Part 4. My Road to Ironman: Race Day

My first and last open water swim was 2 days prior to the race in Lake Coeur d’ Alene.  My memory is cold.  It was bitterly cold, but as I put my head under the water and felt my breath shorten I thought to myself ‘I’m here.  This is real.  I’m going to rock this!’

This is a fake smile.  Note to self:
 don't drink Odwalla on race day

Nauseated is the best word to describe the night before and morning 

of the race.  Completely nauseated.  I slept 2 hours, I ate next to nothing, but at 0700 on Sunday morning there I was standing on the beach of lake Coeur d’ Alene with 2,800 other athletes waiting for their dreams to come true.  Schuyler and I hardly talked that morning.  Both hooded and hiding behind our IPod’s, we didn’t have time or energy to worry about each other.  This shit was getting real.  I knew I couldn’t think about the entire day without becoming overwhelmed so I stayed in the moment and only allowed myself to think about the very next task at hand.  

The gun goes off and Schuyler gave me a quick kiss and dove in the lake leaving me standing ‘alone’ on the beach looking out across the lake to that dreaded red buoy.  I tell people that I waited a minute and a half, but I’m really not sure how long I stood there.  What I do know is at some point I took a deep breath and jumped it.  The swim was a bit of a blur.  Lots of bodies everywhere.   Some kicking vigorously, some going the wrong direction, some pulled up looking disoriented.  I just had to keep moving.  Schuyler’s words rang though my head “find feet and follow them”  “pull through your stroke”.  That was all I could focus on and before I knew it I was done with the first lap in 45minutes.  Not a stellar time, but for me it was good.  I was actually really excited because I didn’t push that hard, so I started to think that I could maybe finish in 1:30. Unfortunately the weather had something to say about that.  The wind kicked up and before I knew it I was swimming though a tsunami.  Usually when you breathe you see green and pink caps all around you.  Not on this dreaded 2^nd lap.  No caps, just huge waves.  I had to pull up just to find the buoys.  At one point, I swallowed a ton of water and came up gagging.  Thank God there was a kayak right there and I didn’t hesitate to hold on while trying to catch my breath.  I remember the guy asking me multiple times if I was ok.  I honestly wasn’t sure but after what felt like 5 minutes of the clock ticking away I was swimming again.  I finished the swim in 1:45 freezing and thankful that the hardest leg was out of the way. 

I was so nervous about pushing too hard on the bike and having nothing left for the run I paced myself to the extreme.  I describe this ride and ‘hum de dum’.  I never felt too tired or uncomfortable, just out for a Sunday ride.  I also hydrated to the extreme and ended up stopping to pee 6 times.  Oops!  It is a humbling experience to approach a 70-year-old man and barely have enough to pass him.  This happened multiple times.  I’ll be happy if I can still walk when I’m 70.  It’s funny that during the race you always want to be somewhere other than where you are.  At mile 95 what I would have given to be back trudging through those miserable waves.  Any relief from the agonizing pain of my shoulder and hips would have been an extraordinary relief. 

Schuyler greets me at the finish line.  Tears of joy!

26.2 miles left.  No energy to think.  Run.  Eat.  Drink.  Run. Eat.  Drink. Run. Eat. Drink.  I felt hopeful, fatigued, elated, frustrated, miserable, excited, emotional, drained, and energetic all at the same time.  There are really no words to describe the last leg of this incredible journey.  All the energy, focus, early morning workouts, sweat, and tears, culminated to this day, this moment.  The only way to understand this moment is to be there yourself.  You would think after 140.4 miles you would be eager to finish, but the emotion of finishing the last 0.2miles lingered longer than expected.  Even before crossing the finish line ‘what’s next?’ crossed my mind.  How does that happen?  Somehow by becoming one with the pain you actually learn to enjoy it!  The journey becomes the quest and Ironman becomes not what you do but who you are.  I am an Ironman!

My road to Ironman: 14 hr. 10 min - not bad considering the long road...

Transitions, Part 1

In this first of a two part series on transitions, we’ll take a closer look at how best to prepare for the first transition, also known as T1– the swim to bike.  Every triathlete has a different ‘system’ that they’ve adopted out of trial and error that works best for them and as you complete more triathlons, you’ll discover a specific order in which you prefer to make your transition.  Even though I’ll include my own opinions, the point of this post is not to provide an order of operations for T1, but to provide awareness of all the necessary tasks required for you to get on your bike.

Pre-race Preparation

As soon as you arrive at the triathlon, you need to check in then rack your bike.  At higher profile events its common to check in and rack your bike the night before, but at most sprints and Olympic distance races, this isn’t necessary.  It’s good to get there early for two reasons; first, the racks usually are perpendicular to the entry and exit points of the transition zone so the closest spots go to the earliest arrivers.  If you’re concerned about your time, you could waste precious seconds running down the isle to your bike.  And second, by getting there before everyone else, you’re guaranteed room on the ground for all your transition gear.  You’ll notice that many people like to lay claim to a very generous amount of ground space but don’t be afraid to crowd them, ask them to give you some space, or flat out move their stuff over.  You paid the same entrance fee as them so you’re entitled to the same amount of transition room.

(More after the break)