Tackling the ultimate endurance feat

Ready or not, here I come.

A year ago, I was standing in line in the cool pre-dawn air of a Penticton, B.C., August morning, waiting my turn to plunk down my money and sign up for Ironman Canada 2009. Now it's here not months, not weeks, just days away.

This morning I got a call from the Bike Barn - the official Ironman Canada bike store informing me the bike I packed up in Montreal more than a week ago has arrived, safe and sound, in Penticton ahead of me, waiting to be re-assembled.

Tomorrow I head from Vancouver to the B.C. Interior with my sister, her twins and my 15-year-old son my gear bag packed and re-packed, checklists checked, two pairs of running shoes as I still can't make up my mind which will be the "magic" pair to carry me over 42.2 kilometres AFTER the 3.8K swim and the 180K bike ride.

I am 50 years old, and this is my first Ironman.

Until a co-worker challenged me to run 5K and help her raise money for Afghan schoolgirls at the start of the Afghanistan war in 2002, I hadn't even laced on a pair of running shoes in two decades. I couldn't run one full minute without wanting to stop, and it was six weeks of walk-run-walking before I could run for a half an hour without feeling winded. But one 5K race led to a sprint triathlon that same summer and by the next triathlon season, I was hooked.

Fast forward five years. I am driving back to Montreal from Magog, in Quebec's Eastern Townships, a shiny gold medal around my neck for placing first in my age group. My son quite innocently asks if I am not ready for a bigger challenge.

"What are you going to do when you turn 50?" he says.

"Maybe I'll do an Ironman," I reply.

I don't think I really meant it. Or at least, I don't think I really know what that meant to do an Ironman. I upped my training a little running enough that I was able to finish my first marathon in 26 years, in Chicago, a few months later.

I ran a couple of longer, Olympic-distance triathlons (1.5K swim, 40K bike ride, 10K run.) But really, I had no clue what I was in for, how to go about preparing for an event that is more than four times that distance. With all that uncertainty, I wasn't even entirely sure I'd sign up for the race when I flew to last year's event to watch it.

'When I lined up to sign up for the 2009 event, I was right behind a 26-year-old kid who jumps out of helicopters to fight forest fires for a living'

But go to Penticton and prepare to become infected with the Ironman bug the entire town turns out for the race, supporters chalk the sidewalks with their athlete's number, wildly cheering fans line the streets and lo and behold, they are cheering for everyone: the cyclists who look like extraterrestrials in their aerodynamic helmets whizzing by on their carbon-wheeled bikes and yes, the 50-year-olds and the stragglers, too!

Committing to the experience

When I lined up the morning after the 2008 race to sign up for the 2009 event, I was right behind a 26-year-old kid who jumps out of helicopters to fight forest fires for a living. Behind ME was hey! another 49-year-old woman who like me was looking for a way to celebrate a half century with a challenge. If she could do it, surely I could too.

I wondered about her, six months later, when I was dragging my butt to the basement of my favourite bike shop after work on cold, snowy evenings so I could put in an hour of spinning on my trainer while normal people were sitting down to dinner or sprawled on the couch, watching CSI. Was she managing to get her kids' dinner on the table before 8:30 at night? How did she make sure her teenagers were out of the house on time for school, when she left for a swim before breakfast? When did she walk the dog?

In February in Montreal, it really IS hard to remember why you should even care about a race that's six months away, as you snap crampons onto the bottom of your running shoes so you won't slip on the ice on your morning run.

But truth is, even on the gloomiest February morning, it still feels great to be out there and moving something about those endorphins kicking in.

Still, my training was still pretty hit and miss. Every second triathlete I spoke to was asking, "Do you have a plan?" I didn't. I bought a running diary but kept forgetting to write in it. As for biking, I figured I'd just wait for the snow to melt, so I could finally get outside on the bike and get off the grueling trainer but I didn't give much thought as to how I was going to conquer the infamous Richter's Pass outside of Osoyoos in 32 C heat on the day of the actual race. So in March, I gave in and found myself a coach. Now my training plan arrives in my inbox every morning before dawn.

Once it started arriving, something about having to send back my data once a week meant I felt compelled to stick to that plan, to the best of my ability and I started to see the results of 10 or 12 hours a week in the pool and on the track actual progress!

The sailing isn't always smooth

There have been setbacks. In June, I crashed my bike while careening at 54 kilometers an hour down a 16-degree hill, in a "fun" race with cycling friends in St. Sauveur. I ended up with a serious case of road rash, a separated shoulder and a debilitating loss of confidence. What was I thinking, trying to keep up with Quebec's top male duathlete when he overtook me on that descent?

'I've been lucky enough to have had time to heal after every injury'

I faced four weeks of aqua-jogging in deep water to stay in shape and twice-weekly physiotherapy before I could get back on the bike. The shoulder had not even healed before I broke a toe clambering over a slippery rock after an open water swim in the Rivire Rouge. Then, to top it all off, two weeks ago I wrenched my ankle, tripping over a tree root on a trail run with my dog. Another week of ice-then-heat, limping around cautiously and no running.

The naysayers in my life say, "Maybe you don't really want to do this Ironman thing, Loreen." But I have been impressed with my clumsy body's sense of timing I've been lucky enough to have had time to heal after every injury, and the rest periods seem to be good for me, as I have bounced back every time, stronger and fitter than ever.

So now I am counting down the days, then the hours. I am officially in "taper" mode, which means I get to eat more or less as much as I want, rest, run a little and try to get some sleep before the big race on Sunday.

Monday evening I went to a "restorative" yoga class and practiced deep breathing for 90 minutes. On Thursday, my partner flies in to Penticton to head up my official cheerleading team. He has never once said, "You can still back out." Not even in February, when I didn't feel like running. Instead, he ditched the treadmill at the Y and started running outside with me, in the dead of winter, and he is now getting ready to run a marathon in October.

It's addictive, this Ironman thing. I think I can make it to the finish line. I'll find out on Sunday.