Visualization

It's 5 a.m. and I've been awake for about half an hour, just lying in bed and thinking about the day. I get up before the alarm and take a quick shower; I'm not bothering to dry my hair for obvious reasons. I put on my heart-rate monitor strap and a ton of BodyGlide under it, my blue swimsuit, black sweatpants, and a dark pink Lululemon sweatshirt that Aleks gave me, plus warm socks. Also, I'm wearing my pink heart-rate monitor watch.

I eat a bagel with turkey and cheddar, a bottle of water, and one Pop-Tart (because race day is a great excuse for a Pop-Tart). I check my bags one last time, then put on my pink Crocs and head downstairs to meet Danielle.

It's 5:30 and she's perky and ready to go. Carrying our dry clothes bag and both special needs bags, we walk the mile down the road to the transition area. She's cheery and goofy and I'm trying to be, but inside I have a tummyache and I'm nervous. We arrive at the transition area and go straight to bodymarking - 2199 for me, 2407 for her.

I then pay a visit to my bike. The tires are pumped up and I add three water bottles to the cages: two bottles of Gleukos with Carbo Pro, one bottle of water. I also pour a fourth bottle of water into the aero bottle. I partially unwrap each of the bars (Clif Nectar and Mojo) in my little pink Bento box thing and am done.

I then visit my swim-to-bike bag and deposit the clear plastic rain jacket I got today when I saw the percent chance of rain was 85. Maybe I won't wear it, but just in case, I will likely be glad to have it.

With that, I'm done. I go to the Porta-Potty. When I'm done, I get back in line and prepare to go again. I do this until 6:30, when I put on my wetsuit and head down to the water, depositing my dry-clothes bag where it belongs. I've got my cap, goggles (de-fogged already) and earplugs in my hand, and my shoes are in the dry-clothes bag. It's time.

Except...I need one more Porta-Potty stop before I pull up my wetsuit all the day.

At 6:45 I watch the pros take off. Then I get in the water. It feels just like Lake Sammamish. I say goodbye to Danielle; we need to seed ourselves differently for the swim, but I hope to see her many times the rest of the day.

At 7, the cannon startles me. I head deeper into the water slowly, then start to swim when the water is past my waist. At first it's annoying to swim among all those people; but I fall into a groove and pretty soon I'm more or less swimming alone. Or at least it feels that way.

My mind wanders and plays song lyrics over and over. It seems like a long time before I reach the first turn, but then the second is immediately after and I know I'm more than halfway done. The beach gets larger and larger as I continue back, and soon I can hear the announcer and the spectators.

I get out of the water with a whole bunch of other people, and I run up to the wetsuit strippers (though they like to call them "peelers" now). Before I know what's happening, I'm on the ground and my wetsuit is off my legs, and the strippers are helping me up and pointing me in the direction of my bag. I call out "2199!" and a helpful volunteer hands me my bag and I run to the change tent.

I dry off a little, but mostly I try not to hop around like an idiot while putting bike shorts, bra, and jersey on. It's cool, so I put on the bolero and carry my full-finger gloves. Socks, bike shoes, helmet and sunglasses and I'm ready to go potty and retrieve my bike.

Main Street is lined with spectators and I smile at them all, feeling so happy to be out of the water. I drink some water from my aero bottle. Now I'm off on the course and every 15 minutes I have to drink an eighth of my Gleukos bottle - every half-hour a quarter. I feel good at the first climb, up McLean Creek Road, and the first descent feels great. Then it's flat and downhill slightly for a long way. I start to get bored on this part, but I play a fun game called "Guess the fruit tree?" and smile at everyone who passes me.

Osoyoos is just ahead, and Richter Pass. I'm excited for it because it's different - and even though it will be hard, the downhill will be awesome and totally worth it. And it is hard - it's four Lakemonts, back-to-back, with some breaks, but 6.8 miles later it's done and I'm on the rollers. I count them - one through seven - and as I'm descending play another fun game: how far up the next roller will I coast before I need to pedal?

Then it's fairly flat to the out-and-back section. I stop to retrieve my special-needs bag and get my bottle of Gleukos; I also go potty here. I'm feeling pretty good. Could be done, but could keep going.

The incline to Yellow Lake is definitely something I feel more on a bike than in a car, but it's okay. The promise of the descent keeps me going - and when I see the lake, I know there's only one little uphill section left. I push through and let myself coast for bit, spinning my legs out and feeling some recovery. My mind turns towards the run.

I roll into town to the same huge crowds as before. Lots of people are out running now, but I pay them no attention. This is my race. A volunteer takes my bike from me and I run to get my bike-to-run bag. It will feel so nice to have dry clothes!

I hit the changing tent and strip as quickly as possible, then pull on my run outfit. I strap on my Fuel Belt and I'm on the run!

I start out jogging. I love the parts through town; I wave at people calling my name and keep a huge smile on my face. I'm watching my time, though, to make sure I'm not running fast. I know sometimes when I am so happy to be off the bike I start out fast on the run and can't tell because my legs are so heavy, and I want to be running 11 to 12 minute miles here - no faster.

Once I hit the road out of town, it gets harder to run. I walk aid stations and take in water and whatever looks good for food, but then I pick back up with my jog at the end of the aid station. It's rough going on the way out, especially seeing all these athletes on their way back, but I'm going to be an Ironman today regardless of whether I do it in 9 or 16:59.

At the turnaround, I retrieve my second bolero and my running gloves. I'm a half-marathon away from my title. My steps get a tiny bit lighter, even as the sky is getting darker.

Along the run, I talk to whoever is around me. I feel really happy and connected to people. I try to lift their spirits, knowing that lifting theirs will lift mine too.

The last few miles back into town are incredible. I want to be done and I want them to be over. But I want them to last forever, too. Plus, I love glowsticks.

As I come down the finish chute, the darkness completely lit up, I hear the words I've been working towards for a year.

And I burst into tears. John, Gabriel, and Camille are right there - John hugs me and kisses me and the kids jump all over me and I practically collapse...but right then, nothing hurts at all.

It's 5:49 p.m. on Ironman Eve. I'm headed to bed very, very soon. Thank you, readers, for all your good thoughts and warm wishes - it means a ton to me, it really does.