Kyndra Moeller's IMC 2011

My alarm went off at 4:15am. I drank a smoothie, dressed in my race outfit and, with my bags already packed, headed out.

I arrived downtown, parked, unloaded. My first “This is going to be big!” moment of the day came when I saw the motivating messages written in chalk along the street. I dumped my special needs bags in the appropriate boxes and got body marked. It was just starting to get light out when I entered transition.

My first stop was the porta potties, where there were only a handful of people in line. Next, I put on my bento box on my bike and loaded it up with gel blasts. I added 2 bottles of fluids and one bottle containing my spare tubes, C02 and some other essentials that I hopefully wouldn’t need. I pumped up my tires and gave my bike a quick, last minute once-over. After adding a couple of things to my bike and run bags, I hit the porta potties a second time.

I had just enough time to chill out for a few minutes before I needed to suit up, so I staked out a spot along the fences near the beach, sat down and pulled out my ipod. I had thought I would need this time to de-scatter and get centered, but I had actually been feeling calm and focused all morning.

In the water, I did a quick (read: pitiful) warm-up consisting of dunking up and down a few times to submerge myself and then swimming maybe a dozen strokes before the national anthem started. I alternated between looking back towards the beach at the throngs of spectators and out toward the water, my eyes darting along the buoy line and mapping my intended course. I had thought I would be on the verge of tears and ready to hurl from nerves at that point, but I felt completely on and ready.

I took a deep breath and thought “LET’S DO THIS!” as the cannon went off. I waded out a bit more and then dove into the churning water. I immediately went into two-stroke breathing while I concentrated on settling in and just getting everything under control. I was on the far right- the inside of the buoy line- and not quite midway to the front. There were a few rough and tumble minutes as faster swimmers overtook me, but it didn’t send me into panic mode.

A mere few minutes passed before I settled comfortably into three-stroke breathing with the realization that this was going to be a good swim. Next, I concentrated on finding feet. For the first while, it was slow going. After making it through the worst of the initial jam, I ended up behind a guy with some serious power in his legs. Each time he kicked, it sounded like a sonic boom underwater and I was hit in the face with a wall of bubbles. I opted to just get the hell away from him in order to preserve my hearing and not end up drinking the entirety of Okanagan Lake. I backed off and ended up on the feet of someone in white compression sleeves. Sleevie Wonder pulled me along for a spell and soon I realized I could see the bottom of the lake again. We were already at the first turn. Similarly, the second turn came quickly and we were soon on our way back. Then came a long stretch during which I didn’t have anyone else swimming near me. I hadn’t expected it to be so sparse at any point during the swim, and so this worried me a bit. I kept looking up to sight, expecting to find I was way off, only to see the condos directly ahead of me, an assurance that I was right on course.

In T1, all of the volunteers were busy with other athletes and I had no one to help me with my stuff. I wasn’t too bothered and I just took my time. Alas, when I dumped my bag I was horrified to find I hadn’t put socks in, despite having checked and double checked it before dropping it off the day before. I’ve never cycled sockless before, so I had a decision to make- I could either get the socks from my run bag or just hope that going sockless wouldn’t be completely disastrous. Breaking the cardinal rule of not trying anything new on race day, I chose the latter, since I wanted to have dry socks for the run.

I followed my coach’s advice not to eat or drink anything other than water for the first 20 minutes. My heart rate was nice and low as soon as I got on my bike, so I just focused on soaking up some of the positive energy from the cheering spectators as I wended my way out of town. After that, I started fuelling and hydrating according to my plan- a little bit of food and some water or perform every 10 minutes.

The first portion of the bike was uneventful. Well, for me, at least. I saw plenty of people on the side of the road who had flatted right away. The McLean climb came quickly, as I knew it would, and from there on I was mostly in aero. I recall looking out at the scenery and thinking “We are all so lucky!” Just to have made it to that point, to be able to attempt something of this magnitude. Reflecting on this as I pedaled, I made a point of scattering gratitude along the road with my numerous snot rockets.

One thing that I had been a little apprehensive about was executing bottle grabs. I’m not terribly comfortable riding with my right hand out and I had visions of me crashing and causing a woeful aid station pile-up. My worry was unfounded and I managed to toss and grab bottles with no ensuing calamity.

I was excited when we hit the Osoyoos Husky station, because I knew what was coming. I squealed “Yay Richter!!!” garnering some weird looks and a few chuckles. Just before starting the ascent, a guy told me I had a wrapper stuck in my back wheel. He offered to try to ride up beside me and yank it out. I could see no good coming of someone riding that close to me and lunging for my rear wheel, so I politely declined and got off my bike to remove it. It was a Honeystingers wrapper- not mine.

For the duration of Richter, I just stuck to my plan of attack- spin easy, keep my heart rate down and save my legs. It’s by no means a tough climb, but it’s long and it comes so early in the day that my motto was “When in doubt, ease up.” So I just enjoyed the sights and chatted with a few people. It was pretty humbling watching some of the stronger cyclists go flying past, no labored breathing or visible sheen of sweat.

During training, I had ridden the bike course, omitting the out and back. I honestly thought it wouldn’t be a big deal, distance-wise, and I was taken aback at how long it felt. I was beginning to feel rough at that point, as it was getting hot and I was out of water. I kept expecting special needs to come into view and it just wasn’t materializing. Upon seeing an acquaintance from training camp, I asked “Where the heck is special needs??” with a distinct note of desperation. She agreed that this stretch was feeling pretty long and reassured me that special needs couldn’t be more than 5km away. She rode off as I fell back. It was around this time that I started puking. I was trying to drink the now-warm perform in the absence of any water and my body reacted by regurgitating a pink slurry of half-digested gels blasts and tropical hammer gel. I saw my friend again and remarked “I’ve decided I have a new definition of personal hell. We just keep riding like this forever and we never reach special needs.” 5km had long since passed, we weren’t there yet and I had puked a couple more times. I was not having a grand ol’ time, so I focused my mind on a quote that I revisited multiple times throughout the day: It’s not about denying that a weakness exists, but about denying its right to persist. I acknowledged that I felt like death warmed over (well, death overheated, really), but I reasoned that feeling like crap was probably transient and I wasn’t going to let it be the dominant theme of my day. I bargained with myself that I just needed to get to special needs and I could take a few minutes to get my ducks in a row.

When I reached special needs, I immediately got off my bike, removed my shoes and asked for water. I downed a bottle and then tucked into the stuff in my bag. I had chips, which would usually taste like manna from heaven at 120km into a hot ride. But I had been taking in roughly 500mg of sodium per hour (between salt caps and perform) and that must have been enough because the chips were only mildly appealing. I ate a handful just to get some calories in. I also had a coke in my bag and though it was completely warm and syrupy, the carbonation felt good in my stomach and a few gulps were pretty restorative. I nursed another bottle of water as I did some stretching, reloaded my bento box with more gel blasts and grabbed some more gels. When I asked for yet more water before getting back on my bike, the volunteer in question gave me two bottles. One was half frozen and she mentioned that she had brought it from home for herself but that she thought I should take it. After thanking her profusely, I got back on my bike. With some cold fluids and a good whack of calories in my system, I felt so much better and my previously bleak mood was now upbeat. All told, I lost a good 20 minutes or so at special needs, but I don’t regret it as it undoubtedly allowed me to actually enjoy the rest of my day.

Coming through Keremeos and starting the climb towards Yellow Lake did even more to bolster my mood. I was still going nice and easy, but I had started catching and passing a number of people who had blown by me much earlier. It was hot as Hades and people were clearly fading. As the grade increased, I also started seeing a number of people getting off their bikes and just walking. I pressed on, channelling the strength I had felt while riding that section during training camp.

On that day at training camp, we had a large group riding the IMC course but I had somehow ended up completely alone save for an Ultraman competitor by the time I started heading up to Yellow Lake. We kept leapfrogging, so we had a few opportunities to chat and the guy, Fausto, had some kind and encouraging words for me. He passed me a final time, wished me luck, and I spent the remainder of the climb doing visualizations for race day, which was nearly a month out at that point. When I had reached the end of the climb, his crew gave me a huge cheer and Fausto waved to me as he stepped into the lake to cool his legs. That had been, hands down, my favorite part of the training ride and I was glad I was able to conjure up some of that elation and confidence on that very same stretch during the race.

When I reached Yellow Lake, I was a bit dismayed to find that they only had bottles of flavoured water. I was conscious of the fact that I needed to get a lot of fluids in, since I had just made my first pee stop of the day at around 6 hours into the bike. But more than anything, I was glad to get my hands on some ice, since it was scorching. I took a minute to cram some ice into my helmet and top before setting off on the last portion of the ride.

By now I knew that the hard part was over and I should concentrate on getting lots of calories and fluids in for the run. I did just that, cramming blasts and gels in my mouth and sucking back greedy gulps of fluids every 10 minutes. I doused myself in berry-flavored water and shivered with pleasure from the cooling effect on the long descent that followed. Coming down along Skaha Lake, I had to pee for the second time that day. There were no bushes I’d be able to crouch behind and it quickly became a rather pressing need. So I took a quick look behind me and not seeing anyone, let loose. Yes, I’d become one of “those” people who pees on the bike. I won’t lie . . . it was guiltily exhilarating.

Coming back into town, I did some superspinning to loosen up my legs. Along the final stretch, I reminded myself to take my garmin off my bike and tuck it into one of my tri top pockets before dismounting. Forgetting it on my bike and heading out on the run without it had been an ever-present fear leading up to race day.

In the change tent, an attentive volunteer helped me dump my run bag and get organized. I was glad to find the clean, dry socks I’d packed. My feet hadn’t bothered me much on the ride, aside from some hot spots under the balls of my feet, and I was relieved not to have any blisters to contend with. I tucked gels and salt caps into my pockets, put my run gear on and downed a 5 hour energy shot. I cracked a joke about how foul it tasted and the volunteer said I’d be fine out there considering I was still smiling and joking.

I started running right out of transition and my legs felt great. My plan was to stop at every aid station for something, even if it was just water, and to just keep running a slow, steady pace in between for as long as I could keep it up.

Once we got out of town and started running along the lake, the hills materialized. At some point I realized that looking straight ahead and seeing the hills loom before me really didn’t help my sense of purpose and made me want to walk. I pulled the visor of my hat right down so that I could only see a little ways ahead of me. Weird as it sounds, this worked wonders at just keeping me moving and I think I actually managed to run some of the slight hills in this manner without actually realizing they were hills. I also tried to kill time by musing on what it was going to be like to cross the finish line. But then my eyes would well up with tears, my throat would constrict and I felt at once anaphylactic and ridiculous. I had to employ an old trick of reciting multiplication tables to get my mind off it so I could breathe properly again. I mostly tried to keep the recitations internal, but I think there were a few times where I was gasping, wiping away tears and intoning “6 times 1 is 6, 6 times 2 is 12, 6 times 3 is 18” under my breath..

At the turnaround, I grabbed my special needs bag. I dismissed the spare socks (my feet were faring well- nary a single blister, even though I was running through every sprinkler and hose I could hit and my feet were well soaked), downed my second 5 hour energy shot of the day (in hindsight, that was not such a bright idea) and set off walking with a bag of ketchup chips. Much like on the bike course, I found I wasn’t craving the saltiness of the chips, so after a handful I tossed the bag. I definitely slowed down after the turnaround. My legs weren’t hurting, but I was starting to feel a little fatigued despite the caffeine. I don’t think I was taking in enough calories. Gels had long since ceased to be palatable and I found I only really wanted to take in liquid at the aid stations.

During my first protracted walk break between aid stations, I decided it was a good time to pull out the big guns: a page of motivational quotes that I had stowed in my special needs bag and was saving for when the going got rough. Along with the quote about weakness that had spurred me on earlier in the day, there was another one which felt particularly meaningful at that point: ‘The ironman highway is more than a path to the finish line. It is the road to awareness and self-discovery. It is, in essence, the new you just waiting to be reborn.’ That lit a fire under my ass and I set about running again.

As night fell and we began to lose light, volunteers distributed glowstick necklaces. I passed a group of women walking, wearing their glowsticks around their heads instead of their necks. “You ladies look like angels! Iron angels!” I exclaimed, and they laughed in response. Soon thereafter I found myself alone and started walking again. I wasn’t in any actual pain, but I wasn’t really feeling all there. I suspect the excessive amount of caffeine I’d consumed over the course of the day was having a cumulative effect. I was seeing blue tracers in the near-darkness and when I tried to run, I heard a high-pitched buzzing in both ears. I settled for walking. Awhile later, a South African fellow caught up to me and we ended up sticking together for the rest of the night.

Our conversation made the remaining miles pass quickly in full darkness and when we saw the streetlights leading back into town, we whooped and fist bumped. We had walked a solid chunk of miles and now we threw some running back into the mix. And much too quickly, the final mile was upon us! The energy from the cheering spectators was remarkable. Donovan said it was time to toss our glowstick necklaces so that we wouldn’t be wearing them in the photos, so we threw them into the crowd. Similarly, when I saw some of my family I threw them my hat and shades. As we neared the finish, Donovan told me to go ahead of him. We exchanged thank yous, congratulations and a final fist bump before I took off for the finisher’s chute. There was no trace of fatigue in my body at that point and I picked up the pace for a finish line sprint. I sported an ear-to-ear grin and raised my arm in triumph as I crossed the finish line, at long last an ironman.