A Weekend in Phoenix (With a Health Scare)

Posted on November 20, 2015 by PattyRan

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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!

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.

First 70.3 at 56

Posted on August 24, 2015 by PattyRan

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

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.

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!

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

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

Facing My Fear Part Two-Race Day!!!

Posted on October 7, 2013 by PattyRan

Race Day, Montauk Might Many Sprint Triathlon

The alarm went off at 4:14am, not that I needed it, because I had been awake most of the night. I wondered if any other participants were as worked up as me.

Like most athletes, I have a specific morning routine that I follow, down to the smallest detail. I drink a cup of tea with honey, a toasted gluten free bagel with almond butter, jelly, and Chia seeds. I have to get up early enough for this to digest, so I can…ahem…leave a little of it at home, so to speak. With the race day jitters I am a frequent user of all-that-is “toilet”.

My race day equipment was packed. I had a bucket filled with towels, a plastic garbage bag, bike and running shoes, socks, extra water bottles, 2 swim caps, goggles, gloves, a jacket, bike helmet and glasses, inhaler, Vaseline, my phone, and God knows what else. It didn’t all fit in the bucket. I WAS going to put on my wetsuit at the house, since the starting line is just a half a mile away, but I opted against that…..I knew I would need frequent visits to the Blessed porta potties before starting. I arrived at 5:45am and the transition area was already about 75% full. The grass was wet on my flip flop clad feet and my sweat pant legs were getting damp. This pissed me off way more than it should have. (STRESS) I methodically set up my transition area, positioning everything I would need for the two changes. My helmet was perched upside down on my handlebars, with my glasses inside. My wool socks were rolled down to the toes; my towel was ready, water bottle to wash my feet off was ready, and my bucket was turned upside down. Next to all of this were a jacket and my running shoes, and a small water bottle filled with an electrolyte drink for the run. Taped to my bike was a plastic bag with a small protein bar that I could shove down at the start of the cycling. All that was left was for me to go to the bathroom six more times and put on my wetsuit.

Good morning athletes! Do you like my fake smile?

Approximately thirty minutes before the scheduled start of the swim, I took a long pull or two on my inhaler and proceeded to encase myself in black rubber.

The time came for all athletes to move over to the shore line and assemble in our “waves”. I was in the 4^th wave: females, 40 and older. We all had white swim caps. They assigned MY group of WHITE CAPS? BORING!!! Anyway, we lined up and nervously chatted.

White cap? Yes, but I think the purple adds a little fashion. Oh, and notice the look on my face!

One by one the waves of swimmers entered the water, for their “chest-deep” start. (I assume we didn’t do a beach-run start because they didn’t want people stomping on all of the snapping turtles.) As I moved toward the water, I felt like a cow going to slaughter. The voices in my head laughed and told me I was going to die. Then the shivering took over. As I moved further into the lake, I looked around and had what I can only describe as an out of body experience. The only thoughts I had were: 1) Oh my God, I am really going to do this, and 2) Oh my God, I wonder how many of these people around me are peeing in this water?

There was no time to worry about pee because the next thing I knew a gun went off and my wave started. SWIM PATTY! I took a few strokes and found myself playing a water version of Twister with four other swimmers. My goggles fogged up and I couldn’t see. All I could do was TRY to swim, which was impossible because a group of us were seemingly staying in one place, wrestling. This did not please me. I tried zig zagging, looking for a way out of the churn, and I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. CALM DOWN! Since I couldn’t see out of my goggles, or stop shivering enough to get a good breath, I flipped over on my back and did some kind of messed up version of sculling. Embarrassed by this, I flipped back over and did some breaststroke. Then for some reason, I started side stroking. SIDESTROKING?!!! Who the HELL sidestrokes??? Oh, and I was barely 25 yards from the start! I considered giving up right then and there. Yep. BUT I DIDN’T. I decided that no matter what, I was going to finish this God forsaken swim and get out of that lake. I never warmed up enough or calmed down enough to do more than ten to twenty crawl strokes at a time. I swam on my back a lot, inventing ways to move my body through the water. I breast stoked a TON, and did my best not to drink any of the lake’s blackish green water. I wondered: “WHERE THE HELL DID ALL MY TRAINING GO?” I kept going. I stayed on my belly all the way into the shallow water, and jumped up when it was only two feet deep because I heard that is faster than trying to run through waist deep water.

This is how I WISH I felt after the swim….hahahahaha, silly girl.

I stumbled, exhausted, out of the swamp. As I gathered what remaining strength I had left, I unzipped my wetsuit and ripped my goggles off. I found that my entire face was covered in slime. I thought it was seaweed, until I realized it was coming out of my nose and mouth. I was a phlegm factory. It took several attempts before I was able to rid myself of that shit.

By the time I ran to my bike, the swim experience was completely behind me and I was READY! I had a little trouble getting my left leg out of the wetsuit because of the bulky timing chip on my ankle, and I started to panic. I stopped, took a calming breath, and pulled my foot out. I put my glasses and helmet on, ripped open the bag with my snack in it, and shoved the protein bar in my mouth. Never underestimate how dry those things are! I was in the very back section of the transition area so I had to navigate around several people before I exited the area. I clipped right into my pedals, headed down the street, and spit out the protein bar, for fear of choking on the damned thing.

Something happened to me as soon as I got my feet spinning. I turned into a combination of Godzilla and Jim Carey in “The Mask”. I approached other cyclists with the screaming voice; “ON YOUR LEFT!”, “PASSING!”, “On YOUR LEFT!” Oh my God, I was actually embarrassed. (Well, not really) I was a mad woman throwing my head in the air and cackling! “You’re MINE, I tell you!”

GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!

The course has a bad ass hill about a mile into the start, that sneaks up on you and never lets go. My lungs were in my throat half way up. I crested the top and shifted into high gear. I usually brake a little on the downhill, but this time, I just let it go. WEEEEEEEEEE. (“Oh God, please don’t let me crash, please don’t let me crash”) The ride is an out and back and the usually fierce Montauk wind behaved on this day. I rode hard, although my legs were protesting the whole way. At one point I looked down at my computer and it read 30 MPH. WHAT? The last hill was a killer and I slowed down to 11 MPH for a portion.

This lady scares me!

Before I knew it I was back in the transition area and in short order, I changed into my running shoes and grabbed my water bottle. My feet took off faster than I thought possible, and for the first mile, I had no feeling in the front half of either of them. The course circles the lake and the views are stellar. Now that I was no longer IN the lake, I enjoyed its beauty. I got a little fatigued and in an effort to avoid an asthma attack, I took a few short walk breaks. I passed a lot of people on my run and finished with a sprint.

Coming down the home stretch

I put it all out there that morning. When I finished, I was heaving, and wheezing, and within about a minute after the finish, the tears arrived. Like I said in my previous post, they always do. There’s a mixture of: joy, exhaustion, wonder, elation, and accomplishment that I just can’t describe. I did it. I did well. I gave my all. I didn’t die. I didn’t shit myself.

My bike shop buddies: Pierce and Lenny, and me, enjoying our age group awards!

To some, a Sprint Triathlon is like an easy walk in the park. They could do one in their sleep. For me? It was my biggest physical and mental accomplishment since I did my first marathon last year. But in many ways it was harder. I loved it. I hated it. I laughed and I cursed. I know I will do another one. Will I ever make it all the way to an Ironman? Oh boy…. time will tell. For now, I will enjoy this memory, and keep on training.

What Snot to Love?

Posted on February 7, 2013 by PattyRan

I just love it when I am talking to someone and a bucket full of water and snot suddenly propels itself out of my nose. Now that I am swimming and training for a Sprint Triathlon, I am having flashbacks of my youth swim team and lifeguard training.

I am proud to have control over most of my bodily functions, but my “swimmer’s nose” just laughs at me and runs down my face at will. It’s one of the ways I am forced to be humble, I guess. Trust me, nothing says, “Consummate Professional”, like a spontaneous expulsion! If I were an Olympic swimmer, I’d be much more able to get away with it.

Poor Ian.

Oh well, back to me. So, now that I am training for my first Triathlon, I am spending two to three days working out in a pool. This increases the chance of my snot rocket surprises by up to 30% each week, for those of you that don’t have mad math skills. I am a very efficient swimmer. I know how to breathe in and out through my nose and mouth while swimming. So why does this happen, and what can be done about it? Experts vary on the reasons and remedies, but they all agree that irritants, allergies, and bacteria are among the common causes.

Germaphobe that I am, I shutter to think about what I am exactly ingesting while swimming in that community pool. I know people sweat, spit, and God knows what else in public pools, but I have always considered the chlorine (which of course is a poison) would take care of that. I recently read that Olympic swimmers admit to peeing in pools all the time. Nice. For the record I have never done this! You are safe to share a lane with me.

The good news is that, if I get all snotty while swimming or afterwards, at least I know that it is because I am working out. I am off my butt, making an effort to get this body moving, in any way that it can. It takes effort and dedication to convince yourself that it is a good idea to put on a bathing suit in the middle of winter when you are pasty white and it is cold, dark, and raining out, and drive yourself to a pool, so that you can take that first chilly plunge.

My advice? Get out there and do it. Swimming is one of the best ways to start or enhance your fitness routine. The first few days may be tough as you adjust to the water, the newness of your heart pounding, and the shortness of breath. In a few days, you will be amazed at how quickly your endurance improves. Just keep in mind that tissues should always be on hand. Or, buy a nose clip-I hear that can help.

See you in the deep end.

Running in Muck

Running Through What Life Throws At You

Tag Archives: swimming

A Weekend in Phoenix (With a Health Scare)

First 70.3 at 56

Facing My Fear Part Two-Race Day!!!

What Snot to Love?