The training for Ironman is never linear, and this time was no different. There were many low points along the way—one shoulder got sore, then the other, then the lower back… and then three weeks before the race, despite being as careful as possible, I caught Covid. Luckily it was a mild case, though I was still coughing a week before the race and was… concerned. But I packed my bags and hoped for the best.
We arrived in Atlanta just in time for Hurricane Helene, and wouldn’t you know it, both Atlanta and Chattanooga were directly in the path of the storm. At that point, all I could do was laugh. Some things are out of our control and we just have to roll with it.
My cough cleared up, and the storm veered—but it rained. A lot.
The Tennessee River rose, and with a combination of the high water and high E. coli levels (yuck), the race directors decided to cancel the swim portion. It was the right call, though I was disappointed. A downriver swim would have made it my fastest 4k ever. Apparently, last year someone sent a bag of chips down the river at the beginning of the race and even it made the cutoff.
On Saturday, the day before the race, I decided to drive the new bike course to see what I was up against—along with the infamous Barton Avenue hill everyone was talking about on the run. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, though in retrospect I’m not sure it was. It made me very nervous. Everything looks worse in a car. The hills on the bike course seemed long, and Barton looked terrifying.
This was the first time I was arriving at a start line feeling healthy. Nothing hurt. I was afraid I was coming in undercooked. I had high hopes for the run because my training had gone so well, but after seeing the bike course I worried that I might not make the cutoff.
That evening, my kids went out for burgers and beer and I joined them with my cup of water. Barrel of fun, that was me. But I was being mindful of my stomach. No one wants that disaster on race day. I’d had my main meal earlier (chicken breast and white rice). I managed to sleep, surprisingly, and because of the later start time I was gifted with an extra hour.
Race morning began with a lot of waiting around—not great for the nerves. We were leaving on our bikes by twos in time-trial style, in the order of our bib numbers, and since I was 1221, I had to wait a while. At that point it had already started to drizzle. Both my kids and a friend had encouraged me to bring a rain jacket. The forecast had been calling for rain all week, so I also brought clear glasses to give myself options.
As I stood around, I noticed that most people were wearing sunglasses and very few wore jackets. In fact, most had bare arms. I wondered if I’d made a mistake but figured if the rain stopped and I got warm, I could always take the jacket off and stuff it into a pocket. But the jacket and glasses turned out to be good decisions because shortly after I set off on the ride, it started to pour.
It rained for the entire 180km (well, 174—the course was a little short) and I never took the jacket off. Several times I had to wipe the water off my glasses just to see where I was going, but sunglasses would have made things much too dark.
The new bike course—three loops of a highway—was not exactly inspiring. But it was also not technical—no hairpin turns or super steep descents. Just long undulating hills. I spent a lot of time trying to determine which side of the highway was worse (the return trip), and then I spent time doing math because I’m terrible at it, so that kept me occupied for hours (how fast do I have to be going to come in at a certain time? If this is mile 45, how many kilometers is that?).
I’d done several long training rides so the distance wasn’t a problem. But while I ended up with a fast time for me (7h10), it was not a fast time for the course. There is definitely work to be done in this discipline (stay tuned for a post on lessons learned. There are a lot of them).
And while we’re on that topic, let’s talk about food. My nutrition on the bike consisted mainly (though not exclusively) of a series of peanut butter and jam sandwiches on white bread. Ugh. You’ll see what that produced later, but I’ll warn you now, it wasn’t pretty.
Transition was relatively quick but also quite disgusting because I was soaked and had to peel everything off. I brought choices for the run as well, but this time (thank you, race brain) I made the wrong calls. I looked at my long-sleeve and thought, nope, don’t need that. Looked at my visor and thought, nope, that will bug me. And I left them in the bag.
Within about fifteen minutes, I regretted both decisions. The rain turned torrential (which I’m convinced was karma for all the times I’ve announced how much I love running in the rain). I didn’t care about being wet. What concerned me was that I was getting cold, and this was kilometer five. If the rain continued and I didn’t warm up, there would be trouble.
Luckily, it stopped, and eventually I dried off.
The run was a two-loop course, and I was extremely pleased with my first loop—even though Barton was exactly as bad as it looked in the car. In fact, worse, because I hadn’t realized we had to go up both sides of it—twice. I was aiming for a sub-5 marathon, and after the first loop I was right on track. By about kilometer twenty-five, I started to slow down. By kilometer thirty-two, I was taking more walk breaks. By thirty-four, I was broken. My IT band had had enough, my feet were sore, and nothing at the aid stations looked appetizing anymore, not even chicken broth. I had no choice but to walk the majority of the last kilometers.
My kids surprised me on the footbridge back into town, which was the lead-in to the finish line. And then they ran to meet me at the finish—where of course I couldn’t spot them in the crowd. I ended up running a 5h30. Not what I wanted, but still better than anything I’ve done before. Based on the success of that first loop, I know a sub-5 IM marathon is in there somewhere.
The finish was, as always, extremely emotional for me. Ironman training is such a huge commitment. It’s a grueling journey with so many obstacles and sacrifices along the way. When you finally arrive on that red carpet after everything you’ve been through, the experience is unforgettable. I don’t know how anyone holds back the tears. The idea that anything is possible, that you can overcome obstacles and do more than you think—and especially that you can do the thing that scares you—is the reason I do this. The finish line epitomizes everything about that.
Even though it was late, our plan was to drive back to Atlanta that night because my daughter had to work early in the morning. My amazing children had already fetched all my gear and packed up the place we’d rented. They assured me that all I had to do was sit in the car and all would be well.
I knew very quickly that all was not well. Those peanut butter sandwiches came back to haunt me, and my daughter had to pull over so that I could jump out of the car and throw up. I have never had stomach issues before, during, or after a race, but this time I was very ill. Maybe it was because I’d pushed harder on the run, but I think it was just too damn much white bread.
I managed to make it back to Atlanta without barfing in the car, which was a miracle because I had to beeline it to the bathroom as soon as we arrived. After that, it was straight into the shower and then to bed, where I passed out until nearly 9AM (another miracle—usually I can’t sleep after a race).
I spent most of the next day doing my favorite post-long-workout activity: lying on the floor. Lesson learned from the Florida Ironman: never travel home the day after a race. We celebrated that night with a beautiful steak dinner that I ate very little of and flew home the following day.
Aside from sore quads, a few blisters, and one questionable looking toenail, I emerged from the experience surprisingly unscathed. It took approximately twelve hours after finishing for me to agree to the next one, though the choice is still up for debate: Lanzarote (if that race still exists by then) or Austria. Either way, Ironman #4, I’ll be seeing you in 2026.
Connie says
What an inspiration you are! And what a team of kids! Such a good read; made my day!
Congratulations Michelle!
Michelle Barker says
Thank you! And hearing from you made my day 🙂
Michael Tessler says
Wow Michelle my sister, I just look forward to reading these post event reports so much each time.
At home you train so hard and that alone is an inspiration to all who know and love you.
And having said that, the reading of your experience and your articulate writing style is just gravy.
Rest up, glad you are safe, and bask in your moments………..you deserve it.
Well done,
Brother Mike Tessler
Patti Lefkos says
Incredible. Huge accomplishment. BTW just finished Immersion and emotion and lOVED it. Thanks for putting all that advice in one book.
Michelle Barker says
Aww thank you!
Michelle Barker says
Thank you! And I’m so glad you like I&E!
Barbara Berson says
Wow, I’m inspired. Thank you for sharing tour experience, and huge congratulations.
JudyM says
Michelle, you are an inspiration for all of us, I can’t believe you’re still doing the Ironman races. A very interesting read. And being there during Hurricane Helen, what an experience.
Michelle Barker says
Thank you!
Michelle Barker says
Thank you. The hurricane was mostly just…wet.