The first thing Jim and I did when we rolled into Louisville was stop at Skyline Chili. The result of hotdogs and chili on my stomach was not pretty and could have been foreshadowing or symbolic for what I was about to witness.
We were there to watch our buddy, Racer K, who is now a firmly entrenched in the “Fab 5” and training for Ironman Wisconsin. I began this story here with a pre-race and swim analysis, now I continue with my interpretation of the spectator tension of watching good friend on the Ironman bike course.
Watching people run up the ramp after they’ve just swam 2.4 miles in a river is wild. There is a hint of discombobulated mixed with intensity. It’s no game when the next challenge you face is cycling 112 miles in the hot Louisville sun.
Racer K came out of the water in about an hour and a half and I’m not sure he saw us, but definitely heard our yells as he jogged by to hop his bike. He returned a half-hearted, yet reassuring wave without turning his head.
We scurried toward the bike exit and after about 10 minutes, caught a quick glimpse of Racer K as he road off into the sunrise. It was before 9 am and I was already hot.
The next time we’d see him was about 30 miles into the trek. Jim and I jumped in the car headed to a quaint little town named LaGrange and the feeling I get while watching races in these small towns returned.
The community seemed to rally, and the festivities were evident, but the undertone was
“this little Ironman thing” was a nuisance to many of the locals. I don’t know why I get that feeling, but think it’s the looks while parking in front of someone’s house and unloading our chairs and other gear. It’s times like this when I really think some people don’t like people. I mean, no one said anything or flipped us off, but I just sense that closing streets for one day really upsets people that are generally upset in the first place.
Anyway, we stood along the main street and kept an eye out for Racer K. While we waited we ran into some fellow East Nasties, including Season (who’s finished Ironman Wisconsin) and Daniel (who was recovering from a bad bike accident and is now part of the Fab 5). While we waited on Racer K they kept mentioning someone named Robbie. Robbie crushed the swim and he’s kicking ass on the bike. Robbie, Robbie, Robbie. Who was Robbie? Well, as it turns out, he’s now my Ironman coach.
Finally Racer K screamed by us on a short downhill and was on his way out of town for the first of two 30 mile loops. For the fans, this is the ultimate, “hurry up and wait.”
Let me tell you, watching an Ironman is no day at the beach. We were up at 5:30 and it was now about 10:30 and I would have much rather been riding a bike a hundred and twelve miles than standing on the side of the road on hot pavement. I must have taken 200 pictures of racers while we waited for Racer K to make his second loop. We didn’t know it at the time, but Racer K. . . and Robbie . . . were both in trouble.
It was a festive atmosphere watching thousands of riders blow through LaGrange while the voice of Ironman shouted their names. Crowds lined the road and the energy gave the athletes a boost of adrenaline. But when that short stretch was over, guys like Robbie and Racer K were forced to look inside for fuel as they road through barren countryside, alone with their dreams.
Three hours passed, and there was no sign of Racer K. I vaguely remember Jim mentioning he saw Robbie at one point, and it’s possible I may have clicked a picture of him without realizing as I rapid fired on hundreds of random cyclists.
Going into the day we were convinced that Racer K’s time in all events would be pretty comparable to Jim’s Louisville effort from the year before. But as we watched the clock and Jim did his calculations it became evident that Racer K was falling behind.
When he finally came through, he looked a little rough and told us he’d been sick. He couldn’t keep down food or water, and it doesn’t take an expert to realize that’s a big problem in an Ironman. I silently thought of Skyline Chili.
Robbie had similar fate. He underestimated the heat effect and (told me later) his sodium got out of whack. At one point Season and Daniel saw him sprawled out on the side of the bike course. His goal, his energy, and his outlook, shot. Somehow he managed to regroup and finish. Robbie has done several Ironmans, and his Louisville time was disappointing, but if you ask him today, he’d tell you he’s most proud of that race. Nothing went right and he had the will to finish. It has also inspired him to go back this year for redemption.
Jim and I took the long slow walk back to our car and hoped for the best. We knew Racer K was in a bad place and he still had at least 60 miles left on the bike before running a full marathon!
At that point, Jim and I were focused mainly on Racer K’s disappointment. Surely he knew his goal was slipping out of reach. All the time and energy he’d spent working for this day appeared for naught. I wasn’t sure of his goal, but I’m guessing it was around 13 hours. He would need a miraculous turn of events to secure that finish.
We drove back to the bike entrance and watched as throngs of people completed their 112 mile journey. We must have calculated a hundred possible outcomes for Racer K. “If he can do this and just does that, he will still have a chance for . . . ” Every 10 minutes it seemed we were conjuring new possibilities. And for the longest time we felt so bad because his goal was falling faster and further out of view. It was off a cliff, and as it neared 6 o’clock, we genuinely feared he may have thrown in the towel.
At that point he’d been on the bike course for over 8 hours. The bike cut off was 6:30. If he didn’t come in before that, his day was over.
Jim and I had been together for almost 12 hours and we began to spread out. I sat in the shade on a wet lawn in front of a bank and Jim kept checking his Ironman Tracker just to make sure we didn’t miss Racer K. I was starting to wonder the same thing. Did we somehow miss his arrival? It wouldn’t have been that hard, but the reality was, we knew he was still out there, nearing exhaustion, pounding the pavement.
Finally, within 30 minutes of the bike cut-off time, we saw him coming down the home stretch. I was shooting video, but suddenly felt guilty about catching such a painful moment and turned off the camera as Racer K rolled by on his way to the run. He made it and we were back in support mode.
We ran to the “run exit,” prepared to run alongside him for the first mile or so. After about 10 minutes he emerged like Stallone in the 15th round of Rocky I. He was a battered man and I had nothing to say. I had never been in that position and more than anything feared saying something I would regret, so I ran silently as he and Jim shared thoughts on the run.
We rolled along at a decent pace, considering what preceded him, then Jim and I peeled off as Racer K began to ascend the massive Ohio River bridge.
