Updates

Thanks to everyone for making this the most successful "If I Tri" fundraising campaign yet! A little over $2,500 will be donated to Bruce House programs thanks to your generous support! I cannot thank you enough - and please know that your support was critical in helping my race be as great as it was.

Congratulations also to Donna Keough. Donna is the lucky winner of a two-month membership with Simply Audiobooks!

Watch for information on the 5th anniversary "If I Tri" in early 2005!

Second to Last Update - THE RACE!

I suppose like many triathletes, age-group or otherwise, that my Ironman journey began when I was about 10 years old. I didn't really understand at the time, nor did I comprehend that a seed had been planted, but I clearly remember watching a woman in the final stages of the Ironman World Championships in Hawaii, crawling to the finish line on her hands and knees, in total physical exhaustion but determined nonetheless to get to the end. I know now that woman was Julie Moss, an elite triathlete who is considered a major contributor to the growth of the popularity of the sport for the masses for that infamous finish in 1982. Seed planted, but forgotten.

Fast forward to 1999 and a series of incidents that resulted in me hauling ass to the local pool to learn how to swim - properly. After so many years, that seed began to grow in the chlorinated waters at the YMCA. The year 2000 saw me complete my first sprint triathlon, 2001 my first Half Ironman and 2002 my first attempt at the Ironman distance. Without going into all the gory details, it did not go well. But I was determined that I would complete one, if only one, Ironman in my lifetime.

Enter Lake Placid - July 25, 2004 and approximately eight months of training prior to the date. I was determined to make this one work and set about to build a training plan that would be tough, yet realistic at the same time given work and teaching commitments. I also shared the plan with my good friends Michelle and Terra, who were entering their first Ironman in Lake Placid. This was a huge difference from Ironman Canada in 2002 - friends doing the same race - to train with, to vent with and to share pains and fatigue with! I also came to rely on the always-solid advice from my tri-stud friend Andy in the United States - an accomplished age group Olympic distance triathlete and college running coach. I also learned to rely on the support of friends, family and my fitness class participants who I came to realize wanted just as badly for me to become an Ironman. I'm sure the motivation for them was different than my own (as in, 'If Bill becomes an Ironman, maybe he'll stop talking about it all the time!') Through the eight months of training I acquired the nickname Ironboy - which I loved! I also acquired some small injuries that were always quick to be resolved thanks to my RMT Craig de Villiers, and Dr. Duane Smith, a man who-s hard to like because of the intense pain he causes through ART but hard not to like at the same time because of his terrific personality and infectious positivity. A solid team - and a much different approach then Penticton. I think I knew from the outset that this race would end much differently, but one can never be certain until the finish line is crossed at the end of a very long day.

How long a day? Well, the day began at about 4:15 when the alarm went off, followed by a couple of curse words. The day really began at 4:25 though, when the third alarm went off and I finally got my arse out of bed and into the shower. A quick shower to make myself feel alive, and a quick check of the temperature. More cursing - only 4 degrees. Ouch! Breakfast of a bagel with peanut butter and banana, a mixed berry fruit cup and a big glass of water. Almost forgot the B-vitamin, but remembered at the last minute. I knew that could make the difference!

One final check of the special needs bags (bags that you have access to at the half-way point on the bike and the run, with extra food, clothing or whatever your heart desires!) and into the car with my friend Michelle and her awesome "Ironmate of the Year", Gavin. We arrived at the race site at about 5:15, dumped our special needs bags in the designated area and then went to body marking. This process can be one of the most intimidating of the day! Volunteers take a big, fat black permanent marker, make you stand on a small stage and drop your pants and take-off your shirt so they can etch your number and age in the appropriate places on your body. This of course in front of fellow participants and spectators! Good thing I remembered to put the swim suit on underneath my shorts that morning!

After body marking, off to the transition area to do a final check on the bike, and all the gear bags. Once completed, Michelle and I headed to the swim start to begin the agonizing process of putting the wetsuit on. Thankfully we had some terrific support around while getting dressed - which took some (but not all!) of the edge off. Down to the water at about 6:50, readying for the 7:00 am race start. Some deep breaths, some time to reflect on the journey that had allowed me to arrive at this point of the day and then a quick little cry (first one of the day) with my great GoodLife friends Carole, Andrew, Kelly, Sarah and Jeremy who had come down from Ottawa to watch Michelle and I race. Pulled myself together - and into the water... with 2,000 of my closest friends!

Boom - the cannon sounds and signifies the beginning of the race - and then no sound except water churning over and over as each Ironman hopeful struggles to find their own space, pace and stroke. Good luck on the space and pace one - and technique was not so easily attained either! This particular swim was perhaps the most brutal I have ever encountered in a race. Smacked in the head, kicked in the ribs, dragged under - it all happened, and all in the first 500 meters! I remember thinking - this could be a really long swim! Coupled with the fact that drowning is probably one of my biggest fears needless to say I was totally focused on getting some of my own space. Eventually (at about 1,200 metres) the group started to dissipate slightly and I was able to settle into a rhythm with which I was comfortable. Ironman USA is a two-loop of everything race - so two, 2 km swim loops. At the end of the first loop, all exit the water do a quick run and then back in for a second go. I looked at the clock on my way by - 39 minutes for the first loop. Wow - it felt much slower then that with all the body contact and collisions, so I was pleased. My entrance into the second loop was less then spectacular when I took about five running steps in the water and then promptly fell flat on my stomach - oh well, guess it was time to start swimming again! Second loop was relatively uneventful - and I found myself exiting the water at one hour, 20 minutes.. right on schedule! First big difference from Penticton - much more energy coming out of the water. I was ready for this.

I remember running past the large crowd of people lining the chute from the water exit to the bike transition area - and vaguely noticed someone yelling "Go Bill". Not sure who that was - but thanks! J

Once in the transition area, men and women enter two separate change tents, to dress for the bike portion. As the bike is 180km from start to finish, you want to make sure you are as comfortable as possible. For me that means putting on some dry shorts, a cycling jersey, socks, arm warmers (only about 10 degrees when starting the bike) helmet, sunglasses and Vaseline (use your imagination!) Also took the time to eat a banana and soak in a bit of the atmosphere inside the tent. I really wish I hadn't done that in retrospect, except that it did make me laugh. There is nothing glamorus about a men's change tent in an Ironman. Let's just say there was Vaseline, bum butter and hairy asses everywhere. Some of the competitors seemed to be in a state of panic (I'm guessing that they were behind their goal time) and others were obviously very comfortable and methodical. I was probably somewhere in between. After about 10 minutes in the tent getting ready (not a lightning fast transition by any stretch of the imagination, but a thorough one!) I exited to pick up my bike and begin the trek. The announcer kept saying over the loudspeaker, "Ladies and gentlemen - these participants are now beginning a 112 mile bike ride. Some will be out there for close to eight hours. Let's really hear it for them". I almost wanted to tell him to shut up - I knew how long I was going to be out there for - and cycling for 112 miles is a long time!!!! I became more forgiving of him though when I heard him say my name on the microphone - "Number 490 is William Bridel from Ottawa". The crowd went wild of course. Well, not really, but in my head they did!

My goal on the bike was to stay comfortable, push the pace on the first half of the course as it is mostly flat with some amazing downhills where some of the riders would most likely reach speeds of 70+km/hour. My maximum speed would be about 60 km/hour - still fast enough on a contraption made of aluminum and titanium! The second half of the bike course is decidedly more difficult, with some slow, grinding climbs back into town. Mentally they are tough, because you know in about three hours or so, you are going to be climbing them again. The first loop though went fantastically well. I came back into town and to the half-way point a little over three hours, which was about 20 minutes faster than I had anticipated. I was a bit concerned that I had gone out to fast, but I didn't feel tired or sore at all. Grabbed a sandwich out of my special needs bike bag, and promptly rode through town with the sandwich in a Ziploc baggie in my mouth. This time I did get some good cheers. I heard things like "Go Sandwich Boy" and "That'll be the best sandwich ever". I felt a bit geeky, but you do what you have to. Eventually I stopped to eat half of it, at the top of a small hill, and then continued onto the second loop of the bike. I did slow my pace down slightly on the second loop, reminding myself that I still had a marathon to run after getting off the bike. After one particularly difficult climb, I felt my lower back starting to seize up. Oh oh. This became a bit of an issue through the remainder of the bike course and at points I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to run as I was quite uncomfortable. I stopped three times on the second loop of the bike to try to stretch it out - which helped a bit. A small mental battle began in my head - but I really tried to remain positive and just kept reminding myself that an Ironman is a major endeavour, and one that cannot be accomplished without overcoming obstacles - this was just another. This outlook really helped and before too long I found myself on the road back into Lake Placid, which meant I had completed the bike portion of the race - and 20 minutes ahead of schedule!

One obstacle that I had to face through the eight months of training, and on occasion during the race on the 25^th, was the fact that I had failed at my first attempt to complete the distance. Some questions of my ability to ever finish it, my mental toughness to get through something as physically and mentally grueling and my general preparedness at times weighed heavily. But when I got off the bike, sore ass, back and all - I was uber stoked that I had now made it further and really was into my element.

I had expected the first few kilometers of the run to really hurt. After sitting on a bike for over six hours, and with a very sore lower back and tired legs I was mentally prepared for agony. But an amazing thing happened - nothing hurt! My back felt fine and my legs honestly felt like I had just begun the day. I reminded myself to slow down, and then had a great reminder of the same from my most excellent friend Patricia who was so supportive in the days leading up to and at the race. My ART guru, Duane, was also there and I heard him comment that I was looking good and smooth. A bit further into the run I saw my friend Michelle Kho, who had come to watch the race and I picked up some of her amazing positive energy. And I felt great. I couldn't stop smiling. I wasn't really sure why - I still had 42 km to run... but I was doing it. I had initially planned to walk all the aid stations (set approximately every mile or so) but on the first loop decided that I was feeling great and would walk every second one - to ensure I was getting good nutrition and saving some of my legs for the second loop. The run course is quite hilly as well, with a few major climbs back into town. You tend to forget that though when people are cheering like crazy and when you have found someone to run with who is relatively the same pace. My first loop I 'partnered' up with a lovely girl from Maryland named Katie. She was doing her first Ironman and had set a goal of finishing under 13 hours (in addition to beating her brother who was also racing). I soaked in some of the sibling rivalry, and also for the first time realized that I was more than likely to break 14 hours, my goal for the Bruce House fundraising campaign. I also realized I was more then likely going to break 13 hours if I could continue - which would result in a jean jacket from the Gap from my friend Patricia - a bet made a couple of days earlier... and one that I hadn't necessarily expected to be able to claim! Came through the first loop of the marathon in two hours, 30 minutes ahead of what I excpected. Wow. At the half-way point though I also made what I would consider my first major mistake of the day. I ate a Snickers bar. I was sick of PowerGels, Clif bars and pretzels, so dug into my special needs bag for a Snickers. Needless to say, the chocolate didn't sit so well, and for the next 2 miles or so I was in a bit of agony. I won't go into any of the disgusting details, but suffice it to say that a not so quick visit to a vile Porta-Potty took care of that. I then began to take chicken broth at every second aid station - which took care of liquids, protein and salt. And I began to feel great again. My pace had definitely slowed and on a couple of occasions, I walked well past the end of the aid station, but always I started running again and settled into a smooth cadence. People were telling me that I looked great. I wanted to ask them "as compared to what?" but I merely smiled and took it all in. The closer I got back to town on the second loop, the more I began to realize - I was really going to become an Ironman. When I saw my friend Michelle heading out onto her final loop of the run, when I had about three miles to go to the end, the waterworks started. I had managed to keep my emotions in check for the better part of the day - enjoying the moment and staying focused, but at this point I began to let my guard down a bit. What the hell - I deserved it! After a little cry and a long hug with Michelle, we both continued on our way and I re-entered the downtown core for the final time of the day.

For a long time I have envisioned running down the finishers chute, which is in the Olympic Speed Skating oval, lined with spectators, a huge screen and a terrific race announcer heralding everyone at the finish line. I had always assumed I would probably cry, high five some of the crowd, maybe my friends if I was able to find them and just soak as much of it in as possible. What I found myself doing however, was pumping my fists in the air, down toward the ground, thanking my grandmother, whose spirit I honestly felt with me the entire day, and then pumping my fists some more. We managed to tape the local feed of the event and I have since watched my final 100 metres to the finish line - it's hilarious! It's quite out of character for me, and not what I would have expected - but can you really have any expectations after racing for 12 hours and 44 minutes?! When the announcer said "William Bridel, you are an Ironman" I realized I had done it. The seed that had been planted had sprouted and now fully bloomed. After 22 years of dreaming and eight months of dedicated and focused training - I was an Ironman. Of course, I pumped both fists into the air.

My friend Terra had an awesome race, finishing in 13 hours and 50 minutes in her first attempt at the distance and Michelle, finished in 14 hours and 45 minutes - and summed up the experience perhaps the best when she exclaimed (and this to was also captured on the television broadcast for posterity) "Holy shit... I can't believe I did it!"

There were many incredible moments during the day but perhaps one of the most incredible moments for me was to watch a disabled athlete hammer out the race in 10 hours and 30 minutes - with one leg. He swims without a prosthetic leg, so hops on one leg between the first and second loop of the swim - and then does the bike and run with a prosthetic leg. He is a true testament to the power of the human spirit and he is an Ironman.

Other remarkable stories include a young man of 23 years of age, who has no kidneys. He had to receive dialysis prior to the swim start and then raced to the finish line in a time of just under 14 hours. The oldest competitor of the day, and oldest official finisher, was a 75 year old gentleman who finished in about 16 and a half hours. He is not an Ironman - he is an Ironstud.

Everyone who lined up at the start had their own story - and everyone who crossed the finish line before midnight, which was 95% of the starting field, has now added to that story. I feel privileged that I was able to be a part of it. I also feel incredibly privileged to be surrounded by such wonderful people. My friend Derek Senft who recently completed Ironman Austria, maybe put it best when he said, and I'm paraphrasing slightly: "In an Ironman you have a lot of time to think about those that are important to you and those that have helped you achieve this goal."

And so in that spirit - I give huge props and a lot of love to each and everyone of you who have touched my life in one way or another. You were all a part of this dream - and I know I couldn't have done it without you. I also give huge props and thanks to the staff at Bruce House - who do amazing things for their clients each and every day and who were so supportive of my race and fundraising campaign this year. Particular thanks to Julie Coultas who embraced the "If I Tri" campaign and who told me that the office staff cheered when they opened the results page on Monday after the race and saw my finishing time of 12 hours and 44 minutes.

I still can't quite believe it all unfolded the way that it did - all I kept saying that night was that it was so surreal. It was tough - for sure. But it never felt like I had been racing for as long as I had been. It sure as heck felt like it for the next couple of days afterward, but that day - it all just unfolded nicely. I had always said that I really only wanted to do one Ironman and I would be satisfied. I know this now not to be true. I know I can do it faster and, perhaps more importantly, I know that by doing another one, or two, or ten that I will continue to learn more about myself and the power and beauty of the human will and spirit.

Although I know events such as these, and life in general, are meant to be about the journey and not the destination - I have to confess that in this particular instance, on Sunday July 25 in Lake Placid, New York, the destination was pretty kick-ass.

Update #4

July 15, 2004

Well, just a little over one week to go until Ironman USA. Wow. It doesn't seem like that long ago when I was forking over the hefty registration fee to the sympathetic volunteers at the Lake Placid High School - but apparently it was almost a year ago!

My last weekend of 'hard training' went very well. It began with a sprint distance race in the Gatineau Hills (the Gats for short), about 20-minutes out of Ottawa in Quebec. I picked this particular race due to proximity as well as the fact that the bike and run are both quite hilly, thinking also it would be a good tune-up for Placid given the fact that I hadn't raced a tri yet this season. The plan was to do the race, then hit a few more loops of the Gats.

The race went reasonably well. Transition from swim to bike was a bit rough in that things didn't happen 'naturally'. Wetsuit got stuck around the ankles, feet wouldn't go in shoes etc etc, but once on the bike, all was good. I found myself tackling the uphills with good intensity and pacing, and came off the bike (22 km) about five minutes ahead of what I had anticipated. Off on the run - and my element! Felt good to be passing so many people in the initial stages. I'm a bit competitive! Ran the second half of the run at about 90% effort, to save some energy for the training still left to do. In the end, finished in 1 hour, 40 minutes (1,200 m swim, 22 km bike and a 7 km run) on a tough course. Ninth out of 22 in my age group (but ranked 4th in the run!)

On to the training. Spent the next five hours on my bike riding uphill and downhill and generally questioning the wisdom of doing an Ironman, in particular when I got caught in a wicked summer rainstorm, that I'm certain included some hail. Ouch! Survived that though, and the last long ride until race day. Very cool.

Did a long run the next morning (about 25 km), and then volunteered at the Ottawa Pride Parade, collecting donations for Bruce House. Speaking of which - thanks to all those that have pledged via email, mail or donated directly on-line. Still always looking for more!

So now it’s just a case of getting things organized for the trip, staying healthy and mentally positive. It is easy at this point to allow questions to creep into your head - did I train enough, am I strong enough, I didn't finish last time, what makes me think I can this time - but so far I've been able to keep those thoughts at bay, or if not, at least answer in the affirmative. I am ready. I want to be an Ironman.

As motivation, my friend Derek Senft just completed his first Ironman - in Austria two weeks ago. In his first attempt at the distance he had an amazing race, finishing in less than 12 hours! His race report was incredible, and provided me with great incentive to get to the finish line. Every Ironman dreams about one thing... the announcer at the end of a day of swimming, biking and running saying "_______________, you are an Ironman". On July 25th, I will be able to fill in the blank.

Over the next couple of days, take time to determine something you would like to accomplish. Write it down, and share it with someone. That will be the first step to making it a reality.

Thanks for being here with me.

Bill

Update #3

July 4, 2004

The gist of the email I received from my training partner and good friend Michelle was that she and her boyfriend Gavin were kidnapping me on June 30 and taking me to Lake Placid for two days of hard training. Who was I to argue?!

That being said, I was at the same time a bit conflicted about going to train on the Ironman USA race course relatively close to race day. If things did not go well, what sort of mental framework would that leave me in? On the other hand, if I were able to put in two solid days of training - what a huge confidence boost. However, re-reading the email, I realized I really had no choice. Lake Placid or bust!

July 1^st was to be long ride day - two loops of the bike course. That would be 180km in total - and more importantly, the bike portion of the race done once before Ironman day. Problem was - I slept in! We were to be off on our bikes by 8 am, but  I didn't actually wake up until 10! Oops. Rest and recovery are important parts of a triathlete's training plan too though. A little change in plans and we were off to the lake to swim 4 km. I wasn't overly concerned about the swim, as I have spent some good time in the pool over the past few months. But - a long swim like that in open water can be something entirely different. But - 1 hour and 20 minutes later we emerged. Safe and sound with the swim course under my belt! Cool.

July 2^nd went much better. Awoke on time, had a good breakfast and by 9 am we were off on the first of two loops of the bike course - each, 90km. The weather conditions were perfect - a little windy, but mild and sunny. And it would remain that way for the full day. I'm asking each and every one of you out there reading this to wish, or hope, or pray for similar conditions on race day!

The course is gorgeous! It's tough, but what I learned on the first, and subsequently on the second, loop is that it’s doable! The training I've done at home seems to be on track. One never knows what may happen on Ironman day, but the two loops on July 2^nd went great from all perspectives - energy, spirit and nutrition. At one point on the course, I was feeling so at one with nature - the trees, the river, the quiet - no sound but me and my bike and a little bit of wind rustling the leaves. Incredible. I had to catch my breath when I saw a deer standing not 25 feet away from me, but let it out when I realized it hadn't moved…at all. It was a lawn ornament. Oh well... at least the trees and water were real! At another point, I remember looking around at all the natural beauty around me and realized what my grandmother, an accomplished painter, so loved about nature. At points, I almost felt as if she were smiling down on me. It was a pretty powerful moment.

Drove back to Ottawa that evening (thanks to Michelle's Ironmate of the Year - Gavin!). Was up the next morning for a quick open water swim at Meech Lake, and then a 30km run through the Gatineau Hills home to Sandy Hill. Yep - lots of hills. Last 10km were pretty tough - but I gutted it out.

With one last weekend of hard training and then a two-week taper, I'm feeling great about Ironman USA!

And with three weeks left, I'm also feeling great about the fundraising! We're over the $1,000 mark - which is awesome... but I know that there is still more out there to give to Bruce House. So - make sure you tell your friends and family about this initiative. The residents, staff and volunteers are counting on our compassion.

Update #2

June 14, 2004

A quick update six weeks out from race day! Training is going quite well, with some good mileage in the pool and on the run. Bike mileage has been a bit tough to come by, but managed to get in a good five-hour ride, followed by a one-hour run on Sunday June 13. Good thing I bought groceries the day before - I couldn't stop eating once I finally got home!

A great big thank you to all those that have pledged/donated thus far. With six weeks still to go, we're at around $800. Keep it coming! Check out The Program Page for a great, easy new way to donate, and for another exciting incentive - the opportunity to win a two-month membership with Simply Audiobooks.

Update # 1

May 22, 2004

Welcome to The Update Page! Recently I ran the Flying Pigs Marathon in Cincinnati, Ohio (May 2) as part of my preparation for Ironman USA. Let's just say this is the story of one little piggy...

The day began like any other.

Alright - that's the first fib. The day actually began at 4:30 in the morning, which is much earlier than most of my other days begin. Still dark, cool and raining and, according to the local forecast not much hope for anything different until later in the day, I looked at the clothes laid out so carefully on the bed the night before. Definitely a re-think on the sleeveless shirt and running shorts; instead, I selected the short sleeve t-shirt, long sleeve cycling jersey and rain coat. I would rather be too warm then suffering from hypothermia (perhaps a bit melodramatic, but this was no ordinary day).

So - we've established it was not a day like any other. It was marathon day. Here I was, in Cincinnati, Ohio for my first marathon in two and a half years and just my second 26.2 miles ever. It was cold; the weather woman cheerfully indicated that it was 39 degrees, which of course I had to translate to Celsius. I thought I had been clever before leaving home and had converted temperatures in five-degree increments - however, I had started at 50F. Off the chart on the low end meant it was going to be colder than I anticipated! Nonetheless, I began to get dressed and munch on my $2.50 banana, 'provided' by room service the evening before when I couldn't find a banana anywhere in a six-block radius of my chosen hotel. Best damn banana I ever tasted!

After 45-minutes of preparation, checking, double checking and then triple checking that I had everything I was ready to go.

Alright - that's the second fib. Though dressed and appropriately accessorized (Power Gels, toque and gloves) I wasn't sure I was really ready to go. And so before I even had left the hotel room I was already faced with my first challenge - my mental toughness. Let's back up a bit.

In July 2004 I will attempt my second Ironman, this time in Lake Placid. My first Ironman attempt, two years ago in Penticton, did not go well as I was forced to dropout at 160km on the bike, a result of hypothermia. I picked the 2004 edition of the Flying Pigs marathon as part of my preparation for Lake Placid, knowing it would give me plenty of time to recover and then get the proper training in that I would need.

My first marathon, the Canadian International Marathon in Toronto, October 2001 did not go well. An old IT injury flared up after the half way mark and I hobbled home in four and one-half hours, a completed marathon only because of my fantastic training partner Julie who ran/walked/hobbled with me for the second half and encouraging me every time I wanted to drop out. Prior to Lake Placid, I wanted a more positive marathon experience - one in which I was able to get myself through the ups and downs of the three+ hour journey.

Training for Cinci had been going well, until six weeks out when I started to experience some pain in my left ankle and inner shin. Three weeks of ART treatment (thanks Duane!) saw good resolve to that particular problem, but also three weeks of 14km training weeks, all done on the treadmill. With three weeks to go until the race I had to make some decisions. Hoping the base I had been building prior to the injury, coupled with the swim, bike and strength training, along with a couple of long runs three and two weeks out, would get me through physically I decided to change the focus of my run for the Pigs.

Finishing time became much less of an issue. Having crossed the marathon finish line once before, I knew however, for my personality, I would not be satisfied with just finishing - there had to be something more to it. It came to me clearly during my final long run when at the 30km mark I really began to analyze my preferred manner of self-talk.

I have always known that I talk to myself much differently than I do to my training partners, fellow race participants and students in my group cycling classes. On this run though it suddenly dawned on me - why would I motivate myself differently from others? Why if I frame everything from a positive for others, would I say to myself, "C'mon butthead*, get your fat ass in gear" and other such endearing sentiments. And so the goal for the Pigs became a mental one. I would consciously focus on my self-talk before, during and after the race.

And yet, at 5:15 on race morning, there was my first challenge. I took a deep breath and smiled. I knew I would like to be more physically prepared than I was, but this didn't mean that I wasn't ready. I looked at myself in the mirror, smiled and said simply "You are ready. It is better to be 20% under-trained, than 1% over-trained. The marathon course is calling."

I made my way, down the cold, dark, wet streets (did I mention it was cold and raining?!) joining the masses who were about to embark on the same exciting journey, each with their own goals, challenges and success stories yet to be shared.

The next dilemma then became what to wear once race time (6:30am) drew near. I decided to leave the long sleeve cycling jersey and rain jacket on, but shed the wind-pants I had been wearing. I kept the gloves on. I did not want to end up shivering uncontrollably in a medical tent and knew I could take off, but not put on what I didn't have.

I found the 3:30 pace group, and settled in just behind them. I looked around. Everyone seemed quite relaxed. There was a great feeling, one I had never noticed before in racing as I'm usually so intense on my own performance. For someone who is generally very laid back with (what some consider!) a good sense of humour my race focus has always been very intense and internally focused. For probably the first-time, I listened to the starter, who was espousing with a somewhat hoarse-voice, what a great day it was going to be. Yes it was, I thought.

With the sound of the horn we were off. And then we stopped. And then we started. And then we stopped - following the ebb and flow of the runners in front. And finally we slowly made our way across the timing mat and were on our way.

I had taken great care in reading the course information on the website thoroughly before and upon arriving in Cincinnati, so knew there were some mild hills in the first few miles, mostly when crossing bridges into and out of Kentucky, across the Ohio River. I settled into a groove and took stock of how I was feeling physically. Good so far, if not a bit warm. I took the raincoat off and tied it around my waist. Perfect! I congratulated myself for making a good call. I began the race comfortable, running just between the 3:30 and 3:40 pace groups. I even took some time to enjoy the scenery of the riverfront - including the massive baseball and football stadiums (80,000 capacity) and took some time to ponder the difference between sport in the United States and Canada.

At about mile three I started to get a bit concerned. My stomach felt odd. It continued through the next mile or two and, without going into great detail, let's just say that I became quite acquainted with the Greater Ohio porta-potty system. In a fairly famous child's game, there is a little piggy that went wee wee wee all the way home. For the first six miles I could more or less relate. At mile six I contemplated dropping out when I emerged from yet another 'this don't smell like no roses' portable toilet, and found myself running with the 4:00 pace group. I had lost a lot of time. But then I reminded myself, time was not important - and decided to at least run to mile seven. By mile seven I was feeling much better and settled into a good rhythm, running my own race and focusing on my thoughts. From mile seven to 13 there weren't many thoughts other than 'wow - this is pretty hilly' and "dang - what did I eat yesterday that caused the first six miles of torture?!" I had done some good hill work at home and told myself this every now and then. I also turned my focus outward and tried to encourage others as we made our way up the hillier parts of the course. Funny how much easier it seemed. I think I was onto something.

Mile 13 came and went. I was feeling quite good. I had expected to hit the proverbial wall around 20 miles, so began to focus in on a plan of attack for the last six miles. Key words, positive self-affirmation (ala Jack Handy) and continued support - that would do it. As I approached the 21-mile marker and realized I had gone through mile 20 without a second thought. I told myself I was doing great and just to keep steady. I also told the man beside me that he looked great. His somewhat primal grunt was not totally discernible, but I decided it meant 'thanks - you too.' Just the same, I sped up a little bit!

Mile 22 came and went and I was on my way to mile 23. At no point since mile six had I contemplated quitting and was, in fact, quite enjoying the way the race was unfolding. Cool. I started to do some math (with my limited-at-the-best-of-times skills) trying to figure out how quickly I might be able to run the last three miles, which I had determined to be about five kilometers. I aimed to get to mile 24, once past the 23 marker, in nine minutes. But just past the 23-mile marker, I hit the wall.

Literally in about 10 steps I felt my legs start to seize up, I noticed my back was starting to hurt a bit and that my feet, despite being cold and wet for 23 miles, felt like they were on fire. And I also noticed some negativity starting to creep in. But - before I could call myself a butthead*, I stopped and re-framed. This is a paraphrase of the internal dialogue that ensued:

"You have come 23 miles all on your own. You have past the point at which you thought you would have difficulty. You are still on track to set a PB, despite being less trained for this race than the last one. You have overcome an injury and you have helped some people along the way. You have achieved what you set out to do already. The last three miles are bonus."

And with that, I felt my pace quicken just a little bit.

For the last three miles I allowed myself to enjoy the crowds, the cheering while reading some of the clever signs along the way. Without a doubt, my favorite was "Jamie may eat kosher, but she's going to smoke the Pig!" I hope Jamie did. I also made sure to thank the volunteers that were out on course, and clapped for the various bands that had bravely set up along the route. No matter how wet and cold I was, I was at least moving - these people came out on their own accord to help 5,000+ looking to get ‘jiggy with the Piggy’, and were standing in the rain and cold. Again, shifting the focus away from me made the last little bit feel easier, relatively speaking - it was still the end of a marathon after all!

I even allowed myself in the last mile to recognize that complete strangers were clapping for me, urging me onto the finish line. What selflessness is displayed at events such as these. I found myself wondering why we couldn't be like this all the time. What if on a daily basis we encouraged one another, the same way the spectators at events do? I remember reading once that a marathon is like life encapsulated in 26 miles. How very true - for everyone involved. I urge each of you that have been participants and/or spectators to apply race-day encouragement to every day of your life - be it with friends, family or colleagues. Change begins in our own backyard - and our support of one another should not be reserved solely for whatever particular athletic endeavor one is undertaking. Food for thought.