Transition opened at 4am, because the 70.3 athletes would start at 5:30 (The sun rose at 5am, making this early start time possible). I got all my stuff ready with plenty of time to spare since the full didn’t start until 7am. Grateful for the experience at Nationals where I had to wait a long time to start, I was able to just relax and soak everything in. I enjoyed a gorgeous sunrise, which reminded me of an even more beautiful one I’d seen the day before we left Utah for Australia. I just felt so warm inside. I then headed over to the swim start to watch the 70.3 athletes take off. I was filled with excitement and anticipation watching them enter the water two at a time. After about 30 minutes, I headed over to transition again to go to the porta potty one more time and get on my wetsuit.I was the next person in line for the toilet (what all bathrooms are called in Australia) when an announcement was made for all Ironman athletes to go stand by their bikes. I was like, huh? Thinking maybe a bike had been stolen or something, I decided to go ahead and use the bathroom, then head over to my bike. I heard the announcement again while in the potty, and started getting nervous I’d get in trouble for using the toilet first. They sounded pretty urgent. I hurried and made my way to my bike. As I walked down the aisle, I heard someone say, “... shark. They had to pull the swimmers out in May at the 70.3 because of a shark…” What?! NO! There couldn’t be a shark! As the other athletes and I sat dutifully next to our bikes for the next hour, we all discussed the possibilities. I’d surprisingly never felt any fear about a shark during a race. Was there really a shark? Could we still swim but have a delayed start? A duathlon? If they did cancel the swim, would us first-timers really be an ironman if we finished? That thought haunted me the most. I’d had so much opposition to even get to the starting line. To think I still may not be an official Ironman if they cancelled the swim just crushed me.
Finally, they made the announcement that our swim was cancelled. They never officially announced that there was a shark, but we all knew. They’d gotten all the 70.3 swimmers out, and had them restart on the beach at the swim exit, 2 at a time, to head into transition and go out on the bike. As the first athletes ran in, we all started clapping for them. Tears came to my eyes at the showing of good sportsmanship. We were all in this disappointment together. No matter what came of the day, we all felt the same. But, we had to go out there and do our best with what we’d been given.
Once all the 70.3 athletes were out on the bike, they allowed all of us to head down to the beach, where they’d send us through 2 at a time to transition. At this point, I could feel my mental self slipping towards the darkness. I fighted it, because this was so not a good time. The nerves crept in, the negative dialog started ramming through the synapses faster than I could sprint, and I found myself having to pee a lot (usually, this is alleviated in the water at the swim start - the warmest part of any triathlon!). Also not a good start to a potentially hot day. I seeded myself as close to the beginning as possible, just wanting to get out there already. While this was a smart physical move, it nearly mentally undid me on the bike.
In the changing tent, I had to change (unlike many of the athletes) because I’d chosen to wear a bathing suit under my wetsuit (reduces saltiness and possible chaffing on the bike). Since my tri kit was in my transition bag, I couldn’t get it out and change into it once I learned our swim was cancelled. So, my transition was a bit longer than many. Knowing all too well the dangers of starting out too fast on a long ride, I kept it slow in the beginning. Unfortunately, everyone else didn’t have that mentality, and athletes were passing me left and right - worse than I’d experienced at the St. George 70.3. After a few miles, I got off my bike and checked my rear wheel to see if it was rubbing like the Las Vegas race, slowing me down. Nope. I started thinking, you’re not prepared for this race at all! Look at how everyone is just flying past you! I felt like I hadn’t trained one bit! It was mentally excruciatingly painful!
Thinking most of the athletes who were faster than me had already passed me, I set out happily on the 2nd lap, thankful I’d made it to that point. My emotions quickly turned however. By this point, it was really getting hot. I learned later that the temps topped out at 94 degrees. Thinking back to Toughman Half and Las Vegas, I reminded myself I’d had to run in temps that hot. I could surely bike through them. All my liquid and nutrition was hot. But I kept fueling and hydrating. From town to the first aid station was the worst part of the course. There was no shade, plenty of chip seal, and I could feel the heat radiating from the ground. To top it off, there were headwinds and crosswinds coming from the south that were also hot. I started passing athletes pulled over to sit in the shade for a bit. By the time I got to the 1st aid station, I felt like a piece of burned toast (although, thankfully, I also did a fantastic job of applying sunscreen throughout the day and
I kept hydrating as much as I could. At the next aid station, I had to sit for another 5 minutes or so to cool down. The guy sitting next to me was asleep, waiting for help. He woke up and said his quad had cramped up and he couldn’t move, so he needed medical help to go back in. At this point, I’d watched 4-5 pickup trucks with 7-9 bikes stacked next to each other heading back to transition, their owners sitting along the side of the course at various places waiting for medical help to take them in. I debated whether I should quit too. But I decided to give it a go. The volunteers thought I was crazy to go back out - they thought I was going to quit. But, I told them I had to try.
At the next to last out and back, I was directed to turn right instead of left. Apparently, the smoke I’d been breathing in for the past 5 miles or so was from a bush fire, so they’d cut that section of the course. On the one hand, I was overjoyed at skipping 10k on the bike. On the other, I thought, that’s even more reason to not call myself an official Ironman. What’s the point of continuing on in this misery? I focused on breaking down the remaining distance into 5-mile intervals. I kept repeating, just make it 5 more miles, then you can quit if you want. When I hit 91 miles, I did a huge happy dance in my head and tears sprang to my eyes, since that was where I had dropped out in Cozumel. Just a little further I thought. I finally made it to that first aid station again, about ready to collapse. They’d already taken down the station, but there were still a couple of drinks. And they were still cold. The previous aid station hadn’t had anything cold. Athletes stopped behind me too, calling out to the remaining volunteers for water, ice, and Endura. We were all parched! I started crying, not knowing how I could keep going. I was so hot and tired. The volunteer told me it was only about 10 miles to the finish, and they knew I could do it. Finally I hopped back on and headed to transition.
I amazingly picked up the pace heading to transition, despite an increase in the winds. I was also excited to realize I hadn’t had a flat tire at all, despite all the chip seal. Win! In transition, I had never felt so happy to get off my bike! Eric met me on the other side of the changing tent with cold water and ice. We figured I had about 8 hours to do the marathon, but I didn’t want to walk the entire time! I was determined to run as much as I could. This was my favorite part of the race, after all! And I’d just finished the hardest part for me! I could do this!
At the last aid station before the armband area, I saw the teacher from the class that had adopted me! She and her two kids were there, and she said a few of the students from her class were volunteering too (I noticed them on my next lap around). That was great!
Not long after starting my second lap, I saw Eric and started crying. I was in so much pain, I didn’t know how I was going to keep going. I really didn’t want to walk the rest of the marathon. Eric had given me a pacing goal, and it seemed much faster than I was thinking I had. I started panicking that I wouldn’t finish in time because I didn’t know if I could keep up the pace. He told me he had given me a goal pace based on getting to the finish chute during the Women for Tri Light up the Night hour (8-9pm), which I had wanted to do. But I didn’t have to go that fast to finish in time. I was relieved. So during my second and third laps, I’d run until I started feeling like I would throw up, and then walk a while. I was amazed at how many athletes I saw during my first two laps pulling over to the side to throw up. It made me so grateful that I’d learned how to fuel and hydrate during a hot race so I wouldn’t have a lot of stomach issues. During the entire ironman, I only used a porta potty maybe 3-4 times, which meant my body was absorbing the liquid pretty well (and then sweating it right back out). So much better than St. George marathon!
On my fourth lap, an athlete from the Philippeans and I walked and talked for a while, which was fun. I had run/talked with another athlete for a while on my third lap. It’s one of the great things about an Ironman, especially an international race - you get to meet so many cool people from around the world. Anxious to get to the finish line, with about 4 miles left, I decided to use Eric’s trick of jogging past two cones and walking past 4, despite a stiff wind that had just kicked in. Unfortunately, it burned my last match. With three miles to go, I hit a wall. I had no more gas in the tank. Nada. It was all I could do to command each foot to move. I had visions of collapsing because I just didn’t have anything left. Then a clear voice in my mind said, “take your last gel.” I normally don’t take any nutrition that close to the finish line, but I decided to listen and take it anyway. I was desperate. My throat was so dry, I picked up two cups of water at the next to last aid station, and sipped until I got to the last aid station. At this point, I had about two miles left, and I felt just a little energy return. I had to turn my hat around backwards so I wouldn’t lose it in the strong winds. Sand kept getting in my eyes. With the little energy return, positive thoughts sprang into mind. I thought of Eric’s former mission president praying for me, even though he is a leader in our church and I was racing on a Sunday. I started repeating phrases to myself - over, and over, and over. Like get to the red carpet, get to the red carpet, and picture that finish line and Eric is waiting for you at the finish line. I was trying to think of everything I could to keep my legs moving. The wind was so strong I couldn’t hear the finish line music and announcements until I was just about to it. When I got to the grassy area to turn left and head down to the chute, I concentrated on taking everything in, and not speeding too fast. For once, I was planning on NOT sprinting to the finish line! I was trying to put enough distance between
me and the guy in front of me so we could each have our own moment, but I also didn’t want to stop and walk. I slapped a bunch of people’s hands coming down the chute, and my eyes searched for Eric. As soon as I spotted him, my eyes locked in on him. I told myself to keep smiling so I’d have good pictures, and I just kept going towards Eric. I heard them say Mandy Oscarson, welcome to the finish line! We realized later they didn’t say you are an Ironman to anyone coming into the finish line. I jogged into Eric’s arms, and he started crying! Yes, you read that right, he started crying, not me, lol. I was surprised I didn’t, but I’m guessing I was out of tears and in a little bit of shock that I’d made it. I made it. You can see the video here.
My official time was 14:34:52, so even if the swim and 10k of the bike hadn’t been cancelled, I still would have made it, although it would have been close. There were so many experiences I’d had over the past five years that I could draw on during the race to get me through. I’d recommend to a first timer to do as many races as they could afford before taking on an Ironman. Everything leading up to
When Eric and I talked about the race the next day, I realized there were three main things I learned from this experience.
The first was that things do work out, even if you don’t do exactly what you should be doing. Despite all of my feelings throughout the year that we shouldn’t do the Ironman, I finished it and we’re both still alive. Was the Holy Ghost prompting me? Probably. Would we have saved ourselves a lot of pain, stress, and suffering if we had decided to pull out of the race, or even to not go to Australia? Perhaps. But, if we hadn’t gone at all, we always would have wondered what if. And without all of the very difficult experiences, we wouldn’t have learned and grown as much as we did.
The second thing I learned is that Heavenly Father really does love me, and is interested in me, minute by minute, no matter what I’m doing. He prompted me to take that gel at the end of the race, and it gave me just enough strength to finish. Even though I was racing on a Sunday. And even though I hadn’t followed the promptings to pull out of the race. And even though I hadn’t felt His presence much over the past four years because my depression blocked most of it out. He was still there, by my side, guiding every step and brushing away every tear.
Eric pointed out the third thing. During that last stretch on the bike, I not only identified a trigger to my depression in the midst of a mental crisis, but I overcame it. I. BEAT. DEPRESSION. I still have to keep repeating that phrase to myself today. I beat depression. And that, my friends, is mental toughness. I didn’t just finish an Ironman. But I conquered depression, my nemesis for the past 4 years. In doing so, I achieved the goal I set 5.5 years ago, one that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to achieve. I gained mental strength. YES!
So now what? After one accomplishes such a huge goal, and feels like they are on top of the world, what comes next? The final part in my Ironman Journey tomorrow...
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