I rolled out of bed just before my 3:30am alarm, terrified of what my complete lack of sleep would mean for a 3 day race.

I ate my standard pre-race breakfast, two pieces of white toast with peanut butter (which really seemed woefully tame and inadequate, given what I was about to ask my breakfast to fuel), and then jumped in the shower to relax a bit while I started digesting. After getting dressed and going through my pile of day 1 stuff one more time to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything, I escaped back to bed to lay there for a few minutes, contemplating what I was about to do. And unfortunately fretting some more about my lack of sleep.

Then it was time to hit the road for the start line. We wanted to get there a little bit early so Matt would have a chance to see his kayak for the first time and plan out how he was going to store everything. Plus I wanted plenty of time to hit the bathroom once or twice or twelve times before starting the swim. Nervous stomachs need a lot of attention.

Funny thing about the bathrooms.. we got there to find them locked. They don't normally lock those bathrooms down at the beach, but there was a big music festival in town, and they were taking extra precautions, so.. locked. And 29 athletes plus 29 paddlers and a lot of crews and volunteers all really needed a bathroom. Not Good.


That's the bathroom in the background. And that's Paul at the end of the bench, very grumpy about the bathrooms not being open. I think his crew person was about 15 seconds away from driving him to the hotel to use the bathroom when they finally got it open.

Fortunately with a a good ten minutes to spare, they managed to find the tools to dismantle the locks and get people access. (They DID try to find someone with a key first, but that failed, so the only recourse was Tools and Brawn.) My bathroom needs weren't even urgent, but I felt MUCH better having the opportunity, and much better about putting my wetsuit on after that.


Me and my crew before I put on my wetsuit, when I was obviously wearing pajama pants. Sheryl told me I had to take them off eventually. I threatened to do all of Ultraman in them, just to spite her.

After checking in and getting weighed, I wiggled into my wetsuit, opting for sleeveless as a kindness to my shoulders, and because, while the water was nice and cool (maybe low 70s or possibly high 60s?), the day promised to be very hot, and I prefer not to be too warm when swimming. Most folks opted for full sleeved. We gathered on the beach for a group photo, the 29 of us who were crazy enough to start this adventure. Lots of hugs, lots of nerves, and a few tears.


Sabrina reassured us that tears were Situation Normal for her before a race, but I figured they still require a hug.


29 people of all shapes, sizes and speeds, ready to take on Ultraman.

After the group photo, the athletes gathered in a circle with a larger circle of our crews, families, volunteers and race folks gathered around us, all holding hands. Someone sang Oh, Canada, and then Steve Brown gave a very brief and touching pre-race speech, wishing us all well. I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing and tell myself that everything was going to go well. I'd done the training. I was strong mentally. I was going to be fine. I was going to have fun. I was going to become an Ultraman. And then with some last hugs, we headed down to the water's edge.


This is one of my favorite photos of the race; I had been facebook friends with Melissa and Sabrina for a while, but never met them in person until we got to Penticton; it was an honor to share an Ultraman with these ladies.

The water is shallow for a while, then suddenly it drops off steeply and the lake is very, very, very deep. The kayakers were all gathered out beyond the buoys that mark the drop-off, waiting for us. We waded out to the buoy line, which would be our start line, then waited for the countdown. We wished each other luck, still mostly strangers, but when you're thrown together in a circumstance like this, you become friends really quickly, needing that support and understanding.


Wading out to the start line, kayaks at the ready.

The crowd on shore counted down from 10, and then Ultraman Canada 2014 officially began.

The kayaks weren't far off at all, and I had found Matt easily as I'd waded out to the buoys. He had an extra-long kayak which was one of the few yellow kayaks, plus he had a high-visibility green shirt, PLUS he had his lucky kayaking hat on. I immediately swam toward him, having to pull back a bit to go around the person to my right. This start couldn't have been more different from an Ironman start. 28 other swimmers instead of 2500, all of us trying to swim to a particular kayak instead of crawling on top of each other, and, at least in my case, basically ending up by myself within 2 minutes of the start. No contact, no pushing, no clawing, no stress. I can't even explain how beautiful it was, and how little stress was involved.


Ultraman Canada 2014 begins! And everyone swims to find their kayak.

I swam up to Matt and fell in beside him as he started paddling. And then I swam 6.2 miles. The end.

No, seriously, there's not much to say. Which won't stop me, of course.

I glanced up ahead of me once, a few minutes after the start, and already there were many kayaks pulling nearly out of my sight, way ahead of me. I decided at that point that I really wouldn't benefit from knowing where other people were, and I'd just do what I needed to do and ignore everyone else. The only times I looked around, for several hours, were when I was feeding.

I fed every 20 minutes. At 20 minutes in, Matt tossed a bottle out with a mix of CarboPro and Skratch, some calories and some electrolytes. 20 minutes after that, he'd toss out a flask with two peanut butter Gus mixed with water, and then a bottle of plain water to chase it. Then he repeated that, alternating, for the entire swim. He had the bottles on ropes, so he could toss it to me, I'd drink, drop the bottle, resume swimming, then Matt would reel in the bottle with the rope and wind it all up for next time. This meant I never had to swim to the boat or hang on the boat, and we could feed really quickly. It went flawlessly. (We had a lot of practice with this in Quarry Lake, with only one instance where Matt hit me in the head with a bottle.)

The feeds were my only way to measure time out there. Well, I was wearing a watch, but I never looked at it. I just kept count in my head every time I fed of which feed it was (40 minutes, 2 hours, etc), to keep myself entertained and mentally present. Because otherwise.. it was really isolating out there. I have this habit of opening my eyes when I'm facing down, and then closing my eyes when I turn my head to breathe. I had to get over this a bit when I started training with Matt and the kayak, because otherwise having him there would be pointless, as I'd just swim in random directions with no guidance. So I learned to open my eyes when I breathe right, so I can sight off of him, but still keep my eyes closed when I breathe left. That means all I ever see is dark (looking down into the deep, deep, dark lake depths) and Matt (which is admittedly a nice view). Fortunately Matt would periodically smile at me, continuing to look directly at me and smile until I smiled back (which is awkward while swimming), I assume to make sure that I was okay and still present.

During one feed I glanced ahead of me and could see little tiny kayaks way off in the distance. I took an extra second to ask Matt if there was anyone behind me, because I became convinced that I was the last one out there, and he reassured me that there were lots of people behind me. I had no idea if he was just telling me this to make me feel better, but I was afraid to look behind me to find out, so I just ducked back down and resumed swimming.

The water was very clean with not much debris in it, and was mostly completely flat. A few times there would be a few seconds of choppiness, and I assumed a boat was going by in the distance when that happened. One time the choppiness happened, and I saw Matt looking over me to my left, and then talking to someone. That seemed weird, so the next time I breathed left, I opened my eyes, then immediately regretted it, because the sun was coming up on that side, and was blinding. I managed to see a boat beside me before I clamped my eyes back shut again, and suspected that it was probably Rick Kent the photographer, getting some swim shots. Matt later confirmed that was the case.


Strange to see a picture of yourself swimming. Eyes closed, of course.

And then.. a lot more swimming. I was doing well, but I was a little concerned and dismayed that my arms and shoulders began to ache about 90 minutes in. The kind of ache that normally only happens when I'm pulling hard (which I was trying not to do) or when I've been swimming for 3+ hours. It seems like it shouldn't matter, since only the swim uses my arms, and so it wouldn't matter if they were tired for the next 2.5 days, but I still had 260 miles of riding to do, and that requires a lot of arm support, both in and out of the aerobars. Having tired arms while riding is challenging. Hell, the armswing that accompanies 52.4 miles of running is challenging with tired arms. (At least I figured it would be. I'd never run 52.4 miles before, with any level of arm tiredness.)

But I just kept plugging away, trying to keep my effort smooth, and not put too much strain on my shoulders. At the 2:40 feed, I asked Matt if we were getting any closer to the point (Ponderosa Point) for which we were aiming. He said we were, then pointed and said the buoy was right there. I looked ahead, and sure enough, I could see a dot of red. This was notable because it was also the FIRST buoy. This far into the swim. Otherwise Matt had just been paddling across the lake with no guidance other than some vague landmarks. This was the first of just two buoys, both located in the last 2k.


Matt was pretty proud that his gps watch shows he navigated me perfectly across the lake. I am both impressed and incredibly appreciative.

I got all excited briefly, then reigned myself back in and made myself temper my excitement. I know all too well how you can be swimming toward something in the distance, but then you check 20 minutes later and you still don't appear to have gotten any closer at all. I didn't want to be disappointed when I next checked for the buoy, so I was spending my time trying to decide whether I'd even look up at my 3 hour feed. (Seriously, I had nothing better to think about out there.) While I was having my mental debate, not yet having come to a conclusion, I noticed a giant red thing to my right, and realized I was already at the buoy. Oh.

Of course, THEN I got all excited that I had passed one of the two buoys, and I was almost done, and then it seemed to take for-freaking-ever to get anywhere near the second buoy. Typical.

But things started happening during the part that helped the time pass faster. After hours of basically nothing happening, suddenly we swam into shallow water, and I could see the bottom again. Visual stimulation! And that meant we were also up close to the shore, which meant that I could sort of see some shoreline beyond Matt when I breathed right.

And THEN, at my next feed, something caught my eye, and I realized that there was another kayak right there! With an accompanying swimmer! I had assumed that there was nobody anywhere near me, but looking up, there was another kayaker just ahead of this one, as well. It was a weird feeling, to realize I was swimming so close to other people, after assuming I'd been alone for so long.

Things got a little complicated as we neared the final buoy, because trying to get two swimmers AND two kayaks around a buoy is complicated and crowded. But then both the kayaks went wide to give us some room, and we were able to get around the buoy just fine. The other swimmer was ahead of me, and as we settled back in around the buoy to head to shore, Matt encouraged me to jump on their feet to get a draft. I reminded him this was a non-draft-legal swim (I assume because of the complications of having two kayaks so close to each other), and we moved away from the other team a bit so we could have our own water.

At this point, I looked up, and I could see the shore ahead! And inflatable things and finish line things and people! And I could hear the sweet, sweet voice of Steve King, announcing important things! I was so excited to almost be done with the swim. To check a thing off of my Things That Must Be Completed To Be An Ultraman checklist. And I was still feeling really good!


That's us on the left, approaching the shore!

Matt kept pulling back a bit, maybe assuming we were so close to the shore, I didn't need to sight off of his kayak anymore, but I wasn't really watching how close we were to shore, and I didn't want to, so I still wanted him there right next to me. I slowed down until he caught up and I assume realized I wasn't going on without him, and we moved into shore together.

As we got to the shallow part where I could stand, I held my hand up out of the water and said, "High five," and Matt high fived me with the paddle, having successfully paddled me through the first 10k of Ultraman!

Karen extracting me from the water.

As promised, Karen was right there in the shallows, helping me up and out of the water. She had my sandals and asked if I wanted them, which I didn't, if I recall correctly. She started to run down the carpet toward the changing tent, and I told her I wasn't running. I wasn't concerned about my transition time, just in making sure that I got everything done and was comfortable starting my ride.


Heading to the changing tent with Karen, Matt dismounting his kayak.

We got into the changing tent, and I started peeling my wetsuit down to my waist. I think Kayleen was in there when I got there, sitting in one chair, and Karen bullied her crew into giving us the other chair that was over by them. (Not really bullied. But you don't mess with Karen when she's on a mission.) I sat down in the chair, hoping it would hold me (this was a sad-, sad-looking chair), and Karen started to pull my wetsuit off of me, as I told her to be gentle or me and the chair were both going to fly across the tent.

With my wetsuit off, we got me transitioned to the bike. Bathingsuit off, body towel dried, sports bra, jersey, shorts on. Shorts filled with a ridiculous amount of chamois butter. Feet rinsed. Socks on. Bike shoes on. Helmet on. Sunscreen sprayed. Sunglasses on. Random guy wandered in to grab something from the tent, and fortunately I was already clothed. Phone, salt and stomach meds shoved in jersey pockets. Gloves on. Pile of stuff remaining on ground assessed for whether we were missing anything. Ohyeah! Food. Ate a quarter of my pb&j and washed it down with some water. Decided we were good, and headed out.

Meanwhile Lisa had come in, transitioned with her crew, and run back out. I'm normally a fast transitioner, but I do not regret at all my decision to err on the side of caution. Plus there's no way I could have beat Jan's FORTY SECOND TRANSITION. Insane.


My sexy, sexy bike (with sexy race wheels borrowed from Betsy).

I'd heard Steve King announcing a lot of people coming through or almost done when I was transitioning (including Andre, who had also come and gone while I was transitioning), but as I headed out of the tent toward the bike racks, I was the only cyclist heading out. Ryan was holding my bike at the exit to transition, having fulfilled all his assigned duties: bike computer on but not started, bags of Honey Stinger blocks in my bento box with the tops cut open, tires pumped. I high fived Matt, who'd exited his kayak and run over to the mount line, grabbed my bike from Ryan, mounted up, and hit start on my bike computer.

Ryan commented as I hopped on my bike that he had put it in a really low gear. I figured that meant there was a hill very early in the ride, but hadn't seen this part of the course. Meanwhile it was pretty flat to start out, and I was spinning ineffectually, so I shifted into a harder gear. The road split and there were no markers as to which way to go, but the left branch sort of headed back to the lake, and had more obstacles, so I figured it was the right branch, which led up toward the road. A couple people who looked like volunteers were hanging around there, and nobody yelled at me when I went right, so I guessed that I guessed right.


Rolling out from transition.

Except holy crap, the road was bad. Like really, really bad. Almost like a gravel road, except the gravel wasn't really loose, but glued down to the road. I would have gladly traded in my fancy, delicate tri bike for a mountain bike for this section. And then it started going uphill. Suddenly it was time to shift back into that really easy gear, as I got out of my saddle and climbed up the winding steep hill on really crappy road, still completely out of breath from the swim, and with incredibly cold legs. By the time I got up to the right turn onto the road into OK Falls, I was winded and exhausted. Fortunately at that point, I could fall into my aero bars and rest up a little on some rolling hills.

I struggled to get my breath and heart rate under control for another 20 minutes or so, trying to get to a place where things felt calm and sustainable. I rode through Okanagan Falls, stopping at a cross-traffic-does-not-stop stop sign for about 45 seconds as cars kept going through. The course was not closed at all, and we were required to stop at all stop signs and stop lights, or we would incur a penalty/disqualification.

The beginning of the bike course was pretty uneventful. I don't remember where I first encountered my crew, but I don't think I needed anything, because I hadn't really had time yet to drink many of my fluids or deplete any of my solid foods.

Oh, hey, I haven't even mentioned how crewing works. This 320 mile race is self-supported. No aid stations with cups of water and generic sports drink and food, either on the bike or on the run. You bring your own supplies, and your own crew of people to hand them to you. On the bike, my crew, in their rented minivan, would let me pass them and wait a few minutes. Then they'd drive past me, getting a visual check that everything was okay, and stop a few minutes ahead of me. As I'd ride by, they'd give me anything I needed, and ask what I anticipated needing for next time. Then they'd wait a few minutes, then repeat the whole process. Over and over. For 3 days. Because.. they like me. Evidently.

I remember in Oliver, I said I was going to need a bathroom, and asked that they find me something with a known-available bathroom as their next stop. Matt mentioned something about a Huskey station a few miles up the road, so I said I'd looked out for that. Then at the next corner was a 7-11, and I decided to give that a try, since it was right there. I pulled into the parking lot, and there was another crew just walking out. I yelled out and asked if they knew whether the store had a bathroom, and they said it did, and since they just left it, it should be unoccupied. I rode up to the front of the store, and immediately one of them took my bike from me and said they'd hold it while I ran in. That was my first encounter with the true family, everyone-help-everyone-else nature of this race, but far from my last one.

I clomped inside and asked where the bathroom was, and the proprietor pointed me to the back. In and out in a minute, and when I got outside, my bike had been relinquished to Matt, who must have seen me stop, or seen someone holding my bike and wanted to make sure they hadn't stolen it. I thanked Matt, thanked the other crew (at that point I didn't know many other peoples' crews by sight, and now I can't remember who it was) profusely, and hopped back on my bike, feeling much better.

Onward out of Oliver and through Osoyoos. We were settling in to a crewing rhythm as we all figured out our roles. Ryan was the driver and crew photographer, Matt had a bottle of water and a bottle of my calorie drink (same thing I was drinking during the swim, a combination of CarboPro and Skratch, though mixed stronger, with more calories; this combination was dubbed SkratchBo by Karen when she started drinking it, so that's what we called it), and would run along beside me as I tossed the bottle I was done with to hand me a replacement bottle of whichever drink that was. Karen was in charge of keeping me mentally happy, so she played songs from the playlist we'd built the night before, danced, blew bubbles, and held up a white board with messages sent from people at home. And it worked, because I invariably spent the next few miles, until I saw them again, singing whatever happy song it was that she'd been playing.


Some of Karen's "signs from home".

For the record, Ryan was also in charge of dancing like a white boy, at which he excelled.

As the day went on, the day also heated up. The sun was out in full force, and the temperatures were up in the low 100s. Seriously, I get enough of that at home, I was really hoping to race in cooler weather! But at least I had done plenty of training in just that weather, and my body wasn't shocked by it. Which is good, because it was time for my first trip up Richter Pass!


That's Richter there at 50k, Yellow Lake at the end.

Well, not my first trip. When we came up to Penticton for Matt to race Ironman Canada in 2010, we drove partway up Richter. Despite that, I didn't know at all where it was, and didn't recognize it until I was right at the bottom.


Taken from the overlook on Richter. You can see the where the road starts down there in the bottom left.

Riding up Richter would be painful under any circumstances, but it was HOT. I dropped down to a low, low gear and just spun my way up, trying to keep it as easy as possible. Even so, I was sweating mightily, my face dripping. After what seemed like forever, I saw up ahead the overlook where Matt and I had stopped when we'd driven up there, and then I saw my crew in the driveway of that overlook! It wasn't my favorite place to be crewed, but there also weren't a lot of options in that area, so I was happy to have them there. I managed to reach down and grab my bottle and toss it (while still grinding up the hill), and managed to take a new bottle from Matt and cram it into the bottle cage, all at about 5 mph, all without falling over! A victory for me! And then I spun on, thinking I was almost to the top! Except I wasn't. It continued on for 3 more forevers, approximately. I was SO relieved when I got to the top, and ready for some downhill recovery.


A big sweaty mess, partway up Richter.

Except I wasn't getting any. I was going downhill, but I was pedaling, and not able to coast or rest. I couldn't figure out what was going on. Did a headwind kick up now that I was over the pass? Was the road bad? I didn't think either of those things were true, but now I was on a section that looked pancake flat, and I was in my smallest gear and practically out of my saddle to make any forward progress. This made no sense at all, and all I could figure is either there was a tremendous headwind that I somehow couldn't otherwise feel, or my brakes were rubbing on my wheel. I decided that MUST be the case, so at the "bottom" of the "hill", I pulled off into a little turn-out where a crew car was parked.

Immediately the crew jumped out of the car (Lisa's crew, but I didn't know that yet, since I hadn't met them) asking me what was wrong. I explained that I was going painfully slow on a downhill, and wanted to check my tires and my brakes, so they took my bike and spun my wheels and checked for broken spokes (not possible with the wheels I was using), and everything looked fine. I told them it was possible I was just exhausted from Richter, and that if everything looked fine, I really appreciated them checking it over, and I would be on my way. As I was about to get on my bike, someone else was coming "down" that "hill", and I decided to wait until they went by, so as not to jump on the road right in front of them and potentially make them have to go around me immediately. It was Jodi coming by, and looking at her face, she seemed to be expending just as much effort as I was. I realized that this must be a false flat (and Lisa's crew told me the next morning that everyone else who came through had exactly the same complaints, so at least I wasn't alone).

After Jodi went by, I got back on my bike, turned the corner, and finally hit the REAL downhill. And that was FUN. SO much fun. Big, long descents where I could just coast and let my legs rest a bit. As I descended, the sun went behind some clouds, and we got a few rain drops. Not many, but the absence of sun was a very welcome change. I tried to take the opportunity to look around a little, because this section of the course is BEAUTIFUL. Completely surrounded by cliffs. But so hard to look around, because it's either steeply up or down, and it takes all your concentration to remain upright.

While the overcast sky was a welcome change, the weather system that brought it also brought in some wind. It started as an annoying crosswind, and when I went by my crew the next time and Matt asked how I was doing, I said, "This wind is killing me!" He said, "It's basically over now!" and I was thrilled to hear that, figuring I was about to turn out of the wind. Further post-race review indicates that what Matt MEANT was that the hills were basically over (until Yellow Lake). Because while I did turn right after that, I turned such that that annoying crosswind became a really, REALLY annoying headwind. Oof.

But I just dropped into an even lower gear and spun my little stubby legs against the wind, and eventually made it up to Keremeos and my crew. Matt told me I'd turn right and then right again, there'd be an out and back, and they'd see me when I came out of it.

The out and back was fun, because I'd basically been alone for most of the day, other than when Jodi had passed me. This gave me a chance to see lots of people coming back in as I was going out, and then see other folks coming out as I was going back in! We all cheered for each other, and we got a light smattering of rain, and I had vague memories of driving this out and back when we drove the Ironman Canada course. Melissa finally passed me during the out and back. I knew she was close behind me, because her crew was always right near mine, cheering for me like I was one of their own, and I hoped I could hang relatively close to her through the end, so I could keep stealing their cheers.

After the out and back was done, I came upon my crew, and Matt told me I just had to go through Yellow Lake, and then I was nearly done for the day. I headed out with a spring in my pedalstroke, happy to know I was getting near the end. I was going to finish day 1 of Ultraman! Even though there were 2 days left, I tried to imagine telling 10-years-ago me that I was going to swim 10k and bike 90 miles. Even that alone would have been preposterous. And I tried to focus on how amazing that feat alone was, even if something went wrong and days 2 and 3 never happened.

Meanwhile things were getting annoying. I'd run into another section of false flat, and it was sucking my will to live. I spun my way through it, but it just seemed to last forever. I wished I could get through this section, so I could find Yellow Lake, get up that, and then finally head toward the finish line. Aaaand then I came across my crew again, and Matt told me that this WAS Yellow Lake. Oh! How much longer is it going to last? I was pretty much done. Oh! Well. That.. was unexpected. I now understood Jen's story about how she asked a guy during Ironman Canada if this WAS Yellow Lake. I almost missed it, too. (Don't get me wrong. It sucked. It was just more "miserable false flat" than "horrible uphill like Richter", which I wasn't expecting.)


Concentrating.

And so then I was at the top! And what followed was my favorite part of day 1. A long, long, long downhill with the wind at my back, a wide shoulder, and not much traffic on the road. There was a girl out there riding the Challenge Penticton course, which is mostly the same as our Ultraman day 1 ride, and she kept passing me and leaving me behind, because she was so strong on the flats and uphills. Then we got to this downhill, and obviously she wasn't a confident descender, because I fllleewwwww by her, a grin of joy and terror plastered across my face. I'm slow enough on the uphills that I NEED to embrace these downhills as much as possible, especially given my relatively light weight compared to other descenders. Somuchfun.

Eventually I got to the corner where we turn to head back into town. There's a sign on the corner which says "Call Finish Line", but that sign isn't for me. When your crew passes that sign, they're supposed to call the finish line to let them know that your athlete is almost there. That way people can begin watching for you, and Steve King can get your dossier prepared to begin regaling those at the finish line with tales of your deeds. What my crew didn't understand on day 1 was that they were supposed to wait until *I* went by that sign before calling, so they called while I was still pretty far out, and got things all discombobulated at the finish line. They were expecting me to come in out of the actual order we came in .. in, and chastized my crew (but not in a bad way. I don't think. I wasn't even there, what do I know?).

Meanwhile, I was finally passing that sign and turning the corner for my descent into town. Remember when I said that descent from Yellow Lake was my favorite part of the day? Well, this was most decidedly my LEAST favorite. (And this is on a day when I ascended a 100-degree Richter Pass, whined my way through a false flat, then suffered through more false flats up Yellow Lake.)

As I turned the corner to come back into Okanagan Falls, the wind picked up out of nowhere. Suddenly I was being buffeted by a gusty crosswind, on an intense downhill, on a road with basically no shoulder, surrounded by speeding traffic. The wind was pushing me toward the road, the cars were passing directly next to me, and I was terrified. The wind was so gusty it was making my bike shimmy, and I could barely control it. I was honestly concerned that I was going to be blown over in front of a car. Fortunately by the time the shoulder disappeared completely and we had to kind of merge with the car traffic to cross a narrow bridge, the hill had leveled out a little, so I had a little more control, and the cars were polite and let me go through without threatening me with certain death.

By the time I turned the last corners to wind to the finish line, I was a pretty shaky mess. But SO glad to see that finish line up ahead!


Heading toward the day 1 finish line!


Day 1 complete!

To the sweet sound of Steve King's voice, I crossed the finish line of Ultraman Canada day 1, and finally unclipped and got off my bike, exhausted and wondering how in the world I was going to ride 170 miles the next day.


Me, crew, my askew helmet, and my very tired face at the finish line of day 1.

As I got off my bike, I was swarmed by my crew and photographers for hugs and pictures. It was an amazing feeling. I was hustled over to Medical, where I was weighed and my blood pressure and blood sugar tested. I was only down 2 pounds, and while I was a little dehydrated, it wasn't anything they were concerned about (and was probably due to my inability to get any fluids in during the last part of the bike, with the scary downhill of death). I was told to drink a lot of fluids, and get in one of the ice baths (which were in inflatable boats). There were only two ice baths and they were both occupied (Melissa in one and Will in the other), but Will said I was small, so I could come jump in with him (and his gross feet). Matt got me my recovery drink while Karen went to get me a towel, and I sat there shivering as I drank my icy recovery drink in a tub of icy water in the overcast, windy weather. It was hard to believe I had been so hot going up Richter, and this was the same day.


Sharing an icebath with Will.

After my ice bath (which I tried to get out of early, not realizing we were supposed to stay in for 10 minutes), I dried off and hopped on the massage table for a massage from Mona, which felt amazing. After the massage, I went around and congratulated the people who had rolled in while I was getting my massage, and then we headed back to the house. Not a far drive, since we ended in Okanagan Falls, and our house was in Okanagan Falls.

Once we got there, I took a shower as Ryan heated up my leftovers from the previous night. I wasn't super enthusiastic about eating, but I got it all in with no problem, then sat around a bit while everyone else ate. I did some last-minute packing, double checking my gear for the next day AND the next day. Day 2 was a point-to-point course, which meant we'd spend the night after day 2 in a different town, which meant we had to bring the gear for days 2 AND 3 when we left the house the next morning. Ultraman is not for the faint of planning.

Feeling relatively confident that I had everything packed other than the stuff I had to use the next morning, I went to bed, DESPERATELY hoping I could actually get some sleep that night. And amazed that I'd done as well as I had on day 1 on no sleep at all.