboxed Photography
Ironman 70.3 Ecuador was actually my second race of 2021, but I didn’t write about Challenge Cancun 70.3 in May because of what happened this spring. Although the race in Cancun went surprisingly well, my life was in such a dark place, I worried that the doom would spill into my writing so I just avoided it altogether.
I imagine I’m not the only one who left 2020 thinking wearily, “Well, it can’t get much worse, can it?”
But of course, yes, it always can.
2020 was supposed to be my final year racing as a pro, and given that it was my Grand Finale, I had planned to hit four international races, maybe five if things went well. It had been eight years since I had traveled out of the country and I was getting the itch to explore the world while I still had the chance to leverage my pro status to cover some of the cost of travel.
To say that I was disappointed to see 2020 cancelled would be a massive understatement, but I do love being at home, so during the long months of lockdown, I became a homebody extraordinaire, fixing up our modest living space, painting the exterior of the property (which took me 3 months to complete!) and developing a new obsession with gardening.
In April of 2021, I was ecstatic to schedule my Covid vaccination and to begin making plans to race Cancun 70.3. It felt like life was finally coming back!
…and then our house flooded.
The flood itself was devastating, but far worse were the seven weeks of misery that followed as we stuffed three pets, two humans and two bikes into a small hotel room, and later a neighbor’s guest room.
We watched helplessly as our home was gutted and our possessions manhandled, without our consent, by a rotating crew of inefficient contractors.
I still can’t believe that I had the wherewithal to make it onto the plane to Cancun in the middle of all of that, and I consider that race a success, not because of my 6th place finish, but because I managed to get through the day without even once collapsing to the ground in despair, which is more than I could say for the prior 28 days.
Once I returned from Cancun, we finally let go of the hope of ever returning to our old life, and moved to a new apartment on the other side of Boulder. It was a rough adjustment, but as I began to rebuild, I remembered that I still had a pro card and some unfinished business to attend to.
I booked the trip to Ecuador with a kind of “now-or-never” attitude. The last two years have taught me how everything that I think is certain can change suddenly and completely.
I was delighted that B decided to accompany me, it was our first visit to South America. The trip started a little rocky, with flight delays stranding us in Miami, the search for actual coffee eluding us, and my driver’s license departing my pocket for a new life somewhere in the streets of Manta, Ecuador. Adventure was plentiful, both in the act of darting across the noisy streets, and also in discovering what our attempts to order local dishes in Spanish produced.
As I took stock of the women who had showed up to compete, it was pretty clear there were going to be two distinct races. Sarah Crowley and Kelsey Withrow each had multiple Ironman wins under their belts, and Elizabeth Bravo was headed to the Tokyo Olympics in less than 2 weeks. So the battle for 4th place would be between me, Nicole Valentine, Jenny Fletcher and Lizzie Nyitray. This was great, I knew the four of us had fairly close swim, bike and run abilities, so it would be a real race between us!
Race day was overcast, with temps in the mid-70s, which is pretty ideal. I marveled at our good fortune, especially after the extremes of my last two races; Cancun at 97 degrees and Bear Lake last fall, where it was 35 degrees.
The swim went exactly as I had hoped, with Nicole, Lizzie and I hanging on to Jenny as long as we could, and then staying in our own pod for the remainder. Nicole set a great pace, and as I followed her feet, I happily thought, “Wow, this swim is going really well!” Just then, I felt an intense burning sensation on the tip of my nose…a jellyfish sting? I once read that when Daniela Ryf got stung by jellyfish in a race, she just imagined that it was giving her superpowers (like she needs that), so I opted to apply that tactic as well.
Once on the bike, I kept Jenny and Nicole in view, and let myself settle in and get acquainted with the three lap course. I hadn’t been able to see the course ahead of time, but we had been warned it was both hilly and treacherous. After a long history of bike mishaps, this was the first race in awhile that my power meter was actually working, thanks to SRAM, who sent me new Quarq power cranks just last month. I’m definitely a fan of racing with metrics, and I straddled the internal feedback of my power data with the external feedback of the pace Jenny was setting up ahead. It was a fight to hang on to her, but it was a good one. She pushed me to bike harder than I thought I could, and I felt victorious both for having survived the rough course, and for a strong personal effort.
I got out ahead of Jenny in T2 and as I started the run, I was astonished to discover that I felt AMAZING. Maybe it was that sea level oxygen, or those jellyfish superpowers, or maybe those brutal run sessions from Coach Tim were paying off. I mean, running just isn’t supposed to feel that good. Especially not after a hard bike. I felt smooth, strong, easy, fast …and as I checked my watch, I realized I was running way too fast. “Relax, relax, relax,” I told myself. I slowed to a 6:50 pace and tried to stay present and focused.
The run was lovely, right along the coastline, past the fish market, along a bike path lined with spectators dutifully wearing their masks while they cheered. I could hear a squeaky bike behind me, and I hugged the right edge of the path to let them go by, but they seemed content to go my speed, and never passed. I wondered where they were headed at such a leisurely pace?
The run course was an out and back, and I was not surprised to see Sarah Crowley charging towards me with a significant lead, but I was surprised to see her look directly at me and call out “Great work!”
Never before have I seen the lead pro break from her steely gaze to acknowledge me and the other back-of-the-pack women as she passed by. That was very cool. And then it happened again! Elizabeth Bravo, running towards me on the return, looked directly at me, then glanced quickly behind me and smiled. She was followed by a race official on a bike labeled, “2nd Lead PRO Female.”
Suddenly my arms prickled with goosebumps as I realized why that bike barnacle behind me hadn’t taken the opportunity to pass… They were following me on purpose! At the turnaround I was able to glance over and confirm that indeed, the “3rd Place” bike was behind me.
Kelsey had disappeared completely (I hoped she was alright), and the gap on Jenny, Nicole and Lizzie was beginning to expand as I continued to tick off nearly identically paced miles. On the second lap I calculated that Sarah had at least a 22 minute lead on me, and in a desperate effort to shorten her waiting time at the finish, I tried to pick up the pace, to no avail.
The finish line was magical, despite being completely closed off to spectators. B didn’t get to see us climb the podium as we were announced to a mostly empty room, but I soaked in the reality of this impossible dream, and felt grateful to Ironman and the city of Manta, for enabling us to race, despite extremely strict pandemic protocols.
Post script:
After the race, we took a whale watching tour out of Puerto Lopez, and had the opportunity to see some of the local wildlife. A great way to close out our very brief visit to South America!
Isla de la Plata 
Puerto Lopez fishing village 
Puerto Lopez 
Sea turtles off the coast of Isla de la Plata 
Puerto Lopez main street 
Blue Footed Boobies aren’t afraid of humans 
Viva Ecuador
