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August 26th, 2007. 7:00 AM. I’m back in the very spot I stood 8 years prior. I spoke to no one and refrained from sizing up any of the other 2734 athletes. Morning pleasantries were not of interest and other’s fitness had no bearing on my performance today. In fact, there were very few words spoken by any wetsuits this morning; one of the most quite Ironman starts I can remember. Next to Kona, IM Canada is the hardest race to get into. This has become more of a veteran’s race. It seemed like we all knew the challenge and pain waiting for us and I was so looking forward to it. Sick, I know! The calm before the storm made perfect sense.
My goals; I didn’t come here to clock another so-so performance. Done with sub par performances, I wanted a finish time reflective of my ability. While just finishing would be perfectly acceptable, 13:00+ hours would not settle well with me. 12 Hours. It had to be somewhere in the 12 hour range. I was looking for a 1:45 swim and wanted to start the run by the 8 hour mark. If I could do this and run a 4:30, I could finish in 12:30 and go home with a smile on my face.
The gun sounded. That was my queue to do the 2.4 mile 1 arm drill; a test of my patience. There were over 1000 more athletes here than in 1999 which made the swim start tight quarters. We trotted along for a few hundred feet before diving into the water. As I dove with my arm stretch out, so did the guy just ahead and to one side. I guess he decided to make like a swan with his legs and I took a heel in the growing hard. I saw stars and for a brief moment the Ironman was inconsequential; a second fiddle to my manlihood. This was not the type of pain I was looking for. Doubled over I wondered if I could still have children. As the stars dissipated, my race focus slowly returned. Thank goodness the water was cold. Note to self, wear a cup next Ironman.
Swimming in the Okanogan Lake was a pleasure. Through the remaining stars I could see a stream of pink and blue swim caps and a little tiny boat we were suppose to swim around. Just under a mile straight out, about 500 feet east, and the final stretch was just over a mile straight back. The water was like glass and the only swells encountered were created by the boats monitoring swimmers. There where 28 big bright orange buoys to conquer and it seemed like it took forever just to get to the first.
I exit the water in 2:03. This was not the start I expected. It would have been very easy to settle into another 13-15 hour Irorman. No Way! I tell my athletes to have a plan, practice the plan, and execute the plan. But you also need to be ready for things not go as planned and capable of adapting to the cards dealt. I’d lost the first hand but there were two more to play. Down 20 minutes + a 5 minute transition, I mounted my ride and rode like I stole it.
By mile 10 I had made up 3 minutes, by mile twenty 7 minutes, and on it went through mile 40. I passed guys wearing disks and aero helmets and thought” buddy, if I was wearing that, gramma would not be ahead of me on this course. At the bottom of Richter Pass, all I could see was a string of athletes from the very bottom all the way to the crest. “I’ve been here before.” Mentally, I took myself out of the race and just replayed my ride up Monitor Pass from a few months ago (Death Ride). I made like Pac-Man and started gobbling. As we crested the top, we were greeted with a strong and direct head wind. NOOOO!!! This is not happening.!!!!! 56 miles left heading directly into the wind. We had to peddle down hill.
Once at the bottom, I again mentally checked out. I wasn’t in Canada. I was on my regular Tuesday-Thursday ride pulling into the wind. It was just going to take me a little longer to get home. Pushing harder on the bike resulted in more calorie consumption. Already consumed were 1 P&J, 3 Hammer Bars, 3 gels, 2 bottles of Perpetum and 2 bottles of Gatorade. I was hungry and out of food. I see the Bike Special Needs Bags. Cool!!! I had another P&J, 3 more Hammer Bars, Cliff Shots, and 2 bottles of Perpetum waiting. The course was cruel. It took us right by the bags. It would be another 20 miles before I could get to my bag. I took in a gel and a few bananas from the aid station to hold me over.
The wind didn’t let up and at times it surprised us from various directions. We were in a bowl like canyon where wind had various avenues of entry. I counted no less the 6 ambulances flying by in one direction or another throughout the race. I also rode by 4 different ambulances providing aide to down athletes.
My stop at the Bike Special Needs was much like a Formula 1 pit stop. I asked the volunteer who handed me my bag to help and did he ever. While I refilled my bento box with the food, in the order in which I wanted to eat it (because I‘m anal like that), he mixed my Perpetual and put the bottles in my cages, slapped me on the back and said “Go Mario.” I never saw his face, couldn’t tell you who he was but his encouragement, enthusiasm, and willingness to help a complete selfish stranger with no way of returning the favor will never be forgotten. I was in and out in what had to be less than a minute and yet it is one of the most memorable moments of the race. “Thank you, thank you, thank you”…and I was out of there.
The P&J didn’t make it to the bento box. It went directly into my stomach and tasted like heaven. The dry stickiness of the peanut butter forced me to drink more than I wanted but this was a good thing. It would come in handy later.
In previous races, I would worry about the run during the bike. The same thoughts began to haut me. I couldn’t afford a poor run. Finding it self defeating, I did my best to ignore these thoughts. I was on a bike ride and there was nothing I can do about the run at the moment. I’ll deal with it when I cross that bridge. The climb up Yellow Lake stood between that bridge and I.
As we started up Yellow Lake, someone passed me. “Holly Molly!” A slower swimmer than I who can ride. I didn’t think they existed (slower swimmers). “I’ve been chasing you all day” he said.” The race just got fun! Then he says, “Lets dance brother.” Oh yeah!!! This guy speaks my language. I didn’t care whether he smokes me up this hill or not. He was going to push me and that was what I wanted. He had mentally taken me away from the race again and it was fun. We screamed up Yellow Lake like it was a Tour De France stage. Thousands of people created a TDF like shoot at the crest. This is why IM Canada is such a hot Iroman ticket. I can’t remember a place on the course that didn’t have people cheering for you.
The drop into town was steep, fast, and technical. My new friend led the way. By now I had I fire going that could roast my scrambled eggs. But I was making up time. In lieu of braking the corners, I counter steered and screamed for my life. It was the most exhilarating and frightening thing I’d ever done on a bike. Funny, the things you’ll do for a little bit of Vaseline.
I rolled into T2 at 8:05. OK!!! I put myself back in the game within reason. 5 Minutes off. A change of clothes for comfort and a walk to the T2 exit put me 12 minutes down. Can I run?
I tell my athletes not to worry about all 26 miles at once. Focus on 1 mile at a time. And so I looked for mile marker 1. 20 MINUTES WENT BY AND NO MILE MARKER! The first mile mark I noticed was mile 3. TIME? What’s my time? 28 minutes. Nice! My turnover was twice, three times, sometimes four times that of other runners. I had worked on counting my strides to improve turnover, foot strike, and efficiency. JACKPOT!!! Mile 6, 9, and 12 went by. My pace varied slightly throughout to account for fatigue or reaction to caffeine hits but I would not allow my turnover to be compromised. It was the key. By the turnaround, I caught my bike friend. I guess he didn’t want to be my fiend anymore. He went roaring passed me. I looked at my watch and new 12:30 was possible if I budgeted what was left in my tank. I wasn’t willing to play the testosterone game anymore; it would be counter productive.
The word attrition came to mind. We play mind games with ourselves on the run. I had few conversations with other runners. I’m sure we were all aware of each other. Mile 15, mile 18, mile 20. As the miles passed us, attrition turned us into walkers. It was like we were running from this imaginary attrition monster gobbling us up from behind. AHHHH!!!! Not me, not me, oh please not me. I came close but was fortunately spared. Mile 23. My friend was walking. See Ya! By mile 24 we’re back in town and surrounded by screaming spectators. Exhausted, I gathered energy from all of the cheering people.
Mile 25 and the finish shoot is 12 feet away. What’s wrong with this picture? I see athletes running through the shoot. A hard left and we run away from the shoot ½ mile before returning. The longest mile of my life.
12:33. Mission accomplished. As I crossed, Mike Reilly (the voice of Ironman) greeted me with a hug that lifted my off the ground and said, “You had a great race my friend, congratulations.” Mike has seen me cross the line a few times including a race where I finished the swim dead last.
Thanks. Thanks to those of you who prayed for me. I was blessed with strength and determination. Thanks to my training partners; Megan, Sinta, Josh, Nick, Sang, and the riders of Cycling Connection. Thank you to my Bike Special Needs Pit Crew. Thanks to the best spectators in the world; my parents. Thanks for the many good luck and congratulatory emails.
Time to reacquaint myself with my couch (for a week or so). Thanks for reading.
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