The training was difficult, but finding time to train was even more challenging. I already kept busy studying, commuting more than two hours a day, and working part-time. I began waking up early and staying up late. Long bike rides and runs consumed the weekends, and my boyfriend began to wonder if there was any time left for our relationship. In the end, he was proud of me for doing the race. However, there were many times after my sixteen-hour days of school, work, and training when we both wondered how long we could keep up this routine.
My interviews revealed that I wasn’t the only one struggling to find a balance.
“I think they should make a new category called ‘family man,’” says thirty-six-year-old Drew Holmes, who works in insurance in Bend, Oregon. He balances training with frequent commutes to Portland, housework, and family time with his wife and young daughter. The Ironman Canada in August 2007 will be his first attempt. A self-proclaimed “morning man,” he has a system to fit training into his daily life where he commutes to work by bike, works out at lunch, and dedicates his evenings to his family. He also reserves Saturday as a family day but makes Sunday his long workout day.
Even without family pressure, training can take a toll. Twenty-four-year-old Tom Pritchard was diligent in setting aside time to train for his first Ironman, leaving a full-time job in marketing research to give him time to focus on the race. Even with these adjustments, he’s found that there are still hurdles. Money is a big one, and he’s spent his savings on racing gear and training. He’s also felt a rift form between him and his friends. In theory, they think the idea of the race is awesome, but he says, “I don’t think anyone outside the sport really understands the constraints of training.”
We wouldn’t know if the sacrifices were worth it until race day.
On the day of the race I woke up at 4:30 a.m. When I got to the venue I dropped off gear bags, pumped my bike tires, applied several coats of sun block, pulled on my wetsuit, and joined the 2,000-or-so other athletes at water’s edge.
I let out a hoot as I jumped feet first into the thick brownish waters of Tempe Town Lake but had to tread water for about fifteen minutes before the sound of the cannon. The swim was an hour and twenty minutes in a blender of other racers’ arms and legs, and I lost skin off my back from wetsuit chafing. Of the eight hours on the bike, I spent four riding into a stiff head wind. On the run, my stomach, stuffed with food from aid stations, suffered from the jostling, and I did some of my best sprinting of the day to the nearest portable toilets. The entire day had a distinctly surreal quality. I found myself lost in thought, but not about what I was doing. As I worked toward the finish, darkness eventually fell, and the course began to empty. Each aid station was an oasis. I took it right down to the last allowable hour but was still able to run the final several miles and to sprint across the finish line feeling solid. I did what I came to do.
Two days later in the airport, I hit the post-race low. I hardly ever cry, but I sat in security with tears running down my face as the bewildered guard rifled through my carry-on bags — dutifully lifting and scanning my cameras, school books, souvenirs, and finisher medal. The entire year of training, interviewing, and immersing in the race had finally caught up with me.
Above: Raskauskas starts the bike portion of the Beaver Freezer. Below: Raskauskas sets off for the final leg of the race.
Watch a video of Nancy crossing the finishline at the Ironman Arizona race
