Ironman Arizona: My Experience

Sunset on the drive home

Me and the Mrs

mmmm... Taters and pizza!

I've read a few Ironman Arizona race reports in the past few days and they tend to all sound pretty similar… y'know, something like: "I woke up early and ate some food, and then I swam, biked, and ran some". So, I reckon I'm going to write this a tiny bit differently. I'm going to start at the end, and work my way backwards – generally – though, I reckon it might just randomly skip around!!! LOL!

I don't know if you are at all like me, but, I've got this huge "cookie tooth" so to speak. I love cookies – especially good ol' fashioned, homemade, straight up chocolate chip cookies. For me, I imagine that experiencing the first bite of a slightly warm and gooey chocolate chip cookie is not too dissimilar to a crackhead taking that first hit. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but, hopefully you get my point – I really like cookies! :-)

In my exuberance to recreate that first bite of a cookie experience, I generally wind up eating a second one. Every time, though, that second (or third) cookie never quite tastes the same as the first. I'm sure there is some fancy psychological terminology for this type of effect. Nonetheless, as I hobbled across the finish line at IMAZ in just under eleven hours and thirty-five minutes, this particular triathlon experience wasn't quite the same as my first long-ish course tri experience… It was kind of like the first bite of that _second_ chocolate chip cookie…

http://www.asiorders.com/view_user_photo.asp?PID=&EVENTID=32045&PWD=&ID=59065995&FROM=photos&BIB=622

Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to sound as if this was no big deal – y'know, finishing an Ironman has been known to change lives and prove that everyday folk can do more than they think possible. It's an inspirational event to be sure.

To see folks overcoming huge obstacles and personal tragedy or disease is a pretty emotional and inspiring thing for me. In a moment of weakness last December, my right index finger hovered over the enter key on my keyboard. If I hit the enter button I would be entered in Ironman Arizona 2008. I think I sneezed, and inadvertently hit the enter button… Well, that's what I keep telling myself… I mean, who'd do this sort of thing out of their own free will, right?

Back to the inspirational thing… I've seen the devastating effects of illness firsthand… and that experience took shape over decades. Y'see, I've seen a perfectly healthy woman, my mom; go from playing ball in the front yard with her sons in the late 70's early 80's to being confined to a wheelchair and ultimately succumbing to Multiple Sclerosis some 25 years later. That kind of thing stays with you; changes you, even.

Eleven hours plus by yourself in your own little world gives you plenty of time to think about things, and I thought of my mom just prior to finishing. I had seen the backside of someone's t-shirt that said "competing for John Doe". I can't remember the exact name on the back of that shirt this guy was wearing as he ground out the last miles of the marathon, but in that moment, I did think of my mom.

And smiled out loud.

But really, I'm not that guy who overcame any real adversity to make it to the finish line of an ironman. I'm not going to be featured by Al Trautwig on NBC , or have Mike Reilly or Bob Babbit speak about me at the annual competitor awards ceremony at Sea World here in San Diego – I'm just a dood that five years ago was 10 kilos heavier than he wanted to be, and really liked chocolate chip cookies. And beer… mmmm…. Yeah, come to think of it, I like beer! :-)

Anyway, about 11 miles prior to crossing the finish line, things went about as far south as they could. I had to start walking. I had been ticking off pretty regular 9 minute miles (that was the plan) up to mile 13 or so, when I started to feel my old nemesis rearing its ugly head in my left knee. I always have struggled with ITB issues (as I have self-diagnosed it), which basically sends sharp, stabbing, pulses of pain up the outer part of my knee with each footstep. And I could feel the early stages of this happening at about the half mary point.

I ground out the next couple of miles, but after the downhill into an aid station after running through the park on the NE part of the run course during mile 15, I cracked. I had to stop running. That pretty much sucked, to be honest. I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself for about half a mile, then power-walked at 12 min/mile pace pretty much all the way to the finish. I did try and run again a couple times, but I just couldn't make it happen, and honestly, my power walking wasn't much slower than when I attempted to run. I probably only ran 18 of the 26.2 – disappointed in that to be sure…

For the first time on the day, I saw my wife, Selene, on the third lap as I was reduced to walking – I felt a little disappointed and embarrassed, but she had supportive words for me, so I kept on movin' forward.

Here's a sweet pic in all my walkin' glory:

Not my best moment, eh!?

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Yeah, so how was the bike?

Hey, where did everybody's bike go??? :-)

The bike was pretty boring, to be honest. I think there are three things that I hold onto from this portion:

1. I was well hydrated!
2. Am I going too fast?
3. Sore Throat
   

Hydration: I stopped three times to relieve the unbearable pressure building in the ol' bladder. I briefly considered pissin' myself rather than stopping, but damn, I wasn't in contention for any glory or slots to Kona and whatnot. Yeah, I'm not a "true Ironman" ;-) for this decision, but at least I can give a pretty good review of the interiors of some honey buckets out on the bike course!

The Honey Buckets were pretty much like every one I'd seen prior to this past Sunday. Plastic injection molded. There were foul smells emanating from within its depths. There was a line of folks on the outside waiting to git 'r dun. These three pee stops only wound up costing me around five minutes or so, and honestly, that was the best five minute investment I've made recently– especially in this difficult US economy! D'oh! ;-)

Just prior to my first port-o-let experience as I was cruisin' out of town with my head nice and low, I heard someone screamin' my name from what seemed like 100m up the road… huh, that's odd, I thought. As I passed, it was my friend Jen Santell yellin' words of encouragement. As I rolled off up the road, I gave her the rock 'n roll sign (think ozzy osbourne) and kept on movin' forward. I saw Jen and Steve several more times on the day – thanks for the support, guys! :-)

The ol' belly didn't feel quite right for the better part of the first hour – it was in a bit of a knot and the legs were tight, but after that first leak, damn, things sorted out straight away. I had made room to begin taking on some fuel. MMM… liquid fuel for 11 hours – sounds like fun!

Am I going too fast? When you swim as slow as I do, you get the opportunity to see a sizable portion of the field as you ride 112 miles. I was kinda freaked out as I dialed in my perceived effort and occasionally checked out the SRM power meter. I felt like I was going easy, and the PM confirmed it. But damn, I was flying past people like they were standing still… This being my first ironman, I doubted myself for a second and asked the question: Am I going too fast? Will I pay for this speed in the marathon? Hmmmm…. I've never gone this easy in my training, so I reckon we'll just have to find out.

In hindsight, knowing what was to transpire at mile 16 in the marathon, and given a chance to do the bike over again, I'd have gone harder and basically "sold out" as Chris Horner liked to say back in his Prime Alliance days. I don't feel as if my pacing on the bike hindered anything – I mean, really, how hard can averaging ~55% of one's 20MP for a little more than five hours be???

Sore throat: my vocal chords got a bit tired chiming out "on your left". I kind of felt like I was back in the 80's playing Defender in an arcade. For the most part, folks did a nice job (from my perspective) of staying to the right side of the road. I did see a few packs out there, where I had to sit up and even grab a fistful of brake a time or two in order to navigate through the mayhem. I'm not saying these folks were illegally drafting out there, but I am saying I had to navigate through some packs that did cause me to elevate my power for a minute or so after grabbing a fistful of brake.

Uneventful bike – I think that's how it should be?

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After flopping around in my wetsuit for more than an hour and fifteen minutes (using what can be best described as a swim stroke that looks like a spastic monkey humping a football) I passed under the Mill Street Bridge and sighted onto the final red buoy. Once I make that sucker, I told myself, it's home free! With my head underwater, I actually let out a big yelp of joy – yeah! I'm gonna make it through this swim. I sure hope no one heard that – sound doesn't travel far underwater, does it?? :-)

I sat on the first step of the steel grate that marked the exit of the swim and for the first time in the race looked at my Timex watch -> I went way faster than I expected based on swimming laps in the pool. A great way for me to start the day! I felt good about myself at that moment – it was one of those rare times I've allowed myself such self aggrandization - but it felt right at the time.

http://www.asiorders.com/view_user_photo.asp?EVENTID=32045&ID=59077913&FROM=photos&BIB=622

Swimming in open water is not like swimming in a pool. In my preparation, my swims had been pretty sucky. Starting at about 14 wks out from the event, I spent three days a week in the pool working on nothing but technique/drills. In those first swims, I could barely last twenty minutes before my arms gave out.

For the drills, I used a DVD that Roch Frey from multisports.com made for guidance. They helped! As I transitioned into making sure I could swim the entire distance I would do great for the first 45 minutes, but then would suffer from these hideous calf/foot cramps. I was pretty freaked out, since I never was able to conquer these – I always had it happen to me, including my last 4000yd swim 9 days out from the day I toe'd the line.

In the pool, I finally managed to cope with the deal, simply by dragging my feet and letting the sensation pass – I'm sure I got plenty of looks from the fast swimmers in the lane next to me, though! I'm pretty sure that these cramps were brought on by pushing off the wall in the pool, cuz, on race day, I never had any issues. What a relief!

Never in the swim did I get into a groove, or feel comfortable like I did in the pool. While in the pool, I could settle into a rhythm and bilaterally breathe every third stroke. All was good. On race day, there always seemed to be some person hammering on me, or zig-zagging in front of me (it's not possible that an accomplished swimmer like me was the one zig-zaggin! ;-) ), such that I couldn't settle down. I was pretty much a mess, but kept on moving forward.

I'd never really done a mass start triathlon before with 2000+ starters. The three tri's I had under my belt were all wave starts, so they were pretty tame. For this race, I seeded myself at the back and basically did the "water polo" swim for the first ten minutes. The key for me was to not panic – I told myself that I've got this big life preserver stuck to me, and things will be alright if I just keep on movin'. It all worked out.

Just prior to the swim start.

Thirty minutes till the start, I mosy'd over to where my wife, Selene, was standing, dropped off my gear bag, and got a big ol' smooch (I think she tried to slip me some tongue!) and words of encouragement.

Fifteen minutes prior to the age grouper start, I stood crammed next to a bunch of strangers all geared up in their black wetsuits and pale blue or hot pink swimcaps. I was a rookie at this distance, I didn't really know what to expect on the day or during the mass start swim, but I was calm and confident in "runnin' what I brung".

I had no nerves, or butterflies in my stomach. I was at peace with the situation.

At 6:55 AM or so, I jumped into Tempe Town Lake and cruised up to the start line.

I tread some water for a minute or so positioning myself in the middle of the course. I was full of hope, and pride for making it this far uninjured and healthy. I had a big smile on my face. I was thankful for the opportunity that this day would present me – an opportunity to explore my limits once again in a seemingly new way.

The start of the swim...

The starting cannon went off.

I put my head down, took my first swim stroke, and whispered on the inside: "You can do this".