7 lessons learnt from ultraman - jen mcmillan

Coach Rich says he is a bit of a bad influence when it comes to setting the bar with races.  And he’s right.  Watching my work friend Dave Kalinowski and Richard do Ultraman had certainly lit a tiny little fire in me deep down, and I knew I would love to do Ultraman, but I would never have suggested it.  Partly because it seemed laughable.  And partly because I just couldn’t get my head around running a double marathon. Also because I would never have put my hand up for a goal I wasn’t sure I could achieve!

So, when I sat down after my first IM and said “You see my data.  What should I do next?” and Richard said, “Have you ever thought about doing Ultraman?” it was probably like throwing accelerant on that little ember! I muttered about the double marathon and he assured me that he knew I could do this race.  Yes – he is undoubtedly a bad influence.  But without that influence I would have missed out on an amazing and life changing race that must surely have been the athletic highlight of my life!

I thought about doing a traditional race report, but nobody needs to hear the blow by blow about how much I swore when I found I had no gears on day 2, or how I nearly threw up my gel at the 70km mark of the run, so this is more about the things that I think were critical to success in the event and the ways in which it changed me.

1. Just do it! So this sounds a bit Nike advert, but one of the very best things I did was train on the Day 2 course on Easter Saturday.  It was the most shitty, wet, windy, miserable day.  I got on the bike and it rained.  My knicks were full of road grit, my bike’s drivetrain sounded awful (despite getting cleaned and re-lubed twice during the day) and I just kept grinding it out.  I was at the 214km mark of this 240km training day, when I got a flat on a piece of glass on the road at Coolum.  I didn’t see the glass in time because it was getting dark early due to the weather.  I pulled over and checked – yep – a flat rear tire.  Duane pulled in behind me and jumped out ready to change it.  And it started to pour raining.  I told him in no uncertain terms that I was done.  It was dark.  It was raining.  And I was done.  214km was going to have to be enough that day.  I was busy beating myself up over cutting the session short.  But Richard sent a message that I had battled well. And then Dave smartened me up at work telling me that those sorts of days are good for the legs and good for the head.  And besides, I was out there when nobody else was. And he was right.  It was a very tough day out there.  And when I lost my gears on Day 2 and was looking down a very long and sad day on the same course, that hideous day stood me in such good stead.  Because I had been hit with far worse already and I had survived.  So I was able to keep on going.
2. It’s Ok to lose your shit sometimes.  Just don’t unpack and live there! When I found myself without gears at the start of Day 2 (looks like when they changed my wheel back over after my Day 1 flat tire, it must have dislodged the cable outer) it was a pretty big moment.  I had two usable gears on the big ring, and three usable gears on the small ring.  All were in the middle of the block.  So nothing for top end speed and nothing for climbing hills!  Bugger!  I saw the race slip away from me.  I saw a year of hard work result in an unfinished race and no medal for the wall.  I saw another year of hardship for the household while I chased unfinished business.  And, worst of all, the little voice in my head said, “well at least you have a good excuse now for not getting in on time Day 2!”  It was going to be a tough ask for me to get in on Day 2 as it was without that noise going on in my head!  I did allow myself a small tantrum.  The toys were thrown around in the cot a bit while I asked my crew to find a bike mechanic and start prepping my back up bike in case I needed it.  They did ask (rather ill-advisedly) where they could find a bike mechanic.  I have to admit yelling at them, “How the f*ck would I know?  Why are you f*cking asking me?”  Probably my worst moments.  But then the officials were waiting at 40km and they took a quick look and one of them managed to do a barrel adjustment that at least got me the bottom gears.  I was back in business, because I could at least get up the hills with some comfort.  I launched up the hill towards Cooroy and started to regroup.  I had truly turned myself inside out pedalling those couple of gears during the early sector, as this was the nice flat ‘free speed’ section where I was supposed to build a nice buffer in my average speed to be eaten up by the coming hills!  I had blown my power plan and I had to get back on track.  I decided to press ‘Lap’ so I could concentrate on regrouping in the next section of the course and get back on track with the power plan.  I used this strategy multiple times during this long day.  In preparation for this event, I relearned “The Man From Snowy River” and it copped a serious reciting at various points of this day.  It really resonated in me that the underestimated ‘stripling on a small and weedy beast’ came through in the end, as I would also come through.
3. Things happen for a reason.  Obviously it was not ideal to lose gears.  And it was absolutely wonderful that the Event Director from Mexico’s UM race was a half decent bike wrangler and was able to get me some gears back.  But I still could not access my top three cogs.  This meant I was effectively speed limited (under my own steam) to 30km/h at a cadence of 92+rpm.  I’m here to tell you that my thighs (which are a bit like Arnie’s) are not really good for 92+rpm for extended periods of time.  Once I got to 100km left to go, and I had done enough maths to convince myself that a serious effort would get me home in time, I had little choice but to use every bit of downhill to the max, pedal like hell in my hardest gear until I couldn’t sustain the cadence anymore, and then coast until my speed dropped to about 32km/h and then start to pedal like hell again.  Not really ideal for the big old time trial up the coast to home with a nice tailwind!  But it was the only choice I had and I took it, and I made it with 15minutes to spare.  The good thing was, that if I had had all my hardest gears, in all reality I would still have flogged it home, in a much harder gear, maybe got home 5 minutes quicker, but would almost certainly have cooked my quads and glutes for the next day’s run. Instead I spun like a demon and had legs left for the next day. Happy ending!
4. You need to rely on people.  I have always been independent, self-regulating, a bit OCD, basically pretty difficult to take care of.  I like to look after my own self and I find it hard to trust that anybody will do what needs to be done as well as I can, or the way that I like it done.  But you cannot do this race yourself.  I chose my sister to be my crew captain.  She is so like me it hurts.  I could not have had anybody else do it.  She was magnificent.  But it was very difficult for me to let go and trust that they would have the right stuff in the right place when it was needed.  I made lists.  I wrote plans.  I bought supplies.  I had stationary.  I had crates and containers.  I had spares of all sorts of things.  It was all sorted.  But I still found it hard to trust.  By the end of the first day I was so tired I could hardly think straight and I had to let it all go.  I did.  I have amazing friends, an amazing partner, an amazing child, an amazing sister.  They took care of me perfectly.  It was a huge growth in me to rely on them.  They kept me on pace.  They got me home in time on three out of three days.  They did it with good humour.  Some of them cried because they were so invested in my dream.  What more could you ever ask of your family and friends.  They. Were. Awesome!
5. Damn I love this body (and mind).  I am guilty. I hate being fat shamed.  And yet I am most guilty of doing it to myself.  I’m ok until I see a photo or a mirror, because I feel much trimmer than I really am.  It’s some really weird kind of reverse body dysmorphia! But when I turn up events like this, I feel like an old Mack Truck turning up to a Maserati convention!  I look at the inevitable group photo at the end of the training camp or event and think “Wow! One of those things is not like the other things!  One of those things just doesn’t belong!” (with due thanks to Sesame Street there).  And I felt no different turning up here – quite intimidated really.  But I did all of the training.  I was meticulously prepared.  I got out there and gave it everything.  Damnit – I ran the equivalent of running from Aspley to Mooloolaba Surf Club (so Rich tells me) and did a PB for the marathon on the way!  I was physically strong.  And I was mentally tough.  I looked after my body and arrived on race day uninjured.  I made it through the course on time every day.  I ran the whole second marathon with a torn calf and hardly gave away any time on my first marathon.  I was the oldest chick in the field and I was not the last finisher.  I got the job done.  And for once, I am so proud of this body and this mind and what they can do together.
6. The mushy stuff.  I am an engineer.  I love my facts and figures.  I worship at the altar of logic and reason.  I am not generally so much one for the sentimental.  People talked about the Ohana – the family feeling of this event.  People said how anybody who has done it becomes ‘one of the family.’  I kind of went, “Well yeah.  But that’s for other people.  The people that belong.” (See point 5 – I’m an idiot).  But I have to say this race was life changing.  There were only 50 people in the field.  And as many again in the organising crew.  And probably 3 times that many in support crews.  I have never in my life felt such an outpouring of support in an event.  People helped each other.  Crews supported other teams’ athletes. I have never been hugged by so many tall buff strangers in all my life, who called me by name and told me what an amazing job I did.  And they meant it!  One lady came up to me at the presentation dinner and told me, in all earnestness, that she had to leave early, but that she had followed me (because her athlete was just behind me a lot) for three days, and she couldn’t leave without telling me that I have the best calves she has ever seen!  Bloody hilarious!  For some reason it didn’t seem to matter that I suffered a bit slower than most out there, the suffering has made me a part of that family and they made me feel like I belong.  And like I earned my medal and trophy like everybody else.  I’m a Maserati on the inside!
7. Preparation again – because it is the most important thing.  I was icy calm.  I waited, as I did at my first Ironman, for the nervousness to start.  To get edgy and worry about whether “I had this!”  It didn’t arrive.  I think it boils down to the fact that I have total trust that Rich would never let me roll up to the start line without being prepared.  As I did at that first IM, I stood there in my wetsuit to start this race, and I was as cool as a cucumber.  Each day I woke up and checked how I felt.  My body felt good (because I was really well prepped for multiple long days of suffering).  I felt a bit tired mentally, and once or twice uttered the “Do I have to do this again!?” But really, it lasted but a minute and I just figured it was like another training day and off I went.  And it was fine.  Thanks Rich – looks like I can do anything you say I can!

 
So now I just need to realise that it is done.  It wasn’t just another big long training weekend (where Steve Foster helped me down the stairs onto the boardwalk at the end – OMG major fan moment!) but the real thing.  I achieved what I set out to do.  I am an Ultraman.  It’s just taking a really long time to sink in.  I quietly went back to swim squad this morning, and when I poked my head up at the end of my first 100m the whole squad was clapping because Codie (Grimsey) had told them what I had done.  Embarrassing! Nup – still hasn’t sunk in! 😊

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