My second half ironman was fast approaching, but really, I wasn't thinking about it much at all. I was in paradise and I was loving every second of it. I could have sat on the lanai of our house in the tropics, with the morning sun kissing the palm trees and the hypnotizing sound of waves softly teasing the blackened shores, forever. Doing nothing, doing everything, just being. I really can't articulate fully what I was feeling, but everywhere, everything, was alive and rich, both electric and peaceful.

I never did get to swim with the dolphins, but I did have a baby sea turtle swim right up to me and say hi. Now that I'm back in LA, I think to myself, "Where am I going to swim now? A pool? Ha! The murky south bay? Ha!" Everything pales in comparison to swimming Kailua Bay. I could become truly fish-like living there. I don't think a day would go by that I wouldn't swim in that ocean. The amount of energy, strength, and confidence that surrounds you out there is indescribable.

Although I had planned to get right into the "usual" race report business here, I realized this was no "usual" race, it was more than a race, more than an adventure. It was an deep experience. I found something out there, something I don't want to let go of, something I don't want to lose. More than that, I found what I definitely don't want. Where I sit presently is not where I want to sit. Once again I find myself not where I want to be. I'm also suffering a rather immediate and major case of the post-race blues -- I must admit, when the plane lifted off and I watched my Hawaiian Heaven fall away below me, a tear came to my eye. Perhaps by writing this, I'll feel the magic I felt there, and find a way to hold on to it.

Fast forward to race morning. I hadn't slept all that much the night prior, but I woke feeling ready to rock. I had written a race plan that I ran through with Gordo (my amazing coach) a couple days prior. With the exception of frequency on the run and pre-race fuel suggestions, my plan was approved and I had it drilled, practically word for word, in my head. I gave it one last read as I got ready for the day ahead.

Everyone had their own pre-race psyche out going on -- Gordo was the Headbanging Buddha, Gary was chilling on the lanai, Ally was all smiles and anticipation, Jo was pretty quiet, and I was just making sure to breathe.

All set up, numbered, breathing and ready to go, the vibe in the air was nearly tangible. We placed ourselves waist deep in the cool morning water, just off to the left and back. Everyone standing, waiting, edging like thoroughbreds in the starting gate... or as a buddy likes to say, " all aquiver." ;-) Off with the gun and off with 700+ primed and amped bodies.

Right away I felt calm and relaxed. People were close, I got a foot in the ribs and rubbed elbows with one fellow, stroke for stroke, but I was loving it. I started out on Ally's feet, but lost them when I found myself boxed by three people. I broke from them and hopped onto another pair of feet right away, swimming along mellow, easy, smiling. My drafter was pretty steady and I only looked up once to sight. I was surprised to see how close the turnaround was. Last year, I would look up to sight and think, "Crap! I still have that far to go?!" Not on this day, however.

The crowd started getting a little tight approaching the turnaround, looking down, I saw a face looking back up at me - an underwater photographer. Cool! My smile broadened. Around the buoy, lost my draft, got jostled a little, goggles got knocked - no biggie, I was in paradise. One girl kept swimming into my side, and every time I moved, she moved with me. I was on the verge of getting annoyed when I remembered a little trick Mike Collins had shared at Gordo's training camp. I slowed a stroke, deaked over her feet and to her opposite side. Voila! Problem solved. Now I need feet!

A guy came up beside me, faster, but not too much faster than I, so I hopped on his feet and he led me just about the whole way back. This was the first time I really drafted, actually the first time I've been able to swim fast enough myself to "catch" a draft. The difference when I fell off my drafters was instant and definite.

Up on the beach, and a quick look at my watch told me I'd just swam 15 minutes faster than at Vineman last year, and with my HR 20 beats lower. I laughed out loud and gave myself a big "woo-hoo!" I didn't care what the rest of the day would bring. Right then and there I had an undeniable PR that was enough to carry me through whatever lay ahead.

Off on my hot rod, also known as Loo, my red hot Curloo. Incase it wasn't already obvious, I absolutely love my bike. I ride thinking only nice thoughts. ;-)

I had a plan for the bike, I also had the voice of Mr. G in my head saying, "stick with the plan" and "show control on the bike". I listened. I was feeling so good, smiling, laughing, having a blast. Folks must have thought I was nuts - laughing and woo-hooing to myself and the lava fields. I passed people, people passed me. I let those that passed me go without a worry and stayed in my happy little zone (HR and mental). Every now and then, someone would pass me and then chill. I was finding it annoying having to back off out of the draft zone. "If you're going to pass me, ya best keep on going, cowboy!" I'd take a look at my HR and do a mental check...

"This pace is too slow, I can't ride this slow"
"Where's your heart rate?"
"Low. I'm dropping him"
"Can you pick it up, pass, open a gap, and stay in your zone?"
"Damn straight, I can!"
"Woo-Hoo! Yeah, baby! Seeeeeee yaaaaaaa!"

...drop a gear and surge past. Every time I did that, I was surprised to see that my HR didn't increase much and each person I dropped was history. I came to one rise that was enough to call a decent downhill. Ahead of me was a row of cyclists, half a dozen or so. They were all pretty close to each other and moving at a pace rather mellow for a downhill-demon. One thing I cannot pass up is a downhill. I let the control go a little (touched out of my race plan zone for merely a brief moment - but, oh so worth it!), dropped down to my hardest gearing and let out a laugh. Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! One, two, three, four, five.... On your left, on your left, left, left, left... yeah baby! Woo-HOO! Past 'em all, oh what fun! One of them yelled something at me, but it took a good five minutes or so before I realized I'd passed Ally. Well, I'd get a chance to yell back before too long....

All was going along just dandy until I flatted. What?! Not now! Not today!

I pulled over, jumped off my bike and told myself to make this the fastest tire change in history. Off with the wheel, off with the tire, tube out, piece of wire out of the tire, tube in, CO2 on, twist and... Crap! The cartridge shot off the valve like a rocket. Out comes CO2 number two - on, twist... Double crap! CO2 rocket number two. Okay, now I'm not impressed. I'm standing on the side of the road, black lava on either side, halfway between either end with no more CO2. I stomped up and down and yelled, "I wanna race!" I paced back and forth for what seemed like eternity, saying a little prayer to the Universe to not let my day end there. I turn around and see my knight in shining armour - the SAG wagon! I can't remember how many times I told that guy how much I loved him, but wherever he is, I still love him. I think I'm going to love him forever.

Back on the road, I looked at my watch to see I'd lost 20 minutes. Well, that was gone and done. I heeded that familiar voice in my head saying, "no making up time lost." Back into my pace, back into my mental zone, laughing again and passing folks again. The coolest part about the return stretch was passing people going UPhill. Wasn't doing any of that last year.

I pulled into T2 feeling fantastic. Quick change of shoes, a swipe of sunscreen, and I was off. I forgot my salt tabs and had a short "Oh-oh! I'm rooked!" thought, and then shrugged it off just as fast. Oh well, here is where I am and where I am is a pretty freakin' happy place to be.

legs felt good right off, but I decided I'd walk the first little hill. I'd broken the run into three parts: the Pit, the out, and the back. No need to push my HR sky-high in the first third. I ran down into the Pit, and I walked out of it. I was running along, feeling great, still laughing about my swim, and had now added laughing about my bike split. Yep, I was having a great day.

Somewhere before mile 7 I got a blister, but I didn't care. It didn't hurt. At one aid station, a lady held a popsicle out in front of me. A popsicle?! I passed, but it sure made me giggle. When I got to the turnaround there was one of those kids pools behind the aid tent. It was about 10 feet in diameter and about a foot or so deep. I couldn't resist, it was just too tempting and I was having way too much fun, so... I jumped in! Woo-hooo! Quick splash in the pool, a few chuckles with the volunteers, a shot of gatorade, and I was headed for home laughing even harder as my feet sloshed about in my now heavy water-laden runners. Hmmm, maybe I shouldn't have done that. Naahhh! It was worth it! :-)

I had gone into the race with only two goals for the run: 1) - actually "run" the run, and 2) - finish in the 7th hour. Well, with the exception of walking the Pit and the aid stations, I was running the run. A look at my watch, a quick calculation, and I realized was going to finish in the 6th hour. Oh yeah, baby! I am SO loving this day! I thought of something a friend said to me before the race, "Do what you once thought was unthinkable in endurance". I knew I'd PR this race, but the time by which I would was more than I could have imagined.

Running along, I hear a voice come up from behind shouting about being on my way to a major PR. There's Gordo across the street on his bike. A few words of encouragement, a quick rundown of the nutrition plan, a check of the race so far, and off he went, leaving me laughing like a loon. I hadn't mentioned this earlier, Coach, but while we were talking, I felt myself picking up the pace. I was working a bit, but it was comfortable. My HR read 228! Ha-ha-ha! That's too funny! Must have been power lines somewhere nearby.

Coming into the home stretch, I picked up the pace. There was a guy just ahead walking. He looked young, fit... and toasted. Just as I came up beside him, he started running. Final stretch, I say, let's run it out. He ran with me long enough to say his day has sucked, and I apologize before I say I'm having a stellar day. I leave him behind and I'm busting at the seams. This whole day has been just awesome. Turn the corner, run down the chute, clock is ticking in the 6th hour, Mike Reilly pronounces my name right, and beep, beep, beep... the timers record my first major PR of an hour and 20 minutes. Oh yeah, baby!!!

What a contrast this race was to Vineman last year. At that race, I felt like total crap. Nutrition went right out the window on the bike, moods were all over the spectrum on the run -- which I actually walked most of -- and after the race, it was all I could do to stay awake long enough to eat dinner. After Kona, I was wired, felt fantastic, and was ready to party. I could chalk it up to the magic dancing on the tropical breeze. I could chalk it up to a solid year of training behind me. I could chalk it up to making a plan and sticking to it. I could chalk it up to my bike. ;-) I could chalk it up to a lot of things, everything combined, but I know one thing for sure... I can chalk this up to the guidance, advice, inspiration, support, insight and friendship of just one person -- Thank you, Gordo! You ROCK!

The next day, my quads were only minorly stiff (good as long as I didn't have to walk stairs or sit down/stand up too much ;-) ) and my abs were sore. I couldn't figure out why my abs were so sore, until right now, writing this report.... I was laughing all day long!

But wait! There's more... I have to end this report the same way I started it -- in paradise and in love. I have to share what I found out there because writing this brought all the emotions and feelings back. I'm smiling.

I found magic out there. In the water -- in the chorus of singing coral. In the air -- alive and electric. In the sunrise cresting the tip of the volcano. In the blackened fields of lava and the whispering sheaths of dried grass. In the soft sea breeze flowing around you, through you. In every person you share breath with.

In the lava fields, riding, you can hear their voices. Just. You have to really slow down, inside, to hear them. Listen close enough and they'll share their stories. Stories of days past, of those who ventured the same road, of legends, of victories private and personal. They tell you their secrets. They show you the way.

They are with you, running down Ali'i Drive, beside you, all around you. Everywhere. Relax. Feel them, be with them and they guide you home. Give your power to them and it comes back double-fold. Give your pain to them and in return they give strength.

"They" are the thousands of Ironmen and Ironwomen who have traveled that journey -- professionals and age groupers alike. They have all left a little piece of themselves for all who follow -- listen and you will hear, you will feel. That is the "vibe". That is where the magic is -- everywhere, all around, electrifying. Heaven.

...and this was only the HALF Ironman! One day, I WILL get my party card punched for the Big Dance!

May, 2001
Wyanne Chase