I'm bringing Hell (and sunscreen) with me

I am currently on Week 14 of my 24 week training plan. I am 75 days away from Ironman Arizona. Seriously, where did the time go? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was sitting at work fighting with technical difficulties during registration?

I have a 70.3 race, the Pumpkinman 1/2 Iron-distance tri, this weekend. This race is my "test swim/bike/run", my gut check. This is where I learn if all this training is taking me where I want it to and if I need to step up my game in the final weeks. During this race I am going to make sure that my nutrition is working for me and that I work out all the kinks of transition. This is the race where I hope to finish and say, "man that felt awesome, I can't wait to double that distance in a few months," or "Kevin, you stay here. I feel so great that I will get my own crap out of transition." I know I have done the training up to this point. Hell, I even have a sweet new bike to make me look like I know what I am doing. But deep down I have this dark memory of my first ever 70.3...

2 years ago I competed at the Timberman 1/2 Ironman in New Hampshire. I signed up for the race after only doing 2 sprint tris and 1 Olympic distance (not much by racing standards). I had been swimming regularly with a group of older men at the local YMCA (I liked swimming with them because I felt fast, not because I like old men in speedos). I was confident for the swim. I had also been running on a fairly consistent basis. I had one 1/2 marathon under my belt and figured that made me a jogging queen. Plus, I figured I could always walk if I needed to. The bike, on the other hand, was drastically lacking. I think I rode my bike about 3 or 4 times all summer long before the race. My thought process, "How hard can biking be?".

WELLLLLL.... if you know New Hampshire at all, it is ALL hills. And not nice small rolling hills. They are gigantic, in your face climbers, that make you want to puke your guts out and cry for your mother all at the same time. Or maybe that's how I remember the bike portion because I was so under prepared? I drastically miscalculated my preparation for this race.

I should have known I was in for it when I was headed out of transition onto the bike course and one of the volunteers yelled at me, "Stay to the right because all the fast cyclists are right behind you." I had made good time in the swim and passed a majority of the men's field. But how did that volunteer know I wasn't a fast cyclist? I started examining all the people passing me - I was one of 2 people that did not have clipless pedals and rode with her running sneakers. I was also probably the only person who did not take advantage of the sunscreen volunteer and ended up with a nasty sunburn (yes, it lasted until my wedding in December... and beyond). I remember getting to the 1/2 way point on the bike - a volunteer yelled out "Congrats! Your half way!"and I cried like a baby. I sobbed so hard my shoulders shook and the road was blurry through my tears. I cried not because I was happy I was actually accomplishing this great feat but because I was only 1/2 way and felt like total crap on wheels.

Always remember sunscreen - lesson learned.

Long story short, I made the bike cut-off time (how? I don't know, but I did) and I finished the race (finish time is debatable on whether I truly finished in 8 hours because of my swim wave order). I limped to my family, wheezing. I should have gone to the medical tent but didn't know any better. I wanted to vomit when I ate the clam chowder, and I felt dizzy and cold the entire ride back home. We even made a pit stop at my in-laws house so I could dry heave over the toilet (I bet they don't know that one). I did make it to work the next day. Unfortunately my boss came up to ask me a question and smacked my back - I almost dropped to the floor in pain.

So you ask, why on Earth would I ever sign up for another race like this or a race double this distance if it was such a horrible experience the first time around? There are lots of motivational quotes about pain and fear, pride, and accomplishments. But I heard a pro triathlete make this remark, "There are no decisions on race day." I will not let the memory of pain and fear stop me from moving forward. I made mistakes (a lot of them) and I have learned from them. If I let one race dictate the rest of my life then shame on me.

On Sunday, I'm comin' and I'm bringin' hell with me, Pumpkinman (along with my GU packets, Ironman Perform mix, salt tabs, bike shoes, and SUNSCREEN).