Thursday, October 8, three days before the race.
I thought it might be a good idea to start hydrating. I
stopped consuming Diet Coke at the alarming rate I had become accustomed to and
drank electrolyte solution (GU Brew) all day. I drank about a gallon of liquid
on Thursday, but my body absorbed most of it.
Friday, October 9, two days before the race.
I continued drinking the GU Brew and my wife and I began the
drive to Louisville. It was a lot of fun seeing other cars with tri bikes on
the highway. I got checked in for the race, found the hotel we were staying at,
went on a crazy shopping spree with my wife, and rented a Redbox movie for that
night. We ate dinner at Logan’s Roadhouse and I had the 9 ounce sirloin. I wasn’t
anywhere near race ready, but I was enjoying the time with my wife.
Saturday, October 10, day before the race…into Sunday,
October 11, RACE DAY.
I was uncertain about the river and the toxic algae warning,
even though the advisory had been lifted.
I also did not want to try and put a wet wetsuit on for the race on Sunday, so
I thought I’d skip the practice swim. We drove some of the bike course, the
infamous RT 1694 and half of the lollipop loop into La Grange that morning. We
grabbed the bike and the transition bags from the hotel at about 1:00 and
headed in to town to mandatory bike and gear check as well as the 2:00 athlete
meeting. After that, we drove up to the swim start, then walked up to the swim
turn around, back down the river, across the Big Four Bridge into Indiana, down
to Fourth Street Live, and back up to the car. Both my wife and I were
exhausted as we headed back to the hotel, stopping at a Subway sandwich shop
for dinner. I showered and fell asleep at about 8:30, only to be woken by my
watch at 9:30 because I had set the alarm for the race cut-offs the next day.
My wife was still watching TV, so I struggled to go to sleep for another 45
minutes to an hour. I woke up again at 3:00 A.M. and tried to not toss and turn
until 4:00 when I was supposed to wake up. I didn’t sleep again, but tried to at
least rest my body.
We left for the race at about 4:40 and found a place to park
about a block from the Ironman Village. We were still early arriving and
transition didn’t open until 5:15 (like it said in the athlete guide,) so we
queued until they opened transition. As athletes only are allowed into
transition, I kissed my wife goodbye and went to my bike, pumped up the tires
(forgot to carry the chain lube in with me, so that didn’t happen at all) and
prayed that everything was set with my bike. I didn’t want to hassle with last
minute gear adjustments that would have me waiting in line for the bike techs
for who knows how long. I was more concerned about getting up to the swim start
to queue there and hopefully be in the water before 8:00 A.M. I dropped off my
special needs bags, found my wife and headed to the swim start via a 1-block
detour to put my pump back in the car.
Body marking was at the swim start, and the lines for the
port-a-johns were consistent with lines before any race: long. Louisville has
several public parking lots on the river side of River Road, all with different
color names. The swim start was between the Tan lot and the Turquoise lot. Body
marking was at the entrance to the Tan lot, so I stopped and allowed my arms
and legs to be marked (I should have bought the tri-tats, they are just so much
cleaner!) With hundreds of people filing into the Tan lot, I thought I’d skip
some of the crowd and walk a few hundred more feet and go in via the Turquoise
lot. This was a good decision. There was a port-a-john right on the road that
had no wait. I used it then found a dozen people waiting in line for the
facilities further into the parking lot. It was about 6:00 when we got to the
swim start, but the queue was already more than ¼ of a mile long. Athletes and
support crews were all sitting together in one long, chaotic line. I knew the
line would tighten up significantly once the officials (volunteers) began
separating the support crews out of the line, but even so, by the time the
starting cannon fired, the line of athletes was easily half a mile long.
It always gets coldest right before dawn, and the
temperature dipped into the 40s before the sun started showing over the eastern
horizon. I wrestled my wetsuit on at about 7:00, while the line was still
tightening up, so I made quite the spectacle hopping down the sidewalk with my
feet in the wetsuit and trying to hold it all together. I was grateful for the
wetsuit because it did keep me considerably warmer once I had it on. At 7:30 we
heard the starting cannon. Apparently there was a bugler who played just before
the cannon, but we were too far away to hear any of that. I did notice that
although it hadn’t rained that night and the dew was not heavy, the sidewalk
was quite wet where the athletes were lined up. Was that pee from people peeing
in their wetsuits? I shudder at the thought…
The line moved quickly and despite the fact that I was about
halfway back, I jumped into the water at about 7:50. I had been warned that my
goggles would fill with tears as I waited to start the swim. It didn’t happen,
but my emotions were high and I could have easily given in and allowed the
tears to come. Instead, I took a few deep breaths and focused on the task ahead
of me.
SWIM
When I jumped into the water, I expected to touch the bottom
of the river and then push off and start swimming. I should have realized that
this was a marina and the bottom was probably 10-15 feet or more down. As I
slowly surfaced, the person behind me jumped right in on top of me. That wasn’t
quite the start I was hoping for, but I wasn’t injured so I began moving
forward. There were a total of 18 sighting buoys in the swim, six yellow buoys
along the length of Towhead Island and up the river to the red turnaround buoy,
then three more yellows as the course proceeded downriver. The last nine buoys
were orange, with the last orange buoy only a few meters from the red exit
buoy. I cleared Towhead Island in 18 minutes and rounded the turn in 28
minutes. I had read that the current was significant enough in previous years
for people to swim twice as fast after the turn around. Once I saw that I was making
the turn in less than half an hour, I began to develop delusions of a sub-one
hour swim time. I began celebrating my record accomplishment in my mind and
realized after a few minutes that there was minimal current to assist me and
not only was I not being swept downriver by the great current, I wasn’t really
swimming well anymore either. I refocused on concentrating on long, steady
strokes and once again began making good progress. I was pleased to see how
quickly I was moving as I sighted along the bank of the river. Things managed
to stay fairly open and contact-free until we neared the sighting buoys, where
the kayaks and safety volunteers corralled the swimmers into a much narrower
section. Invariably, as I approached the buoys, I began getting hit and hitting
other swimmers. I tried to get out of their way and leave everyone alone
without getting angry about anything that I couldn’t control.
At orange buoy #6, my left calf seized in a paralyzing cramp
and I thought I was going to sink to the bottom of the river. This was one of
those cramps that when they happen, you immediately collapse, struggling to
catch your breath because the pain is so severe that it takes the breath right
out of you. Knowing that there wasn’t much I could do about it, I allowed my
left leg to go completely limp and hope for the best. I didn’t want to pull my
head up and tread water to look for a kayak because my leg wasn’t going to
cooperate, so I kept swimming, kicking occasionally with my right leg to keep
myself prone in the water and began thinking of exit strategies. I didn’t want
this to end my day so soon, but if it was still crippling me when I got out of
the water, I had no idea how I was going to continue. Fortunately, over the
next couple of minutes the cramp subsided and I was able to flex my calf a
little as I swam. By the time I reached the swim exit, the cramp was completely
over, although the muscle continues to complain to me even three days after the
race.
I made eye contact with a volunteer on the far side of the
stairs and made my way over to his outstretched arm. He grabbed hold of me and
pulled me onto the stairs and I headed for the wetsuit strippers. As I tried to
get my upper body out of the wetsuit, my Ironman wristband got hung up in my
wetsuit sleeve and I didn’t have the dexterity or strength left in my hands to
try and work it free. I found my stripper and yelled to her that my arm was
stuck in the sleeve. She reassured me that we’d get it out and in a few seconds
(which seemed like minutes) she had my right hand free and was going for the
left arm. I realized that there was no way I’d get the wetsuit off over my
wristwatch, so I told her to wait while I took off my watch and she had my left
arm out seconds later. Then she yelled at me to lie down on my back and put my
feet up in the air. I needed to pull my timing chip off my ankle for the same
reason as the watch, but once I had that off, she grabbed my wetsuit and yanked
it off. I was astonished at how easily that happened. I reattached my timing
chip, grabbed my wristwatch from another stripper who was trying to give it to
her athlete, put it on, then took my wetsuit and began the wobbly run into T1.
Swim time: 1:17:46 (a P.R. time for me)
T1 was crowded, hot, and humid, with most of the bodies
jammed right into the entrance of the tent. I wormed my way through the crush
of bodies and found some open space and a chair. I sat down and pulled my
Ziploc bag with my biking equipment out of the transition bag. I wanted to be
calm and relax as much as possible during the transition so I could recover a
bit from the swim, but also be sure I wasn’t going to skip any important steps
in my transition. I made the change, repacked my T1 bag with my swimming gear,
handed it off to the closest volunteer and made my way to the exit. I grabbed a
sip of water as I left the tent and made my way to the bike racks. I was
shocked at how far I had to walk my bike to get to the mount line, but I
eventually got there, got mounted, and got underway on the second leg.
T1 time: 15:50
BIKE
It was still brisk when I got underway on the bike and I was
grateful I had thought to bring arm warmers and to change from swimming trunks
into a dry tri kit. I can’t imagine how cold I would have been for the first
several miles if I were still in wet clothes or had bare arms.
The first ten miles or so of the bike course are quite flat
and it’s a good time to just spin and loosen the legs while settling into a
rhythm. Unfortunately, the first ten miles of the course are still quite
crowded with athletes, so there’s little rhythm to be found. It was confusing
to try and stay to the right, avoid a drafting penalty, not block other riders,
and often pass two or three riders who were riding abreast. The road leading
out of town was also open to traffic, and where the small rollers caused riders
to slow significantly, cars were right there blocking the athletes. At one
point, a rider in front of me bumped his front wheel into the back of the rider
in front of him and he had to unclip and get off the bike. I narrowly avoided
the same fate by veering around him right behind a car and up over the crest of
the hill.
At mile 17 or so, the infamous out and back section of RT
1694 began. There are a couple of good hills, and again, it’s still early
enough in the race that the course is crowded with bikes going both ways.
Although I am sure there were others in different places, this is where I saw
all of the accidents. Several people’s races ended on that stretch of road.
Fortunately, I was able to make it clear of the carnage and the chaos and
continue on my ride.
It was still cool and I had to remind myself to eat and
drink, even though I didn’t feel any desire to. This was my biggest challenge
all through the bike ride, and has been my challenge as long as I have been
riding. I knew the only way I was going to survive the day was to be properly
hydrated and stay on top of my nutrition, so I focused on that. My plan was to
eat two Gatorade chews every 20 minutes and drink 6-8 ounces of water at that
time. During the first hour I forgot my second feeding time and was ten minutes
late, but payed closer attention to that for the rest of the morning and did
pretty well. I forced myself to drink more water than I wanted, but doing so
kept me hydrated throughout the day. I actually stopped to pee three times
during the bike ride, which some might have thought was high, but I found that
the brief stops were actually quite beneficial as I was able to stretch out my
legs and flex them a bit.
By special needs at mile 60, I was eagerly anticipating the
goodies I had packed in my bag. I enjoyed a chocolate granola bar and a
pomegranate 5-hour energy. That little break was a great respite for me and the
caffeine and vitamins from the 5-hour energy and the granola bar perked me
right up. I headed through the second loop with all kinds of energy, and as I
progressed, I realized that it would be better for me to stop at each aid
station from that point on and use the bathroom and stretch. My legs recovered
well at each 2-3 minute break and I felt fresh each time I got back on the
bike. The last 33 miles into Louisville are essentially downhill, but much of
the respite we were hoping to feel on the ride back into town was denied us
because of a headwind. I didn’t end up going as fast as I would have liked, but
the headwind reminded me to stay in the aero position and my last splits were
consistent, if not slightly faster than my first splits on the bike. Mile 90
was a wonderful sight to see, although the last 15 miles or so in on River Road
were terrible because of how rough the road is. It literally kicked my backside
all the way in as my tires hit the cracks and bumps and drove my saddle
upwards. Despite the agony of the last several miles, I managed to make it back
to T2 without incident and still feeling quite energetic. I dismounted my bike
a few feet ahead of the line and began the long walk into T2. I handed my bike
off to a volunteer and along the way I saw my wife and stopped to give her a
quick kiss. I decided it would be easier to take off my cycling shoes and run
in in my socks, despite the wet and muddy grass. Fortunately I had packed an
extra pair of socks in my T2 bag.
Bike time: 6:48:41
T2 was less crowded and I focused on drying my feet and
getting the sand off of them before heading off on the run. I loaded up my
pockets with additional Gatorade Chews (that I never once considered using on
the run,) handed my T2 bag to a volunteer, stopped for additional sunscreen,
then made my way to the run.
T2 time: 10:12
RUN
Now I was out on the run. My average run pace for the 6-mile
loop I regularly run is about 9:15/mile. My 14-mile run took me about 2:15, but
I knew there was no way I was going to survive a 10:00/mile pace on the run. I
wanted to slow down to 12:30-13:00 for the first 10K and then hold it or
gradually pick up the pace if I felt I could. In the chaos of the opening mile
of the run, I never saw the first mile marker, but my pace was an 11:08. I felt
okay with that pace, slowing to walk through the aid stations and running
again. This went well enough for the first hour and a half, but then my body
and brain started fading. I found that although my body wasn’t screaming at me
to stop, my legs were growing extremely fatigued and my brain was getting very
cloudy. I remember feeling as if everything was getting soft around the edges
as I looked at it. It seemed prudent to me to slow down and walk for a while,
so I did. I may have walked a quarter of a mile and things came back into
focus. I tried to keep my walk at a brisk pace, and eventually I was able to
start running again. My new plan was to run to a specific landmark and then
walk to the next one. I found that electrical poles worked well for me. The
largest poles were 100-200 yards apart, so I would run to the next one and then
walk to the one after that. It meant walking for more time than I was running,
but each time I began running, I found that I could start running without any
complaint from my body or rationalization from my brain as to why I shouldn’t
start running.
The Louisville run course is perfect for me, a double out-and-back,
with each leg approximately 6.5 miles. Breaking the marathon into four
digestible chunks allowed me to focus on getting to the next turnaround without
trying to mentally run the entire marathon all at once. Of course, getting to
the start of the second loop only ONE BLOCK from the finish line seems like
cruel and unusual punishment to me as you have to veer to the right and start
the last half marathon when the finish line and the thousands of spectators are
there urging you on but not realizing you still have half the run to complete.
The run course is well-stocked and supported with aid
stations roughly every mile. I had all of my pockets full of Gatorade Chews and
other food that I had brought, but after the bike leg wanted none of it. I took
water at almost every aid station, had Gatorade at about every other one, had
grapes a couple of times, took 3-7 potato chips at most stations, took cold
sponges 3 or 4 times and once had a volunteer fill my cap with ice. At about
6:30, someone offered me the first chicken broth. It was warm and wonderful! I
began looking for that at every aid station while alternating through whatever
it was that felt somewhat appetizing at the time. At special needs, I drank
another 5-hour energy, but it didn’t have the effect that the first one had on
the bike. I was disappointed, but was still able to continue with my run-walk
pattern for the rest of the race.
Several times during the run I started to get into my own
head, thinking about slowing to walk the rest of the way, (with 7:30 to finish
the marathon, I could walk the whole way! Why not give it a shot?) I also
thought about the times, but my brain doesn’t do math all that well under such
a strain, so thinking I might be able to finish the marathon in 4 hours and end
before sundown (at 7:30) just didn’t make sense, but above everything else it
was distracting me from moving forward, so as that would happen, I would find
someone running beside me and begin a conversation. I told them I needed to
talk to them for a bit to get out of my head. This happened five or six times,
and each time it worked. By the last leg in to the finish line, I was too tired
to want to talk to people and I was beginning to race with a few of them who I
had kept pace with for the second loop, so I didn’t talk to anyone other than
volunteers and police officers, and even then it was only to thank them for
being out there all day.
About two miles from the finish, my brain cleared up enough
to realize that I could finish in 14 hours, but to do so I’d have to run more
than walk, so I changed my pattern to running for three street lights and
walking for one. I opened a gap on the other athletes I had been leapfrogging
with for several miles and started gaining on the others who had dropped me
some time earlier.
One quarter of a mile from the finish, you are still on 3rd
Street. Fan support at 9:45 was all but gone from there, with everyone having
moved to the finish line at 4th Street Live! There was one
fan/volunteer standing at the turn off of 3rd Street who encouraged
me to run hard and finish strong. It felt like he was telling me to reel in a
few of the athletes (I could see two or three on the block ahead of me) and
pass them, so I decided to run hard the rest of the way.
Turning the corner onto 4th Street was amazing.
Three blocks ahead I could see the finish line and the crowd of spectators was
pressing in hard against the barriers. The noise, the lights, the music was
everything I needed. I took particular delight in going to the left side of the
divider that directed me to the finish line, almost reading the “2nd
Loop Right” sign with disdain. I passed one athlete who seemed to be tying his
shoes or visiting with friends or family at the start of the long finishers’
chute and focused on the finish arch. I had thought for several hours what I
might do as I crossed the finish line, but as my legs carried me down the
chute, I held out my hands on both sides to high five the fans who had their
hands out, and when I crossed over the line, all I could do was throw my arms
up in a V. Nobody else in the world existed at that moment. My finish line
video shows I gave a high five to the athlete who crossed the line ten seconds
ahead of me, but I don’t remember it. I didn’t hear my name announced, (it was,)
and then my catcher locked eyes with me and opened her arms to receive me. In
the next few minutes I had a medal placed over my head, was handed a finisher’s
shirt and cap, had my picture taken, was given a Mylar blanket, had my timing
chip removed, then was congratulated again by my catcher and ushered out the
back side of the finisher’s chute where my wife was waiting. It was over, and I
had finished without the pain and agony that so many people recall when they
talk about their experience.
Run time: 5:25:25
TOTAL IRONMAN TIME: 13:57:54
