IM CDA '10: The Run

At this point I knew that I would definitely be an Ironman by the end of the day. I had plenty of time to finish and unlike the bike, I didn't have to worry about mechanical issues or flats. Running is what I do. I was so ready to do this.

And I’m running. My goal going into the race was to run a 4 hour marathon. Sounds easy, right? My best marathon is 3:15 and I can easily run a 3:30 so 4 hours – no problemo. Well...I underestimated how hard running would be after the swim and the bike. I started at a 9:15ish pace, and my pace went up and down from there.

My nutrition strategy was to take a Gu every six miles, starting at mile 1 and to take water at the aid stations, until something else “called” to me. I have never trained with coke or chicken broth, but many athletes told me to listen to my body and if something sounded good, not to be afraid to try it (starting in small doses, of course). Of course, my precious Gu’s were in my Special Needs run bag, so I had to make do with the Power Bar Gel they had on the course – yuck, not a fan.

Mile 3! Okay. I’m okay. I look at my watch and my pace is faster than it should be, but I try to hold it. I’m taking in the people, spectators and racers alike. I’d hoped to find someone about my pace but so far everyone is either faster or slower.

I’m getting to the lake stretch now, I pass the section with all the signs. There are so many. It’s a sea of personal sentiments and words filled with love and that makes me smile.

Miles 4 and 5 have come and gone. I’m taking plenty of water at the aid stations. My stomach is fine, but I know that’s often what turns and I don’t want to push it.

Mile 6. I take a Powerbar gel from a volunteer. They hand me a green apple flavored one. Barf. I choke it down.

Mile 8. Big ass hill and turnaround point. I force myself to run up it; I fear if I stop to walk, I will not start running again. Coming up the hill I hear the ping, the sound of people running over the timing mat. Up the hill, round the corner and there it is. I run over it, and think about who might be checking it.

Mile 10. Aid station. Headed back into town. I’ll try a Coke. Hey, an orange sounds kind of good. And tastes good except now I have little pulp pieces between my teeth.

Mile 11. I’m feeling my legs, but what else could I expect. I’ve run 11 miles already after biking 112. I know things will be hurting. I expect the ache of exertion. My pace has slowed back down, but I am moving as fast as I can.

Just past mile 11, I see Team Erin and smile. I am so thankful they are out there; they keep me going. I think about what a long day this is for them as well.

I take another Gel. This time they gave me chocolate. Double barf. I could stop at Special Needs to get my own Gu’s but there is no time to waste if I am going to hit 4 hours.

Second loop. I hit the halfway marker and wasn't sure how to feel. Yay - I'm halfway done! or Oh god, another 13.1 miles. I trudged on. I have 13 miles until I am an ironman. I see Team Erin one more time as we head back towards the lake. The next time I see them will be at the finish line; this keeps me moving forward and I am energized. Their excitement was really touching and I realized the Ironman means just as much to the people who love us.

I am around 2:02 at the half-way mark.

What mile marker am I looking for next? I’ve forgotten. I’d really like to get to 17. That’s the magic number. At 17, I have single digit miles to go.

Mile 14. I’m starting to feel a little queasy and I have a headache. Perhaps it is those damn Powerbar gels, perhaps it is the heat, or perhaps my body just hates me. I hit my first dark moment of the marathon here when it hit me that (and I quote), "I still have 12 F*CKING miles to run." For some reason, that moment was a low one for me because the race seemed so far from over and I had been in perpetual motion for over 10 hours at that point.

Oh, check it out. I’m at 16. Okay. I can do this.

Mile 18. Single digits. There is the big hill again. I am walking up it, but that’s okay. I will still be an Ironman when I finish. It’s time to take another Gel, but I don’t; I don’t think my stomach can handle it. I try to find something at the aid stations that would be compatible with my stomach. Sucking the juice out of orange slices ended up working perfectly.

So many people look worse than I. There are people clutching their stomach or stopping to work out a cramping quad. There are the pukers. The guy doing the hobble-run, swinging one leg out to the side.

Mile 20. Just a 10k from here. I look at my watch and try to pick it up; I need too if I am going to make 4 hours. Then I realize it’s a mistake to expect anything in an Ironman. It’s about taking what the day brings you and not worrying about the things that are not within your control. I’m doing an Ironman. I’m lucky I get to do this.

This is a lesson I need to learn. I wanted to finish the marathon by a certain time. But if I don’t? So what. I’m going to finish. I’m privileged to be here.

Now I want 23. 23 means about 5k to go. 5k is nothing. 5k is a sneeze. Where are the mile markers?

Steady as she goes. Mile 23. Just over 5k.

I’m going to finish. I keep hearing those words in my head and, par for the course, I’m getting emotional.

But I never wanted to quit and I never questioned why I was there. I had never wanted anything more and I was determined to keep moving forward.

Now I’m passing people left and right. We’re back into town. So close.

There’s 24. Still. Two miles. Two miles until I am an Ironman.

25 steady as she goes.

I can hear the finish line. I am so close.

I’m running through the chute and people are holding their hands out for me and I slap them as I run by.

I’m both smiling and trying not to cry as I hear: Welcome Erin Ruyle from Georgetown, Texas.

I hold my arms up and cross the line and hear: Erin Ruyle, you are an Ironman. And so I was. And I am.

In that moment, nothing hurts.

Run Time - 04:03:32

And while I will never forget the feelings of pure joy turning the corner and grinning like a fool, laughing, running toward the finish line, I'll also cherish the memories that got me there. The proverbial rose colored glasses are beautiful indeed: some days were rough and some were really rough. but it. was. all. worth. it.

I pushed my body and mind to the extreme on that memorable day in Coeur d’Alene, surrounded by an amazing group of athletes and supporters. I gave thanks to all who inspired me and encouraged me along the way. I was thankful for having been blessed with the basic abilities to achieve such a goal, but also proud of my own grit, determination, willpower, dedication, and courage to take those abilities to the next level… and make the seemingly improbable Ironman journey over the past many years a reality.

And Team Erin who were there in person…they really took the cake. Spectating an Ironman is one seriously long day in the cold, the heat, the sun, the wind, waiting waiting waiting to see your athlete come by for 15 seconds.

See you in the Woodlands!!