From her hospital bed, Trish wrote out her first grant request to the Challenged Athletes Foundation for a handcycle that would get her back on the road … and back into life. She began competing in road races and triathlons. In 2003, she was named USA Triathlon’s Physically Challenged Athlete of the Year, after competing in the World Championships.

In 2004, Trish became a part of USA Triathlon’s developmental team for disabled athletes, which competed at the New York City Triathlon. She also raced in the Los Angeles and Boston Marathons. In 2005, she was named Colorado’s Sportswoman of the Year in triathlon.

On July 16, Trish earned a U.S. national title at the USA Triathlon Physically Challenged National Championships in New York City, earning a spot on the 2006 World Championship team in Lausanne this September.

Earlier this summer, Downing attempted to qualify for this November’s Ironman World Championships (2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike, 26.2-mile run) in Kona, Hawaii. Here is Trish Downing’s road report from the Buffalo Springs Lake Triathlon in Lubbock, Texas, an inspirational tale of guts, determination and support from old friends and new friends along the way.

Buffalo Springs Road Report

I am writing you from the car as we drive north and west out of Texas and away from one of the most mentally and emotionally draining race weekends of my life. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but I put all of my eggs in one big race basket this weekend as I tried to qualify for the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii.

As you may or may not know, Kona is the grand-daddy of them all in triathlon and you’d be hard-pressed to find a triathlete who didn’t dream about the day that they could cross the finish line and hear the words, “You are an Ironman.” It’s a difficult undertaking, but, if you ask me, more difficult for a “wheeler” because we are subject to same time standards as ABs (able-bodied athletes), but using only upper body strength.

Each year, there is one and only one race for a wheeler to qualify for Hawaii. The race is the Buffalo Springs Lake Triathlon, which is a half Ironman (1.2 mile swim, 56-mile bike, 13.1-mile run) and seems to have a reputation of being one of the hardest half Ironman races in the country.

So, on Friday my friend, swim guide and overall support crew, Roberta and I packed her boyfriend truck and headed the eight hours to the bustling metropolis of Lubbock with a mission to get me qualified for Kona.

On Saturday morning, after sleeping nearly 12 hours, Roberta and I got up to head to registration, drive the course, take a ride and go to the pre-race meeting. We drove the course, which was actually quite flat … well … until you consider that there are eight gi-normous hills with grades up to 8.9 degrees! They are climbs for sure!! In fact, last week, while taking my usual summertime afternoon nap, I woke up in a sweat when I had a memory in my dream of climbing one of the hills from my aborted 2003 attempt with my friend Andrea walking next to me, as I was going 1.9 miles an hour struggling to make it up. I wanted to at least drive that hill again, which we did, but after that we abandoned the drive for a short bike ride. We never got to the rest of the bike course and more importantly, we didn’t drive the run course. I had no idea the anguish that awaited me.

Sunday started out an early day, as all triathlons do with a 3:45 a.m. alarm, a quick pack of the truck and we were off to set up my transition. After a short hassle with Texas state policeman (he called me ma’am, but was anything but polite), we finally made our way to the close-in handcycle parking where we unloaded by headlamp and flashlight and were assigned to my “handlers”. Every wheeler got two handlers for the day. Young boys (probably high school age) in a youth corps program, dressed in their army fatigues and following strict orders from the sergeant to not leave their assigned racers. They were at my beck and call, which was really quite handy. Once we had everything set up, we headed to the beach to get my wetsuit on and get ready for the swim.

This year’s race had about 1000 participants, including nine wheelers. There were eight men and me. The guys were going for four slots to Kona and the women had one slot available, so I was fortunate. I was only racing the eight hour time cutoff on the clock. The guys were chasing the clock AND each other. Only one of the guys I already knew, Akian, one of my Paralympic Development teammates. The other guys were all new to me, but were so nice and extremely encouraging. From the first moment I knew I was an underdog, but it wasn’t a bad thing because it seemed like everyone was pulling for me. I had all my times planned out. I was shooting for a sub-50 minute swim, a five-and-half-hour bike and that would leave a very tight hour and a half for the run (as long as I had quick transition times) and I’d come in with just minutes to spare for the eight-hour cutoff and a trip to Hawaii. At least that was the "plan.”

The Swim: “I Couldn’t Believe It”

Roberta and I got in the water and by now we have swum together enough that we have a groove and are actually quite efficient. She is only pint-sized, but Roberta is tenacious as any athlete and I knew that her dedication to this swim was as solid as mine. They announced our wave at 6:35, just behind the pros and we were off. The swim went relatively smoothly, but since we were such an early wave, as the other groups of swimmers came up it caused the water to become choppy and I had a hard time seeing and hearing Roberta’s commands. At one point, Roberta had to wave her hands so wildly for me to see; we had a kayaker jump in to come save us because he thought Roberta was signaling that we were drowning. When we reached the beach, Roberta said, “Trish! We did that in 42 minutes!” I couldn’t believe it! It just showed how much I have improved since I did BSLT in 2003; I did the swim that day in 1 hour and six minutes!

When we finished, my handlers came to the edge of the water, picked me up in a fireman’s carry and got me to my chair. One of them had to push me into transition, and he wasn’t the greatest wheelchair driver, but he got me their quickly and everyone put in a hand to get my wetsuit off in a hurry. I got settled in on my handcycle and left T1 in just under eight minutes.

The Bike: “I Was Cooked”

The bike leg of the race is somewhat deceptive. When you drive into Lubbock, the town is flatter than a pancake. So you think the ride is going to be a cinch. But Buffalo Springs Lake is actually at the bottom of a big canyon and the race goes in and out of this canyon (maybe it’s a couple of canyons?). Leaving the lake on the bike there are two very steep hills which are sort of a shock to your system after you’ve just spent 1.2 miles swimming and even worse when you’re on a handcycle and your arms don’t get a chance to rest. I had passed three of the wheeler guys in the swim but they all ended up catching and passing me on the ride.

Once I got up the first two hills, I was cruising. Anytime time you’re not climbing in that race, your on flats, so my strategy was to maintain high steady speeds on the flats, really crank on the downhills and just settle in to a steady relaxed pace on the climbs.

All was going well until I got to the fifth climb. I was starting to wear down and that was the climb that really did me in the last time I did the race. Steve and Roberta had been following me in the truck, so they stopped there and walked up next to me, trying to keep me focused and motivated.

They said they could tell just by looking at my face each time they stopped for me, whether I was enjoying myself, or beginning to hate the sport of triathlon. Over the course of the day I went from all smiles, to a frown, to a grimace to full on tears.

By the time I reached the seventh climb, I was over it. I was exhausted, hungry (but my stomach was no longer accepting food) and hot. I knew I didn’t have far, but the last 14 miles dragged on and on. On one short stint I had a tailwind, but it lasted only about a mile and I was back to steady cross winds. I finally got passed by the last cyclist on the course, so it was just me and the steady hum of the engine of my own personal follow vehicle. When we got back to the park where the lake is, I was thinking I was home free, although I don’t know why. I knew there was a final hill to climb, after all I did go down it in the morning. When I got there, it was like a huge road block. I didn’t think I could do it. I’m sure the folks in the follow vehicle didn’t think so either. I climbed at 1 mph and stopped every few feet. I was cooked.

I finished the bike in 5 hours 36 minutes, which was pretty good and kept me on schedule. But when I got there, I knew I had left every ounce of energy and heart on the bike course. I pulled into a nearly deserted transition area, as everyone else was either on the run or at home drinking beers. I got to my spot with my everyday and racing chairs and Steve, Roberta and my two handlers were there to assist. Everyone lent a hand, but I was so frustrated and exhausted and beyond the point of all reason, that all I could say was that I had nothing left and that I couldn’t do it. The sergeant was there with his youth corps kids and he kept saying, “Focus on the goal! Focus on the goal!” I tried to keep those words with me, but as I pushed out of the transition, I could feel that the time was quickly slipping away.

The Run: “Forward, Back, Cry”

I got on the run course, which was full of people walking four and five abreast, walking their bikes out of the park since they had finished their races, taking their picnic chairs and coolers and going home. Here I was just beginning. This time, I went out of the opposite side of the lake from the bike, but either way you go, it’s up. This was probably the steepest hill of the race. Shorter than the bike climbs, but on the racing chair, for me it was more treacherous. I started out going up forward, but realized I was getting nowhere fast and on the verge of tipping over backward. So I turned around and went up backward. That was getting me a few inches with each pull, but every time I looked behind me at the top of the hill, I didn’t feel like I was getting much closer. So I just started to cry. Then I pulled myself together and the cycle started over again. Forward, backward, cry. Forward, backward, cry. I don’t know how, but eventually I made it to the top. I looked at my watch. Maybe I can make this after all. But then, I hit hill number two—this one not as steep, but longer. At this point, I knew. No eight hours for me. I wanted to turn around to go back. Roberta jumped out of the truck to walk alongside of me. The tears started all over again. I have never wanted anything so badly, been so close and watched as it slipped right through my fingers. Roberta, who wanted this eight hours just as bad, did what any great girlfriend would do. She cried for me too!

“Trish, you’ve done so well,” she said. “Eight hours doesn’t mean anything. You have given the best effort you could and you can’t fault yourself for not qualifying. You have given your best. Just try to make it to the finish.”

I told her I didn’t even care if I finished. But, even though I wanted to turn around, I knew I was the only female wheeler and how lame is it if you can’t win a race when you’re the only competitor?? Besides that, I figured if I missed the eight hour mark, I had all kinds of time to get to the finish. The course wouldn’t close until eight-and-half hours.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I got to the turnaround. Six-and-half miles are not that far to push in a racing chair, but it seemed like a marathon in itself getting to the turnaround. When I finally hit it, I took a deep breath and headed in. I kept staring at my wrist watching the seconds tick away on my watch. When the stopwatch said, 8:00.00, my heart sank. I slowed my pace, buried my head and just pushed to get to the finish where I could get in the truck and go drown my sorrows in my hotel room. On the way back in, I had one more hill to go. At this point there was a race vehicle in front of me. The race volunteer driver was full of spirit and I could tell he wasn’t going to let me give up. Every so often, he’d stop the truck, get out and cheer for me. Jump up and down. Tell jokes. Anything to get me to smile and push faster. Then he’d get back in and start driving again.

Finally, the finish was around the corner and I heard them announce my name. I felt so defeated. I felt like I put in a lot of time, effort, training and money for nothing. It was over … my one and only chance to qualify for my dream race. Sure I could do it next year, but it’s getting difficult to put in all of the training time and trying to have a life too. I kept my head down as I crossed the finish line at 8:29.46.

When I got to transition and got into my everyday chair, Steve came up and put his arms around me. I buried my face in his stomach and sobbed. A few people stopped by my spot in transition and congratulated me on my race and on earning a qualifying slot. Over and over, I accepted the congratulations, but said, “I didn’t qualify. I didn’t make the eight-hour cut.”

After a while, Steve walked to the parking lot to get the car to bring it closer for us to pack my stuff. When he returned he said, “Trish they just announced that you made the time cut.”

I said, “They were just saying that I finished the race before they closed the course at 8:30.”

But then another racer came over and confirmed what Steve had said. The time cut FOR KONA was 8:30. I had earned a slot! I made it by 14 seconds.

I almost didn’t believe it (I still am not sure that I do), but at the awards dinner last night, I got the official paperwork and I am now $485 poorer as I had to pay for my entry on the spot. I’m almost not sure if accepting the slot is more of a blessing or a curse…afterall, I just gave away the next three months of my life to training and a race that will challenge me more than BSLT, but I know it’ll be worth it to chase a dream goal. Just to give it a shot. Just to remind myself how important it is to never give up.

Again, as always…there is a whole group of folks to thank for helping me reach my goals. Of course, I couldn’t have done it without Steve, Roberta and my two biggest cheerleaders on the course John Shelton and Matt Bailey (aka “Pinkie”). Mike and Marti Greer (race directors) put on a heck of a race and I had so many well wishers before I left, I appreciate the support of all of you…thanks for getting me to the finish line!

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