The

Undeniable

Ruth

®

…and the Ruth shall set you free!

  • Ironman Lake Placid – Your Questions Answered

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    Ruth Carter

    Thank you for being part of my journey to become an Ironman. I hope you’ve enjoyed the other posts to date that highlighted the 2.4-mile swim, the 112-mile bike, the 26.2-mile run, and the numerous supporters who helped me along the way. Now it’s time to answer your questions:

    What Made You Start Doing Ironman Races?

    Coach David is certified in train people to do running races and triathlons. After I completed my first marathon, I said I wanted to cross train with swimming and biking. That led to me signing up for a sprint triathlon in 2018 to see if I liked doing all three activities consecutively.

    About 10 seconds into that race, I thought, “Yeah, I like this.” Once I finished that race, I signed up for and competed in my first Half Ironman in Maine in 2019. That was also the first race I did with my coach. I went into that race with the plan that if I liked the Half Ironman that the next step would be to do the full.

    What is the Cut Off Time for Each Segment?

    Swim: 2 hours, 20 minutes after the last swimmer enters the water

    Bike: 5:30 p.m.

    Run: 17 hours or midnight

    Did You Have a Time Goal for Each Segment or was the Goal to Finish with Little Regard for Time Other Than to Make the Cut Offs?

    My goal was to finish within 17 hours. I didn’t have any goals for each segment.

    What was Your Strategy for Preparing for this Race that Wasn’t in the City Where You Live?

    Most of my swim training was in the pool and not in a lake, but that’s probably true for most racers. Two days before the race, my coach took me for a practice swim in the lake where we’d be racing so I could get comfortable with the water and the guide cable.

    The Lake Placid bike course is notorious for its hills. Earlier in my training, I did my long rides at South Mountain where the inclines were as steep as Lake Placid, but not as long. As it got hotter, I had to do my bike rides closer to home because I couldn’t logistically make it work to get up, drive to the mountain, and do my workout before it got too hot.

    I had the same issue with running. For my long runs, I had to do loops where I regularly stopped at home to refill my Gatorade and drink extra water because it was so hot. I regularly ran hills because the Lake Placid run course was also quite hilly, but the shorter hills closer to home were more than sufficient.

    We knew my longest training days would be hotter but less humid than Lake Placid. Part of why I arrived days before the race was to adapt to the time change and get used to the humidity.

    Team Roher started the race together.

    Did You Get Kicked a lot in the Swim?

    Did I get kicked? Yes – kicked, hit, and bumped. I also ran into a kayak and more than one buoy.  

    I wouldn’t say I got kicked a lot. Taking the inside track had the advantage of keeping me away from a lot of the other swimmers. I wanted to be on the left side of the guide cable, and most people opted for the right side.

    Did You Use Multiple Strokes and Which One was the Dominant One?

    I used freestyle (front crawl) for the entire swim. That’s what I trained with. I saw and passed one swimmer who appeared to be doing the breast stroke the whole way.

    Unlike most races, Lake Placid had a guide cable, so I didn’t have to spot the buoys during the swim. It’s also why I ran into at least two of them. In a race without a guide cable, I could see myself doing mostly freestyle with the occasional breast stroke break to better track the buoys while maintaining forward momentum.

    As a Non-Binary Person, How was Your Experience in the Transition Area?

    The transition area had two changing tents – one for men and one for women. As I entered the transition area during T1 (swim to bike) and T2 (bike to run), there was a different volunteer directing the racers to the tents, saying “Women here. Men down there.”

    Each time, I responded with “I’m non-binary,” and without skipping a beat, the volunteer said, “Use whichever one you want.”

    I doubt the volunteers had training about what to do with non-binary racers because Ironman does not currently offer a non-binary division. Instead, I think their supportive responses were likely due to the volunteers thinking one or both of the following:

    1. I don’t care.
    2. It’s your race. Do whatever you need to do.

    What Socks Did You Wear for Ironman?

    For the bike, I wore DeFeet 6” cycling socks. For the run, Feetures Elite Max Cushion socks.

    How Were Your Interactions with Other Competitors?

    Super friendly! If you’re racing near me, you’re not there to win. You’re there for the experience and to finish. There was lots of upbeat encouragement between us.

    What Did You do for Nutrition?

    In the final days before the race, I ate as much as I could. In the morning before the race, I had overnight oats loaded with pumpkin seeds, almonds, chia seeds, ground flax seeds, peanut butter powder, protein powder, and raisins. I also had a banana.

    Between the swim and the bike, I had a calorie-bomb cookie. During the bike ride, I had 2.5 scoops of chocolate protein powder in one of my water bottles. I grabbed a fresh Gatorade and half a banana at every aid station. I took a hit of BASE salt at every aid station. I had some gels during the ride too.

    Between the bike and the run, I had some electrolyte gummy candies with caffeine. During the run, I had gels at Mile 5, 10, and 15. I drank Gatorade at most of the aid stations, and I took a hit of BASE salt at each mile marker.

    How Did You Eat Enough?

    You don’t. My coach lost 7 pounds during the race.

    I couldn’t eat right after finishing the race, but once my body settled for a few hours, I was famished!

    How Did You Handle the Heat?

    Pretty well. Starting at Mile 47 of the bike, I dumped a bottle of cold water over my head at each aid station. During the run, I dumped ice into my sports bra at each aid station, and I ran through the “human car wash” each time a spectator set one up for us.

    How Many Moments Did You Want to Quit During the Race?

    None.

    Less than 10 miles to go – still smiling!

    Did You have to Push Through any Walls You Hit, Both Physically and Mentally?

    I never wanted to quit, but there were some challenging moments. The first was right before the race when we were squished together waiting to start the swim. I don’t do crowds well.

    The second challenge was near the end of the first loop on the bike. I took a break at one of the aid stations, tired and frustrated, and I realized I was probably under fueled. Once I bumped up my calories and protein, I felt better. Shifting my mindset to accepting the pain made the second lap much easier.

    At any Time During Training (as opposed to the race itself), Did You Consider Backing Out? If so, How did You Keep on Track?

    No. Once I paid my registration fee, I was committed to race and the training it would take to get to the finish line. It was exceptionally challenging to do my long bike and run workouts in the Phoenix heat, but I pushed through.

    What was Your Biggest Surprise During the Race?

    I don’t think anything can fully prepare you to bike up the Lake Placid hills, particularly how long those climbs are. I trained on hills that were as steep as the Lake Placid hills, not nothing like how long those hills are. During my training, I regularly stood up on my pedals while climbing hills, and early on in the race I learned I go faster when I stay in the saddle.

    Did Your Body Have any Serious Difficulties at any Point such as Cramps or Muscle Tightness that Made Progress Difficult?

    No. By the time I got off the bike, my quads and hamstrings hurt a lot. I couldn’t lift my feet far off the ground. Every step hurt, but I was happy taking each of those steps.  

    At What Point on the Marathon Did You Know, “I’ve Got This?”

    I knew from my first step into the run course. My legs were sore and tired, but I had plenty of time on clock to finish. It was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.

    What was the Last Mile of the Marathon Like Physically and What was Going Through Your Mind?

    By the last mile of the run, my legs were exhausted. I only ran when the course was flat or going downhill and walked every incline.

    What was going through my mind? I was excited to cross the finish line and achieve this massive goal of becoming an Ironman. It was a bit overwhelming. I’d worked so hard for years, and this moment was finally here. As I crossed the finish line, I burst into tears, overwhelmed with joy and relief.

    Being Non-Binary, Does the Gender Specific Name “Ironman” Bother You?

    No. Ironman is a brand.

    I’ve had people refer to me as an Iron Person, and I correct them saying, “I’m an Ironman.”

    I already have the M-dot keychain!

    Are You Going to Get the Tattoo?

    Of course! I plan to put a variation of the M-dot on the back of my calf.

    Are You Going to do Another Ironman?

    There’s a good chance. I’m looking at a Half Ironman for 2023 and a full Ironman in 2024.

    Those of my quads – covered with exercise-induced vasculitis.

    What Would You do Differently?

    If I do the Lake Placid Ironman or a race with a hilly bike course, I’ll change my winter and spring long bike workouts to include steeper and longer hill climbs.

    One of the challenges I had with the long run workouts in the hot sun leading up to my race was exercise-induced vasculitis, aka Disney Rash. My legs between the bottom of my shorts and the top of my socks were covered with red splotches. After the race, I learned there are climate controlled indoor running tracks in my community. I will definitely use one of them for my long runs instead of running outside if I do another summer Ironman.

    Do You Feel any Shifts in How You Think About or Carry Yourself After Completing such a Herculean Goal?

    After the race, I started using the mantra, “Fuck you. I’m an Ironman.”

    I only say this in my head, and I don’t use this in an I’m-Better-Than-You way.  Instead, it’s an exultation to mean, “I can do this” when directed toward myself, and I’ve used it to mean “You can’t intimidate me” when directed towards opposing counsel.

    Thank you for following along for my Ironman journey. I hope you enjoyed it!

  • New Swimming Accessory: Choker Necklace

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    Ruth Carter

    Yup. I’m wearing a choker.

    I don’t like things touching the front of my neck.

    I don’t own turtlenecks.

    I don’t wear kerchiefs or fashion scarves around my neck.

    When I go to the salon, I ask them to make the drape one snap looser.

    Sometimes I can’t even wear crewneck t-shirts because – you guessed it – the edge of the shirt barely touches my neck.

    When I picked out my wetsuit, I got one with the lowest neckline I could find. It still touches my neck. Actually, my wetsuit is snug around my neck. It’s snug around every part of my body. That’s how wetsuits work.

    When I’m wearing my wetsuit and I go from being vertical and walking into the water to horizontally swimming in it, the discomfort becomes more intense as going face down puts extra pressure across the front of my neck. (If past lives are real, I’m pretty sure I either drowned or was strangled in one of them.) Add in being hit by other swimmers and unable to find my swimming cadence, and it’s enough to make me panic.

    Heading into Ironman Mont Tremblant, I’m trying to work on this. I don’t want to start this race with a panic attack.

    I can’t control how choppy the water is.

    I can’t control other swimmers bumping into me.

    What I can do is force myself to get used to swimming with something snug around my neck. (I know some athletes cut their wetsuits to lower the neckline, but I don’t want to do that.)

    My chokers, courtesy of the junior section at Target.

    I bought myself a set of five stretchy choker necklaces, popular among tweens and young teens. I look like a person having a mid-life crisis when I wear them.

    Before I leave the house for the pool, I pull one of these things on, and I don’t take it off until I’m back. I figure the more I wear it, the sooner I’ll get over the heebie jeebies of having something touching my neck.

    For my first day wearing a choker to the pool, I opted to wear the red one so if the feeling of it touching my neck was too much and I ripped it off mid-lap, I could easily find it in the water and not litter in the pool.

    Thankfully, that didn’t happen. I don’t notice it when I’m swimming. Once I’m fully used to wearing one necklace, I may try wearing two, then three, at a time, so I can get used to the material covering more of my neck.

    Hopefully, this exercise will teach me that I can have something snug against my neck without feeling like I’m choking myself.

  • Half Ironman Maine 2019: Race Recap

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    Ruth Carter

    My first Half Ironman triathlon is in the books: 70.3 miles in 7 hours, 18 minutes, 25 seconds. I’ll take that.

    This race was about a year in the making, ever since I did my first sprint triathlon last September. Less than 30 seconds into that race, I knew the Half Ironman was next.

    Getting to Maine

    Leading up to Maine 70.3 was training – lots of sweaty training – in the Phoenix heat. I was usually slimy with sweat by Mile 3 of a run, no matter how early I left the house. Coach David and I had to be careful about not having me outside too long on the 110+ degree days.

    I also spent the last year dealing with a hip injury. I had to defer both my half marathon and full marathon over the winter because my hip wouldn’t let me train the way I needed to. Thankfully, my physical therapist is also a triathlete, so she was the perfect person to help David and me build up my mileage and adjust my strategy to manage the pain.

    Pre-Race Prep

    I had many calls and texts with David leading up to race day. We talked about how I was going to fuel during the race with protein powder, gels, and salt. He reviewed my packing list to make sure I brought everything I was going to need. I even made little lists to remind myself of what I needed to do during each transition (swim-to-bike and bike-to-run).

    I arrived in Old Orchard Beach, Maine two days before the race. Our hotel was minutes away from the race expo and the starting line. We hit the race expo first to get our race packets (timing chip, race number, bike stickers, swim cap, etc.). I was so jittery-excited I could barely take it all in.

    That afternoon, David took me swimming in the ocean. It had been over a year since I’d last swam in an ocean, and it was my first time swimming in my wetsuit. We worked on my form and cadence (which is hard to maintain in choppy water), and he lovingly reminded me of what it’s like to swim in a race by purposely running into me. He calls it Direct Recovery (of) Open Water Navigation (&) Guidance (D.R.O.W.N.G). It sounds cruel, but during a triathlon, people hit and kick you all the time during the swim. It’s better to be ready for it – because it will happen – so it won’t freak you out during the race.

    Saturday was all about resting. I think I was the only non-Orthodox Jew in our group. It was fun participating in my first Shabbas lunch and learning all the rules. Since I was the “Shabbas goy” who could do “work,” I walked both David’s and my bikes to the race transition area. He came with me and we timed how long it took to walk from the transition area to the swim start and back to our hotel.

    It was windy on Saturday, and David and I talked about what that would mean for my race. I shrugged and said, “I’ll still PR.”

    https://www.flickr.com/photos/newenglandcoast/10902548214/
    Old Orchard Beach, Maine. This is where we went into the water. Photo by NewEnglandCoast from Flickr (Creative Commons License)

    Race Day!

    Race day morning was nerve-wracking. I was so nervous/excited as a powered down my oatmeal, pulled my wetsuit halfway up my body, and packed my gear bag for the race. David was cool as a cucumber as I was powerwalking to bike transition area, afraid I wouldn’t have enough time to lay out my gear before we had to report to the beach for the swim. (We had plenty of time.)

    1.2-Mile Swim in the Atlantic Ocean

    For the start of the race, we lined up based on when we expected to finish the swim. Instead of going in all at once, the organizers had us going in four swimmers at a time, each group five seconds apart.

    Even though David is a faster swimmer than me, he lined up with me so he could be there to give me a last hug and be the proud coach to who told the announcer that it was my first Half Ironman. We walked into the ocean together, and within minutes we were apart, swimming our own races as we expected.

    The swim was brutal. The water was cold and choppy. I had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins that I didn’t feel cold, but it was cold enough that the race was “booties legal” (below 65 degrees). Even though I was wearing goggles, I could barely see anything underwater, except the air bubbles coming out of my mouth. I couldn’t even see the hands and feet that were coming towards me until right before they hit me in the face. With 2,400+ racers, I got hit a lot.

    The race route was a rectangle – out, over, and back again. Throughout the route, there were volunteers on paddle boards and kayaks where you could grab on if you needed a minute to rest and breathe. I checked my watch when I grabbed onto the first kayak – 4:45 into the race. I was panicking. I couldn’t find my cadence and I it seemed like I was getting hit by the other racers every few seconds.

    There were three other racers holding onto the kayak. We gave each other a few encouraging words before letting go to swim on. 

    At the buoy signaling the last turn for shore, I began to get pulled off course. In my wetsuit, I was essentially a floaty on top of the water, being pulled by the sideways current. A paddle boarding volunteer caught up with me and told me to aim back towards to race route. I tried, but it didn’t work. I was too tired and too light to get back to the group. Instead, I aimed for shore and walked back when my feet hit the sand.

    One of the challenges of Ironman is you’re stuck listening to your own thoughts for the entire race. (No earbuds or cell phones allowed.) I kept myself going with words of encouragement using “Baby Duck,” my gymnastics coach’s pet name for his gymnasts.

    I was so tired after the swim. I finished it in 1 hour, 2 minutes – 12 minutes longer than I wanted – and because I got pulled so far off course, I ended up doing 2,800 yards (including my walk back) instead of 2,100.

    As I walked back to the official swim exit, I saw two lifeguards carrying a swimmer out of the water because they were too tired to walk. After the race, I heard a rumor that 70 people didn’t finish either because they were too tired or got seasick.

    Transition One: Swim-to-Bike

    As I walked over the sensor that indicated that I finished the swim, I said, “Fuck Ironman” and flipped off the photographer getting shot of all of us coming out of the swim. I was so tired and angry. That’s also when I finally felt how cold I was.

    At the end of the swim, there were volunteers called “strippers” who peeled off our wetsuits. As I walked up to them, I said, “Who wants to touch me?” Two women held up their hands to help me. They pulled off my wetsuit and handed it to me to carry back to the bike transition.

    Once I got to my bike, I pulled off my swim cap and googles, sprayed down with sunblock, put on my socks, bike shoes, bandana, helmet, and sunglasses, and I was off again.

    56-Mile Bike Ride

    The bike ride took us through the back roads of many towns in the area. I loved that this bike route was a single loop rather than several laps on a smaller loop.

    Near the beginning of the ride, I saw a street called Ruth Way. I smiled and thought, “My race. My way.”

    This area of Maine is gorgeous – lots of houses with barn stars (for good luck), cows, big trees, and open pastures. The route had rolling hills, and only a few were brutal. It was much nicer than city riding.

    Throughout the ride, I found people to pace with – we learned each other’s names and said hello as we passed each other. I was pleased to see that I frequently passed people, especially on the hills. As I climbed each hill, I muttered, “We train on hills because we race on hills.” It felt gratifying to pass other people in my division. (The organizers write your age on the back of your left calf in black marker before the beginning of the race.)

    There were three aid stations along the ride that had bananas, water, and Gatorade. I came to a full stop at each one to have a banana and switch out my Gatorade bottle. I was like a Minion, smiling, and saying, “Mmm, banana” each time. Most of the other racers near me could grab and consume these without falling. I wasn’t that skilled yet.

    Based on our training rides, I knew there was a chance I’d catch up to David during the bike. I passed him at Mile 36. He was unmistakable with his tzitzit and his neon yellow “Do Epic Shit” socks. I was impressed when he passed me just before the end of the ride. We finished with only two riders between us.

    My race medal. I earned this thing.

    Transition Two: Bike-to-Run

    I made sure I did three things before I headed out for the run:

    • My shoes were tied the way I like them.
    • I sprayed my skin with sunblock again.
    • I put on my hat.

    Even though we were in Maine, I didn’t want to finish the race looking like a lobster.

    David is much faster in the transitions than I am. (He’s done 6 Ironman and more than 20 Half Ironman races.) By the time I got out on the run, he was already about three minutes ahead of me.

    13.1-Mile Run

    I felt better than I expected during the run. I’ve heard that some racers have to walk the first part of the run until they get their “legs back.” I could run from my first step. I wasn’t fast, but I was running. Actually, I was surprised by how many people I passed during the run portion.

    The race organizers had aid stations every 1 to 1.5 miles along the route with Gatorade, water, Coke, bananas, oranges, and pretzels. I stayed hydrated with Gatorade, treated myself to Coke twice, and gave myself hits of salt from a race vial that I was carrying with me.

    About a third of the run was on a nature trail. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t like trail running. I’m clumsy enough without outside help. I caught up with David around Mile 4, while we were on the trail. As I approached him, I said, “Fuck you, David,” and he responded, “That’s my athlete.” He “forgot” to tell me that part of the race was on dirt. I passed him and kept going. (He and I have a running joke about cursing his name.)

    My strategy for the run was to alternate between running and walking. I started with run 9 minutes/walk 1 minute. At minute 58 of my run, my hip started to hurt, so I shifted to run 6/walk 1.

    Crossing the Finish Line

    I ran as hard as I could for the last half mile of the race – pushing myself for a strong finish. I raised my arms triumphantly as I crossed the finish line. To be honest, I was so tired, I was surprised I could still lift my arms.

    I hung out in the finish line area, knowing David wasn’t far behind me. He crossed the finish line five minutes after me and gave me a big hug. He was beaming with coach pride.

    Athlete and Proud Coach

    Post-Race

    It felt so good to step into a hot shower after the race. I was covered in salt, sweat, and sunblock.

    The next morning, I flew home to Phoenix. I was tired and sore, but thankfully, the pain was nothing like I feared.

    So many thanks to Ironman, the volunteers, everyone who cheered along the race route, all my loved ones who supported me in this journey, and especially Coach David and his family. I couldn’t have done this without you.