The C26 Triathlon Camp Diaries – Day 1

By Mike Tarrolly for Crushing Iron

This is how we do it . . . it’s Wednesday night . . . Party people on the westside throw your hands in the air. Or however that song goes. . . we start camp on Wednesday night.

It’s always interesting meeting everyone at Robbie’s the first night because even though I’ve been there multiple times it is one of those new and really tricky neighborhoods that I cannot navigate on memory (which you will see later is extremely rare later in this report). There are usually about 15 or so people waiting when I walk through the door where a Facebook-meets-real-life explosion typically goes off in my head. It’s like I sorta know everyone but not really, and really do know some people but it’s been a while, so I’m not sure if I’ve said something dumb on the podcast they’ve been waiting to confront me about for months. Ahh, the perils of internet-street-level fame.

As I move deeper into Robbie and Allie’s inner sanctum, people are usually face first in what always seems to be the perfect dinner for everyone. It’s a simple, yet jazzy fare that could easily roll as a vegan delight, or be quickly hopped up with side chicken for meat eaters. The salad/meat combo does really well for gluten sensitive campers and if we’re lucky, someone will bring huge cookies or cake for dessert. Of course everyone drinks their personalized liquid direct from water bottles.

After dinner, Coach Robbie takes the stage as we sit around on every chair they can find and jam into his living room. As you can see to the left, I’ve yet to figure out a perfect angle for a group picture, but I’m getting close.

We then go around the room with simple introductions and everyone says what they’re hoping to get from camp. Robbie goes through the camp plan and potential changes with any looming weather. This is usually when Hayden gets a little unruly and wants to spend more time with daddy forcing Allie to scramble for toys or another toddler diversion, including a trip upstairs through 3 or 4 campers as she navigates the staircase.

This entire opening night takes about two hours and we’re are typically back at our lodging (home in my case) before 9.

THURSDAY

I have extreme pre-race sleep anxiety. Anytime my alarm is set with a “4” at the beginning, that pretty much means I will not be falling asleep that night; and typically the night before camp starts is no exception. The weather threatened our first morning at the lake, so we shifted gears and went to Boost Fitness for a pool session. Said session was to begin at 6 am. Said session is also 30 minutes from my house, so said alarm was set for 4:45.

Around midnight I was really regretting not pounding some type of melatonin. I “think” I dosed off for a while around 1:00 but was up at 2 and this process lasted until I heard one of my weekend roommates up making coffee around 4:15. It was over. I hit snooze once and put on my sleepless-morning-happy-face, but knew that I would not be swimming one stroke that morning. I’m not in the best swim shape and swimming without sleep could have ruined me for a couple days. Instead I focused on getting cool video of cool people swimming at 6 am.

After a couple hours in the pool and some awesome personal instruction, we went for a light breakfast at LePeep in Belle Meade, which is the old-Nashville-money part of town. We immediately snagged 5 prime tables, clearly frustrating several people in tassle loafers and shawls. Not to be distracted, the sweaty and famished triathletes went to town on their post-swim meals. I sat with Erika, Jessica and Katie, the Richmond Crew. I’ve known Erika for a while, but it was the first time to chat with the other girls and let me tell you, they are hilarious if not edgy sarcastic.

This is where I’m usually reminded of how cool the people are that come to camp. The first night is a little about nerves and meeting new people. The first workout is acclimating and getting over wearing tight clothes in front of said new people. The post breakfast is where the true triathlon athlete spirit and unabashed hunger comes out. People will plow down anything right in front of anyone (including little old ladies sipping tea) which, if you think about it, is a very personal moment. We seem to cross a threshold at this point and from there on, the guards are down.

The next session was at Percy Warner Park, easily one of the most beautiful, yet daunting running venues in Nashville. It’s nestled at the end of Belle Meade Boulevard (think Thurston Howell III and his wife Lovey) and retains a certain kind of elegance even when it’s muggy and drizzly like it was this morning. The assignment? Run for an hour and thirty minutes.

The route we take is called “The 5.8” and it’s 5.8 hilly ass miles. You start going straight up for about the first mile, before finding some relief on flats and downhills that eventually drop you into Deep Wells. It was foggy and misty and absolutely stunning in a cinematic sort of way and I was really regretting not shooting video instead of running. But, I’ve been on a little roll with the run and it’s very hard for me to pass on Percy Warner Park.

The problem with Deep Wells is “It Is Deep” ie… at the bottom, which can only mean one thing. It’s time to climb again. And we did. Mile 3 is an absolute torture device that never seems to end. Up straight, up right, up left, up right . . . and even though I’ve run this track dozens of times, for some reason I always think that’s the last hill. It never is.

There are about 5 more, in fact, most manageable, but one is kind of a bitch. By the time you get to mile 5 (these are all rough estimates so please do no put them in your Garmin and hold my feet to the fire after you run it at camp) it’s all down hill, but the first 1/2 of that mile is Quad Buster Central. Early in my running life, this was the section that gave me a not so pleasant, but firm introduction to my IT bands. The last half mile is also downhill, but at a perfect grade for running and a welcome way to bring it back to the car.

But wait . . . that was only about an hour. There’s still 30 minutes to go.

Instead of retracing the course, I opted for a few more miles on the flat-ish Belle Meade Boulevard. Aside from its pretentious nature, it is a great way to look at big houses and wonder why and the hell you didn’t end up living in a mansion like that, which I did wonder about and pin pointed the reason to the time when I had a nice mutual fun started out of college but decided to pull all the money out and travel around partying in Florida. But, anyway, that’s neither here nor there, just a point I thought I would get into the open for therapeutic benefit.

I think that, for some reason, not living in one of those mansions made me want to prove something, so as I re-entered the park, I ran directly at the stairs. As I did, I was saying strange things like, “uh oh,” and “look out!” to anyone who would listen. Instead of going back to the cars, I scaled the Roman-Ruin-Like staircase and ascended to the heavens. I felt surprisingly strong as I screamed back, “Who’s with me!” and “Let’s Do it!” I’m pretty sure no one even acknowledged me or thought I was losing my mind so I barreled up the steps alone, with no mansion to speak of, but possibly a greater reward waiting at the top.

Well, I can assure you there was no such award, and the ease of my glide turned into cement filled shoes about 100 steps from the top. But . . . I made it . . . and . . . I put my hands in the air and looked down upon those mansions like I was now in control. But I wasn’t. I was just a sweaty guy at the top of a staircase with no mansion.

Despite two tough challenges right out of the gate, spirits were high. We even had a few campers finish loop one, then turn around to run it in reverse. Let me tell you, that is no picnic. One loop is around 600 feet of elevation on its own, so logic would tell you that two loops would be around twice that, but only God and the two-loopers’-hamstrings know the real truth.

It was super humid and Coach Robbie gathered all the soaking wet runners for the next day’s instructions. “In the morning, we’ll hit the lake first, then . . . “The Lab.”

But before tomorrow, it was a short session on Strength and Mobility from our friends over at Innate Performance. Steven and Louisa have both run and coached Division I cross country. Steven ran through some great exercises to keep the hip flexors loose and said most endurance athletes aren’t over-trained, they are under-recovered. With that he went through ways to recover properly and gave us his top three: Sleep, mobility, and nutrition. That’s when Louisa gave campers some top line nutrition strategies to stay on top of this crazy game we call triathlon.

Great session, but now it’s around 3:30 and getting back to the East Side was going to be a nightmare. My roommates punched my address into Google Maps, but I calmly said, “I’ll take this one, boys,” and led them on a perfectly executed re-route that not only saved us time, it allowed for a concise exploration of the fascinating explosion we affectionately call downtown Nashville. The guys were very impressed with my navigation.

Around 5 o’clock, reminiscent of senior citizens, my house guests, Chuck, Ross, and Jason started getting cranky for food. I quickly put on my post-afternoon-nap-happy-face and we jumped in the car for a trendy little Mexican joint called RosePepper. I’d like to say we got wild and met a lot of crazy hipsters that showed us the nightlife around East Nashville, but instead we debated the reasons why Nashville is home for so many bachelorette parties why people don’t fall off the shelf more often at Top Golf.

We got home around 8:00 and I was ready to yuck it up with my new sorta college buddy roommates, but these guys were all business. After about 30 minutes of watching baseball, we all went to bed and I listened to old episodes of the Crushing Iron podcast to put me to sleep . . . but it didn’t work. In fact, I found them captivating, inspirational, and extremely motivating. I could not wait to get to the lake in the morning and shoot more video of people working their ass off!

To be continued . . . 


Attitude is King – Camp ReCap Podcast

Have you been thinking about an Ironman, half or any kind of triathlon, but don’t know how to start, please consider us for coaching. We’ve been through most every situation regarding this sport, including starting from scratch. We’ve also taken athletes from their “stuck point” and helped get them on the Ironman podium. We love working with beginners and athletes that want to push it to the next level. Check out our coaching page for more information, including philosophy and pricing.

All 170 podcast can be found on iTunes or on our podcast page.

You can always support The Crushing Iron podcast by making a small pledge here.

 

3 Triathlon Articles of the Day

Here are three quick articles (and a short video) about swim, bike, and run to get you in the mood for something other than sex.

SWIM – Here’s a sweet swim drill that would certainly build your confidence for the Ironman Wisconsin Swim Start.

BIKE – I hesitated to post this one because the title is “How to Become A Cyclist” and the first tip is “ride more frequently.”  My first thought was, “Wow!  That is great advice!”  But, then I remembered that’s similar to the schlep I was doling out the other day.

RUN – This is an awesome article for 3 reasons.  One, it’s offered as a way to heal/strengthen your achilles (my nemesis).  Two, it’s run cross training, which I love.  Three, it has me thinking about getting a heavy bag for my garage again.

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Pro Pics from Ironman Chattanooga

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Andrew Drobeck on the run out.  8:34:08 – 9th Place

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Dude goes first at Ironman Wisconsin, then brings it back with a 2nd at Chattanooga.  Daniel Bretscher, freak of nature.

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Angela Naeth, first place woman at Ironman Chattanooga.  If you were following me @miketarrolly on Twitter you would have been one of the first to know this.

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Third place female at Chattanooga Jennie Hansen.  She was making a strong finish for second right here, but came up a few minutes short.

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The Shock Jock of Endurance Sports, Jim Lubinski hammering up the run out on his way to 12th place with an 8:41.

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Doug MacLean steeped in the run out.

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Ironman New Orleans 70.3 Crushed Me

I went into this race with guarded optimism.  Training was going well, and I was especially excited to get to the run.  I honestly thought I could lay down a 1:45 for the half marathon, but New Orleans was about to beat me like a rusty timpani drum.

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My biggest fear was the effect a ton of driving would have on me (well, that and the wind and the sun and the humidity and the street swindlers).  The Badgers making the Final Four in Dallas was a welcome surprise the weekend before, and I have zero regrets about going, but the travel shanked my mojo.

CHECK IN – 

As usual I forgot my USAT card, so I had to pull it up on my phone, which pissed off about 10 people in line behind me.  Then, after some wickedly lame small-talk with volunteers, I bought my third “name t-shirt” — which officially put me over one million dollars spent on the Ironman brand.

I ran into an nice old man (older than me) wearing a Wisconsin logo, so we talked Badgers for a while before he dragged me onto the veranda and pointed with joy at paddle boat he was spending the next week aboard.  “There’s no gambling, or kids, which is nice,” he said.

I also spent a lot of time in here.

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Then it was time for the Athlete’s Meeting where I sat next to Wells, who was doing his first half. He was all of 24-years-old and excited to get my expert advice — which he promptly used to kick my ass in the race.  I was happy for him and it made me wonder how often that kind of thing happens.  Some guy in a gangster TYR hat, who’s been around the block a couple times, starts talking about how great he is then gets dusted dusted by the student.

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My immediate concern after the meeting was to figure out how I could get a practice swim. Luckily I ran into a woman who heard about an open-water-deal hosted by a local tri club. I got directions and drove about 20 minutes to jump in the cold and murky water of Lake Ponchartrain.

I was “wetsuit rusty” but felt great until I climbed the concrete stairs and had a bout with dizziness.  I sat on the ledge collecting my bearings and this incident quickly turned into my number one fear for the next morning.

As I stripped my wetsuit I noticed a gash in my big toe and it quickly proved my blood was red, just like yours.  The guy supervising, Coach Kevin, said it was probably from “those damn barnacles,” and the funny part of this story happened the next morning in the swim line with Rick, from Nashville, who I just met.  We talked for a while, then he looked at my toe and said, “Did you cut your toe at that open water swim yesterday?” I was like, “Yeah, how the hell did you know?”  He said, “Me too.”  I took an awkward gaze at his bare big toe and it was sliced in exactly the same spot.

That night, I slept like a man expecting an earthquake, and netted about four hours sleep.  I woke at 4:30, grabbed my gear and walked 8 blocks to the shuttle bus. The streets of New Orleans are quite the sight at 5 am.  Drunks stagger by and look at you funny as you walk past them carrying a wetsuit.  A very small part of me wished I was staggering back to bed, too, but I convinced myself to pursue the torture.

I do love the morning of an Ironman race.  The energy is awesome.  This race had a real international flavor and I salsa’d my way to transition-bike-rack number 1266 (the one near the milk jug, which wasn’t put on by me, but was easy to spot).

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For the second day in a row I debated wheeling my bike to the tech so he could check the brakes.  I had a small issue with my wider race wheels but convinced myself it would be cool.  That said, I should note that I am likely the worst bike mechanic on the planet, so neither you, or me, should trust my opinion on bike health.

THE SWIM  –

In the spirit of our “going out of the way to do a race” theme, the Swim Entrance was about a ½ mile away from my bike.  Thankfully they had a gear-bag-shuttle to the finish line, so I wore sweats, and shoes over to the swim, then dropped them in the bag and put on the wetsuit.

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The swim was an age group time-trial start.  Fifteen age groups went off in order (6 at a time) starting with the Pros at 7am.  I guessed I might jump in at 7:45, but it was more like 8:10.  I was literally one of the last men to get into the water.

My plan was to take a leisurely glide.  Start slow, stay slow, then speed up at the end.  I swam it to perfection.  But, as I neared the exit, I started thinking about my dizzy spell from the day before.  Surely I would feel it again, so I came up with a strategy to stop about 10 yards from the staircase and tread water for 30 seconds so my body had a vertical head start.  I think it helped.

Swim Time: 39:17  (1:52/100yds)

THE BIKE – 

All of my bike workouts for this race had been inside on a trainer.  I had a few opportunities to ride outside, but this is the time of year when my allergies can be brutal and nothing ignites an itchy nasal cavity like a free-wheeling jaunt through the pollen farm called Nashville, TN.

More than anything I was concerned about the wind in New Orleans and riding 56 miles in fresh air for the first time.  As it turned out, my fears were well founded.

If you enjoy being in aero and riding directly into gusting winds, New Orleans is your race.  I must have heard 20 people say, “Take it easy on the bike, or you’ll be screwed on the run.”  And, for once, I listened  . . . sorta.

The first ten miles weren’t too bad, but the combination of not riding outside along with lake got my attention.  So did a guy trying to tame a horse.

I’m riding up on this scene in disbelief.  The horse looked like a wild black stallion and this guy is holding onto it with a rope.  The horse is bucking and shaking its mane and I’m literally riding right at it.  I honestly thought I might get kicked in the face, but swerved just out of his range.  It was probably the coolest part of the bike.

My plan was to stay in the small ring for the first hour and just spin.  It was going pretty well and I was hovering around 18 miles an hour.  Not ideal, but I was waiting for some wind assistance and thought I could jack that average closer to 20 mph.  But, those moments were few and far between.

It felt like two-thirds of the race was either directly into the wind or hampered by a strong crosswind.  I was a little frustrated, but feeling pretty good up until mile 30.

I made a mental note of the look on some of the pro’s faces as they passed by me going the other way.  I’m pretty sure Andy Potts was puking and Ben Hoffman was falling asleep in aero, or . . . I may have been projecting.

My goal-pace was a greasy watermelon and a pinching brake pad was not helping my mood. Ever so slightly the right brake rubber would slide in against the wheel.  I stopped a few times, but as I mentioned, I am a joke when it comes to bike maintenance.  At one point I was in a panic because I tightened it so both sides were locked on my wheel.  If I a had a wire cutter I would have sliced the cable.  It was pretty ridiculous and I bet I spent 15-20% of the ride with my brake pad rubbing.  This probably wasn’t good for my speed . . . or legs.

Around mile 35 there was a nice tail wind and I was solid at 26 mph for 3-4 miles.  Then . . . there was a turnaround.  For those same 3-4 miles on the way back I hovered around 13 mph.  It was brutal and this was a common theme . . .

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People always tell me they could never do an Ironman, but could do the bike, and to those people, I say, “You have no clue.”  Racing a bike 56 or 112 miles is no joke.  The strategy is immense and one bad section, or over zealousness, can screw up your race.

I was hell bent on taking it easy, but my average speed was dropping like Black Friday.  I started pushing, and from mile 40-50 I was out of my comfort zone and bonked the last 6.  It was just a brutal day . . . and far from over.

Bike Time – 3:12:39  (17.4 mph)

THE RUN – 

The minute I got off the bike, I knew I was in trouble.  I always have a little trouble walking, but this time my back was fried.  I couldn’t run my bike into transition and my mental state plummeted.

I kept the faith and trusted that it was just a “feeling,” then followed the advice I gave Wells the day before, “Just start running and your legs will figure it out.”   Eventually they may have, but my head wasn’t on board.

The course started flat, then climbed a substantial bridge at mile one.  Everyone was walking, but if you’ve read my blog, you know I refuse to walk.

I slugged up the hill and was absolutely cooked.  I kept the feet moving down the backside and at the  aid station realized my initial mile was just under a 10 minute pace.  That’s no way to run a 1:45.

Shortly after, we ran up our second hill which happened to be a draw bridge.  By the time I got to the top I was really hoping it would just open and drop me into the river.  I was in a bad place and soon thereafter . . . I was . . . walking.

I promised myself it was a re-charge and would pick it back up, but my feet were already burning and my body was crumbling.  I started concocting walk/run strategies but my race was slipping away.  The day before in the athlete’s meeting, the guy asked the room if anyone was trying to qualify for Ironman 70.3 World in Canada.  I was “this close” to raising my hand.  Now I was happy I didn’t.  I felt like a fool, a sham, a fake.

The run continued along the shore of Lake Ponchartrain for . . .  ever.  When I hit mile five, I did my best to put the hammer down and may have lasted 2 minutes before I was walking again.  I kept looking at the water thinking it would be a far better place to be and almost . . . quit.

I have really come to love running, but this day made me hate it.  Hot black top, no shade, no scenery, no spectators, and serious doubt.

I knew my run was shot, but the clock would not stop ticking.  At mile 9, after a haphazard slew of run/walk attempts, I spotted a guy dumping multiple cups of ice into his shorts.  We seemed to be in the same boat.  I looked at him and said, “What ya think man, you ready to run this home?”  He said, “Let’s do it.”

His name is David and turns out he did IMWI the year before me.  He also lives in Wisconsin, so I suppose we were destined to meet.

Somehow, someway, we trudged next to each other for four miles and ran it home without stopping (aside from the occasional ice dump).  I’m typically not the guy who runs with anyone, but this opened my mind . . . and maybe even my heart.  We enter these races with our optimal goal in mind, but truthfully, doing Ironman or Half Ironman’s are incredibly difficult feats and things often go wrong.

But I still believe this stuff is mostly mental.  And that’s exactly what I was thinking about during those difficult moments.  I was beaten.  I didn’t see the need to push once my race goal had left reality.  I couldn’t find the reason.  It didn’t matter.  I had “failed” and I could either wallow in it or accept it and bring it back another day.

So often endurance is about managing pain.  Can you create a reason more powerful than the ache to push on?  Can you justify the spears in your hip and daggers in your feet?  Today, David and I both felt unified in our agony and leaned on each other to complete what we started. Neither of us were overly happy with our times, but I’m pretty sure we will reflect with pride as we understand what it took to cross under that white arch.

I guess that’s what they mean by Finisher.

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Run time:  2:23:40
TRT: 6:21:58

The Hardest Part of Ironman Training

I’m not even gonna tease you here, the hardest part of training is putting on your workout clothes.

Okay, maybe it’s not quite that simple, but last night I was planning to ride the bike trainer and the urge to resist stepping over the workout-threshold was unbelievable.  I mean, I had to fill my damn water bottles, put on bike shorts, slide into velcro shoes.  What a pain in the ass!

I am not even kidding when I got pissed at myself for going downstairs to my bike, grabbing my shorts, then forgetting to bring my empty water bottles upstairs.  Here I am, training for triathlon and furious that I have to go back down a flight of stairs.  How can we explain this?

I was talking with a really good friend about it the other day and we agreed that preparation, even with the simplest things takes a major load off of training.  For whatever reason it is just so much easier when your clothes are out or your bike is on/in the car the night before.  The way I see it, every little thing I have to look for is more opportunity to make an excuse.

But, I’m happy to report, I took the trip back downstairs to get my bottles and eventually completed a legit trainer ride.  I was planning to make it a brick, but I’ll be damned if I couldn’t find my running shoes.
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A lot of you have been asking about my new non-traditional training plan.  It’s hard to explain in one post, but this example of me arm wrestling a strange man at the Big 10 Basketball Tournament provides a small clue.  armwrestle

Rude Awakening For An Ironman

Wow, did this morning open my eyes.  I don’t know how to sugar coat this, so I’m just gonna say it — I am a 60 lb weakling!

I have just spent the better part of the year swimming, biking, and running (often twice a day) –and after a morning of lunges, squats, and leg machines, I feel like I trained for Ironman on the couch.  I mean, I’m shuffling around like I’ve been in casts and am learning how to walk again.

It’s a tad deflating, but also encouraging considering my “no run December” decision.

I feel like my theory is right.  It’s time for a deeper dive into cross training, which is exactly why I like triathlon so much in the first place.  Now I cross train the cross training.

Swimming laps till you’re wrinkled, biking till you’re raw, or running till you drop is fine, but truly substantial gains come from well-rounded strength.

Think about pitchers in baseball.  Most people believe it’s all about the arm, but the best pitchers get extra velocity from their legs and core.  The arm needs to be strong, but also flexible and loose.  It’s the vehicle.

The same goes for running.

Everyone talks about strong legs, but I the best way to speed is through the core.  The core is what propels you, the legs are the vehicle.  And, while you need a strong core to run, running doesn’t do much to build that core.

So, what does being fit or strong really mean?  It means limber, explosive, and resilient muscles.

Triathlon is built on a straight line.  Go from “here” to “there” as fast as you can.  And I realize that’s the point.  Go straight.  Go fast.  But if we use the same exact muscle groups for the entire year of training, our swims, bikes, and runs break down faster.  You have to mix it up . . . you need muscle variance because they support each other.

It’s all about creating balanced strength.  Balance on each side of your body, but also balance within the muscle groups of the core, along with each leg and arm.  That’s building the base.

That’s why, aside from weight training,  I’ve been adding more breast and back stroke in my swims.  Challenging myself on the bike by moving focus to my glutes, quads, hamstrings, etc.   And on the run, I go out of my way to get off the flats, including more trails.

Muscle structure is incredibly complicated and all interdependent.   One weak link can cause a ton of problems.  Simply plowing after mileage isn’t gonna cut it, and my weight training session this morning was a huge reminder of just how weak you can get by training for an Ironman.

Surviving Your Triathlon Off Season

It’s cold and dark.  You’re fatigued.  Your knees and feet hurt.  There is no race in sight.

I don’t know about you, but I’m digging deep for motivation.  The fear of losing what took me a year and a half to build helps a little, but the winter months are a totally different animal.

I’m hanging on by a thread with 3-4 marginal workouts a week, but if I want to make next year count, I’ll need to pick it up soon.  Last night was a typical get-home-from-work-after-dark-funk, but I forced myself to dig up the reflective vest and do some work.

Almost everyone agrees that triathlon is won on the run.  And after that short, but effective 4 mile run last night, I have convinced myself that off-season training is also won with the run.  One simple reason: you can do it outside.

Let’s face it, indoor triathlon training blows.  The pool, the trainer, the treadmill . . . all suck.  Being outside and moving with no boundaries and changing scenery is where it’s at.  Ironman Wisconsin Swim

Flowing with nature is why I signed up for this.  Six am swims in the lake, hell yes.  Endless laps in a pool?  Forget it.  Four hours on a trainer or Natches Trace?  Breathing fresh air in a beautiful and hilly park or jamming a treadmill for an hour?

Last year the indoor stuff came easier because my first Ironman scared the crap out of me.  Motivation by fear.  But my goals have changed.  I want to be faster and there are no shortcuts.  Life rewards you for putting in the work.

Next year’s races are won now.  The indoor work is monotonous, but triathlon is about building mental toughness.

Putting in long hours on a bike that doesn’t move or in a pool that won’t let you out is very hard, but it’s the primer that makes your work stick.  And while that kind of caged workout doesn’t make my mouth water, it’s good to remember I can break up the main course with a sweet desert called “outside running” over the cold months ahead.Prepare

My Private Predictions for Ironman Wisconsin #IMWI

This is a blog I wrote about a month away from Ironman Wisconsin, but never posted because I thought it might jinx me.  I also thought it was outlandish, especially because I had covert designs on being a long-shot for a slot at Kona (10:37 was the magic number in my age group).  As it turned out, Kona was silly talk, but considering I finished in 11:58, I don’t feel as bad about actually “saying” this stuff and never beat myself up for aiming high.  Following are my unedited predictions and actual times at Wisconsin.

SWIM PREDICTION FOR IMWI

I swam Muncie 70.3 in 37 minutes and felt like I took awful lines.  Hopefully it won’t be so confusing at Wisconsin (it was and more).  I think the Muncie set-up was nice and anxiety free because everyone was so spread out, but Wisconsin should offer more swimmer-ahead-of-me sighting and less chance that I will get way off course.  I also hope to get caught up in the man-made-current.

37 minutes at Muncie and I felt good at the end.  I believe I can be a little under double that, especially since I have swam a lot more since then and feel like my swimming is much stronger now.

Swim Prediction: 1:10   (Actual IMWI swim time 1:20)

BIKE PREDICTION FOR IMW

I know the bike will be tough, but I feel like I am going to rise to the occasion.  I’ve done 110 on Natchez trace in the rain in under 6 hours.  I really feel like 95 miles in isolation on the Trace will be about the equivalent of Wisconsin.  Add the crowd, etc and I’m thinking I can have a pretty good bike split.  My ass is more prepared and as long as the conditions are right, I’ll be ready to attack with wisdom and not go over my limits.

Bike Prediction: 5:45  (Actual IMWI bike time 6:03)

RUN PREDICTION FOR IMWI

At Muncie 70.3 I really did feel pretty strong on the run.  First and second half paces of the run were 8:12 and 8:35, but thought I could negative split if it weren’t for the burning feet.  If my feet hold up, I really think I can fight through the rest of the pain and run a decent marathon.  I could be completely fucked up on this thought, but I think on a perfect day I can hold a 9 minute pace.  I think 10 is probably more reasonable, but also know that anything can happen out there.  I’m gonna side in the middle of that and go with a 9:30 pace.

Run: 4:09 damn…  we’ll see… I’d sure like to get that below 4.   (Actual IMWI run time 4:23)

So… with transitions that brings me in around 11:15 or so, which would be phenomenal, but not Kona….  I would need to cut about 30 minutes off to be in that discussion and it will obviously have to happen on the run.  When I think back to Muncie I know I could have done an 1:46.  Times 2 that is 3:32 for the marathon.  Yikes… I would need a 3:40 to be in the Kona discussion.  This seems unreasonable, but like I said, I think my legs will hold up, it’s just the other things.  Or, I could be totally crazy.  I’m way over thinking this.

The End

Predicted time 11:15 (Actual IMWI Time 11:58:58)

—————-

POST RACE THOUGHTS

I was a little ahead of myself with these predictions, but shit happens.  In all honesty, a 45 minute miss isn’t as far off as I think it would have been had I hit my swim time.  Right or wrong, that 1:20 swim put me in “play it safe mode” because, as the race progressed, a 12-hour goal seemed most “reasonable.”  A 1:10 swim raises the stakes and likely would have made me take a few more chances on the bike to get that number closer to 5:45.  That’s a reasonable 28 minutes right there and may have had me focused on sub 11:30 versus sub 12.  The run was a wild card, but in retrospect I believe I could have knocked off another 10 minutes if I had the 11:30 target in front of me.

It’s easy to sit here and say these things, but talking it through has been a major key in my progress.  I like to learn and keep pushing for higher levels.  In retrospect, I think I ran a smart race.  I could have pushed bigger gears on the bike and cut some time, but doing my first Ironman in sub-12 is a huge accomplishment.  I am very happy with that time, but far from satisfied.

Thanks God it's Swim, Bike, then Run

Whoever invented triathlons did me a huge favor, but if someone ever gets a bright idea to reverse the order to run, bike, swim, they will be on my short list of enemies.  I was rudely reminded of just how painful starting with the run can be.

Wasky ran over to the house (he was two miles in when we started) and we just took off in true Wasky fashion.*  I woke up exactly 21 minutes before he showed up and we galloped along at a 8:15 pace right from the start.  I knew it was a mistake, but I actually felt good . . . for a while.

We hit the greenway, then made an awesome discovery (which I have sworn to secrecy) that lifted my spirits in sort of a paradise meets the burning fires of hell sort of way.  A new training spot that will be a game changer.

Then more greenway and more 8:15 pace.  Six miles later we’re climbing out of Shelby Park and my legs start screaming like a raging bear that’s been jostled from hibernation.

A fierce run that is my longest since Ironman.  Up and down Riverside until we exchanged a very low five and went our own ways.  He ran close to 13 and I probably got in around 10.  Ten miles and I literally feel worse than I did after 140.6 in Madison.

The point here is that swimming first is a godsend.  Tired or not, it always wakes and warms me up in just the right ways and this whole thing reminds me to remind myself of the goals I set for the off season:

1.  Get to sleep earlier.  (Challenge of a lifetime)
2.  Wake up earlier.  (Mainly so I don’t go from the bed to the pool, bike, or road . . . oh and just so you know, this morning’s run started at 9 am)
3.  Strengthen and balance mind, body, and life.  (meditation, weights, writing, a social existence)
4.   Hit the pool hard.  (Now is the time to build swim confidence, which I really think translates into overall race confidence for me)
5.   Hit the trainer hard.  (Biking is my strength, but I am far from a strong biker in these races)
6.   Increase flexibility and pliability (long, strong muscles that recover faster).
7.   Increase (regain) running speed.   (explosive muscle training)

*  Wasky truly knows one speed, “all out.”  Not many know this, but he was so fired up at Ironman Louisville he swam the entire length of the upstream channel underwater.  And coach Robbie has acknowledged more than once that Wasky’s walk is a sub-8 pace.

Ironman Wisconsin 2013 – Race Report #IMWI

A Battle Royal – The Swim

The start of an Ironman swim is electric.  Thousands of green and pink caps bobbing on the shore, then bobbing in the water.  I’d been watching video and looking at pictures of Wisconsin’s mass start for nearly a year, now I was minutes away from being in the next photograph.  1262448_10101494401544250_1855321082_o(All photos courtesy of Carolyn Petredis Wasky)

I started the year as a weak swimmer with a 300 meter sprint triathlon and came out of the water breathing like I’d been submerged in a David Blaine stunt.  It was a silly pool swim, yet my anxiety was off the charts.  I immediately vowed to become a strong swimmer and worked my ass off to make sure that never happened again.

On race Sunday, I stood on the ramp of the Ironman Swim Start with the rest of the Fab 5 while family and friends leaned over TYR sponsored fence and took pictures.  A mere 5 months after I struggled to swim 300 meters, I was ready for 2.4 miles.1274149_10101494395301760_1819331675_o

The loud music and festive atmosphere made 6:30 am seem like bar time.  Thousands of spectators lined the swim chute and hung high above on the rails of Monona Terrace.  Many were singing and dancing, others, like my father, were trying to calm their nerves.

Diana Nyad would giggle, but for most an Ironman swim is no joke.  On this morning the wind was strong, and the water choppy — all creating a lake current on the longest leg of the course making for a 1,700 meter “upstream” swim on the backside of the box.wisconsin swim2013 tbtAnxiety was high, but the only thing that concerned me was my time.  I had one shot in the infamous “washing machine” and didn’t want to leave a bad number on the score board.  I was gunning for a sub 1:15 and truly believed I could come out of the water in 1:10.

We zipped our wetsuits, hugged our families, then walked the plank into Lake Monona. The plan was to start in front row of the scrum, just to the right of the ski jump, which split the starting line in half.  The idea was to have open space to our left and I’m pretty sure it was a good strategy, but I made a big mistake.1273221_10101494396015330_515091315_oMy anxiety-in-the-water problem exists mainly because it takes me a while to warm up and if I start too fast my heart and breathing gets all crazy.  What I didn’t take into account was treading water for 20 minutes and that was probably a good enough warm up.  I could have went out hard, found some clear water, then settled into my stroke.  But I decided to play it safe.  1266222_10101494396693970_873755458_oPart of the routine is to ask others around you what time they are shooting for so you can “self-seed” your swim.  I started having a little fun by asking everyone if they were sub-60 minutes, but most didn’t catch the joke and said 1:10 – 1:15.  I was in the right spot, or so I thought.

Someone (I think he was in the race) sang the national anthem, then it was literally a matter of seconds before the cannon would unleash fury.  I was next to Jim and Mark.  We exchanged high fives, then looked back at the ramp, where unbelievably people were still filing into the water.

BAM!

It was the cannon I’d heard a thousand times in my mind.  This was it, the Wisconsin swim start.  I took a deep breath, started my watch, then eased into my swim.

Within 30 seconds people were kicking my head and beating on my legs . . . and I was loving every second of it.  Rubber bodies were everywhere keeping good form was nearly impossible.  My arms were tangled, and my feet felt like they were tied by rubber cords.  Good thing Robbie made us practice this shit.9256_10101494399777790_778338974_n

Our start position was about 50 meters to the right of the buoy line and my plan was to slowly angle into the first turn (1,000 meters out) and stay about ten meters to the outside as I made the corner.  There was only one problem, I had nothing to sight from.

The red buoy was too far away and the yellow ones were too far left for my right side breathing.  I remembered someone saying aim at the bridge, but even that was difficult to see.  I stayed in my stroke and embraced the brawl.

As I closed in on the turn buoy, I realized I was still about 50 meters to its right.  I immediately cut left and aimed dead on.  And guess what?  I hit the corner with about 300 other people and got caught in a log jam.  I was so mad at myself, but for some reason I just couldn’t wrap my head around a good line that day.

I clawed through a sea of rubber flesh, that resembled a floating S&M convention, and emerged in a brief patch of clear water.  The short leg of the box was about 300 meters and I didn’t screw that up too badly, but once again got too close to the buoy skirmish.  I couldn’t move, so I stopped for a second to pick my line.  An onslaught of swimmers gave me forearm shivers as I peered in the distance at a collection of tall smoke stacks that seemed to be a good sighting point.  I put my head down and kept one eye out for big white cylinders.

I swam hard and found open water.  I felt great and thought I finally had a handle on this swim.  About two hundred meters later I literally couldn’t find the buoy line, that was, until I looked to my right.  Now, I was a good 30 meters INSIDE the buoys and I’m sure I let out a  muffled groan.

Swimmers were everywhere.  Some to my left and hundreds to my right.  There was no space, and it was like this the entire 1,700 meter leg.  I’d get about 50 clean meters, then someone would literally come straight across in front of me and I would throw a long, powerful stroke that landed right . . . on their back.  Thud.

I angled toward the line of yellow buoys and did my best to stay next to them, but there was something about the choppy water that was twisting me around and making me lose direction.  I was desperately trying to sight two or three buoys ahead, but felt like Hellen Keller.

After what seemed like an eternity (especially to my dad), I finally got to the third turn and pounded toward the last corner.  The minute I got around, Moses parted the swimmers and I was home free.  Monona Terrace was the perfect sighting landmark and I ripped through the last 600 meters before my hand finally hit the ground.

I stood up and felt great until I saw the clock.  It said 1:19 something, but I didn’t cross the line until 1:20.  I really felt like I swam well, but my lines killed me.

I stepped onto the concrete and turned up the helix ramp.  Faces were a blur, but I sensed family, friends and coach Robbie on top of the truck screaming with elation, and certainly relief.

I politely passed on the wetsuit strippers because I don’t like getting horizontal again after I stand up for fear of getting dizzy.  I ran up the spiraling helix and it was rocking.  People lined both sides cheering us on, playing drums and slapping us on the back as we passed.  There is just no way you cannot get jacked up running through that much energy.

Over time I have fallen in love with the swim.  I love bike and run, but swimming has done the most to shape my body and mind.  It is so Zen.  All about the moment.  When you’re swimming that far and that hard, you can only do one thing, breathe.  Just breathe.  Or, if you’re in Wisconsin, just embrace the battle.

Official Swim Time – 1:20:02

Transition #1

1277405_10101494391983410_1971240495_oT1 at Wisconsin is long.  You run to the fourth floor of a parking ramp, then go inside, grab your bike bag from one of the amazing volunteers, then sit in a changing room to gear up before running outside to the top floor and finding your bike.  In this case, my bike was at the very end of the parking deck which meant I had to wheel it 200 yards to the other end in bare feet before putting on my shoes.

I climbed on my saddle, clipped in, then coasted down the far helix to start the bike.  As I emerged on the ramp I was greeted by a huge surprise.  Everyone had rushed to the bike exit while I changed, and 15 people were waiting to cheer me on as I headed out to hell.

Official T1 Time – 7:28

Tour de Force – The Bike

Friday at the Expo I bought a jar of Infinit and the owner promised it wouldn’t be risky to use it if I hadn’t before, but I didn’t want a potential excuse. I went with what got me there.

My bike was loaded with 3 bottles, two Perform, and one filled with straight water.  I carried 3 Power Bars, two of which I pre-cut into bite-sized pieces and put in a zip-lock snack bag for my speed box.  I also stored about 8 of those small pretzel bites to clear the palette when Perform inevitably turned my tongue into a sugar farm.1268484_10101494402706920_1306498747_oWe eased out of transition at 16 mph and kept it through the no-passing-zone before rolling through the Reliant Center parking lot and finally hitting the road for good.  I didn’t wear a Garmin for this race, but had a speedometer to gauge my pace and it didn’t take long to start pushing 20 mph.

My strategy was to spin the first 15 miles easily, be patient for the first 40 mile loop, work hard on the next 40, then back it down for the last 15.  Since I drove the course a few days earlier, I knew the first 15 were relatively flat with a slight incline most of the way.  I felt good and spinned in my small ring at a pretty good clip.  The first split was 18.8 miles and I averaged nearly 19 mph.

Now it was time for 80 miles of torture, but just before I hit the main loop, I heard a completely unexpected shout of my name, “Tarrolly!!!”  I looked to my left and saw my Uncle Butch, Aunt Nancy, cousins Tim and Jenny along with her husband Phil!  I was totally stoked by this sighting and it sent me off into the hills.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the course seemed much rougher in the car.  It was by no means easy, but I felt great and was very comfortable climbing all the hills.  My chain stayed on the small ring until mile 25 or so when I decided it was time to build more speed off the top of a big hill.  I shifted up and my chain flew off onto my pedal.  I’d been having problems with throwing the chain and the tech at the bike shop took out two links and it rode perfectly the day before.  But now, I was leery.

I coaxed my chain back on while flying down a hill at 30 mph.  I put it back in the small ring for the next hill, and that’s where it stayed the rest of the day.

The thing about doing your first Ironman is you don’t know what you have in you.  You’re cautious because you don’t want to be crawling your way to the finish line on the run.  I decided I would coast down every hill and keep it simple by working with small gears only.  This also forced me to be conservative and I think it turned out to be a good idea.

For my money, the Wisconsin bike course is epic and perfect for my riding style.  I don’t really like being in aero on long flat stretches and the relentless hills kept me up for much of the day. The other great part about the course is the turns (note all the directions in the orange section below).  I didn’t seem like we were on any one stretch for more than five miles and this played right into my need for a change of scenery.wisconsin bike2013 tbtThere are three big hills the locals affectionately call “The Three Bitches,” and I was closing in on my first pass.  The lead-in is a long, slow downhill that weaves left, then curls right to meet the bottom of Bitch number one.

When the hill comes into view, so do the people.  I mean this place is in the middle of nowhere, but the crowds make it feel like you’re riding into Woodstock.  The first group I noticed was three guys dressed like devils and they were swatting cyclists with a foam pitch fork as they rode by.  Then more and more people until you got to the top and every single one of them was screaming encouragement in your ear.  There were hundreds of people smiling and telling us how strong we looked.  “Keep pushing, man…. you got it!”  Talk about a boost.

Just over the top of Bitch One, came a short flat spell, then Bitch Two was waiting with more of the same.  I found my climbing gear and churned to the top while people yelled my name and gave me hope.

Then came a short stretch of relative flat until you made a left and stuck your tongue in the mouth of Bitch Three.  This road was narrower and it really gave you that Tour de France feeling.  People running along side, metaphorically pushing you up the hill.  There was literally a foot of space on either side of me as I rode through hundreds of people.  The crowd support was overwhelming and helped take your mind off the pain of the climb.

Just as I reached the top someone started slapping my back and yelling my name.  “You look great, Mike!  Keep it going man.  Awesome!”  He ran alongside me and that’s when it hit me, it was Tim!  I met him at Rev3 Knoxville in May and we’d kept in touch all summer.  He’d done IMWI and gave me tons of recon on the course, including this race report.  He’s a great dude and I was stoked to see him, but the conversation was short as I pulled away and headed to the bash in Verona.

I probably could have picked up a few minutes if I hit my downhill approaches a little harder, but I routinely rolled 30+ mph and didn’t see any reason to waste my legs.  I was, however, aggressive on the corners.  I’ve been working on my bike control for a while and felt comfortable leaning into corners which gave me sort of a sling-shot advantage and helped me pass a lot of people coming out of turns.

I was going through a full bottle of water and one Perform every 15 miles and by about mile 60 my bladder was ready for payback.  I hadn’t practiced relieving myself on the bike, but on this day I turned into an expert.  I probably went four or five times on the bike, each time dousing myself with water to clean things off.

I was now entering Verona for the first time and very excited.  It was about mile 55 and I was actually looking forward to the second loop.  But, I was more fired up to see friends and family as I blew through town.

My eyes were peeled as I turned right and saw a huge throng of spectators lining each side of the road for about a half mile or more.  I kept looking for the bright orange shirts and neon yellow signs, but came up empty.  I heard my name announced as I hit the middle of town, but no indication of anyone I knew.  Damn, I missed them.

As I hit the end of the gauntlet, I heard “Tarrolly!” and for the second time I got to see Uncle Butch and Aunt Nancy crew.  I was elated and a little emotional about it because I didn’t expect them to stay because, while they wanted to show support, they had other plans that day.  It meant a lot.

The hills didn’t bother me at all on the first loop and I roared onto lap two bubbling with confidence.  My splits through mile 60 looked like this:

The first 18.8 Miles – 18.89 mph
The next 20 Miles – 19.26
The next 21.2 Miles – 18.53
I was right where I wanted to be, and doing it without a Garmin.

The next 20 miles I stayed right on my number at 18.68 miles per hour.  The second round of the 3 Bitches was much tougher and I started getting a little bit dilerious around mile 90.  I was also a little bummed I didn’t see Tim the second time through the 3rd Bitch, but after that hill, I was headed back to Verona, then into Madison.1277461_10101494407053210_901633716_o

This time I saw my friends and family right away.  They were all on the corner just before I turned into the big party.  I saw them all and it was so damn cool.  Wasky (in the red jacket below) was right in the road and for some reason was leaning down to give me a very “low five” like I was ready to perform a circus trick after a hundred miles on a bike.  1239250_10101494407657000_249271858_oIt was a quick flash and I “saw” everyone except Robbie.  But when I turned the corner, I heard his voice, “Mike, Mike!”  I looked to my left and he was running barefoot right next to me.  I calmly asked, “What’s up?”  And he started screaming at me, “Be patient, Be patient!!!”  “Okay.”1266722_10101494408769770_34935742_o

As I road away, I wasn’t really sure what he meant, but because I wasn’t wearing a Garmin, I suspected I was churning out a pretty fast bike split.  In fact based on feel and casually observing my speedometer, I genuinely thought I might be pushing 20 mph for the entire ride.  Obviously I was wrong, but his words rang in my head as I approached the last 15 miles back to transition.

The great part of that story is that, after the race, Robbie told me he ran out there with every intention to give me “the green light,” but changed his mind to “be patient” in mid-stride.  As usual, it was the right call.  1176364_10101494407492330_187246339_nThe crowd was rowdy as ever and I embraced every second of riding through Verona.  It was 10 people deep on both sides in the middle and I felt like a rock star.  I was flying high and a little relieved that I saw everyone this time through.  But the fun wasn’t over!

As I approached the last turn out of Verona I saw their neon yellow shirts for the THIRD time.  Butch, Nancy, Tim, Jenny, and Phil were still there!  They’d been watching for 5 hours and screamed like little kids when I rode by.  How awesome.

The last 15 miles were my least favorite part of the bike.  The wind was howling right into my face and what seemed relatively flat on the way out now felt like extended family of the 3 Bitches.  I stayed patient like Robbie said and did my best to stay around 18 mph on the way in because it was almost time for the biggest test of my day.  The run.

Mile 60 – 80 split was 18.68 mph
The last 32 miles were at 17.67 (and I believe included the 3 Bitches)
Official Bike Time: 6:03:35
18:48 MPH

Transition #2

There wasn’t a soul in sight as I started up the ramp to the helix, but out of nowhere I heard, “Mike Tarrolly!  You are ‘almost’ an Ironman!”  It was my buddy, Roger Badger, who is from Wisconsin, but we were neighbors in Nashville before he quit his job and moved to the Florida Keys to become a full time musician.  We ran our first 1/2 marathon together, and he was the main character in the story that fueled major change in both our lives.

I climbed the helix and coasted toward the dismount line.  112 grueling miles behind me.  I was very, very relieved, and in a twisted way anxious to run.  But my legs had other ideas.

When I stepped off the bike I almost fell flat on my face.  My knees were locked and I shuffled into the changing area like Herman Munster.  Let me tell you, it’s not a good feeling knowing you have a marathon waiting but can’t bend your knees.  But I knew it was a false feeling and put all my energy into trusting that my run legs would find me.

Official T2 Time:  4:43

Chasing Miles – The Run

Before Ironman Wisconsin my longest run was 14 miles.  That day I would be asked to run 26.2 after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike.  Throughout my training I battled this demon daily.  Would I have what it takes to go the distance?  Would I hit the infamous 18 mile wall?  Would be reduced to a slow walk?  I would soon find out.

The entire run is a bit hazy, but I remember several little things.  Like laughing to myself when I saw a sign for Mile 1.  Shouting “Melvin Gordon” to the cops when I ran into Camp Randall.  And the huge tree branch falling right behind me on the path along the lake.

Because I wasn’t wearing a Garmin, I was really getting confused about time.  I was using my chrono watch and hitting re-start on the stopwatch when I hit a mile marker, but kept forgetting to look when I saw the next one.  I was doing this all day.  Getting lost in the fog, and battling with all my might to keep running.1174623_10152432011502080_1178941574_n

For the first 3 miles I  felt a little hot spot on the outside of my left foot and was in a minor panic.  That’s what nearly did me in at Muncie and was probably my biggest unspoken fear of the day.  By the time I came out of Camp Randall, I realized that my shoes felt very loose.  Then it dawned on me I forgot to tighten my Yankz out of transition.  I was literally running with my shoes untied.  I pulled off to the side and tightened things up, and from that point on, my hot spot was gone.

I knew it would be extremely hard to run the whole way after swimming and biking, but I made up my mind a long time ago that I would RUN this marathon.  I don’t want to take anything away from people who walk parts of it, but I just don’t understand people who swim, bike, then walk the marathon.  I get that things go wrong and people get sick or whatever, but I can honestly say I was in pain every time my foot hit the road.  I wanted to quit running the entire time.  But I trained nine months and drove nine hours to this race — I came here to run.1262680_10101494412532230_1641122740_o

The first time I saw my entourage was around Mile 6 on State Street.  They were sandwiched between hundreds of other fans at turnaround and I felt solid as I climbed toward them.  They. Were. Going. Crazy!  I smiled, slapped a little skin, then turned to run back down.

How weird this all was.  The last time I saw Jim and Mark was when the cannon blasted.  Now, it was 8 hours later and I didn’t see anyone from the Fab 5 until Daniel and I traded encouragement on one of the twisting trails.  Shortly after, Kevin spotted me across the road and we did the same.

I was completely twisted and kept forgetting where I was, but thankfully there were tons of aid stations.  They showed up every mile and I took advantage of nearly every one.  The one thing I did do, was slow to a walk when I was drinking water or Perform or eating pretzels or chips or cookies or grapes or bananas or hash brownies, or whatever else they wanted me to sample.  I’d been genuinely hungry for real food since the last hour of the bike and despite my fear of cramping, I listened to my body’s cries for solids.

I also started listening to my alter ego.

Running is incredibly mental and you can crack in a mili-second.  This Ironman Wisconsin run turned into The Battle of Two Mike’s.

The real Mike was taking one step at a time, moving toward a dream he’d been working on for a year.  “Alt Mike” wanted no part of the pain and lured me back to the couch.

Alt Mike:  Dude, you’ve never run a marathon, back it down to a walk for a while.
Real Mike: Trust the training.  Your legs are ready.  It won’t hurt more than this.
Alt Mike:  Ha, nice one. You know this is stupid.  Why go through the pain?  Make up an excuse and go easy!

I saw the support crew again around mile 10, and it was not a moment too soon.  Robbie started jogging beside me and we had this short conversation.

Robbie:  How do you feel?
Me:  I feel okay, but this is all I got.
Robbie:  That’s good, just keep it right here.
Me:  What’s my pace look like?
Robbie:  Honestly, it’s a little concerning.  Your last two splits were 8:19 and 8:29.
Me:  No shit??  I thought I was around 10.
Robbie:  Nope.  Back it down a little, stay patient, and when you get to 22 miles and feel like it can’t hurt any worse, go to work.
Me:  Okay, man.

He faded into the distance and I turned to run up State Street, around the capitol, then deep into the finishers chute for a twisted-Ironman-prank before turning back around to another half marathon.

I vividly remember the Mile 14 sign and thinking to myself the rest of this run will be uncharted territory.  Twelve miles of unknown.  Did I have it in me?  I wasn’t sure.  I felt exactly the same as I did when I started this run.  It all hurt.  I didn’t know how I would keep going.  I tried not to think about it, but couldn’t daydream.  I was having trouble enjoying the scenery.  I truly couldn’t do anything but try to keep focused.1277098_10101494413480330_1985263137_o

Around mile 18 a guy came up behind me and said, “Hey buddy, where ya from?”

I was instantly furious, but somehow mustered “Nashville.”

“Great city.  I’m from Ohio.  This your first Ironman?”

“Uh, yeah, please go away.” (I didn’t really say that).

“This is my third, they never get any easier.”

“Thanks for nothing!”

I was kinda mad that I was mad because conversation can definitely help pass time on long runs, but this was a race and I was using every ounce of energy I had to stay focused on mentally moving the pain in my body.

If my knee started aching I put all my focus on it and the pain would temporarily move out.  Sometimes to the hips, sometimes to the ankles.  I kept moving the pain in my mind and this was honestly the only way I made it through the marathon.  Unfortunately for the man from Ohio, I haven’t mastered moving pain while having a conversation.

My family and friends were hustling about the course and I saw them on several occasions.  The last time was just before Mile 20.  They all stood and cheered.  My brother diligently video taped the scene, and Wasky looked me in the eye and said, “10K brotha and it’s yours.”  I turned the corner, saw the Mile 20 sign, then looked at my watch.  It was 6 o’clock.

I had another laugh with myself when I realized I’d been racing for eleven hours, but knew it was time to get serious.  I had to average a 10 minute pace, then bust it a little on the last mile to get in under 12 hours.  Alt Mike started reminding me that I had only starting running a year earlier and a 10K was a long ass run.  Real Mike wouldn’t have it.

I labored through each aid station trying not to think of anything but the finish.  By now I added Coke and chicken broth to the menu, but for the last 5 miles it was all water and Perform.
My stopwatch was rolling and mile 21, 22, and 23 were right at a 10 minute pace but I was fading.  Sometime around there I saw Mark.  He gave me a stern look and said, “Finish strong, man!”  It was all I needed to hear.

Shortly after, I also saw Jim after I heard him say, “Tarrolly!  You are rockin it!”  We exchanged a “Wasky-low-five” and I picked it up a notch.

I was losing my focus when a girl ran by me looking like she was fresh out of bed and running a little 5K.  She had perfect form and looked incredibly strong.  I reasoned she was making a move to stay under 12 hours, so I did my best to keep up.  Thankfully she stopped at a couple aid stations and I kept her in my sights and reset my stopwatch at Mile 24.

She pranced about 50 yards ahead of me and I labored to keep her in view.  I was starting to tank and running out of time.  Two miles away and I had 20 minutes.

I started losing her and my mind did strange things to me.  Alt Mike was screaming, “Stop!”  I was numb and was literally leaning forward hoping my feet would catch me.  I’d been out here almost 12 hours and was falling apart.  I glanced at my watch and total time of my race was 11:52.  What?!?  I still hadn’t seen Mile 25 and I went into a panic.  I thought I was fucked.  I kept running.  No 25 sign.  How could this be?

Alt Mike eased the pain. “It’s okay man, you had a great run.  They’ll still love you if you come in over 12.”  It was the closest Alt Mike came to winning.  I honestly remember slowing down to a near walk and stopping.  I was THIS close to stopping.  But somehow, some way, I convinced myself that I missed the 25 Mile marker and poured on the jets.1267558_10101494417412450_2020673744_o

I had just over 7 minutes to get to the finish and I gave it everything I had.  I’m certain my last mile was my fastest of the day.  I ripped around the corner and headed up State Street passing everyone in my way.  I couldn’t believe the energy I found.  Time was running out and I was under 4 minutes when I saw the capitol.  I blew past the aid station with a big Thank You and turned right at the corner.  Did I have to go all around the capitol?  I couldn’t remember.  Under 3 minutes.

Another right turn and for some reason I started thinking about my 100 yard dash times in High School but quickly discarded that thought when I realized I had no idea how long city blocks were.

When I closed in on the next turn I heard a booming voice screaming my name.  MIKE!  MIKE!  I looked around and couldn’t find anyone I knew.  It had a massive echo and literally sounded like it was coming from the top of the capitol building.  Was I hearing things?  It sounded like Robbie, but I couldn’t be sure.  I found out later that it was, and that was the last jolt I needed.1277373_10101494421698860_31971843_oWhen I got around the corner with two minutes to spare, I knew I had it.  I saw the mid-block- turn and the Finisher’s Chute was waiting.  A million emotions washed over me.  All the long rides, runs, and early morning lake swims had paid off.  I was about to be an Ironman.

When I hit the carpet every ounce of pain left my body.  Thousands of faces hung over the fence and I scanned them for my family.  I saw them about halfway down on the left hand side, shining bright in their fluorescent orange shirts.  I veered in their direction and raised my hand as if to salute their presence.  I felt more alive at that moment than I have in years.  A small tear formed on the corner of my eye and I’m quite sure my face would have flooded if I wasn’t so dehydrated.

Many people told me to slow down and enjoy the moment, so I geared back.  About two yards from the finish, when I knew sub-12 was in the bank, I stopped and slowly raised my arms in victory.  Two volunteers caught me and I captured one final glimpse of the girl who set my pace before she faded into the memory banks forever.imageIf there was any doubt about why I would do such a crazy thing, it was answered when I saw my family and friends in the Finisher’s chute.  I was on the course by myself that last hour, but was not alone.  I kept running because they were waiting.  Waiting on their son, waiting on their friend.  And there’s nothing more powerful than someone excitedly waiting for you to come home.1277870_10101494432157900_1687841008_o

Follow me on Twitter@miketarrolly

Official Run Time: 4:23:10
Total Time:  11:58:58
535 out of 2,544 Overall
32nd out of 225 in Age group