Check.

Over and done. And kind of like childbirth, I'm not ready to have another any time soon :-)

But mission IMTx accomplished, kind of.

The swim was a "train wreck". It took me 15-20 minutes longer than it should have (1:27). The lake (which felt like a pool with its concrete sides around the entire thing) was so narrow that I swam armpit to armpit with guys the entire time - and didn't get anywhere. It was like swimming 2700 abreast down a pool then making an arching turn and heading back and then all funneling into a canal 1/8 the width of the lake. Nice. Kicked. Swam on top of. Goggles knocked off twice. Treading water too many times because there was no where to swim. But everyone's times were "off" unless you were a pro or a sprinter in the lead of the pack. Swimming in the canal was kind of cool though (unless you were one of the many folks walking it and getting goosed from behind by those of us swimming because the water was so murky you couldn't see the butts in your face). As you were swimming through the canal , just as with the water front mansions on the main body of water, spectators were lining the shores watching "over you" which was really neat.

We exited the swim (after a hard left hand turn "switch back" to get to the stairs (which was a little disorienting) and ran through the LONG chute of 2700 blue/white gear bags of 8 rows in numerical order, grabbed our bag and took off to the changing tent. After a quick change (with or without help from someone - your choice - I chose on my own for this one) we ran out geared up for the 112 mile bike ride.

112 miles. It seems so long when you're thinking about it for a training ride. But when you head out on an IM ride it mentally it doesn't feel so bad. The mile markers are in 10's so you just look forward to seeing 11 of them! Although I was having a hard time seeing anything after the swim because when my goggles had been kicked off water settled into the left lense and sloshed around my eye for 2 miles. So seeing was a bit blurry when I got on the bike. As was hearing. My right ear was locked solid with water until mile 78. I shook, hit, shook and swerved many times trying to get it out but it never came out. So on we rode. When it finally released I was so glad - and then a mile later I spotted part of "The Fan Club" roadside - all in green shirts (couldn't wait to see what they said after the race!) There they were, hooping and hollering out in the middle of some farm field outside the National Forest with: a life size blow up doll! They were a sight for sore eyes - now that I could finally see and hear!

I took down the bike course 10 miles at a time. After we left The Woodlands area traffic died down a bit and it was beautiful. Lots of pine trees and rolling forest land. I do well on those types of rollers; they don't slow me down a great deal and give me the opportunity to work different parts of my legs. It was a light mist for about 40 miles so the temperature was holding out for us and I found myself riding a PR for any 100 mile ride I've ever done - by a long shot. I had averaged 21 mph by the time I hit the timing mat and we headed back in. I knew I needed to stay "comfortable" as Kelly had told me and having not ridden that hard that long before and also having just turned back into a head wind, I "contained" myself and took advantage of any speed I could get on any part of the course. I was totally self-sustained on the bike and never had to stop - not even to pee! :-) (My poor white saddle will never be the same.) After watching my speed decline a bit, it became my goal to keep my average speed above 20mph - and I did. My bike split was 5:33.

I came back into transition, a bike handler grabbed and racked my bike, through the chute of "red" run gear bags this time and out the other side with my bag to the changing tent again. This time I had someone help get my gear out of the bag and help me assemble and get it on. Another lady came by with gloved hands and a tub of vaseline - I was glad to see her and raised my arms for the bright red, rosey spots from the swim to be soothed with the jelly. On went my race belt and running hat and out I went.

Aah. 26.2 more miles. In the scheme of things, when you've already gone 114.4 it shouldn't be that bad. But this is where push comes to shove. It's all about the run, baby. You can have a kick bike and blaze the course, but if you leave it all out on the bike course, you're good for only a portion of the run - and then it becomes a walk. Like it does for so many. And bless their souls, walking or running, people keep moving.

The run course was 3 laps in and around Lake Woodlands, the water taxi area, river walk and the shopping and residential area. TONS of people lined the river, eating, drinking, partying and cheering. 3500 volunteers supported the entire event and 1000's of Woodlands residents were out cheering with support crews, friends and family of athletes from all over the world. It was an amazing event.

The run course had 26 mile markers so not too far after your first you'd see one in the teens and another in the 20's. "I can't wait until those are for me" I thought. And not too long after the first mile marker, my own "mile markers" came into view. "Jen says 'I AM'"; "Coltyn says 'Peaches"; "Boo Boo says want a slider"; "Cin wants PTerry's"; Steve's boxers ;-); "Steve says Hurry I'm cramping"; Cindy ADAMS says "Trans WHAT?" - and I'm sure there were more - but they were all worthy. The "Fan Club" had routed the run course with signs to keep me going (and other's, too, I later found out figured out whose signs they were and were extremely entertained ;-)

For weeks I had "strategized" my self talk for when the dark times would come - and they would quite frequently during the run. Those dark times are what endurance events of this magnitude are all about. Cardio wasn't a problem, I stayed comfortable. But the run isn't about cardio, its about your mind. How to keep your feet moving. I found myself embracing "the good times" - when I'd come through the tough, dark minutes (or half hours ;-) and things would get better, I'd acknowledge it, verbally greet it and embrace it. So my run became a mental cadence of ups and downs - I'd work hard mentally to get through the darkness and sigh, embrace and give thanks when things would get easier. There were many ups and downs of that - until the last lap when my legs were just breaking down. So among many other mantra's, one was "you've worked too hard to not finish running - walking is not an option" - and the other was "keep running because this one's going to be your last full IM and you want to finish with no regrets." So I kept running - and running - and running. Not fast - but moving past others. So many folks were struggling. The heat. The humidity. The miles. This is what makes an Ironman iron.

My legs were seizing. I knew it wasn't from lack of sodium because I had plenty. My hands were swelling - perhaps from the sodium. My biceps were cramping. My toes were curling under and cramping. Then releasing. Then cramping again. I was trying to maneuver on club feet. Not an easy way to hold a stride. But moving. One foot in front of the other. Steve would holler "its not physical - your training made you physically strong. Get your mind around it and keep moving." And so I did.

I filled my water bottle with ice at stops whenever it got low, but stopping was brutal. My legs would get rigamortis. I'd lock my lid on and MAKE myself run immediately. No walking. No regrets. I'd bring my water bottle to my mouth for a drink of cold, chilled water and I'd find my eyes would close. Would they open again? Yes. But staying closed for much too long. Keep moving. No regrets. Mile 20 - 6 more miles to go. That's a 10k. I do that for recovery runs normally. But my times were decreasing and I was just struggling to run. How was I going to make myself do it.

Steve and "The Fan Club" were working the run course - stationing themselves strategically throughout, giving me that boost, that accountability that makes you have to run for them. Again, Steve reminded me it was a mental game and to make it happen.

Mile 22. The traditional marathon "wall". But there is no wall at mile 22 in IM. The walls come and go frequently throughout.

Mile 23. Just 3 more miles. How could I make it happen? Especially since Kelly has always trained me for a final 2 mile kick (which I totally had for the Austin Marathon and had my fastest miles of the race at 25 & 26). But that wasn't going to happen here. My tongue was swelling, my eyes wanting to close - just keep moving. I told myself mile 24 for Colt; 25 for Cade and 26 for Steve.

So I prayed for Colt during mile 24. The kind of boy I wanted him to be, the kind of boy God wanted him to be. I prayed for Cade at mile 25. That God would use him to honor Him and help him through his teenage years. And I gave thanks - lots of thanks - for Steve during mile 26...all between having those conversations with myself to just keep moving. Because this was going to be my last IM and I WAS NOT going to walk now.

Around mile 25.5 the course shoots you up off the river walk into the shopping district, weaving your way through business, screaming crowds, fenced chutes and towering arches. People I knew were every where on the course and hearing them in the last few moments before heading down the last chute to becoming an IRONMAN was so helpful. Just keep moving.

Eyes on the finish. Straight ahead. The clock reads 11:01. I'm focused. Moving my legs as quickly as I can without falling over. Knowing how good it was going to feel to stop moving. Then there's "Jack" - he pops out over the fencing about 50 feet from the time clock and I know Steve is there. Not many folks have passed me since I got on the bike and I'm certainly not going to let anyone now. A little disappointed I didn't break 11 hours, but oh so thankful I had a great bike and a good run, I crossed the line 2.5 hours faster than my last IM with a 3:54 marathon.

Arms up, big smile and finally, my feet could stop. Thank you, God and Your Angels. In true IM volunteer tradition, two helpers are there to stabilize me and get me regrouped. During my last lap I was thinking this may be my first event to the medical tent afterwards and it took me a bit to figure out I'd probably make it without the additional help.

Out of the back of the finishing chute to "The Fan Club" I go. It took me about 30 minutes to regroup, sit up straight and realize I wasn't going to pass out or puke. Everyone there was so helpful getting me cooled down, popping pills in me for pain, nausea, electrolytes. It was so good to just sit still after 11 hours (and having been up since 3:45am). The grimaces turned to a smile and then laughter and we could all celebrate our day. The Fan Club brought a cooler of cold beer and we toasted the fun, the effort, the focus, the team. Because it certainly did take a village.

I had negotiated with God throughout that run. This IM would be my last. Let's just make it a good one that I would not have any regrets from. Well, not long after we toasted with cold Ultra's then we found out I had placed second and had a possibility of qualifying one of the most esteemed sporting events in the world, the IM World Championships in Kona, HA. Where it all began in 1975. 15 guys trying to outdo each other in a crazy endurance event that they thought no one could finish. And now 100's of thousands of folks around the globe participate in these events just 36 years later trying to get a coveted spot to the World Championships.

So based on how many "slots" to the championships my age group would receive would dictate whether I'd have the choice to accept or decline the opportunity. There were 65 slots and they'd be distributed based on the ratios for each age group category represented at the event. Thus, I'd have to sleep on it and find out in the morning from 9-11am if there was more than 1 slot in my age group. Anguish. At that time, I was praying that there would be only one spot. Don't get me wrong, IM Kona has always been a dream. Watching it on NBC every fall is my super bowl. I cry. I get excited. I get anxiety at the swim start because I feel and understand the tension - plus we've been there to see it. And it is by all means one of the most amazingly inspirational events ever produced.

After hanging out at the finish line during the final hours watching some of the toughest Ironmen and women finish we were all again inspired by the Ironman dream. We later found out that there were more people at the IMTx finish line during these "final hours" than had ever been at a US IM finish - a true party of celebration and inspiration for thousands - some family, some fans and some who were there simply for lunch 12 hours early and got caught up in the exhilaration. There is truly nothing like the final two hours of IM - it is what Ironman is really about.

We left around 11:30 and got to the hotel - to no power. Please let there at least be hot water. And there was - but totally dark. Couldn't see our hands in front of our faces, but the shower was good and the best was what I had looked forward to coming back to all day long - laying down on those (semi)cool, white cotton sheets. Aah. But the day wasn't over. I laid there for several hours, my heart racing - probably from the 15 out of 20 powergels I had dined on all day long that were caffeinated.

I finally fell asleep - for two hours. And the nausea woke me back up - along with foot cramps I experienced in what felt like every 5 minutes - apparently from my "club feet" on the run. I got up at 3:45 again, ate a Cliff Crunch Bar and a GinGin for nausea (thank you, Nan!) and laid back down and stared at the blinking fire detector until 5. At 7:45 I was glad to find I had fallen asleep for a few more hours. And now to get back up and find out about that dreaded, yet honored, Kona slot.

We packed up by 8:30 to go meet part of "The Fan Club" at expo. As we were walking across the parking lot to the IM tent to look up the results, out came 5 gals in HOT PINK running, jumping and screaming with shirts on that said "Ironman: The Road to Kona". You made it.

I should cry. I wanted to cry. How could something that you had only thought about in your wildest dreams now be a reality? I've not done this sport for that long "officially" to warrant such an honor. The pain is still so fresh from yesterday that I don't think my mind or heart is ready to wrap myself around the honor and opportunity - and more training :-)

But I did it. I registered. I've now qualified for 70.3 Ironman World Championships on 9/11 at Lake Las Vegas and The Ironman 140.6 World Championships in Kona on 10/8.

THEN maybe I can retire - again.

Thank you to everyone that texted, prayed, "shouted out", supported, cheered, showed up, made signs, made t-shirts, blew up and decorated "the doll", followed the internet, facebooked, biked, walked, took pictures, and watched their way through the day. You are all true Iron Friends. Wanna go to Kona????

xo