The Saga Continues AKA Part 2 of the Rest of My Life AKA Victory Never Tasted So Bubbly

Swim 2.4 miles.  
Check.
 Bike 112 miles.  
Check.

Only one more activity and I would be finished... except that one more activity was a marathon. No big deal, right? At that moment, it felt like a very big deal. I had just finished 112 miles in almost 100 degree heat with no shade. My legs had cramped to the point of no return. My hope was crushed and my ego was busted. I had no desire to go on, no drive to be an Ironman.

"Ashlee, RUN!!!!! GET YOUR FEET UP! RUUUUUUUUN!" When I had first heard Sloan's voice, my mind did not comprehend that the man was shouting at me. Once I saw that my friend had driven all the way out just to cheer me on, I knew I had to get my butt in action. Running to the transition tent, I handed The Thunder to a volunteer, flashed a weary smile at Amanda and Kaylee and lifted my arm to acknowledge my mom as I entered the tent.

I made one mistake in that tent: I took my sorry behind and I sat it down on a plastic folding chair. The cold material welcomed my weary legs and cradled me like a mother cradles her baby during a cold winter night... except it wasn't cold... it was scorching outside that tent. The sun was shining bright and the sweat sitting on my forehead and eating away at the material of my bike kit proved that.

One of the female volunteers noticed that I had not moved since I entered the tent. "Would you like some help?" She offered, cautiously. At least she was not forcing her help upon me like the swim volunteer.

No, I would like a doctor. 

I am not a woman who asks for help. Independent, stubborn, fearful of appearing weak or needy... ask my boyfriend, ask my dad, ask any man... I am my own gentleman. Asking for a doctor's help was my first sign that this race was coming to an early end.

While I waited, I peeled my tri kit off and stood naked in the middle of the tent, ignoring the two male doctors standing behind me. Taking my red racing tights and green Patagonia top out of my bag, I hastily worked to cover my rear end before the doctor's arrival. When he came over and I told him about my cramping, he told me I had two options: I could go sit in the medical tent and have my legs massaged and nursed back to life or I could ignore the pain and grab straight Coke from the aid station when I passed it. The rest of my belongings were tossed back into their bag and I looked at him, shrugged my shoulders and said, Alright. Thanks.

He responded by lifting a spray bottle and squirting my legs. Not sure if I appreciated the mist or was upset that he just got my thighs wet and I might chaff, I walked out of the tent and out to my family with a forced smile. I'm done, guys. Dad, please stop videotaping this. I'm seriously done, guys. I don't want to finish. Dad, seriously. Please turn the video camera off. Okay, fine... I'll walk a little. 

Walking was not an option though when I came around the bend and people began cheering my name. "Yeah, Ashlee! Great form! Looking strong!" Great... thanks for printing my name on my race bib, Ironman. I'm just SOOOOO glad that everyone knows the name of the girl who is about to collapse on that grassy spot over there. 

I had no option but to run... until I came to a spot where people weren't watching. As soon as the crowds died down, so did my pace. Instead of maintaining the run, I walked two minutes, ran one minute. My pace stayed below fifteen minutes per mile, super quick, I know, but at least I would finish before the cut off time.

The run course was brutal. It was three out and backs repeated twice on concrete. The only change of scenery were the fading smiles of the runners coming back from their second lap.

"Ashlee! Ashlee! Ashlee! Looking so good! Check her fly!" Yeah, I'll fool you by running until you can't see me! What up!?

My buddy ZackZack Bertges ran toward me on his last lap and I was glad I was in my running portion of my walk-2-run-1 plan. He looked strong as an ox and nimble as a gazelle. "AshleeAshlee!" Hey you! Yay you! Okay, he's gone... now I can walk. 
  

Outhouses waited at the aid station and I realized I hadn't peed since 5am. I waited in line for five minutes then walked into the fragrant hut. As I started wrapping toilet paper around every edge of the seat to protect my rear from the germs, I felt my crotch get wet... Yup, I just wet myself a little bit. Murphy's Law kicked in when I finally did pull my tights down to go and nothing came out. Checking the damage to my leggings, I wondered if I should wait in the porta potty until I was dry or if I should run and hope no one noticed. Oh, people noticed all right. I went with the latter option and heard several, "Oh, poor girl"s as I ran by.

C'est la vie! It's a race... pros do it all the time. 

One woman named Michelle and I had played leapfrog so much during the run/walk/jog/trot that we started cheering each other on until we decided to walk together and exchange life stories. Michelle decided to continue walking, but I wanted to pick up the pace, so I said goodbye and made my way toward the final out and back. As I passed two men in their 40's, they congratulated me on my pace. That's when my minute came to an end and I started to walk. They passed me and right when they began the walk, I ran past them again. They had the same walk-run plan as I did. We pushed each other along with our game of cat and mouse. With 800 meters left in the run, I charged past them and sprinted toward the finish line.

Cheers and screams sprung my feet along the red carpet as I approached the finish line. With each prance closer to the end, the shorter the distance between me and victory and the louder the shouts of pride from the crowd. My smile widened and I ran past the clock only 15 hours and 27 minutes after starting my morning. I jogged up to a woman who wrapped me in a heat blanket and placed a medal on my neck. "How are you so awake?" She asked. "The others look so defeated, but not you!"

I went slow and saved it for the end, I confessed. She had me pose for the finishers photo and I did some modeling poses for the man behind the camera. Yeah, I'm a bad ass and I still look cute after 15 hours. What now, Mr. Photographer?

My dad called my name from the other side of the gate and I could see the pride in his eyes. I had made my daddy proud. He didn't think I would finish. My mom, Kaylee and Amanda ran up to the gate and gave me a hug. A bouquet of flowers was exchanged from my sister's hands to mine as a bottle of champagne emerged and Amanda drenched me in a cool, refreshing explosion of alcohol.

With a plate of untouched food in one hand and my flowers in the other, I ran to the finish line and looked for Michelle. When we found each other, we hugged and introduced each other to the families of which we had spoken.

End scene with my family and Amanda walking into an empty Pearl Street in downtown Colorado. Camera pans out on a day well spent and a very bubbly victory.

First Date aka I Found The One aka Part 1 of the Rest of my Life

Everyone remembers his or her first love. Some people claim to find love at first sight, while other insist it takes hard work and time to differentiate true love and lust. My first love was a little different than most. My first love kicked my butt, left me out of breath and made me question if I had lost my sanity. Despite my nervousness, I knew after the first date that I was hooked. I guess it's true what they say: When you know, you just know.

The date started with the sun rising over the reservoir in Boulder, Colorado. The glow from the sun was a hue of yellow, red and orange; vibrant colors that seemed to dance over the water's edge. I hid behind my bag as my sister made remarks about cats, crazy people and The Lord of the Rings. My heartbeat was calm, but I was still excited to make eye contact with my date. Mom, Amanda, Kaylee and I stepped off of the yellow school bus in which we had traveled to the Boulder Resevoir. They helped me prepare for the date by holding my belongings while numbers were painted on my muscular calves and arms. I put on my nicest wetsuit and braided my hair back out of my face. My sister's arms wrapped around my neck and tears formed in her eyes. I think she knew this would be love before I even knew. Amanda snapped a photo and my mom looked at me with eyes that said, "You've got this, but if you don't, I'm still your biggest fan."

Like a headless chicken, I wandered through the crowds trying to find my one and only. My neoprene-clad arms pushed their way through the crowds to the sign that read "1:15-1:30". The woman on my right anxiously played with her pink breast cancer bracelet. I started conversation and we spoke of life, love and butt-kickings while we shuffled our feet forward. When my toes collided with the water, I knew the moment had come. I positioned my goggles and dove into the liquid, feeling my body become buoyant.

The start was slow as every time I tried to sped up, I found myself getting kicked in the chest or grabbing onto someone's foot. Pink, green and white caps bobbed all around me. Mouths gasping for breath, eyes shaded by tinted goggles, arms splashing the surface. I was so distracted by the multitudes of people surrounding me that I barely even noticed when the swim was over. People around me were trudging up the boat ramp while I was still using my arms to pull my way through the material. When my hand hit the concrete, I pulled myself to an upright position and ran toward the grass. A hand pulled my strap from behind, causing me to choke back like a dog on a leash. "Just undoing your wetsuit," he informed me.

A cute blond women who looked like Kristen Bell's long lost cousin jumped in front of me and told me to sit down on the ground. What? Why would I sit? "I'm going to strip you. Sit down." I plopped my butt down with a thud onto the muddy grass while she peeled the suit off of me like a banana peel. When I stood, my butt was brown with thick mud.

I ran into the changing tent and an older woman came hobbling down to my corner of the tent. "I can help you change," she told me. I'm okay. Thank you. She insisted. My body seemed to be moving at light speed compared to her calm, slow movements. She handed me a pair of shorts. I actually don't need those. I've decided to wear these. I stuffed them back in the bag. She pulled them back out. I tried to get to my bag, but she would not let me lay hand to it; her frail hands pulled out my sunscreen. Thanks! I reached for the sun repellent but she pulled it away. "I can spray you," she spoke. You can't fight the system. I allowed her to spray, noting the spots she missed so I could go back over them. She handed me my shorts a second time. I don't need those; I'm going to wear these. My tone was polite, but more firm. I just wanted to get to The Thunder, my Felt DA4.

Finally, I shook the woman off and handed my bag off to a volunteer. A tunnel of cheers greeted me as I ran to my bike and mounted, immediately riding off into the day. I knew I would be on The Thunder for at least 7 hours, so I tried to start slowly, but the pace still felt like I was in the danger zone of drafting the rider in front of me. At mile 17, my legs picked up pace and I hammered my way to the halfway mark feeling strong and pretty. At mile 56, the halfway point, I hopped off my bike and found my emergency bag. In it, I had packed a banana and sunscreen. I painted my face, found room for the banana in my back pocket and resumed the ride.

Mile 73.1 approached and I bonked hard. At mile 72 I felt fresh as a daisy, though I did note I had not eaten in 2 hours. I tried to take a Honey Stinger gel to my lips, but I felt nauseous. Regret hit when my hamstrings cramped at the 73rd mile. I found a dirt pull out and parked my bike. As I tried to loosen my cycle shoes and savor each bite of the banana, a dark-haired man on a shiny red motorcycle pulled off next to me. "You good to go?" He asked. Just cramping. "Good thing you have a banana." He rode away and I watched as other cyclists passed me, all asking if they could do anything for me.

I thought I would find my energy after the pit stop, but it refused to come back. My legs felt like they were filled with lead paperweights. My teeth were grinding together as my feet continued to grind the pedals. I looked at a group of people standing at a stop sign with signs and cowbells. It took all the energy I had left not to stop and ask them for a ride back into town. And if I called my dad for a ride, he would get stuck in the race traffic. I might as well just finish the bike then I can call it quits. These were the only thoughts that kept me going through the heat as I watched others drop off like drunken flies.

"We must dance on the pedals again," an Australian voice came from the man next to me. He was young, in his early-thirties, a blue kit clothed his perfectly toned booty and whisps of golder brown locks peered out from under his helmet. Yeah, you go do your dance. I'm gonna huff and puff back here, Mr. Ironman.

I stopped at mile 95 to throw out my empty water bottle and replace it with a mix of thick, sugar-filled Powerade. My throat opened up as the sugar coated the walls and energized my tired legs. The open road continued on and I with it. Momentum began to return to my deprived body and I found comfort knowing that the ride was coming to an end. Only 17 miles to go... and we will start with a big A hill.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull. 

All I saw were athletes falling to the ground, dry heaving in the shade and struggling to get to the top. At least I wasn't alone... or was I just in the first-timers' group with all the newbies? I reached the top of the hill and my legs cramped to the point of being unable to move. I stopped my bike and painfully clipped out. Resting my head on my bars, I tried to hide tears of pain and disappointment. Was this the end? Would I be able to move my legs again? A man asked if I would like to walk around and get the cramp out while he held my bike. I couldn't even imagine lifting my leg off of the bike though. Choking down some water and eating half of a Picky Bar seemed to minimize the cramping, so I got back on and pedaled toward the next elevation changing hill. Dance on those pedals, I did. I danced like Alex Owens earning her spot in the Pittsburgh Conservatory of Dance and Repertory. My heart was on my sleeve, along with my drool and snot.

With three miles to go, I could taste the victory. My bike started passing people on their bikes and it felt like smooth sailing... until I reached the last teeny, tiny hill and my legs cramped for the last time. This was the worst time. I stopped and barely could unclip. People passed chanting, "Only three miles!" I know it's only 3 miles! I can't do it. I literally cannot. 

A kind gentleman came and put his hand on my back. "You doing alright?" He stayed with me while I waited for a medic. While I waited, I asked him about his life and forced water down my throat. After 15 minutes, no medic came and my legs were feeling a little better. I decided to give it my all and find that finish line. Smashing the pedals like there was no tomorrow, I passed everyone in front of me and made my way to the finish line. I watched as people who were dazed, confused and sunburned were helped off of their bikes. A woman came to help me, but I was already off, limping to T2.

"Ashlee, RUN!!!!! GET YOUR FEET UP! RUUUUUUUUN!" I knew that voice. That drive and encouragement was undeniably Sloan Campi. Pointing at him, my heart started jumping up and down, but I'm not sure that my feet followed. "YOU'VE GOT THIS!!!! RUNNN! GO!!!!!" Still limping and really wishing I could deny his urging me on, I picked up my speed and ran toward the track, where Amanda, Kaylee, my mom and my dad were waiting to take pictures and root for me.

To be continued...