race report

May 30, 2019May 30, 2019

My 12 Things Ironman 70.3 Chattanooga: Inside the Mind of an Aging Man Who Doesn’t Really Like Gadgets

By Mike Tarrolly for Crushing Iron

I think it’s important for people to write race reports. It helps you remember where you did well and what you need to do better next time. Over the years my recaps have morphed from flowing gibberish about every hotel lobby conversation into something more like “things I learned” with the hope that someone else can pick something up. So, yes, there are little things that happened but mostly this is about how my training for this race unfolded when I got onto the course. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the first time I didn’t feel obligated to buy a “Ironman Name Shirt” so I might be on the right track.

Age Is Just a Number – I started triathlon at age 49. I’m 56 now and have done seven Half Ironman races. This was my best performance to date. So, age is definitely a number . . . but most everything that happened in this race began back in December. My running has been very consistent for 5 1/2 months, including a C26 run camp that was a bit of a game changer for me. We talk about it non-stop on the podcast, but consistency is king.
You Can’t Always Get What You Want – If I’m totally honest, I thought I was going to race faster. Isn’t that always the case? But, it was mainly because of how I’d been running. The consistency was one thing, but I was also throwing down some intense work, including tons of hills, even on recovery runs. I guess the reality check is always the race. The hard bike followed by the hard run. The good news is, even though I closed pretty hard in Chattanooga, I think I would have been able to hold the general pace of my run for quite a bit longer. That’s what gives me the most optimism moving toward Wisconsin. #trainingday
Sleep Might Be The Hardest Part of Race Weekend – We had a TON of C26 athletes hanging around and while that meant a lot of mental juggling, I loved it. Friendly faces and good conversation is a really good way to take your mind off the race. That said, somewhere in my subconscious I was concerned about that Saturday night sleep……… but great news! I fell asleep around 7:30 and remember feeling very excited about that as I drifted off. After some wicked dreams, I woke up naturally, reached for my phone to check the time and it was 9:00! I’d slept for 1.5 hours and was now royally f*cked. Yep. I turned on basketball for a while and eventually resorted to reading the Bible because, frankly, I don’t understand it and I thought it would fatigue my brain. No such luck as I got swept away by the book of Revelation and the only true revelation I had was that I had fall asleep again, then wake up in about 3 hours. One of these days I’ll get rest before a race.
School Bus Nerds – There’s something very appropriate about shuttling triathletes to the swim in yellow school buses. There is a first-day-of-school awkwardness that makes everyone on the bus seem like a child. And isn’t that that point? We all do this sport to reclaim a bit of our youth, right? And I can’t help but wonder why we are so driven to feel this way? Maybe it’s simple. We want to feel young and the idea of chasing money and cars and power really starts to get old after a while. So, after standing in line, I hopped in the front seat of the bus. Prime territory. Hot seat. Podcast host. Ready to share all his knowledge about this race. And one by one, people blew by me like I was cold product. Finally the very last guy getting on plopped down next to me and fiddled with his goggles the whole ride.
The Look in Their Eyes – Swim starts fascinate me. I strolled through the throngs of lycra listening to the patented Ironman morning mix tape and surveyed people’s eyes. I love wondering what’s going on in people’s minds. There is so much nervous energy before a swim because it’s one of those moments that creates a looming danger. I think that is good for us, but so many things these days are getting soft and protected. It’s the main reason I’m so adamant about the mass starts in triathlon. They are great opportunities for us to test ourselves. When we do hard things, day-to-day life seems a little bit easier. I was genuinely excited to take Mother Nature’s latest test. As I surveyed the course, I noticed a few orange buoys tucked up against the shoreline and my first thought, “these mother f*ckers are going to shorten the swim.” They’re going to take away an opportunity. But … the pros went off and it looked like they were doing fine. Yeah, they struggled a little, but it’s an upstream swim for 200 yards. Harder is the point. I put my ear plugs in and started to get a lather going in my wetsuit. Then, Tracy tapped me on the shoulder. I pulled out my ear plugs and she said, “Did you hear the announcement?” Nope. “They are shortening the swim.” WTF. Yep…First Louisville… now this one. That’s two in a row for me and I’m not a happy camper at this moment. I grunted a bit, then swore a couple times for effect and tried to re-group. The one thing I always tell myself in that situation is “DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE SWIM JUST BECAUSE IT IS SHORT.” Anything can happen and if you take it lightly, the next thing you know you’ll be getting run over and way off course and filled with anxiety. Focus, Mike.
Maybe Gadgets Aren’t So Bad After all – I have never been a gadget guy, but about 15 of my training rides for Chattanooga were done with a power meter. That doesn’t mean I actually “used” it as in set up my next workout based on power, I just used it . . . and paid a little more attention to this mystery called power. The thing power helped me with most was my pedal stroke. I finally saw in black and white what it felt like to push 300 watts vs. 250. It was things like that that helped me take it just a little bit easier on hills. And maybe even more important, it showed me how much I was leaving on the table for flats and gradual declines. Dear Mike, Just because you’re going 23 mph doesn’t mean you’re actually pedaling hard. It’s hard to push your power on declines and I gained confidence with bigger gears and “stealing speed” at different points on the course.
Riding By Feel – All that said, I still didn’t feel comfortable enough to race with the power meter, well, that and I had a brand new Flo 90 that was sitting in the corner flirting with me for for the month leading up to Chattanooga. So, about 2 weeks out, I started riding with Flo instead of the power tap wheel. It felt amazing from the minute I pushed play. I was definitely riding differently and frankly my favorite part of riding with Flos is the sound. People can hear you coming from a block away. My plan for this race was pretty simple. I would use general MPH targets, but in a way that married the feel of my internally calibrated power meter. Stay under control and in the 20-20.5 mph range until the top of that short steep hill around mile 27, take the effort up a notch for the next 15 miles (which seem mostly downhill), then finish strong but under control for the last 12 or so. My goal was to use that fast section to get my average pace right around 21 mph by the top of that two mile climb at the 44 mile mark. I pretty much nailed it to perfection and rode the last stretch really strong. My bike computer said I finished at 21.69 mph, but I later noticed the distance read 58.5 miles, so something must be set wrong considering my race speed was 21.2 mph.
Old Guys Are Fast – So, in my mind I’m thinking, hmm… 21.69 mph… I have to be somewhere close to the running in my age group off the bike, but as I ran past several people I know who would have pointed that out, they kinda looked at me like I was Hines Ward in the Energy Lab. Well, maybe they just didn’t want to say anything because of how people are spread out on the course and Ironman Tracker can be tough to read like that. So, I just ran. *As it turned out I was 21st off the bike out of 136 in my AG… some of these guys are fast!
Stay Cool Young Man – I knew the one thing that could bite me hard on this run was the heat, so I made cooling priority number one. I actually used a shoulder bag cooler as my gear bag that morning and put two small and one medium sized ziplock bags of ice in there before the swim. Oh boy I thought that was clever! I also pre-loaded my run belt with two small flasks of Skratch and 3-4 gels in the zip pocket. When I left T2 I slid the small ice bags (now somewhat melted but still cold) into the back pockets of my kit (which hit the damn spot on my lower back) and slowly dripped the big bag of ice water over my head as I ran out of transition. My goal was to be cold (blooded) as I hit the course and this really helped. Of course this process started on the bike at every aid station where I always grabbed and extra bottle of water for cooling and grabbed two for the last 12 miles of the bike.
Running Blind – It didn’t turn out to be as hot as we’d thought, but the heat was another reason I wanted to get in and out of the water as soon as possible. The bike was surprisingly shaded and while I never felt that hot out there I forced myself into a constant stream of cold water on my head, neck, and legs. As I left T2 it seemed to pay off as I felt pretty solid, even after climbing the first hill. I stayed controlled and waited for one thing . . . that unforgettable feeling you get when bike legs turn back into run legs. Be patient, homie! Yes, I was pretty patient, and felt pretty good, but was still in a weird limbo about mile 4. Not tired, but not explosive. I didn’t wear my Garmin for the race, but reset my chrono on at the first two aid stations to get an idea of my pace. After doing this twice, I said, “F*ck it, just run, dude.” And that’s what I did. Besides, the face of my watch had fogged up and I was wearing contacts, so I couldn’t read it anyway.
Where Are My Run Legs? – I guess it’s around mile 5 where they have the out and back double aid station, I slowed down at the end to get enough ice and took several cold sponges. The freezing water hit me like a shot of adrenaline and my run stride hit me like lightening. I ran freely to the bottom of Battery Lane and had to reign it in for my first time up the hill. I felt strong and was starting to build confidence, mainly because I knew I’d done this in training and I was feeling things more in my lungs than my legs.
Let It Rip – At the end of my first loop I saw coach Robbie on the pedestrian bridge and he gave me the ole, “Let it rip” command. I agreed, but those kind of thoughts are relative. I’d love to say that second loop was a joy and I kept getting faster and faster until I did cartwheels across the finish line, but it started getting hard. I had to really focus and turn up my effort. I don’t want to say I ran that “hard” but I was strong. My new goal was to be steady, not stop, and get to the top of Battery again and THEN let it rip. That’s pretty much what happened, but it was a fight. I passed a shit load of people on both bridges and by the time I saw Coach again, I thought, yes, I made it. I’ll just coast down the big hill to the finish with a nice race. But, he had other ideas . . . “You gotta pick it up, finish strong!” Ugh… I had no clue what that meant, but . . . was I back in the running for something? No watch, no time, no nothing and he’s telling me to leave it all on the course for the last 3/4 of a mile. So . . . I did. And believe me running hard down that last hill isn’t as fun as soaking in the sights. It was the toughest part of my day and in my mind I figured out that I wasn’t in the running for a podium, but I had a shot at sub 5 hours. I finished right with Scott, C26 teammate, and asked if he could read my watch… he got real close, squinted and said, “4:58, I think.” And that’s what it was. While I felt really good about that and knew the sub 5 time would deceive a lot of people into thinking it was a great race, I knew that shortened swim gave it a major asterisk.

Conclusion: Even though it was my best Half Ironman performance to date, it technically wasn’t my fastest. Back in 2014 (when I was practically a teenager) I did Muncie in 5:05 but my swim was around 36 minutes that day (vs. 19 minutes at a shortened Chattanooga swim). My bike and run were faster at Muncie, but my bike and run at Chattanooga were better. I was in control the entire day and never cringed when I saw a mile marker. It was more like they were blowing by than they were a nuisance. And I felt much better afterwards at Chattanooga. Now, some could say I didn’t leave it on the course, but Chatt’s bike and run are a little bit harder, and well, I’m a little bit older. So, don’t let age determine how you feel.

May 29, 2019May 29, 2019

Ironman 70.3 Chattanooga Recap 2019

C26 Triathlon hit Chattanooga 70.3 by storm with 44 athletes racing and dozens of friends and family members along for the ride. In all we had 44 athletes start and finish. 19 crossed the line with a 70.3 PR. And 12 were first time finishers.

On top of the race we had a blast with around 40 rooms at the Holiday Inn downtown filled with awesome people. We spent a lot of time in the lobby meeting people who listen to the podcast and had an open invitation to our C26 Pre-covery lounge with 4 sets of Normatec boots on hand.

Chattanooga is a great host city for Ironman events and we took advantage of the hospitality, even offering our team a full buffet spread on Friday night in the hotel banquet room. We followed up after the race with tons of pizza as well.

Unfortunately they wound up shortening the swim . . . again and we weren’t sure the move was totally justified. While organizers said the decision would be made after watching the pros swim up stream, it was pretty clear they were planning a downstream swim for the age groupers.

Needless to say the swim was very fast again and it robbed many athletes of going after their true 70.3 PR. Hopefully there is a change of tune with Race Directors, but we’re not holding our breath. For more on our thoughts, see “Ironman Has Gone Instagram” podcast which is embedded below.

We had to depend on our athletes and their families to shoot video and take pictures for our team video. Once again, they did a fantastic job and this gives you a great look into our community and the support everyone received on and off the course.

For more information on coaching, camps or swim analysis, please email Coach Robbie: [email protected]

May 23, 2014

Rev3 Knoxville 2014 – Race Report

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t go into Rev3 Knoxville with redemption on my mind. A couple months earlier I drove to New Orleans with a sub 5:30 goal and limped in at 6:20. I went to Knoxville gunning for an age group podium in the Olympic.

Jim, Corey, Marc, and Wasky led the dinner plans on Friday night and was I loving the Market Street vibe. The Holiday Inn was a few short blocks away and re-affirmed my need, desire, and craving to lodge close to the race, preferably near a downtown.

Saturday was spent waiting for the overloaded tech crew to look at my front brakes which started rubbing in New Orleans and, in true ACA fashion, I blew it off until one day before this race.

The transition deadline was closing in and they still hadn’t looked at my bike. Luckily I was talking with the local race director who told me the other guy in our midst was an awesome mechanic (and racing for All3Sports.com). I grabbed my bike and he promptly dialed me in.

A Sleeping Miracle

By 9pm I was in bed and by 9:30 made an amazing discovery. I can actually sleep before a race!

I mean seriously, I am Notorious BAS* when it comes to pre-race rest. I slept maybe 3 hours before Ironman Wisconsin.

My list of poor sleeping performances is legendary. In fact, sometimes I am genuinely afraid of dying because I feel like I will be tossing and turning in my tomb. And trust me, I realize this probably means I’m a self-absorbed a-hole who can’t let go (and has a lot of nerve believing he will actually be buried in a tomb) but I’m working on it . . .

So . . . I slept well then woke up to the awful guitar strumming sound of my iPhone alarm at 5am on Sunday. There is no “snooze” button for me on race day. I suck it up and go. Especially considering I had consciously made that choice the night before.

What happened when my feet hit the floor may have impacted my race more than anything. I calmly eased into some light yoga. I still had 3 hours before the swim, so I let my body wake at a comfortable pace.

I didn’t feel awesome, but trusted the process while moving instinctively to poses my body craved. The intensity was minimal, but soon I was sharp enough to both remember my name, and what the hell I was doing awake at 5am in Knoxville, Tennessee.

Pre-Race Transition

I had plenty of time and all my gear was packed, so around 6:15, I slung my wetsuit over a shoulder, grabbed my tire pump, and made the dark and lonely trek toward transition.

Once I’d pierced the inner sanctum, I found my bike and started wondering why in the hell I brought my tire pump. I mean, I seriously asked myself, “What kind of guy brings his own pump to transition?”

Just as I uttered those words to myself the guy next to me said, “Hey, can I borrow your pump?”

I said, “It’s funny you asked that because I was just asking myself what kind of guy brings his own pump?”

“I suppose a prepared one,” he replied in a most serious manner.

You’re typically racked in the same place as your age group, so I watched carefully as what appeared to be a formidable challenger filled his tires. David, who was racing for Grim Reaper (another reason I tread lightly) had an eery calm and a confident look in his eyes that more or less said, “This race is mine.”

We exchanged small talk and I sensed he was sizing me up as well. After about 10 minutes he turned around, looked me in the eye and asked, “Okay, so what are you going to swim today?”

Ahh, the “Crushing Iron” logo was getting into his head.

“Oh, I don’t know, my swim is a wild card.”

“Roughly.”

“Well, last year I came in around 26 minutes.”

His poker face was impenetrable as we stared each other down in silence.

Finally I asked, “What about you?”

Without missing a beat he flashed a friendly smile and said, “Well, I’d like to do better than that.”

The Swim

Actually, I hoped to do better than that, too, but it was not to be. I’d like to go into a long and exciting story about the swim, like this one, but it was virtually uneventful. At least (unlike last year) I was in the water when the horn sounded.

The best news of the day was that I swam steady and didn’t stop. I recently read that alone can mean the difference of a couple minutes, so I was pretty well satisfied when I climbed onto the dock and started running up the hill to the boat house.

I am typically a little wobbly out of the water, but as I ran up the ramp, I was ready for the balance beam. Solid feet, solid lungs, solid legs. I picked off a few people on the short hill but as I tried to pass one more before we turned out the side door of the boat house, things got a little dicey.

My body drifted to the left, slowly losing all control, then I slammed into the door jam with my shoulder. I remember thinking, “Great, that’s my bad shoulder,” then hoping by some miracle the collision would somehow fix my other problem.

I started to feel sorry for myself, but remembered there are millions of starving kids and war and poverty and depression and disease and unhealthy relationships and people who can’t walk across a K-Mart. I repented, but solved zero of those problems as I ran up the blacktop path to mount my bicycle.

I had WAY too much crap on my transition towel. My back pack, tire pump, two pairs of socks, arm warmers, leg warmers, two pairs of gloves, a hat, a visor, and a stack of senior pictures. I looked down in disgust, then thought back to the pro transition I’d just witnessed. They grabbed their bikes and ran out of transition naked as j-birds.

I was rolling up arm warmers and jacking around with gloves, it was a mess. I decided to pass on socks and left my arm rollers dangle like the wide wrist bands Ivan Lendl used to rock.

THE WEATHER WAS PERFECT, and I was layering for an ice storm. I was embarrassed, and frankly, a little pissed at myself.

The Bike

I love the Knoxville bike course. You sorta tool out along the river, then jump on a freeway, then slide into some cool neighborhood roads, then climb a couple tough hills and come back.

My strategy was to attack. The problem was, the legs weren’t ready to party. I did my best to shred the climbs and recover on downhills, but just didn’t have the same juice I was used to last year. It may have something to do with the fact that I’ve only been doing intermittent one-hour trainer rides for a couple months.

I road at just over 20 mph and was reasonably happy with that, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.

The last 5 miles I noticed an age group battle building. He passed me, then I’d pass him. Back and forth. A challenge of wills. A mental game that stretched our limits and would lead to combat in the trenches once our feet returned to soil.

The Run

We entered transition mere seconds apart and I beat him to the run. But not more than 15 seconds later he saddled up beside me to say, “Wow, that was a hell of a bike. You kept passing me at the end and all I could think was, I hope he’s not a good runner.”

I was still gimpy, but did my best to smile before saying, “We’ll see!”

For a brief second I got a little boost of cocky adrenaline. I’m thinking, THIS is the challenge I’ve been waiting for. Yes, I will show this guy that I AM a good runner.

I was stiff and shuffling, but mentally ready for the challenge. I had flashbacks of the Ironwar in Kona between Dave Scott and Mark Allen. And today it would be me and this guy! A guy I didn’t know, but soon everyone will know and we will be forever linked to the Knoxville RevWar!

That’s when, and I swear on a stack of religious paper, he smiled at me and said, “Good luck,” before literally leaving me in the dust. He was gone. I mean like two blocks away before I spun my race belt to the front.

So much for the RevWar, but around mile one I felt like I was on my game and slowly picked up the pace. When I hit the 3 mile turnaround, I knew I was golden. I also knew my Pearl Izumi Streaks (which they no longer produce but can still be found) make a difference in the way I run. The lazy shuffle was gone and I was actually running, well.

This was also the first time I wore a Garmin for a triathlon. Corey was nice enough to set me up on Multi-sport the night before. It worked great on the bike, but somehow I screwed it up coming out of transition. The only thing I could see on my watch was a black line. No pace, no mileage, no nothing. So I just ran.

The coolest thing about this run was that I made a decision to force myself to do pick-ups. Every half mile or so I would sprint for about 30 seconds, re-training my legs to move faster. And every time I slowed to my normal pace it felt easier. Sprint, back it down. The reason I did this is because I haven’t been doing speed work and my legs are in a comfort zone. It genuinely makes me optimistic.

I turned the last corner to head down the chute and saw the finish line. I crossed proudly with my arms in the air . . . and that’s when I saw him sitting on the chair in front of me. David, my bike-rack rival, beat me.

He offered the chair next to him and I congratulated him on a fine race. We reveled in the comraderie of sportsmanship for a minute, then I looked at his calf and realized he wasn’t even in my age group! All of that pain, drama, and stress for nothing. Then, a different guy came up to me (this one in my age group) and told me I passed him on the very last stretch. I had no idea.

We all hobbled to the monitor and I punched in my bib number, 817. There were a lot of numbers, but the only one that mattered was “3.” I got third place and would be standing on the podium after all.

Follow me on Twitter @MikeTarrolly

* Bad Ass Sleeper

Course Summary

Course	Time	Pace	Distance
Swim	00:29:12.000	02:01 /100m	0.90 mi
Bike	01:13:50.000	20.32 mph	25.00 mi
Run	00:48:50.000	07:53 /mi	6.20 mi
Total Time	02:36:43.000

10311879_10203966264659766_7047028351200107787_n — Me, Wasky, Jim, and Corey

April 16, 2014August 28, 2018

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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 . . .

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.

Run time: 2:23:40
TRT: 6:21:58

March 11, 2014

Dry Creek Trail 1/2 Marathon Part 2

Since penning Part One of my Dry Creek Race Report on the back of tree bark, it has occurred to me that I left out some valuable information. While my wildly personal experience was noteworthy, I should have realized others may have been looking for more pertinent information, so I thought I would give a deeper analysis of the running experience.

First off, Race Director, Season Kaminski had this thing humming from the minute you got there. It was super organized, the start line was clearly visible, and her speech on which flags to follow in the woods was spot on, not to mention loaded with trail humor!

Secondly, there was a nice downhill-ish first 3 miles. This was mostly “roads” and ended with a not-so-nice and very steep downhill segment that was covered with leaves. It was also my favorite part of the course.

My next favorite part came right after that downhill. It was a nice roll through a meadow that was flat and should have signaled me of the doom that lie ahead. But, of course I was daydreaming.

The hill that followed the meadow was unconscionable. They claim just over a mile, but the subsequent rollers turned that climb into about three miles. Not gonna lie, it was tough, and as my boy, Wasky, would say, “Legit.”

Listen, at the top of that long climb, nothing is more welcome than a friendly face, and that’s when I saw team photographer, and fastest Wasky, Carolyn unleashing her photographic excellence. I smiled, laughed, and cried as I limped back into the village.

This is where the race started and hundreds . . . err . . . dozens of thirsty fans raised the roof for my arrival. Humbled, inspired, and somewhat relieved, I moved on to the deadly Final Six.

“Rock and Roll” might be the headline for this stretch. Lots of rocks and lots of rollers. By mile eight, my legs were fried. My hip was screaming bloody murder, so I settled into the Ironman-shuffle for the next mile or so, then aired it out only to hear the same song from my hip. “Uh, dude, kinda hurtin down here.”

Yeah, but races with 700 feet of gain are going to make you hurt . . . especially if you’re not ready for them. Which I wasn’t, but sorta was because I finished. What bummed me most is that I never really had my breath right or find a groove with my stride, but I suppose both are more common on trails.

In all it was a memorable experience and the weather was perfect. The food that waited for famished hurdlers was dished out by Nashville Running Company Kingpin, Lee Wilson, in an endless buffet of steaming goodness.

Runners are a different breed, but trail runners take the family tree to an entirely new limb. They are duly committed to pain and seek it at all costs. It was a pleasure to be in their company.

November 12, 2013

Goosepond Half Triathlon – Race Report

I’ve had a difficult time pulling myself together to write a Goosepond Race Report. Frankly, I wasn’t ready for this race, and it showed. It was a painful day and I’d rather forget most of it, but I’ve learned that these are exactly the kind of races you need to remember.

Goosepond was my first race after Ironman Wisconsin and I have concluded it’s similar to a band playing Red Rocks, then sitting down for an open mic the next night. It can be fun, but it’s a completely different motivational challenge. That said, the best bands (and athletes) put out the same energy whether they’re playing in front of one person or a packed house.

Wasky, Corey, and me looking marginally hungover before Goosepond. My only other 1/2 was Muncie and the night before, I could barely sleep. Before Goosepond, I was out like a light. I just did a damn Ironman, 70.3 would be a breeze!

As we checked into transition it really made me think about how much goes into putting on a triathlon. The logistics of an Ironman are staggering and here were a bunch of people who likely didn’t know much about triathlon doing their best to make Goosepond work. It was more of a small town feel, while Ironman was New York City.

I was in auto pilot and kept forgetting stuff back at the truck. My socks, my timing chip, my helmet. It was a weird, zombie-like feeling and eventually, coach Robbie jumped my ass about getting my shit together. It was 10 minutes before the race and I wasn’t in my wetsuit.

The Goosepond swim is actually in Lake Guntersville, which is gorgeous and full of seaweed. My swim wave was old men and young women (which could have had something to do with my elevated heart rate) and I flopped around the water for a few minutes before they shot the gun (or quite possibly just said, “go”). The first 15 or so meters were great, but I was quickly transported back to my bygone panic-mode-days. It really wasn’t as much panic as I couldn’t find my breath and literally thought I had forgot how to swim a mere six weeks after swimming 2.4 miles. What the f8ck was going on?

As I rounded the first buoy (maybe 500 meters in) I slowed to a stop and tried to catch my breath. Why didn’t I warm up? I will never learn.

I watched as the rest of my wave slowly pulled away and there was nothing I could do. It was a jail break and I was the lone prisoner wedged in the escape tunnel. Stay calm, you’ll catch them.

Wasky coming out of the water top 20 and oblivious to the trouble ahead. * All good photos courtesy of We Run Huntsville

A couple minutes later, I eased back into my stroke but I was someone else. The wetsuit felt tight, my sighting was blurred, and my energy low. I took at least three breaks on that first loop and was a little stunned by the fatigue in my arms.

Corey, daydreaming about Tahoe in the morning glow of Lake GuntersvilleBy the time I got to the end of my first loop I officially hated two loop courses. Even though it was just water, and all looked the same, I didn’t want to see lap two. Later, Robbie would tell me I took a really wide turn around that buoy and I’m pretty sure it’s because I was thinking about swimming to that pier, getting out of the water, and cheering for Wasky and Corey from the comfort of a portable hammock.

But I put my head down and cranked out lap two, which turned out to be much easier once I loosened up. I really need to get serious about my pre-race regiment.

Swim Time: 42 Minutes (Muncie was 37, Wisconsin was 1:20).

T1 – I was actually a little disoriented going into transition, but pulled it together, grabbed my bike and ran across the mount line. That’s when I noticed I was still holding onto my gloves. I stopped and patiently put them on while Robbie watched shaking his head. “Good thing you got those gloves on,” he said as I wheeled past him with a smile.

Redemption on the Bicycle

I didn’t know my time, but when there’s a group of you racing and all your spectator friends are waiting for you at the Bike Exit , it’s a pretty good indication your swim sucked. But, as soon as I clipped in, my remorse was gone and I had one focus . . . crushing the bike.

The initial plan for Goosepond was a relay. Robbie would swim, I would bike, and Season would run. But, a twist of fate landed Robbie in a swim race that would change his life and I told him I might as well do the whole damn Goosepond by myself. So, bad swim aside, one of my sub-plots was to ride like I would have ridden in a relay. I was also curious to see just how hard I could push the bike. It was on.

Here’s me drafting and looking like a jack-ass with my chrono watchI had logged a mere four hours on the bike since I raced IMWI and had no idea how riding a hard 56 miles would feel. I came out and tried to stay around 19 mph for the first 5 miles and it was pretty easy. I tried to lose myself in the scenery, but kept taking peeks at my bike computer, where the miles seemed to be turning over more like a calendar. Seven miles, eight, nine . . . ugh. This was going to be hard.

Since I was so late out of the swim I was picking off people like flies. About 20 miles in I had yet to be passed and that became my new goal. Don’t get passed on this bike.

I was busting down a country road and noticed a guy on the side changing his tire. “Shit, that’s Wasky!” I slowed a bit and asked if he was okay, but immediately wished I would have slowed more. I “thought” I heard him say, “Yes,” but I wasn’t positive. I hoped he didn’t need a tool or a tube. I briefly entertained turning around, but eased my fears by reminding myself that Wasky is the most prepared man I know.

I settled into aero and dreamed about the finish. I felt bad for Wasky because I was pretty sure he had a good swim and now I was going to beat him off the bike. It had been five minutes since I’d flown past him at 21 mph; I figured I was at least two miles in front of him now. My thoughts drifted back to not getting passed on the bike and I thought that was a real possibility. Not more than 30 seconds later, I heard someone breathing hard to my left. Damn! I was getting passed!

Who did this person think they were passing me?!? I was NOT getting passed on this ride. But, his tire broke the line and I started falling back out of the draft zone. I wasn’t even going to look up, but they said something like, “Keep pushing.” I glanced over to say thanks, and it was Wasky! Before I could even ask how the fuck he caught me, he said, “Two flats, brotha.”

Damn, that was his second flat and somehow he got from corpse position to downward dog in a mili-second. He shouted, “Stick with me and we can pace each other on the run.”

“Stick with me???” What the hell was going on? I was crushing this bike and Wasky is telling me to stick with HIM! He was in beast-mode-squared and all I could do was shake my head.

It took about 2 minutes for him to lose me, then around mile 30 (which also doubled as the ONLY bike aid station) I caught him. His mood was a combination calmly livid, mixed with a case of the beat downs, and topped with a dose of, “I’m gonna kill this course.”

I passed him about a mile later and he slowly fell into the distance. I honestly thought he might be toast. Then at mile 45 or so, he flew by me again. “Come on man, let’s bring it in. Ten more.” I just shook my head.

He rode a good hundred yards ahead of me for a while, then I passed him, which he immediately countered with pass of his own before pulling away for good at mile 54. Two miles to go and I was feeling my legs. It was a flat course, but I didn’t stop peddling for more than 10 seconds the whole ride.

I cruised into transition and Robbie kinda gave me one of those, “Damn, dude, you crushed that bike looks,” before actually saying, “Nice bike.” All I had to do now was run a solid half marathon and I would surely be on the age-group podium. Easier said than done.

Bike Split: 2:40:26 (and tack on a very questionable 4:00 drafting penalty). One of two penalties handed out to my training club. I have decided not to go into it, but let’s just say this is a very suspicious chain of events.

T2 – Yep . . . it happened.

“Trust Me, This Run is Pancake Flat”

I’m not a great runner, but thought I could easily put down a 1:50. I felt surprisingly good as I left transition and patiently waited for my running legs to show up. Spectator support was a non-issue, so I picked out a woman with good pace and ran behind her for the first 1/2 mile. Then, I made a very unusual decision for me, I ran up next to her with the intention to actually talk for a few minutes. Talking on a jog is one thing, but I am just not a fan of it in a race. I kinda like to focus on pain.

I was just about to say something when she says, “Hi Mike.” I was like, huh? It was Ann, who also races for RxE, the Knoxville crew. And that’s when they snapped this picture of me about to blow out my ankle. I have to admit, I was a little stunned. We actually started in the same swim wave and she was saying how slow of a swimmer she is, etc. Clearly she’s not that bad of a swimmer because I knew I hammered the bike and here she was still in front of me. Ann is a really strong cyclist.

Then there was this guy rubbing it in my face As engaging as Ann can be, I had a race to win, so I plowed off into the rolling hills, followed by a charming campground, and then a tricky little cut-thru trail onto the first of many roads that would break my heart.

That’s when I started hearing Wasky’s voice again, but this time it was in my head.

“Trust me, this course is pancake flat. You will crush it.” And I really did trust him, but for some reason I was standing at the bottom of a 1/2 mile climb.

I told myself this must be “the hill.” Every course has “its hill,” and this was Goosepond’s. Ah, no problem, I love hills and this isn’t really that steep, but it was kinda long.

It was getting hot and I was dying for water. I didn’t hydrate well the week before and my mouth was burning for liquids. As I crested “the hill” I saw a right turn ahead that dropped me on the road to nowhere.

Another slight climb to an aid station before a very long descent that nearly made me cry when I saw people running back at me. I made a mental note of the climb-to-come and then, for the second time in one race, broke my no-talking rule with a woman who looked like she knew the course.

“I thought this was supposed to be a flat run,” I said with that awkward, yet undeniable bond runners have as they waltz through hell and think they own the place.

“Oh, you must not know the Race Director,” she replied with that “I’m an insider” attitude that outsiders like me, Wasky, Corey, and Robbie detest.

“Ummm… well… I… uhh…. sorta…. No, I don’t,” I said knowing full well that I had exchanged dicey emails with him earlier that week.

“Yeah, he’s notorious for putting together tough run courses,” she roared with a half-out-of-breath masochism.

“Awesome! Can’t wait to see what’s ahead,” said no one ever.

We hung together until the start of a sub-division, which also meant the beginning of another hill. Now, mind you, none of these hills were “tough” but when you think a course is going to be flat, it’s sort of like facing a pitcher who doesn’t throw that hard, but has a great change-up. His fastball always seems like it’s harder than it really is.

Adding to my unruly disdain was the fact that they had zero mile markers on the course. And yes, it’s my fault for not going to the athlete’s meeting, I suppose, but give me a bone. Even the aid station volunteers seemed unsure about their location, and since I wasn’t wearing a Garmin, I literally had no clue where I was on the course. At one point, I thought it was mile 9 and it turned out to be mile 7. When I hit the “real mile 9” I was toast. That’s when my running became simply something that would get me off that god-forsaken course sooner.

This was also about the only time I saw Corey during the race and neither of us seemed particularly talkative.

Soon thereafter, I re-engaged with the treacherous cut-thru and headed for home. Just as I cleared the scattered brush, I met with aid station volunteers who excitedly exclaimed, “Only one more mile!!!” I looked at my chrono watch and realized I had 10 minutes to run that mile and finish under 2 hours. Sweet!

So I pranced off at a decent clip knowing, if nothing else, I would secure a sub-2-hour half marathon after all that other crap we do in triathlons. And I ran . . . and ran . . . and ran . . . and watched the clock tick past 2 hours . . . then 2:02, 2:03, and finally end up on 2:05. I just ran a 15 minute mile? Awesome.

Turns out it was about 1.5 miles, but who’s counting?

——————

Epilogue: The setting for Goosepond was beautiful, but I haven’t perfected checking out scenery during a race. I much prefer people yelling and challenging me to keep pushing on. I forgot to mention the gut cramp that seized me for most of the run and the sharp knee pain I felt around mile 10, but if I hadn’t been so un-prepared I would have totally enjoyed the swim. The bike was pretty sweet and most of the roads were nice, though I wish they would have had another aid station. The run was tough at the back half of a triathlon, but I think it was fair. My mind and body weren’t ready for the challenge but we all had a good time . . . I just wish we would have brought our tents and camped out for a while doing Twitter.

—————–

This is me, Wasky, and Corey celebrating after Goosepond.

October 16, 2013

My Ironman Kona Race Report

This past Saturday, I sat in a hotel room in Huntsville, Alabama and watched the live stream of Kona on my computer, and let me tell you, it felt like I was there!

Well, not really. But it did get me pumped for the Goosepond 1/2 triathlon I was doing Sunday.

Didn’t really do that either, but it was kinda cool being in Rocket City. Umm . . .

Yeah, so, it was me, Robbie, Corey and Wasky in two hotel rooms running back and forth with the latest gossip on the pros at Kona all while throwing in a bit of Gordon Ramsay and Hines Ward snark for good measure.*

“Holy crap, Starykowicz is on pace to break the bike course record.”

“He’s the dude that beat us in Muncie.”

“He’ll never hold it.”

“Hines would crush you, Wasky”

“Whatever.”

“Where’s Kienle?”

“He’s around.”

I kept throwing out Ben Hoffman splits, but nobody seemed to care. They’ll learn.

“Is that Chris McDonald commentating?”

“Yeah… he tweeted with me the other day about Spyoptic.”

Freshmen gushing at the varsity.
——————-
Robbie was basking in the sore-arm-glow of “Swimming the Suck” earlier that day. Ten miles of open water on 5 Days notice.

Me, Corey, and Wasky were digging for energy and motivation to race Goosepond the next day.

“What’s the run course like?”

“I’m telling you, it’s PANCAKE FLAT!”

“You sure?”

“Book it.”

“I haven’t done shit since Wisconsin.”

“Join the club, brotha.”

I was NOT ready for a half triathlon but suspected Wasky and Corey, who did Louisville, were in better form.
———————-
We lounged with our laptops and watched as Frederik Van Lierde blew through the tape in 8:12:28 for his first Ironman World Championship. That’s close to 4 hours faster than I did Wisconsin and damn near as fast as I’d do Goosepond the next day.

Well, sort of. I did 5:35 ish.

Van Lierde’s bike was 4:25 for 112 miles. My bike split at Goosepond was 2:36 (actually 2:40 because I got a 4:00 penalty, which I’m still steaming about . . . not really, but you can read about it here). That 2:36 was about all I had and it felt like I was re-writing the record books. IF I could have done that for another 56 miles (which is more than highly doubtful) I would have dismounted after 5:12, a pretty f-ing amazing time, but dude rocked a 4:25 in the crosswinds before running at 2:51 marathon? Who are these freaks?

Then, there’s Mirinda Carfrae, who got off the bike around 10 minutes back and casually threw down a 2:50 marathon? I’m sitting there on that comfortable ass bed in Huntsville, Alabama watching her float on air at mile 25 thinking . . . that’s the babe that tweeted at me about Brittany Spears tickets a few weeks ago. Small damn world.

Then we gathered the backpacks and went into Goosepond for our ass-kicking.

* Just getting into the race is an accomplishment. Each year, more than 80,000 athletes vie for a shot to be on the starting line, but only 1,900 men and women make it. (Source, and crappy article by the LA Times about Ramsay’s Ironman that anyone in the world with a computer could have written)

October 15, 2013

Swim The Suck Race Report – Guest Blog

Swimming has quickly become the most fascinating event of triathlon for me, and this story blows off the roof. It’s written by my coach, Robbie Bruce, and is just another example of how he pushes the limit and inspires me to do the same. Most people train all year for something like this, but Robbie signed up on a whim 5 days before the race. His longest swim of the year was 2.4 miles. On this day, he would swim 10.

How a simple “Retweet” led to me swimming 10 miles: Swim the Suck Race Report

Robbie Bruce – October 14, 2013

Almost at this exact time last Monday I had finished my first official “rest week” trying to recover from a year-long achilles injury that had me either sidelined from training or racing all together. At the most, it was allowing me to rack up not just my first DNF ever but also my second, third, and FOURTH of my career. A slight intervention from basically everyone I know had convinced me to shelve my bike and run training and just rest and prepare for 2014. So I did and just decided to swim a bit. Thats when I came across a “Retweet” from my good friend Mike. It was from Blue Seventy offering up a slot to the prestigious “Swim the Suck” 10 mile OWS race in Chattanooga if you could be the first one to answer a question: Below is a summary of how that retweet turned in to me swimming 10 miles 5 days later. (Feel free to skip down to the bottom of the page and just read about the “race” if you like)

Mon-Tue-

I answered BlueSeventy’s contest hoping I would win. 50% because as my sister can attest I NEVER win anything. Kind of a running joke in our family. The other 50% me thought it would be pretty sweet to win and what an awesome experience it would be to be able to participate in such an incredible event. I actually thought I had a legit chance to win bc A. I was the 3rd person to respond. B. Who would be stupid enough to do something that crazy on 5 days notice C. I live in Nashville so my travel costs, logistics, etc would be minimal compared to pretty much anyone. A few hours went by and I checked, checked and rechecked the BlueSeventy twitter feed to see if an announcement had been made. Nothing. At least I still had a chance. The afternoon came around and as I was sitting in my office I got the following message:

My first thoughts were “I can’t believe I won! This is going to be so sweet!” Then it turned into “S#*t. What have I gotten myself into. How am I going to do this” I made a few phone calls to let some people know before I responded to BlueSeventy so they could check my sanity but I had already decided I was doing it anyway. https://crushingiron.com/2013/10/07/two-tweets-lead-to-a-10-mile-swim/.

You cant enter a contest like this and win and then not do it. That would be bush-league. I called the guys at BlueSeventy and then got ball started rolling. I swapped emails with Blue Seventy and Karah. I spent a majority of Monday evening and Tuesday morning memorizing the Swim the Suck website. There were a lot of logistics to figure out. My first and most important issue was to find a pilot. I posted on my athletes FB page asking if anyone would be willing to pilot for me. As luck would have it (as if I had not had enough already) Ed Rusk, who lives in Chattanooga said he would do it. We swapped a few messages and he was committed to devoting his Friday night and Saturday to pilot me. We were both entering uncharted territory. I was already heading up to Chattanooga on Wednesday to participate in the Snail Dart 1 miler and we agreed we could meet there and chat for a bit. I seriously debated doing a long OWS on Tuesday as a confidence builder. My longest swim since Ironman Louisville was 4200 meters the week before. I opted for rest and figured just do the 1miler then rest again for Saturday.

Snail Dart 1 Miler

I made it up to Chattanooga for the 1miler. Before winning the entry I was determined to go up and sprint it as hard as I could. I had never done an open water race so I was excited. Plus knowing some of the COWS members I knew it would be at least a great event and a good time after. One of my junior athletes actually invited me to the swim so my real goal was not to get beaten by a 12yr old:). About an hour or 2 before the race I decided sprinting it was not the best option as I would likely still be sore on Saturday morning. 75-80% was my best bet so that was the plan I was sticking too. I hopped in the water with Addison who is probably 25lbs soaking wet. She had to sprint upstream just to stay behind the start line. I thought to myself “Please sweet baby Jesus let it be like this on Saturday.” The race started and was over in a blink. I felt ok in the water but it was far from a confidence builder. Even the ridiculous time I put down thanks to the current did not erase any doubts I had about Saturday. Bottom line. I suck at short races. I have always said- The most painful part for me is the first 500-1000 meters. After that it just feels the same. I also got dusted by Addison:). On a happier note she took home a sweet trophy featured below.

After the race I made it over the the Springhill Suites to hang out with some of the COWS and hopefully meet some new people that would give me some advice on how not to totally drown and embarrass myself on Saturday. I have to say. I was incredibly surprised at how welcoming and outgoing the group was. I am usually surrounded by triathletes at such events and they can be “a bit less friendly” to put it mildly. Everyone I met was so nice and I basically sat for an hour like a sponge trying to get as much info as I could. Ed and I sat together and discussed a little it of “strategy” but lets be honest. We were incredibly clueless. My main objective at this point in the week was “respect.” Respect the distance. Respect the opportunity. Respect the people. Respect their views. Most of these people had been training for months and spent a good deal of money to do this race. It would be incredibly disrespectful of me to take this lightly and basically undermine the experience and opportunity afforded to me. Coming from an endurance background I always know to respect the distance. I went to bed Wed night feeling much more informed and a bit relieved from a logistics standpoint. As far as covering the distance… Not so much. I can’t thank everyone for all the advice they gave me. It was truly invaluable. You guys rock.

Thur-Fri

Thursday was more and more “planning.” My biggest fear was nutrition. How in the hell was I going to fuel for this. Outside of the distance. I knew nutrition would be my biggest obstacle. I had no idea how long I would be swimming, what my effort would be or how many calories I should take in and when. I let Ed know my “loose” nutrition plan but I figured it would change. Friday rolled around and I woke up more anxious than I have the day before any race I have ever done. I will readily admit that I was fearful. I cant remember the last time I entered a race just “hoping” to finish. I packed up my truck and headed to Chattanooga. Registration was at 5 and then the pasta dinner and mandatory meeting at 6. I usually skip both of these at races because it is usually just bad food and nervous energy. But as one of my friends put it , “Its a good thing you are going. This is more a “life or death” kind of meeting.” I totally agreed. I also thought it would be disrespectful to just grab my packet and jet. Ed and I both checked in and we were lucky enough to sit at a table with not only some familiar faces and friends but some Swim the Suck veterans. I can come off a bit “chill” sometimes but the longer I sat there, the more I felt like an impostor. Karah rattled off a list of names with swimming resumes that seemed like fairy tale. I felt totally out of my element. On the plus side, the food was wonderful and the company was great. If it hadnt had been for that I probably would have just driven back to Nashville. The meeting and dinner concluded and it was time to get some rest and prepare for the day. I made it back to Ed’s house and got settled in. The last thing I thought before I closed my eyes was, “If someone dropped you in the middle of the ocean and you HAD to make it 10 miles to shore. Could you do it?” The answer was “yes.”

Race Morning-

“Fear.” That was my first thought when I opened my eyes. My heart was racing and I was incredibly anxious. I barely ate anything. I was too nervous. I piddled around quietly in the kitchen while Ed was totally under control. He had done probably a years worth of research in 3 days. Turns out Ed and I think a lot of like but in different ways if that makes sense. I hopped in my truck to follow Ed the the start line. I was still fearful and questioning myself. I spent the next 20mins trying to distract myself with my nutrition strategy. That didnt work. As we rounded a corner close to the start I saw this:

My fear was gone. My anxiety disappeared. I have always felt more at home in the water than on land. I looked at the landscape that awaited me and thought, “How can this be scary.” It was beautiful. I was in amazement. I knew at that moment I would finish. I just had to swim. What an incredible opportunity at an amazing venue. I felt incredibly lucky and blessed. I parked my truck and Ed and I met to scope out and grab our vessel for the day. Ed had made a sweet “08” fin for the back of our kayak. Here was Ed’s home and my escort for over 4:00.

After I got body marked I just meandered around. Talked with some friends. Met some new people and just tried to stay as warm as possible.

It was quite chilly. I spent a lot of time just standing around alone looking around. It was a pretty cool scene. I had told myself I would take this as slow as possible. It was uncharted territory and failing was not an option. As the start time drew nearer my competitive side came out and I started to look at it as more of a “race”. If anything it would be a race of attrition against myself. I thought to myself, “do not let this opportunity go to waste.” We all lined up as the kayaks seemingly colored the water like a bag of skittles:

We all stripped down and got in line. It was straight up freezing. Rebecca grabbed this shot of me standing in line (very sneaky by the way) preparing to get in the water. I was not focused on the race right here I was merely focused on not shivering:

We finally hit the water to prepare for the start. Thank GOD!! It felt like a warm bath compared to the chilly air I had been standing in half naked for 10 mins. I took a few strokes to warm up and positioned myself at the very very back. I would let everyone else get out in front so I could just chill. I figured it would be easier to find Ed that way and also keep me from getting caught up in starting to fast. The countdown started at 1:00…..

The Race-

“Everyone has a plan till they get hit in the mouth.” That is one my favorite quotes. Funny thing is that I had no plan when the gun went off. I actually thought that was an advantage. I would not know if anything was going wrong or off. I started off VERY slow. I wanted to pace myself very slowly the first 2ish miles I thought and just get in a slow “lets just finish” groove. I only had one thing on my watch, that was average pace. I did not want to know time or distance. Just swim until it was done. The only instructions I gave Ed was to let me know when 30mins was up so I could decide to feed or not. I went about 500 yards, took a breath and spotted Ed. I yelled out at him and kept swimming until he found me. I was taking it very slowly. He let me know when 30mins was up and I turned over and called out what I wanted as I backstroked. Rolled back over and kept swimming until he came up with my nutrition. I went for some Perform drink and gel. Lets just say my first feeding was a total debacle. I tried to drink, spit it out. Tried to take in my gel spit it out. Then I peed. So basically my first feeding was a net calorie loss:). I looked to my right (towards the start), into the sun and could not see anyone. I thought, “dude. Your are in last place….”. So I went on. I began to pick up the pace around what I thought was about an hour in. I felt pretty good but was scared to pick it up to quick. The current was going strong so I thought just go slow and let the current do the work because if the current stops or slows and the wind picks up I will need the energy to just finish. Every so often Ed would pull up and point to his watch and I would either let him now the fuel I wanted or shake him off like a pitcher to a catcher and keep swimming. I packed solids, gels, and liquid for the swim. I ended up only taking in Perform, gel and coke. No solids and did not take in near as much as I thought. All in all I think I nailed my nutrition. I swam for about what I though was 2.5hrs. I popped up for a feeding and finally looked at my watch “1:09” You have GOT to be kidding me!! Ive only been swimming for a freaking hour and nine minutes. Ahhhhh. This is average pace. Thank the lord. Ed informed me we were a little over half way through. That was a big relief. I knew then I would finish. I looked ahead and saw what look like a fleet of kayaks and then back and saw about he same amount. I asked if I was about the middle of the pack and Ed said yes. I told him to aim for that pack in front and I would try to catch as many as I could. Now it was a race. My arms, chest and shoulders were on fire but I knew it could not hurt any worse than it already was so lets just get it over with already. I pushed very hard for the next hour and began to pass people up until I think mile 7-7.5. I could tell the current had slowed and the water began to get fairly choppy. I shook off Ed for a feeding bc I was trying to stay even or pass the guy next to me. Plus the water was choppy and feeding would be hard anyway. The chop died a bit and I stopped for some more coke. Thats when Ed said “Yea. The current died.” I knew the last 2.5 miles would be grueling. He told me my time and I knew I had a chance to break 4hrs which was my goal. I put my head down and just swam. Then I began to feel incredibly lonely. Breathe right. No Ed. Breathe left. No Ed. Backstroke and look behind…. No Ed. I thought well, he has either bailed on me to watch the Kona coverage or mother nature had called. Luckily enough I had a guy right in front of me with green kayak and bright green life vest so I followed him until Ed returned. I felt I was getting pretty close and kept chasing the kayaks/balloons in front. Let me just say. I love and hate those balloons. It gave you something to chase but they always seemed about 200 meters closer than they actually were. I rolled over on my back and called for what would be my last feeding. I was gassed. Totally. I almost didn’t stop in fear I would not be able to get going again. I snagged some coke and thats when Ed informed me “The finish is just right there.” Music to my freaking ears. I asked for time and he said 3:30. I decided to sprint all I had to the finish. I was determined to crack 4:00. Ed guided me on a perfect line towards the finishing buoy. 400. 300. 200. I could see the orange clearly. I was still trying to catch the balloon in front of me. Every time I took a breath and I would see Eds face. I could not tell if he was smiling or laughing at my futile attempt to catch the kayak in front of me. 100 meters.

Done. It took every bit of energy just to get my arm out of the water to slap the buoy. 3:46. I did it. I was absolutely toast. I looked on land to see all the finishers before me and thought, “All of you people are freaks of nature. Crazy and ridiculously athletic. ” By far the most difficult race I have ever done. Anyone that does that race regardless of time is an absolute stud. It is physically and mentally incredibly challenging. Finally made it out of the water to towel off and get warm. Sat around for about an hour. I cant thank Ed enough for volunteering his time to help me out. Ed. You are the man.

Cheered on fellow swimmers and talked about the experience while admiring the beautiful landscape. Here is the view from where we finished.

My Take:

One of the best sporting experiences of my life. The backdrop was incredible. The people were amazing. The course was majestic and the event itself was run perfectly. I told myself before the race this would either make me want to do more races like this or never do another one. Doing this race only once in the manner in which I lucked out this year would be like an inexperienced poker player sitting down at a high stakes poker table, playing one hand, getting lucky, then getting up and cashing out big. Thats the definition of bush-league. So having said that, I will be back next year to race for sure. Hopefully with a full deck of cards.

HUGE thank you to BlueSeventy for the entry and all the free gear. Thank you to Karah and everyone who put on Swim the Suck and all the COWS who made me feel right at home and gave me so much great advice! Last but not least Ed Rusk for piloting me!

October 2, 2013

Ironman Wisconsin Race Report – Guest Blog

Here is the race report from my training partner Kevin Gammon, aka Racer K. I was really happy to see this in my inbox because, a) He is intense and real with his posts, and b) we haven’t really talked about Wisconsin since we raced. Kevin and I spent a lot of time together (much of it beating each other up in the water) the last nine months and became good friends who shared a lot of highs and lows. Hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

IMOO 2013 Race Recap – Kevin Gammon

Warning: This is long. It is an Ironman. What do you expect? Read it in chunks if you like. Or not at all. Thank you for your consideration in either case.

Traveling to an Ironman competition is far from a vacation. This time around, we had a group of five competitors traveling to Wisconsin and an impressive number of supporters. My best count is around 15 supporters although I’m sure I may be missing a few. A fan-freaking-tastic turn out. My trip to Madison began in the wee morning hours of September 5^th. Four future competitors (Jim, Mark, Daniel and myself) and two loving partners (Christina and Bettina) packed their stuff in a van like it was a masters game of Tetris and hit the road well before the Nashville rush hour.
The ride was just as quick and painless as a root canal but we managed to make it, twelve grueling hours later, without voting the weakest link out of the van.

Pre-Race

Daniel, Christina, and myself decided to stay at a hostel for the trip. Well, Daniel and I decided and Christina more or less got stuck with it. She was very unhappy with the situation, which made things a bit stressful, but she did her best to put up with it for me. I know it wasn’t easy, thank you for that. The hostel was a hostel- for those of us who don’t mind such things it was a great, cheap way to travel. Daniel and I even got lucky, completely by accident, and ended up with our own “room.” Meaning we had a small wall with no door between us and the other four beds.Ok, enough about the hostel, if you would like to hear more about that traumatic experience I am sure it will end up on my girlfriends blog – here. The first night we take on a local pub for a few brews and then the Great Dane.Day two consisted of an hour at athlete check in, a quick walk through the expo, and some time with my parents who drove up for the race. Later that night we had our only full team dinner and a mediocre Italian restraint. We were surprised when coach decided to show up. He pulled a nice little trick making us think he was in Vegas and popped up. We now had the fab five, our small group from Rx Endurance, a coach, and a boat load of significant others. A well supported race. But this is also one of the most stressful parts. If you have been following the Fab Five reality series and kept count while reading this, you noticed that I had four distinct circles of people there for me- Christina, the RxE Group, the non-RxE group, and my family. A lot of people in this situation would just say good luck guys and worry about the race. But I’m just not that kind of person. Coordination is difficult and stressful. Finally we get to Saturday. The Rx team had an easy pre-race hour workout (which ended up taking two hours) followed by bike gear check in.

Speaking for myself, bike gear check in is the first time all weekend where the athlete can really relax. There is officially nothing left to do except race and mentally go over your race.

It felt good to finally relax. And by relax I mean hunt cheese and food. It seems Madison shuts down between 2 and 5. Seriously guys, what is wrong with you? So, the day before the race I am irritated, nervous, have sore feet from walking, and I’m hungry because apparently all you can do is drink in the afternoon. If you really want to excel in your Ironman do not do what I did. Finally, my 5^th group rolls into town- Eddy and Steven. Luckily I trust Eddy like a brother and know he will get things done with no assistance needed. We crawl over to a little pub, work out the spectator details, and then head to a small indian restraint for dinner. At some point during dinner I finally relax. It is that point when you realize there is nothing left to do. Everyone has a plan. You finally have food because the restaurants in Madison are off their siestas. Your shit is in transition. Crap will be over, one way or another, in twenty-four hours. Give or take a few hours.

I slept like a baby that night. No fear. It was strange. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well before a race. I did wake up a bit before the alarm but didn’t mind. Its much easier to get ready before anyone else was awake. Met up with CK in the kitchen for breakfast, waited for Daniel, and then traveled to transition for body marking.

The Swim

Coach called it right in his race recap. My love of punctuality got me in the water early. I was about the 10^th non-pro to enter the water. Cool except that I had to tread water around 30 minutes give or take. I latched onto the ramp to help rest a bit. Closer to the start of the race I noticed Jim and Mike to the right of the ramp but I couldn’t get their attention. Instead I decided to creep up as much as the kayakers would allow trying to steal a few meters. Yes, you can do that. I had an aggressive plan that had me skipping all of the buoys except the turn buoy. I caught a dip in the trees that looked like a V at the end of the swim course and called that my sighting target. The cannon goes off and the day starts. I actually didn’t have to fight many people for a few hundred meters. Why? Because I’m not a shitty swimmer. I started in the front and, at least with the people around me, stayed in the front for a while. Then again I am also not the fastest.Eventually people caught up with me and the melee began. As much shit as I talk in the water I actually tried to be nice. I can be violent, just ask Mike, but these people had dreams of finishing just like I did.

As long as they didn’t intentionally do anything to me I let them go. I didn’t pull or push anyone without good reason. However, if you did things on purpose, and Mr. D. Head next to me found out, I do retaliate. He pulled a little maneuver where you grab someone’s (my) shoulder, push them (me) under, and propel yourself forward. Hell no. I grab his feet and yanked him under, elbowed him, and kicked like swimmers with bad form just to remind him that there are bigger fish in the water. I hope cried and coughed up water on the bike.Other than that there is a constant bump and grind because most people simply can’t swim a straight line. I couldn’t without some wonderful coaching and long practices. I get it. You get a free pass. Unless you choose to keep doing it after light correction.

The big problem I had from the swim actually came from the wet suit. I still am not 100% sure about what caused it- its never happened before and I’ve logged some serious hours in the wet suit. Neck chafing. Serious, serious neck chafing. It started to hurt so bad that it hindered my form. I had difficulty properly extending my arm and reaching. Meaning, on my right (most powerful) side, I could not properly extend, catch, and pull. I still had the follow through. But that really sucked. Especially after practicing all summer. But you work through it. It’s an Ironman after all. (Not a luau, right coach?). He may kick me out of the group for that.So, I come out of the water pissed but overall on target. I had planned to swim easy because, while I knew I could swim faster, I also knew it would take valuable energy that I needed on my weakest leg: the bike. The gains in time from my usual swim would not outweigh the loss of performance on the 112 mile hilly, windy little course coming up.

Swim time: 1:26:08

I came out of the swim annoyed. I knew I had held back and wanted to be further ahead, my neck hurt like hell, and I was dreading the long hours I knew were up next on the bike. I ran up and found two helpful wetsuit swimmer but things did not go according to plan. They had a hard time getting my wetsuit off and lost my goggles. The sat around searching for them for a bit and I said “fuck it guys, this is taking too long” and ran off.

I am fairly certain I heard my parents, Christina, and Eddy but I don’t remember actually seeing them. Water dries out my contacts. Inside the Mona Terrace things were equally frustrating. I ran around looking for a place to sit down before giving up and standing to change and not a single volunteer offered to help me with my gear. Let me repeat that- at every single point on the course I loved the volunteers except in transition. I’ll bring it up again when I talk about T2 but during my entire time in changing area not a single volunteer even acknowledged me. Period. Not a “hi, good job, let me help” or even playful slap on the ass. Thanks guys. So, I threw my bike stuff on, lathered with enough euro—butter to be considered naughty, packed my gear back up, and I found where to take my bag and left the transition area. I also had some difficulty getting my sun sleeves on (which were completely pointless- it was a perfect cloudy day.) If you are wondering why the hell someone would have a 10-minute T1 when they didn’t even change clothes- that’s why. Well, Madison is a long transition anyway. But not that bloody long. Outside of the changing area the volunteers immediately became more helpful, offering to lather me up with sunscreen. But when the sunscreen hit the neck I knew it. Stupid wetsuits. I jogged down the long transition to find my bike and I was finally off to the longest part of the day. I heard my dad calling my name a I went down the well known spiral and at the end saw Robbie and Allie. Surprisingly, it was comforting. I think I heard my dad as well. The bike ride had begun.T1- 11:35

The Bike

I’ve been in the tri world from somewhere between 2 and 3 years now. I’ve grown to love the swim and I’ve always enjoyed the run. But I have never been excited about spending 6+ hours on a bike. I don’t know why. The only thing I like about it is being done.

So, lets get to it. Like everything that day, coach had given me a ballpark plan to follow that looked something like this: First 16ish just spin. Chill out and enjoy. The first 40 mile loop use a recon. Go easy and learn the course. Work on the second 40 miles. Go easier on the way home. So that was the plan.

I felt that I was spinning on the way out. I don’t know if the wind was at my back or I was just feeling cheeky but my spin was actually a decent clip between the 18-19 range. I did have some stomach issues and I was afraid I was going to have a Louisville repeat so I forced myself to slow down, eat and drink. The first person I saw on the bike was Daniel. Around mile 20 he caught up. I told him about the stomach. We talked a bit and he went off. When people pass you is the hardest time to stick to your plan. Remember, it is your race. If you run theirs you will most likely suffer. So I let him go. After around another 5 – 10 miles and some long hills, my stomach finally started to feel better and I got my second wind. Oh the hills. I did not scout the course. I think that’s silly. You won’t remember 112 miles (ok, 56 because it’s a loop) and you will freak yourself out because it looks harder than it is. Weight the mental costs and benefits before you hop on the bandwagon. But the difficulty of the hills was surprising. Still not as bad as everyone warned but that is simply because of proper training. I saw several people, even at the beginning, give in and say they were done. Work hard before the race if you are coming to Wisconsin.

The spectators were great. I remember passing a clown in a corn field who spookily pointed the way up the first “major” climb. These climbs had people lining both sides, drums playing, horns blowing. The atmosphere was amazing. Just keep pushing and you will get to the top. Nothing to it. But there were three such climbs close to each other. You will feel it by the end and wonder why someone would make you do it twice. But take heart, you are about to enter the area where a free shuttle runs. That means if you have a good support group, you are about to finally see some people you know. Sure enough at (another) sharp turn I see the smiling faces of John , Robbie, Allie, and Carolyn. Or +2, coach, +1, and Mrs. +2. There may have been others but it went so fast I didn’t catch it. Sorry guys. So I roll up to a water stop, make an ungraceful exchange, and then another group surprises me. Christina, Eddy, and Steven start cheering as I am clumsily taking in water from the bike. Very cool. Its nice to get a second wind. At this point I am afraid I am slightly behind my goal (and I was) because of the need to slow down for my stomach. But I didn’t get sick and I was still rolling. At a minimum I knew that would make this better than Lousiville. So I keep pushing to loop two. (Quick side note- I was wearing my EN kit and a random person yelled ENFL. So someone other than our group really knew EN. I love getting shout outs.)Second loop, same as the first. I stopped a few times on the second loop to stretch a bit. If I had realized how close II was to Jim at that moment I would heave kept going but what can you do. My second loop pace was slower than I liked- I could have sped up a bit but after going through that collection of hills I decided to do my best to save a bit. The course was less crowded- fewer people on the hills. I was glad to be greeted by the Waskys at the same corner. The last few miles in were just a slow and steady spin, trying to relax the muscles and get ready for the run. I was very happy to hand the bike off to volunteers and move on to the rest of my day.

One last note on the bike. It is a technical. There are several sharp turns on fast downhills. When you see a sign that says slow down, do it. I saw one man carried off in an ambulance and multiple people with some serious road rash. Take care people.

Bike Time: 7:11:30

T2 was almost an identical experience as T1 except I was very happy to be off the bloody bike. The day was practically over.

T2: 7:22

The Run

The run is my favorite event. There is more support, more people to talk to, more energy to pull from. Of course it is at the end of having traveled 114.4 miles. It feels good to be running. Changing the motion from the bike. I am having a hard time judging my pace- I feel that I’m going easy but am still clocking some aggressive (for me) miles.

I start off feeling great. Did I mention it was nice to be off the bike? I try to hold myself back because I know its.. well, its still a marathon. Even at what I perceive to be an easy pace turn out to be some decent miles. Not even breathing heavy at this point. What I’m really looking forward to is mile 6ish- where I know my support is waiting- and slowly hunting down some of my friends. Around mile 6 I get a nice shock when I see mighty Mike T close to finishing his first loop. He was looking good and in the zone but popped out of it when I yelled for him. As competitive as we all are it was good to see him ahead, after his change of lifestyle (which took a few months) he truly put in more work than any of us. So, good for him.

So the run continues. There were a lot of little out and backs and then finally the stadium. It was cute to do it one time but I must say not worth the extra effort. After the stadium we traveled up observatory hill (where I choose to walk a bit and save my strength) and then down back into town. (Again around mile 6ish) This is where things good interesting for me. I knew my patience would pay off- I just didn’t know how much, when, or how. But I saw Jim- at what I estimated to be very close. I should have passed him silently but I decided to yell out. I could tell he wasn’t feeling 100% but hell, its an ironman. Who does? It was probably my most mature racing moment when I held myself back and did not speed up to try and pass immediately. It was wise. My “close” estimate was off by a mile. The out and back was much further away than anticipated. I would have blown a lot if I had gotten excited. So I carry on. Around mile 6 was great, it was the first time on the run that I got to see Eddy and Christina (I think Steven was still with them here but I’m not positive). It is a great pick up to see people you care about. So I keep running.Staying slow and steady. Slow and steady. It took about two to two and a half more miles before I caught up with Jim. It was after a small dirty path and towards another turn around. Longer than I thought. But I finally caught up to him. We talk a bit and I hear about his troubles. It does suck. I was having troubles to but didn’t want to say anything. I will say one thing; I’ve had a lot of bad and painful races which prepared me for what Jim felt. I didn’t know if he had the same experiences. So we ran together for a bit. I told him my plan- 12:00 minute miles, anything under I would walk the difference to recover. He stayed with me for about a mile or two until we reached the stadium and he said, “have a good race.” That was the last I saw of him until after the finish line.

Somewhere between the stadium and the turn around I ran into Christina and Eddy again. Eddy decided to run with me a bit- technically illegal but that is a minor detail. It wasn’t long. And then I make it to the first loop turn around. I hear my parents, my friends, and somehow over the roar of the crowd even Robbie’s every present badgering voice. He was perched like a bird of prey above the crowd. But the odd thing was that he was yelling encouragement. I spent the next mile wondering if he was sick or drunk. In either case, it was a good pick up and I kept running. Still feeling great. Still sticking to my plan. All smiles and thumbs up. Knocking people off by the handful.

The second lap is the same for some time. I make it to the stadium and still feel great. I’m slightly sore on the bottom of my feet but not bad. Then I get to the college. Close to observatory hill- and I start to feel the need for a bathroom break. Unfortunate. When I sat down to handle the situation I started to feel dizzy. The dizziness didn’t go away. I soon felt a bit sick to my stomach and sat down for a second. This would be the beginning of the last 8 miles. The last eight were a combination of running happy and painful vomiting. It was probably nutrition. This has been something I have fought with during my entire racing career. On the bright side, the fact that I didn’t have problems until the last 8 miles is a huge improvement.

Let me just hit some highlights. First- the dirt path by the lake sucks at night. Total bull shit. I slowed down at least :30 per mile because I couldn’t see and didn’t want to twist my ankle. But whatever, everyone had to do it. (That hadn’t passed it already.) There was also one moment where I was literally on my hands and knees sick and had to push myself off the ground. A woman in a kangaroo suit offered to run me in the last mile (I declined.) And finally, right before the finish, I saw the RX crew. Clearly intoxicated this time. Allie ran with me a little bit and filled me in on everyone’s status. It was great to have some company. Around the last corner she let me go and went back to wait for Jim. I round the corner and see the arch. I knew my people were there but the lights were so bright and the sound so loud that I couldn’t see anyone. I pull it in, finish the race, and take a deep breath. The day was over.

Run: 5:37 (Note- even though I felt great I am disappointed. This was only a minute fast than Louisville, where I was a bloody fucking mess. I don’t know where this broke down but I was expecting at least 30 minutes faster. Although I do think that was mainly getting sick in the last 8. Who knows?)

Post Race

Total Time: 14:33:36

Ah. Post race. So beautiful. My “catcher” was a great guy. Turns out we both raced Louisville the year before but the heat got to him and he dropped out. It reminds you how anything can happen on any given day. I leave the chute and I’m only feeling slightly ill. I always feel sick after races by the way. Its almost universal. I sit around for what I perceive as a while and didn’t see my friends/family so I resort the backup plan – The Great Dane. Well, it turns out they were there. I was either so out of it that I couldn’t see them. I later learned that this caused a great deal of panic and confusion. So, I was sitting at the Great Dane. Getting sick mind you. And my friends/family was looking for me on the side of the road and the medical tent. Whoops. Emotions are high. Luckily I find a nice couple that let me borrow their cell phone. Finally we regroup. Friends and family and athlete united. For beer of course. We hit the Great Dane and are quickly joined by Hudgins and Jim and have a great celebration. Now the day was complete!

What’s Next?

Well, if you are still reading you are either my friend or looking for a course review. If you are looking for a course review let me give you a quick summary. It is windy and it is hilly. Train appropriately. You will burn your legs on the bike. Period. You can clock out now.

Where do I start for the friends.? Let’s start with my race future. Well, I am taking at least a year off from Ironman. There are several reasons. First, I am going back to school to get yet another masters degree. That takes time. Second, I plan to spend more time in my relationship with Christina. Again, I have put Ironman training first for two years. Its time to look at other things. Also money. This isn’t a cheap sport. The average ironman salary is $126,000 (USAT, 2012.). As a math professor for a small college… well, let’s say I bring the average down. Way down. It is an expensive hobby. My entire 2014 race entry budget (at this point) is a little over half of one Ironman entry. The final reason is that I am thinking about leaving Nashville. It has been a good, long run but things are coming together and the signs are pointing West. I go where life takes me. So I do not want to take on anything serious when I don’t even know where I will be in nine months. Right now I am focusing on running. Mainly because I don’t feel guilty when I miss runs, I can do it “for fun.” The triathlon has always been competitive for me so the guilt of not giving 100% would be uncomfortable.

I’m not sure what that means about my future with RxE. Strict running is not really Robbie’s favorite area. If nothing else I am an RxE alumni.

I’ll still throw in some posts from time to time if MT allows it. I have a race in a week actually. A pleasant walk through the park called Stump Jump. I’m not in my best running shape but again- its about staying in shape and having fun right now. Because I don’t know what else will happen at the moment.

And my post race health? I’m glad you asked. Let me mention a bit about that. Last year, after Louisville, I gained weight, became depressed, and lost direction. This year I have dropped more weight, I’m happy as hell, and I’m very focused. The difference? This time I planned my post season before my race was over. If you are a first time ironman, I highly encourage you to do the same. When you take something that has been such a large part of your life and throw it away- well, it is easy to get in a depressed spiral. This year I had goals- even if they were fun ones- mapped out well before that void hit my life. I am much happier and better off for it.

Thanks to Christina and Carolyn who took most of the pictures you see here!

(http://www.usatriathlon.org/about-multisport/demographics.aspx)

Read Kevin’s Louisville Race Recap from 2012 here.

Tag: race report