Notes from Ironman Austria 2007
Jacqueline Stolte shares her once in a lifetime experience
Ifound balance as a young girl by being active. I was a Whaler gymnast, field hockey forward and giddy water girl for the football team. I was both a dancer and an equestrienne. My unbounded energy needed constant tending to, a fact not lost on

my mother who forced me out of the house to run as an antidote to my sometimes surly and often moody disposition.

I'm 39-years-old now and my need for activity has not changed. Triathlon is, in many respects, the perfect sport for me, but an Ironman? In Austria?

I spent nearly $14,000 and 20 hours per week over six months of training. There were times I wanted to throw my very expensive bicycle into the Pacific Ocean and was sick of waking up at 4:30 a.m. to work out before working. My home was a constant mess and socializing was almost impossible. The more I trained, the more sleep I needed. And I had to find a way to eat several times a day.

I've decided that doing an Ironman is not a good idea - for me, anyway. The commitment, however, did increase my capacity for more of everything in life.

The point is, on July 8, 2007, I swam 2.4 miles, biked 112 and ran 26.2; I burned 11,000 calories, lost five pounds and had pink parts so compromised on the bike that the tips of my toes burned.

It was also a humbling experience, and marked a new beginning for me.

The race did not start on time but I hardly noticed since I was so nervous at the thought of freestyle swimming that far, in a wet pack like sardines. There were nearly 2,500 of us, which for me translated into 5,000 elbows and 5,000 feet. There were helicopters swirling overhead, airplanes towing banners (auf Deutsch) and hot air balloons carrying spectators. The stunning, azure lake was dotted like pixels with boats and docks overloaded with onlookers. The emcee, with a resounding and masculine voice, had set the stage for our start with a moment of silence for an Israeli athlete who'd been killed on his bike one week earlier. He was a father and not yet an Ironman.

It took me a good 15 minutes to calm myself down and actually start swimming. I hyperventilated; I swallowed water. I had a stern conversation with my little self about this nonsense of drowning in a past life. And then, I began. I became part Tinkerbell, part stingray, thanks to some visualizing I'd done while unable to sleep before the race. (I slept a total of six hours Friday and Saturday nights, and I was on empty before I even began, just another part of the experience.) Aside from the large sandbar we'd been directed to swim over, I floated and glided and still came in under my goal of 1:30.

Phew.

The rest would be a piece of cake, relatively speaking. I wasn't really sure how I'd do on the bike, time wise, but it became clear to me pretty quickly that I was not in any hurry. I'd hoped for a 6:30 split, though I didn't pay much attention to my watch, nor to my place in line. I got a cramp in the lower right quadrant of my back almost immediately and spent a good deal of my focus trying to work it out by standing, breathing deeply and pedaling smoothly. When I wasn't managing pain, which was about half the time, I allowed myself to be stunned by the natural beauty of the mountains that rose up like divine skyscrapers all around me, and made an effort to be present to the throngs that had come out to support us that day. "Upp! Upp! Upp! Su-per, Jacqueline! Suuuu-paiirr!" Even a murder of crows cawed in mimicry of a roadside cheering crew, all of whom were enjoying the day on schnitzel and a few beers.

It is worth noting that I also saw my mother. Yes, my dear mom came across the Blue to support me on her birthday with her friend Stella, both of them in Nantucket T-shirts and baseball caps. She'd hired a car and driver to cover some ground. Mom also had a flag made in the shape of my island home and colored like the American flag. It was touching, if not embarassing, to see her appearing like a ghost at various points, jumping up and down. Their enthusiasm and exuberance landed them a spot on prime time local television.

With the last 10 kilometers of the bike course ahead of me, I was inspired to just get off my bike. I hauled. I plucked one person after the next and came rolling into transition with a big sigh. I decided I'd take my time there, changing out of my nasty clothes and wiping the dirt from my face and body. I applied more sunscreen. I ate some miso soup. I removed my bike shoes. The thought that I now had to run a marathon was, frankly, boring.

Already this race report is too long, though perhaps appropriately given the subject matter. All I want to say about it is this: the spectators were spectacular. The support was superb. I have never felt so connected to so many strangers, ever. Apparently, the Ironman brings with it a flood of 40,000 additional people to little Klagenfurt, and I am certain every single one of them lined the marathon course. People would look me in the eyes and repeat the same 'Upp! Upp! Upp! Super, Jacqueline!', in a way that bespoke their awe and admiration for what we'd come out to do. As I ran and sometimes walked the 26.2 miles, up and down the lake shore and in and out of the city center, I was hyper aware of what it took to get me to this odd place in time.

I was on the verge of being sick for the last two hours of the run because I'd dropped my electrolytes and no longer had an ability to absorb and digest food and water, but there was no way in hell I would not finish. I finished strong, running a sub-eight-minute mile for the last three miles or so and came across the finish line just as the sun had set over the horizon. Madonna singing "Hung Up" was blasted over the speakers. My poor mom wanted to hug me but I was afraid if I'd let her I would collapse and bring her down, too. Instead, I was firmly guided by a volunteer to the athletes' tent where I collected my medal and T-shirt, fed on goulash and showered among a bunch of naked, foreign men.

Now that was pretty cool... I

Jacqueline Stolte grew up on Nantucket. She now lives in San Francisco.