Last weekend I had the pleasure of hosting a friend and skiing at Vail for three days in a row. Although it is still early season, the conditions were beautiful - although maybe I'm thinking that because it's my first debut skiing out West since spending the last two seasons in the East - but then again, maybe not. We absolutely tore it up. Here's a clip of skiing in Vail, a lil peek at what we got into.
Sunday morning brought a nice suprise of 9 inches of fresh snow. It seemed like soft swirling of snow the entire day before, the kind that never hits the ground, but somehow it built up over night.
Monday morning we hit the trail early with Zion, my mountain dog. He usually gets to run around without working but since seeing two coyotes at the base of Peak 8 in Breckenridge a couple of weeks ago, he's now learning the meaning of "earn your turns." Check out the sick harness.
I wanted to imbed the video and images for you but due to technical errors, I'm sharing links today instead. More coming about skinning up Peak 8 in Breckenridge.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
My Brother is Home
We walk through life with immense power and ability; yet when it is taken from us we are at thee mercy.
Over the loud speaker the stuartess announced 'please be respectful as we honor the fallen soldier who we have transported tonight.'
Silence shot through the hearts of those who watched. His comrades in dress uniform stood by the family as the casket was lowered from the plane and moved across the tarmac. Standing witness, my father wept.
The pilots say that they could hear his screams over the radio commands and blade slap.
My brother's legs hung freely out of the helicopter, as did his comrade's. A moment later he was responding to an unexpected rescue - his own comrade's leg was shot in two places from the ground. The mission was aborted.
I stood at the airport waiting. Waiting to see him.
Amidst the commotion and anticipation
I saw him from afar
and tears fell down my face.
Over the loud speaker the stuartess announced 'please be respectful as we honor the fallen soldier who we have transported tonight.'
Silence shot through the hearts of those who watched. His comrades in dress uniform stood by the family as the casket was lowered from the plane and moved across the tarmac. Standing witness, my father wept.
The pilots say that they could hear his screams over the radio commands and blade slap.
My brother's legs hung freely out of the helicopter, as did his comrade's. A moment later he was responding to an unexpected rescue - his own comrade's leg was shot in two places from the ground. The mission was aborted.
I stood at the airport waiting. Waiting to see him.
Amidst the commotion and anticipation
I saw him from afar
and tears fell down my face.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Good Life
My two year return-to-Boston anniversary is coming up and as I think back on the time I've spent here I worry that I used the love and support of my family and friends selfishly to heal from a broken heart. But when I think back on the things that I did, I accomplished much more. I saw my two best friends get married and one have a baby, I trained like a maniac and I have endless memories of the beautiful and historic rolling hills of northwest Boston. I completed an Ironman. I spent lots of time with my family and I've met some really great people. I got a new and more fulfilling job and I moved to Charlestown and became a toonie.
It's easy to be nostalgic about the wonderful things we've done and seen. Just yesterday I was looking at pictures from Jackson Hole and Colorado and it left me in a sad place. I think about all the opportunities that I've had, where I am today and if I've taken the right path. My dad said yesterday, "The past doesn't matter because it's gone. What matters is what we do today and every day moving forward."
I feel guilty.
I want to go but I feel like if I do I'm giving up on this place. To whom or what? I don't know. Perhaps it's the effort - the chance that I'm giving Boston to become my home - and the realization that I don't want it. I think about what my life would be like if I settle here and my gut tells me that I don't want it. I want true freedom and the opportunity to make decisions without feeling like I have a pre-existing path set forth for me.
Boston is beautiful. But it's hard.
I took a walk in the woods yesterday with my mom and Zion, and she said "It seems like you have a heavy blanket on you. I can feel your sadness and I don't want that for you. If you think you're going to be happy in Colorado, then I want you to go. But I don't want you to go if you're going to be sad there too."
I put effort into being happy.
It's not easy to be happy here. There are road blocks. Attitudes that make it hard to go with the flow and unwind, get loose.
It's a lifestyle that I'm seeking.
In Colorado, the days are longer, the air is clearer, the vibe is open and playful. The skies are blue and the mountains are ever present. Existence is natural.
I don't want to go for the wrong reasons.
There is much that I would be leaving behind and it saddens me. But I see peace and freedom ahead of me.
It's easy to be nostalgic about the wonderful things we've done and seen. Just yesterday I was looking at pictures from Jackson Hole and Colorado and it left me in a sad place. I think about all the opportunities that I've had, where I am today and if I've taken the right path. My dad said yesterday, "The past doesn't matter because it's gone. What matters is what we do today and every day moving forward."
I feel guilty.
I want to go but I feel like if I do I'm giving up on this place. To whom or what? I don't know. Perhaps it's the effort - the chance that I'm giving Boston to become my home - and the realization that I don't want it. I think about what my life would be like if I settle here and my gut tells me that I don't want it. I want true freedom and the opportunity to make decisions without feeling like I have a pre-existing path set forth for me.
Boston is beautiful. But it's hard.
I took a walk in the woods yesterday with my mom and Zion, and she said "It seems like you have a heavy blanket on you. I can feel your sadness and I don't want that for you. If you think you're going to be happy in Colorado, then I want you to go. But I don't want you to go if you're going to be sad there too."
I put effort into being happy.
It's not easy to be happy here. There are road blocks. Attitudes that make it hard to go with the flow and unwind, get loose.
It's a lifestyle that I'm seeking.
In Colorado, the days are longer, the air is clearer, the vibe is open and playful. The skies are blue and the mountains are ever present. Existence is natural.
I don't want to go for the wrong reasons.
There is much that I would be leaving behind and it saddens me. But I see peace and freedom ahead of me.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Rise Above
Have you ever been so engaged with the moment that little things like listening to a song you've heard a thousand times strikes you in a deeper way?
As I sit here tonight, breathing in life, I'm enchanted by the Stevie Nicks lyrics playing from pandora.
After Jackson Hole I spent years in Colorado on my own adventure. I climbed a mountain and I turned around. In my mind's eye I see all the beautiful places that I have been but I don't know if I ever truly appreciated them in the moment. Tonight, as I sit here in Boston, I imagine what my reflection really looked liked during that time.
When my last relationship brought me down, I left that beautiful place and came home to where I grew up. When I imagine my reflection I see myself paddling through the ocean tides and washing about in the seasons of my life, seamingly moving yet in the same place.
Now almost two years later, I'm asking myself can the child within my heart rise above?
Mmm, mmm, mmm
So dearly I want to go back to where it's beautiful and where my heart feels free, to the man who I thought was perfect. But I can't. I can't go back to that because it doesn't exist. And I am afraid of changing because Boston now I've built my life around you. But I have asked the child within my heart to rise above; to project light and happiness, to smile at those around me and to say hello to the passerby. I'm practicing and it's my turn to radiate a light that shines on everyone else. Time makes you bolder, and I'm getting stronger too.
As I sit here tonight, breathing in life, I'm enchanted by the Stevie Nicks lyrics playing from pandora.
I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
Till the landslide brought me down
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?I'm thinking about love had, love lost and the love I never pursued. There was one who I met years ago in Jackson Hole who struck me as a Tom Sawyer type - happy, free, a true mountain man. He struck me as the type who I could never catch... always off on another exploit romping along the tops of mountains, catching fish in the streams, happily singing along on his guitar. His joy radiated outward so that everyone could see it. I thought he was perfect, but I never tried to gain his attention. Ironically he's now married and has a child. Not trying and now not knowing what could have been is one of my deepest regrets.
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Mmm, mmm, mmm
Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older and I'm getting older too
After Jackson Hole I spent years in Colorado on my own adventure. I climbed a mountain and I turned around. In my mind's eye I see all the beautiful places that I have been but I don't know if I ever truly appreciated them in the moment. Tonight, as I sit here in Boston, I imagine what my reflection really looked liked during that time.
When my last relationship brought me down, I left that beautiful place and came home to where I grew up. When I imagine my reflection I see myself paddling through the ocean tides and washing about in the seasons of my life, seamingly moving yet in the same place.
Now almost two years later, I'm asking myself can the child within my heart rise above?
Mmm, mmm, mmm
So dearly I want to go back to where it's beautiful and where my heart feels free, to the man who I thought was perfect. But I can't. I can't go back to that because it doesn't exist. And I am afraid of changing because Boston now I've built my life around you. But I have asked the child within my heart to rise above; to project light and happiness, to smile at those around me and to say hello to the passerby. I'm practicing and it's my turn to radiate a light that shines on everyone else. Time makes you bolder, and I'm getting stronger too.
So, take my love, take it down...then breathe in life around. Listen to that song playing on pandora and enjoy those lyrics that connect you to the ground.
Climb a mountain and turn around
If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Mmm, mmm, mmm
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
A Traveler's Woes
A single desk is set mechanically in front of the window and neatly set with two glasses glowing with sterile coldness. The ice cube container, small black waste basket and battered green apple accessorize my view. A white glare separates me from the outside world.
Protected by the sheer floor to ceiling curtains and clean familiar hotel room, I can’t help but think that I could be anywhere.
From the middle seat on the airplane I blew my nose, read my book and nervously fiddled with my eyebrows. My legs became jumpy and two trips later to the bathroom I still had an hour and a half left until arrival. I thought, “ugh, is it really worth taking these long layover flights just to use the same airline so that I gain status next year?” I sat in my seat a little longer.
A glimpse out the window told me that we were in the North West. Big cratered mountains blanketed with snow, even now in mid May, reminded me how much I missed Jackson Hole. Thinking of the serenity, peace and wild beauty of the land brought me back to a time that was simple and free.
I still think about moving back. What it would be like…if I would enjoy it again. Why do I live in Boston again? Oh yes, my family and friends… would I be able to move away… away from them? What’s better? To live simply or stay near love and support?
Shuffling through the terminal I’m lugging my heavy laptop bag and hippie purse filled with magazines and books. Still lethargic from being sick I trudge to the bathroom, to the water fountain… ugh there is no water fountain… buy another water…trudge to the baggage claim… trudge to find a taxi. The Westin Seattle, please.
I don’t want to be here. Texting, facebooking, checking email.... anything to stay busy. Looking out the window, the trees look different here - they’re bigger, greener, healthier… ahh, the west. I’m so far away from Boston.
I’m waiting in line again to check in to the hotel. Yes, please, thank you, where’s the workout room? Ok, thank you. Up to my room. I feel like I’m back at the airport lounge.
Frick it, I’ll just grab my wallet and go outside to get some fresh air.
Ahh, the sunlight – something we haven’t had in Boston much this spring. I should take this in especially since it’s currently raining in Boston. I walk towards Pike’s Market – an outdoor market similar to Faneuil Hall except more artsy and natural and alive. The shops are bustling with activity and the different types of food lure me to the windows. I bought a pear that never tasted so healthy then found myself at a little outdoor café, eating and listening to a young guitarist belt out his creative ideas on life.
I didn’t want to leave.
Now I’m back in my hotel room...alone… eating my green apple and restless from the day of travel. The nagging feeling work that is yet to be done keeps me nailed in place. Alas there is nothing left to do but prepare for another day.
Protected by the sheer floor to ceiling curtains and clean familiar hotel room, I can’t help but think that I could be anywhere.
From the middle seat on the airplane I blew my nose, read my book and nervously fiddled with my eyebrows. My legs became jumpy and two trips later to the bathroom I still had an hour and a half left until arrival. I thought, “ugh, is it really worth taking these long layover flights just to use the same airline so that I gain status next year?” I sat in my seat a little longer.
A glimpse out the window told me that we were in the North West. Big cratered mountains blanketed with snow, even now in mid May, reminded me how much I missed Jackson Hole. Thinking of the serenity, peace and wild beauty of the land brought me back to a time that was simple and free.
I still think about moving back. What it would be like…if I would enjoy it again. Why do I live in Boston again? Oh yes, my family and friends… would I be able to move away… away from them? What’s better? To live simply or stay near love and support?
Shuffling through the terminal I’m lugging my heavy laptop bag and hippie purse filled with magazines and books. Still lethargic from being sick I trudge to the bathroom, to the water fountain… ugh there is no water fountain… buy another water…trudge to the baggage claim… trudge to find a taxi. The Westin Seattle, please.
I don’t want to be here. Texting, facebooking, checking email.... anything to stay busy. Looking out the window, the trees look different here - they’re bigger, greener, healthier… ahh, the west. I’m so far away from Boston.
I’m waiting in line again to check in to the hotel. Yes, please, thank you, where’s the workout room? Ok, thank you. Up to my room. I feel like I’m back at the airport lounge.
Frick it, I’ll just grab my wallet and go outside to get some fresh air.
Ahh, the sunlight – something we haven’t had in Boston much this spring. I should take this in especially since it’s currently raining in Boston. I walk towards Pike’s Market – an outdoor market similar to Faneuil Hall except more artsy and natural and alive. The shops are bustling with activity and the different types of food lure me to the windows. I bought a pear that never tasted so healthy then found myself at a little outdoor café, eating and listening to a young guitarist belt out his creative ideas on life.
I didn’t want to leave.
Now I’m back in my hotel room...alone… eating my green apple and restless from the day of travel. The nagging feeling work that is yet to be done keeps me nailed in place. Alas there is nothing left to do but prepare for another day.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Race Schedule 2011
Confirmed races:
March 12 – CMSC Masters Swim Race, 1000M at Blodgett
May 15 - Gloucester Half Marathon
July 9 – Black Fly OT
July 17 – Fairlee, VT OT
August 27 – D2R2 - The Deerfield Dirt Road Randonnee (72 mi)
Sept 10 – Lobsterman OT
March 12 – CMSC Masters Swim Race, 1000M at Blodgett
May 15 - Gloucester Half Marathon
July 9 – Black Fly OT
July 17 – Fairlee, VT OT
August 27 – D2R2 - The Deerfield Dirt Road Randonnee (72 mi)
Sept 10 – Lobsterman OT
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Race Report: I am Ironman
I am an Ironman.
It's three days past Ironman Arizona. If it weren't for how sore my legs are, I might not believe that I actually completed what is known to be one of the most challenging endurance events in the world. In one day, athletes must complete a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run. Every course offers its own challenge. On November 21, 2010, Arizona offered chilly 61 degree water, 17 mpg headwinds and 30 mpg gusts, and 14 hours and 37 seconds of effort.
The day started at 3am when I woke up too excited to fall back asleep. My dad, brother, and his girlfriend were there ready to be my support crew. We headed over to the race at 5am. The morning of the event is pretty smooth compared to shorter distances because almost everything is setup in the days leading up to the event.
I had already checked in, gotten body marked, racked my bike, and dropped off my transition bags.
All I had to do was check for the essentials which for the bike are bike shoes, helmet, sunglasses, socks; and for the run: sneakers, socks, aquafor, hat. Otherwise, I dropped off my special needs bags, pumped up my bike tires, went to the bathroom, and had everything dialed in by 5:30am which gave me ample time to put on my wetsuit and go to the bathroom again.
The swim was a water start which meant that everyone had to jump into the water around 6:50am, swim up to the starting line, and tread water until the gun went off. Athletes lined up on the dock and jumped into the water like navy seals. My body was shaking and my teeth were chattering from the nerves but I had a huge smile on my face. The day had finally arrived.
The cold water, dim sky, and excitement from the athletes and fans was thrilling. From the water I could look up at the bridge overhead at the roaring fans. Athletes were jockeying for position along the starting line, careful not to line up too far upfront nor too far back. My heart rate was well over 110. The announcer roared - who's going to be an Ironman today!? And everyone in the crowd went bananas. Then he said - and let's hear it for your friends and family who support you and without them this wouldn't be possible. And everyone in the water roared back. Boom! The cannon went off and away we went.
My plan was to take it easy for the swim, stay calm, and just swim. With everyone starting at once it was more chaotic than any other tri I've done, although not intolerable. There was constant jostling and people bumping into each other. I was wary to not get kicked in the face or get my fingers broken. If there was a huge guy in front of me kicking like a maniac then I would take a stroke to the right or hang back for a second to get a better space. A few times the water opened up and I got into a nice rhythm.
For spotting purposes, the swim was 1600m out past the next bridge where there was a turn buoy and a little further coming back. The first turn buoy was crazy since everyone had to turn at the same place. Everyone was more upright and reaching out to move forward rather than horizontal and swimming. A couple meters past the buoy I accelerated to get out of the craziness. There was one more turn buoy and already I was heading back. It felt great to be half way done.
I did have one small snafu on the swim which was that my muscles in my right hand went numb, such that I couldn't cup my hand for my pull. I tried to squeeze my hand into a fist on my recovery stroke but it didn't help. It didn't bother me though. I was feeling strong and happy. Overall, the swim went by very quickly.
There were tons of volunteers ready to help people out of the water. I felt amphibian crawling up the steps to get out of the water - not quite ready to be upright. The shoot between the swim and T1 was packed with fans. I beamed up at my support crew, glanced up at my time, saw 1:18, and ran into T1.
Transition took forever. My hands were more numb then I thought and it took me a while to get my gear on. Coming out of T1 I was afraid that I wasn't going to have the coordination to click into my bike. Off I went though. My body was still pumping hard from the swim and already I was going 22 mph on the bike.
I ate a powerbar, downed half a gatorade, and went aero. I wasn't sure how hard I should push and I was constantly checking myself to make sure I wasn't pushing too hard or too little. The first loop went by quickly. Typically on the bike course it's slower on the way out and faster on the way back due to the small incline. But for race day, the wind was in our face on the way back and it grew stormier as the ride went on. By the last loop, it took me 1 hour to get out and 1.5 hours to get back. The report is that there were 30 mpg wind gusts and a steady 17 mph headwind.
About half way through the bike I started to feel a bit nauseous. I wasn't sure if it was because I was pushing too hard or if it was from the nasty gel I just ate. Regardless, a gal who was passing me saved me. She asked - how are you doing? My reply was - I think I'm starting to feel it. She said - don't fight the wind, it's not worth it. From there I decided she was right and I pulled back on my effort and just spun for the last loop. My goal was to flush out the toxins and get my head on straight for the run. I was starting to think, woa, this is hard. A fan on the side of the road held a sign that read: "it's not called an easy man," and I could second that.
The 6:58 hour bike ride felt more like a 3.5 hour ride, but not in the amount of effort and concentration that it took to pedal through it. For nutrition I had 2.5 chocolate powerbars, one hammer espresso gel, a banana (they cut them up into thirds), an apple gel (disgusting), 2 red gatorades, 2 ironman perform drinks (not good), 4 waters, and 1 pack of powerbar cola candies. Towards the end of the bike I couldn't take in any more syrupy stuff and the banana was all I could stomach. I knew I needed more calories but I decided to wait until the run where there would be real food.
Coming off the bike was like a check mark - check, that's done, on to the marathon. I took it slow again in transition but not because I could go any faster. The volunteers were amazingly helpful. The gal in the tent got everything ready for me, asked me if I needed this or that, and got me out the door.
I had finished my bike by 3:30pm which was within my goal time. My nausea had subsided and I was feeling pretty good as a started my run. I ran at a pace that I could sustain for the whole day. At the first station I ate a banana and a cookie thought, oh my gosh that tastes so good. A mile later I realized how hungry I was and I ate a banana, pretzels, grapes, a cookie, coke, and water. That food made me so happy. The next high point was seeing my fans at the end of the first loop. They were standing by the transition area among tons of screaming fans. Seeing them along with the excitement, the beautiful weather, and the fact that I felt good made me so happy.
I was strong through the first 20 miles. I ran the whole way except through the aid stations where I carefully chose what to eat or drink to continue to fuel myself without overdoing it and throwing up. I saw Dary at mile 20 or 22 and said to him - I'm just trying to keep my shit together. He said - yea - keep your shit together. Every step you take you're getting closer to the finish line. For the next few miles I said over and over in my head - keep your shit together.
Those 4-6 miles were pretty damn hard. I was a little dizzy, feeling a little fricked up, my stomach was off, my legs were spent. I knew that if I let up on my concentration for even one second that I could pass out randomly. I would walk a couple hundred yards, then run three quarters of a mile, then walk for 50 yards, then run half a mile, then run through the aid stations instead of walking through them to keep momentum, then crash and walk for 30 yards, then shuffle forward. My run was only a hair faster than a walk. Somehow I made it back to last stretch and ran for the last mile and a half into the finish line. I thought about 55 times in my head, you did all three laps, right? The last thing I wanted to hear when coming into the finish was - Abigail Porter, you have one more lap! In the back of my head I knew I had completed all three, but I was in disbelief that I was almost done.
I rounded the corner into the finish, and people were shouting - you did it! You are an Ironman! I picked up my speed a little and straightened my back to not look so wasted crossing the line. I came into the finishing shoot and gave high fives to the fans. I thought I was going to be more emotional crossing the finish line but the moment was a little different than I had imagined it to be. The day was no longer something I was dreaming about anymore, it was real and I had put in the work to complete the it. I was happy and my mind was blank.
They have catchers standing there to make sure you don't fall over. My helper gave me a blanket and talked to me. She told me I had accomplished something really great and that it was amazing. She talked to me as if a doctor would to make sure I stayed conscious. I was so exhausted that I could only respond to her questions with one word answers. Her last question was, how long did you train for this? I responded, since January. As I walked out of the finishing shoot, that's when I cried. I cried for the sacrifice, for the year, for the journey.
I gave my brother and my dad a big hug, watched a couple of finishers, and held on to their arms to not fall over. We headed back to the hotel. I passed out while my team went to get me some food. We ate, talked about the event, and passed out.
Strangely I woke up again at 5:23am feeling rested, or at least better than I felt the night before. I was pretty run down though and had cold symptoms. It wasn't until Monday night that I got a really good night of sleep. Thank god for my support crew to help me do basic things. They got my bags, dropped off my bike for transport, got me coffee. I truly couldn't have gotten home without them. For Monday and Tuesday I couldn't walk up or down the stairs without the hand railing and sitting down and getting up was painfully impossible. Now, three days after the event I can walk up and down the stairs but my legs are wobbly.
The hardest part about the day was by far the amount of focus that it took to complete the event. I was constantly thinking about my pacing, what I was eating or drinking, about moving forward, talking myself through every step, and trying not to throw up or pass out. The nutrition is tough because I was a little sick throughout the entire day. Either nauseous or my stomach was off, or I felt like I had to go to the bathroom. The physical difficulty is obviously very hard - but it's not worth even thinking about it since at that point, I was already doing the race and I had put in the work to get me through it.
Most people have asked - how do I feel and will I do it again. The answer is - I've never been this sore in my life but I feel good. My muscles are wrecked from my skin all the way down to my bones. In order to do another Ironman I would want to get stronger on the bike and build more strength in my legs. This next year I want to do fun stuff like trail running, long power climbs like Kangamangus in NH, sprinting... generally more power output events to build muscle. Oh - and did I mention - I want to have fun :-) I'll probably do a 70.3 next summer and any other event that looks fun.
I would recommend doing an Ironman to anyone who is willing to put in the time to train for it. In my mind I feel more prepared for everything else that I want to do. It's like I've passed through to the other side and I'm ready to live my life.
It's three days past Ironman Arizona. If it weren't for how sore my legs are, I might not believe that I actually completed what is known to be one of the most challenging endurance events in the world. In one day, athletes must complete a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run. Every course offers its own challenge. On November 21, 2010, Arizona offered chilly 61 degree water, 17 mpg headwinds and 30 mpg gusts, and 14 hours and 37 seconds of effort.
The day started at 3am when I woke up too excited to fall back asleep. My dad, brother, and his girlfriend were there ready to be my support crew. We headed over to the race at 5am. The morning of the event is pretty smooth compared to shorter distances because almost everything is setup in the days leading up to the event.
I had already checked in, gotten body marked, racked my bike, and dropped off my transition bags.
All I had to do was check for the essentials which for the bike are bike shoes, helmet, sunglasses, socks; and for the run: sneakers, socks, aquafor, hat. Otherwise, I dropped off my special needs bags, pumped up my bike tires, went to the bathroom, and had everything dialed in by 5:30am which gave me ample time to put on my wetsuit and go to the bathroom again.
The swim was a water start which meant that everyone had to jump into the water around 6:50am, swim up to the starting line, and tread water until the gun went off. Athletes lined up on the dock and jumped into the water like navy seals. My body was shaking and my teeth were chattering from the nerves but I had a huge smile on my face. The day had finally arrived.
The cold water, dim sky, and excitement from the athletes and fans was thrilling. From the water I could look up at the bridge overhead at the roaring fans. Athletes were jockeying for position along the starting line, careful not to line up too far upfront nor too far back. My heart rate was well over 110. The announcer roared - who's going to be an Ironman today!? And everyone in the crowd went bananas. Then he said - and let's hear it for your friends and family who support you and without them this wouldn't be possible. And everyone in the water roared back. Boom! The cannon went off and away we went.
My plan was to take it easy for the swim, stay calm, and just swim. With everyone starting at once it was more chaotic than any other tri I've done, although not intolerable. There was constant jostling and people bumping into each other. I was wary to not get kicked in the face or get my fingers broken. If there was a huge guy in front of me kicking like a maniac then I would take a stroke to the right or hang back for a second to get a better space. A few times the water opened up and I got into a nice rhythm.
For spotting purposes, the swim was 1600m out past the next bridge where there was a turn buoy and a little further coming back. The first turn buoy was crazy since everyone had to turn at the same place. Everyone was more upright and reaching out to move forward rather than horizontal and swimming. A couple meters past the buoy I accelerated to get out of the craziness. There was one more turn buoy and already I was heading back. It felt great to be half way done.
I did have one small snafu on the swim which was that my muscles in my right hand went numb, such that I couldn't cup my hand for my pull. I tried to squeeze my hand into a fist on my recovery stroke but it didn't help. It didn't bother me though. I was feeling strong and happy. Overall, the swim went by very quickly.
There were tons of volunteers ready to help people out of the water. I felt amphibian crawling up the steps to get out of the water - not quite ready to be upright. The shoot between the swim and T1 was packed with fans. I beamed up at my support crew, glanced up at my time, saw 1:18, and ran into T1.
Transition took forever. My hands were more numb then I thought and it took me a while to get my gear on. Coming out of T1 I was afraid that I wasn't going to have the coordination to click into my bike. Off I went though. My body was still pumping hard from the swim and already I was going 22 mph on the bike.
I ate a powerbar, downed half a gatorade, and went aero. I wasn't sure how hard I should push and I was constantly checking myself to make sure I wasn't pushing too hard or too little. The first loop went by quickly. Typically on the bike course it's slower on the way out and faster on the way back due to the small incline. But for race day, the wind was in our face on the way back and it grew stormier as the ride went on. By the last loop, it took me 1 hour to get out and 1.5 hours to get back. The report is that there were 30 mpg wind gusts and a steady 17 mph headwind.
About half way through the bike I started to feel a bit nauseous. I wasn't sure if it was because I was pushing too hard or if it was from the nasty gel I just ate. Regardless, a gal who was passing me saved me. She asked - how are you doing? My reply was - I think I'm starting to feel it. She said - don't fight the wind, it's not worth it. From there I decided she was right and I pulled back on my effort and just spun for the last loop. My goal was to flush out the toxins and get my head on straight for the run. I was starting to think, woa, this is hard. A fan on the side of the road held a sign that read: "it's not called an easy man," and I could second that.
The 6:58 hour bike ride felt more like a 3.5 hour ride, but not in the amount of effort and concentration that it took to pedal through it. For nutrition I had 2.5 chocolate powerbars, one hammer espresso gel, a banana (they cut them up into thirds), an apple gel (disgusting), 2 red gatorades, 2 ironman perform drinks (not good), 4 waters, and 1 pack of powerbar cola candies. Towards the end of the bike I couldn't take in any more syrupy stuff and the banana was all I could stomach. I knew I needed more calories but I decided to wait until the run where there would be real food.
Coming off the bike was like a check mark - check, that's done, on to the marathon. I took it slow again in transition but not because I could go any faster. The volunteers were amazingly helpful. The gal in the tent got everything ready for me, asked me if I needed this or that, and got me out the door.
I had finished my bike by 3:30pm which was within my goal time. My nausea had subsided and I was feeling pretty good as a started my run. I ran at a pace that I could sustain for the whole day. At the first station I ate a banana and a cookie thought, oh my gosh that tastes so good. A mile later I realized how hungry I was and I ate a banana, pretzels, grapes, a cookie, coke, and water. That food made me so happy. The next high point was seeing my fans at the end of the first loop. They were standing by the transition area among tons of screaming fans. Seeing them along with the excitement, the beautiful weather, and the fact that I felt good made me so happy.
I was strong through the first 20 miles. I ran the whole way except through the aid stations where I carefully chose what to eat or drink to continue to fuel myself without overdoing it and throwing up. I saw Dary at mile 20 or 22 and said to him - I'm just trying to keep my shit together. He said - yea - keep your shit together. Every step you take you're getting closer to the finish line. For the next few miles I said over and over in my head - keep your shit together.
Those 4-6 miles were pretty damn hard. I was a little dizzy, feeling a little fricked up, my stomach was off, my legs were spent. I knew that if I let up on my concentration for even one second that I could pass out randomly. I would walk a couple hundred yards, then run three quarters of a mile, then walk for 50 yards, then run half a mile, then run through the aid stations instead of walking through them to keep momentum, then crash and walk for 30 yards, then shuffle forward. My run was only a hair faster than a walk. Somehow I made it back to last stretch and ran for the last mile and a half into the finish line. I thought about 55 times in my head, you did all three laps, right? The last thing I wanted to hear when coming into the finish was - Abigail Porter, you have one more lap! In the back of my head I knew I had completed all three, but I was in disbelief that I was almost done.
I rounded the corner into the finish, and people were shouting - you did it! You are an Ironman! I picked up my speed a little and straightened my back to not look so wasted crossing the line. I came into the finishing shoot and gave high fives to the fans. I thought I was going to be more emotional crossing the finish line but the moment was a little different than I had imagined it to be. The day was no longer something I was dreaming about anymore, it was real and I had put in the work to complete the it. I was happy and my mind was blank.
They have catchers standing there to make sure you don't fall over. My helper gave me a blanket and talked to me. She told me I had accomplished something really great and that it was amazing. She talked to me as if a doctor would to make sure I stayed conscious. I was so exhausted that I could only respond to her questions with one word answers. Her last question was, how long did you train for this? I responded, since January. As I walked out of the finishing shoot, that's when I cried. I cried for the sacrifice, for the year, for the journey.
I gave my brother and my dad a big hug, watched a couple of finishers, and held on to their arms to not fall over. We headed back to the hotel. I passed out while my team went to get me some food. We ate, talked about the event, and passed out.
Strangely I woke up again at 5:23am feeling rested, or at least better than I felt the night before. I was pretty run down though and had cold symptoms. It wasn't until Monday night that I got a really good night of sleep. Thank god for my support crew to help me do basic things. They got my bags, dropped off my bike for transport, got me coffee. I truly couldn't have gotten home without them. For Monday and Tuesday I couldn't walk up or down the stairs without the hand railing and sitting down and getting up was painfully impossible. Now, three days after the event I can walk up and down the stairs but my legs are wobbly.
The hardest part about the day was by far the amount of focus that it took to complete the event. I was constantly thinking about my pacing, what I was eating or drinking, about moving forward, talking myself through every step, and trying not to throw up or pass out. The nutrition is tough because I was a little sick throughout the entire day. Either nauseous or my stomach was off, or I felt like I had to go to the bathroom. The physical difficulty is obviously very hard - but it's not worth even thinking about it since at that point, I was already doing the race and I had put in the work to get me through it.
Most people have asked - how do I feel and will I do it again. The answer is - I've never been this sore in my life but I feel good. My muscles are wrecked from my skin all the way down to my bones. In order to do another Ironman I would want to get stronger on the bike and build more strength in my legs. This next year I want to do fun stuff like trail running, long power climbs like Kangamangus in NH, sprinting... generally more power output events to build muscle. Oh - and did I mention - I want to have fun :-) I'll probably do a 70.3 next summer and any other event that looks fun.
I would recommend doing an Ironman to anyone who is willing to put in the time to train for it. In my mind I feel more prepared for everything else that I want to do. It's like I've passed through to the other side and I'm ready to live my life.
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