Saturday morning my relative race week Zen had all but evaporated. I was really nervous beyond what I knew to be typical. It was early and I was cold, really cold. Standing barefoot on the sand, my feet were already numb; I stared into the ocean without much thought. The sun was not up yet and the ocean was black. I had not eaten a ton all morning and didn’t even take a Hammer Gel thirty minutes out. Everyone was around and everyone was nervous, including spectators. I don’t remember much conversation. Fifteen minutes until the gun. By now, it wasn’t just my feet that were numb.
We kissed away our families and walked over to put our toes in the warm water. I stood with Corey on the beach after losing sight of Jody, Brian, and Aaron. It was good to be with a teammate before the start. We made our way towards the front of the twenty-eight-hundred athletes, I liked our position. We stood silent for a few minutes then they played the national anthem; I peed in my wetsuit one last time. A quick hug. Ten seconds. More silence. Gun.
I wanted to keep my HR low as I navigated through the masses in search of clean water. “Maybe I could have been a bit further up,” I remember thinking. To accomplish this I had to swim with my head above the water in a very elementary way to maneuver through the mess. It seemed to work. Soon enough was I was able to find some space, get on some feet, sight a clear line to the buoys, and settle into a nice rhythm. The small rollers were choppy and consistent and the current was pulling us to the left as we went out. At the first buoy I was about fifty yards inside and had to straighten my line. I quickly learned I would need to compensate for the current and play the angles. Not a big deal. The first left hand turn was a bit congested and I tried to get in and out as quick as possible. As I made the turn the sun was there, glaring. Basically blinded, I swam by feel and short view about three hundred yards to the next left hand buoy. Again a bottleneck, I made the turn and headed for shore. My pace at that point felt right and everything was under control. Other than a bit of fog that had accumulated in my goggles, probably due to the extreme variance in water and air temperatures, the cruise back to the beach was uneventful.
The tide was out and the shallow water was long all the way up to the sand. As I slowly jogged through the shin deep breakwater towards the turn around on the beach, I glanced at my watch. It read somewhere around twenty-nine minutes. I was happy, maybe even a little surprised. My strategy was not to negative split the swim but keep the pace relatively consistent on both laps. I liked the time I saw. After clearing my mouth with some fresh water at the beach water station I calmly jogged back into water for another go in The Gulf. Lap one of two: 30:24
The water was much more open this time and I couldn’t help but turn on the jets just a bit as I approached the first buoy. The turn buoys were less crowded and the sun was just high enough to spare me the glare. All said, the second lap seemed to go by even faster. I felt good; with only a little shoulder burn the last few hundred yards. At one point I even remember feeling A bit warm in my Profile Design Marlin wetsuit. I should have savored the moment, as warmth would be an elusive commodity the rest of the day. One more jog through the shallows and back up beach before the swim was a thing of the past. Lap two of two: 32:23. Wetsuit stripped, through the freshwater showers and into T1. Swim: 1:02:47 (1:40/100m)
It felt like a rat maze on the way through transition. We ran up and down several fenced walkways towards the gear bags before eventually making it to the changing rooms. That was annoying. I took a quick seat and methodically went though the process that I had practiced: shoes, helmet, race number belt, arm warmers, sunglasses banana. It was too easy to waste time in Ironman transitions, I know firsthand; this one seemed fine. I did forget one step though, towel off. I ran out of the changing room ready to ride, but still soaking wet. After yet another endless jog past the porta-potties and down the bike lanes, I was handed my rig just as I swallowed what remained of my banana. Too long but relatively seamless: T1: 6:41
On the bike and I immediately felt cold. Literally dripping wet with only partially dry arm warmers, I began the ride. The road out of town was bumpy and windy. Within ten minutes I was seriously cold and my mood was depleting. I glanced at my watch for the real time of day; it was just after 8:00am. Pre-race temps were in the mid-thirty’s so it could not have been much more than thirty-seven at that point. The sun was rising slowly and still behind the tall trees that lined the highway. I was critically frozen with no way to warm up in sight.
As more time went by I was getting passed left and right but there wasn’t much I could do, nor did I care. Performance, to be completely honest, was no concern of mine at that point. Ninety minutes into the most important race of my season, performance and game plan were not even on my radar because of the oppressive conditions I was dealing with. This is an unbelievable fact for me to reflect on. Straight up, I was too cold to care.
Back to reality, every part of my body was stiff and numb or in extreme pain and getting worse. My legs weren’t firing with any power and my arms were frozen stiff. My fingers were dead dark blue. I could not bend my wrists, shift gears, grasp anything, or squeeze a water bottle, I was flat out miserable and had four plus hours ahead of me. Without regret or shame I can honestly say I considered quitting several times within the first hour of the ride. The extreme cold had transformed into down right undeniable pain and I was losing hope. My lean, one hundred fifty some pound frame was unable to regain any warmth and was taking it on the chin. All I wanted to do was stop.
I really wanted to stop. I wanted the pain to stop and I wanted the cold to stop. I am not sure why I never actually stopped but the temptation was real. After riding way too slow for way too long and being passed by so many people I knew all I could do was continue to pedal. I was too numb to be mad or to process angry thoughts. Frozen in position, I just kept moving forward.
Corey rode up on me at one point, it was so good to see him. He was freezing too and just hearing that made me feel a little better; I wasn’t the only.
The rest of the day on the bike just sort of went on by in a monotonous blur. Over time I slowly thawed and was able to settle into a grove down in the bars with a renewed focus. But the damage had been done, I was way behind. I can’t say I ever truly warmed up, but the misery eventually faded. We fought wind gusts all day long and depending on the turn of the road we dealt with it more or less. I stayed on top of my calories and consumed every bit of my plan. Having been so cold in the morning I knew my body had burnt more calories than planned, so I made an effort to stay on the high end of my consumption ranges for the rest of the ride. Two 24 oz. bottles with six scoops of Hammer Perpetuem in each one did the trick.
The course was different from 2007 and included more inclines and out and back sections. Nothing significant but it is not pancake flat as it’s often advertised.
Special needs came at mile fifty-six. Still having little dexterity in my fingers I had the volunteer unwrap my Fig Newton’s and put them in my mouth after he handed me my fresh fuel bottles. Off I went in under a minute.
Hydration was a big focus of mine on the bike. Throughout training I have learned my sweet rate may be a bit elevated and that the more electrolyte fortified liquid I take in, the better I feel, plain and simple. I was drinking a lot of Hammer HEED. This also means I had to pee a lot. I stopped to pee once. Realizing the incredible waste of time it was I took a new approach. It’s not pretty, comfortable or easy but it’s fast. My new method was a time saver, however my cycling shoes never seemed to dry all day long…that’s all I’ll say about that.
I had a sense of urgency the last twenty or so miles. The wind was calm and I wanted to make up for lost time. I remember passing mile marker ninety and feeling good, so I recommitted. I rode as hard and controlled as I could on my way back to town. But I never fought the wind when it came, I stayed patient knowing it would be at my back soon enough. Several times throughout the final stretch large groups of riders would come up from behind and zoom past effortlessly. I learned about patience and fairness on the bike this season, it was easy for me to let them ride up the road without me. They did their thing, I did mine.
Coming back down the main strip into transition I was not slowing. I was behind schedule and not going to lay off the gas until the dismount line. Some athletes were slowing down as they approach the final mile; I stayed on a stiff pace until the last minute. Olympic pace at mile one hundred eleven probably isn’t textbook Ironman bike strategy but I wanted to get off my bike and run. Out of shoes, ass off saddle, and back in transition. Bike: 5:34:46 (20.1mph)
My first few steps were ridged. My quads were stiff as hell as I shuffled back through the maze of transition fencing. I was handed my gear bag and made it back to the changing rooms. Already my legs were feeling looser, an encouraging sign. Another quick sit, my actions were deliberate. Swiftwick Socks, shoes, visor, and Fuel Belt. Out of the changing room, past a few more transition obstacles and onto the run course. T2: 4:50
I was running. It’s always good to be running at Ironman. A large part of my pre-race focus and preparation was to run a successful marathon. This meant little to no walking. To do this I would have to be patient and resist the urge to go out too quickly. I would also have to fuel correctly with my Espresso Hammer Gel, Endurolytes and water at aid stations. I had Hammer Fizz in both 10 oz. bottles of my Fuel Belt also. I drank the entire first one during mile one. It tasted great. As a back up I had flat Coke at special needs but I wanted to hold off on that as long as possible.
Mile one split, 8:08. Way too fast. 8:30 would have been a little steep but acceptable, 8:08 was down right unacceptable. Time to slow down. The next few miles were consistently slower. So much so that I became a bit concerned. My effort seemed to be increasing while my pace was decreasing. Luckily, this only lasted the first few miles before I was able to stretch out and settle into an appropriate pace and effort.
The course is two out and backs with a loop in the park at the far end. I just wanted to get out to the park at this point. I ran steady and sipped on my flask. Everything was under control. As I continued to drink a lot I allowed myself to stop every other mile to use the porta-potty. These would be the only times I would break stride all marathon.
I made it to the park, ran the loop and headed back towards transition. There weren’t many supporters out that far, it was nice and quiet and I liked it. With my arm warmers now pulled down to my wrists I was moving steady. Around mile eight after taking a shot of gel my flask slipped from my hand. It fell onto the road two steps behind me, I took once glance back at it, decided backwards was a direction I didn’t want to go, and kept on running. Not the best decision I have ever made, but at the time, reverse was not an option.
By the time I made it to the turn around at thirteen I was in an unyielding trance. I saw my family cheering but I heard nothing except my own breathing. I didn’t feel much either; I was in a daze and probably a bit fragile but continued forward progress. I needed that damn gel flask. Plan B. Aid stations. Coke, grapes and oranges were my new nutrition strategy. At the time I fully accepted sugar and caffeine but I knew I would have to stay on it until the finish. A sugar high is good thing, until it runs out. Half Marathon: 2:04:41
It was a little deflating feeling leaving town for a second time, I remembered that feeling from 2007. But at this point, completely buzzed on Coke I kept my head up and left town with a smile. I had one goal; get back to the park.
I wish I remembered more about the run back to the park, but I don’t. I just remember getting to the loop and feeling good. It was still quiet back there, the sun was on its way back down and the air was cooling off. I had one more task at hand before my third Ironman finish. As I passed mile marker twenty, one thought passed through my sugar-stoned head, “run home.” A quick mental inventory of what was left in the tank confirmed my intentions. I would run back as fast as I could. I ditched my empty Fuel Belt bottles and arm warmers at the aid station and took off for twenty-one. Nothing mattered anymore except running, just plain old, hard running. My adrenaline was spiked and my pace was unsustainable. I knew I had to slow down a little but the idea was right. Give it everything I had until the finish. And that is what I did.
As I left the park and made it back onto the crowded streets my daze was thick. Life was a fiery blur inside my head that kept pushing me to run harder. I don’t recall much on the way back into town except the totally alive and numbing feeling of realizing how close I was to the finish.
With around two miles to the finish I remember trying to do math in my head while looking at my watch. I had an extremely thin chance of crossing before the clock ticked eleven hours. It would be close but my ability to calculate time was so impaired I couldn’t figure out how close it would actually be. It was a waste of time and energy to try and figure it out. I conceded with myself to just run. In that moment it was all I could do, just run with a brain turned off. The rest would work itself out.
With other runners and spectators all around me I was alone in my head. No dance party aid stations or drunken college kids cheering could crack my blank stare. I wasn’t interested in any of it, only running. Eventually I made the last left hand turn past Alvin’s Island and could feel the music and lights of the finish line. The adrenaline overdose of the last mile of an Ironman is nothing I can describe with accuracy. But I think that is one aspect of this race that makes it so exceptional. It is as indescribable as it is long. You will literally never know unless you’re there. There is little value in the story.
I entered the finishing chute and crossed the line completely alive and buzzing. “Welcome home” was my only thought. Marathon: 4:13:07 (9:40/mile)
I was escorted by a volunteer through the finishers process; Mylar blanket on, timing chip off, medal around neck, hat and tee-shirt in hand, and finisher photo snapped. Ironman: 11:02:09 (PR)
By now the numbing high I had been riding for the past two hours had escaped my body and was replaced by a very authentic pain from the destruction of the day. But even that pain was dwarfed with the embrace of my teammates and family. “Those things don’t get any easier,” I said to my Dad as we hugged.
I am nothing but happy with my third Ironman experience and am proud to have shared it with my teammates and family. I gave it everything I had, I did not quit, and I earned my best time to date. I will leave it at that.
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