70.3

One June 1 of last year I asked my husband to pay for my enrollment fee into the Austin Half Ironman. Our conversation went like this:

Hubs – “So let me get this straight. You want to swim 1.2 miles, bike 56 miles, and then run 13.1. Basically you will get beat to shit for about 8 hours and you want to pay for this experience. “

Me- “No. I want you to pay for it.”



Many of you remember my journey of training over the spring and summer. It consisted of dragging my ass all over miles and miles of the drought infested Ark-La-Tex, crying on the side of the road, vomiting on my bike, and telling my friends while at the end of 5-8 hour workouts how much I loved them like a drunken co-ed. I pushed myself to the edge of my limits, and then pushed even more. I had plenty of time alone to sort through my purpose in life, and what God wanted out of me. I became much more thankful for my children. I made peace with many demons in my soul. I did not lose one damn pound.

Finally the time came and we made the journey to Austin for a long weekend. We went to EddieV’s for a wonderful meal Friday night. I am allergic to shrimp but have started to add small amounts of other shellfish to my diet and have had no bad reactions. I ordered the lobster tail with my dinner. After about 10 minutes my tongue became a little swollen and I broke out into a full sweat. Because my tongue was so fat I had a hard time getting my words out correctly. In concern for my well being my husband lovingly asked, “Are you drunk?” and suggested I go to the bathroom to splash water on my face. Within a couple of hours I returned to normal and still had another full day until my race.

Sunday morning came and I prepared all my separate bags. You had to have a separate bag for each leg of the race and all had to be dropped off prior to the start. I had a swim bag, a bike bag, and a run bag. It looked like I was packing triplets for Mothers Day Out. We made our way to the swim start with my stomach turning. The swim has strict time limits, and since I was in the last wave start(which entered the water a full hour after the first wave), I had to really move in order to make the time limit. I am not a fast swimmer, and I have huge mental blocks surrounding the swim portion of a triathlon. I felt sick even when I looked at the bottled water station. I was fighting down bile in my throat due to what I thought was nerves. I finally entered the water with my group and took it nice and slow for the first 100 yards then I sped up and was making great time. I was 1/3 of the way through and about 1400 feet from the bank when I could see the first of three turns ahead of me.

If you have never thrown up in the water, I can tell you it is an experience. I could not stop. I kept trying to swim, but I was heaving so much I couldn’t get anywhere. Trying to float on my back was definitely not a good idea. There were other swim waves behind me, and I was just a wonderful welcome wagon for each of them ralphing in the water. I was determined to finish, but eventually I knew something was wrong. This wasn’t just nerves, and there was a reason I felt extremely nauseous before the race. I resigned myself to the fact that doing 70 miles with a stomach virus was not a good idea. I signaled that I needed to get out of the water.

The jet ski with what is supposed to be a rescue swimmer sitting on the back approached me. The nice woman said, “What is Wrong With You?” I weakly replied that I had a stomach virus or something and could not stop dry heaving. There is a platform that looks like an oversized swim board being pulled by the back of the jet ski. As I am a little worn out from my wonderful experience in the water, I ask how I am supposed to get on the platform. Was I meant to get on it? Did they drag me? I was so worn out and sick I could not have fought them if they tried to tie a rope with a cinder block to my foot.

I am not trying to be bitchy, and I am definitely not the skinny model type myself, but this chic was about 20 and weighed 250 easily on a tiny frame. She didn’t look like she could bob an apple out of the water, much less a swimmer. In response to my question she replied, “You pull yourself up. Can’t you do that?” as she is sitting backwards on the jet ski. I wasn’t thinking I would be airlifted to the bank or anything put a hand would be nice. She barks into her walkie talkie that she has a “nervous” swimmer with her and they are coming in to the medical tent. I started to heave again while on the platform and she tells me to make sure I throw up in the water so I don’t get HER platform dirty.

Oh, so you’re a clean bitch too.

Normally I would have some major mental and emotional issues with not finishing a race, especially one I had trained for nine months to finish. Having to pull out of a race usually makes you feel like you have once again failed at something in your life, and you are ashamed. I was just praying I didn’t shit in my wetsuit on the way to the ambulance.

After an IV, a bag of fluid, some really good meds in my IV, and a refusal to go to the hospital later, I was on my way home. One week later I did the race and finished. I was on cloud nine and felt like I could conquer the world. I never want to do it again.

But I am in the market for a new wetsuit.