This week on raceAthlete.com we’ll be featuring the stories of several athletes who, for various reasons, were unable to complete the recent Ironman at Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.
I find their stories to be truly amazing and in many ways much more inspirational than the stories featured on the Kona NBC broadcast.
To start with I can really relate to having to drop out of a race as I did so in my first half Ironman attempt.
But more importantly I think that you learn much more about yourself from adversity than you do from victory. I don’t mean to devalue the courage and effort it takes to cross the line before midnight at any Ironman race, but sometimes it takes just as much courage effort to keep going knowing that your goal is slipping (or has completely slipped) out of your grasp.
A good friend of mine and local running and triathlon coach Scott Fliegelman dropped out of IMCDA after the bike. He was trying to qualify for Kona, but he spent almost an hour trying to change a flat tire. This completely devastated his race day strategy and left him without a real goal of reason to finish. Below is just a short excerpt from his frustrating race day experience:
I continued pedaling, eating, and drinking my way back to the start of lap #2 without catching anyone I knew, but did see Garry and Neil heading back out looking strong. I didn’t see Liz or Mary or JJ or Heidi or any of our cheering section (aka Iron Sherpas) on my way through town (although they did see me and cheered loudly) and forged on for what would be a long, and mentally challenging 56-mile lap. I picked up my “special needs” bag at mile 63, and instead of switching out the bottles on the fly as I planned, I decided I could spare the time to stop and do so more carefully, and while I was at it use the port-o-let that was nearby instead of going while on the bike as I’d done in the past, and then I chatted briefly with a friendly volunteer, and did some light stretching…
And that was the beginning of the end right there I tried convincing myself that I was doing a really big, really well supported, really expensive group workout… or that I was going to conserve my energy and run a legendary marathon… or that I could play cheerleader for the athletes I was passing at a far less frequent rate than before, but when it all came down to it, the Ironman is really, really hard and you must be 100% focused and committed in order to fight through the pain and even complete the distance. I believe that it is equally arduous for the sub 9-hour pro and the 15-hour first timer, and now I was somewhere in between the two… a “no man’s land” with a silver lining which I could not reveal for myself.
Despite having coached 1,000’s of athletes to “find comfort in discomfort”; a concept where you welcome the familiar sensations that reinforce that you are indeed doing exactly what is necessary to reach desired goals, I could only find “discomfort in discomfort” each time I checked. I was still eating and drinking on schedule and physically had plenty left in the tank, but emotionally I was near complete exhaustion as I cautiously went through the motions on the hills and twisty roads between miles 75-100.
I began to negotiate with myself about the meaning of the upcoming 26.2 mile run. I came up with several reasons to do it, and several more against the idea, and allowed the two opposing camps to battle it out in my brain as I rode slower and slower back toward T2. The reasons “for” included: respecting the sport, setting a good example for F4 athletes to persevere despite adversity, getting to the bottom of my fitness (even if I didn’t meter it out as evenly as I planned between the sports), and not “raining on the parade” for my friends competing that day… many for the first time. The arguments against included: being utterly exhausted mentally from dealing with nearly 90 miles of riding on a sketchy spare tire and trying not to fracture my hip, saving my legs the three weeks recovery they would need from the marathon and therefore moving right into XTERRA training mode with the possibility of qualifying for Worlds in Maui (not a bad back up to Kona), not having fun any longer, and lastly, my Mom and Dad would’ve definitely wanted me to stop!
When I finally committed to the decision to drop out after the bike, it was a decision I made 100% for myself, and with a few days now to reflect on it… it was the right choice. It came down to this…
By deciding to “give up”, I feel I still showed respect to the sport and my fellow competitors by demonstrating just how difficult it is to complete an Ironman, and that every athlete who did so on the day, whether more or less gifted than I, should feel incredibly proud of their accomplishment. I now know that the next time I persevere, fight through pain, and overcome a major obstacle, it will mean that much more to me as it will not be easy, or automatic, or taken for granted, or even smart, but I’ll do it because it helps shape who I am and who I strive to be as an athlete.
You may recall Trish Downing from last year’s Kona coverage or from my recent podcast. Trish Downing, a paraplegic athlete, is the second female wheelchair racer (first female paraplegic) to complete an Iron distance triathlon (Redman Triathlon 2005...finishing time 18:03). She is a member of the physically challenged National Triathlon Team and a pioneer in women’s wheelchair triathlon.
She also competed at IMCDA this year and had to drop out on the bike portion of the race. She is still striving to get the one paraplegic athlete slot for Kona. The ugly swim conditions combined with the hilly bike portion made for a tough day for her. Here's a short excerpt from her race report
When I got on my bike, I was still feeling fairly optimistic. I knew I wasn’t in great shape because my swim was even slower than Hawaii, but I wasn’t throwing up salt water, so I figured that had me a bit ahead of the The beginning of the race was about a 10-mile out and back that went through town and along the lake. Although it had a bit of minor climbing, it was nothing compared to what I had coming ahead. I really had to keep my speed up because I learned in the race meeting the night before that I had to be We counted about seven MAJOR climbs (short but steep) from the car, but it seemed when I was out there, that everything was uphill. It reminded me of one of the last training rides I did in Colorado…the Elephant Rock. That is one of the hardest rides I’ve ever done (and I’ve only done up to the 50-mile ride, never the century), but when I did that ride a few weeks ago, I thought to myself, “there’s no way Idaho is going to be this hard.” Well…surprise, surprise, it WAS that hard. In fact, on one hill, when I was moving at approximately 2 mph, there was a cyclist at the side of the road, dressed in a racing jersey, but obviously a spectator and not a racer, and he said to me, “didn’t I just see you a couple of weeks ago at Elephant It was nice along the route to have some screaming downhills…I think I got up to 35 or 40mph a couple of times, but on the flip side, I also saw my computer register “0” mph once or twice as I inched up a hill. Needless to say, I knew I wasn’t going to make the time cut. The difference in Idaho however was that I couldn’t have continued after one loop if I wanted to. My cold was back in full force, I was exhausted and I simply didn’t have anything left in the tank. When I got picked up in Hawaii I was moving at
game as compared to Kona. I also knew I had a lot of climbing ahead of me.
in from the first loop (56 miles) of the bike by 1:30. Otherwise, I wouldn’t make the time cut. That was different from Kona where they just let you go as far as you can in 10.5 hours and THEN cut you. I was feeling pretty beat from the swim, but the first part of the bike went well. After about 15 or
20 miles though, the whole story changed. I knew there were hills out there, we had driven the course, but they never look as bad from the car.
Rock?” I was surprised, a Colorado guy, but all I could say to him was, “yes that was me and this race sucks as bad as that ride!” He just laughed as I pulled away.
the fastest pace I had gone all day. When I pulled into transition at C d’A, Neal and Steve had to pull like a rag doll from my handcycle, I gave a farewell interview to the camera that had been following me for the day and I turned in my chip.
We'll be featuring the entire race reports on raceAthlete.com this week. Sometimes it is easy to forget that we all have our own challenges to overcome. It can be something as straightforward as trying to qualify for Kona or something as unusual and difficult as trying to do it without the use of your legs.
But whatever your own personal challenge these stories illustrate that just getting to the starting line is truly 99 percent of the battle.