The Perfect Race

This time of year is always nostalgic for me and it’s because it’s college swimming conference season. Once upon a time, before I spent a tiny fortune on bikes and traveling all over to races, I was just a swimmer. As athletes, we are always chasing that perfect race, that perfect game, that perfect moment. The fact of the matter is that it will most likely never happen (hello to my Ironman races 😂), but we are always in pursuit of perfection. And sometimes it does happen.

Most of you know that I grew up swimming. I started swimming competitively when we were stationed in Ohio and somehow the sport stuck. My past with swimming is honestly complicated. I loved the sport deeply, but to be truly good at it, it takes a huge amount of sacrifice. I got pretty quick as a 12 and under, hit puberty and got frustrated with the sport because I wanted to be a normal teenager, fell in love with it again around when I turned 16, and got lucky enough to walk on to a division 1 program at UNLV. Looking back now at the decision to go to UNLV and how pivotal it would be in setting me on my path in life, is honestly mind blowing now. Especially for a young woman from a tiny town next to Death Valley - who knew where it would take me. But I digress, this is about the perfect race. 

Quote from Jim in my freshman handbook. I still recall it now during Ironman training ❤

Anyway, I was a decent swimmer with a lot of potential when I walked on at UNLV. My coach Jim was a magician at finding the “diamonds in the rough” and he had fantastic stories about swimmers that turned their swim careers into stellar swim careers. I knew I wanted to be one of those stories. BUT it did not come quickly for me. My first two years of college were rough when it came to swimming. I did improve, but my mind was my own worst enemy. I had decided to major in Biochemistry which took up an insane amount of any free time I had and I NEEDED to be perfect. I NEEDED to be perfect in swimming. My personal life wasn’t great at that time (spoiler alert - boy problems). I just could not let go. I finished nearly last in the 1650 at the Mountain West Conference Championships my freshman season and scored points only in the 800 free relay. I was demoralized. In my sophomore season, I scored individually in the 500 and 1650 at conference and we ended up winning the MWC team title for the first time (20 years ago this week!!), but I still was unhappy.

                                                2005 Women’s Championship Team!

Looking back it wasn’t swimming that was making me unhappy, it was me, my mind. I didn’t know then, but I know now I was really starting to manifest symptoms of bipolar disorder. I knew I worked hard, I was really fast in practice - it just never showed up in meets. Anyway, the summer of 2005 after my sophomore year, something changed. It’s hard to pinpoint what happened, but I changed. I re-dedicated myself to the sport and let go of what I couldn’t control. I swam with coach Kunio that summer and we had an amazing crew that stayed for the summer to train. By the time championship meets rolled around for the summer, I was dropping time like crazy. And that’s when I knew I was playing the long game (despite almost retiring after my junior season because I could have graduated early and I was freaking tired. I had a big problem trying to overachieve at everything). 

Everything began to change during my junior year. I won my first college races in duel meets. During training camp, I was one of the few people to make through a monster set in D (distance) group. I worked hard. Because of my class and lab schedule, I often swam on my own, lifted on my own, and did dry land on my own. There is a reason I wanted to retire early - hard sciences and sports are insane. After I received an award for most outstanding senior in biochemistry my senior year, my biochemistry professor told me that I was only the second student-athlete to successfully complete 4 years of sport and a degree in chemistry. That year at conference, I placed top 8 for the first time in both the 500 and 1650. I knew then, I couldn’t quit, I had to do my 4th year. 

The momentum was rolling. There are workouts/meets that I remember where I knew something special was coming. I started enjoying the process and I loved the training. I remember Kunio making me swim every event at a meet at University of Arizona that summer (prelims and finals!), except for the backstroke events. Which I am still grateful for because my backstroke is sad and pitiful. I remember the week where all my morning workouts were no less than 10000m, afternoons still massive in yards, capping off Saturday morning with 12000 meters. I still remember one of the main sets - 2x (1500, 1000, 500 on 1:20 base). I thought I was done and then Kunio said I was doing 6 x 200 pull on 2:30. I cried when he gave me that set because I was so tired. But I had an amazing team behind me and the sprint and middle D swimmers came out on deck and cheered for me. I had an awesome training partner in Erik Ringdahl - I like to think we made each other better swimmers, mostly because we beat the crap out of each other battling in practice everyday. I won the 1500 free at sectionals that summer. And this walk-on swimmer got herself on some scholarship money her senior year.

And so I began my senior year. I let my goal be known that I would when the 1650 at conference. There was no doubt in my mind that I would take that championship. Every practice I visualized it - I became a machine. In training camp the month before conference, I threw down the best workouts of my life. I pulled a 16:30 1650 in practice. I did 9 x 500 descend 1-3 on 5:30 and destroyed them (ironically nearly faster on the fast ones than I went in the 500 at conference 😅). I remember these workouts 18 years later because they marked a milestone in me - I knew it would happen. 

Finally conference 2007 came around. I should mention that I am a true distance swimmer through and through. I used to joke that a 5k pool swim would be my bread and butter - 1650 was just a little too short 😂 I swam a PR in the 500 in the first day and placed 5th. I out split a lot women in that last 200, but I just could not get out fast enough. I barely PR’d my 200 and at least scored points of the team. The 200 was even worse for me than the 500 because it is REALLY too short. My best swims in the 200 always came when I swam the 1000/200 double in college since they were back to back. I spent the whole week waiting for the very last day of the meet. The 1650 is always the last day. Thankfully, they don’t make you swim it twice and go based on seed times. I think I was seeded 3rd and would swim in top 8 in finals, so I had the morning off. There are always days you can remember so clearly and this is one of them. 

Counting for Erik’s mile and clearly checking his splits on the big board.

Behind the blocks before the mile

I started the day off with a warmup swim during prelims and cheered for all my fellow Rebels. Erik was in the morning heats of the 1650, so you better believe I counted for him during his very last college race. I remember eating a Panera Bread bread bowl and soup for lunch and trying to stay calm. Finally, it was time for finals. After my long-ass warmup because I am a diesel engine and it takes me basically an entire workout to warmup, I got ready for senior recognition. On the final night of conference, they recognize all the seniors from all the teams. Luckily, the 1650 is the first event on the final night so I didn’t have to wait much longer. I remember being annoyed that I was second seed and didn’t get to choose our walkout song (top seed gets to choose the walkout music), but I also remembered just being so happy to be in the moment. This was my moment, my event, and I was going to enjoy it. Competition was going to be fierce - there were two underclassman I’d been battling all year from Wyoming and BYU, and the former conference champ and fellow senior from UTAH. BTBNTY (IYKYK). There were nerves of course, but I mostly remember being at peace with whatever happened, immensely grateful, and amazed that 13 years of work had led to this moment. I looked up and saw my mom and dad, my sister, and my boyfriend at the time. Then I looked over to my team - all of these people were sharing this amazing moment with me. I cried into my goggles and had to keep fussing with them so they wouldn’t fog up 😂

Some of my teammates on the side of the pool during my race.

Parent/family section during my race. Mom is losing her mind - Dad is probably thinking, thank god this is the last swim meet.

     Right before I made my move at the 500.

I heard “take your mark” for the final time I would swim a 1650 and then the quiet as you submerge under water. That first 500, all 4 of us were together. I felt amazing. Nothing hurt which is a miracle since every other 1650 I have swum had always resulted in me dying and unnatural death on the pool deck after. But this time, there was no pain. One of the things I loved about distance swimming, is that you could always “tell” that if you made a move, you would break the other swimmer. Intuition was telling me to make that move at the 500. I went and never looked back. Over the 16 minutes, you can hear the cheers getting louder. I heard the announcer while racing (not knowing what he was saying) and then I looked over to the side of the pool deck - my teammates were all lined up on the side of the pool. My excitement was building and I knew I was going to win. I just wanted to get out and celebrate with everyone! It was down to the final 150 of the race and I had about a pool length lead on 2nd. Most of the time, that final 150 is one of the worst things you will ever gut out, but that night I felt like I was flying. I started crying into my goggles again and finally I saw the magical lap counter for the final length (no ever put in the red side for me, just 69 - jerks lol). I had finally made it. I touched the wall and nothing I ever could imagined could have described that moment. It was so loud, it was electric. I looked around again and it was just one of those perfect moments I never wanted to end. I somehow managed to jump halfway out of the water in celebration - had to remind myself to stay in until the last finisher finished, but then I bolted out of the water to go celebrate with my team.

My most impressive athletic feat yet - somehow managed this jump in the deep end 😂

Bear hugs with my coaches

Post-race walking back to the team area - crying all the way

This is the part that is a blur. There were so many hugs and tears (not just mine!!). I got a huge bear hug from Kunio and Jim. I remember asking Jim if I could break the rules just this once to go celebrate with my family (we stayed on deck during the meet, with friends/family in the stands). He said yes, so I bolted up there with my cap and goggles still on, and ran to meet them in the UNLV cheer section. I got to have my podium moment and things started to sink in what I had done - what that swim meant to me. The fact that it means this much to me 18 years later speaks volumes to what it was. So many things have to go right on meet day and it finally came all together in my very last college swim. There was sadness knowing that it was over, but mostly joy for accomplishing what was a far reaching goal and gratitude to every single person who supported me and believed in me during my swim career. At dinner that night, I asked what the announcer had said in those final laps that got everyone riled up. He said something to the effect of  “That is Lani Seaman from UNLV leading. She was dead last in the 1650 her freshman year at this meet and tonight she will be a champion in her final swim.”  It really was the perfect race.

I think what meant the most after all was said and done, was that my teammates were genuinely just as excited as I was. I wouldn’t have been able to do what I did without all of them through the years. As much as swimming is individual, it is very much a team sport. That swim was just as much for them as it was for me. They ended up voting me for the most inspirational swim that year and I still display it proudly ❤ Also finally, just a reminder that I was 3rd to last my freshman year, not dead last 😂

This is my I am going to enjoy this moment no matter what. I am also short for a swimmer, your eyes don’t deceive you.

With mom and dad post-podium

I’ve won awards, but this one still means a whole lot.

I’m going to Kona

How do I even start this? I feel like I’ve been chasing this goal for so, so long and so for it to actually happen, well there are a lot of feelings. 

Backing up for a second. I’ve always been a late bloomer in sport. I didn’t really blossom into a great swimmer until the last two years of my swim career and it’s taken me a long time to figure out this Ironman thing. Spoiler alert: I still haven’t. I’m not particularly gifted/talented, but where I lack in that is made up for in an abundance of stubbornness, a lack of common sense, and a “I’ll quit when I’m dead” mentality. All of those things lead into a great deal of determination, persistence, and the annoying ability to remain positive when everything goes wrong. RE: THE LAST 6.5 YEARS. I won’t rehash that, you all know the stories, the injuries, the life-altering moments - it’s this crazy beautiful-awful life that just keeps you spinning in circles sometimes.

What I will rehash is that it took me 12 tries at this distance to get to this moment. I’ve PR’d, podiumed (finally after a string of near-miss 6th places!), I’ve finished DFL - looking at you Norseman 2016, and I have DNF’d 3 fulls. This distance is wild - you never know what race day will bring or how your body is going to react and that’s what makes it worth doing! Also, holy cow - who knew I’d still be improving as I approach 40. Some people get this sport on the first try, some people, like me, have to keep laying the bricks slowly and eventually it will fall into place.

After recovering from my 2023 injuries, this year was all about putting in performances I knew I had in me. Challenge Roth was amazing, but disappointing in that I had a rough day on the bike and didn’t have it that day. Looking back, racing on about 2 hours of sleep and a week of sightseeing probably didn’t help lol. Luckily, I had signed up for Ironman Arizona last winter mostly because I really liked doing a late season Ironman last year and I really wanted to shoot for a PR. And maybe also that Kona thing in the back of my mind since I missed the Kona party in 2022 and 2023 due to injuries.

Training this year focused on just being consistent. After Roth, I had a few weeks to get recovered and then we started building back in for AZ. Other than a bout of Covid in September, I was putting up great numbers and paces. Coming into IM AZ is probably the most confident I’ve ever felt going into a full - I was ready and I knew this was going to be my race. I also had an interesting sign when I got into Tempe. I was going to check my phone for when the sun was setting so I could go grab a run and when I went to my weather app it said “Kailua-Kona” before it updated my location to Tempe. I’m not even kidding and was stunned enough that I didn’t react fast enough before it updated to grab a screen shot.

I started my true taper about a week out and focused on resting up for the big day. Race morning was finally here and I was so pumped! Also, BONUS - my friend Nic who is an official for Ironman was staying at the same hotel and we randomly ran into each other for a very loud 445 am reunion! Those were my first tears of the day and I was so thrilled to see him. I made my over to the race site, got my transition stuff set up, panicked about back wheel, fixed back tire (thank you Nic and other race official!!), and then found mom, Kari, and the kiddos in the VIP area. Also, pro tip, if you shell out the money for Ironman VIP you get your own bathrooms and don’t have to share 😆 ALSO - LIZ CAME OUT TO SURPRISE ME!! She flew in the morning of and was there right when I finished the swim! Between Nic and Liz, my heart was already feeling full to the point of bursting. The amount of gratitude I have towards the amazing humans I’ve met in this sport is unmeasurable.

I squeezed myself into my wetsuit and made my way to the start line. The next set of tears came during the national anthem. I’m not sure what came over me in that moment, but it had me sniffling and shedding tears. And soon, we were starting. To be completely honest, I hate this swim. For some inexplicable reason, I never swim well here and it is so freaking slow. This is only swim I’ve ever been like “thank God that is over.” I came out of a less than stellar swim (for me, remember it’s all relative!) and was so ready go fast on my bike.

My bike has been rough this year - mostly because of external circumstances and it hasn’t been a reflection of my fitness. So I was really excited to have no issues and just go for it. SIGH. As I hopped on my bike and started pedaling, my chain dropped, got wedged and very, very stuck. After wasting time trying to do it myself (and cutting up my hands) and Liz telling me to calm down, I have time - I ran back to transition to have the mechanics fix it for me and then I was able to get on my way. So if you were tracking me and saw my slow first split that is why. I was panicked and it felt like an eternity and I didn’t want to lose a podium spot or KQ because of it. In the end, it did cost me an IM AZ bike course PR and an overall Ironman PR, but these things happen. The only thing that matters is how you react and move forward. I really wish it hadn’t happen because I had an average all-time Ironman bike power best by 10 watts, so again, the fitness and improvement are there, external factors are just a bitch sometimes. I rode very well, with the time difference between my first and last loop of the 3 loop course being less than a minute apart even with the headwind picking up. I made up a lot of ground, riding my way back into top 10 overall and putting myself back into second in my age group off the bike.

I felt a lot more comfortable with things after I came off the bike. I may not be the fastest runner, but I’m nothing if not consistent. While I am faster than I was in the past, the biggest thing that has changed for me is that I don’t really blow up and death march the IM marathon anymore (Sunday was actually another IM marathon PR. To be fair, it’s another marathon PR since I’ve never run one outright and have zero plans to). I still want to get under 4 hours off the bike for the marathon and I think that is much more doable now that I have found consistency in running. The speed will come. I know I will drop spots, but I also knew that with 40 Kona spots available for women, my AG  would likely get 5 spots based on other races this fall. So I just needed to be consistent and maintain a steady pace without doing anything stupid. The first 15-16 miles actually didn’t fell horrible. I always stick to my walk the aid stations, run the rest plan. This helps my legs reset, keep my HR in check, and gives me small mental resets along the way. Too often I see people blow through those first aid stations and I end up passing them later in the marathon while they are walking. You’d be amazed what 20 second walk breaks to take on nutrition can do for you! Anyway, I digress. Around mile 16, Liz told me I was in 4th and that 5th was closing, but I could hold her off if I keep maintaining. GAH. NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR THAT AT MILE 16. Mile 16 is usually a turning point in the Ironman marathon. You’ve covered a lot of ground by that point so the fatigue is really starting to hit, but you still have just over 10 miles to go. It’s mind f**kery. I heard her say, “you can do this, you have trained for this.” Yes, yes I have. Every single Sunday long run is dress rehearsal for the fatigue you will feel at the late stages of an Ironman. I saw Kristan on the backside of the hill and she said I was still holding onto 4th and I could do this! For those that don’t know, Kristan I shared some very dark miles of IM Wisconsin 2017 together! I found myself drawing on those learned moments and embracing the pain that my body was in. It’s the only way to get through it - you have to face the pain head on. It’s not going to go away, you just have to push through. 

But wtaf am I doing here?

Mom calls this my “don’t f**k with me zone.” I came around to start my 3rd loop and saw Kari and mom and yelled “where’s 5th and 6th?!” Both looked bewildered, but they had answers when I saw them again 😂 I kept running. At this point in the marathon, I usually switch to getting from aid station to aid station rather than counting the miles. As most people know, the next turning point is the 20 mile mark. You have the longest 10k of your life ahead of you there. Oh man, I was so bloated by this point. Just keep moving. I ran into another athlete I know as she was on her first loop and that was a great pick-me-up! And then out of some desert mirage comes Nic himself like the magical f**king unicorn that he is, and he somehow got me to have a full on conversation with him while I was running. I have no idea how he did that, but there I was running at mile 18.5 and having a chit-chat like this was just normal and that I was completely fine out for a casual Sunday run 😆 I saw the mile 20 sign, then mile 21 and saw Liz again. I had put time back into 5th and had sizeable lead on 6th, so I just needed to keep going. Just over 5 miles. Get to the next aid station. Caffeine. Get to the next aid station. Mile 23 is at the crest of the hill on the back side of the course, it is mostly downhill from there except for a stinger before turning to get back on the path on Priest Dr (imho this is the worst one on course lol). After mile 24 I saw Liz again, and she said some magical words. They had posted the slot allocations, there were 5 slots in my AG and I had it. People around me started to congratulate me and I was like “NOOOOO, this isn’t done yet - I still have to get through the next 1.7 miles!” And then my stomach rumbled. OH NO. This will be the moment I finally s**t myself in a race. I had made peace with that fact, but thankfully, I did not. However, I did in fact spend the night and day after sick though - I am blaming the lake water. Left turn, left turn, down the tiny hill, right turn to head to Rio Salado and the finish line. Those last miles were the longest of my life knowing 5th was coming. Finally, I saw the last little hill to the finish and Liz told me 5th was 3.5 minutes back so I could enjoy the finish chute. While I did enjoy it, I powered up that little hill because I just wanted to be done. I had done it - I finally podiumed at full-distance and I KQ’d. 4th in AG, another top 20 overall, and another sub-11 (I'm getting really consistent!). I cried. I saw Kari, then Liz, then Kristan. I got huge hugs from them all. Mom had to take Teagan to the bathroom, so our hug was  a bit delayed 😂 I wished dad could have seen this moment. At the darkest moments when I race, I draw on his strength, I remind myself that he is half of me and everything that made him great, exists in me. I so wish he could have seen this.

I haven’t met a finish line I don’t like - so glad to be done moving!

Like I said, I’m not naturally talented or gifted, I play the long game. I’ve gotten to this point due consistency and getting the work done even when I don’t want to. I don’t believe in motivation. You can’t be motivated 100% of the time, but you can just show up every day and give your best. That’s what I do. It’s easy to make excuses like “I don’t have time” or “I’m tired,” but here is the thing - those excuses show up on race day and in life. To be completely honest, you can be as fit as anyone, but if you don’t have the mental toughness to back things up - it won’t go the way you want. This one meant a lot. It tested me, it made me keep my head in the game. It’s never over until it’s over. This was a culmination of years of hard lessons learned and staying calm when things go wrong. 

So now for the what next. I still have two major goals left in full distance racing - finish at the top of Mt Gausta (DON’T EFF ME OVER WEATHER) and finish Kona, both of which I will do next year for my 40th year of life. Norseman is the “A” race for next year and Kona is just going to be the celebration. No one races well in Kona unless you are winning it and I’m just there for the party, so if takes me 17 hours, I don’t really care. After that, I’m not actually sure what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll go for a PR race again, but I might step away and go play bikes more on the gravel bike, maybe race some time trials. I feel like once I have the “big three” of Kona, Roth, and Norseman done, I might pivot to something else. Maybe shorter distances. Ironman is a lot. Peak training is nuts. For now though, I’ll just enjoy the moment and take some time to rest before we ramp up for 2025 ❤

I waited so long for this moment. I wanted ALL the cheesy pictures ❤

This is for me - Norseman 2023

I don't even know where to start - I'm still in disbelief and overwhelmed that Norseman actually happened. I'm not sure how I was physically and mentally able to do that and the whole experience was just so surreal. I feel like I've been fighting for so long and now that it's over, I don't even know how to feel.

First things, some advice for future Norseman athletes. This is nothing like an ironman. Sure it shares the same distances as an ironman, but they aren't even remotely the same in terms of race approach. Just because you've gone xx:xx time in an ironman, doesn't mean you will even be on par with your results in Norseman. Take that time, throw it away, and respect Norseman for what it is. I learned that hard lesson in 2016. I was bitch-slapped and humbled by that race. Because of that though, I came into 2023 with a much better mindset. It's a clean slate when you start Norseman. Sure, I've had great results at normal Ironman races, but that meant nothing in a race that makes athletes cry at every turn and the battle with the elements is every bit a part of this race. I've never dug deeper within myself to finish a race than I have at Norseman both times. Also, this race is now the Xtri World Championships. It is seriously competitive and these Xtri specialists are insane! Short version of this story: Norway is still stunning and I got the black tshirt. For more details, please read on. But first pictures of the scenery from race day:

Voringfoss waterfall on the bike course

Swim in a fjord.

Mt Gausta pre-storm

When I found out I got a spot in November, I was stunned. I hadn't expected lightning to strike twice. I got in on my first try in the lottery in 2016 and I only had to wait 7 years for my second chance. There are people that have been waiting so long for a spot and I'm lucky enough to have had my name drawn twice. So even though Norseman wasn't even on my radar (I literally put my name in right before they closed registration for the draw!), I knew I had to take the spot since you never know when your next chance will be.

We all know what happened next - I strained my hamstring again in December and took some time away to rehab it. Then once I was finally coming back from things, I was attacked by the dog. So yeah, we were panic training into Norseman 😅 In all seriousness, the last 3 months have been so hard. Mentally and physically, it's been difficult to remain positive. Shit hurts. Being in pain is draining. I tried to focus on the good and that I get to race Norseman, but even that had lost some of it's allure because I knew I wasn't going to have the fitness I would want going into the race. And I knew my body was going to protest it all the way.

But with the support of my friends, family, my physical therapy team, and my actual therapist, I pushed forward and before I knew it, we were flying to Norway. We met Liz in Oslo since she was on travel prior and flew straight from there. She was very happy to be reunited with her bike and went on many bike adventures in Norway, which I am very envious of. Next time I go to Norway, it will be to play bikes.We spent a few days in Oslo, then made our way to Eidfjord and it was just as spectacular as I remember it being. There was one hiccup with my rear brakes and they needed to be recabled, but really the lead up to the race was pretty calm and we really enjoyed our time. I REALLY MISS NORWEGIAN BREAKFAST SPREADS. 

Before I knew it, I was up at 2:15 on a Saturday morning getting ready to tackle this monster again. I was so calm until the night before and then was a bundle of nerves. I barely slept (but no one does honestly) and I questioned my sanity more than once that morning. I've been questioning if my body could actually still physically do this race. My anxiety was through the roof. The reality is though, I get to do this. And I'm so very lucky that I am able to do this. Anyway, after forcing breakfast in my face, we got my crap into transition, I grabbed my ferry snax and water, gave mom and Liz big hugs, and boarded the ferry. 

I wrote that I'm not sure if words can describe the ferry at Norseman on a post earlier this week There are none. Both times it has felt like I'm living an out of body experience. Like "is this really my life?" I got my wetsuit on and before I knew it they were pumping the fjord water up so we could acclimate to the temperature. And then they lower the hatch (is that what is called?) and they put the Norseman banner up. This is when you know shit is about to get real. I swear both times I have made this jump, time slows down. At 450 am, they start "the jump." Then you swim out to the swim start. My heart beat was roaring in my ears and I had to remind myself to take deep breaths. When my time came to jump, I stepped off and remember thinking, "let it go." For those fleeting seconds I was falling into the fjord, I felt so at peace for the first time in years. Cliche? Probably, but my mind hasn't given me peace since dad was diagnosed. Then I hit the water and it was just this feeling "what will be, will be." I haven't felt that in so long. I swam over to the swim start and got myself ready to go.

                                                               It me! Jumping off the ferry!

The ferry horn blew and we were off! It was windy and the currents were strong, so much like last time, I knew this would be a slow swim. I don't mind that though, since it does give me an advantage as a strong swimmer. However, when I made the turn back to the pier and the swim finish, I quit triathlon a lot lol! Surprisingly, I ended up being first female out of the water even after falling over five times because my calf cramped up getting out of the water. Luckily the guy who had been drafting on my feet for the swim helped me up along with the volunteer and I was up and out of the water. The live feed did catch this all on video in case you want to watch me fall over a lot. Liz met me in transition and had to show me where the heck my bike was since I had forgotten already 😂 She helped me get ready to go and as I started getting too ahead of myself, she reminded me I have lots of time and to get settled in. For those interested in bike start gear: I swam in my sports bra and tri shorts, put a jersey on in transition, my required reflective vest, socks, light gloves, and then I did have toe covers on my bike shoes as a "just in case." I knew I was going to get hot on the climb, so I kept the clothing minimal.

All smiles on the first climb out

And then I was off. The first climb is long, with the bottom having the steepest pitches. To be completely honest, it felt pretty damn good. I may have overrode a bit, but it's so rare that I am climbing mountains with oxygen around! I made sure to soak in the scenery - this bit of the world is so insanely beautiful. I felt ok with going a bit harder on this climb, knowing that after Dyranut at 36 km, it was a net downhill to Geilo at 90 km (you still get a good chunk of elevation gain in those kms, but net down 😅). I made it up to Dyranut in less than 2 hours, which is stellar for me. Surprisingly, the weather was good on the plateau. Chilly, but not raining. And no hail. *shivers in 2016 Norseman* Liz and mom helped me refill my bottles, onboard more nutrition, and I threw on my waterproof wind jacket. 

 Was the medical car just tailing me because they know my history? 😂😂

The kms to Geilo were pretty uneventful. I just focused on taking in nutrition, staying down in aero as much as I could, and conserving energy for the back end of the bike course. My muscles were feeling a bit twitchy and tight, but I think that was partly due to the temperature change and they were cold from the net downhill. I got to Geilo and met up with mom and Liz again. I was facing a lot of demons on this bike course, and I got emotional knowing what was coming in the last half of the course. Those were my first tears of the day and Liz reminded me that I got this. So off I went to start the first of the 4 major climbs in the last half of the course. None of them are particularly steep, or at least they didn't feel as difficult as riding around Santa Fe, but I knew Imingfjell loomed and it was waiting for me. I played chicken with a few dudes - I'd catch them on the climbs and they'd fly by me on the descents. It helped pass the grind through those miles. Finally, on the last descent, I saw it, Imingfjell. We had planned a stop right before the climb started, mostly because I knew I would need moral support and caffeine. After that brief stop, it was time to climb the mountain that broke my knee last time. Surprisingly, it felt good. I felt strong and was able to get into a steady cadence and spin up the mountain. I crested the top in 35 min. For reference, in 2016, that climb took me nearly an hour. I saw mom and Liz one last time at the top, breathed a sigh of relief, and started the grind to where the descent to T2 truly started. Yeah I know, you don't get to go down immediately after Imingfjell. RUDE. 

My sigh of relief was short lived. About 5 min into the plateau on Imingfjell, the Norse gods decided that it was time to fuck shit up. The skies opened up into a downpour and the thunder was rumbling. The descent from Imingfjell is technical so I was holding on for dear life and trying to stay warm. Once I got to the long downhill drag to T2, I tucked in the best I could and again, tried to conserve energy. I definitely lost some spots on that descent, but I didn't want to risk getting taken out and not being able to finish. 

By the time I made it to T2, I was definitely shell-shocked and cold. I wasn't even sure I could run after that. Liz and mom must have seen it in my face, because they got me out of my wet clothes, into a dry base layer and socks, and got me moving again. Since my watch had died (as well as my bike computer lol), Liz lent me hers for the run and off I went. It took me a good few miles to feel like I was still in this thing again - I was really out of it at the start of the run! Liz had reminded me to settle in and I knew I needed to take this in chunks. I had decided on a 10 min run, 30 sec walk since I came into this race with not the greatest run base and I did not want my hamstrings to flare up. This ended up working very well and the miles ticked by. I should mention that they had closed the mountain top finish due to the lightning that was moving through and while I was sad about it, I still had a black tshirt to get. I kept ticking through my run-walk, and finally, by 25km it was time to start Zombie hill. I came through that check in 150th (top 160 make the black tshirt cutoff) - oh man was I nervous now! Since I had topped off nutrition a few km before, I didn't need to stop at the base and gained a few places back. Liz said she would catch up, so I kept moving forward. The power hike was on!

Zombie Hill was rough to say the least. My back and the sciatic nerves decided it was the perfect time to start acting up. Lot's of whimpering was happening, but Liz kept reminding me I was still in black tshirt contention and that I just needed to keep moving forward. It was extremely hard mentally to stay in the moment when I got passed, but like Liz said, I just kept moving foward. I counted down the switch backs, and before I knew it, we were passing Team BOB (with a brief dance party respite lol) and we it the 32 km checkpoint. I was number 159 out of 160 that would normally make the cutoff at that point. Holy crap the relief I felt in that moment was so amazing. I screamed, Bent (Norseman crew, walked into the finish with me in 2016, and the beating heart of Norseman) was jumping up and down cheering for me, and I was elated. Since they had closed the mountain top finish though, black was now based on time. So we needed to get to the 37.5 km checkpoint (mountain entrance) in 14:45. We had plenty of time, so with the second wind of knowing I had black, Liz and I grabbed our mountain packs and started the 5km up to the checkpoint. 

Zombie Hill with my fren

As we began our hike (it's still 5km at 8% avg grade), the weather started to turn again. And as we reached the checkpoint, the skies opened up once again. At this point, we had done 7 miles straight of uphill with a gain of nearly 4000 ft and my legs did not want to go downhill. I would have much rather gone up at that point. Since the mountain was closed, we all finished at the "white finish." Which meant 5 more km of brutal downhill. I should be grateful that I was able to get the full marathon as they started pulling people from the course not too long after I finished and people coming up Zombie Hill were routed to finish at 32 km. Initially, I had wanted to walk it, but then the lightening started, and the hail (it wouldn't be Norseman if I didn't get hailed on), and it was time to get the hell off the mountain. Getting out of the lightening that was striking nearby (they definitely made the right call to close the mountain) gave me the push I needed to get to the finish.  Counting down the kms, we finally saw the 42 km sign. And there was the finish. God it was emotional. I know Liz and mom were tearing up too - I couldn't have done this without them. Like they say, you can't do this alone. It's been so hard these last 5 years and I finally got my moment. I did it in the most nerve wracking way possible, but I'm not sure if this story could have gone any other way. Those 14.5 hours fighting my way through the Norseman course were everything I could have asked for (minus not getting to go up the mountain, but no one got to) and I'm so proud. So many times in the last few years, I could have quit, but I didn't. Norseman as a race is just such a great parallel to life in general. It's messy, hard, beautiful, and amazing. You never know what the race will bring and it's unpredictable - and that's life. This race changes you. It gets under your skin. And there is nothing like it. 

Final downhill

Finishing with dad

Shortly after the finish, my core temperature dropped rapidly and I spent the next hour dying until I could get warm. I remember sitting in the Team BOB cabin next to the fire in a chair just crying as I reflected on what just happened. I couldn't believe that it was over. And so, Norseman 2023 is complete. I think I'm satisfied (I mean, no mountain finish sooooo). Huge thank you to Liz and mom for crewing, Kari for cheering from afar, all of you for support, and dad whatever spirit energy brought me last Saturday. I mean #159 - you can't make that shit up.

I am really s**t at being vulnerable

I guess I should write an update. It's been a hot minute. And I honestly don't really know where to start. I just feel a need to write.

Mostly I want to write about how I've been struggling the last few months. While I typically like to remain positive, I need to talk about the bad. Someone is always struggling and I promised myself a long time ago I wouldn’t hide the bad things from people.

I guess things kinda started to go downhill towards the end of may when I hurt my hamstring (again - well on the left leg this time). Since the Tulsa crash, I’ve been dealing with all kinds of fun things with my sacral nerves, low back, and hamstrings. This was the third time I’d managed to tweak one since right before IM Maryland last year. While it isn’t a deal breaker, it’s always annoying because it stops the momentum of training so I can rest and let it heal. Then I got food poisoning while I was in Vegas visiting family over Memorial Day. 10/10 do not recommend. At that point it was no big deal since my fitness base was huge, but then just a few weeks later, boom, COVID. 

Notably, I actually raced City of Lakes sprint while I unknowingly had COVID. I had thought it was just a sinus infection, so I raced. I should have known there were some red flags - mostly because I was fatigued beyond normal levels and my heart rate was insanely high. I also had a horrendous headache two days before the race. It wasn’t until a few days later when I wasn’t getting better and got an email from a colleague saying that a meeting I was in the week prior had 5 people test positive. I basically said “dammit,”, went to my group office to get a rapid test (luckily I’d already been masking to avoid getting COVID before Lubbock), and tested positive in my office. While my symptoms remained mild, in that I never got a fever, I did end up feeling like there was an elephant sitting on my chest for a long while after. And well, we all know the rest of the symptoms at this point. Luckily, Logan never got it (still a bit salty about that 😂) and I basically just slept for what felt like a week. Since this was just a week and a half before Lubbock, I wasn’t even sure I was racing until about 5ish days before the race. I still felt like shit, but I was hopeful I could at least show up and finish and roll out of there with my worlds spot.

We all know how Lubbock went. I am thrilled with how things went all things considered. I’ve never raced a race and physically wanted to take a nap in the middle of it and I never want to run a half marathon with my lungs feeling like I was in a constant asthma attack again, but I’m happy I did it. Since I finished decently, I figure I was ok to continue training and get myself ready for Boulder. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. 

This is where the “never compare yourself to others” comes into play. Since I have had plenty of endurance athlete friends get COVID in the last few months (well years I guess), I felt like I should be ok. Instead of listening to my body and all the red flags, I convinced myself that I was just a wimp and that I was fine because others I know returned to racing/training so soon after being sick. It was probably about 3 weeks before Boulder, I knew I was really in trouble. My fitness was faltering, I was gaining weight from what I assume was the stress my body was under, and I was so fatigued all the time. And since I’m so stubborn, I ignored all this, watched my power/paces get slower every week, and became more and more depressed as I watched friends go on with their awesome seasons. It’s hard not to get down on yourself when everyone is seemingly just doing awesome and your body can’t even get out of easy pace zones without your heart rate going into threshold levels. 

I felt like all of it was my fault - I just wasn’t pushing through things and I wasn’t working hard enough. So I continued on. The week before Boulder, I had an easy run and I literally had to stop every mile to just catch my breath because I couldn’t keep my heart rate in control. Another warning sign that I shouldn’t have ignored, but did anyway. I had decided, at the very least, at that point that I was taking a week off after Boulder. Obviously, I turned in my chip after the bike at Boulder after getting stung and just generally tanking (still zero regrets about that). After that, I finally let myself rest.

Anyway, while the two weeks of rest were much needed, I hated that I let myself get to that point. I feel like I should be “on” all the time and it is really hard for me to allow people to see when I am vulnerable. I am the same with my bipolar disorder and dealing with my grief over dad’s death. I feel like I need to be “fine” all the time. It was no different dealing with the injuries/illness this summer. I hated that I felt like I was the only one struggling with COVID recovery and everyone else seemed fine. I felt like I had done something wrong. Which is absolutely stupid since biology dictates how it will affect you, but my brain wasn’t being rational anymore. 

While I still don’t think I have long COVID symptoms, a friend reached out after Boulder and directed me to a Facebook group for endurance athletes dealing with long COVID symptoms. And it actually was very helpful. After perusing through the posts, I realized I wasn’t alone in all this. After I returned to training two weeks ago, the only symptoms I am dealing with are some high heart rate and brain fog. Luckily the fatigue and chest tightness have gone away. I’m still being cautious because I know my body did go through a lot, but I am confident that it is basically behind me.

This weekend was the first one since May that I feel like I actually could be returning to normal. It wasn’t anything spectacular - it was just consistent and productive. I have some great friends to thank for that. While they all were deep in the thick of Ironman training and with fitness levels much higher than mine at the moment, it was great to tag along for part of their long ride and just hang out with them. It feels like it’s been far too long that I enjoyed training and just letting myself be ok with where my body is at the moment. I made a promise to myself that when I came back into training, I would just enjoy the process. 

I’ve learned some hard lessons this summer and that’s fine. Part of this crazy sport is learning from the lows, so that you can get yourself to the highs. I have learned this lesson many times over throughout my swimming and triathlon career, but I still somehow need to be bitchslapped into place once and awhile 😅 I am hopeful going forward that I will make smarter decisions and not let myself be a stubborn idiot. Time will tell - I’m sure I’ll end up doing something stupid again at some point, but hopefully that stupid is consistent Ironman training block leading into Ironman Texas in April lol!

 

Finally.

It doesn't get easier, you just get stronger. I can't even begin to say how much that saying simultaneously frustrates me and also describes the last 4 years for me. After IM Tulsa's crash, I really questioned if I was even capable of ironman anymore. Not only was my body in pain, my soul was absolutely crushed. Laying there on the pavement, there was a moment that crossed my mind that I couldn't do this anymore. Let's recap as to what caused that brief moment of quit:

1. I DNF'd Ironman Maryland in 2015 after passing out off the bike. My day ended in ambulance trip to the ER.

2. Dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer just 5 days after my last ironman finish at IM Wisconsin in 2017. That race really does mark a turning point in my life. 

3. Dad passed away in April of 2018. My world was shattered.

4. I do what I always do, push down my grief and try and move forward. I signed up for Ironman Boulder in 2019, just a week after my dad's interment into Arlington National Cemetery. What I suspect is a combination of grief, exhaustion, and being sick results in yet another DNF and ambulance trip at Ironman Boulder.

5. 2020 - COVID. In some ways COVID and quarantine was good for me. It forced me to face reality and come to terms with my grief. I finally felt the racing bug again and signed up for Ironman Tulsa.

6. Coming into Ironman Tulsa I was in the best shape I have been in for ironman racing. There was no doubt in my mind I was in for a huge breakthrough there. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans and I was involved in a crash on the bike. Another Ironman that ended in an ambulance. 

7. When I found out that I had no broken bones, my mind immediately went to planning my recovery and salvaging my season. Once again, I underestimated the emotional and physical toll this would take on me, but I persisted. I shoved down that hurt and fear and got back on the bike (not the healthiest way to go about things, but this seems to be how I deal with trauma).

8. Going through all the above while managing my normal bipolar symptoms and trying to remain a functional human being. It's a lot. 

And yet, I somehow found something in me that needed to do this. Again. Maybe I put too much of myself into this sport, but this sport is therapy for me. The highs and lows associated with this sport are almost spiritual for me. Well I guess they are spiritual. There is something to be said when you are deep into the marathon of an ironman and your body is barely functioning anymore, and your mind is what is keeping you upright and moving forward. I love that feeling. And of course, the finish line is worth the 10+ hours of hurt every single time.

The hardest thing coming into Ironman Maryland was knowing I wasn't in the shape I was in before Tulsa. My body had been through a lot and mentally, it was difficult to keep going when I was still dealing with crash pain and to be honest, the emotional trauma. I came to terms with the fact that I may not have the best race ever, but I could still have a great day out there. I'd been waiting for so long for this race, there was no way I wasn't going to do it. Also, I convinced Liz to come out with me and race since Kona was postponed again. So honestly, it was a really fun week. My mom had gotten a sweet room at the Hyatt in Cambridge, so we definitely enjoyed our time lushing and soaking up the race atmosphere. And eating all the crab.

Race day is a blur to be honest. I woke up with an upset stomach, not so much from nerves, but  for the fear that I end up in an ambulance again. I had told my mom and Adelaide that if I made it off the bike, I would finish. I would crawl if I had to. Ultimately, I think my biggest goal coming in was "just f*cking finish." The swim was jellyfish noodle soup. Thankfully, I don't seem to react to the stings and they were more annoying than anything else. I got stung in my mouth twice which was interesting, but otherwise I had a decent swim. The bike course is something a cyclists dream off - fast and roads in great condition. It is so rare that I get to ride fast here in NM, so I loved every minute of this course. I did actually off road a bit at mile 80 and almost crash, but somehow remained upright, and finished a relatively uneventful bike. Coming into transition, I had total deja vu from when I passed out in front of my parents in 2015, but luckily this time I was coherent and my mom told me I was first in my AG. Well shit. Guess I better hope that my run is there. While I didn't have a great run, I didn't have a bad run. All things considered, I was really lucky to be even starting the race, let alone running. It got ugly, I quit Ironman about a dozen times in my head, but I ran it. For the first time ever, I actually never walked except for the aid stations to take on fuel. I don't think I've ever been able to push through that much pain on the run before, so that is a win in my book. There were more than a few moments where my quads started to give out, but I found a new level of suffering and since I am a sick person - that's why I do this shit. 

Jellyfish noodle soup 😂

Regardless, as the miles ticked down, I reminded myself why I was here. I thought about how lucky I was, to be there and in that moment. I had two functioning legs and I was doing something I love. My body was in horrific pain, but I felt so lucky. And while I am not the most spiritual person around, I felt like my dad was with me, helping my legs keep churning forward. Coming down that finisher chute with dad's picture in my hand and my legs physically failing, literally opened the flood gates. Everything just came out. Four years of grief, the stress and uncertainty of my crash and how my body was going to handle an ironman, and the frustration of my last few ironman races - it all just came out. It sounds weird, but a weight lifted when I crossed that finish line. I can't put it into words how much it meant to me - probably because I didn't even know how much it meant to me until that moment. And I broke. I finally broke. I let everything out I have been holding in for so long. The immense gratitude I felt overwhelmed me, the grief overwhelmed me, the magnitude of what I have overcome overwhelmed me, and what I had just accomplished overwhelmed me. And it felt so, so good to finally let go. #ironmantherapy

I had this laminated shortly after dad died so I could tuck it in my race kit. Knowing it was in my pocket gave me comfort when it really started hurting.

I raced with so many of you held close to my heart - my family, my friends, my Coeur teammates, my SISU-IRLAG teammates. Seeing some of you on course absolutely made my day. I know for a fact I could not have done this without any of you. There are so many people to thank and all of you are amazing in your support. I need to call out a few people though! To Claire - picking up my bike and driving me home from Tulsa and reminding me that I can do this - I don't know how I would have survived those first very painful days without you. To Liz - I'm just calling you my ride or die at this point. You're unwavering support and friendship, especially the last 4 years, has meant everything to me. I don't know many people that think Everesting on a random Saturday is a great idea (spoiler alert: it's not), but I'm here for it. Having you in Maryland was a very calming presence for me and a reminder of how "fun" this can be. I wouldn't have improved so much in the last few years without you pushing me to be better. And let's be honest, post-race donut day is the best thing ever. To mom and Kari - I'm not sure how we have made it through the last 4 years, but somehow we have. We got dealt some shit luck, but in true Jim Seaman spirit, we have "shook it off." While we can never fill the gaping hole dad left, we have learned to live our best lives in honor of him.  To Adelaide - it's amazing to see all the progress we have made in the last two years, not only from a physical standpoint, but in my mental game. I'm also glad that you like to do stupid stuff too, like ride through mountain passes for no reason. I'm glad I can count on you as a friend and to push me to be a better version of myself. And to Logan - from your very blunt "run faster" comments to your worry about me doing these things, I am forever grateful to have your support and belief in me (and begrudging willingness to let me disappear for 8 hours on a Saturday to train for my hobby!).

While Maryland wasn't the best race I could have had, I'm actually at peace with the Ironman distance for now. It was still good in terms of execution and a 70 min PR, but I know there is more in the tank. However, I am good for now. It's a bit of an odd feeling since I feel like I've spent so long chomping at the bit for that finish line, but I'm ok with not doing an Ironman next year. I feel like I need a mental break from that kind of training and I need to get my body behaving physically again. So next year I'll focus on 70.3s and let myself have a winter without the crazy training load that is Ironman training. 

Letting it all out. Also, everything hurts and I'm dying.

Lubbock 70.3.

 Sometimes I question my sanity. It's been a hard month mentally and physically since Tulsa. As much as it doesn't seem like the crash didn't affect me so much mentally, I had many fears about getting back on a bike. The good news is that I have a great support team and they were here for it. For the first two weeks after Tulsa, I basically just let my body recover, but I still remained active. That first week was tough on me. Claire drove my doped up self back from Tulsa (thanks a million times over Claire) and that was probably one of the more painful experiences I've been through. My body did not want to be folded into a car and my muscles/bones were pretty damn bruised so it hurt to sit, and stand, and well, just exist at that point. Thankfully, lots of gentle yoga got me walking 2 miles with my amazing friends Therese, Nadia, and Claire by that Friday, 5 days post crash. I spent that weekend walking up a storm up and down County Road 84 😂 By the next week, I was back on the trainer, then I did a very uncomfortable walk/jog by the end of week two. My biggest accomplishment was that 2 weeks post crash, I was able to ride outside on my road bike with Liz to TVM because delicious breakfast will tempt me to face fears any day. Since I was at least jog-walking again, I naturally decided to sign up for Lubbock 70.3 which was only 3 weeks later. Definitely a bold move (insert Dodgeball reference here) since I was no in the best of shape and not even running! Luckily, 2.5 weeks before the race I did my first run, so I knew I would be able to finish even though the run was going to be very uncomfortable. I finally got back on the TT bike the week before the race and did a little mini brick run that didn't feel amazing, but at least I got back on the bike. So with my 2.5 weeks of prep, I was off to race.

Anyway, Lubbock was amazing this year. We had pretty much the best weather you could ask for in terms of temperature. Normally this race boasts triple digit temps on the run, so a high of 77 was unheard of. I went into this race with absolutely zero expectations and feeling more relaxed than I ever have pre-race. It probably also helps that I was just having fun with Liz and Amber and meeting all my Coeur teammies. Side note - TLC is pretty much the best prerace prep. Liz and I actually had to force ourselves to go to bed the night before and not stay up watching You, Me, & My Ex all night. We actually got a decent nights sleep, and for once I actually felt rested before a race.

My mom dropped Liz and I off at T1 and then headed back to the hotel so she didn't have to stand in the rain, but promised she would see us coming into T2. Cue my anxiety. It really is only fitting that it was raining and cooler just like in Tulsa. When I was standing with Liz at the swim start, I actually mentioned that this was making me nervous. I knew I just had to get through the bike, but getting there was monumental. The swim was decent - well I guess it was good since I was the first female overall out of the water, but my mind was basically just focused on getting through the bike.

I always take the most flattering pictures coming out of the swim 😄

Once I got to the mount up line with my bike, I faced one of my bigger challenges - getting on the bike! Since I hurt my back, I've lost some mobility/strength in my side, so getting on the bike is actually tough. I took a deep breath, got on my bike like an 80 year-old, and off I went. My legs actually felt pretty bad and my back was not thrilled with me at all. Then I started panicking a bit because the roads were wet and the men were of course not yelling "on your left" when passing, so I really started to go to a dark place. My HR was getting high at 170 bpm and I was getting scared. I looked at my race files and it looks like I was riding pretty timid the first part of the race until the turnaround. Two things happened there that helped me: 1. I was close to halfway done. 2. I saw Liz about a mile after the turnaround. I don't know why, but seeing her reminded me that I can do this and that this is just another day on the bike. I guess it helps that we train together on the bike all the time, so that bit of comfort gave me a boost. At that point I knew I had to try and beat Liz to transition since this was just like training where I am holding on for dear life trying not to let her catch me. I started passing the men back and finally fell into a race rhythm. The rest of the bike flew by. I finally let myself glance at my time and promptly said "holy shit" because I was riding faster than I ever had. I honestly had no idea I could put down a bike split like that and I'm still shocked, but that is a testament to the work Liz and I put in over the pandemic, as well as all the Zwift racing. When I came into transition and after my geriatric dismount, I yelled to my mom that I didn't crash and breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was also the first time that I've ever come off the bike at the pointy end of the female race in a big race, so that was super motivating. 

I'm glad my mount up was capture on camera and please excuse my bloated stomach on the second bike pic. I wish the sun was out to get all the pretty colors in Rainbow 2's paint! Also, Scott Flathouse is awesome - I was so stoked to see that mount up pic made his Insta stories!

The run was obviously the big question mark. I knew if I was having the run I was capable of before Tulsa, I would be close to breaking 5 hours, if I didn't, I still was going to have a huge PR. Turns out that my body wasn't capable of pre-Tulsa pace, but that wasn't much of surprise. I came off the bike feeling pretty flat and my back was like "seriously wtf are we doing," but I settled into a pace that I knew I could hold as comfortably as I could and that minimized the back pain. I am actually super  proud of this run - it was consistent, I didn't walk except to take on nutrition in aid stations, and I remained tough even when my back was telling me no more. Other than an unfortunate port-o-potty emergency at mile 2ish, it was an uneventful run. My pace was consistent and I just focused on my nutrition since it was good test to see how I would handle it at IM Maryland in September. I ran into one of my TCB teammies on my 3rd lap and she was on her second, so we got to run a good chunk of that together before I headed into the finish line. I was pretty shocked to see 5:07 as my final time for the race. Two years ago, I would have never dreamed that I was capable of that. I was 6th in my AG (damn 35-39 for being so competitive) and 14th overall, which is still unreal to me. This was my first time at an Ironman race racing at the top end and I can't wait to see what I can do fully healthy and at peak fitness. Ultimately, I just feel relieved and incredibly lucky that I was even able to race on Sunday. Finishing was the biggest win, everything else is just icing on the cake. 

All the feels.

I can't thank all of you enough for the outpouring of support I have gotten since Tulsa. It takes a village to train and race these things and even more support is required coming back from an injury. Thankfully, I have the best coach, great friends and teammates, and the best family. I am not super spiritual, but I know dad was with me too. I think the reason that I came away from that crash with no serious injury, was because he kept me (and the bike 😆) safe. Knowing how hard I was hit and the cracking in the helmet further confirm that for me. Needless to say, keeping him in my thoughts Sunday helped get me through that bike mentally and I only wish he was here to tell him about my bike split. I can see the face he would make and the same "holy shit" that came out of my mouth when I saw it 💓

  

One More

I basically only dust this blog off when I am feeling waxing poetic, and lately, I have been. It's been an interesting and tough few weeks to say the least. 

There are many swim sets that I've done in my life that I still remember to this day. Mostly because I couldn't believe I could physically complete them and because I found a new gear in myself that I never knew existed. I can remember how I felt during them, the intervals we went one, and the paces I held. But there is one set that stands out over all the rest, and that is One Mores. Every year in the fall at UNLV we did this as a team bonding workout. It was one of the few times a year where we would have a women's and men's only practice since we swam coed most of the time. The premise is brutally simple, fast 25s from a start on coach's go. Brutal because you didn't know when the set would end and there were no intervals - you could get some rest, no rest, or something in between. I very much remember being halfway out of the water to dive in when I heard my coach yell "ONE MORE!" And off I went. The set starts with endless amounts of 25s and ends with elimination rounds. The goal for me was to always try to be one of the last few standing. I am proud to say that I made it to the final two women twice over my 4 years of college swimming (thanks distance swimmer endurance). Anyway, few sets have really challenged me mentally more than one mores did. It really was a team and individual challenge. If you fail, the team fails. So as the set goes on, the rallying cry of "ONE MORE!" echos across the pool deck between gasps for air and tears shed that were washed away in the water. 

I have done 7 ironmans - finished 4 and DNF'd 3. All 3 DNF's ended in an ambulance. Ironman Tulsa was supposed to be my masterpiece. I finally felt like I had all the pieces of the puzzle - lost nearly 30 pounds, nutrition, fitness, mental toughness - clicking together. What I didn't see coming was a crash. I was completely blindsided literally and figuratively. It was scary and if I really let myself think about what happened, I freak out a little. The witnesses said it looked "horrific" and "terrifying." I've been feeling guilty that I wasn't more seriously injured if that makes any sense. I also feel extremely lucky I've avoided any serious injury besides whiplash, multiple contusions, a muscle pull, and a likely minor concussion. Someone was definitely watching over me and my bike (thanks Dad 😆). Any time I look at my damaged helmet, I freak out, but because I am recovering so well it is hard to believe the crash was serious. Basically, I am kinda a mental shit show about it. 

So how do one mores relate to this?

As I was laying on the road, literally watching my Kona aspirations ride away, several things were going through my mind. The crash itself happened in slow motion. As I was airborne, the first thing I thought was "this is going to hurt." Sure as shit, it hurt. The first thing I felt was pain in my back. I knew this was not good. I was almost starting to panic because I thought I might be paralyzed. I could only feel the pain in my back (for a split second my mind went to that I could get into handcycling if I was paralyzed). As the witnesses to the crash got my helmet off and I started to take some deep breaths, I realized I could feel and move my arms and legs, but I remained on my side in case there were fractures. And let's be real, I was in a lot of pain, so fetal position felt the best lol. One of the volunteers called 911 and the minutes waiting for the ambulance ticked by excruciatingly slow, so naturally, I had some time to think. My first thought was to ask about my bike, but as the adrenaline started to wear off, I kept asking myself "how is this happening again?" My train of thought started to derail as I watched each rider ride by and I sunk lower and lower. Why me? As my thoughts start to go to darker places, there was one part of my brain that screamed "ONE MORE." And in that moment, everything changed mentally. I would come back from this, whether I needed surgery, had broken bones, or if something else was seriously wrong - I would come back from this. So what if this was my third Ironman ending in an ambulance?! I was going to come back from this. Because ONE GOD DAMN MORE. 

In the two weeks since, "one more" has become my mantra. I've been making little goals with the big goal of finishing Ironman Lubbock 70.3 at the end of June. I don't really have goals for the race, just to get out there and enjoy it as I am not sure where my body will be mentally and physically at that point. I am healing quickly enough that I have to remind myself that my body went through a pretty traumatic event when I get down on myself for not hitting a certain power or pace. I think the thing that I am most proud of is that as soon as the ER doc said there were no fractures, I looked at him and my mom and said "I am walking to the bathroom and back on my own." It took FOREVER and it was excruciatingly painful, but 3 hours post crash, I went from backboard to walking and that was my finish line that day. Because just one more.