"I have no desire to do this next year."
Jane Fratesi
Ironman Canada '98 Race Report

You forget the pain. You remember the good parts. The fun, the people, the excitement, the accomplishment. 

A few months after IMC '98, I regretted not signing up for '99. The more time passed, the more I regretted it. Then regret turned into desperation. I had to go back. I had to get in. I couldn't stand the thought of not going. Since the race had long ago filled, my only means of entry was in purchasing a charity slot for $700 ($1000 Canadian). So that is what I did.

By the time I knew I was in, it was 11 weeks before race day. To me, this was the perfect situation. I was going to do a race I desperately wanted to do, but didn't have the obligation of training hanging over my head all year. I had been doing a decent volume of training anyway, but nothing compared to 1998. Probably less than half.

I arrived in Penticon rested, happy and in vacation mode. I spent the week with a "Vacation first, Ironman second" attitude. I enjoyed myself. I took it easy. I relaxed. I ate tasty, fattening dinners, accompanied by various Okanagan wines. I thought very little about the race.

Pre-race day highlights:

- Tuesday night group dinner at Earl's. Finally getting to meet folks I've known online for so long.

- Hogman Splash N Dash. The Village People.

- Bruce Grant directing race traffic.

- Thursday morning swim - 3 min 30 sec., followed by about 15 minutes of horsing around on the "Safety Rest Dock". Tilting dock from side to side, each time dumping more wetsuit-clad bozos off, then finally loading enough people on dock to sink it. Noticing Jason, innocently standing by the edge of the dock, just *waiting* to be pushed in. A little leverage and one little shove, and in he'd go. Bwah ha ha ha. I non-chalantly made my way towards him. Braced myself (ooooo, this was going to be good! What a huge splash he'd make, and what a fuss!) I gave him a mighty shove and.......he is a wall. He did not budge. Not a millimeter. Not only did he not budge, he had the gall to laugh at my feeble attempt to push him in,  then go on to brag of weighing twice what I do.

- Friday swim - 3:51 (a *long* swim), followed by about half an hour of horsing around on the dock. Belly flop  contest/exhibition (which I chickened out of).

- "gift" (retaliation) from Eric Weiss of well-used, ragged-out wetsuit, with fanny area conveniently snipped out, in order to prevent me from ripping the backside (again).

- watching Steve DeVinney's spending frenzy at the merchandise tent.

Day Before Race:

Where did the week go? It sneaks up so quickly.  I'm not nervous. I've done this before. I can do it again. Pack transition and turnaround bags. Throw in a variety of foods. Take bike to inspection and turn-in. Still not nervous. Starting to get excited.

Night comes. The night before the race. 10:00 pm.  24 hours from now, will I be finished? Will I finish at all? I want to leap forward in time to midnight tomorrow. Then I'll know how I did. It'll be a memory, instead of an unknown. Don't think about it. Get some sleep.

Race Day:

Awake at 4:30. This is it! Immediately eat energy bar. Take frozen cycling bottles and camelback bladder out of freezer. Hear a loud noise. Was that thunder? Step outside hotel room, along with every other hotel resident. Everyone is looking at the sky. No way. It can't rain. It hasn't rained all week. Load stuff into bags and head to body marking.

Just as it's my turn to get body marked, it begins to rain lightly. Markers won't write. Finally get adequate body marks and head to transition area.

Turn in bike and run special needs bags. Bike special needs bag consists of a small soft ice chest containing 1 frozen bottle Fierce Lime Gatorade, 1 frozen home made energy bar, 1 Diet Coke. Lay Camelback next to bike. Put various frozen and refrigerated items in transition bags.

Head back to room and don wetsuit. Rain has ceased. Head back to transition. Before I know it, it's 10 minutes to race start. No time for a warmup swim. Line up at the back, far left side. Pull extra goggles over head, tuck into wetsuit neck. Line up with Jason, Mike Kelly, Eric Austin, Steve Devinney and Vickie and Jeff Owens.  Jason announces that he's shooting for a 1:30 swim. We all have the same goal.  Bagpipes. National anthem. Cannon. Go!

Swim:

Leisurely walk out. After about 40 seconds, finally start to swim. Notice water is getting more shallow. Look ahead to sight and see people walking.  Stand up. Walk. Mike Kelly is next to me, also walking. This is fun! I can do this for 2.4 miles!  Unfortunately not. Start swimming again. Swim is fairly uneventful.  Get passed by guy breast stroking.  

Finally hit turnaround. Left at big boat, left at next big boat. Head back. Yippee! Neck feels rubbed raw. Extra goggles become annoying. Remove extra goggles and let sink. Swim is taking *forever*. The trip back is so long. Every time i look toward the shore i can't see it, but see more buoys.

Hands start to go numb. This is weird. Water does not feel any colder. Numbness moves up towards elbows. Finally get into sight of shore.  Almost there. Yeoooooooow! Right calf completely seizes! Yeoooooow!  Stops me dead. Roll over onto back. Pull back toes. Ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch. This hurts *so* badly. I cannot move my right leg at all. It is useless. Float, staring at sky, pulling on toes. Guys in boats are staring at me. Carry on fellows. No problems here. Ouuuuuuuuch! Pull pull pull.  Pain finally subsides enough to continue, not kicking at all. Hopefully this will get worked out on the bike.

*Finally* finish swim in 1:29:xx. Under goal! 8 or 9 minutes slower than last year. So what. On about a dozen swims in the past year, not too bad. (I, Jane Fratesi, swear the Bruce Grant Don't Swim If You Don't Enjoy It program worked for me.) I could make these minutes up with shorter transitions (20 and 19 min last year). 

Trot away from lake towards wetsuit strippers. Totally disoriented. Are you okay? Yes. Are you sure? Yes. Wetsuit is stripped off. Where do I go? I thought someone would hand me my transition bag. Bruce Grant's wife points me in direction of my bag rack. Trot to rack, still disoriented. Trot towards changing tent. Steve Fleck sees me and says hello. I thought he was doing the race announcing. Why is he in the transition area? Hello Steve.

Plop in metal chair in changing tent. Munch on Pringles and drink cold can of Ensure Plus. For once in a long time, Ensure tastes good. Somehow, manage to spend 13 min in transition. 7 min better than last year though. 

Run through transition to bike. Easy to find. 
As last year, it appears that only a couple dozen 
bikes are left in transition area. Demoralizing.

Bike:

Head out, feeling okay. First climb is short and somewhat steep. For some reason it's *really* difficult. Easiest gear. Still difficult. Why? This little hill shouldn't be this hard. This scares the heck out of me. How will I survive Richter Pass and Yellow Lake? My legs are spent already? 

Continue on, spending much time in aero bars. Sip ice cold water from Camelback. Mmmm. Brick of ice slowly melts to keep water cold for hours.

Underarms feel raw. Burning sensation becomes unbearable. Stop at aid station in Oliver for vaseline. Munch on giant pizza pretzel. What a great idea that was. Tasty and *not* sugar. Sip sip sip. Take 2 Thermotabs. Cramped calf hurts a little, but not much.

Richter Pass. Slow, but not that bad. Finally reach top. Glasses are completely fogged. Stop. Remove paper towels from camelback. Clean glasses. Stretch back, which has started to hurt. Continue. Up and down hills. Sip. Eat. Sip Sip Sip. Water and Gatorade. All ice cold.

Occasionally glance at temperature reading on bike computer. Highest so far is 90. Usually between 86 and 88. So much better than last year.  Anticipate Diet Coke, awaiting me at special needs. Will it be cold? Will it be just-out-of-the-refrigerator cold? Mmmmmm.  *Finally* get to out-and-back stretch.    

Bike special needs station.  Volunteer hands me my bag and comments on my "sack lunch". I pull over, unzip ice chest and voila! An ice-cold Diet Coke. Mmmmm. As I start to enjoy diet coke, Vickie Owens pulls up beside me. We chat a while, snack, share diet coke. Then we're both off to tackle Yellow Lake.  

Yellow Lake is much harder than I remember. Am I in the small chain ring?  Yes. Man, this is hard. Really hard. Check gears again. Yup. Small chain ring. People parked in cars are cheering and telling me I'm doing great. Why are they all stopped? Is there a traffic jam? A policeman directing traffic at the top? No. They're just parked there to cheer.  Last year by the time I got to this point, there was no one. I'm happy that they took the time to do this. It makes a difference.

At some point I set a goal of getting out on to the run course at 4:00.  Finally hit the top of Yellow Lake A couple more smallish hills. Then down down down. The headwind is so fierce that I still must work to keep up any decent speed. Finally get back into town and grind my way down Main Street. I'm so close. Only 5 miles to go, but the head wind is so strong that I have to fight hard to maintain even 12mph. Don't fight it. Don't wear out your legs right before the run.

As I get closer, I approach the three leaders, running in, surrounded by lead vehicles. Am I supposed to be here? I don't see any other cyclists ahead of me? Am I on the wrong course? Just as I notice a female cyclist ahead of me, a spectator jumps out in front of her. She hits him and goes down hard. Other spectators rush to help. She looks disoriented and frustrated, lying on the ground, so close to the end.

I begin to pass second place finisher (Shingo Tani).  He's running hard and fast. A spectator jumps out in front of me, to run with him. What the hell are you doing???  This spectator is running right in front of me. I'm about to hit him. He never even looked back. I *scream* as loudly as I can GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!! Several spectators laugh. He disappears. What an idiot. Pass Chuckie V on the left. The lead vehicle is in front of him. As I try to pass lead vehicle, it keeps inching over to the left. I fall back. Vehicle moves back to the right. I try to pass.  Vehicle starts floating to the right. Excuse me, may I pass? Finally pass lead vehicle. Ride into transition to a loudly cheering crowd. :)  Unfortunately, I'm not sure if they're cheering for me or approaching lead men.

Apparently my pain wasn't as bad as I remember, because throughout the bike volunteers and spectators commented on how nice it was to see someone smiling. All in all, I had a much more pleasant and comfortable bike than last year.

Finish bike in 7:04 or so. T2 is about the same as T1. 13 min. Eric W. has slipped a nice note into my T2 bag. It gives me a good laugh. Smear Vaseline on toes, change into running shoes and socks, hat, race belt, sweat band, and I'm off - to the porta potty. Exit porta potty, grab bagel half, run out of transition at 4:01, munching on bagel.

Run:

Hey, I feel pretty good! I feel *really* good! Run to first aid station.  Drink water. Eat watermelon. Second aid station, same. 20:00. Hmmm, 10-min miles. If I can keep this up, I'll run a 4:20 marathon!!! Wow. A PR! Not bad. Can I do it? Plug away, staying close to my 10-min pace.    

Mile 7 approaching. Porta potty stop is necessary. See Mike in line for porta potty. Chat a minute, then head on my way. Don't feel as good as before. Stomach feels kind of weird. Continue running to aid stations, then walking through them as I eat watermelon or grapes, drink water.

See Eric and Bob, running together. Or maybe walking. I can't remember.  Several others in the group pass, headed in. I envy them.  

Mile 10. I don't feel so good. Watermelon isn't as tasty as before. I'm bloated. My stomach is like a basketball. Make sure race number is covering it. I've been taking salt tablets. What's wrong? Running becomes more and more difficult. I'm walking more. Run/walk with a local fellow for a while. This is his 5th IMC. He continues on when I want to walk. My stomach feels bad. Close to cramping. Skip food/water at aid station. A porta potty stop is imperative! Rush to porta potty just before run turnaround. Pull skinsuit down as quickly as possible. Hurry hurry hurry.  Sit down. False alarm. Nothing. Damn. Peel sweaty skinsuit back up over sweaty body. Exit porta potty and continue walking towards turnaround. Make new friend. Walk with him for a while. Lose him at turnaround. He catches me later, but continues on when I need to walk.  See Vickie Owens after turnaround. Her husband Jeff is just ahead of her.  Chat with Vickie for a while. Continue on.  

My feet hurt. These shoes aren't cushioned enough. I've done a couple of long runs in them, but never on the road. They are definitely not cushioned enough for this distance on this road. Each step hurts more and more. Even walking hurts the bottoms of my feet. The pain moves up into my calves.  Now I feel barfy. 

Why is this so hard? Why is it getting so painful when it started out so good? Why did my dad have to die? I never got to speak to him again in person. My throat is swelling. Eyes watering. Don't think about this now. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Hold it in. Think about something else. Pretend to wipe mouth, so no one will notice lip quivering. Think about something else. Guy passes me slowly. Asks if I want to walk/jog with him, since we seem to be repeatedly passing each other. Don't cry. Don't cry. No thanks. I feel like I might barf. Think about something else.

I forge on, walking more and more. I feel very alone. People are spaced pretty far apart by now. All of my new found friends have gone on ahead.  It's about to get dark. There's Jason headed the other way! Jason! Have you seen Tricia? Yes, she's way ahead. On course for a 12-hour finish.  Wow! Go Tri-Baby Go. I can't imagine a 12-hour IM finish.

The wind has really picked up. Very strong head wind. Sometimes so strong it's hard to breathe facing forward. Running becomes more and more difficult. Feet hurt horribly. Calves are extremely sore. My calf cramp from the swim has haunted me throughout the run. Never cramps again, but i feel it and notice it constantly. My stomach feels crummy.  Suddenly I notice it's completely dark. I'm ready to finish now.  Five more miles. My normal run from the gym. Not far. But I'm ready to be finished *now*.

Stomach feels horrible. I guess I have to go to the bathroom. Skinsuit is much easier to remove, since it and my body are completely dry, thanks to the wind and cooler temps. False alarm. Damn. Stand up. Pull skinsuit back up. I feel like *crap*. Dizzy. Am I going to faint or puke? I can't tell. Get out of here quickly!!! Exit porta potty, whirl around to side.  Puke. Puke. Puke. Wow. A new woman! Basketball tummy is gone. I'm rejuvenated! Take off running. oh. Maybe I'm not *that* rejuvenated.

Walk again. Stephanie walks with me. She had seen me puking and is worried. She and her husband were on the course (not racing), walking in with a friend. He falls further and further behind us. She walks with me until Main Street. What a difference this makes. If only she'd been there the whole time.

Main Street. ***Finally***. I am not going to make my half-hearted goal of finishing by 9:30 (14:30 finish). I jog/walk my way down Main Street. I'm so close, but not there yet. I'm not really excited, just want to finish.

I "run" the entire last mile. In the last 200 yds, someone in my age group passes me. Darn. That probably moved me from 38th to 39th place. Round corner. Everyone is cheering. Someone yells my name. If it kills me, I'm going to hold my arms up and look into the camera when I cross the finish line.  Finish time, 14:40. A PR by 32 minutes! What more could I ask for? A pizza maybe.

Mike P. is waiting at the finish line, with a nice cold Diet Coke. He's been there a while, thinking I was coming in at around 13 hours. Sit in medical tent for a while. Eat a slice of pizza. Sip coke. Take it easy.

Finally move on to massage tent. 10 or 15 min massage feels great. Limp out of tent. Mike introduces me to Cowman. Gather belongings. Take back to room. Resist temptation to lie down. Watch finishers on television. Head to Denny's after midnight. I'm starving, but can barely eat anything. Finally get to bed at 1:30.

Post Race Highlight:

A dozen roses  from my husband, who watched the race over the internet from our home in Atlanta.

Thoughts:

Last year I finished Ironman burned out, never wanting to swim again, unenthusiastic about triathlon. This year, I can't wait to do another Ironman. I have waffled on the idea of doing IM New Zealand in March, but now I'm pretty sure I'm going. 

I must say that I don't think any race can compare to IMC. The camaraderie is like nothing else I've experienced.   I was tempted to go back next year, but there are other things I'd like to try. I will probably regret not signing up, but if I get really desperate, i can go for a qualifying slot at St. Croix.