A Weekend in Phoenix (With a Health Scare)

If you have followed my blog, you know that I planned to compete in  Ironman Arizona 2016.  IMAZ registration, like many IM races usually sells out within minutes of  opening, but if you volunteer, you get a guaranteed spot at early registration. I signed up to volunteer this year. Jeff was doing THIS year’s race, and I wanted to be there to support him. Phoenix is  where Jeff’s business partner, and my  coach lives, so we all planned on spending time together. I was scheduled to fly in Saturday, volunteer Sunday, register Monday morning, and fly out that night. Jeff would be there for a week, to also conduct some business.

I arrived  excited about the race, but also excited about visiting my alma mater, ASU. The hotel where we stayed was just a few blocks from campus. Jeff and I met at the hotel, walked down to the athlete’s village,  enjoyed seeing people we knew, and checked out the vendors. Then we went back to the hotel so he could rest and make final preparations for his race. It was fun NOT competing, and watching someone else stress out for a change. Pre race jitters are normal!

We had a nice dinner with  team mate Jerry and went to bed early, after setting the alarm for 4am. Jeff woke up at 3:30 and quietly got  ready. We left the hotel around 5am. It was chilly-in the low 50’s and the water temperature promised to be in the low 60’s. The forecast was for mid 60’s and possibly a shower or two starting around 7pm. Perfect racing weather! Jeff checked in and put on his timing chip.

Ready to go

Ready to go

Before we knew it, they called for the athletes to line up. 2600+ wetsuit clad people headed for the swim start, and we said our final “good luck’s” and exchanged  hugs and kisses.

Seconds before the start and ready to crush it.

Seconds before the start and ready to crush it.

Once Jeff got in the water, SheriAnne, two of her kids, Jerry, and I went to the hospitality tent for some breakfast. Jeff hoped to complete the swim in 1:40. At about 1:15, we all walked over to the bike area, where we could watch cyclists start their 112 miles, AND see swimmers enter the transition area. It was colder  now, a little windy, and threatened to rain. We cheered on the cyclists and chatted happily, waiting to see Jeff running to transition. Once his “planned” finish time past, we started getting nervous. Ironman allows 2:20 to complete the swim or you get your timing chip taken from you, and you are listed as a DNF. (Did not finish) I couldn’t believe we hadn’t seen Jeff at the 2:00 mark. By 2:10, I ran to see if his bike was still in the transition area, thinking we might have missed him. Sadly, it was still there. My heart sank. How was this possible? A few more minutes and the cut off time passed. Jeff didn’t make it. Now I was worried. We all were. We went over to the swim exit in time to hear his name called as being one of the last to exit the water. He looked horrible. SheriAnne said he was pissed, but I saw something else. His face had a grayish black pallor. When he met up with us outside of transition, he explained what happened.

Upon entering the lake, and feeling fine, he swam out to the open water and started swimming steadily. 800 yards later, his heart rate suddenly spiked and he couldn’t breath. His chest felt constricted. He flipped over onto his back to rest for several minutes, and try to calm things down. He settled finally and tried swimming again,   and made it to the turn around with plenty of time to finish. When he had 300 yards to go, it happened again. Vertigo, nausea, difficulty breathing. He had to stop again, and get under control. Finally, he was able to finish and exit the water. He was more angry than I’ve ever seen, and “humiliated” in his words.

After a few minutes of rest, he started feeling horrible again. He managed to get to a trash can before spilling the contents of his stomach. His dizziness continued and we stayed in the park for several more minutes. Once he felt well enough to stand, we went back to the hotel, he showered, and decided to try and eat. After lunch, he mentioned that he still felt dizzy, his chest was tight, and he had tingling in both arms. I text my daughters, (both nurses) and they recommended that he return to the medical tent to get checked out. Once in the tent, after taking Jeff’s history (which included his current stage 4 Prostate cancer) they determined he needed to go straight to the hospital.

Getting checked out by the medical volunteers

Getting checked out by the medical volunteers

Off to the hospital

Off to the hospital with a thumbs up from SheriAnne

He wouldn’t let me come with him and insisted that I go ahead and do my 5 hours of volunteering. SheriAnne followed in her car and promised updates.

By the time I got to my station-the run “Special Needs” area, the rain was coming down in sheets.

We wore black lawn and leaf bags for most of the day.

We wore black lawn and leaf bags for most of the day.

I spent the next several hours texting with SheriAnne as I helped runners try not to freeze to death. The rain was relentless and I saw numerous cases of hypothermia. Those poor people!

Jeff was tested for arterial blockage and the levels of Troponin were significant enough to require him to stay overnight for further observation. I called the airline and changed my flight.

Bright and early Monday morning, after ZERO sleep the night before, I arrived at the registration tent and paid the $740 to register for 2016!

Oh boy, here I go again

Oh boy, here I go again

 

While waiting for the new tests, I needed to burn off some steam, so I went for a run around ASU. Wow, it sure has changed in 35 years.

 

I hardly recognized anything!

I hardly recognized anything!

I did, however find the apartment building that my cousin and I lived in while we were there. Oh, the memories!

3rd floor balcony.

3rd floor balcony.

By mid day, SheriAnne picked me up and we went to see how Jeff was doing. He had just been taken in to have an Echocardiogram, and an Angiogram. After several excruciating hours, they came out and told us that he had 2 arterial blockages, but not so badly blocked  to require a stent. He would go on medication and need to follow up with a Cardiologist when we got home. WHEW! They released him at 7pm, with instructions to rest for a few days and follow whatever the Cardiologist prescribed.

OUT OF HERE!

OUT OF HERE!

We had separate flights but both were home safe and sound by 6pm. We were exhausted, cold, and needed to decompress significantly. Jeff was sore from the wrist to the shoulder, due to the Angiogram, and that lasted 2 days. He is waiting to find a Cardiologist that will accept him as a patient.

The lesson here is, once again, it doesn’t matter who you are, how healthy a lifestyle you live, you are still at risk for illness. We don’t exactly know whether Jeff had a real heart attack or not. What we do know is that he did have subtle symptoms in the past few months. Some shortness of breath. (“Of course I’m winded, I’m running uphill.”) Some unexplained coughing at night (“It’s just a left over cough from my cold.”) Some stiffness in the neck (“Body aches are part of my Cancer medicine side effects.”) Some dizziness (“Again, I’m working out hard! I’m Ironman training.”) Simple, subtle symptoms that most athletes have at one time or another. Even the doctors don’t give us stress tests, because they don’t work.

My advice is to be aware of ANY changes you experience in your health. No matter what your age, you can have latent issues just waiting to surface at any time. Please get regular check ups. Tell your doctor EVERYTHING, no matter how insignificant you think it might be.

I’ll be riding Jeff’s back until he has a follow up and a plan in place with a Cardiologist. I can be very persuasive.

Be healthy. Train smart. Have fun. Thanks for following my journey.

 

Ironman. It happened. Part 3

To convey what went through my mind as I ran my bike out of transition, is as easy as it would be to  describe how someone would drink an ocean. One sip at a time? There was an urgency, yet there wasn’t. This was going to take HOURS, so how would I manage that urgency? For reasons mentioned in previous blogs, and more, I hadn’t ridden more than 75 miles in my training cycle. On my new bike, only 30. I didn’t know what was to come, other than the distance. Ironman bike distance is 112 miles. Chattanooga Ironman is 116. Maybe that makes this an “Ultra-Ironman”.

After mounting my bike, I hit the button on my Garmin, and it should have switched to the cycling mode, but it didn’t. I’m so OCD that it drove me crazy to think it wouldn’t track correctly, so for the first mile, I screwed around with the damned thing, ultimately deciding to close down the “triathlon” mode and switch to the “bike” mode. Sure, I lost some time, but at least I got it to work, and then I forgot about it. I put my head down and pedaled on. The first part of the race consisted of a few hills, and several turns, as we made our way out of the neighborhood, and out onto the open road. My bike felt good, and I settled in for a day of sight seeing. Several people gave me advice before I attempted this, my FIRST Ironman. Most of the advice went like this: “Relax and enjoy the experience. Take in every sight and sound, and don’t stress on your time. Just stay in the moment…” I thought I would do that exact thing…..until about mile 5. It was at that time that I sensed the “other Patty” come to life. You might know her. Fiercely competitive. Wickedly insane when she races. Is commonly seen yelling and singing at the top of her lungs while racing. Yeah, that’s the one.  “Sister, if you don’t leave it all out here, you will be ashamed of yourself, and beat yourself up for the rest of your life! Get your ass MOVING.” So I did. I didn’t give a crap if I dropped dead.

WOOHOO

WOOHOO

The course is  11 miles out, a 47 mile loop that you ride twice, and then 11 miles back into town. There is a 4400′ total elevation gain. My first 50 miles, I averaged 18.41 Mph. the first 30 were mostly uphill. I don’t know how I held that pace up some of those hills, but I did, and I was maniacally happy. I played leap frog with a few cyclists and got frustrated with a few more. At one point, I called out to a guy blocking the passing lane, and I think I scared him. I never saw him again.  I hated seeing people in front of me! The second half of the loop is all rollers. When I say rollers, I mean steep, out of your seat on the way up, and short not so steep on the way down. The downhills were never long enough to give you a good recovery. Her’s what it looked like:

bike.

Oh sure, the hills look small when spread out like this.

I remember as I  struggled up a long, relentless hill,  thinking, “Oh God, this is gonna suck the next time around.” I’m pretty sure I shouted that out to a few people as I powered passed them on the way up. I stuck with my nutrition plan, alternating between GenUcan and Cliff Bar Organic Energy food packets. I also had Base Performance Salt in a vial that I tucked into my cycling shorts, and took hits off of that periodically. I took in an average of 110 calories per hour. Everything worked like a charm.

The on-course support was over the top. Volunteers and spectators kept our spirits up, and while I didn’t partake in anything from the aid stations, I made sure to smile and thank everyone as I sped by.

The Special Needs stop was at around mile 56 in the historic town of  Chickamauga. People were EVERYWHERE, cheering us on. The efficiency of the volunteers, with calling out our numbers, and directing us to our bags, stunned me. Within seconds after entering the area, a volunteer handed me my bag. I had a brilliant idea of filling it with Fritos Corn Chips and ice tea. The crunch of the salty chips was Heavenly after only consuming liquid and gel-like food all day. The ice tea gave me a nice caffeine boost. I shoved as much as I could handle down my throat and tried not to stop for too long. In minutes I was off again, fueled and ready for another lap. As it turns out, I made a second stop at the next aid station, to use the porta potties. As much as I don’t object to peeing on the bike, I just didn’t want to and quite frankly, felt the need to get off the bike and stretch the legs a bit. There was a line, so I lost some time here. The athlete tracker shows that between mile 50 and 75, I had slowed to 14.86 mph. Stopping does make a difference! I got a little tired at this point too, as the hills were starting to hurt.

OK, this might just suck right about now.

OK, this might just suck right about now.

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Why are you taking my picture?

I got a second wind and between miles 75 and 97, I averaged 20.12 mph. I did the second loop and never even noticed that big hill I was worried about! At mile 100, I started experiencing pain in my left knee. Deep, sharp pain. It came out of nowhere, but it had happened at Lake Stevens 70.3, and I was not looking forward to the next 16 miles. I made sure to press my knees in tight to the bike, to take pressure off of the IT band. “One more hour” I kept repeating to myself. OUCH! Oh man, at mile 110 the knee AND foot were now in terrible pain. I had to stop using the muscles in my left leg, and only pedal with my right leg several times, just to give it a break. “Where did this wind come from? Oh God, it’s hot. For Heaven’s sake, I don’t remember this road being so long on the way out!!! WHERE is the freaking finish?” I wasn’t really discouraged though, because I knew I was near the end of the course, and the pain would stop as soon as I got off the bike.

Coming into transition, I dismounted and handed my bike off to a volunteer. Let me tell you, there really is no sane reason to sit on a bike for 116 miles! Time 6:46:22.

As I ran through the transition area, I saw my kids!!! They were yelling and smiling, and jumping up and down. I was on top of the world again.

Heading into the tent to change for the run.

Heading into the tent to change for the run.

I only had a marathon to run, to earn the title “Ironman”, and nothing would stop me from doing that today!

To be continued…

First 70.3 at 56

On August 9, 2015, I turned 56. One week later, I competed in my first Ironman 70.3 race. In case you had any doubts, let me tell you. EVERYTHING is possible.

I was excited and nervous  for my Ironman Lake Steven’s 70.3 race. My training, with all it’s high’s and low’s got me here, and there was nothing left to do but get it done. Jeff bought me a Cervelo P2 bike two weeks before the race, but I didn’t have time to get a professional bike fit. I rode it for several days and I started feeling comfortable using the aero bars, and felt completely confident.

I call her Sylvie

I call her Sylvie

We stayed in Mukelteo, Washington, about thirty minutes from Lake Stevens. The alarm went off at 4:30 am and we planned on leaving my hotel at 5.  I had already checked my bike in the day before, so I just had my transition bag full of crap to carry. Jeff was an absolute doll. He did everything for me! (I’m still getting used to being with a man that insists on carrying my bags for me.) I tried not to go over my list for the millionth time, but I couldn’t help myself. All my liquid nutrition was mixed the night before, and set in the cooler.

It was a chilly morning, with a lazy mist on the lake.

lake

The air temperature was in the 50’s but the water was 69 degrees, and I couldn’t wait to get in so I’d stop shivering. My wave-the old gals, was the last to enter the water. In the final moments before all my races, I  shut out the surrounding noise, go deep inside my head, and meditate quietly on what is about to happen. In those moments, just before the swim, I undoubtedly ponder the same thing EVERY time: “Oh God, now that water is full of pee.”

I jumped in and waited for the gun to blow. As soon as it did, the churning began. It was quite civil, however, and only lasted a few minutes. I immediately saw the buoy line, and rejoiced. I’d never done an Ironman event before and had only heard about this line. WOW, did it make a difference. Especially on a morning like this, with the line of bouys being hidden in the fog, it was amazing to just keep my head down and follow the underwater line.  I had to maneuver around a few other people several times but never lost sight of the line. When I exited the water, I felt GREAT, like I could have swam forever! 1.2 miles done.

those are "goggle eyes", not bags!

those are “goggle eyes”, not bags!

My transition to the bike was quick and uneventful. I remembered to down a bottle of GenUcan, ran to the exit, and mounted my bike. Off I went, feeling like a rock star. It was only minutes into the ride that I realized  I was cold. No big deal, I’ll warm up shortly. The weather report called the upper 70’s, so I was not at all concerned. What I hadn’t thought of was the fact that it was only now 8:00 am, and the first 48+ miles of this bike ride was on winding mountain roads, in the forest, so there were little to no sun breaks. Within the first half hour, I was so cold that my feet started to cramp. Then the shaking started. “How is this even possible?” I asked myself. I’ve done this for (only) three years and am NEVER cold on the bike! Try as I may, I could not stop  shivering, and a few times shook so badly, I nearly tipped the bike over. The second thing that happened was  stomach cramps. I was dutifully drinking my GenUcan, but nothing was able to leave my stomach, because my body was tensed up, fighting to get warm. All my muscles clenched tightly the entire ride. I tried sitting up and changing body position, but nothing helped.

I always smile for the cameras

I always smile for the cameras

Beside the cold, I experienced pain in my knees and IT Band at mile 15. This was completely unexpected, but I now know that it was due to the fact that I hadn’t had a custom bike fit. The ride became horrendously painful and nothing would stop it. The hills only made it worse. I can handle a lot of pain, but this just about dropped me. My ONLY thought on that ride was “GET THIS OVER WITH!” Not a very pleasurable way to spend 56 miles.

The elevation was a bit of a challenge to me. I’ve trained on hills in Portland, but nothing like the one’s around Lake Stevens. I saw people walking bikes up hills, stopped, hunched over  heaving, and one or two just standing on the side of the road with the saddest looks on their faces, defeated by the climbs. I was NOT going to be one of those people.

If you’ve read my blogs, you know that I get  emotional during races. I cry. I cry when I struggle badly, (especially when I get an asthma attack) and I cry at finish lines. It’s what I do, and I’m ok with it. It’s not a weakness; it’s just how my body reacts to the pressure and the relief. I live a stressful life and have a high pressure job. I balance several “balls in the air”, and maintain an even keel MOST of the time. When I race, I let it all out. This day was no exception. There is one hill at mile 38 that is legendary. First you make a ninety degree turn and then you go straight UP. (For miles and miles…no just kidding- it just seems like it) I knew it was coming and I was ready for it. I got into the small chain before the turn and tried my best not to look too far ahead, so I wouldn’t get freaked out by the length or grade of the hill. Not even half way up, I saw people dropping out. I kept going. I stood up and powered as hard as I could, but began seriously struggling with getting my feet to turn the pedals. In a sudden burst of Niagara Falls, the tears came. Loud, wailing tears. Angry tears. Fierce, from the gut, tears. I didn’t care who heard me because those tears gave me the power for another crank of the pedals. They ripped out of me and pushed my body up that God forsaken hill and along with the ever-encouraging roadside volunteers’ words of support, I mounted that hill and knew I was NOT going to fail today.

By the time I got to T2, I was pretty sure my legs were permanently damaged. (Drama queen, remember?) I dismounted and they immediately collapsed under me and I had to use the bike to hold me up.

56 miles done.

The pain didn’t go away, and this worried me, so naturally, the tears returned. My stomach still cramped severely and the pain in my knees and IT Band was acute and relentless. I managed to get my bike back to the rack and then I fell apart. A volunteer came over and tried to be helpful, and Jeff was just outside the barrier asking me what was wrong, but I didn’t have a clue what to do. “Can I walk? Can I freaking STAND? Holy Crap, can I RUN 13.1 miles? (Insert more wailing)

I finally got my shit together and decided I had to try. I have never been a quitter, and today was not going to change that. Jeff asked me if I wanted him to pull me from the race…..he asked if I was going to be able to go on…..I remember saying “I’ll try.”

So off I stumbled, shuffled, limped, what ever you’d call it, and started the double loop course. The first few minutes hurt badly, but once my legs stretched out, it wasn’t so bad. My gut still killed me but I decided to take it slow and try and relax everything. Funny how things changed. The run was mostly exposed and the sun beat down, keeping it considerably hot. I hated the first loop of this run. I was miserable, felt defeated, and mentally, there was not much to brag about. I walked A LOT. When I reached the halfway point, however, something happened. I DECIDED I was going to have a good finish, and do it with pride because, damned it, I am a BAD ASS 56 YEAR OLD! I picked up the pace a little, walked when the  nagging side stitch was too  painful, and kept going. I drank one more GenUcan at mile 5, but after that, couldn’t take anything but sips of water. The run course has a few hills, but nothing outrageous. I enjoyed the second loop despite myself and was at that point on a fierce mission!

run

Somewhere in the last mile or so, I started to smile. I was going to finish a 70.3 mile race. On my own power. Wow. Me! The girl who started running at age 50. A Half Ironman! REALLY? Oh. My. God. My smile returned for the first time in what seemed like hours.

WOOHOO, almost done!

WOOHOO, almost done!

I ran most of that last mile and took a short walk break so that I would be able to run through the finish chute. (which, by the way, seemed like a mile long) I started to run through the chute, when all of a sudden my side felt like my appendix was bursting. Seriously-the worst stitch I’ve ever had. BUT, with all the people screaming, the cameras flashing, and the finish line approaching, there was NOTHING that was going to stop me from crossing that line with a smile on my face.

1125_022169

70.3 done.

My official time was 6:41:10. I did it. I will never forget it. As soon as this photo was taken, I immediately collapsed into the fetal position, laughing, groaning with pain, and shaking with excitement. It took a volunteer about 5 full minutes (at least it seemed that long) to get me upright. She thought I needed medical attention, but I kept telling her, NO, it’s just a stitch. LOL, worst one I’ve ever had, but who cares????

Jeff greeted me with the biggest smile, hug, and “I’m so proud of you” and we laughed, and I reveled in my accomplishment. I did it. It wasn’t pretty, but I did it. I gotta tell you, having the support of my coach, SheriAnne Nelson of PrsFit, and of Jeff Kline, I believe I can do ANYTHING.finish love

Life is good with this kind of love. Rock on, people. Go after your goals. It’s never too late. Thinking of starting on your own fitness path? Would you like to do a race someday? Ask me anything you want. I’d love to help and support YOU.