Race Report: Ironman Florida - Part 2

On Saturday morning, I managed to sneak out of bed around 4am without waking Regina. In reality, I’d been awake since 3am, and had spent the last hour wrapping my head around the fact that as soon as my feet hit the floor, I wouldn’t be resting again for probably 20 hours. There was no sleepiness to shake off once I was awake, and upon noticing how calm I felt, I realized that ultimately, the hard part was over. I had done the workouts, everything had been accounted for, and now it was time to execute.

Tyler was already awake, moving around the kitchen in darkness, eating a banana and drinking from a water bottle. We both nodded to each other, and it was clear his sense of purpose was the same as mine…we had arrived. The only item left to cross off the list was to somehow get 1500 calories into my stomach before we left the condo. Two bowls of oatmeal, 2 bananas, 2 raspberry Hammer gels, a bagel, and a 500 calorie bottle of EFS. My body was so used to this routine, it didn’t even bat an eye, and I was pulling on my warm-ups 15 minutes later. The clock hit 5am, and we walked down towards the start line half a mile away.

There is a certain smell in the air before endurance events. It is hard to describe unless you’ve been there, but it could best be explained as a combination of sunscreen, nerves, portable-toilet, and liniment. The convention center at the race hotel was a mass of people applying body glide, putting on wetsuits, and embracing loved ones. The thought of “saying goodbye to family” is melodramatic, considering this was a simple athletic competition, but appropriate if you consider the months (and years) of sacrifice both the athletes and their families have made to get to this moment. It isn’t just a “see you later tonight”…it is much more…it’s a “thank-you” that becomes cheapened through words. Many people had tears in their eyes, and it all made sense in that moment. I hugged my father, gave an awkward white-man handshake to my brother, and kissed my wife. “See you in 12 hours or less…”

After the national anthem, we shook hands with Ken, and then Tyler and I headed to the far right of the shoreline. We wanted to bypass the slower swimmers and avoid becoming trapped in the washing-machine of people. By the time we got to the first buoy, we knew we’d already have made up the tangent and be in front of the first-lap heroes. I was lined up about 4-5 people back, but Tyler gave me a stern look that said “get up here where you belong”. At the time, being in the first line seemed crazy, but in retrospect I owe him for doing this. The cannon fired, catching us all off guard, and we were sprinting into the ocean at the start of a 140 mile race.

The Swim

There are few true moments you will remember in your life with great clarity, without them losing some of their sharpness over time. I will never, ever forget the first 500 yards of that swim. The feel of the cold sand on my toes, the first splash of water over my head as I dove under the breakers, the feeling as I left my feet for the next 2.4 miles, and the rush of emotion. It took every ounce of mental strength to not hammer, and instead try to find a rhythm in the search for clean water. Despite some minimal contact in the first 1000 yards, I made it to the first buoy unscathed, and settled into what felt like a very relaxed pace. Coming out of the water on the first lap, I took a peek at my watch and had a small panic as it read “32:xx”. That was only a minute off my half-iron swim best…was I already going to blow up my day because of an overly aggressive swim? I felt very relaxed and decided to just go with it. Into the water on the second loop, I looked down, as the visibility in the gulf was probably 40 feet, despite the large swells and strong current. I watched as jelly fish, string rays, and fish passed by far below, probably wondering what the hell was going on above them. For most of the second lap, I found the feet of some swimmers in front of me and experienced a draft for the first time I can recall during an open-water swim. The beach was getting closer and closer, and my fingers finally dug into the sand, as I looked up and realized I had arrived. I looked at my watch, and knew I was in much better shape than I had realized…I was going to have a good day.

Swim Time: 1:04:44
Overall Place 392 / 2402

I ran up the beach and had my cap and goggles in hand, and my wetsuit at my waist before we reached the wetsuit strippers. As usual, I aimed for the strongest looking volunteer, and he had the suit off in less than 5 seconds. Aside from the rows of spectators 6-deep in the chute, the first thing I noticed was how cold it was. The air temperature at the swim start was 39 degrees, and it certainly wasn’t much warmer now, because daylight savings had begun the day before, and the sun was barely above the horizon. My feet felt like blocks as I ran along the concrete path, which stretched roughly 500 yards until we hit the changing tents. A volunteer tossed me my change bag, and I took my time getting my base layer and gloves on before getting on my bike. I noticed how many bikes were still in T1 as I mounted my ride, and this another sign that I had just swam out of my mind. Hitting the start button on my Garmin, it was time to start my nutrition routine and start ticking off the miles.

T1 time: 8:53

The Bike

The first 5-6 miles of the course took us west along the main drag of PCB, before dog-legging to the right for the long miles. Despite the long sleeves and gloves, my hands had trouble gripping the water bottle, and I began a constant shiver that I couldn’t stop. At mile 10, we crossed over the bridge to the mainland, and since this was the only hill on the entire course, I decided to get up out of the saddle and pump my legs a bit in an effort to warm up. My body wasn’t having it though, and during the descent the wind chill was biting right through my base layer. A mile later, I dropped my gel flask because of my inability to close my hand around the container, and I had to dismount and go back to pick it up, since it represented ½ of the nutrition I needed for the ride. The next hour was easily the darkest and most miserable experience of my day, as I fought off hypothermia. This was Florida…what the hell was going on. It was 70 degrees and sunny almost every year on race day, and I get stuck with the one shitty day for my race. The negative thoughts distracted me from the ride, and my pace slackened. Ironically, the moment that jolted me back to reality, on any other day, would have only increased the negativity. I noticed a shadow just off my left side, and realized I was giving a free ride to someone in my draft. Perhaps they were going to pass…I decided to give them a minute. Sixty seconds turned into ninety, and I had enough. I turned to find some donkey sucking my wheel like I was his own personal carrot. “You want a ride?” I sneered. He smiled, not hearing me, and said “huh?”. “DO YOU WANT TO GET ON MY BIKE SO I CAN PEDAL FOR YOU?” I barked. “Umm….no” he said. I can’t even remember if he fell back behind me or rode on, but that moment sparked the anger I needed to get out of my funk. It certainly wasn’t the last experience I had with people drafting that day, but the only one that really affected me on a personal level. Pedaling with a new intensity, my core began to warm, the sun rose higher into the sky, and the thaw enabled me to get back into a rhythm.

At mile 56, I passed the special needs station, but didn’t need to stop. I had pre-concentrated 2 bottles of EFS to roughly 1200 calories per bottle, so the only thing I needed to constantly replace was a water bottle mounted to my aerobars, roughly every 20 miles. I put a line of tape on the EFS bottles in increments, so I knew how much I needed to consume each hour, and washed it down with water as needed. I had to stop 3 times on the bike to pee, but this was good, since it meant I was staying hydrated. And since I’m not a professional, there was no way I was going to piss without getting off my bike…why spend thousands of dollars on something you’re just going to piss all over? It made me laugh seeing so many age groupers on their way to a 14 or 15 hour finishing time, urinating all over their bikes, like there was money on the line.

By the time I hit mile 85, I was ready to get off my bike. It wasn’t fatigue; more boredom if that makes sense...at that point I had been on my bike for 4 hours without going over any hills, just long, straight roads. The course looped back into PCB the same way we had begun, with the last 5 miles along the coast. There was a slight tailwind that provided a strong run up into T2, and about half a mile from the dismount line, I saw Pete (dressed as Superman and wearing a blue wig), Regina, Matt, and Dad…all of them going nuts. It put a smile on my face, and gave me a boost heading into the last third of my race. I hadn’t broken any speed records on the bike, but I felt surprisingly fresh and knew I would have the legs to run a decent chunk of the marathon without walking. Just how much, however, was left to be seen. As they say at Endurance Nation “there is no such thing as a good bike followed by a bad run”. You either pace properly on the bike, or you blow up and walk the marathon….it was that simple.

Bike Time: 6:06:30
Overall Place: 982 / 2402

As I hopped off my bike and waddled into T2, a volunteer grabbed my bike (valet service!) and another one handed me my transition bag. The changing tent was a complete zoo, and because I wasn’t changing my race clothing, I stood just outside the tent, removing my gloves, putting on a hat and some sunscreen, and finally my running shoes. I hit the bathroom one more time on the way out, and I was out onto the course to run my first-ever marathon. It was time to separate the men from the boys, as my college track coach would say.

Time: 5:28

The Run

I had only told one person (Tyler) what my time goal was for this race…and that was because he demanded that I set a goal for myself. He’s a personal trainer, and brings a fierce intensity to all aspects of his life, which is something I respect. Plus, he’s a lot bigger than me, so who was I to say “no”? To everyone else, however, my goal was “to finish strong”. Whether Tyler had made me vocalize it or not, I knew that if all went according to plan, I could finish right around 12 hours. But because I had no idea how my body would react over 140+ miles, it would be silly to call this a “target”. People lose goggles on the swim, get flat tires on the bike, and have stomach issues from the glut of calories and protein they consume, and sometimes…people just have a bad day.

But as I did the math in my head, I knew that the strong swim and well-paced bike had put me into the driver’s seat to control my destiny. I had more than 4.5 hours to run the marathon, which is plenty of time, so long as I managed to keep RUNNING. If I was forced to walk, that would rapidly eat into my buffer, and most likely erase any hopes of a sub-12 finish time. So I got after it. The first 5km I averaged 8:15 pace, spurred on by the huge crowd of supporters lining the road. As I hit mile 4, Tyler passed going the other way, roughly 3 miles ahead of me. He was having a great day, and he could sense that I was too. If we could hold on, big things were in front of us.

The run course was two loops, out and back, along the waterfront in PCB before heading into a 4 mile stretch in the State Park, which was quite isolated and without spectators. As I rounded the halfway point in the park, the lead female pro blew past me on her final lap, with the official race motorbike and camera crew in tow. The energy was palpable, and it gave me a small surge just when I was beginning to lag. As I came back into PCB to begin lap 2, Pete and Regina were back out there wearing wigs and holding signs. Their energy was insane, considering they’d been at it for 10 hours already and had only gotten to see me for a fleeting few seconds. It was greatly appreciated, and I wasn’t going to disappoint.

Lap two began with me grabbing my final packets of Cliff Shot Bloks and tucking them into my shorts. One each 20 minutes, and my calorie count was where it needed to be to keep me fueled. Aid stations were set up every mile of the marathon, offering cookies, pretzels, oranges and bananas, water, Gatorade, flat coke, and chicken broth. The entire marathon was literally like running down an aisle in the supermarket, only with portable toilets every 100 feet. And given the entry fee…I was going to get my money’s worth. The only downside was that since I had to stop running to drink, it got progressively harder to start running again after each pit stop. Each aid stand would add another 30 seconds of walking to my pace, until I eventually hit my break point. Around mile 18, I walked through an aid station…and just couldn’t start running again. It was a very odd sensation, and it seemed completely mental, almost as if my body was operating just fine, but my brain was telling it that it wasn’t allowed to continue. I did my best to walk quickly and kept a decent pace, but something just wasn’t right. At the next aid station, I had some coke and forced myself to jog until the next tree, which was 100 yards up the road. I got to the tree and forced myself to make it to the next street sign, which was 200 yards up the road. And so it continued, as I fought the mental fatigue. By the time I reached mile 20, I noticed that regardless of whether I was walking or running, my body felt the same. Everything hurt, but there wasn’t going to be a relief until I was done. At that moment I could have sworn I heard a bagpipe, playing “Cadence to Arms”. I never did see anyone playing the pipes, and since I was in the middle of a State Park, it is quite likely that I was hallucinating. But the swell of emotion was very real, and I started to pick up the pace. I could see the flood lights 5 miles down the road at the finish line, I could hear Mike Reilly calling out the names of finishers, and I wanted to be there so badly.

The final 4 miles were a blur. I’m not sure whether I left a little too much energy in the tank, or if it was something else, but I ran those last four miles in 32 minutes…faster than my first four miles. I spent the time alternately grinning like a fool, fighting back tears, and high fiving random strangers. Before I knew it, I was running down the chute, forcing myself to slow down and take it all in. Arms raised, I crossed under the timer without even looking…I knew I made it well under my goal time. After I crossed the line, I got my finisher’s medal and stood for my photo, knowing that I probably only had a few minutes before the adrenaline wore off and I bonked mightily. I managed to find Regina and my Dad and hugged them both before making my way to the medical tent “just in case”. As soon as I sat down, the buzz ended, and I began to feel dizzy. A doctor came over to check on me, and when I asked for an IV he pointed to the dozens of people behind him, saying “Have you been vomiting or passing out, ‘cause these ones have…if not, have some chicken broth”. A much more genteel volunteer came over and handed me two large cups of chicken broth, staying with me until I finished both of them and managed to warm up. Within 20 minutes, I was good to go, said my thanks, and made it out of the tent just in time to see Ken cross the finish line. I later found out that Tyler crossed the line about 45 minutes before me, and had a great day. And with that, it was time for a beer. Not bad for a day’s work.

Marathon Time: 4:25:31

Overall Finish Time: 11:51:06
Overall Place: 805 / 2402