Standing on the beach before the start of the swim was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. I was so very proud of myself for get getting to the point where I was standing, wiggling my toes in the cold sand and standing shoulder to shoulder with world class athletes!
I was pretty happy with my swim. My then fiance Chad Cook (now husband!!) helped me maintain a very comfortable pace. I was getting tired towards the end, but nothing that wasn't to be expected. I was happy with my time and feeling ready for the next leg.
That all changed the moment my fingers brushed the muddy bottom at the swim exit.
Getting out of the water, I was so dizzy I struggled to stand. I had experienced similar feelings after other BIG swims. This was different. I made into the changing tent where Karen Smith and my mom helped me get ready for the bike.
Not long after getting on my bike, I was sitting on a bucket on the side of the road; the dizziness from earlier hadn't subsided. But I hadn't trained to sit on a bucket! So I got back on my bike and off I went.
I peddled onwards towards Osoyoos, still in a fog. I knew that Richter Pass was ahead so I really focused on my nutrition for the next few miles. That HAD to be the issue, right??
Turing onto highway 3, I channeled my energy into my legs. Smooth and steady pedal strokes!
At the top of the pass, my crew was waiting for me. I remember telling the that I needed to get off the bike because I wasn't feeling well. As my ears began to rush and my vision closed in, my crew member Devin Brown grabbed me under my shoulders. Unfortunately his foot wasn't far enough behind me. I vomited all over his foot. I do remember him being quite upbeat about it and saying that it was at least cold! I was lowered the rest of the way to the ground and then assisted/carried from the roadside.
My amazing crew covered me in cold towels. Fellow athlete Andre Kajlich's mom is a nurse and came over to check on me. I soon sat up. We were convinced it was a nutrition issue, so a few adjustments were made. I was given a Pedialyte to drink, which seemed to do the trick. Before too long I was back on my bike. I felt like a new woman!
The rest of Day 1 progressed uneventfully. I was glad to be around the other athletes. As the day went on, I felt better and better. There was such a rush in just being at Ultraman! The spirit of the crews, the athletes, and the volunteers was amazing! My favorite part of the day was the long downhill into Okanagan Falls!
That evening, I went to bed feeling on top of the world!
I woke up around 3am. I felt terrible. I assumed it was nerves, but in the back of my mind I knew something was off.
When it was finally time to get up, the crew had started making eggs and bacon in the kitchen for themselves. The smell was absolutely nauseating. I ate my morning bagel and peanut butter in my room. Well, I tried to at least. Every time I would put food near my mouth I would gag. I did eventually eat my breakfast.
Nerves, right..?
On the way to the start, I sat in the front seat of the van. The nausea was getting worse. I asked my dad to pull over twice on the way to the start so I could gag.
I think we were the last ones to make it to the start area. I weighed in and Chad and I walked alone together. The nausea and dizziness was so intense. Lucy Ryan (Ultraman 2013 athlete) gave me a few ginger lozenges to suck on, which really perked me up. It was time to get ready for the start!
I was seeded in the very back, given all of the time I spent off of the bike the previous day. The moment we rode under the start arch as a group, I felt better. I was doing Day 2 and that was THAT!
Soon after the start, the dizziness returned followed closely by my friend nausea. The white stripe on the road's shoulder began to snake in my vision. At the first stop sign, just 33 minutes, 30 seconds into Day 2, I put my feet down on the pavement.
I knew that a race official was at the corner where I was stopped. I told him that something wasn't right. He called my crew to come for me. While he was on the phone with them I went from standing over my bike to then sitting on the pavement. Then I was suddenly lying on my back, convulsing.
The next bit was a blur. An ambulance was called. I knew i was in pain, but i couldn't feel it. A female race volunteer was holding my hand. I was crying. My crew showed up. Then the EMT was lying on the ground next to me. It took everything I had to open my eyes and look at him.
"I can keep going," remember thinking.
I was being lifted onto the gurney.
"Not today."
Crushed.
So what exactly happened?
If you are offended by descriptions of bodily functions, you can stop reading here. What I describe below is very personal and difficult to discuss.
~~~
Most women's cycles disappear nearly, if not entirely, while training at the level required by this sort of event.
At the start of the race on August 2, 2014, I had been bleeding almost non-stop since May 18th.
My doctor and I did what we could to get ahead of the issue. I went on hormonal birth control.
My "issue" persisted. But going into the race, I felt fine. I had trained with this issue through some of my highest volume days. Race on, right?
Do we know what caused my issue? No. I had an MRI was done the day we got back to Texas but it revealed nothing that would have explained what was happening.
What did that mean for my race, though? Plenty of women race during "that time" right? Well sure, if it's just a few days. The morning of August 2nd was 76 days for me.
After 76 days of nearly daily blood loss, I had zero red blood cells. Red blood cells carry oxygen to muscles, organs, and the brain. I was also anemic from iron loss. Iron is used to produce red blood cells. You get the idea...
Eventually my body leveled out and my energy came back. I finally started to feel myself in late November.
It has taken a long time for me to come to terms with the outcome of the race. I have had to grieve. As much as I don't want to admit how much it hurt me to not finish, there it is. A part of me was town away. Which is probably why I haven't written anything about this experience until now.
But maybe grief isn't a bad thing. It's a part of this sort of experience. I poured everything into this. Sure, I am better on the other side for it.
