In each monthly issue, Runner Triathlete News will publish one chapter from the new book "Becoming an Ironman." This month's story begins in the March 2002 issue of RTN.

To order your copy of "Becoming an Ironman: First Encounters with the Ultimate Endurance Event," send $23 per copy (plus $2.95 per order for shipping/handling) to Runner Triathlete News, P.O. Box 19909, Houston, TX 77224. Please allow approximately two weeks for delivery.

In a way the wedding detracted from the stress of the race. It gave me something else to think about. The six of us racing are all close friends, but there was a lot of tension. We cope with stress in different ways. My way of coping is not to think about it. I knew more training wasn't going to make me fitter, it was just going to tire me and injure me. It was inevitable that race day would come. It also was going to pass. And one way or another I was going to be spat out the back of this. There was nothing to do about it but flow through it. My friends examined race preparation and planning in meticulous detail. I found it difficult to be in their company when they were scanning the race information for the one hundredth time or studying course maps, because it would stress me out big time. The wedding helped keep my mind off it.

To an extent, that is, because I still have never been so scared in all my life. I was absolutely petrified about the swim and I looked at that lake with dread. For some reason I thought I was going to die. I was paranoid and had a bad feeling about it. We had visited Lake Placid in March--a reconnaissance trip for the wedding and the race--when it was ten degrees below zero and snow everywhere. There was sixteen inches of ice on Mirror Lake--we went dogsledding on it. This thought stayed with me because I can't cope with cold water.

Race registration was a nightmare. We were handed a questionnaire to complete about how much training we had done and our nutrition during training. Although we had had a coach schedule our sessions for us, those questions completely freaked me out and led me to believe that in no way had I done enough, and there was no way I was going to get 'round. When I got to the desk to collect my race numbers and transition bags, the guy took one look at me, picked up the Hawaii qualification form and said sarcastically, "Be needing this, do you think?" With that I left in tears.

Brian, the iron veteran, was having problems of his own. Late on Friday night--after midnight--our phone rang and Brian had leapt out of bed to answer it. It was my sister calling. She had had a complete nightmare flight from the UK and was stuck in Newark. But Brian had tossed the phone to me, writhing in pain, because he had stubbed his toe and broke it. Two days before the race--it was a complete disaster--but he carried on to finish, albeit an hour slower than his usual time.

I thought I was going to be sick on race morning. The lake was fogbound and I couldn't see the first buoy. Lizzy and I had already planned to buddy up on the swim so we got in together and held back. I stood there with Lizzy whilst a woman sang the American national anthem. Another American triathlete was next to us and cried her eyes out. It was her first time too and all three of us ended up hugging and crying. There was no warning before the gun went off. Suddenly it was time to move.

Despite my anxiety, the swim went really well. I came out smack bang on one hour thirty like I had hoped. Lizzy and I stayed together and exited the water together. Elizabeth wasn't far behind us and we all met up in transition and had another cry. I had huge problems on the bike, which surprised me because I had been quite confident about this leg. I had put the miles in, but I got on that bike and died within the first ten miles. The first climb--which comes early in the ride--I had no power in my legs. Up the same climb on the second lap I knew I was in trouble. I got off at sixty miles and sat by the road taking fluids and eating a Clif Bar. I wasn't going to give up, I simply needed to regroup. An ambulance pulled over to check on my condition. With that I forced myself to continue. The last forty miles I realized I was cutting it close and was concerned I wouldn't make it back. I kept checking my watch and looking at my speed, aware that I had to be back by 5:30 in the afternoon.

I was very anxious about making that bike cutoff, but in the end I made it by thirty minutes. I was so relieved I treated myself to a neck massage in transition. I knew I was going to finish. It would be a bad time but nothing was going to stop me now. I set off on the marathon and saw Brian already on his second run lap. He was suffering with his broken toe, but he spurred me to carry on.

Our cheering section/wedding guests were out waving Union Jacks. Dad was concerned for me--he knew my anticipated time was fourteen hours and I was way off the mark. When I started the run he wouldn't leave for lunch until I came through on the first lap. My family had to bring him a doggie bag. When I came by he was so relieved.

"Where you been? How are you? You feeling okay?"

"Well I've had better days, Dad."

"You're not in distress?"

"No, I'm not in distress, I'm going to carry on."

I eventually caught Lizzy at nineteen miles and we were both spent. "Ah stuff this, we're going to walk," we agreed and set off cursing that dinner party.

As we got closer to the stadium there was a little downhill stretch, I told Lizzie, "We're not going to walk into the stadium, were going to run into the stadium." The crowd just erupted when we arrived. As we came into the finishing straight, Brian called out my name and handed me the Cross of St. George, the English part of the British flag. Lizzy and I crossed the line together in sixteen hours and thirty minutes, half an hour short of the cutoff time. I ran in, flag waving, then collapsed in Brian's arms. "Well done," he said. My knees went as he held on to me. "Medic!" he yelled.

After the race I spent two hours in the medical tent. I was hypothermic with a body temperature of ninety-three degrees. I was also dehydrated and got three litres of saline IV, but no massage; it was too late for that.

I had three days to recover and transition from Ironman to bride. Apart from being stiff and sore, I had worn a short- sleeved cycling jersey and was sunburned from the middle of my arm down, and I had a bloody sleeveless wedding dress. There was not enough time to top it off with a tan. I thought, my "something borrowed" would solve the problem--it was a pair of long silk gloves. Long enough, I hoped, to cover my sunburn. But the lovely gloves stopped short, just two inches below the sunburn, and then white arm. I thought it was best to hold them instead of wear them. It's very noticeable in our wedding photos, as is Brian's black eye from the kick in the face he received during the swim. In the end we knew it was all going to be something to laugh at later.In fact it came with the territory. This was a whole package, Ironman and wedding. There was never any distinction between the two. I almost didn't think too much about the details of the wedding until after the race.

The morning of the wedding I felt very nervous--even more so when the JP turned up to marry us. I walked out into the garden with my dad and I had no idea how the ceremony was going to run because we hadn't rehearsed. I didn't know what I was expected to say and when. There was no training for this! It turned out none was needed. The ceremony couldn't have gone off any better. After, we all sat down to a wedding buffet cooked by Tim and Elizabeth. It was a perfect day.

I feel married, but I still don't feel like an Ironman. It's so hard to believe. I feel a bit of a fraud because I did such a bad time. But I am an Ironman. I made that midnight cutoff. Although I had promised my family I would never do another one, I've decided I'd like to mark my fortieth birthday with an Ironman finish. I haven't decided on a venue, but I quite fancy California.

Lucie, an insurance assessor in London, made her finish more "real" by getting a tattoo as a constant reminder of her Ironman status. It's a red Ironman emblem on the top of her right thigh.