Ironman 70.3 Florida: The Swim

I went to bed early the night before my first Half Ironman and I'm pretty sure I didn't move at all while I slept. I had spoke to Kristine and Matt before going to bed, they gave me last minute advise. They told me I'd do great. They told me to have fun. And with that I drifted off to sleep trying not to think about everything I was really thinking about.


My alarm went off at 3am on Sunday, April 10, 2016. I got up and out of bed. I knew that 4 hours and 5 minutes later the horn would sound and I'd be beginning my 1.2 mile swim. I had been stalking the weather all week long leading up to the event. The thing about doing an event in a warmer climate is the crap shoot of "Will the race be wet suit legal or not?" Basically if the water is too warm you can't wear your wetsuit, but if the water is below 76.1 degrees athletes are welcome to wear their wetsuits because the water is deemed to be 'cold'.

The benefit to wearing a wetsuit is that it keeps you warmer in the water and it makes you more buoyant. Truth be told, I'm not certain I've ever experienced additional buoyancy in the water. Basically I always feel like I'm sinking down into the water. Yeah, yeah, people will tell me I need to tighten my core, work on those muscles. I'm usually just thankful to get out of the water and be done.

The water temperature on Sunday, April 10, 2016 was 74 degrees. I had a difficult time not laughing at folks from Florida who kept saying the water was "cold". I scoffed knowing that last August I had swam in Lake Michigan and it was 60 degrees on race day. That my friends, that 60 degree water temperature was cold. 74 as I found out, would be rather warm for me.

I was set up in transition and still had about an hour and a half to kill before my wave started the race. In that time I talked myself into having to pee twice. Nervous pee. That's all it was. I didn't actually have to go. I was bored. I was excited. I was a little nervous. I was wondering if I was in over my head. I started to question my training. I was excited. As it turns out it wasn't nervous pee, it was excited pee. Nonetheless that meant standing in long lines waiting my turn to pee while making idle chit chat with fellow racers.

With 30 minutes to spare before it was 'go time' for me I suited up. I pulled on the wetsuit. Here's the thing about wetsuits. There's no easy way to put them on. Sure there are tricks, tips, weird dances to try to squeeze yourself into one of the most unflattering ensembles you can truly wear in public. But there's no easy way to put them on. My dad had never seen me race, much less shimmy myself into a wetsuit. There was a lot of laughter if you were wondering. And yes, as you can see it was still dark outside.

With 15 minutes until my start time I pulled the wetsuit up the rest of the way and prepared to head off to line up by the water. I had my goggles, my wretched purple swim cap (here's the thing, I ALWAYS get purple or red, ALWAYS), and I made sure my watch was set on triathlon mode. Cause you know, I was going to do a triathlon and all.

I handed off anything I had with me and headed toward the water. I found my wave and lined up. That's when the nerves hit. Why? Well cause uh, I was lining up with about 100 other women wearing purple swim caps and I was going to go swim 1.2 miles in Lake Eva in Haines City, Florida. Then bike 56 miles and finish my day with a 13.1 mile run. But first I had to make it through the swim. As the ladies all gathered up and we waded into the water the song "Best Day of My Life" by American Author's began to blare. I'm not sure if the day I started racing Ironman 70.3 Florida was the best day of my life, but when I hear that song, I associate. I think. I smile. That song is in fact my Ironman 70.3 Florida race song, I just didn't know it until that moment.

My mom took this photo of the swim start, I'm somewhere in there lined up.

I was surrounded by women all wishing one another luck. I had placed myself near the back of the pack and to the side of my group. I didn't want to line up too far in front and freak out. If anything from the back I'd be able to just move forward. There was a woman in the back who was very animate about giving everyone hugs. She was racing her sixth 70.3 and asked everyone else what number it was for them as she hugged them. When I told her my first, you would have thought they just shut down the wave of swimmers I was in. I was flooded with women coming to give me a ' First Timer's Hug'. Now here's the thing ... we were in the water already! The water was at least waist deep, so maneuvering around in a wetsuit making you more bouyant in waist deep water so random strangers can hug you ... that should be an additional leg of triathlon. The original woman gave me one final hug and said "No matter what, don't give up during the swim, people do that you know. Don't be that person." 

And then the horn sounded. My first Ironman 70.3 was underway. I started out swimming along. I felt good. And then my right leg cramped. I was only about half way through the first pass of the M. I drug my right leg for a bit while kicking with my left. I was slowing down quickly. I wasn't full blown panicking. I knew that would do me no good. I'd lose track of breathing. My chest would feel tight. And then I started burning up. I was hot. Holy hell was I sweating. And my left leg cramped. For those keeping tracking I have two legs. Both legs were cramped in my calves. And to swim, you sorta need to kick to help propel yourself forward. Ok, you don't, but I do.

I struggled. I can't even sugar coat it. I paddled and got myself half way through the swim gliding. And by gliding I actually mean making sure I wasn't getting swam on top of and pushed under the surface. I tried to really stretch out my leg as I reached as far forward as I could swimming. Each buoy I passed I literally said "Fuck, I'm only here, shit." Really. Every buoy I swore at. And by swore at, I mean I actually talked out loud as I was breathing to the side. The race volunteers would ask if I needed help and I simply said "Nope, I'm still moving forward."

Then it happened. The cramping was gone in both legs. I could move them again and I didn't feel like I was dragging concrete blocks behind me. I had wasted 50 minute. FIFTY MINUTES to get half way through the swim. HALFWAY. I had 20 minutes to go before I wouldn't make the hour and ten minute swim cut off time. I bolted.

The last half of the swim took me 29 minutes. 9 minutes longer than the cut off. I knew right then that nothing else mattered, my time on the internet would be short-lived and posted, because I had just earned myself a DNF. It didn't matter. 

But it did matter to me.

I had trained for that race. I had swam faster than that for months. I overheated. Those Floridians and their thinking 74 degrees was cold. I was right. 74 wasn't cold to me. I was hot. I cramped from being hot. Or that's my theory. I put my wetsuit on too soon. I zipped up too soon. Maybe I should have stretched more. 

I got out of the water and wasn't the last one from my wave out. I honestly was surprised by that. That means those ladies also got DNF's in the end. I can't speak for them, but I wasn't stopping there. The first third of my race didn't go as planned, but then again does anything ever go as planned?

1.2 Mile Swim Time: 1:19:43.