Hypothermia Sucks

While this can't actually be called a "race report," (as so few of my reports can actually be called) we will, instead, call this an "event report."

Never in my life has one single event caused so many nightmares - true nightmares - including waking up in a panic, unable to breathe, and immediately checking to make sure that Cedric was still in one piece.  I even blame Ironman for several work inspired nightmares.  So, to say the least, I knew my subconscious was aware that this was a huge freaking deal.

(May I make a side note here that the coffee maker in our hotel is the slowest I have ever encountered?  Because it's ridiculously slow, and anything impeding the intake of coffee should be shot)

The last 24 hours have sucked.  There's no other way to describe it.  They sucked.  Big time.

I have always had a tendency to get cold extremely easy.  I literally turn purple in 60 degree weather if I'm not dressed appropriately.  And it is difficult, and often takes extreme measures for me to get warm again.  In fact, even since we have been in Arizona, I have been bundled up in warm clothes, and still feel the chill.  And it's been 70 degrees.  But even looking at other people in tank tops and shorts makes me shiver when I'm feeling chilled.  One would look at me and think that I have enough insulation that this wouldn't be a problem, but even when I weighed nearly 300 pounds, I still had this issue (though, admittedly, not as bad).  But my mom is often the same way, so I'm blaming her bad genes.

Knowing this, I knew that a 2.4 mile swim in 61 degree water was not going to be fun.  But I had survived a 1.2 miles swim in 63 degree weather less than 2 months ago.  I had neoprene booties, and a full wetsuit, so I was as prepared as I am going to be.  There is the option of a neoprene cap, but that has a chin strap, and my asthma often manifests in my throat, and having the extra constriction there is going to cause other problems.  Breathe and feel the cold even more, or not breathe and feel slightly less cold.  It's the Catch 22 of swimming in cold water.  Considering I've already had one asthma attack coming out of the water, I chose breathing as the higher priority for yesterday, and didn't even seriously consider the neoprene cap.  Looking back, had I, we'll never know.

So, I jump in the water yesterday morning, and get quite a shock.  The water if freezing cold, and feels much colder than 61 degrees.  So shocking, it makes me hyperventilate a little bit.  And as I'm "swimming" to the start (which really meant that I was doing a half assed job of a side stroke) I try to calm myself down, remind myself to take some deep breathes.  So I do, and that works.  But then I look up, and see the Team Z coaches.  Who surprised us by flying in for the race to support everyone.  So then I'm crying.  Ya bastards.  We yell back and forth, and wave.  And before we knew it, it was starting.

Leading up to the event, I reflected on past swims, and I often don't enjoy the swim.  I just can't wait to get out of the water.  It's not that I really don't like swimming, it's just that I kinda suck at it.  I don't have awful form, but I'm just slow.  But even with being slow, I had done the math, and if I were to swim my slowest average pace for the entire 2.4 miles (barring any unforeseen incident) I would still make it out of the water with plenty of time to spare.  So I really worked on having a conversation with myself (as I occasionally do when I need to really focus on something) and tried to remind myself to enjoy the swim.  Enjoy the entire day, but instead of being impatient with the swim, enjoy it.

The first half, this works.  I end up towards the back of the pack, which I expected to be there anyway, but, (woohoo!!) I wasn't there alone.  I actually rather enjoy the swim course for IMAZ.  It's a one loop course, starting under the Mill Ave. Bridge, down to Rural Rd. bridge, past it just a bit, then turn around and swim back.  Simple enough.  I get under the Rural Rd. bridge, and one of the kayakers tells me we're at 52 minutes, which means I'm right on pace.  But I swear, getting to the turn buoy, and then across the lake took FOREVER!  It was against the current, and it pissed me off a little.  So once I got to the turn buoy heading back down the lake, I stopped for a breather.  A few seconds later, and I was swimming again, thinking I was doing really good because now we were swimming with the current.

But this is were I really started feeling cold.  My hands were completely numb, and my feet, even through the neoprene booties, were almost as bad as my hands.  So I stopped again, and hung on to a kayak.  The guy in the kayak was very nice.  Asked my name, where I was from, so I told him.  And because I thought he was being nice, I asked his name too.  It was Garret.  It wasn't until I started swimming again that I remembered something Robin told us at the BBQ the day before about her stint as a volunteer at the finish line.  Ask the participants their names and where they are from as an indicator if they need medical attention or not.  And I realized that's what he was doing to me!  But I knew my name, and where I was from, so we're all good.

One of the things I like about being at the back of the pack swimming is you get your own personal escort back to the finish.  Sometimes 2 or 3.  You get company, and sighting is a breeze.  One of the guys on a paddle board kept talking to me as I was swimming, and kept letting me know how much time I had, and was supportive, kept telling me that I had good form, my breathing looked good, etc.

But I was getting really cold.  And I knew that I was going to be cutting it close to the swim cut off.  So I prepared myself on the swim back.  If you don't make the swim cut off, it's ok.  Go back to the hotel, shower, and come back and cheer for everyone else.  But you WILL keep moving forward until they take your chip.  Towards the end of the swim, in the few lucid moments that I had, I was so miserable, I was actually going to be really upset if I did make the swim cut off.

I'm not exactly sure where I was when things started going south, and fast.  I know it was on the swim back.  And I know at that point I had either a paddle boarder or a kayak on each side of me.  And I know that there were other people out there with me still swimming.  But things got really fuzzy for me.  I was tired, and I don't think I realized at the time how tired I was, and how much that was slowing me down.  At one point, I remember breathing, and turning my head to site, but not being able to because I realized my eyes were closed.  But I kept moving forward.  Because that has (apparently) been ingrained in my brain.  You keep moving forward no matter what happens.  So I kept swimming.  And on the turn back to the dock, everyone was yelling and cheering for us.  My kayaker kept yelling my number, telling me to pull and dig deep.  At least I think that's what they were saying.

I get to the bottom of the stairs, and there is a volunteer there to help us get out of the water.  And he literally had to pull me out of the water because I couldn't help myself at all.  I think it was someone else (as I said, things are a little fuzzy) and I basically collapsed against him, and leans down and tells me that I didn't make it.  I shake my head, and they carry me up the stairs.  Realizing that I can't hold myself upright, they sit me down on the steps and take half of my wetsuit off. One of the medical volunteers comes up to sit next to me, asks how I'm doing and I just remember saying "cold" over and over.  After a couple of minutes, 2 guys walk (drag) me to the warming tent, where they put me in a warm bath, take off the rest of my wetsuit, and make sure I'm not close to death.  Which is pretty much how I felt at the time.

I have to say, the medical volunteers and staff there are top notch.  One volunteer sat with me, and I kept telling her that they had to tell my mom I was ok.  I knew that she would be worried, and I didn't want her to get upset.  She'd been through Musselman with me, and I knew that if she had another experience like that, I'd never get her to another race again.  So she asked what my mom was wearing, went out twice to find her, with no success.  Which made me even more worried.  But I was also still really freaking cold.  While in the warm bath, my hands felt like I was getting stabbed with 1000 needles, which made me want to pull them out of the water, but they kept telling me to stay in the bath.  Until another old guy came in the warming tent, and one of their ideas was to put us in the warm bath together.  Uhh...no thank you.  So I willingly moved to one of the cots they had set up, and they wrapped me up like a burrito.  And then I started shivering.  I'm not sure how long it took to start feeling better, but, to me, it was faster than I expected.  So I get wrapped up in a couple of mylar blankets (because all I was wearing at the time were my tri shorts and a sports bra) and I walk out of the tent, and there are my parents waiting for me.  I walk over, and put my head on my mom's shoulder, and I tell them that I didn't make it.  Then I ask my mom if she would be really mad if I wanted to try this again sometime.  Her answer was "let's not talk about this right now."  She wasn't mad though (whew) and by the end of the day, she mentioned how doing IMAZ again wouldn't be so bad because it's well organized and it's easy for spectators to get around.  Yeah...she'll be back.

So I walk around, figure out what I need to do, which is get my gear bags, turn in my chip, and then I'm free.  So I do that, and I tell the parents that I want to go back to the hotel, shower, and come back and cheer.  They agree, so we head back to the hotel.

As I was getting my gear bags, one of the volunteers came up to me and asked if she could give me a hug.  I agree, and she told me that she was proud of me for just getting out there.  I had been doing ok in the not crying department, but I really almost lost it right there.

So I showered, realized that I had more wetsuit hickeys than I originally thought, and got dressed to head back out to the race.  The only other time I almost lost it was when we first saw the bike course.  I teared up.  But I was there to cheer.  So I did.  I think the best moment was on the run course, I saw Nicholas, and the look of shock on his face when he saw me on the sidelines was just a little funny.  But by this time, I was still cold.  Everyone around me was, at most, wearing a long sleeve shirt, or a light jacket.  I had on 3 shirts (2 made out of wicking material) and a fleece jacket.  And I was still shivering.  And beyond that, I was drained.  My mom has always told me she knew when I was younger when I was faking being sick because she can always tell in my eyes how I'm feeling.  And yesterday evening, I wasn't doing so well.  So our day was done.  On one hand, I'm disappointed that I didn't get to see everyone finish.  But at the same time, I don't think I could have handled seeing everyone else finish when I didn't get to join them. 

There are many days that I feel like I do a better job at being a cheerleader than I do a participant.  Which also makes me wonder why, after the year that I've had, I still want to do this.  I think the best answer is that I don't want to quit.  I have this goal, and yesterday just wasn't my day.  This year wasn't my year.  But I don't want to quit.  As one of my friend's said yesterday "you'll fight another day."  And I will.

But for right now, I need some time.  (But not too much...Cedar Point is next September)