Kona and the overtraining predicament

We are home from our second big ass trip this year and I wanted to recap not only Kona, but the struggle bus I’ve been on since Norseman (well probably even earlier than that). 

The last 2 years, I have done 6 full distances. While that may not be a crazy amount (some people do a lot more), my timing between each of them has not been great. The most time I had between two races was about 3.5 months between Roth and IM AZ in 2024. I thought I had handled things well, but as I ramped up training late this spring, things started to change. My numbers started dropping, HR started spiking, paces got slower, sleep became shit, and my weight starting inexplicably creeping up (likely due to increased cortisol levels). My moods and anxiety started cycling again and I was generally fatigued all the time. It wasn’t until after Norseman during a local cycling TT race, that the alarm bells started going off. During the race I couldn’t get out of my aerobic power zones, but my HR was at threshold levels. Houston we have a problem. I got sick 3 times between Norseman and Kona. Training continued to take a nose dive and the weight was still creeping on. About a month out, I was just so generally fatigued and emotionally drained, that I was seriously considering just not going to Kona. With Norseman being the “A” race this season and Kona more an “afterthought,” I really had just stopped caring about it.

I really think the only thing that kept me going for Kona was that there was absolutely no pressure to do well and that I would regret not going. So I persevered and counted down the days until this season was freaking over. 

I know, I sound like I’m whining and I should be grateful. I am grateful, but the overtraining was/is real. And the mental/physical buildup/comedown from Norseman was hard to go right into another brutal race. I wasn’t just fatigued, I was weary. I changed how I was approaching this mentally and physically - I knew for me to get through it, that I was going to need toss out expectations. So I focused on doing what I needed to do to finish, rid myself of any performance goals, accepted that my body was not 100%, and focused on enjoying the moment. I was determined not to be disappointed no matter the outcome. Too often, I see people disappointed with their Kona performance when they shouldn’t be. Kona is Kona, it’s not a normal Ironman, just finishing this one is huge. This seemed to work, so with two weeks to go to race day, I finally was able to be a little excited.

Getting to Kona was pretty uneventful. We stayed a bit further from Kona proper, mostly because I don’t particularly like crowds and chaos and race week Kona is the definition of crowds and chaos 😆 The weather was very hot and humid, so I tried to balance doing some race week things with getting rest. This was pretty easy for me since like I said, I don’t like crowds. I got to hang out with my Coeur Sports teammates, met up with a lot friends that I’ve made over the years, and enjoyed some downtime doing some Hawaii things. With Kona being the main event for Ironman racing, it’s a big reunion of sorts! The race week vibe helped me get excited and having a women only race was the best. Spoiler alert: I am fairly certain that if I get lucky and qualify again, I’m not sure I’d race it again. Ironman is returning to a mixed-gender race in 2026, and I do not particularly want to race that course with men. Especially since they are planning on 3000 athletes next year. For reference, we only had about 1700 racers this year. No offense dudes, but men change the race dynamics and there is never equal attention on both races. Finally, while Kona is incredibly special, it is also incredibly expensive. There are a lot of other races out there that offer something challenging, an amazing atmosphere, and breathe taking courses. *coughs in xtri* The Kona course isn’t that exciting (minus the swim), so luckily the brutal battle with the elements makes it worth it! As a side note, because conditions in Kona are incredibly extreme, I actually approached this with more of an xtri mentality.

Race day crept up fast - emotions were high! I knew I would cry coming through the body marking tent and right on cue I started crying as soon as I heard the applause and cheers for athletes coming though. I had come over with my friend Sara so we made quick work of getting our bikes loaded for the day and it was off to wait for our swim waves. Since I aged up this year to 40-44, my wave didn’t go until 710. Which meant a bit of a wait lol. Vibes were high - ladies were excited and I just let myself soak in the atmosphere. I’ve waited a long time for this and overcome a lot (see blog history), so finally being there for all the ceremony that was the Kona start was incredible. Once the pros started, it was time for the waves of age groupers to finally make their way into the water. I knew this swim would be chaotic with rougher conditions and catching up to the slower swimmers in earlier waves, so I actually swam to the far side of the start line to get some clean water out the gate. This was perfect strategically because I was able to put separation quickly to the rest of the 40-44 field and found myself in the lead pack of 4 of us. Remember how I said men change the race dynamic? This was the first swim since starting the sport that I could just focus on the ladies in my AG. I actually could tell where I was at in the race for once. I settled in on their feet, focused on the free draft, and conserved energy though the swells and current. I did have a moment in the last 100 m or so where I thought I should put in a surge, and I am kinda kicking myself now for not doing it since it would be really cool to say I was first in AG at Kona out of the swim, but 4th is pretty good 😂 I made my way up the stairs, made use of the fresh water hoses, and grabbed my gear bag. I had come in with the plan to take my time in transition because I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed. Ok perhaps not “take my time,” but definitely do everything with purpose in transition. The day was going to be long and brutal - I needed to make sure I set myself up well.

Bike Check! Sara looks very un-amused 😂

Off to go boil in the lava fields

I had decided before the race that I would bike conservatively. Not only due to the conditions expected for the day, but because my body has not been ok for a while. I love going fast on my bike, so this was so much easier said than done, but I stuck to my plan. I had a little chain drop on Palani, and I did stop to give a fellow racer a tire lever on the Queen K since she was desperately in need of help. I sincerely hope she finished - I forgot to get her number to check. The day was already heating up, so I went into fuel, hydrate, stay cool mode. I was basing effort on my HR rather than power, since my power numbers are a bit higher at sea level than where we live at altitude. I managed to keep my HR in high Z1 out to the climb at Hawi, even with the winds, which I was super happy with. While I’ve never ridden at that low of an effort in an Ironman before and I don’t particularly like to, my body felt pretty fresh at Hawi and the halfway turnaound. I also did another first - I stopped at special needs to pick another high carb drink since I wanted make sure I was still getting calories in with the heat. After the Hawi descent, the fury of the Queen K started. It was HOT. The higher than normal humidity, the black tarmac, and the lava field created the perfect conditions to roast some triathletes. My HR crept into Z2, but I started passing a stupid amount of ladies coming back. I was told by many friends that it is so easy to over ride that first half and you pass a bunch of people if you are patient. And that is exactly what happened. I continued to focus on the fuel, hydrate, cooldown and before I knew it, I was making my way back to transition and getting ready to go roast some more. Was it my best bike ever? Not even close, but I did what I needed to do to get my body ready to run and keep my overtrained self from breaking down completely.

Calling this my “angry marshmallow” face in Energy Lab (I’m not real happy with my current body composition, so angry marshmallow makes light of it and makes me giggle. It’s also much kinder than what I called myself before)

Much like T1, I went through T2 with purpose. I sat down, regrouped, got my run gear on, filled up my ice bandana (this thing was the greatest purchase I have ever made), and covered myself in enough sunscreen to look like Casper. Also much like the bike, the plan on the run was to be conservative, ignore every one else, and keep the HR in check. I don’t think I actually looked at my pace once the entire marathon - I just played the aid station to aid station game. Once again, I knew people haul on Ali’i with the crowds and ocean breeze, so it was head down and ignoring everyone else and focusing on my own thing. It wasn’t fast or pretty, but I kept my HR in check and kept as cool as I could. I walked every aid station making sure I was getting water, ice, gels, and salt. I also walked up Palani because there was no point in burning matches at mile 7.5. In fact, several ladies that passed me on Palani while I was walking, were walking much later in the marathon. I knew the race wouldn’t really start until we were back on the Queen K. I stuck to my plan as the heat hit us in full force. And it was damn hot and humid out there. Couple that with the radiant heat coming off the pavement and the lava fields, and it was a literal oven. I am secretly glad we got a Kona year with the “true” Kona conditions - like I said, I’m not real keen on doing Kona again, so I wanted to experience Kona at it’s harshest. I ticked the miles by looking forward to the beautiful oasis’s that were the aid stations and before I knew it, I was making a left turn into Energy Lab. I can’t tell you how much I was hoping the sun would be setting when I was in Energy Lab, but no such luck lol. I got to experience Energy Lab in it’s fiery finest! Much like the rest of my day, I just focused on being controlled, eating, drinking, and staying cool. The climb out was tough, but not as bad as my mind had made it out to be on the way down. It was back to the Queen K and into the final 7 miles of the marathon.

The sunset seen from Energy Lab. I got to witness this at mile 22.

I’ve always said that this sport is spiritual to me and I had a moment in those closing miles. The sun finally set when I was at mile 22 and it was one of the most spectacular things I have ever experienced. It finally dawned on me that I am actually doing this amazing thing that so many triathletes chase. I chased this dream for so long and here I was, in Kona, on the Queen K, late into the marathon of the Ironman World Championships with one of the most beautiful sunsets ever. I actually started shedding some tears at this point. It was a full circle moment for me. I knew I needed to soak in these last miles. Finally, I hit the final climb before the Palani descent and saw #andscott !! I actually started walking when I saw him for a little chat, but he made me start running again 😅 Shuffle, shuffle to the top and back to the screaming crowds down Palani. I was crying the entire last mile. Much like Norseman, I am not sure I can put into words how much that moment meant for me. You all know I race with a little picture of dad with me and I pulled it out and held it in my hand for the last mile. This was the closing of a chapter and I needed everyone to see my why. He is always in my heart and many times when I wanted to quit over the years, his memory has kept me going. And finally I saw the finish, I slowed and was high-fiving everyone (I even high-fived Sara and didn’t realize it was her hahahah), crying my eyes out, and celebrating! When I crossed the finish line, I held his picture high up and like at Norseman, another little piece of me came back to life. 

Me and dad at one of the most iconic triathlon finish lines.

There are so many people to thank and I’m sorry if I skip anyone. You can’t ever do this sport alone. My family first and foremost. We’ve been through the wringer yeah? But look at us - maybe the cards didn’t play in our favor, but we are still living life and living it well. Logan of course for all the support, but especially for this year and flying across two different oceans within two months for me to live this selfish dream. Liz, for the last 12 years you have been a rock of support and guidance as I navigated through all of the craziness. I can’t wait to see what you do at IM CA this weekend. There were so many of you that cheered in Kona for me and from afar. The messages and support were felt. My local training crew in Santa Fe - you all are amazing. I’m sorry I haven’t been myself mentally or physically since Norseman, but sharing the miles with you all this summer has been wonderful! Coeur Sports - so much love for all of you! Obviously, there are many more of you, but my brain is still fried from Saturday and I’m down to about two brain cells, but know that you are appreciated and I don’t take the love for granted ❤

The theme of this year’s Kona was Ho’oikaika, or resilience. I cried when I saw that on my bib after I checked in. If there is one word I would use to define myself, it’s resilient. Thank you Kona, for another dream realized and for giving me a reason to keep going during the toughest times.

Screen shot from the Ironman recap video. I love these words.

The Mountain

As Kona approaches and I’ve gotten further away from the Norseman finish - I find myself deep in my thoughts. There is really no point to this blog, other than I feel like writing about my feels. The Mt Gausta Instagram posted this about a month before Norseman and it really resonated with me:

“This is the mountain that shapes our horizon, our stories, our lives. A place where raw nature, rich culture, and deep history come together - and leave no one untouched.”

This isn’t a race recap, but a dive into my brain thoughts. I spend a lot of time in my own head. It’s a special super power of being a scientist and having bipolar disorder. One part of my brain is very rational and logical, while the other part of my brain is off the deep end dealing with the emotion of the moment. But I digress, back to the mountain. Really, this mountain meant so much to me. It was literal hope. 

When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2008, there was such a monumental sense of confusion and loss. So I turned to triathlon. When I found out about Norseman after my first Ironman in 2014, that mountain turned into a fixation - it became a beacon of conquering my brain. When I got into the 2016 race and finished DFL, there was no doubt in my mind that I needed to do it again and come back stronger because I needed to conquer my mountain. 

Little did I know the twists and turns my life was about to take. Dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer in September of 2017, ultimately passing away on April 20th, 2018. I found myself once again battling an all consuming loss and I turned back to the sport. I thought about the mountain, I dreamed about the mountain - I imagined that finish at the highest point in Norway, one step closer to dad. So I continued to enter. Got in a bike crash in 2021, dealt with several hamstring tears, and then finally got a lucky ticket for the 2023 race. I was lucky enough to endure another hamstring tear and a dog attempted to eat me 3 months before the race, but I persevered to get a black t-shirt, even with the mountain being closed due to weather. It wasn’t enough - I had to finish on the mountain. I had to conquer my mountain. Another year passed before I had accumulated enough points to go to the 2025 edition. Since this time last year, the mountain once again haunted my dreams. I imagined my finish over and over again, but nothing prepared me for how overwhelmingly raw the emotion was when I finally crossed that finish line.

I finally conquered my grief and brain for that beautiful, brief moment. When I look back over the last 10 years, I realize how true the above quote is. I am not the same human I was in 2016, 2023, or even 2 months ago. Many will say it’s just a race. It’s not. It’s so much more. The collapse and sobbing at the finish line was part of my healing. Some part of me was allowed to let go and allow myself to feel my grief, my joy, my fears, and my gratitude. For so long, I’ve endured and survived, but I finally let myself feel deeply on that mountain. Now with Kona in just a few short weeks, I’ve been trying to pinpoint how I feel about - remember I spend a lot of time overanalyzing myself and my brain thoughts. The best way I can describe it, is that I feel some sort of peace. As they say, you don’t leave the mountain untouched and perhaps these cracks that have been gaping in my heart have healed just a little bit. I feel like the fear that has gripped me since dad died/after all the injuries, has eased just a little bit and that has been liberating. 

And now, as I set my sights on the finish line in Kona, I’ll come away changed once again as I move into a new phase in my life beyond my mountain, and I will cherish that moment and hold it close. Inevitably, someone will tell me it is just a race, but not for me. For me, I will find another little piece of me coming back to life.

The Perfect Race

This time of year is always nostalgic for me and it’s because it’s college swimming conference season. Once upon a time, before I spent a tiny fortune on bikes and traveling all over to races, I was just a swimmer. As athletes, we are always chasing that perfect race, that perfect game, that perfect moment. The fact of the matter is that it will most likely never happen (hello to my Ironman races 😂), but we are always in pursuit of perfection. And sometimes it does happen.

Most of you know that I grew up swimming. I started swimming competitively when we were stationed in Ohio and somehow the sport stuck. My past with swimming is honestly complicated. I loved the sport deeply, but to be truly good at it, it takes a huge amount of sacrifice. I got pretty quick as a 12 and under, hit puberty and got frustrated with the sport because I wanted to be a normal teenager, fell in love with it again around when I turned 16, and got lucky enough to walk on to a division 1 program at UNLV. Looking back now at the decision to go to UNLV and how pivotal it would be in setting me on my path in life, is honestly mind blowing now. Especially for a young woman from a tiny town next to Death Valley - who knew where it would take me. But I digress, this is about the perfect race. 

Quote from Jim in my freshman handbook. I still recall it now during Ironman training ❤

Anyway, I was a decent swimmer with a lot of potential when I walked on at UNLV. My coach Jim was a magician at finding the “diamonds in the rough” and he had fantastic stories about swimmers that turned their swim careers into stellar swim careers. I knew I wanted to be one of those stories. BUT it did not come quickly for me. My first two years of college were rough when it came to swimming. I did improve, but my mind was my own worst enemy. I had decided to major in Biochemistry which took up an insane amount of any free time I had and I NEEDED to be perfect. I NEEDED to be perfect in swimming. My personal life wasn’t great at that time (spoiler alert - boy problems). I just could not let go. I finished nearly last in the 1650 at the Mountain West Conference Championships my freshman season and scored points only in the 800 free relay. I was demoralized. In my sophomore season, I scored individually in the 500 and 1650 at conference and we ended up winning the MWC team title for the first time (20 years ago this week!!), but I still was unhappy.

                                                2005 Women’s Championship Team!

Looking back it wasn’t swimming that was making me unhappy, it was me, my mind. I didn’t know then, but I know now I was really starting to manifest symptoms of bipolar disorder. I knew I worked hard, I was really fast in practice - it just never showed up in meets. Anyway, the summer of 2005 after my sophomore year, something changed. It’s hard to pinpoint what happened, but I changed. I re-dedicated myself to the sport and let go of what I couldn’t control. I swam with coach Kunio that summer and we had an amazing crew that stayed for the summer to train. By the time championship meets rolled around for the summer, I was dropping time like crazy. And that’s when I knew I was playing the long game (despite almost retiring after my junior season because I could have graduated early and I was freaking tired. I had a big problem trying to overachieve at everything). 

Everything began to change during my junior year. I won my first college races in duel meets. During training camp, I was one of the few people to make through a monster set in D (distance) group. I worked hard. Because of my class and lab schedule, I often swam on my own, lifted on my own, and did dry land on my own. There is a reason I wanted to retire early - hard sciences and sports are insane. After I received an award for most outstanding senior in biochemistry my senior year, my biochemistry professor told me that I was only the second student-athlete to successfully complete 4 years of sport and a degree in chemistry. That year at conference, I placed top 8 for the first time in both the 500 and 1650. I knew then, I couldn’t quit, I had to do my 4th year. 

The momentum was rolling. There are workouts/meets that I remember where I knew something special was coming. I started enjoying the process and I loved the training. I remember Kunio making me swim every event at a meet at University of Arizona that summer (prelims and finals!), except for the backstroke events. Which I am still grateful for because my backstroke is sad and pitiful. I remember the week where all my morning workouts were no less than 10000m, afternoons still massive in yards, capping off Saturday morning with 12000 meters. I still remember one of the main sets - 2x (1500, 1000, 500 on 1:20 base). I thought I was done and then Kunio said I was doing 6 x 200 pull on 2:30. I cried when he gave me that set because I was so tired. But I had an amazing team behind me and the sprint and middle D swimmers came out on deck and cheered for me. I had an awesome training partner in Erik Ringdahl - I like to think we made each other better swimmers, mostly because we beat the crap out of each other battling in practice everyday. I won the 1500 free at sectionals that summer. And this walk-on swimmer got herself on some scholarship money her senior year.

And so I began my senior year. I let my goal be known that I would when the 1650 at conference. There was no doubt in my mind that I would take that championship. Every practice I visualized it - I became a machine. In training camp the month before conference, I threw down the best workouts of my life. I pulled a 16:30 1650 in practice. I did 9 x 500 descend 1-3 on 5:30 and destroyed them (ironically nearly faster on the fast ones than I went in the 500 at conference 😅). I remember these workouts 18 years later because they marked a milestone in me - I knew it would happen. 

Finally conference 2007 came around. I should mention that I am a true distance swimmer through and through. I used to joke that a 5k pool swim would be my bread and butter - 1650 was just a little too short 😂 I swam a PR in the 500 in the first day and placed 5th. I out split a lot women in that last 200, but I just could not get out fast enough. I barely PR’d my 200 and at least scored points of the team. The 200 was even worse for me than the 500 because it is REALLY too short. My best swims in the 200 always came when I swam the 1000/200 double in college since they were back to back. I spent the whole week waiting for the very last day of the meet. The 1650 is always the last day. Thankfully, they don’t make you swim it twice and go based on seed times. I think I was seeded 3rd and would swim in top 8 in finals, so I had the morning off. There are always days you can remember so clearly and this is one of them. 

Counting for Erik’s mile and clearly checking his splits on the big board.

Behind the blocks before the mile

I started the day off with a warmup swim during prelims and cheered for all my fellow Rebels. Erik was in the morning heats of the 1650, so you better believe I counted for him during his very last college race. I remember eating a Panera Bread bread bowl and soup for lunch and trying to stay calm. Finally, it was time for finals. After my long-ass warmup because I am a diesel engine and it takes me basically an entire workout to warmup, I got ready for senior recognition. On the final night of conference, they recognize all the seniors from all the teams. Luckily, the 1650 is the first event on the final night so I didn’t have to wait much longer. I remember being annoyed that I was second seed and didn’t get to choose our walkout song (top seed gets to choose the walkout music), but I also remembered just being so happy to be in the moment. This was my moment, my event, and I was going to enjoy it. Competition was going to be fierce - there were two underclassman I’d been battling all year from Wyoming and BYU, and the former conference champ and fellow senior from UTAH. BTBNTY (IYKYK). There were nerves of course, but I mostly remember being at peace with whatever happened, immensely grateful, and amazed that 13 years of work had led to this moment. I looked up and saw my mom and dad, my sister, and my boyfriend at the time. Then I looked over to my team - all of these people were sharing this amazing moment with me. I cried into my goggles and had to keep fussing with them so they wouldn’t fog up 😂

Some of my teammates on the side of the pool during my race.

Parent/family section during my race. Mom is losing her mind - Dad is probably thinking, thank god this is the last swim meet.

     Right before I made my move at the 500.

I heard “take your mark” for the final time I would swim a 1650 and then the quiet as you submerge under water. That first 500, all 4 of us were together. I felt amazing. Nothing hurt which is a miracle since every other 1650 I have swum had always resulted in me dying and unnatural death on the pool deck after. But this time, there was no pain. One of the things I loved about distance swimming, is that you could always “tell” that if you made a move, you would break the other swimmer. Intuition was telling me to make that move at the 500. I went and never looked back. Over the 16 minutes, you can hear the cheers getting louder. I heard the announcer while racing (not knowing what he was saying) and then I looked over to the side of the pool deck - my teammates were all lined up on the side of the pool. My excitement was building and I knew I was going to win. I just wanted to get out and celebrate with everyone! It was down to the final 150 of the race and I had about a pool length lead on 2nd. Most of the time, that final 150 is one of the worst things you will ever gut out, but that night I felt like I was flying. I started crying into my goggles again and finally I saw the magical lap counter for the final length (no ever put in the red side for me, just 69 - jerks lol). I had finally made it. I touched the wall and nothing I ever could imagined could have described that moment. It was so loud, it was electric. I looked around again and it was just one of those perfect moments I never wanted to end. I somehow managed to jump halfway out of the water in celebration - had to remind myself to stay in until the last finisher finished, but then I bolted out of the water to go celebrate with my team.

My most impressive athletic feat yet - somehow managed this jump in the deep end 😂

Bear hugs with my coaches

Post-race walking back to the team area - crying all the way

This is the part that is a blur. There were so many hugs and tears (not just mine!!). I got a huge bear hug from Kunio and Jim. I remember asking Jim if I could break the rules just this once to go celebrate with my family (we stayed on deck during the meet, with friends/family in the stands). He said yes, so I bolted up there with my cap and goggles still on, and ran to meet them in the UNLV cheer section. I got to have my podium moment and things started to sink in what I had done - what that swim meant to me. The fact that it means this much to me 18 years later speaks volumes to what it was. So many things have to go right on meet day and it finally came all together in my very last college swim. There was sadness knowing that it was over, but mostly joy for accomplishing what was a far reaching goal and gratitude to every single person who supported me and believed in me during my swim career. At dinner that night, I asked what the announcer had said in those final laps that got everyone riled up. He said something to the effect of  “That is Lani Seaman from UNLV leading. She was dead last in the 1650 her freshman year at this meet and tonight she will be a champion in her final swim.”  It really was the perfect race.

I think what meant the most after all was said and done, was that my teammates were genuinely just as excited as I was. I wouldn’t have been able to do what I did without all of them through the years. As much as swimming is individual, it is very much a team sport. That swim was just as much for them as it was for me. They ended up voting me for the most inspirational swim that year and I still display it proudly ❤ Also finally, just a reminder that I was 3rd to last my freshman year, not dead last 😂

This is my I am going to enjoy this moment no matter what. I am also short for a swimmer, your eyes don’t deceive you.

With mom and dad post-podium

I’ve won awards, but this one still means a whole lot.