Adjusting Expectations, IRONMAN 70.3 Oregon

Jul 15, 2022 | Race Report

Photos by Carly Schmidt

The last two years of pandemic uncertainty have instilled in me a newfound fear of shrinking opportunities, coupled with the acute awareness that time, experiences and human connection are precious. As the summer of 2022 approached, I found myself unable to say no to anything.

…But, as author Jim Collins says:
“If you have more than three priorities, you don’t have any.”

I wasted no time saying yes to IRONMAN 70.3 Oregon in Salem. It was a new race on the IM calendar, appearing exactly 20 years after I had graduated college in Salem. How could I pass this up?!
It also provided the chance to redeem myself after the disappointing bike split in North Carolina, a performance that did not seem appropriate to the level of fitness I had built.
Meanwhile, coaching opportunities were rolling in faster than I could keep up with, and I had eagerly booked travel to all the third iteration pandemic weddings and social events that had sprouted up on the calendar every other weekend. June hit me like a freight train, with 14 hour work days and 48 hour whirlwind weekend trips out of town. I squeezed in runs when I could but bike training was impossible with all the time away from home (I did, however, get to try out a Peloton. It was fun). Six weeks of trying to be everywhere at once had flown by and when I finally had a moment to focus on Oregon 70.3, it was only two weeks away…

And then I got COVID.

Even though the symptoms cleared up just in time for taper week, I was left depleted and demoralized.
A few generous people lobbed unwarranted optimism into my lap, suggesting that perhaps eight weeks of deconditioning – plus recovery from illness – might be the magic recipe for my best race yet!
(It was not).

But I don’t regret going out to Salem. It was a rare opportunity to participate in a race “just for fun,” as well as a chance to visit some family and meet a bunch of my LifeSport teammates.

Coach Juliet & Coach Kimberly

I looked forward to the swim the most, since the only other time I’ve swam in a current, it was going the wrong way. The current in the Willamette river was so strong, that if the swim route had attempted to double back or loop around, a majority of the swimmers would not have been able to complete it. A few of the pros that hopped in for a warmup swim, facing up-river, looked like they were swimming in place on a water treadmill.

** side note – the walk from transition to the swim start took us exactly 30 minutes, and we even jogged the final 300 meters from the Morning Clothes Bag Drop to the swim start. We should’ve left earlier. And brought real shoes.

Due to wildlife protections, the race was not allowed to use amplified sound at the race start. There was a nesting bald eagle in the vicinity, and we were forbidden to make loud noises in the morning, lest we wake the baby. So the race began with a whispered “3-2-1, go!”

The swim was surreal. At first I was only focused on tracking the swimmers in front of me. But then I spotted a buoy way up ahead, put my head down, and almost immediately the buoy smashed into my face, like a bird flying into a window pane. That’s some serious speed. I checked my watch when I heard the 500 meter split beep… 500 meters in 3:46, that’s faster than the world record!
I noticed that the pack of swimmers was a good distance to the left of the buoy line, despite receiving very clear instructions to stay to the right of the buoys, due to the strong current along the left bank. 
As we hurtled down the river, I wondered if they would disqualify the entire female pro field. I wondered if I was the only one who noticed we were doing it wrong. And then I wondered if maybe I had just gotten my right and left mixed up. Yeah, it was probably that.
As we neared the swim exit, the glare from the sun was fierce, and I lost track of the other swimmers. I made a beeline for the volunteers waving giant flags from the shoreline, suddenly realizing that up until that point, I hadn’t actually been exerting anything that qualified as “effort” during that swim. Oops.
The run to T1 was very long. 350 meters doesn’t sound that long, but it is.

I hit the bike course with four women still behind me, but three of them passed me within the first mile. After that, I was alone for a very long time, still searching for something that resembled race effort. There were no other bikes, and no other cars on the road. It was incredibly peaceful out there, with towering shade trees and wildflowers, and fragrant fields of strawberries.

My power output was abysmal, but I hoped that this could perhaps be the first time in my 70.3 history that I negative split the bike, finishing faster than I started…I just needed to figure out how to make my muscles go. By the time I reached the turnaround at the halfway point, age group men were zipping past, and my power was still exactly where I had started.  I wished I could do more out there, but whether or not I still had residual COVID fatigue, the plain truth was that I just hadn’t done the work. Without the overwhelming burn of muscles pushed to capacity, I was free to notice just how incredibly uncomfortable time trial bikes are. My saddle was making me miserable, and I couldn’t wait to escape from it. Just then a guy charged past me in a full-on standing climb, even though we weren’t on a hill. And I saw the problem immediately; he didn’t have a bike seat. Wtf? 56 miles standing up?! I packed up my pity party real fast, and felt sheepishly grateful for a place to sit, however uncomfortable.

** side note: I talked to him after the race – and yes, he did complete it. A bolt broke under his saddle at Mile 12, and the whole seat came flying off, bottle cages and all. So he rode the remaining 44 miles unsaddled… and then ran 13 miles on those shredded quads. Andrew, you are officially a badass.

The run was my second favorite part of this race (body surfing the swim was my top favorite). Mostly shaded, it looped around through Minto Brown Park. It was just the right amount of gentle rollers and meandering bike trail to make for a perfectly delightful run route. I wish I had taken advantage of some runs there, back when I lived in Salem. But I only ran once in college. Katie Krieger and I decided to try being healthy, so we ran three miles (could’ve been two, we didn’t have watches back then), and I was sore for a week.

Like the swim and bike, my effort was muted on the run. I admit I was a little nervous about overdoing things, since endurance racing a week out from COVID is largely uncharted territory. But most of the advice I had heard was to be careful of overtaxing the heart and letting heart rate spike. I was a good 20 beats lower than my race target, and likely in no danger at all. The competitive fire I usually feel during a race was just missing.

The run course was difficult for spectators to access without a bike, since you can’t drive anywhere close to the park. This made Cheer Squad presence pretty light, but I was happy to see the few who were out there supporting us! The aid stations seemed to be largely staffed by kids, and I appreciated them too.

Once runners crossed back over the taco bridge near mile 13, the fencing leading to the finish was lined with spectators. It feels like forever since I’ve seen that!

It was nice to reach the finish line. Nice, like getting home after a remarkably regular day at work. But it didn’t feel the way finishing a race has always previously felt – a massive flood of emotion and relief and joy and success, and occasionally, even disbelief. There is nothing else like it.

And so, 18 years into this sport, I have learned yet another lesson, about what happens when I don’t truly show up on race day. I went into this race planning to “just have fun,” and sure, it was a fun day of exercising. But without true effort on the race course, there is only emptiness waiting for me at the end of the race. I realized that what I really crave is the finish line magic. And there are no shortcuts for that.