At least once a day you find yourself “on the prowl” – the point in the day where your hunger has become so huge that you start walking around looking for something, anything to shove in your mouth.
You find yourself watching t.v. late at night with a bag of frozen mango chunks on your foot.
You fall asleep with thoughts of what you'll wear during Ironman dancing through your head.
You spend so much time at the pool that when you walk out of the lockerroom you have to look down just to be sure you remembered to put your swimsuit on.
You use toilet paper to wipe the inside of the toilet bowl and think to yourself as far as "cleaning" goes - that will do, you'll clean it 'for real' after Ironman - in late October.
At least once a day, you think about your placement in the swim start - will I start front, back, left, right, head up, head down.
Dinner time is now what used to be bedtime.
Opening a box of Crunch n' Munch at 3 pm is the best idea you've had in days.
You get on the scale and find you have gained weight. You think there is no mathematical way this could be possible for you to train more and gain weight but then you talk to your other friends doing Ironman and they say the same.
You have implemented a no peeing before the two hour mark on the bike ride rule.
You start dreaming in overall times and splits.
Secretly you enjoy eating bites of milk chocolate brownie Power Bars for dessert.
Your mainsets are now more than what used to be your total swim.
You have completely taken the laundry basket out of the clothing loop and instead just put the dirty clothes directly into the washer.
Your total food bill has increased twofold. If you are training with your husband your total food bill has increased fourfold.
You see 3 x 800 on the board at masters practice and you think ho hum. The next night you see 6 x 500 and you're like whatever. But you're still not keen about 3 x 1000.
You're too awake to fall asleep but to sleepy to stay awake.
You’ve started keeping notes on flavors of bars and what they do to your stomach; you’ve decided that anything oatmeal raisin gets the boot.
Revved up metabolism can mean only one thing – lots of poop. “That’s a new one”, you said to your friends recently, “I’ve never gotten off the bike to take a poop before”.
There are more dirty water bottles in your dishwasher than dirty dishes.
You are toying with the idea of asking your grandmother-in-law to stitch together two Bento Boxes because you’ve got this great Ironman-induced idea of the ultimate calorie carrying machine - a Bento Box with an “extended cab”.
As far as saddle sores – you know it’s just a matter of time.
Waking up at 6 am is sleeping in.
You find yourself browsing the bar section in the grocery store to 'see what else is out there.'
You develop some type of a condition and think to yourself “I’ve never had that before” at least once per week.You make plans with your friends that start at 5:30 am on a Saturday.
Mealtime becomes “ice your _______ “ time.
Advice from your coach includes telling you to stand in your bathroom while pointing the blowdryer directly at your face to simulate Hawaii conditions.
You have a growing list of post-workout foods that you are willing to work for.
Your friend tells you how to make fried chicken with egg beaters and you won't hear a word of it because it won't have enough calories, salt, or fat.
Cold water has never tasted so good.
Before you make plans, you say “I have to check my schedule”, not your work schedule or family schedule, but your workout schedule.
You’ve out-eaten your husband for the past 2 months.
Lunch hour has become recovery run hour.
You haven’t peed clear in weeks.
There is a certain part of your body that hurts, that doesn’t usually hurt, like your left index finger, and somehow you know it has something to do with Ironman training.
You have switched from Advil to Tylenol 8 Hour.
You feel prouder than ever, even though you haven’t really done anything yet.
No sooner do you get the food down before you need to take a crap. No sooner do you crap before you’re ready to eat more food again.
It's so much fun to tell people that you're doing Ironman that you almost feel like you'll ruin it if you actually have to go and do the race.
On demand, you can rattle off the calorie, carbohydrate, and sodium content of most bars and gels.
On any given day, at least one part of your body is chafed to the point of scabbing.
Your tan lines are starting to look like a bad road map.
It used to take one cup of coffee to start your day. Now it takes four, about three times a day.
At least 20 percent of your diet is consumed in bar form.
You keep hearing a voice in your head and it is saying “_______(your name), you are an Ironman”.
You also keep hearing another voice in your head and it is saying “what were you thinking, what were you thinking.”
You wander the grocery store aisles looking for something to satiate your appetite at least 3 times per week and you eat that item before you get home.
You have become a one-drink date. When you do drink, you are likely shout something about Ironman in the middle of the street.
For some reason, you sense the race experience will be the least epic thing compared to everything you’ll do in preparation for the race.
Your husband has threatened divorce if he hears one more word about Ironman. As a result, you have elected a certain friend that you can only talk about Ironman with because they too are training for Ironman and have also been threatened with divorce.
You shop only where Gatorade is on sale. You share this information with your Ironman-only friend who acts like you've thrown them a pot of gold for sharing this information.
You have dreams about getting the runs on the run course.
You picture your Ironman date like the end of a prison sentence. For example, you begin talking about how life will be “after October 13th …”
You fear your teeth will have a permanent tint from consuming large and consistent quantities of green, blue, and orange sports drink.
You feel fitter, but also fatter, than you’ve ever felt in your life.
You can’t remember miles 60 – 90 of the bike ride but you know you did them.
You fear your eyebrows are becoming furrowed and find yourself talking about Botox with your Ironman-only friend.
You have no desire to chew after mile 75.
Anything shorter than a 500 in the pool makes you feel like 'why bother'.
You ride 1 hour, which feels like 3, and then realize that you still have 5 hours to go which will probably feel like 15.
You take off 1 minute per mile when you run without your Fuel Belt.
You’ve ridden more miles than you’ve driven in the past week.
You wake up 3 pounds heavier than you went to bed as because you took so many salt tabs the day before.
Your coach has put a 7 hour and 15 minute workout on your schedule and even though you know it is sick and wrong, you look forward to it.
You feel that next to your wedding day, the day of the race will be the longest day of your life.
You can’t sleep at night because you are so jacked up from caffeine and sugar from the workout you probably just finished an hour earlier.
You have peed and crapped more in the woods in the past few weeks than you have in your own home.
You find yourself looking at small baggies and containers wondering if you could carry crackers, salt tabs, or bars in it.
You eat most of your meals standing up because you’ve gotten so used to sitting in your saddle only.
You are in search of the largest Bento box possible.
You find yourself sitting at work and after 20 minutes have gone by, you think to yourself that it’s time to eat ½ of a bar. Another 45 minutes later, you think it’s time to take a gel and then you realize that you are not sitting on your bike, you do not need to be doing your nutrition plan, but you do need to get back to work.
Running a 7:15 pace feels like you’re flying.
For fun, you weigh yourself with your Fuel Belt on and off, shorts on and off, helmet on and off.
The term "special needs" no longer refers to a group of individuals but a bag that you might find at mile 56 of the bike.
If you find yourself feeling slow and having a bad workout, you think to yourself that it’s ok because you’re training for Ironman where you will only go slow.
Your feet are starting to look like the feet of a Hobbit.
You’ve transformed your sleek 18 pound bike into a 23 pound clunker when you add up all of the liquids, food, and stuff you need to haul.
You have nearly veered into oncoming traffic while trying to pull a salt tab out of a button baggie.
You think about Ironman incessantly. You drive to work and think "I am doing Ironman." You go to bed and think "I am doing Ironman." You wonder what you will think about after Ironman. Probably doing Ironman again?
You finally get what all the fuss is about because you’re having more fun than ever.