When I first met my husband, that fateful day in June 1994, I
learned that one of his favorite retorts was, "Why not?" In his
mind, anything is possible, even if it involves swimming 2.4 miles,
biking 112 miles, and running 26.2 miles, all in 17 hours or less.
There's no prize money or fame involved when you are a middle-of-the-pack
athlete, but there's definitely plenty of glory in finishing.
That summer we met, Ed was training for his first marathon in
Chicago. I thought he had a screw loose. I had never run more
than 3 miles at a time myself and never knew anyone who'd completed
a marathon. Of course, I tried to be nonchalant about my doubts.
The relationship was still new, and I was trying to hide my closet
pessimism from his unbridled optimism, at least until he fell
for me.
When I returned to Notre Dame in the fall for my senior year,
we remained in casual contact. One Sunday morning that October,
I woke up (doubtless hung over) and happened to flip on the TV
to Chicago's WGN, where they were covering the marathon live.
After watching the inspiring broadcast, even though I never caught
a glimpse of him, it hit me that this was the man I wanted to
marry. He made me want to be a better person. It wasn't just his
athletic pursuits; he challenged me spiritually, intellectually,
and emotionally. He wasn't hiding anything, and he was helping
me come out of my shell.
Fast forward to January 2001: Ed and I have been married for
a year and a half, we have 8 marathons between us, and numerous
shorter triathlons. The Ironman-length triathlon eluded us. Ed
wasn't convinced that the training required would be compatible
with his full-time job. I was convinced that no amount of training
would get me over the Ironman finish line. But one fateful night
that month, in typical Ed-like fashion, he announced that he had
signed up for Ironman Florida: "No more excuses, I'm ready to
take some action." Ed and I have always had a healthily competitive
relationship. I signed up for the race the next day.
The countdown and the training began in anticipation of the
big day, November 10, 2001. We spent the winter and spring lifting
weights and preparing for a June marathon to get our strength
and endurance up to par. Once the weather broke, we spent our
weekends biking and swimming along the Chicago lakefront. In August,
we successfully completed a half-Ironman distance race in central
Iowa. At last, now 12 weeks out, the final preparations for Ironman
began.
Fear and doubt were waging a war in my mind against logic and
pure desire. Surely if the hours of training were logged, how
could I fail? It wasn't fear that got me out of bed and on my
bike at 5 a.m. most Saturday mornings, it was a longing to succeed
in this crazy quest. But in order to assuage my fears, I was soaking
up all the information about Ironman racing I could find on the
Internet, in books and from firsthand reports. One thought I came
across stuck with me through the rest of my training and I carried
it with me through the race:
"Competing in Ironman requires core strength. This won't
take a membership to a gym. You can't get it in the weight room.
I'm talking body core. You've got to get right with God because
you're going to pray out there."
I began to reflect on the sacrifices Ed and I had made over
that year of training. Friends and family had many times taken
second priority to our schedule, but in spite of that, they were
still our biggest fans. Not a word of discouragement or skepticism
was uttered by them, only expressions of support and awe of the
task that lay ahead. I drew on the strength they provided, and
I thanked God for giving me these people and this body of mine.
Soon enough, Ed and I found ourselves well trained (we hoped),
healthy, and on our way to Florida. The first thing I checked
upon our arrival in Panama City was the weather forecast. It was
going to be sunny and 75 on race day! Now, I only had to hope
that the sharks didn't mistake me for a seal in my wetsuit and
that the wind wasn't strong enough to kick up any major waves.
For two days, we wandered around the race headquarters, relaxed
in the sun, and soaked up all the Ironman energy that abounded
on the hotel grounds.
On race day, I woke at 4:45 a.m. and rolled over to look out
the window. The palm trees were not moving, which was a good thing.
If the trees weren't moving, then the water shouldn't be either.
Despite the fact that our stomachs were in knots, we managed to
eat, dress, and check our gear one last time. At 6:40 a.m., we
were on the beach, in our wetsuits, and listening to the d.j.
play some lackluster tunes by Yanni. Thankfully, he must have
realized that half the crowd was sleepwalking, and he started
spinning some real music (i.e., Madonna!) after that. At 7 a.m.,
the starting gun went off. Ed and I wished each other luck. The
last thing I heard before my head went under was the announcer
saying, "there they go on a 140.6 mile journey," and U2's "Beautiful
Day" playing in the background. Outside of a little chop from
the TV helicopter above us and the 1,800 fellow swimmers around
me, the water was cool and calm.
I finished the 2.4 mile swim right about when I expected and
headed towards the transition area to change and get my bike.
By now, Ed was about 15 minutes ahead of me, and I knew I likely
wouldn't see him again until the run course. Of the three events,
biking is by far my weakest. Given that it typically occupies
40 to 50 percent of the elapsed time in the Ironman triathlon,
I was counting on some serious mental toughness to pull me through.
The day was hot, the course was not shaded, and near the end
I spent some long miles with few other competitors in sight. At
about mile 90, I caught myself singing Prince's "Delirious" to
myself ("I get de-lir-i-ous…do do do do") and I knew I better
snap out of it get moving. I wondered how Ed was faring and thought
back to all the training sessions we had done together. We would
go for long swims at Ohio Street beach downtown, even though he
knew he would end up on the beach, wet and cold, waiting for me.
On more than one 100-mile bike ride, he stayed within sight of
me the entire ride, even though he was capable of finishing miles
ahead. Each and every time I whined about the training and doubted
my abilities, he was there telling me how strong I was and how
proud he was of me. So, I grabbed an Oreo and a Nutter Butter
from the smorgasbord I had attached to my body and my bike and
really got spinning. Surely I couldn't let myself down, but I
didn't want to let Ed down either.
I came into the bike-to-run transition area ready to sob from
pure elation for having completed the 112 miles. However, I held
my emotion inside out of fear that the race officials would think
I was injured and not let me continue. I channeled those emotions
to my precious feet, which were getting ready to carry me for
the final 26.2 miles of the race. Oddly enough, running completely
re-energized me. Instead of being virtually alone, like I was
on many stretches of the bike course, I was constantly surrounded
by other athletes, spectators and volunteers. I actually had fun,
chatting it up with other runners who looked like they could use
some encouragement, joking around with the beer-drinking spectators
and extending my many thanks to the amazing volunteers. I saw
Ed at two different points on the course and each time rejoiced
that he was healthy and on his way to the finish line. As the
night grew darker, the realization that I was also on my way to
finishing well before the midnight deadline grew brighter. About
2 miles from the finish line, I could see the bright lights and
hear the faint hum of the crowd in the grandstands. I thought
back to my silly childhood dreams of being an Olympian, knowing
that this was probably as close as I was going to get and relishing
how damn good it felt.
My aches and pains disappeared as I grew closer, and I soon
found myself sprinting. As I came down the finisher's chute, my
name was announced and I couldn't help but do a few celebratory
high kicks. The race was only one day long, but I knew in my heart
I would be an Iron(wo)man for life!
* * *
| Angela North '95 |
Ed Foppe |
| 2001 Ironman Florida Finisher |
2001 Ironman Florida Finisher |
| Swim: 01:28:24 |
Swim: 01:11:54 |
| Transition 1: 00:11:00 |
Transition 1: 00:09:04 |
| Bike: 07:31:15 |
Bike: 06:08:11 |
| Transition 2: 00:08:34 |
Transition 2: 00:07:50 |
| Run: 05:08:11 |
Run: 04:52:38 |
| Total: 14:28:23 |
Total: 12:30:14 |
