I honestly don't exactly know how another year could possibly beat 2015. The wedding was just the happiest, best party ever. But as happy as I was that day, last Sunday was perhaps the most satisfying, proud moment of my life. 14 hours, 31 minutes, and 35 seconds (plus two years of training) lead me to one of the top three announcements of my life: 1) I now pronounce you husband and wife, 2) Congratulations, Dr. Kelly, and now 3)...
Kate Kelly, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!
But before that, I had to complete the race.
2.4 mile swim
I had been pretty calm leading up to race morning. I will admit to having 3 minor panic attacks in the two months prior to the event, but in general, I was feeling confident I had done enough training to finish. In order for Doug, sister, and parents to get a good viewing spot, they decided to head over to the race start with me at 4:30. They are so good to me. I made my way to transition, adding a few things to my bike and run gear bags, pumping my tires, checking my bike computer, and eating the PB sandwich I hadn't the stomach to choke down yet. Never did get the whole thing down. Banana and hard-boiled eggs were easier that morning. Around 6:25, I started making my way out of the convention center down to the lake. This was when I got really freaked out. I was trying to hold back my tears, both out of excitement and terror, and when I passed my parents in the parking garage - they had a perfect viewing spot - and I could see my fear reflected in their faces. But I got a quick high-five and a kiss from Doug and slowly made my way down to the start.
It was really slow getting into the water, and in fact I only made it into the water with a few minutes to spare. I had originally been worried about having to tread water for a long time, burning precious energy, but that was not even a concern at that point. I hung out off to the side and in the back and waited for the cannon. At 7:00 on the dot, the cannon went off and the crazy began. 2800 competitors surged forward, though it seemed more like a piranha frenzy than a bunch of people swimming. It took about 100 yards for me to be able to put my head under and start to actually swim; at one point I started laughing - it was so crazy. People were swimming on top of each other with the pace not getting going. But eventually, things thinned out a bit and I was able to begin a regular stride.
The water was cool and clear and I felt really good from the beginning. I looked at my watch at each turn and was feeling pretty good about my pace - not too fast, but keeping up with my goal. I was jostled pretty much the entire time, but I also had moments where I could swim my own pace. At one point about 400 yards from the end a guy grabbed my leg, pulled me down, and swam on top of me. I punched him in the gut as he went past. Seriously, dude, if you're back with me, you're probably not going to Kona. Calm the fuck down. At any rate, I came out of the water in 1:28:02 - faster than my ideal goal of 1:30.
I was elated, and really happy one leg of the journey was over. The transition is a little crazy - you have to run up the parking ramp, around the helix, and into the convention center. Transition times are notoriously long at Madison because of this, and when I was training, I was worried about the extra time and energy of all that transitioning. But really, it was so exciting to run through all those people, and past my parents, Doug, and Megan, and you can see my happiness reflected in this pic:
112 mile bike
The volunteers in transition were awesome. They helped me on with my arm warmers, made sure I went through everything in my gear bag and didn't forget anything, got me a glass of water to drink while I took a quick gu for some fast energy to start the bike. I moved as fast as I could, and with the run up to transition, I was still over 13 minutes in transition. But I changed completely so I could wear my most comfortable bike shorts, and wanted to make sure I didn't leave anything behind. I learned this the hard way, when I did the Austin 70.3 last fall and forgot my sunglasses when I went out from the bike. The blazing heat and sun got to me, and I started throwing up at mile 40. I was able to settle my stomach and felt better once I started to run and had on a visor, but I didn't want that to happen at Madison. Anyway, I finished up in transition and left for the bike.
The bike is grueling. No other way to say it. The hills are relentless, and it is a very technical course - many, many turns and constant rolling hills. There are only 3 really bad bitches, which you do twice, but there are lots of other steep or long or constant hills that slow you down. The good thing is that since it was a little windy, especially for my second loop, I was never riding into the wind for a long period of time due to all the turns. But the hills can shred your legs if you aren't careful, and I wanted to be conservative. When I rode one loop of the course in July, we averaged about 15 mph, and I felt confident that I could do the race just shy of that pace. My goal going into the race was 14.5-14.75 mph average, and I started off well.
One loop of the course done, I was feeling confident in my body, but still anxious about equipment. I know how to change a tire pretty quickly, but if something else went wrong, I have very little mechanical knowledge. I felt more and more relieved as the miles ticked by.
Since the bike course is mostly open, meaning there are cars allowed on the roads, spectators are discouraged on the bike portion. This is good for safety, but makes for a lonely race. There were TONS of people out on the bitch hills, which was awesome. The only spectators that were not awesome were the guys dressed as clowns - one peeking out from behind trees in the woods and one who would walk out from the cornfields. Creepy. The first loop someone was passing me as I saw the cornfield clown. I asked if he saw it too or if I was hallucinating. Luckily, he saw it too.
Everyone tells you that nutrition is really the key to an Ironman. You can be incredibly well trained, but if your hydration or fuel plan doesn't work, you can bonk and your day is done. On the bike, I usually take a combination of a rice bar I make (sticky rice, eggs, ham, yellow pepper, tomato, onion, and lots of salt), fruit twists from Target, and peanut butter Ritz crackers. I took bananas at a couple of aid stations too. The cooler temps (it topped out at 70) helped me keep fueling and my hydration plan worked well.
By the second loop, the crowds had died down, but by then I was feeling more confident I'd make the cut off (5:30 pm) by about an hour as long as I didn't run into any mechanical issues. I did a silent cheer at 70.4 miles (longest race mileage ever) and then at 102 miles (longest ride ever). When I turned onto John Nolan Drive at mile 111, I started sobbing. I was SO relieved to have made it through the bike, with an hour to spare, and was nearly certain I could finish the race. My bike time - 7:35:11 (14.76 mph avg) - left me 7 hours to run the marathon. I could do this.
I saw my family right before heading into my second transition - luckily they couldn't see the tears or they would have been worried. When I got into transition, the volunteers were concerned, but I told them they were happy tears, tears of relief!
26.2 mile run
Once off the bike and out of transition, I made my way to the run course. The crowds were thick, as it was prime time for elite finishers of the race. There were tons of cheers and it felt great! Well, until it got quiet, I took stock of my body, and realized that every part of me hurt. This would be a mental battle I've never experienced.
The run was fairly uneventful. I took it one mile at a time. I walked through the aid stations from the start, wanting to make sure I saved my legs for what promised to be a tough marathon. I met some cool people along the way. The cruelest halfway point in sports is the half marathon in many an Ironman, especially Madison, when you run into the finisher's chute, 20 yards from the finish line, hear the cheers, and have to head back out for another 13.1 miles. But honestly, at that point, I was so focused, I didn't give myself an opportunity to think too much about it. I had a job to do. And I was going to do it.
Doug, Megan, parents, and friends were spread out throughout the course, and I got to see them several times throughout. I didn't have to force smiles - though it was hard, I was feeling better than I expected to feel at this point, and I was focused and sure.
It got dark, and there were times I wished I had a headlamp - there was a section through the woods on a gravel trail that I was a little nervous about tripping on, but I made it ok. Just kept plugging along. I took a gu about every 5 miles and one fell out of my race belt along the way, but luckily there was plenty of food at the aid stations. Bananas went down well but potato chips have never tasted better than 130 miles into an Ironman. This would prove to be my slowest marathon by an hour - 5:06:15 - but who the hell cares?!
The final mile of the race was the most thrilling I could ever imagine. With our names on our bibs, everyone on the sidelines was screaming "Kate, you're going to do this! You're going to be an Ironman!" I would scream, "I did it!" back at them and slap high-fives. I was clearly excited because while my average pace during the race hovered around 11:45 - about 10:30-11:00 running pace and walking through aid stations - I dropped to 8:00 for the final mile - almost a 4 minute faster pace. I felt like I was flying. Nothing hurt, I felt invincible.
Coming into the finisher's chute, the crowds are 3-5 deep all along the sidelines. Everyone is screaming. I spotted my husband, sister, and parents, ran past them slapping high-fives and screamed "I did it!" at them (captured on video by my sis even), and made my way to the finish line.
I had really hoped I could space it out so that I finished crossing by myself. So self-indulgent, but if I was going to finish (and perhaps just finish once), I wanted to savor it. It all worked out, that there wasn't anyone around me, so I didn't even have to slow down or speed up to make sure I crossed alone. And then, as I've been dreaming about since I raced my first triathlon two years ago and fell in love, I heard Mike Reilly proclaim: A teacher from Minneapolis, Kate Kelly, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!
As soon I crossed the finish line, I was swarmed by two volunteers, dubbed "catchers," who started asking me questions, presumably to gauge whether I was delirious or not. Since I satisfactorily answered their questions, after they shepherded me to get my medal and through the finish line pic area, they dropped me near husband, sister, and friend and I made my way through the food lines before exiting.
My legs seized up on my immediately upon finishing, and everything else hurt too. I had some chicken broth which tasted wonderful, but couldn't stomach much else. Walking to the car to head back to the hotel, I think a part of me died. But the funny part about afterwards is that once I woke up the next morning, I wasn't that sore. My quads felt like I'd done a hard workout the day before. My hips and back were a little tight. But I could jump around, go down stairs, touch my toes - all things I can NOT do after running a straight marathon. I did wake up starving and I've been exhausted all week. But considering the fact that I pushed myself to my physical limit for over 14 hours, it seems pretty crazy that I'm not sore.
The next two days (well actually, I'm still doing it) I kept turning to Doug saying, "I can't believe I did that. 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run. That is crazy. I can't believe I did it." I still can't believe it.
The feat has almost always seemed completely out of reach, not even worth fantasizing about. Until 2013, I didn't even know to dream that I could do it. For years, I would watch the coverage of Kona in complete awe (and still will!), watching these beautiful humans doing something it doesn't seem like humans should be capable of doing. I never thought I could do something like that. Didn't believe I could dream that big. But now I'm a finisher too. I might not ever do another one, but I don't have to. I am an Ironman.
Kate Kelly, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!
But before that, I had to complete the race.
2.4 mile swim
I had been pretty calm leading up to race morning. I will admit to having 3 minor panic attacks in the two months prior to the event, but in general, I was feeling confident I had done enough training to finish. In order for Doug, sister, and parents to get a good viewing spot, they decided to head over to the race start with me at 4:30. They are so good to me. I made my way to transition, adding a few things to my bike and run gear bags, pumping my tires, checking my bike computer, and eating the PB sandwich I hadn't the stomach to choke down yet. Never did get the whole thing down. Banana and hard-boiled eggs were easier that morning. Around 6:25, I started making my way out of the convention center down to the lake. This was when I got really freaked out. I was trying to hold back my tears, both out of excitement and terror, and when I passed my parents in the parking garage - they had a perfect viewing spot - and I could see my fear reflected in their faces. But I got a quick high-five and a kiss from Doug and slowly made my way down to the start.
It was really slow getting into the water, and in fact I only made it into the water with a few minutes to spare. I had originally been worried about having to tread water for a long time, burning precious energy, but that was not even a concern at that point. I hung out off to the side and in the back and waited for the cannon. At 7:00 on the dot, the cannon went off and the crazy began. 2800 competitors surged forward, though it seemed more like a piranha frenzy than a bunch of people swimming. It took about 100 yards for me to be able to put my head under and start to actually swim; at one point I started laughing - it was so crazy. People were swimming on top of each other with the pace not getting going. But eventually, things thinned out a bit and I was able to begin a regular stride.
The water was cool and clear and I felt really good from the beginning. I looked at my watch at each turn and was feeling pretty good about my pace - not too fast, but keeping up with my goal. I was jostled pretty much the entire time, but I also had moments where I could swim my own pace. At one point about 400 yards from the end a guy grabbed my leg, pulled me down, and swam on top of me. I punched him in the gut as he went past. Seriously, dude, if you're back with me, you're probably not going to Kona. Calm the fuck down. At any rate, I came out of the water in 1:28:02 - faster than my ideal goal of 1:30.
I was elated, and really happy one leg of the journey was over. The transition is a little crazy - you have to run up the parking ramp, around the helix, and into the convention center. Transition times are notoriously long at Madison because of this, and when I was training, I was worried about the extra time and energy of all that transitioning. But really, it was so exciting to run through all those people, and past my parents, Doug, and Megan, and you can see my happiness reflected in this pic:
112 mile bike
The volunteers in transition were awesome. They helped me on with my arm warmers, made sure I went through everything in my gear bag and didn't forget anything, got me a glass of water to drink while I took a quick gu for some fast energy to start the bike. I moved as fast as I could, and with the run up to transition, I was still over 13 minutes in transition. But I changed completely so I could wear my most comfortable bike shorts, and wanted to make sure I didn't leave anything behind. I learned this the hard way, when I did the Austin 70.3 last fall and forgot my sunglasses when I went out from the bike. The blazing heat and sun got to me, and I started throwing up at mile 40. I was able to settle my stomach and felt better once I started to run and had on a visor, but I didn't want that to happen at Madison. Anyway, I finished up in transition and left for the bike.
The bike is grueling. No other way to say it. The hills are relentless, and it is a very technical course - many, many turns and constant rolling hills. There are only 3 really bad bitches, which you do twice, but there are lots of other steep or long or constant hills that slow you down. The good thing is that since it was a little windy, especially for my second loop, I was never riding into the wind for a long period of time due to all the turns. But the hills can shred your legs if you aren't careful, and I wanted to be conservative. When I rode one loop of the course in July, we averaged about 15 mph, and I felt confident that I could do the race just shy of that pace. My goal going into the race was 14.5-14.75 mph average, and I started off well.
One loop of the course done, I was feeling confident in my body, but still anxious about equipment. I know how to change a tire pretty quickly, but if something else went wrong, I have very little mechanical knowledge. I felt more and more relieved as the miles ticked by.
Since the bike course is mostly open, meaning there are cars allowed on the roads, spectators are discouraged on the bike portion. This is good for safety, but makes for a lonely race. There were TONS of people out on the bitch hills, which was awesome. The only spectators that were not awesome were the guys dressed as clowns - one peeking out from behind trees in the woods and one who would walk out from the cornfields. Creepy. The first loop someone was passing me as I saw the cornfield clown. I asked if he saw it too or if I was hallucinating. Luckily, he saw it too.
Everyone tells you that nutrition is really the key to an Ironman. You can be incredibly well trained, but if your hydration or fuel plan doesn't work, you can bonk and your day is done. On the bike, I usually take a combination of a rice bar I make (sticky rice, eggs, ham, yellow pepper, tomato, onion, and lots of salt), fruit twists from Target, and peanut butter Ritz crackers. I took bananas at a couple of aid stations too. The cooler temps (it topped out at 70) helped me keep fueling and my hydration plan worked well.
By the second loop, the crowds had died down, but by then I was feeling more confident I'd make the cut off (5:30 pm) by about an hour as long as I didn't run into any mechanical issues. I did a silent cheer at 70.4 miles (longest race mileage ever) and then at 102 miles (longest ride ever). When I turned onto John Nolan Drive at mile 111, I started sobbing. I was SO relieved to have made it through the bike, with an hour to spare, and was nearly certain I could finish the race. My bike time - 7:35:11 (14.76 mph avg) - left me 7 hours to run the marathon. I could do this.
I saw my family right before heading into my second transition - luckily they couldn't see the tears or they would have been worried. When I got into transition, the volunteers were concerned, but I told them they were happy tears, tears of relief!
26.2 mile run
Once off the bike and out of transition, I made my way to the run course. The crowds were thick, as it was prime time for elite finishers of the race. There were tons of cheers and it felt great! Well, until it got quiet, I took stock of my body, and realized that every part of me hurt. This would be a mental battle I've never experienced.
The run was fairly uneventful. I took it one mile at a time. I walked through the aid stations from the start, wanting to make sure I saved my legs for what promised to be a tough marathon. I met some cool people along the way. The cruelest halfway point in sports is the half marathon in many an Ironman, especially Madison, when you run into the finisher's chute, 20 yards from the finish line, hear the cheers, and have to head back out for another 13.1 miles. But honestly, at that point, I was so focused, I didn't give myself an opportunity to think too much about it. I had a job to do. And I was going to do it.
Doug, Megan, parents, and friends were spread out throughout the course, and I got to see them several times throughout. I didn't have to force smiles - though it was hard, I was feeling better than I expected to feel at this point, and I was focused and sure.
It got dark, and there were times I wished I had a headlamp - there was a section through the woods on a gravel trail that I was a little nervous about tripping on, but I made it ok. Just kept plugging along. I took a gu about every 5 miles and one fell out of my race belt along the way, but luckily there was plenty of food at the aid stations. Bananas went down well but potato chips have never tasted better than 130 miles into an Ironman. This would prove to be my slowest marathon by an hour - 5:06:15 - but who the hell cares?!
The final mile of the race was the most thrilling I could ever imagine. With our names on our bibs, everyone on the sidelines was screaming "Kate, you're going to do this! You're going to be an Ironman!" I would scream, "I did it!" back at them and slap high-fives. I was clearly excited because while my average pace during the race hovered around 11:45 - about 10:30-11:00 running pace and walking through aid stations - I dropped to 8:00 for the final mile - almost a 4 minute faster pace. I felt like I was flying. Nothing hurt, I felt invincible.
Coming into the finisher's chute, the crowds are 3-5 deep all along the sidelines. Everyone is screaming. I spotted my husband, sister, and parents, ran past them slapping high-fives and screamed "I did it!" at them (captured on video by my sis even), and made my way to the finish line.
I had really hoped I could space it out so that I finished crossing by myself. So self-indulgent, but if I was going to finish (and perhaps just finish once), I wanted to savor it. It all worked out, that there wasn't anyone around me, so I didn't even have to slow down or speed up to make sure I crossed alone. And then, as I've been dreaming about since I raced my first triathlon two years ago and fell in love, I heard Mike Reilly proclaim: A teacher from Minneapolis, Kate Kelly, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!
As soon I crossed the finish line, I was swarmed by two volunteers, dubbed "catchers," who started asking me questions, presumably to gauge whether I was delirious or not. Since I satisfactorily answered their questions, after they shepherded me to get my medal and through the finish line pic area, they dropped me near husband, sister, and friend and I made my way through the food lines before exiting.
My legs seized up on my immediately upon finishing, and everything else hurt too. I had some chicken broth which tasted wonderful, but couldn't stomach much else. Walking to the car to head back to the hotel, I think a part of me died. But the funny part about afterwards is that once I woke up the next morning, I wasn't that sore. My quads felt like I'd done a hard workout the day before. My hips and back were a little tight. But I could jump around, go down stairs, touch my toes - all things I can NOT do after running a straight marathon. I did wake up starving and I've been exhausted all week. But considering the fact that I pushed myself to my physical limit for over 14 hours, it seems pretty crazy that I'm not sore.
The next two days (well actually, I'm still doing it) I kept turning to Doug saying, "I can't believe I did that. 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run. That is crazy. I can't believe I did it." I still can't believe it.
The feat has almost always seemed completely out of reach, not even worth fantasizing about. Until 2013, I didn't even know to dream that I could do it. For years, I would watch the coverage of Kona in complete awe (and still will!), watching these beautiful humans doing something it doesn't seem like humans should be capable of doing. I never thought I could do something like that. Didn't believe I could dream that big. But now I'm a finisher too. I might not ever do another one, but I don't have to. I am an Ironman.
