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A tough athlete takes on a tough race and a tough day by Trish Downing

The rest of this week 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.

We find their stories to be truly amazing and in many ways much more inspirational than the stories featured on the Kona NBC broadcast.

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 her race report:

Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. It’s a place few have been to, and even fewer can spell. It’s one of the most beautiful places I have ever been and in fact, when I moved to Spokane, Washington in 1992, I almost didn’t get there because I thought Coeur d’Alene was so gorgeous, I wanted to stop my car and live right by the lake. Needless to say, I’ve spent many days in Coeur d’Alene, as it’s only 30 miles from my former home. I knew I loved the town, but what I didn’t know was that I wouldn’t really love the hills.

The week of the race started out with me waking up with a cold on Monday morning. I had the whole thing…sore throat, stuffy nose, earache, but I thought with just enough AirBorne and Vitamin C, I could fight it off.

I tried to get my rest Monday, but there was lots to do to get ready for Tuesday when my mom and I would head to Montana in our rental van. As Steve and I were packing the van to get ready to go, I realized why I hate flying to triathlons. When all was said and done, the van held nearly $20,000 worth of equipment and if you count every single wheel enclosed (including my everyday chair), I had 14 wheels in my possession. Not to mention all the other luggage that goes with the race.

We drove  for about 11 hours that day to Butte, Montana, where we stayed the night and then finished the drive into Spokane, Washington on Wednesday. When we got there, we jumped in the shower to get ready to meet my friends and former co-workers from the TV station for dinner. It was great to see old pals and relive my younger, wilder days. (Thank you Kim and Kathy for
haring my secret exploits with my mother!)

Thursday, my mom and I headed into Coeur d’Alene to check into our condo, do a TV interview and then join the members of the CEO Challenge for a very yummy dinner at the resort. I was at the dinner to represent the Challenged Athletes Foundation and to give a brief overview of the organization. It was a nice couple of hours of relaxation after our busy schedule, but right after dinner we had to head BACK to Washington to pick up Steve and Neal at the airport and then BACK to Idaho to our condo. What we didn’t realize until the sun came back up is what a beautiful spot we had chosen to stay. We were on the forth floor of a brand new condo complex with a balcony overlooking the Spokane River. It couldn’t have been any better.

Friday was spent registering, getting a massage, doing an interview with Ironman TV, going to the race meeting, driving the bike course and welcoming my friends Tracey and Rob who drove over from Seattle to watch the race. On Saturday we checked out the lake in a quick swim, loaded transition and went back to the condo to rest.

So, here’s the part you’ve been waiting for. The actual race…

It was a chilly, windy morning. We arrived at transition about 5:30 a.m. and had to get all my special needs bags to the correct area, air up tires, all the usual stuff. Then we found a nice grassy area to spread out my blanket and begin the tug ‘o war with my wetsuit. As we were putting on my wetsuit (yes, it is a several-person job) the wind started picking up and our things were blowing around and I was shivering like it was 20 below out (I know I’m cold even when it’s in the 80s). Anyway…Neal and Steve carried me down onto the beach where we would wait with 2300 of our closest friends and fellow triathletes for the race to start. But, while we were on the beach, the race
announcer came over the PA to give us warnings about the water since it was like a washing machine. He said it was severly choppy and would be achallenging swim. Then he offered something I would never have imagined. He said that because the water was so crazy, that athletes who didn’t want to do the swim could sit it out and start a bike-run duathlon at 9am.

Then he said, if you get in the water and do a lap and decide it’s enough, you can get out at that point and also just move on to the bike and the run. With that warning, I could only think two things, “wow…that water must be pretty bad” and “you can’t be an Ironman without a swim.” So…we swam. In the ‘olden’ days (three or four years ago to be more exact), I would have stayed
to the back of the pack and tried to swim alone, but I’m much faster now, so Neal and I jumped right in the pack. The only thing was, we got stuck in the middle of a bunch of back-of-the-packers and it could only have been described as chaos.

Usually I think of myself as one of the weaker swimmers out there because of my physical limitations, but in C d’A, I realized that there are a good amount of not-so-good able-bodied swimmers. Who knew? And unfortunately, I got caught up in a big group of them. Neal, who I would say is very mild-mannered, was beginning to lose his patience. Between the two of us, we pushed, paddled and defended against dozens of swimmers until finally we finished the two-lap swim and I came out of the water at 1:47 (ish). (I haven’t checked my exact time). To get from the swim to the
changing tent meant pushing over what seemed like acres of grass and then in the tent I put on a long sleeve shirt (it was still cold outside) and had to push across even more grass to get to transition. With the exception of Chicago, I have never had to cover so much ground just to get from the swim to the transition.

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 game as compared to Kona. I also knew I had a lot of climbing ahead of me.

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 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. 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 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.

It was nice along the route to have some screeming 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 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.

It wasn’t the day I was looking for, but it was a much harder course than I had realized or expected. I would definitely say it was harder than Hawaii. Maybe not Hawaii on a super windy day, but just matching course for course, I would say that Idaho is more difficult.

I still had a fun weekend with my friends and beautiful surroundings, but of course finishing would have topped off the experience. I won’t be heading to Hawaii this year, but I have not given up my Ironman quest. I guess it won’t be a bad thing to take a breather, get the wedding planned and executed and plan my next attempt. As for the remainder of the season, I will focus on all races including the Malibu Triathlon, Twin Cities Marathon, and maybe a couple of local triathlons.

Everyday I look at the quote a friend gave me that hangs in my kitchen, “If rising above the ordinary were easy, everyone would do it. It is only those exceptional athletes who train, sacrifice and relentlessly pursue their goals who are able to accomplish the Extraordinary.” I will keep training and EVENTUALLY I know I’ll get there!!

The Tribe Has Gathered

From Wikipedia:

"The Coeur d'Alene are a First Nations/Native American people who lived in villages along the Coeur d'Alene, St. Joe, Clark Fork and Spokane Rivers; as well as sites on the shores of Lake Coeur d'Alene, Lake Pend Oreille and Hayden Lake, in what is now northern Idaho, eastern Washington and western Montana.

In their language, members call themselves, Schitsu'umsh (or Skitswish), meaning The Discovered People or Those Who Are Found Here. Early French fur traders in the late 18th or early 19th century gave them their non-native name. The name Cœur d'Alêne means Heart of an Awl, referring to the perceived shrewdness of the trading skills exhibited by the tribe."

All of us here in Idaho this weekend are all a part of the Cour d’ Alene tribe as we get ready for the Iron right of passage.

The tribe has assembled, and some of us will race, and some us will cheer, and some of us will wait until midnight for the last official straggler to cross the line.

But today the air is full of anticipation. The stage is set, the course is marked, and possibility hangs in the air like smoke before a fire.

These are just some images from gathered tribe.

Mission Accomplished! by Studies in Clydeology

It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t fast but it has been completed! The morning started out good with a pretty smokin’ swim for me and then through transition and onto the bike. The wind came up early and just kept intensifying. Friend Andy, who also did the race is something like 12:25 said that when he checked the weather for the day we had gusts to 45 mph and I think the sustained winds were at 30. What the hell is it with me, 140.6 and WIND?! Fair warning to you all, if you see my name on the entry list of your next Ironman be forewarned!

Anyway, the wind hit everyone, not just me. The first thing to hit me personally was my stomach shutting down. Happily this happened around mile 10 or 15 on the bike so I didn’t have to wait in suspense. I had A LOT of time to think about this one and my opinion is that the wind was causing me to work harder that it actually felt. I did have my HR monitor on and I did see that my HR was pegged at 177 on the bike, in an Ironman, and I simply noted, “boy, that sure is high” and just kept motoring along because, well, I felt really strong and I was dropping people like flies…and it was just so crowded on the course I could never find a good (read as fast; too fast) spot to slip in behind someone and get the requisite 4 bike-length distance…so I kept going looking for just the right spot.

So once the stomach shut down I was able to keep going strong for maybe the first half of the first of three laps on the bike…then my HR dropped and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it; my power pack was starting to shut down as well. There were a few other things going wrong with my situation, if I drank it made me feel sick, because the wind was so high my mouth was constantly dry so I could not eat or I would start choking, so I would drink to moisten my mouth, open it to eat, wind blows mouth dry, I choke on food, spit it out, repeat the cycle, quit.

Fortunately though I didn’t start loosing my mind until about half way through the last laP of the bike. I first deduced something was wrong when I discovered I was walking my bike through an aid station. I thought to myself, “Self, why are you walking your bike through an aid station?” and quickly recognized that THAT was my plan for the RUN, to walk the aid station and run in between. And so I promptly walked my bike the rest of the length of the aid station, hopped on and pedaled away congratulating myself for having stuck to my plan. It wasn’t until the last 5 or so miles of the bike that I started shaking my head and twitching my arms for reasons I can not explain…I don’t know if it helped but I did it several times so let’s all assume it served a purpose. Oh, I only ran off the bike course once and got an orange cone stuck between my chain ring and bottom bracket…and I didn’t fall!

It felt good to sit down in T2 and change into running shoes and socks. I was VERY happy to be allowed to run at this point, REALLY, I was practically ecstatic. I knew there was some soda out on the run course and I figured that the carbonation would jump-start my stomach. It did this to a degree, I think I was able to “run” about a mile and a half before I was reduced to shambling, which I did until some point in the run, it had to have been somewhere, ah hell, I don’t know when it happened but at one point I stumbled off the running path and fell to my knees and viola, I puked my guts out…YEA!

After that I was totally able to run at least 5 feet to, I think my record was 2.5 miles, every so often. I kept reading all the signs ans race uniforms around me to keep my mind “sharp”, interesting premise and it may have even helped a bit but I wasn’t always able to read things or they simply did not make sense. At some point before I started my third lap of the marathon I lost the ability to determine how much time I had left in order to make the 17-hour cut-off…and I had developed huge blisters on the balls of my feel from so much slogging. These events had the effect of 1) making it extremely painful to run and 2) making me feel extremely pressed for time. I began to think that someone would yank me from the course and not even let me try to finish.

This was a particularly low point for me. I was informed later that teammate “Mighty Mike” Montoya, also now an IRONMAN, had walked with me for a while and spoken with me. He reported back to the crew,”I don’t think he knew who I was”. HA! Mike, fie on you! I didn’t even know anyone had spoken to me or that I had had a conversation.

Anyhow, when I hit the bridge leading up to the beginning of loop three I had worked myself up to such a degree with the fear of being pulled from the course that I just started running and smiling as big as I could, I ran the length of the bridge, through the crowd in transition and all the way down to the end of the pier where the crowd disappeared. The distance was about a mile and a half, maybe two…who knows. And you know what? I faked em' all out...they let me keep running, Hazah!

During that little run I learned a trick that I will share with you. Just before the bridge a member of the Iron Geezer Triathlon Club, Frank Farrar, caught me and he was at a slightly faster walk that was I. I said, “Do you mind if I hang with you for a little sir?” And he said, “sure but my old body is pretty broken down, you’ll probably go faster.” I just chuckled and said, “We'll see, I hope my body is in as good a shape as yours when I’m our age (78)” He then told me we should break into a little bit of a run and started asking me about longevity in my family. Anyway, our little conversation proved to be very inspiring and I started running faster and started looking at all my fellow sloggers and thought to myself, this is AMAZING! I can draw power from all the triathletes around me, not in a vampire kind of way mind you. Then I thought of my fellow bloggers and all the wonderful people I have met or “met” and I felt strong, of body that is, and THAT is what gave me the power to fake my way onto the third loop of the marathon.

In actuality, I had an hour more than I suspected so I wasn’t in danger but I didn’t know that so…THANKS GUYS AND GALS!

Not much else happened on the run except my race number finally fell off and so I clutched it like grim death all the way to the finish line. About a tenth of a mile from the finish line Outlaw Paul “Mr. Walnuts” a.k.a. “Stitch” Zetocha, also an IRONMAN today, for like the 8th time, met me out on the course and ran with me for a little…he was already fully showered, dressed in civilian clothes and fed, and told me I could get in under 16 hours…Whaat? Oh, well, cool. I somehow managed a strong kick down the chute, knees high, solid paw back, back straight, arms pumping and smiling like an idiot. I even dropped a few people. I came to the finish line and heard “BRIAN PILGRIM OF RIO RANCHO NEW MEXICO…YOU ARE AN IRONMAN! And I was immediately caught by the “catchers” as I collapsed.

You will be please to hear that I had the presence of mind to stop my watch, stager in the direction of the woman with the finishers medals, though the catchers made this difficult because they thought I was going down but I am a Clydesdale after all, they had little choice regarding direction. Then I switched direction and staggered over to the finishers t-shirt table but was unable to pull that one off…they were wise to me and were whisking me off to the medical tent. HOWEVER, there was this black woman with LONG braids that I recognized as someone who ran SOMA as an Athena and I reached out, eyes pleading, and said, “You ran SOMA last year.” Of course as any triathlete who has personally experienced a punishing, multi-hour slog-fest she immediately said, “Yes I did sweetie…Hey; get this man a finisher’s shirt! Extra-large!”

And then I was in the arms of the medical tent, piled high with blankets, IV bag dripping away and as I was fading in and out I could look around the room and make out a tent full of people with stupid grins on their faces and finishers medals around their necks…in short, a room full of IRONMEN.

Click HERE for more of Brian's Blog

Iron Mike

Congratulations to Coach Mike who has completed  Ironman Arizona with a total time of 11:15:59.  He rocked the bike at just over 20 mph and tore up the swim course in under 1 hour.

In general, professional Boulder athletes just dominated the course on Sunday with Joanna Zeiger just missing the #1 podium position in the last two miles of the race while defending champion Michael Lovato came in third and Tim DeBoom took a very respectable 2nd place.

In honor of Coach Mike's great finish here's a bit of his own race advice on how to train for your next IM.

While training for an Ironman race – most of our training should be done in Zone 2 – this is the ‘Endurance Zone’ – and where we can sustain an even heart rate for the longest amount of time. Why? When our heart rate is about 20-30 beats below our Race Pace HR or Lactate Threshold, we are tapping into the biggest resource we have for fuel – fat. When we are above this HR and into Zone 3, we are tapping into more of our glycogen stores for fuel and this supply will not last very long – maybe two to three hours at most before it needs to be restocked. The glycogen is a limited supply of fuel, while fat is limitless. Zone 3 efforts should be reserved for the final miles of a Half Ironman or even a marathon in a well conditioned athlete. But going into Zone 3 in an Ironman for an athlete who is racing for longer than 11 hours, would be a big mistake.

When an athlete takes on a new training regimen or has not been training as much, they will experience cardiac drift at first. This is when the effort stays the same, yet the HR rises. I will allow myself to let this happen once per week when I am starting up my training again, but typically I back right down and stay within my HR parameters. Once you have a solid endurance base, you shouldn’t see much in the way of cardiac drift unless you are dehydrated and that is pretty normal. So, stick with the HR guidelines you have when you are starting out and try to avoid Zone 3 when in your early stages of IM training. If you are racing in the heat, you may need to go on RPE and let your HR drift, but only if you start to take on extra fuel b/c you will be burning through your fuel sources quicker.

Training our bodies to work efficiently in Zone 2 will help us keep our HR and pace even throughout an Ironman. This theory would hold true for the bike and run portion of an Ironman. When I write a workout and I give an athlete a ‘Zone1-2’ workout, I expect the athlete to find the happy medium and train at a pace they could sustain all day. What I usually get when I check over a log is “..I went out too hard, and well I bonked..” or “..I was much faster on the first hour of my ride and then I kind of faded...”

My solution is to do a better job of explaining ‘exactly’ what I want from my athletes. To provide you with a frame of reference, my LTHR (lactate threshold heart rate) on the run is about 160-163. My Zone 1 ends at about 137 bpm (beats per minute).

When I run train in a Zone 1-2 workout, and I am running ‘easy’ which is like a ‘guilty pace’, and my HR is around 135 bpm. That would put me about the top of Zone 1. When I am running ‘Steady’ (which I also call my Aerobic Threshold or AeT) I am usually around 140-145 which puts me about the middle of my Zone 2. This would be right about IM effort. After 112 miles, if I can maintain this HR for another 26 miles, I should be able to run the same pace as I do on my long runs, with all things being equal.

If you can follow the above and practice the discipline of just running ‘Steady’ when you are assigned those ‘Zone 1-2’ runs, you will improve your running. Spend as much time as you can running ‘Steady’ and it will pay off.

Now how does this apply to biking? Once again, to provide you with a frame of reference, my LTHR (lactate threshold heart rate) on the bike is about 155-160. My Zone 1 ends at about 125 bpm (beats per minute). Most of us have about a 8-12 beat difference between bike and run LTs.

When I bike train in a Zone 1-2, and I am riding ‘easy’ I am around 125 bpm. That would put me close to the top of my Zone 1. When I am biking ‘Steady’ I am usually around 135-140 which puts me about the middle to the top of my Zone 2. With the exception of climbing hills, I don’t ride over 140 in training. Sometimes I may see 145 on a steep hill, but I quickly get my HR back down by spinning easy. Most of my ‘Steady’ or AeT biking is done at 135-140 bpm. Once again this is my IM pacing effort. Realize that I have to run 26 miles after this 112 mile bike ride, so I won’t punch the accelerator at all if I want to run well. I hope this helps you in your IM quest!

Michael Ricci is a USAT Level III certified coach. He can be reached for personal coaching at [email protected]. Please visit his website at www.D3multisport.com.

To race or not to race, that is the question?

I recently got an email from a reader who is going through a very tough time. She was well beyond the point of when it rains it pours.  After a recent divorce, bankruptcy, and illness, she was questioning her commitment to race her first half Ironman this year.

And who could blame her? As you well know, as the race gets longer so does the training. One hour fun runs turn into three hour slogs. A nice and easy 20-mile bike ride turns into a must do 80-mile butt burn. The weekly swim quickly becomes a 3000-yard Masters Swim fest at least three times a week.

And not only does the training increase in both intensity and duration, but the cost and complexity of the race also dramatically sky rockets. Who among you all can tell me right here and now what goes in all 5 race bags during the standard Ironman ordeal?

Or who here has spent hours and/or days just trying to get to race? Traveling with a bike has all the grace and elegance of traveling with your baby pet elephant. The only difference is that the typical airline gate clerk can probably actually check in your elephant without making you open and unpack it.   

So what did I tell her?

Sometimes the best thing you can do is not race.

When all your training seems to be going downhill…

When you don’t feel the passion just  the pain…

When you can’t focus or find the fun…

When your heart and head can’t agree…

When the race becomes a burden, and the burden get’s to be too heavy…

When your head says yes, but your injured body screams no more…

When you see only the trees and never the forest…

When the other side of the mountain turns brown…

When your heart turns cold…

When your bike gets dusty…

When you days are just too short…

When your family, friends or God need you most…

Sometimes the best thing you can do is not race.

So what did I tell her?

Sometimes the best thing you can do is race.

When everything else in life is falling to bits…

When you feel like you have no control over your family, work, eating or health…

When you have so very little to look forward to when you wake up in the morning…

When you need something to jump start your day…

When you need conquer something that seems unconquerable…

When you need a reason to hit the path, pool, and road…

When you want to sleep like there is no tomorrow…

When you want to feel the real power of your muscles and lungs…

When you need to feel in total control of a few precious minutes of the day…

That’s when you have to close your eyes, make a mental fist, and determine that you will go the entire distance no matter what life puts in your way.

You will sweat…

You will suffer…

You will swear…

You will survive and cross that finish line.

You don’t know or care what awaits you on the other side of that line because right now, this instance, the next few hours, days, weeks, and months …the finish line is all that matters.

So what did I tell her?

I wrote back and said that she must absolutely do the race. Sometimes a race can not only become a goal, but indeed is the only goal worth accomplishing.

Click HERE for more Everyman Tri.

Those 17 Unforgettable Hours

There is no magic in the number 140.6. It represents a very random distance that several guys in Hawaii came up with in the winter of 1978 to determine if a swimmer, cyclist, or runner is the best endurance athlete.

U.S. Navy Commander John Collins (one of the Hawaii guys who began it all) is widely quoted as saying, "Whoever finishes first, we'll call him the Iron Man."

And so the first Ironman race took place on the small island of Oahu in the winter 1978 with a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike (the distance around the island) and traditional marathon of 26.2 miles.

From Wikipedia, “Of the fifteen men to start off the in early morning on February 18th, 1978, twelve completed the race. Gordon Haller was the first to earn the title Ironman by completing the course in a time of 11 hours, 46 minutes, and 40 seconds.”

It is worth noting here that athletes were completely self-supported and more importantly that handwritten on the last page of the very sparse three sheets of paper listing a few rules and a course description was this exhortation: "Swim 2.4 miles! Bike 112 miles! Run 26.2 miles! Brag for the rest of your life" This is now an Ironman registered trademark.

It is also the heart and soul of the Ironman. Over the last decade as Ironman racing has expanded throughout the world, the distance of 140.6 has become etched in stone as the mystical number that represents an Ironman.

It has become so synonymous with the Ironman that the number, divided by half, and now trademark (70.3) represents it own racing series. Athletes around the world aspire to complete both the shorter and longer distance as a way to prove their status as the top endurance dog.

But to me the real magic is not in this random number, but in the journey and ultimate goal to complete the Ironman. Let’s just pretend for a second that Oahu was 20 miles bigger or even 20 miles smaller. Would the numbers 120.6 or 160.6 be any more or less significant than 140.6?

Or we could easily imagine that during the marathon at the 1908 Olympic Games in London the course was NOT extended at the last minute by 385 yards from its set 26 miles so that the runners would cross the finish line in front of the Royal family’s viewing box in the Olympic arena.

If the course extension had not happened in 1908 that would make today’s Ironman only 140.4 miles long. Is this number any more or less significant?

The answer is that the number in itself is really irrelevant. What counts is what was written on that last piece of paper almost 20-years ago before the start of the first Ironman: “Brag for the rest of your life”

When you think about it,  the vast majority of us age-group athletes will never even come close to matching or even breaking that first self-supported course time of 11 hours, 46 minutes, and 40 seconds.

It is not about a winning time.

It is not about the distance.

It is not about the number 140.6

It is about the last hours of the journey of reaching to what many age-group triathletes seems like an almost unattainable goal of finishing an Ironman...in less than 17 hours.  That why I would argue that the number 17 is really the magic number in any Ironman.

It is the last 17 critical hours of all the weeks, months and perhaps years of training that only matter in the end. All of the other previous hours spent in the pool, on the bike, on the run are now just so much water under the bridge.

It is the 17 dawn to midnight race hours when your hopes and dreams are final realized, or dashed on the jagged rocks of the swim, bike run.

It is those 17 magical hours that all of your daily worries, cares, concerns fade into the far background and you become laser focused on just one goal…finishing before midnight.

It is the 17 heroic hours when you feel your body rise to the challenge of pushing yourself longer than you have ever imagined possible.

It is the 17 wonderful hours when life and limitless energy course through your veins, chiseling your body into the ultimate endurance machine.

It is the 17 dreaded hours when emotionally you climb the highest of highs and fall with huge thud into the lowest of lows.

It is in the 17 unbelievable hours when pushing yourself beyond the breaking point is just the start of your day.

Those 17 crazy hours when time simultaneously expands and contracts. When seconds become hours and days turn to minutes.

It is the 17 momentous hours that to a great extent will define all of the following hours of your life.

It is in the 17 crucial hours when you really learn if you are made of Iron or not.

When I completed my first Iran distance race I told my buddy how far I swam, biked and ran. He kind of just stared at me. I could tell the distance numbers were pretty meaningless to him.

Unless you’ve actually swam, ridden, or ran for fairly long way (which he had not) 10 miles or 100 miles are pretty much the same to you. So instead, I mentioned that it took me almost 17 hours to finish the race.

His eyes exploded open in disbelief. “You mean you raced for an entire day and night,” he said, stunned as the idea of exercising all day and night really sank in.

It was only in those 17 unforgettable hours that I had earned the right to brag for the rest of my life!

Click HERE for more Everyman Tri.

The Year of the Ironman by Iron Pol

The Chinese zodiac uses a 12-year cycle representing a cyclical concept of time. With each year represented by an animal, the Chinese zodiac can be much more useful than the moon signs utilitzed in much of the world. In addition to offering broadly general personality traits, knowledge of an animal signs allows for fairly accurate guesses at an individuals age without asking the taboo question, "How old are you?"

Born in 1968, I am a monkey. If you ask my mother, she will tell you, I'm a monkey regardless of what year I was born. Of course, I think that has less to do with personality traits assigned by a zodiac chart and more to do with an odd penchant for climbing anything with handholds. Then again, monkeys are far less prone to falling (and the associated broken limbs) than I.

2007 is the year of the boar or pig. People born in the year of the pig are extremely dedicated. They put all their strength into any effort the undertake. Retreat is rarely an option. And when you befriend a boar, you have a friend for life.

While I have little control over the Chinese zodiac, I am declaring 2007 to be The Year of the Ironman. Ironmen, and those pursuing that goal, have many of the traits exhibited by boars. They are extremely dedicated, see obstacles as something to be overcome, and are fast friends once you've managed to divert some of their attention away from training.

In addition, the Ironman is extremely disciplined and organized. Even the most disorganized Ironman is capable of juggling training, family, work, and other commitments for many months at a time. The Ironman is often up long before the sun rises and generally completes more training before sunup than many complete in an entire day (or week).

And for me, 2007 is the year I will become an Ironman. It is fitting that this be accomplished in the year of the pig. So, join me in making 2007 the Year of the Ironman. Our impact on Chinese culture may be minimal, but we can certainly share the fire of our pursuit with others.

Do you want to read more by Iron Pol? Just visit him at his blog by clicking HERE.

Ironman 140.6 Florida by Bolder

Well my peoples, it’s race report time! The report of my first Ironman.

Since this is at the Ironman distance, this report will be Ironman distance long. So, in the spirit of this endurance event, I encourage you to choose your clothing, nutrition, and hydration appropriately for the long read ahead.

Remember to only wear clothing that you’ve worn before when reading long race reports. Consider any points of possible chafing during your read. Quite often in the swim portion, where things get really wet, some that I’ve known well have ended up with hickeys around the collar of their neck, or in other tender places if they didn’t take appropriate precautions. A lube such as bodyglide may be appropriate before tackling this warmup to, um, later disciplines.

Nutrition should be considered. I would recommend to take on board an appropriate amount of calories, with perhaps a caffeneiated gel for the final run portion, or perhaps defizzed coke nearby in case you start to experience cardiac drift while reading. Women especially, should consider having some salt tablets handy if they tend to perspire heavily while reading my race reports. We wouldn’t want you to cramp up before the big finish. And, again for the women, Advil may be placed into your own ‘special needs’ bag just in case you *gasp* get a headache before we get started. Because we all know that would be just be the start to a long day.

For hydration, I would recommend a generous amount of water to be handy. Follow any salt tablets or gels with at least 8 ounces. Gatorade Endurance is the only sports drink served in this race report – but we offer both lemon-lime and orange on the run portion. Follow each hit from your high cal bottle in the bike portion with a few swishes of water, it will help with your reading, and possibly save your teeth.

OK, the stage is set… pace yourself based on what you’ve been able to endure reading other race reports…

Let’s get this party started!


Pre-race

My pre-race plan was pretty straightforward – enter quickly into a final ‘State of Readiness’. Set up the LABC (low altitude base camp -- A/C didn’t work – worked that problem). Set up the bike. TriBikeTransport smashed the rear sensor of my PowerTap SL in transit – completely ripping the wire right out of the sensor. Roman sourced the harness in Boulder at my bike shop where I purchased my beloved Cervelo P3C, and brought it with him. I installed the wiring harness myself, road tested the bad boy, and delivered my beloved to transition. Having never swam in the ocean in a wetsuit before – or, hey who are kidding here – swam in the ocean when I actually knew how to swim, the Gatorade Swim was a high-priority action item to check off.

For high-priority missions, there’s only one man to turn to: The UCMS Commodore. You probably know his blog ‘Common Man Syndrome’ but I call him the UnCommon Man because he is just that. It is rare for me to go from Zero to Brother with someone – he has that quality. So, I brought in the dude from Arizona and we got our swim on. About 1500m in length, and about a half-hour in duration, we cut through about half of one loop of the official swim course. The waters were calm, the weather was gorgeous, we claimed victory over Trident and The Seas, and checked off the swim as just one less thing to worry about. Got registered up.

Transition bags were stuffed and delivered. Me and The Comm supplied up at Wal-Mart. Rocked the expo like the schwag hoes that we are. Realized the best we gots was free fig newtons, three Gatorade waterbottles, and two Gatorade Endurance Lemon-limes (a new personal low for me… I mean, this is what I’m capable of just in Boulder, and this was the Ironman). Staring at each other in amazement, we decided to implement ‘reverse schwag’ and went and maxed out our credit cards in the official merchandise tent. Comm and I had agreed on a ‘Charlie Mike’ finishing creed beforehand, so failure was just not an option, and we loaded up on everything that had an Ironman logo on it as originally planned.

Got my game face on. Then realized I had nothing on. Put something on.

But, enough of this foreplay, sure it’s a lot of fun -- let’s get to the main event.

RACE DAY!


Nutrition

They say completing an Ironman is 50% Mental, 25% Training, and 25% Nutrition.

Alarm was set for 4am. Three hours to race start. Alarm went off and Roman in a snoring-like-state immediately bolted straight up and shouted out ‘DO YOU NEED TO GET UP ALREADY?’. That’s where you get the value in an IronSherpa – comic relief.

ME: ‘Dude, go back to sleep, I’m just strapping on the feedbag’.
ROMAN: ‘Good, carry on’. Resumes snoring.

Immediately downed two bottles of Boost. Two mini-bagels with peanut butter and jam. (for whatever reason this repeated on me through much of the bike even though it was my standard pre-race meal). Followed with a two Boost chaser. 1350 calories on board.

TA-DAH!

I’m amazingly serene on race days, and especially race day mornings. My energy level builds like a mother-fucking tsunami. I’m just sayin’. Don’t expect me bouncing off the walls pre-race, but, make sure to have catchers at the finish line because I may just keep going.

Two frozen 750 cal, high cal bottles were removed from the freezer (Gatorade Endurance Lemon-line with Carbo Pro), and a similarly sized 24 ouncer of frozen water were removed from the freezer and stuffed in the bag with my wetsuit.

On the run, 300 calories an hour were going to come from PowerBar 4X Sodium Gels that I would carry in pockets and Gatorade Endurance from aid stations on the course.

SUCCEED salt tablets at 375mg of sodium per were loaded into special needs bags, pockets, bento box to ensure I met my 1000mg sodium goal per hour as insurance against cramping.

An hour before the start I took in 24 ounces of Gatorade Endurance, and a Cliff Bar as per my plan.

This was my dialed-in nutrition plan that I had trained with for the last 16 weeks. Nothin’ new here that I hadn't done in at least 5 races. During the Ironman – let’s face it people, you’ve got time on your hands – I would mentally system check and monitor my calorie and sodium intake every 30 minutes.

Let’s get our SWIM ON!


Swim: 2.4 miles

1:27:11 (2:18/100m, 1610/2192 overall, 276/347 M40-44)

After exiting TA (transition area) I went to the meet-up place for the group. No one was there. They had bailed on me. Whatever. I went into the lobby of the building near the swim start. No one. Couldn’t get my phone to connect to Roman. Finally I did, and found out they were all in the building farthest from the swim start. Whatever. I bring my own weather. I went and finally found them now short on time. Bodyglided, put on my Orca Apex wetsuit, and met up with them for a few pics.

15 minutes before the start, I ate a pack of lemon-lime Cliff Bloks as per my usual training plan. I've done this for every triathlon.

The group was walking slowly. Whatever. I was starting to get into race mode. Chanelling my inner p-dawg. I found the Kahuna and Robo-Stu and TriBoomer. TriBoomer was shaking. I wished them luck, and watched the pro start.

Scott Fliegelman from FastForward here in Boulder had tipped me off to start to the left of the swim start, on the inside of the course, and cut back. I passed that on to Tridaddy, who actioned it with success. The announcer stated that the PROs were drifting left with the current and swimming well on the inside because of it. I moved right, not knowing what that meant. What it meant, was I had just seeded myself into the heart of the washing machine.

PAH-FECT start to a 12 hour day.

At the gun, I watched the crazies run into the water, dolphin through the surf, and then waded in myself. I had elected not to do a swim warmup because I didn’t have time, and because I didn’t want to get chilled out before the long day. So wading in was what I learned to do in my earliest TRIs so as not to shock the respiratory system.

My swim strategy was to not shoot my wad in the swim. It was going to be a 12 hour day. Find the stroke that was going to get you most efficiently through the water. NO KICKING! I would just barely flutter my legs for steering. JUST GET IT DONE!

The first breaker came in, and I dolphined through it, proud of myself, I lifted my head up to sight what was in front of me – WITH MY MOUTH OPEN APPARENTLY – and immediately took down 8 ounces min of salt-water. Which immediately spewed back out with a single loud ‘KA-HAW’. I swallowed the pieces of Cliff Bloks in my mouth back down, and got back to business.

Time started to blur on me, but all I can describe of this part of the swim start was that I felt like a salmon swimming upstream with 2,000 of my salmony friends. People were really freaking out about this too. Triathletes were trying to swim over me, under me, across me, in a hat, with a cat, with green eggs – it was unbelievable. Most of all, I protected my face with my arms as best I could with my stroke. Even though I was in the middle of the washing machine, I didn't get my goggles knocked off this time. I think I was just lucky.

There’s boxed in, and there’s SOOOO boxed in. At one point, I had to just stop to look at what was going on and laugh. The woman behind me shouted out 'THIS IS RIDICULOUS!'. The dude in front of me was kicking like a wild mule, the guy beside me to the left was breast-stroking, and I shit-you-not, the guy to my right was dog-paddling!

As swimmers were encountering the surf, and tough conditions, they were slowing down, and the swimmers behind, that hadn't encountered the roughness yet, were piling onto them.

Finally, I made it to the first big left-hand turn, and it was a pile-up trying to get around the huge orange turn-buoy. I got around it though, and then got hit by a monster wave, because I was now heading I guess into the wind parallel to shore for the first time. The wave literally lifted me up, and dropped me down. Like about 50 others at this point, I was treading water, because I was probably trying to process what had just happened to me. Then I saw the second wave, and me and the Fab 50 rode it like a roller-coaster just treading water – which was fun! Then, probably a veteran Ironman directly behind us yelled ‘SWIM YOU MOTHER@#$%, SWIM!!’. And, me and the Fab 50 broke out of the spell, and en masse returned to getting our swim on.

Took a big left at the next marker buoy coming in wide, I think, and then found myself wider. I’m thinking current. Let’s face it, it was pretty challenging sighting on the buoys, but, I got it done. I was now heading into shore to finish the first lap!!

Exited the water for the first lap, and looked at my watch that said 7:15! Wooohoo! I had done my first lap of my first Ironman in 7 minutes and 15 seconds! Outstanding!! Wait, that can’t be right!! Oh, it’s 7:15am in the morning… nope, race started at 7am, so that’s still 15 minutes. @#$%. Someone stopped my watch for me in the washing machine. Started watch again, and exited the water.

You can see from the chart on the right, that I was taking it pretty easy on the swim, with an average HR of about 135. That HR continued while I wore my Polar 625X through the bike portion too.

Ran up the beach, and over the timing mat. Thanks Ironman you cheap motherfuckers for NOT giving that data to the folks back home. I thought arms went up in cheers because I had looked at my watch going over the mat, and it said 7:40am, my first lap done in 40 minutes – I was on schedule for an 1:15’ish swim.

There were so many athletes trying to get water in cups from the aid station I just ran right pass them with a ‘water’s for pussies’ kind of distain and headed back into the ocean for my second lap.

Second lap was pretty much a blur. I don’t remember too much of it. I do remember that I took my own advice on this lap and swam inside the course until the turn around buoys.

Swimming parallel to the shore at the turn around was wavier than before. The amplitude of the waves was lifting me out of the water, and then dropping me down. I made the turn, and started pointing towards shore. I realized at this point that my arms felt light, and not heavy, and I could stroke as hard as I wanted, but made sure that my HR didn’t shoot through the roof.

I remember no congestion on the remainder of the course. I remember I was sighting well, and in the home stretch I was swimming just to the right of all the buoys like I was driving a boat to shore.

As I was looking at the bottom of the ocean during my stroke, I could see the sandy bottom getting closer and closer on the final stretch. When I thought the bottom was pool-deep, all of a sudden the water changed from being hot-tub warm, to chilly-cold, and as I watched the bottom of the sand bar, I could see although I was stroking, I was making no progress. I guessed that I was caught in some kind of rip-tide type current, and started hauling ass to get to shore!

Exiting the water again. I ran over the timing mat, looked at my watch, and I thought it had said 8:27am, and I was glad to have gotten my time in under 8:30am!

I had three clock times burned into my head: 8:30am to be done with T1, 2:15pm to be done with T2, and 7:00pm to be done with the race in order to be sub-12.

When I got to the wet suit strippers I still had not even been able to get an arm out of my wetsuit. I was pretty full-up with just staying vertical, and running up a beach. So, when I got to the strippers I got the whole deal.

Some woman ripped my top off, and then pushed me to the ground, and ripped off my bottoms. I was trying to get up, but no one extended a hand – against the rules? – so, I righted the good ship Bold again, clutching my wetsuit, and turned the corner into the frigid breeze!

Looking back on the swim now, I realize that I did not get to use my bilateral breathing which is my fastest, most efficient stroke. I didn’t use my race stroke either, because I wasn’t pulling hard, I was pulling medium to ensure I didn’t poop out before the 2.4 miles was over. I had adjusted my stroke to try to maximize my breathing and rhythm in the swells. I had almost used my easy stroke! I had left way too much in my arms – swim pacing is still something I have to work on. That 15 minutes I gave up in the water to the swim champs, was a bitch to get back on the bike.


T1

11:01

Volunteers were no help in finding my bag, so I found it myself, and then I entered the tent. IT WAS JAMMED. I went in further, but there was not only no where to sit, there was no where to stand. I had to take off my wet TRIsuit, and put on my cycling shorts, socks and shoes standing up. Now, I was still listing from the ocean spanking I just got. But, I got it done. I had no idea I took that long in T1. After leaving the tent, I went and got my bike, and then started running, and realized I had to pee real bad. Took care of that, and then exited T1.

Across the mount line, I pulled over to the left behind a guy, and clipped in with my left. But, he was having trouble clipping in, and his rear tire was overlapping my front tire, so I just kept waiting until he finally left. I started riding, and then same Can-Not-Clip-In-Guy slowed down and started forcing me into the barrier. A few ‘whoah, whoah, WHOAHs’ (‘cause that’s what I yell on course) and he was outta my way.


Bike: 112 miles

5:42:54 (19.6 mph, 555/2192 overall, 109/347 M40-44)

I had a single strategy for the bike: 20.0 mph, 150-170 Watts and 140HR.

During the ride, I would look at how those variables were coming together based on the conditions: temperature and wind.

What I didn’t want to do was shoot my wad into the wind. I knew that if I went too heavy on the pedals, it would bite me later on in either the final stages of the ride, or most likely on the run.

Also, I tend to try and figure out what my legs are telling me, Rate of Perceived Exertion (RPE) and then my HR in the context of what kind of wattage I’m putting out. I had trained this way.

There was a persistent cross-wind, head-wind, wind-wind type sitchyation through I’d say the first 80 miles. Around mile 56, I did another systems check, and I was pretty much averaging 18.6 miles and hour.

Around this time, I heard a ‘BOLD’… ‘Bolder!’… ‘GREG!!! I turned and looked over my shoulder and it was The Tri-Daddy. I slowed down, and chatted with him for a few minutes. I kept over, and to the left, making sure I wasn’t blocking anyone, and didn’t get The Tri-Daddy into a drafting penalty. Being the class act that he is, I heart The Tri-Daddy ever since he came to Boulder and ran the Boulder Backroads with me, he sent me off with a ‘go on ahead, don’t let me slow you down…’.

The bike portion was like the most fun I’ve had in any triathlon ever. 18.6 was well below my 20.0 mph goal, but, I was riding like Lance @#$%ing Armstrong. I mean, I was passing people left and right.

In all, I passed 810 athletes on the bike portion. It must be demoralizing for the fast swimmers. You get out of the water first, and then all day long you have people passing you. All day long, I passed people.

The only thing that slowed me down, was the blocking that was going on during the course. The first probably 28 miles of the bike portion, I had a nice motorcycle escort. A race official looking for drafting – I blamed the aero helmet. Apparently a lot of the riders who had been well ahead of me were wearing aero helmets, but in my ride, I only passed about 3, and only about 3 riders passed me, and they were all running disc wheels and wearing aero helmets.

There were two blessed tail-wind sections on the way back, when we were heading directly towards the ocean. Even though I was still only putting out 140 watts. I was seriously hauling ass. Around 25mph. Many had given up on the course by that time, and were out of the aero postion riding the tops of their bars. Still in the aero position, I was passing people going 10-15 mph faster then them at the time.

I’ve always said “It’s all about the bike” in an Ironman event. And, there’s nothing I enjoy more then taking down swim champs who exited the water well ahead of me. But, I gotta tell yah. This was a humbling experience for me. I distinctly remember in those 810 people I passed that they came in all shapes and sizes. My image of what an Ironman triathlete is was altered dramatically through the bike portion.

I’ve got to work harder on my swimming, because these people I was passing did not look IronFit, and they had kicked my ass up until almost the 100 mile mark of the ride. My hat was off to those swim champs! Although, I learned that day that many swim champs can ride real well too.

The bike was easy for me. Although there was 2,000 feet of vertical gain over the first 4 hours, I’m guessing 80 miles, that was not an issue. The constant headwind was annoying. But, hey I live in the foothills of Colorado at 5,430 feet of elevation where we NEVER get a tail-wind. The majority of my training was at intensities on the bike much harder than what I was doing on the Ironman bike course. Like that Gordo saying, however it goes ‘You hope to build a nuclear arsenal, that you will never use’. I constantly had to keep backing off, that's why in my wattage chart above you see so many spikes around 200W.

I was SOOOOO sick of riding mountain passes in Colorado, with incessant rollers here in Boulder, that I was SOOOOO ready to get me some flat.

I want to thank The State of Florida for both installing so much flat, and installing so much oxygen for my Ironman.

Flat. Sea-Level. GOT SOME!

Arriving into T2, and looking at my watch, I knew there was still an outside chance that I could achieve my bold dream. I had made up on the bike, the deficit that I had created on the swim. Now, I just had to run my first marathon!


T2

9:06

Someone just took my bike away from me! My beloved Cervelo P3C! Hey you, yah you! STOP! STOP!! Huh, what? You’re gonna rack it for me? DUDE! Thanks! Sorry about throwing that helmet at you! And, yes, yes, the tackling and the punching were probably not necessary. My bad.

Got my run bag, and thankfully, got to sit down in the change tent. Changed out of my cycling gear, and into my run gear. Started running for the exit! Wait! Gotta pee. No wonder my transitions always seem long. Out of the porta-john, I’m a runnin’ fool.

Heading toward the timing mat out of T2, and all of a sudden I hear loud yelling: BOLDER! GO BOLDER!!! Stunned. It’s Holly! She’s working the exit, and I shout at her something incomprehensible, and she smiles, and I smile! We shouted more things at each other . I’m sure there was more things shouted. I have no idea. I was running!

My peoples, I AM ON THE RUN!

Did you see me flash across the timing mat? In my mind I think that you did! I heard a big ‘GOOOOOO BOLD!’. People jumping up and down in front of their monitors.

HE IS ON THE RUN.

I REPEAT.

BOLD IS ON THE RUN!!!


Run: 26.2 miles

4:23:08 (10:03 min/mi, 716/2192 overall, 129/347 M40-44)

Hmmmm. So, this is what a marathon start feels like. Where's all the people everyone always complains about?

Let’s do a systems check. I’m a half-mile in. Legs: outstanding. HR: 131. Pace: 9:15 min/miles. WHOA!

Better slow that down cowboy. Your goal is 10 min/miles. Don’t shoot your wad on the first mile!

My plan was to run the marathon as 26 one-mile intervals. Run just under 10 min/miles, walk through the aid station.

I had pockets in my tri-top and shorts, and had stuffed all my gels, and salt tablets for the first half-mary. No fuel belt. I would monitor my caloric and sodium intake constantly. Doing the math in my head to add in EXACTLY how many calories, and EXACTLY how much sodium I was taking in.

I was to walk through the aid stations, and make sure I got 8 ounces of Gatorade in. 8 ounces meant 50 calories, and 200mg of sodium. Each PowerGel was 120 calories and had 200 mg of sodium. Each Succeed capsule had 375mg of sodium. Do the math. This is the Ironman. Don’t fuck this up.

Everytime in those first 3 miles that I checked my Garmin for pace, it was reading sub-9, to 9:15 min/miles… SLOW DOWN!... but, I was running as slow as I could, and I felt comfortable, so I just ran how I felt knowing that eventually I would have to focus on churning out 10 min/miles.

At about four miles, the crowd support started thinning out. But, we seemed to be running down streets where people live on the beach. Panama City Beach (PCB) is not a big place, around 10,000 residents only. So, I was starting to sense this was a good opportunity for them to pull out a lawn chair, and watch something other than beautiful sandy beaches being lapped by salty ocean waves.

I was running down a beach-front sidestreet, when one of those said residents yelled at me something that sounded like ‘GOESH GREG!’. I gave him the thumbs up, and I think he offered me a beer. The triathlete running beside me turned to me and said ‘Oh God, and we are ONLY on the first lap…’. In fairness, I bet he was passed out by the time I cruised by 2 hours later!

Eventually, the first turn-around point on this out-and-back two-looper came, and I had covered off a little over 6 miles, I felt great, and felt a collective ‘GO BOLD!’ as I crossed the timing mat. Of course, I only imagined it in my head again, as the timing mats on the 6 and 18’ish turn-arounds were not being reflected on the Athlete Tracker.

I was hydrating well, taking a gel every half-hour, and, um, just running along. Somewhere before the turn-around point I saw Commodore, and he yelled a ‘GO BOLD!’. Ah, good friends!

It was still pleasant outside, and the running conditions were excellent as I was heading into the turn-around at the 13.1 half-mary marker. I was starting to think about my ‘special needs’ bag, and the Cliff Bloks: lemon-line and cranberry I had stashed into them. I think of Cliff Bloks as ‘gummy bears for triathletes’ and was also thinking about my long-sleever and gloves. Most of the age-groupers I had seen coming out of the 13.1 turn-around had not put on long sleeves I noticed. So, I was thinking ‘skip it’.

Heading into the turn-around, I could see the sign that said ‘finisher’s chute’ to the right, I took a GOOOOOOD look at it, because that chute would be on my mind for the next 13.1 miles, and all I was thinkin’ when I ran by it was ‘GET ME SOME CHUTE!’.

Crossing the timing mat at the half-way point, I knew everyone at home knew I was going to be an Ironman. I knew we were all doing the math. It was a fulfilling moment for me. I hope it was for you too.

If you look at my Garmin chart, you can get a feel as to what I run like. When I train with Roman, he keeps pace like a freakin’ treadmill. If he says we are gonna run 10 min/miles, the pace line looks like a flat line around 10. Me, on the other, hand, I’m always slowing down. As my concentration drifts, I start to run slower, so I check my watch often, when I see my pace dropping, I kick it up a bit.

At ‘special needs’ I grabbed my bag from a volunteer, stuffed my now empty pockets with gels and reached for my salt tablets. OOPS. I dropped my little baggie of salt tablets on the ground and they all spilled out all over the ground. EWWWW! I left them for dead.

I stuffed my running gloves into the back of my shorts in case it turned frigid. I had the cranberry Cliff Bloks in my left-hand, and my long-sleever, special needs bag in my right. Someone then yelled ‘GOOOOOOO GREG!’. I had been looking for Roman, so I thought it was someone I knew, so I threw the long-sleever and special needs bag at her, and she yelled ‘THANKS!!!’. Not Roman. Did not know her. I hope she’s enjoying that high-end long sleever! Oh, and my lemon-lime Cliff Bloks too.

Realizing that the cranberry vs lemon-lime debate that had been raging in my mind for the last 5 miles was now decided for me. I ate the cranberry Cliff Bloks.

Mile 14. Unchartered territory! This is now the farthest I’d ever had to run in a triathlon. Not to mention that I just swam about 1.2 miles further than I ever had, and biked 56 miles further too.

Systems check: Legs: Starting to feel it. Pace: Holding sub-10. HR: below 140. As in my training, I knew at this point in time, my legs would give out before my engine would.

Coming into the event feeling slightly over-trained. I thought a LOT about what Kristen from BSC had told me about her last race. She said she went in over-trained, and at mile 17, the wheels came off, and the next thing she knew she was being helped off the course. I was determined to learn from her experience, and make sure the wheels didn’t come off.

But, around mile 16, I started slowing down. Everytime I looked at my watch, it was showing 12+ minute/miles. Based on what time the sun had set, I knew it would set around 5:15pm as it did the day before, I had estimated what it would take to finish sub-12 before 7pm ET. I felt a little dejected as I realized my sub-12, my bold dream, was evaporating in front of my eyes. But, I just kept running.

This was mentally the hardest part of the run for me. Miles 16 to 20 were in complete darkness, and it was hard to see where you were going sometimes in the state park. I felt my RPE rising for the pace.

One thing I learned at this point, is that in an Ironman, you go off of your pace – YOU GET @#$%ING PASSED. I was having entire groups running by me now like herds of wild animals in the Sahara. For some reason, I felt like I was running uphill, and they weren’t. I had just about enough running for a day too. My legs were feeling heavy, and running in the dark, I could not really gauge my pace – just the bad news I kept getting on my watch.

I kept hoping for the turnaround-point which I knew was around Mile 20. Mile 20. Pah-fect. The Wall. Everyone talks about the Mile 20 Wall. At my lowest point in the race, from both an energy perspective and mentally, I was going to hit the Wall. Never having run this far before in either training or in a race, I started saying to myself ‘So Self, this is what it feels like when you stop running, and just walk’.

One thing I had always vowed to myself, was that I would NOT walk that marathon. As I saw the turn-around, and the timing mat, I thought that everyone at home would soon know what was happening to me, the wheels were coming off. I was slowing down, maybe even to a walk.

I had decided that when I ran across the timing mat, I would give myself an ‘extra break’, and treat it like an aid station. I would walk for about 10 seconds. I knew what this meant though. If I started giving myself ‘extra breaks’. I would end up walking myself in. Finally, I decided that as I ran across the timing mat, if the runners I was with stopped jogging and walked, I would walk. If they kept running, then I would keep running.

I ran across the timing mat, and after the beep, I looked up, and no one was walking. So, I kept running. Commodore’s words flashed through my head ‘Charlie Mike’ – Continue The Mission. And somehow running felt right, and walking felt wrong. But, I was that close to mentally giving in on my bold dream.

All through my 10 minute/mile pace, I had been passing and repassing an older man at 55 and I call him ‘Tuxedo Man’ because he was wearing one of those ‘tuxedo’ t-shirts -- you know, looks like he was wearing a tuxedo. People along the run course were going crazy over that shirt. ‘THANKS FOR DRESSING UP FOR ME TUXEDO MAN’. Then, he passed me again.

FOR.THE.LAST.TIME.

I decided it was on.

IT WAS SOOOOOO ON.

I was going to keep his pace, which was sub-10, and he was NOT going to drop me again. Matching his pace, I looked down at my watch, and realized we were actually running more like 9:15s. And, oddly, I was keeping that pace, and no wheels were falling off, and I actually didn’t feel that bad.

Again, looking at my watch, and realizing I had less than 6 miles to go – less than a 10K! I started to reassess my situation. I pulled up beside him, and said ‘What time do you think it is?’. He curtly told me ‘Don’t know’. I figured that his curtness had something to do with no assistance or something. That’s not why I was asking him the question. I knew, he knew, who I was. We had been jockeying for position for almost the whole marathon.

I said to him: ‘You know, I think if we keep this pace up, and push each other, we can probably break sub-12’. He said ‘I can’t keep up this pace, but you go ahead young man, go chase your dream’.

I KID YOU NOT.

When I heard him say the word 'dream'. It was like I had just got struck by lightning. In that moment, I allowed myself for the first time that day, to fully understand that I had it in me – if I was to dig deep – to achieve my sub-12 bold dream.

Look at the chart! I just started HAULING ASS. Everytime I was looking at my watch, it was saying 8:45s and 9s. And, I felt good. I didn’t feel like the wheels were coming off, I felt like I was running downhill. I felt alive. I ran into the next aid station yelling ‘COLA COLA’.

I got handed a cup of cola for the first time in the race -- fuck the gatorade. Like in ALL my previous races, I was now running through the aid stations. My bold dreams did not involve walking through aid stations anymore.

Mile 22, running into the aid station I yelled at the first people I saw ‘COLA COLA’. Michael Stone had coached me that you need to get what you need from the aid stations, make sure they know what you need. The first people started yelling to the next people ‘COLA COLA’… all down the line, aid station volunteers were yelling ‘COLA COLA!!’ and I had two volunteers ready for me.

All of a sudden, I felt like I was a fast-mover. I was passing people left and right. Walkers. Joggers. People who had passed me earlier. I was a low-slung cruise missile, and I was gonna get me some chute.

Mile 23… ‘COLA COLA’… I was still running, and running hard. I stopped looking at HR, I was all in baby!

Mile 24… I am out of the neighbourhoods, and I am still running. I feel good, I feel strong. I know I am now highly-caffeinated. I am UNSTOPPABLE. I am dropping people by the dozens.

Mile 25… I can see the chute… the crowd support is getting stronger. I catch up with some guy carrying a huge American Flag on a pole. I’d seen him all over the marathon course, and I thought ‘Oh no, I’m gonna end up behind him, and NO ONE will see me finish’. I kick it up a notch, and thankfully, a man carrying a huge flag on a pole can’t keep my pace.

Mile 26… I am about to run into the chute, but, I have no idea what time it is. I can’t see the finisher’s clock. But, I can hear Mike Reilly yelling ‘You are an Ironman!’.

Entering the chute, I make a hard left, that hurt me a bit. Having never been in a finisher’s chute this long, ALL I could think about was being respectful. In the finisher’s chute, I notice we are all assembling in equal distances like airplanes coming in for a landing. All of a sudden, everyone is running the same slower pace. No one is passing anyone, so I just keep running in this holding pattern.

Hard right. Holy shit! This chute doesn’t end. There’s no finisher’s clock here. Just keep running!

Hard Left.

I can see the finisher’s clock.

It says 11:52:xx. I don't understand.

A man with his family assembles ahead of me. I look behind me, and it’s ‘Patriotic Flag Guy’ right on my heels.

Then, everything becomes a complete blurr. I don’t hear any sound anymore. I don’t remember what I did. Did I stop in the middle of the chute so I didn't run over that dudes family? Did I slow down? I don’t remember the rest of the chute. I don’t remember anyone cheering for me. I had entered into a silent tunnel. My watch later said I was running at a 6:54 min/mile pace.

I remember breaking the tape, and yelling ‘YAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’ at the top of my lungs with my arms straight up, followed by another ‘YAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’. I remember someone asking me if I was alright, and then asking again.

I remember Roman at the end of the chute. Smiling. And congratulating me on achieving my bold dream.

Official results: 11:53:17 (751/2192 overall, 140/347 M40-44)


The Journey – Final, final thoughts

Two questions I've been most asked are 'Why Ironman?' and 'What did your Ironman teach you?'

I think I need to be honest here. Some of you, even me, may have hoped I would get a lesson from the actual event -- the day. But, in all honesty, nothing I endured on race day was as hard as the training days I had already put in.

As my favorite quote from Muhammed Ali: 'The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses - behind the lines, in the gym and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.'

Maybe I should have raced faster? Maybe I should have trained less and had better balance in my life? But the hard truth is that the Ironman was pretty easy for me.

As an event -- it was just another triathlon.

As an experience -- I had no race day epiphanies.

But I did learn that over the last year, Ironman has given me shelter from the storm.

And for that, I am truly thankful.

Bold Out!

Wanna read more from Bold?  You can find him at his beloved blog Bolder in Boulder!

Lessons Learned From IMFL06 Swim by Humble Triathlete

Last week we featured Shirley's Ironman Florida swim report as she did not make the cut off for the swim. Click HERE to read it. Here's a follow-up story from her:

Here are some specific things I learned from training for and doing the IMFL06 swim. Though I will not be training for another ironman for a while, I’m noting them for the future and perhaps they will help some other “weak” swimmers who are planning to do IMFL07.

• Being able to swim 4000 yards in a pool at IM pace in 2:00-2:10 is too slow. Shoot to be able to swim the distance at IM pace in 1:50 or less to allow for rough conditions or other unanticipated delays. Occasionally practice swimming for 10-20 minutes longer to make sure you can easily do so if required on race day.

• Practice swimming in the ocean or other large bodies of water to get used to dealing with chop and swells. Bilateral breathing and low, close to the head, hand entry into the water (which I learned from Total Immersion lessons) does not work well in rough conditions. Wait to sight on crests of swells. I would guesstimate that the swells at IMFL06 were somewhere between 3-4 feet on my first lap and 4-5 feet on my second lap. Whatever they were, my husband saw red flags flying along the beach.

• Prepare for seasickness. This year I heard that a lot of swimmers got seasick from the rough conditions. I’m actually very prone to motion sickness so I took steps to avoid it beforehand, namely, wore ear plugs and took both ginger pills and Bonine, which makes me less drowsy than Dramamine. Though I swallowed a fair amount of seawater, I never felt sick during the swim.

• Slow swimmers should start in the back and towards the outside of the swim course so you have an "out" if you need it. Some faster swimmers choose to swim on the inside of the course since all that matters is rounding the 2 outermost buoys. The mass swim start is very chaotic but the pack will spread out a lot along the first stretch. Since it's a 2-lap course, faster swimmers will likely overtake slower swimmers so slower swimmers should avoid being close to the buoys along the return leg where they may get swum over. On the second lap, slower swimmers will have the course to themselves.

• Practice swimming in a wetsuit. With a full wetsuit, the added rubber around my shoulders and arms made them fatigue more quickly. The added buoyancy of the wetsuit also made my kick come out of the water easily. If I’d worn my wetsuit more often, I probably would have been more used to the added resistance and keeping a tighter kick and been able to swim a bit faster.

• Learn to read the water currents. Besides stronger wind conditions during the second hour, I think my second lap was much slower than my first lap because I headed back out on the course on a diagonal path to the left of the first buoy, as we were supposed to do, instead of closer to where I started the race, which was considerably right of the first buoy. Due to the longshore current, which caused many swimmers to drift to the left early in the course, the smart thing (in hindsight) would have been to run along the sand further before reentering the water for the second lap. Beware that the current direction may be different next time.

• Hope for the best but prepare for the worst. Don’t believe anyone who says you can’t drown while wearing a wetsuit or that wearing one will make swimming easy. Don’t shy away from practicing in less-than-ideal water conditions (just be sure someone is available to help you if you need it). Don’t count on support along the IMFL06 swim course.

Would you like to read more by Humble Triathlete? You can find her HERE.

Short Race Day by Humble Triathlete

Well, with only about a year of serious swimming experience under my belt, I knew that the two-lap 2.4 mile IMFL swim segment would be the biggest challenge for me. I’d practiced swimming the distance in a pool many times before but was very slow (usually took me about 2:00-2:10 to swim 4000 yards) and had NO experience swimming in really rough water conditions. I just hoped race day would not be too bad.

No such luck!

Mother Nature produced a very cold race day morning with temperatures dipping into the 40’s and winds starting out around 12-13 mph. From the shore, the water did not look too bad because the off-shore wind flattened the waves out. But further out, and particularly after rounding the first buoy marker, the water conditions were the worst I could have imagined: heavy chop, large swells and a strong current.

I completed the first lap in 1:07 and thought hard about whether I should head out again. I’d swallowed much more seawater than I should have and had a lot of difficulty sighting and staying on course on the first lap. The water was too rough to resort to much breaststroking or backstroking if I got tired doing freestyle. The forecast was for the winds to get even stronger in the second hour and, for some reason, I didn’t see many water craft out there to help swimmers who might get into trouble -- not good.

On the bright side, I still felt pretty fresh after the first lap and had no seasickness symptoms (earplugs, ginger and motion sickness pills really help!). I also felt like I’d sort of figured out how to deal with the rough conditions (breathing to the side opposite the waves, timing my sighting with crests and, above all, not panicking). No faster swimmers would be overtaking me on my second lap so I didn’t have to worry about trying to stay out of their way. There was a chance I could meet the 2:20 cut-off.

So I decided to go for it. Before getting to the first buoy, I saw one guy turn back (hmm, perhaps he was smart?). I later noticed that some of the buoys had appeared to have moved off line from the rectangular course. After rounding the first turn buoy for the second time, I was relieved to see a few kayakers out there watching over us slower swimmers.

On the final stretch home, I saw a couple jellyfish below me but none got close enough to sting me, fortunately. About 400 yards from the finish, a guy on a jet ski came by to tell me I’d better hurry if I wanted to make the cut-off. I told him I was going as fast as I could and he gave me a thumbs up. Truthfully, I just wanted to make it back safely at that point; making the cut-off was totally secondary.

I finally came onto shore around 2:26 and shortly afterwards a guy took my timing chip. I should have been very disappointed that my race was over but I wasn’t. I had just swam 2.4 miles in very rough conditions, a huge accomplishment for someone who could barely swim a ¼ mile a year ago.

A total of 23 people did not complete the swim segment in time. My husband saw a person drop out after the first lap. I saw one turn back. He also saw some others hauled back in by the jet ski and, unfortunately, one person brought back in by the boat on a stretcher. Five people, including me, were too slow to make the cut-off.

No, I was happy ... happy to have gotten my first full-fledged rough water swim experience, happy to have trained for this race and gotten into the best shape of my life, happy to have toed the start line and met many wonderful people along the way, happy to have gone out for the second lap to see if I could make the cut-off, and happy to have survived to tri again in the future.

Would you like to read more by Humble Triathlete? You can find her HERE.