The following is a guest blog by Kevin Gammon (Racer K) that sums up his first Ironman experience in Louisville. I can honestly say this race likely changed both of our lives, even though I was simply watching.
Stupid Long overdue- IM Louisville 2012
In August 2012 I attempted my first Ironman in Louisville, KY. It took a long time to get to writing up a race report but better late than never. First though I want to thank everyone. Thanks to my family, Jim, Mike, Season, Hunter, and Daniel for actually being there. Thank you everyone for the text, calls, and posts. I had no idea that many people were following. I am lucky to have such an amazing group of friends. I never would have thought to try, much less start and finish, without them.
First a little background. When I was 18 I saw an Ironman on TV for the first time. I was in moderate shape at the time. I was instantly captivated. I wanted to do something amazing. I loved the sense of purpose present in each of the participants. But life has a way of getting complicated and it took nearly 12 years to attempt that goal.
Leading up to the race I knew I was not in the best physical state. About two month before the race, I told my friend and training partner Jim Yates, that I was beginning to feel burned out. This feeling escalated quickly. Before I knew it, when I wasn’t exercising I was sleeping, my workouts were lackluster, and I have a host of physical symptoms I won’t list. Suffice it to say I had reached a point I had heard about, but like unicorns and scientology, didn’t really believe in: I was over trained.
I went to a doctor (waste of time- “take time off”) and a nutritionist. The nutritionist gave me two choices. Take time off or eat you way out of overtraining. I chose the second. By the time race day rolled around I did indeed feel better but I knew I had missed a lot of crucial training and worse, had actually gained weight. I packed my bags (for an Ironman this is equivalent to moving across town), told myself to trust the training I had put in and hit to road to Louisville.
When I first arrived in Louisville and started unpacking my bicycle I hit the first of many difficulties. Stupid stuff that makes people panic. My rear wing bottle kit broke. The bolts holding the thing simply snapped in half. To put that in perspective, I carry 4 water bottles. Three of these are filled with liquids and one with my repair kit. Obviously the repair kit is necessary so losing the rear bottle would mean that I would be down two fluid bottles. For a person that likes to plan and was already a scared Ironman virgin, this was just getting annoying. I went to the bike expo, bought a 50-dollar replacement, and it didn’t fit. Eventually my father found a hardware store and found some bolts that worked. First crisis averted. It only led to a bit of extra stress and a lot of walking. I visited the transition area, finish line, and swim start with my mother. Since the swim start was about 1.5 miles away from the hotel this was actually a bit of an ordeal. I then went to the athlete banquet and age group meeting with my training partner Jim Yates. Mediocre food and all information that is easily accessible in the athletes’ guide. The first day was exhausting but I see why the Ironman foundation wants you there early. In the end all of these things were funny but if that shit happened on the day of the race I would have been a very unhappy camper.
Then my training partner was assaulted by the bike gremlins as well. Jim started off the morning learning that his front DR was locked. He visited three local bike shops and dropped $300 to get the bike up and running again. It occurred to me that this is an expensive hobby. It also made my problems look a bit small. In the end we got our shit together.
My father decided to stop by and we all decided to look at the finish line. That moment will stick in my head for a while. Seeing the arch, in the daylight. Months of training to pass through Fourth Street and hear my name called. I could almost taste victory, and it was suspiciously like PBR. We all then decided to take out equipment to the transition check-in. Walking to the wharf we discovered a passenger boat blaring the music to please don’t take my sunshine away played on an organ. There was also an underwear run going on at the time. A combination of people running at me in their underwear combined with circus organ. You can’t make this shit up. I felt like I was in a really strange dream, like you get when you east something too spicy before you go to bed. I was just waiting for Bea Arthur to come out and lecture me about transition.
More walking. More sun and a lot of heat. I decided to go back to the room and get off of my feet and then I remember that it would probably be a good idea to eat before the race. I didn’t really know the area and settled for Panera. I do enjoy Panera but probably not the best pre-ironman mean. Later that day I hear from Jim Schwan and Mike Tarrolly, who somehow thought coming to watch this race was a good idea. I was grateful for the company. We set out and found a bar near the finish line to have the traditional pre-race PBR. Jim was excited about the situation but I got the feeling that Mike didn’t know what was about to happen. I went back to my room and meditated. I thought about what the ironman meant to me, what I went through and gave up to get there, and what tomorrow would be like. Finally I somehow drift asleep. I have no idea when.
Race Morning
I set my alarm 3:30. Yes, I was unhappy about this. Very unhappy. I was in line at the transition area by about 4:30. I then realized that I had forgotten my water bottles. I think I had made every possible mistake up to this point. I also put my Garmin on my bicycle. Note this for later. The nervous energy was running high and I couldn’t believe this was about to happen. I hiked as quickly as I could to the swim start where I would promptly sit my ass down and wait in line for a few hours. Louisville is not a mass start; it is first come first serve. And people get in line early. I was close to the front but nowhere near the first. Crazy. The athletes were all chattering nervously- mostly about the bike course. I had heard all of this before and really wanted to rest, so I closed my eyes and started to drown it out. At some point during the long wait Mike and Jim caught up with me. I am a silent person before a race. I like to visualize the course. Walk through my transitions. Go through my plan and backup plan. Mike wasn’t going to have any of this shit though. He woke up early and was a chatty as a schoolgirl with a story to tell. But it was relaxing to have them there. It helped considerably. Finally, after an eternity sitting on concrete in my jammers by a port-o-let we hear the bugle, the national anthem, and a cannon. (The announcements were too far away to hear.) The pros had started. My time was coming. The line started to move. Jim and Mike are forced to depart when I get to the dock (athletes only.) I spend some time getting my swim cap on and start chatting with the girl in line in front of me. We are asking each other questions; where are you from?, is this your first time?, ect. But like a date you don’t want to be on, it went in one ear and out the other. We still hug like long lost friends and wish each other the best of luck as we are rushed the rest of the way down the doc and shuffled into two lines. I end up on the far side of the doc and before I have and opportunity to think about what the hell I was getting myself into a large gentleman with a surprisingly red face was yelling “go!” I stopped thinking, jogged the short distance to the water, and hopped in.
The Swim:
While training from IM Louisville everyone had the attitude that the swim just “is.” You survive it and move on. (My attitude this season is drastically changed this season.) But this swim lived up to my expectation at the time. Right as I hit the water I get and nice gush into my goggles and had to pause to fix that situation. Luckily, the water felt wonderful. The swim in Louisville goes upstream past a small island first. Since I was in the front I was around a lot of slower swimmers (first come first server, remember?) I literally hit people who had just stopped. And this was in the first 500 meters. I was boxed in bad. The sun was coming up, making it hard to site the buoys (not that I was particularly good at that anyway.) Things opened up after I passed the small island. Unfortunately, the smell of motor oil from the boats also increased drastically after the protection of the island. A lot of people cornered the wrong buoy and added distance. The course went much further past the island than a lot of people expected. After what feels like my second eternity for the day, I corner the far buoy and began my trip back to transition. I got into one good underwater boxing match with a guy who I swear was trying to get in my way. Jackass. One thing I learned from this experience- if they wont get out of the way, pull yourself over them! Because I neglected this I ended up with a wonderfully refreshing, oil filled big gulp from the Ohio River. I mean big gulp- like one of those disgusting things people get from the gas station. Onward we go. Things bunched up a little bit again near transition but I exit the water with little difficulty. I grab some water to try and dilute the greasy disgusting mess in my stomach and job into the great lawn to find the men’s changing tent. I would later learn that my swim time was slightly slower than expected but close, coming in at 1:31:41.
T1
The transition area is a sprawling open area of metal chairs, naked men, and a few blowing fans. The smell and heat are quickly rising to dangerous levels but I bravely jump in like a man on a mission. Somewhere along the line I had decided that I was going to race the IM in a full kit and do a full change in each transition. So I put on my EN kit, gloves, helmet, socks, shoes, sunscreen. Why is biking so complicated? Finally, with the help of a friendly volunteer who must be crazy, I am out of the tent and hunted for my bike among the other 3000. Mine was the one that did cost as much as my car and I liked it that way. I get to my bike and my Garmin is gone. I look around and can’t find it. Panic sunk into my heart but I eventually said “screw it, the show goes on”. Unknown to me, I am about to enter a personal challenge the likes of which I never imagined. T1 time – 8:45
The Bike
Leaving the bike area the first thing I noticed is that it was already seriously warming up. I did expect this, so I tried to put it out of my head. My goal was slow and steady because I knew 1) heat was coming and 2) because of the overtraining I actually ended up slightly undertrained. Funny how that works. Without my garmin I attempted to set a “feel good pace.” As you can imagine, what feels good when you are hyped up an adrenaline is probably not what is supposed to feel good. So I did go out a little hotter than I wanted. Even then, I remember people zooming by me at the beginning. I let them go. It was going to be a long day, I didn’t feel any need to be stupid about it.
There was also a nagging queasiness in my stomach from the water. I had no idea how this seemingly small problem would end up changing my race.
So, I settle in for the long haul and the first few miles go by in a blur. There are not many spectators for the first 15 or so miles, just a long stretch of road by the river. Cleverly called River Road. Where did they get that I wonder? The first hour is fairly uneventful. I am on a schedule. Or at least what I hopped was a schedule since I had no watch. Every 15 – 20 minutes, a small bite of cliff bar. Every 10 or so minutes a sip of Hammer Perpetuem. Check for crotch numbness, stretch the neck and settle back in.
The larger groups of spectators began appearing around the out and back at KY-1694. This little stretch has an infamous climb, a bottle slinging bridge crossing, and a quick turn around after a fast descent. It was also full of interesting sites and costumes, such as a half naked superman, a gorilla, and people with megaphones. While it is an image I hope I don’t see again, it was a man wearing a guitar and speedo that made me laugh the most when I needed it on the climb back out. I almost had my only wreck on this road as well. A couple of people dangerously swerved over to the water stop around mile 22. I almost plowed into them. Luck saved me on that one.
The mile between KY-1694 and the loop were fairly uneventful. As I turned onto the look (somewhere around mile 33ish) I noticed the pang in my stomach again. It was slightly stronger than before. That was unexpected. I tuck my head down, contemplate why bike seats chafe so much, and move on.
The next bout of relief can in LaGrange somewhere close to mile 40. There is a viewing area. To my surprise, I see a Jim and Mike on the side of the road. I don’t have a lot of time to look, but I suspect that may have already been drinking by this point. Lucky. I take the extra boost and most on, knowing some climbing is on the way. That is when the trouble really began. I turn onto Ballard School Road, climbing a hill and being offered a beer by a spectator when and unexpected stomach cramp ejected my most recent cliff bar. I decide its time to switch to liquid nutrition. Around mile 50, turning back towards town, even the liquid nutrition begins to fail. At the next rest stop, before mile 60, is when I first had to get off my bike and cool down. This was the first time I was approached by a medical professional and took a seat in the ambulance. This time didn’t last long, I got over the sickness quickly, and began moving. I knew I was in trouble though because I couldn’t keep anything down and the heat was rising.
Things began to blur quickly. Rising heat and lack of nutrition is a serious problem. I make it to the viewing area again. I do see Daniel- Jim and Mike said they were there but I was so out of it I never saw them. The pit stops off the bike were becoming more frequent. I recommend taking something with you for an upset stomach, because they do not have anything for you on the course. I stopped at every aid station to cool down and pour water over me. Relief was still a long way off. The next rest stop I remember well was slightly over mile 100 on River Road. I am off my bike and a fellow triathlete give me the wonder suggestion to stick my head in a kiddy pool full of ice that was being used to cool bottles of water. I’m not kidding. It was a bloody wonderful suggestion. Next thing I know I feel a tap on my shoulder and assume it is a race official who was going to ask me to stop dying in their water. Instead it was another EMS person.
“Sir, someone mentioned that you might need our help.”
“Waht?”
“Excuse me? Would you like to come sit in the ambulance and cool off? Maybe let us look at you?”
“Srlakk.”
She took that as a yes. Next thing I know I am sitting in a cool ambulance, having my blood pressure taken, and packed in cool ice packs. I have no idea how long I sat there but I knew I was in trouble. The longer I sat here, the harder it would be to get up. My temperature dropped and I asked them if I could leave. They said now that my temperature was down I was not about to die. It was my choice. That really isn’t a choice. I was continuing. The next 10 miles were a slow spin that any 12 year old with a mountain bike could keep up with. The road seemed like it was never going to end. The heat was oppressive. But I was still going. I did not want to stop. I couldn’t give in that easily. The look on everyone’s face when I pulled in was frightening. They were concerned. Asking if I was ok. Bike time: 9:00:38. Way too damn long.
T2
The tent really stunk. It was hot. Humid. There were far less naked men. Making the change was extremely difficult. For the longest time I just sat in the chair. Could I possibly finish this race? I had absolutely no idea. In face, I think I was slightly delirious. I came out of the tent and go over to the sunscreen table. It was so late in the day the volunteers were gone. I muster everything I have, leave the great lawn, and begin a freaking marathon. T2 time – 11:10
The Run
Jim and Mike joined me for a bit at the beginning of the run. I remember someone asking me how I was doing. I shock my head no. At list point I am in a slow jog. It was almost not worthy of being called a run. But I know I’m going to keep trying. The bridge was grueling. No shade. I did catch up with the guy who told me to stick my head in the pool. He said he was happy to see I was still alive. I just grunted. I stopped at the water stop, worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep anything down, and grabbed a coke. I was amazed. It stayed down. It even helped my stomach a bit.
I begin my first loop running as much as I could. I had no plan other than left foot right foot. My nutrition plan was gone hours ago. Around Mile 4 I took a risk. While training for my first 50k, someone mentioned that chicken brother helped them out. Coincidentally, the water stops had chicken broth. I took a cup and a cup of coke. I doused my head with cold water and moved on. The sun was starting to go down a bit and the change in temperature was noticeable. But something strange was happening. My stomach was starting to feel better. At mile 6, I repeated the process. I was actually starting to feel better. Chicken broth had become my magical bullet. It was bringing me back. I also say Jim Yates, way ahead of me on the return trip. It was encouraging to know he was doing well.
Around mile seven I met the person I would end up running the rest of the race with. There were a group of men and we were on the same run walk schedule. We kept this up until around mile 10 when most of them had to back off. One person kept with me, a gentleman that looked eerily similar to Hightower from Police Academy. At this point I also felt good enough to do a little math in my head. I realized that if I could keep between a 13 and 15 minute per mile pace going I would finish. I would even have a little time to spare. I devised a plan. I would job a mile as fast as I could. With any time I had left over, I would walk. So If I finished the mile in 11 minutes, I would walk 2 to 4. I told my new friend the plan. He seemed to trust me and went along with it.
It worked flawlessly. We talked about life. Where were you from? First Ironman? We stopped at each water stop. Chicken broth and coke. (I probably had more salt in my system than medically advisable at this point.) The temperature was cooling. We were going to be able to do this. It was almost becoming fun again. My body was experiencing some serious breakdowns. All the water I had poured on myself was causing massive blistering on the feet. I was finally able to go to the bathroom (the first time since the swim) but had to go around every 10 minutes. I was chafing in places I didn’t know I had. But one foot, one yard, one mile at a time… we were knocking it off.
I ran into the whole crew at the turn around for the second loop. Hunter, Season, Mike, Jim, Daniel. I got to walk with them a while. It was a big lift to my spirit. The race had gone from wanting a certain time to simply finishing. But I was going to make that happen. I was sad to see them go, but I had a lot of miles left and was quickly leaving the main part of town. I still had my new friend and a burning desire to not fail. I did see Jim Yates one last time. After the race I would learn that he couldn’t say anything to me because he thought I was not going to be able to finish. More miles. Running walking. Sticking to the plan. I drank enough chicken broth to choke a small pony. The spectators were starting to thin out. I imagine most of them were going to the finish line. It was not until mile 24 that I truly knew I would finish. I could crawl, hop, or roll and still make it to the finish line.
It is so hard to explain the feeling to those people who haven’t been there. You turn right onto 4th street. You have been hearing the sound of the crowd for miles. Everyone is still up. Everyone is yelling. I have never seen a race with the finish line as electric as this. You can’t help but smile, regardless of the pain and exhaustion. I could barely make out the words “Congratulations, you are an Ironman!” But they were there. The journey was finally over. I even had some friends there to congratulate me. A perfect day. I may not have reached my time goals, but I help my head high. It was a hard fought battle. I will worry about improving my time in Wisconsin. Run Time: 5:38.
The Crushing Iron Trilogy of what it was like to WATCH Kevin at Ironman Louisville can be found here:
Pre-Race/Swim
Bike
The Grueling Conclusion
Pictures from the race
More pictures from Ironman Louisville
I’ve written an Ironman Louisville race report, but feel like the run deserves a little more attention. Namely because it was the hardest and most confusing athletic endeavor I have ever experienced.
