Catching Up After an Ironman #IMWI

In the fury that was the week of and week after Ironman Wisconsin, many amazing things happened, but sort of fell through the cracks.  One was my selection as East Nasty of the Week, which is a high honor doled out by my running club.  I was very grateful, but had a difficult time enjoying it because of the race and recovery period.  I just sat down to read the article again and am especially humbled by what the guys I trained with for IMWI wrote about me for the article.

1233165_735817175799_432170694_oDaniel Hudgins, “Mike has been a key supporter for Ironman as the “Fab Five” has been training. He is so much more than your average athlete, though. He is tenacious, and I think we’ll see him continue to improve throughout the years. When we first met last year, I remember him coming to a triathlon I was also doing to watch Jim. He was so interested and the best way I can describe his demeanor was quietly excited. As time went on, and he decided to do Ironman Wisconsin, we became closer and closer as friends. Mike and I battled for who would show up last for our morning workouts in January, and he often won. We joked that he’ll write a book “How To Sleep Your Way To an Ironman”, and it will probably be a New York Times Bestseller. After seeing his consistency, his success in racing, and his talented writing on his blog, it’s much less of a joke now. He’s one of the first people I called when I had a bad ride or something was bothering me. I’d also call him after a great workout or a successful race. I knew he would listen and want to talk about it in detail – and at the same time, he’d provide some comedy in the reality of all the craziness we were putting ourselves through. I’m so proud of him, and I know after this Ironman, he will continue to excel at whatever he pursues.”

1176325_735090951159_602081995_nJim Schwan, “Tarrolly is truly an inspiration. Watching the transformation he has made from his first day at the couch to 5k program to his completion of an Ironman has been astounding.  From the first day I met Tarrolly I knew he was someone I wanted to associate with. I mean, he was wearing cool shoes and seemed like he really had it going on. This was years before either of us attempted any kind of endurance sports. Little did I know we would one day end up training together for an Ironman. He is one of the most creative people I know. He has won film-making awards and authored several fantastic blogs.  His chronicling of his training via Crushingiron.com, as well as the upcoming documentary, will cement his legend.  If you don’t know, act like you know.”

1186007_10152424848012080_1549022374_nKevin Gammon, “I’ve had the pleasure of training with Mike for the past nine months.  During those nine months, I’ve watched him change his entire life style and dedicate himself fully to reaching a goal.  It has been one of the most profound changes I have seen in the three years I have participated in running and triathlons.  He has become a strong athlete and person.  I constantly seek out his advice because I have nothing but respect for him and what he has accomplished.  I anticipate we will see some great things from Mike, both athletically and in other areas.  I will also say I look forward to kicking him during the open water swim in Wisconsin.”

1185411_153292491545387_1272383167_nMark Scrivner, “Mike?  What can I say about Mike?  Dude is gonna crush it.  He’s a beast.  Started running last year and now you can’t contain him.  He’s extremely focused and sleeps more than anyone I know.  I can tell you this much, the only thing stopping him will be himself.  Dude shoots video, plays drums, eats PowerBars and blogs.  It’s been a pleasure training with him, when he actually shows up.”

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imageI spent a TON of time with these guys over the last year and every minute was inspirational.  Each of them connected with me in different ways and it was truly a blessing to meet them and train together for a goal I thought was impossible.

I’ve said it many times before, but Jim is the reason I am in triathlon . . . and for that matter, not a whale laying around on the couch.  He patiently led by example until I figured out that I should probably follow in his footsteps.  Jim made many sacrifices to make sure I stayed engaged with endurance sports, and I will forever be indebted to his efforts.  Maybe one day I too will be getting up at 3:45 every morning.

Kevin’s gutsy performance at IM Louisville 2012 was the final straw that lured me into Ironman.  Watching my first IM was an emotional and motivating experience.  I barely knew Kevin at the time, but I was so moved by his effort that day, I knew I would sign up to race sooner than later.  We didn’t bike or run together often, but our lake battles were undeniably the catalyst to me becoming a confident swimmer and rejuvenating my competitive nature.

Daniel is one of the most positive and compassionate people I know.  He overcame a lot to get where he is today.  His passion for triathlon shined bright all year and his results proved it.  He embraced every experience like it was his last and smiled before, during, and after each competition or workout.  Ironman was a first for both of us and we loved to speculate about how it would feel to compete, then finish.  We dove into every detail along the way and I think it made us both better racers and people.

Mark showed more guts than just about anyone I’ve ever known as a competitor.  It seemed like he was injured the entire training season, but he kept pushing on.  And I’m not talking about hang nails.  He had a double hernia and a torn bicep, but didn’t let either get in his way.  Despite these setbacks, having a family, and owning a business that was exploding, he kept his eye on the prize and peaked with a great performance at Wisconsin.  He showed a lot of confidence in me and that became a big source of motivation.

It was, is, and always will be the Fab 5 I think of first. We committed to a journey and each other.  We followed through with a major challenge and came away with far more than medals.  We are great friends who shared deep and meaningful experiences that no one can ever take away.

Running The Asylum

The last two days I was in Knoxville for a great social media workshop and wanted to get in a run.  I stayed at the same hotel I used for my early season Rev3 race, so I thought I might slide down to the river and run the course for old times sake.  My coach had a better idea.

“You should hook up with some of the Knoxville athletes and run at Old Lakeshore.  Some nice hills.”

Oh, he had me at hills, but little did I know what else was waiting.

I agreed to meet Elyse, who I met at the Muncie 70.3, and qualified for the Vegas World Championship that day.  She lives in Knoxville, is training for Ironman Florida, and hadn’t run at Old Lakeshore either . . . but knew much more about its past.

As I pulled through the cyclone fence that surrounded the complex, I was immediately captured by the drab structures.  I felt like I was literally driving onto a Stephen King set.  The buildings were brick, with faded white paint, and one was charred black from fire.

Old Lakeshore was a mental institution and many refer to it as a “haunted asylum.”  You can read about its “complicated” history here.

20110423-ATM8I weaved up and down narrow roads with no idea where I was going.  I landed on a gravel parking lot next to an abandoned building and decided to change out of my work clothes.

I can’t explain how strange this situation felt, but about halfway through the change I realized I was in my car, naked, smack dab in the middle of an insane asylum.  I kept waiting for glass to shatter and a security guard, dressed in all white, to yank me through the windshield and put me in a straight jacket for a long walk up the hill into a lifetime of obscurity.

Safely in my running gear, I eased from the gravel parking lot and looked for anything that seemed like a normal place for runners to meet.  I finally spotted an empty soccer field and parked next to a long line of about 20 cars.  Cars everywhere  but I didn’t see a soul, other than what appeared to be a man in a powder blue jumpsuit leaning halfway out an open window of a rundown building simply labeled “The Cottage.”

A chapel rose on a hill in the distance, surrounded by an endless sea of sterile buildings and zero life.  The sky was gray and the entire scene was eerily quiet.

I called Elyse and she was coming toward me as we spoke.

“This place is creepy.”  420111119155126001_t607

Yes it was, and I was fascinated!

We took off on a slow jog and finally found the path which was a 2 mile loop around the grounds.  I’m not gonna lie, my eyes were on a swivel as we rolled up and down steep hills, and in and out of buildings.  It felt like at any minute a stray patient in a flowing robe could have toppled us into deep brush.

There was also a deserted concession stand and I stopped to use the restroom while she waited.  When I came out I told her there was a guy dressed like Jesus in the bathroom handing out cologne samples.

We ran about 7 miles, all surrounded by history and mystery.  I kept trying to talk her into exploring some of the facility, but she would have none of it.  And after watching this video, I’m glad we got the hell out of there, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to gather a group and do a night time run at Old Lakeshore.

A Coach's Ironman "Miracle"

This is the latest submission from my coach, Robbie Bruce.  I love it when he gets inspired and sits down at his phone to bust out a blog.  This one is especially close to my heart because I just experienced everything he’s written about and I’m pretty sure some of this piece was influenced by my family on September 8th in Madison.  The journey, the struggle, and how it impacts everyone who trains for Ironman. 

The Miracle of Ironman Coaching
By Robbie Bruce

I sat down on the couch this evening to watch one of my favorite movies, “Miracle.”  If you haven’t see it, you should.

It’s the story of the US hockey team’s remarkable and shocking journey to a gold medal in the 1980 Olympics.  It became one of my favorite sports movies originally just because of the unique story, it involved sports, and I am just a giant patriot at heart, so I loved every second of it.  Each time I watch the movie, I absorb more and more of the coaching aspect and how it relates to the athletes I coach who compete and train for Ironman.

Training for an Ironman is not like competing in the Olympics from an “athletic” standpoint, but both training processes have a lot in common from the approach of the athlete and coach. Both make a choice, a sacrifice to train, and go all-in for something far in the future, something unknown . . . all of it for one day.mikerobbie

Their friends and family are supportive but still wonder “why?” Why are you giving up so much of your life for such a long time, all for just for one day.  One race?  Then what?

In the world of instant gratification this is the opposite.  It is counter intuitive in every way possible.  It is giving up everything for the unknown.  It is giving up everything today for something so far away that may actually never present itself.

From a coaching standpoint you take on athletes with all different backgrounds, personalities, goals, and experiences. It is your job to get them to buy in to the process.  Every day will make “your day” and your day is Ironman.1270491_10101494431399420_714549893_o

Still, every time someone comes to me saying they want to do an “Ironman,” I know they have no idea what they are getting in to.  They are changing their life, not just signing up for a race. They don’t know it at the time, but they aren’t just signing up alone, they are about to embark on a journey that takes friends and family with them.  It is what makes coaching Ironman athletes so much different.

You know you are not only holding someone else’s dreams in your hands but also the hopes and nerves of parents, spouses, friends, co-workers and sometimes even strangers.  They believe in the one who is racing and wonder “who is this person coaching them?”  They have to believe in you without even usually setting eyes on you.  They look to their athlete and if they believe in their coach the others will too.  Belief by proxy.1277870_10101494432157900_1687841008_oIronman competitors become magnets.  You follow their training.  You follow their previous races.  People follow them.  The “Crushing Iron” following is a great example of that.  You actually give others something to believe in.  To hope for and to find joy in just from following or watching and even just refreshing an app.  They mentally race it with you.  They emotionally endure it with you.

I have had the honor to spectate and coach 2 Ironman races in the last 2 months.  I imagine most people think the most gratifying part of my job is watching the athletes cross the finish line with their goal time.  “MAN THEY CRUSHED IT,” as some people like to say.  I am still not sure what you “crush” or “kill” but whatever.  Yea, I used to think the same way from a time stand point.  They meet their goal and it’s a win.  Now, I watch them finish, glance at the clock with momentary elation, then watch them greet their support crew for the first time.  Their families.  Their friends.  The expression on their faces, the tears of joy, the hugs, the smiles of relief….. Man. That is what it is all about.1277431_10101494421738780_417964137_oYou realize you weren’t just coaching a person.  You were coaching a crowd of believers all standing behind one soul.   A person who goes off in the distance alone at 7 am and returns after most of the day is done.  You share in a their nerves during the race, absorb them and when its over…. You let it out.  The athletes stories, their wants, why they signed up.  You know exactly what they are thinking when they cross the line.  It is a community that brings you to tears.

Being responsible for having such a small part in an athletes journey to Ironman is an honor. Although stressful at times, it is the most rewarding job I could ever imagine.  Watching the first hug they give as they finish…. It is the tightest and most relieved of squeezes….”I knew you could do it.” – ” I am so proud of you.”- “That was amazing.”- I cant believe you did so well.”- “I love you.”- and the “You did it’s.”

You cant imagine it or recreate it any where else or in any other sport.  It is the sight of so many different people coming together as one.  There might be one person walking away with a medal and the title of being and “Ironman” but everyone around feels like one.  Proud.  Smiling. Energetic and so happy.  You may have “coached” 3-5 to “be one” but 25-30 walk away feeling like they too are an Ironman.

That’s the journey.  That is what makes it so amazing.  If the movie Miracle taught me anything it is that you can do anything once and take everyone else with you on the journey. Whether it is a gold medal or an Ironman, maybe it is time for you to take a trip………….1277373_10101494421698860_31971843_o

This is the Stuff That Keeps Me Writing #IMWI

I am blown away by the positive feedback on this blog and especially for my Ironman Wisconsin Race Report.  Along with movement, writing is probably my biggest passion, and I express how far your input goes in keeping this blog alive.  And it will stay alive.  I am bursting with energy and ideas that I want to explore.

Here are a few of the comments people have left about the Race Report and I can honestly say, words like these will push me and Crushing Iron to a higher place.

“Mike, best report I have ever read. Loved Alt. Mike’s take on the race and the battle you waged with him. Congrats. Huge.” – Frank

“This report is amazing! I had chills and tears! I am doing IMWI 2014 and it will be my first, this article has me so pumped already!!!!!” – Jason

“I’ve been reading a lot of race reports and I have to say that you are a good writer.”  – Wendy

“Great report! I am so enjoying it. Agree with Wendy!” – Roman

“Only thing better than your race report was your results.  Well done on all accounts.”  – Tim

“Great job out there and great write up! Your blog has been entertaining all year and this is a great cap to it. Are you in for 2014 too?” – Mark

“Awesome report! A lot of first time experiences going on for you that day! Well done!” – Chris

“Loved the report! Well done!” – Debimage

Ironman Recovery #IMWI

Many say the most important part of training is recovery, and we in Nashville take that seriously.  So, post-Ironman Wisconsin, we’re gathering 16 triathletes, our aero helmets, and setting out to crush the Nashville Pedal Tavern course record.  Our good friend Wasky has already downloaded elevation gain and ridden the course, so his detailed text message is pending.  IronTrac assured me they’d have this race loaded, including a beer tracker, a day in advance, so make sure to follow our journey. (These people are not us, but I think they may hold the current course record). nashville-pedal-tavern

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

Welcome To Wisconsin #IMWI

The plan was to leave Tuesday night at 6:00, stay in a hotel 4 hours out of Nashville, then be in Wisconsin by noon. It didn’t quite work out that way.

We ended up leaving Nashville around 7:00, had to eat, deal with the dog, and only made it about 3 hours and stayed in Marion, Illinois, which seems to have cornered the non-traditional tourism market by housing both a VA hospital and a prison. Wednesday drive took about six hours and we got to Wisconsin about 3:30.welcome to wis

Rolled into my parents and, as luck would have it, there was a swim meet going on at the public pool I could literally see from my bedroom as a child. I walked over and got a little pre-race motivation from the kids. beloit pool

Dad manned the grill and turned out some amazing burgers before we settled down at in the War Room and went over mom’s plans for the Ironman spectators. maps central

So, anyway, honestly, I love my mother, but her computer is really testing my patience right now, so I will soon be in Madison, and give a couple more updates before Sunday. Thanks for hanging around all year and I can assure you this blog will continue after the race. I just learned 29 people from our training team are signed up for IM Chattanooga next year, so there will be endless fodder.

As always, I’d like to give a special thanks to my Uncle Kenny.

6 Days Out from #IMWI

Ironman Wisconsin is six days away, are you ready?  Of course you are, and it can’t come soon enough.

I’m leaving Nashville Tuesday after work.  I plan to drive about four or five hours and get a hotel so I can keep my sleep schedule on track.  Then we’ll leave early in the morning and get to parent’s house around noon on Wednesday.  I’ll go for a short 30 minute run around my childhood neighborhood, then kick back with mom and dad to plan their spectator day.  (And yes, I’m open for suggestions from anyone who has great watching places).helix

I’m still not sure my family fully understand what’s going to happen on race day, but it’s impossible to know until you see it for yourself.  It will be a very long day and while Ironman is a slow, drawn-out race, the story unfolds with amazing speed.

* There are some really cool shots from Ironman Wisconsin at this Flickr feed, including the two below: 4983197833_dd12927dcb_zThe energy before the swim will be off the charts.  Friends and family will watch as 3,000 swimmers wade into Lake Monona and float for 15-20 minutes.  Then, the cannon . . . followed by a mad rush of energy for racers and an anxiety ridden test of patience for those on shore.  Then the emergence from the swim.  What a moment.  It’s hard to explain the excitement of watching someone you know rush out of the water then disappear into transition.

4983798386_51b39c6c3b_zFans will catch a brief glimpse as we spiral down the helix and leave for the hills.  It will be another mystical moment, followed by a calm and re-group.  They will walk to their cars as we begin our 112 mile journey.

The cars will park in Verona and the waiting game starts again.  Then, out of nowhere, like a magic trick, we will fly by them on the bike.  They will feel their hearts pulse, full of excitement and another bit of relief.  IronTrac or My Athlete Live will keep them up to speed on our progress as they settle in with the party, which I expect to be rockin’.

We will manifest once more, then be gone.  A rush, followed by relief, followed by calm and a long walk to the car and a trip back to Madison.

They will negotiate their spots and wait for us to return from this long, mysterious ride.  They will be looking in our eyes for weakness, hoping it is nowhere to be seen.  Several times they will project themselves into our shoes and be baffled by the idea of swinging our leg off the bike and deciding to run a full marathon.

We will dismount our bikes, gather our bearings, then slowly jog past them on the last leg of this monster.  Parading our vulnerability in front of thousands on State Street and banking their encouragement to get us over the next hump, and the next . . . and the next.

I will tell them to bring chairs because, in a different way, walking and standing that long can be just as hard as doing an Ironman.  Rest your legs while watching.  We need you fresh.

I expect to hear and see people I know many times on the run course and believe me, it will be a huge boost.  It all comes down to the run.  I keep wondering what that second loop will feel like.  When will I feel like “I’m on my way home?”  Mile 14, mile 18, mile 22?

Either way, this run is very intriguing to me because after mile 14 it will all be uncharted territory.  I will be an explorer who never knows what awaits around the next corner.  The sheer fear and excitement are both why I came.  The unknown is absolutely enchanting.

And so many people will be watching as the story unfolds.  A long, slow drama that comes to a fascinating and unpredictable conclusion, for all of us.

———

6 Days Out Lesson – Neighbor James

I think I told you about day 6 before when we was both on our weed eaters out front.  Day 6 is some shit cause you start thinkin’ bout runnin’ away and hidin’ in dumpsters or at ya Grandma’s crib.  Ain’t gonna work.  You gotta get ya head straight and start hearin’ the music right.  They warmin’ up the symphony and your ears betta get used to them sour notes.

Who Am I To Think You Care? #IMWI

I realize that triathlon lifestyle is new, fresh, and exciting to me.  I also understand that I don’t “know” everything.  In fact, I know nothing.  I’m just trying to learn and become more in tune with my life, body, and what it all means.  And I think deep down we are all about the same.

We want the same things.  To feel safe, happy, and loved.  It’s not about money, or shiny objects.  When you have friends, a good circle of inspiration, and support, that’s really all that matters.

Triathlon isn’t about the races.  They are certainly a benchmark for the work and effort, but races are just numbers.  Getting to race day is what it’s all about.

I have no idea how many hours or miles I’ve put into race Ironman Wisconsin, and honestly it doesn’t really matter.  The whole process is what matters because after I cross that finish line, the race is over.

What will happen if all of this was only about the medal?  The highest of highs followed by the lowest of lows.  Will I need another target or will I realize that I am still moving toward something bigger and more important that can never be described as something with form?

For years I have talked about what I call “designing my lifestyle,” and in all honesty, signing up for Ironman was a forced step in that direction.  My life was becoming loose and unfocused, but most importantly, unsatisfying.  It was filled with delusions and big, optimistic fantasies you discuss on a bar stool.

Oh, I had fleeting moments that “appeared” like the right direction, but, I’d always get hooked by a long cane like the Vaudeville player that wasn’t performing.  I’d return to the stage, only to get cancelled again.  Nothing stuck.

Ironman training has, in many ways, given me a renewed legitimacy to be myself.  I know that sounds drastic, but I have worked very hard and hard work is really what it comes down to in life.  You chip away the rust and something new emerges.

When I signed up for Wisconsin, I felt like an impostor.  I wasn’t an Ironman, who was I kidding?  But thousands of hours later, I know I belong.  Preparation breeds confidence.

I have gone from someone who “thought” they could finish Ironman, to someone who knows they will finish.  That is a huge distinction because I think most of us believe we can start a business or climb a mountain, but do we know we can?

All of these ideas, all of these dreams, are nothing without action.

As I get closer to the race I am reminded of something a random guy said to me, “The problem with most people is they get caught up in this concept of ‘premature optimization’ and nothing ever happens.”

We can plan all day, all night and the next day, but nothing will ever happen until we actually do something, or move toward a finish line.

We need to jump in that pool and swim two laps before we’ll ever understand what it takes to swim 2.4 miles.  And let me tell you, it takes a lot.  It takes a shit load of swimming to get your mind and body in that place.  But, wow, what a feeling it is when you know you can swim that far.  Or bike 112 or run a marathon.

I have heard it a million times.  “I could never swim 2.4 miles,” and it always reminds me of the famous quote, “Whether you believe you can or cannot do something, you are probably right.”

Who am I to think I can write a blog about triathlon training?  Who am I to think I can finish an Ironman?  Who am I to think any of this matters to you?

—————————–

Day 7 Lesson – from my Neighbor James – They say 7 is a lucky number, but when you 7 days out from ya dance, that superstition get all crazy up in ya head.  I was wearin the same socks all week and momma was like, “Damn, boy, I bought u some new socks and you gotta go stinkin up the house cause you worried bout your tap dancin.”  She was right, cuz my feet stunk like the trunk of your damn car, Mike.  Ain’t no pair of socks gonna win that race.  Change that shit up.

The Quote That Blew My Mind #IMWI

Quotes come and go, but sometimes they hit like a ton of bricks and stick like tree sap on my windshield.

A few days ago I was feeling a little down and lacked motivation.  Here I was, less than two weeks from Ironman Wisconsin and feeling sorry for myself, uncertain, and depressed.  Then, our coach posted this:

“Need some motivation? Put your hand over your heart…. Feel that??? Some day it will stop….Now, go be amazing and do everything you’ve ever dreamed of doing.” – Robbie Bruce