By Mike Tarrolly, Co-Host of the Crushing Iron Podcast
I’ve done 7 Ironman’s in 7 years and I have yet to truly get a handle on the importance of recovery.
Sure, I’ll take naps and over-sleep and skip workouts, but the real problem comes back to one nuance: I don’t know how to pull back the reigns.
THE BIGGEST CHALLENGE
The biggest challenge with a recovery day or week is: we can tend to feel fresh and strong. “Oh, Mike, but how is that a problem?” For me it boils down to…. “Hmm, could probably push this a little harder or longer and catch up on some fitness I gained when I skipped January.”
Yes, that’s the thought process and I believe it may be our biggest challenge in training.
JUST DO IT
We grow up with this “crush it” or “just do it” mentality and those habits are hard to break. We always strive to get better, but how can taking it easy make us stronger? Maybe it makes sense to term things “sleep workouts” instead of “recovery workouts.”
SLEEP WORKOUTS
We all know these things innately, but it’s good to be reminded. When we sleep well, we give the body rest and ability to rebuild, ie… recover from the day before. So, that is what I’m suggesting. Go sleep your way through a workout. Make it embarrassingly lame.
I also think about the concept of “training to heal” a lot. We all know that boundary and it’s especially valuable in recovery workouts. Get in the mindset of “this feels like I’m doing nothing.”
THE CATCH UP GAME
Twice this past week I played the “catch up game.”
For one, I haven’t been running much because of plantar fasciitis, but decided it was time to push the envelope. This is always a slippery slope, but in the moment it felt right.
So, despite the flack I catch for roller blading, I upped the ante with three straight days of hour-plus skates followed by a short 20-30 minute run. My own experience tells me blading is about half the effort of running, so in this example I essentially ran 8-9 miles a day three days in a row.
Now, the caveat is in the less pounding nature and honestly it felt good at the time. Until day 3.
I actually felt okay until the last mile of that day 3 run. That’s when it hit me like a brick. The sun, the heat, the fatigue. That sort of deep experience that tells you, it’s time to stop despite all your desires.
I did my best with a solid recovery meal, then went straight for an exhaustion nap. I woke up with this, “why am I doing this to myself” feeling.
“SEIZE THE DAY” IN MODERATION
That was Sunday, so Monday, despite not riding much at all lately, I decided it would be a good idea to take my bike outside for the first time of the year. I was a little fatigued, but Carpe Diem!
I honestly felt pretty great. The blading is a perfect cross-train for cycling, but that is also the problem! Suddenly I thought it was a good idea to blast my quads for four straight days out of nowhere. It crossed my mind to ride for a couple hours, but I settled for one. It didn’t seem like I was pushing too hard, but a subsequent nap and post-exhaustion feeling proved I was indeed out of my zone.
That was Monday and this entire week has been a bit of a shit-show. Low energy, low desire, low everything.
“STOP SHORT”
But now it’s Thursday (after a couple rest days) and I’m feeling good. And guess what I am fighting the urge to do?
You guessed it, I’m back and ready to rock this thing!
It’s crazy to me but makes sense because it’s that natural tendency we have as humans. One or two cookies is probably fine, but three is too much. It’s a constant struggle to appreciate that your body is willing to bend, and certainly recover if you break it, but life is so much easier and more rewarding if we just respect the limits and realize (in the immortal words of Frank Costansa) it’s okay if we just stop short.
On that note, I think I’ll go mow half my lawn.
For more information on C26 Coaching, Camps, and Community, please visit C26Triathlon.com.
I have been eagerly awaiting this written piece for two years, which is ironic, because without him . . . Crushing Iron may not exist. I am excited to release the debut post from the man who got me into endurance training, Jim Schwan.
Not only is Jim a great friend, I would not be where I am in triathlon without his support, insight, and patience. He’ll be on the course at Ironman Maryland this weekend and taking a new training strategy along for the ride.
Time to Put My “Lifestyle” to the Test – Jim Schwan
I wasn’t going to do an Ironman this year. Too many life changes to think about dedicating the time and effort into 6+ months of training.
The problem with that plan was 2-fold. First, some of my closest friends were all planning to race and either directly or indirectly putting pressure on me to make the race commitment. And second, I really enjoy the training.
Even before I decided I was going to do a full Ironman this year I knew I was going to spend countless hours in the pool/lake and on the bike. I mean, could I really lay in bed while Corey, Wasky, Robbie and Tarrolly were logging miles and chiding my laziness?
What became clear to me early in the training season was that I would really have to work my ass off just to keep up with them on the Trace and as much as I enjoy riding with them I really wasn’t that interested in killing myself this season. Thus, the “Lifestyle” approach was born.
Just putting in the miles. No tempo work. No pressure. Just enjoy every workout.
If I wasn’t into it I would cut it short or not start at all. If I was enjoying myself I would go longer or maybe push a little harder.
In the past I have meticulously tracked my workouts…heart rate, cadence, mph, etc. I would study and analyze the details. I was literally sweating the small stuff.
This year the approach couldn’t have been more different. I wore a HR monitor all of one time. I only used my cadence monitor when on the trainer and although I would check my speed averages, I didn’t let it dictate how I felt about a workout. I just put in some miles.
Well, I did eventually pull the trigger and signed up for Ironman Maryland and holy crap . . .It’s race week. This is the inaugural full IM in Maryland but it uses some of the old Eagleman 70.3 and Chesapeakeman full courses. Flat, fast and windy.
Mike, Wasky, Jim, and Corey at Rev3
This will be similar to my first iron distance race, which incidentally, was my fastest. So it is time to put the Lifestyle to the test.
Even though I put in substantially less miles than I ever have for an Iron distance race I have a calm confidence about it. I am probably under trained but healthier than I have been in 3 years.
My longest swim…3500 yards. My longest bike…2 Century rides (but well supported and pace lined). My longest run…14 miles.
I really have no idea if I will PR or finish in 16:59. I’m going to take this race just as I have taken my training. If I’m not “feeling” it I will take it easy, take in the scenery, cross the finish line and add a crab to my calf. If I’m into it and feeling good I will push myself and try to make my 4th iron distance race my fastest. Who knows…maybe there is something to this “Lifestyle.”
My coach sent this to me, so I’m sending it to you.
With Ironman Louisville and Wisconsin in the rear view mirror it’s time to turn our attention to Ironman Maryland and Chattanooga. Both races take place this month with each making their debut on the WTC Ironman circuit. Last night I had dinner with an athlete who is about to take his first crack at the Ironman distance later this month in Chattanooga. We talked a lot about the upcoming race and pelted each other with questions for about 2 hours over pizza. I know the majority of athletes doing IMCHATT are first timers so in the spirit of state wide preparation here are the top 10 tips I deep dished out:
1. Paper or Plastic?
You’ll likely be dealing with some cooler temps as you hop on the bike soaking wet on race morning. Instead of throwing on winter cycling gear go with plastic garbage or grocery bags. Take about 3-4 of them, fold them up into a “chest size” vest. In T1, place them underneath your tri top before heading out. The bags will keep your core warm and also serve as a wind breaker for the downhills and winds on the flats. It will keep you warm. Save you time in T1 and no aero penalty. When you get warm enough ditch them at an aid station. Problem solved.
2. Cut it out!
Do yourself a favor and find room in your suitcase to pack scissors. Take your bike number and cut it in 2. Trim ALL of the fat from your bike. Place one number on each side of your downtube. You likely spent a lot of money to make things “aero.” Dont negate it with a number flapping in the wind. Or worse, place it on your seat post and risk some nasty papercuts on your hamstrings. Regardless, it just looks clean.
3. No peaking
The majority of you will be following some sort of HR or power guidelines for pacing. Keep the “home” screen of your bike computer focused only on those. NO mph. Follow your plan and ride smart. Obsessing over your average MPH for 116 miles will just lead to your ego taking over and over cooking the bike. Work your plan and let the day fall where it may. Bike for show. Run for doe.
4. Drugs are bad. Coke on the other hand…
Their is nothing sweeter on the run than flat coke. Carbs, sugar, calories and caffeine. Hit it at mile 1 then make sure you keep going back to the well at least every other mile. Besides the “energy” boost you will likely start to face some mental fatigue on the run. You have been up since 4am. Swam 2.4 miles are biked 116. Its been a long day already so the caffeine will help keep you in the game.
5. Get your roll on
If you plan on rocking arm wamers/coolers dont leave them strung out in your T1 bag. I have seen some people take longer putting on their arm warmers than it took them to get into their wetsuit. Put on your arm warmers. Then fold them down, over, and over. About 3-4x. Leaving 3-4 inches unrolled and pack them. In T1 put them on each wrist (think old school sweatbands for your wrist). Get on your way and then roll them up during the first few miles of the bike. Get to warm. Roll them back down.
6. Your current stroke
The swim will be with the current. Keep your strokes long and strong. The current will be pushing you and with a full stroke you will be able to grab all of the water below that will be pushing against your forearm. Enjoy the swim and likely a new PR.
7. No nutrition left behind
Simple but often over looked. If you drop your main nutrition, either your concentrated bottle or your gel, capsule, bar bag, go back and get it. It might cost you a minute or two but a botched nutrition plan could cost you and hour or 2. Just go get it.
8. Back it down
Run your first couple miles at least 2 min/per mile slower than you “hope” to settle into. You’re hotter than you think off the bike and driving your heart rate and core temperature up too fast could ruin your run.
9. Conserve on the Hills By all accounts Chattanooga run course has some unwelcome hills and the last thing you want to do is increase effort to get up them. The time you lose climbing hills using the same effort level you do for flats will be well worth the energy saved in your legs.
10. Keep moving
If there is any doubt about your hydration or core temperature it’s probably a good idea to walk the aid stations while fueling. But other than that, running, no matter how slow, will be the key to finishing in your hopeful time. The run is going to hurt, but unless you have a walk/run strategy, fight with all your might to keep from walking. Once you give in, it keeps getting easier.
My coach sends me a lot of triathlon articles, but this one may be my favorite. I’m a huge Wisconsin basketball fan and didn’t realize it while shooting video at the race in Madison, but former player Zach Bohannon was on his way to becoming an Ironman.
Reading made me a little emotional because the way he told the story reinforced why I love Badger basketball. He downplayed his efforts and gave credit to the team. I only wish I would have stuck around to see the celebration.
The Basketball team celebrates Zach’s Finish at the Ironman Wisconsin.
In this article by Mike Lucas, Zach says his reason for doing Ironman was “To say I did it,” but I think it’s more likely because, that’s how he does life.
For most of my childhood and early adult years (even though the teams were pretty bad in the 70’s and 80’s) Badger basketball was my favorite sport. After listening to games on the radio, I’d put on a heavy coat, shovel snow, then take jumpers on an ice-covered driveway while imagining leading Wisconsin to the national championship. It wasn’t easy to make shots with thick Winter gloves, but I never blamed the conditions.
Earlier this year, I was in the crowd as Zach and Company lost that Final Four heartbreaker in Dallas, but was incredibly proud to be a Badger fan. They were largely a group of unheralded players that worked hard, believed in themselves, and had contagious chemistry.
“We weren’t just a team last season; we are friends for life wanting each other to all do well in whatever we pursue,” says Bohannon.
I really believe there’s nothing more important than being around people that support and inspire you. Ironman can weed them out in a hurry.
Like decade-long runs at the Final Four, Ironman can be an incredibly isolating and lonely journey. You battle pain, self-doubt, and have a lot of time to reflect. At Ironman Wisconsin last year I described the end of that road like this:
“If there was any doubt about why I would do such a crazy thing, it was answered when I saw my family and friends in the Finisher’s chute. I was on the course by myself that last hour, but was not alone. I kept running because they were waiting. Waiting on their son, waiting on their friend. And there’s nothing more powerful than someone excitedly waiting for you to come home.”
This is how Zach recalled it, “As great as finishing was, seeing the support of all of these people was even better,” he said referring to his family, friends and teammates.
I’m drawn the the Ironman culture because it’s filled with “normal” people who won’t accept limits. This holds true for both the athletes, and those who support our quest. It’s embracing possibility and making the most out of our lives.
There’s a commercial on the Big 10 Network where Zach makes a bold acknowledgment that his goal is to someday be President of the United States. Ironman is surely a step in the right direction, and I have no reason to doubt he will make his dream reality.
Maybe you can spot Zach in this video I made of the Wisconsin Swim Start. [follow_me]
EDIT: Here is another perspective on why pro triathletes may not be getting as much publicity as they should or could. I know this is all about money, but if WTC is purposely keeping pro athletes from gaining popularity, that’s pretty sad.
I think one of the coolest things about triathlon is racing with the pros. Age groupers are fascinated by the ungodly splits, mysterious lifestyles, and mythical training schedules. All of which is why I think a lot of pros are missing a huge opportunity.
Age Groupers are rabid fans who can’t get enough of their sport, but I’m pretty sure most “Ironmen” can’t name more than one or two pros in their race. I write and think about triathlon every day, and the Pro Roster at Wisconsin was totally off my radar.
Konstantin Bachor, after setting a new Wisconsin bike course record
I’d imagine it has to feel like a traveling circus for many pro triathletes. Showing up in random towns with other endurance freaks so the age groupers can gawk at their oddities. But, just like carnivals, triathlons have a built in, and captive customer base.
Occasionally I will strike a conversation with a pro at a race and they have always been really cool, but I am typically unimpressed by the way most handle their online presence. Some are accessible, but most of the time it feels like the conversations are “inside baseball.”
I went to Wisconsin to “cover” Ironman simply because I love the sport and culture. I was shocked by how many people recognized me and said they read Crushing Iron. Open communication resonates, and I certainly connected with a bunch of new friends and readers.
I have written over 500 posts about triathlon and while I’m certain much of it is BS, I rarely hear or get responses from pros. I don’t mean praise or positive reinforcement, but a quick barb, thank you, disagreement, or whatever.
Last night, out of the blue, I did get a “thank you” on Twitter from Pedro Gomes for posting a picture of him at Ironman Wisconsin. I didn’t even tag his name under the photo because I wasn’t sure who he was. But now I know.
Not only did he thank me, he followed, responded again, then sent his email so I could link him some video I shot at the race.
Pedro Gomes, 3rd Place at Ironman Wisconsin 2014
It’s not a huge deal, but I thought it was cool, so I checked out his website, and Race Report (which included a photo credit for me). You can rest assured my friends will now be getting a taste of Pedro Gomes 1st place predictions.
A little Twitter love goes a long ways. I’ve heard from Jodie Swallow, Mirinda Cafrae, Ben Hoffman, and . . . well, that’s about it, but I definitely remember and talk about them.
I just think with all this talk about cutting pros out of races, etc, it would be in their best interests to build followings and marketable brands for coaching, merchandise, or general leverage with sponsors. I would certainly order a “Gomes Racing” or “I Follow The Swallow” t-shirt.
I really enjoy having pros at races and think it’s important for the integrity of the sport. But with the growing popularity of Ironman among the carnival goers, it makes you wonder if the pro circuit is losing some of its allure with race directors.
Here’s the official Crushing Iron video from Ironman Louisville 2014. This is been a pretty heavy year for me and some close friends (maybe more transitional) and I think this video sums up a lot of the feelings.
I really appreciate the support of everyone who travelled to see us tackle a very difficult day. Mom, Chris, Rebekah, Pete, Jim, and Allie were there every step of the way, and we all know spectating an Ironman is no walk in the park.
A special thanks to my brother Chris for capturing so many amazing moments with the camera, and to Sarah, who graciously watched my dog Mattie for the weekend.
Here’s to Robbie and Elyse who trained their asses off to rock Louisville.
I’ve written an Ironman Louisville race report, but feel like the run deserves a little more attention. Namely because it was the hardest and most confusing athletic endeavor I have ever experienced.
I say “athletic endeavor” but my journey was much more reminiscent of Fear Factor meets 65 “Ice Cup Challenges.”
The only thing I can compare it to was the run last year at Ironman Wisconsin. It was a very similar experience, but this year I felt much better getting off the bike, so the collapse is even more intriguing.
My run at Wisconsin was 4:23 and hurt every step. My Louisville time was 5:27 and damn near killed me.
God, that run. I don’t even know how to describe it other than a precession of 25 Aid Station hunts. One mile at a time, I blindly felt my way through darkness under searing sunlight. An endless mirage that tugged and taunted until the finish line was my only remaining option.
I mean, the heat is obviously the reason Louisville’s run turned me into a corn on the cob, but I still have deeper questions: When and how did it fall apart?
Did I push too hard on the bike? Sure didn’t feel like it. I nearly lived in the small ring, coasted all downhills and rarely felt like I was hammering. The main problem I had on the bike was my neck.
But, there is just no other reasoning that makes sense. I must have been much hotter on the bike than I realized. That, and/or I didn’t get enough fluids. I mean, how else could I be that hot, that fast on the run?
There is no doubt I ran my first mile too fast (9:38) but I honestly felt strong off the bike. It wasn’t until the first Aid Station when I started seeing two headed vulcans.
Exactly one mile into the marathon I was in survival mode. Volunteers were cooling water and Perform bottles in those little kiddie pools and all I could think about was parking my hot ass in the middle of their stash.
I also had a gut cramp, which didn’t help matters. I popped salt and chicken broth to no avail. Maybe I should have gone with more Perform? I just couldn’t even look at that stuff after the bike. I would have surely puked.
This run felt like trudging through a swamp on the hottest day of the year. My body, including my feet, were soaked, and nothing was drying off. BUT, that ice was certainly melting.
By the time I was a quarter mile away from the Aid Station, I was scrambling for any secret to save my melting ice. It was my personal cartoon where the character melts and seeps into the sewer grates.
All of my injuries were a mute point. They had ZERO to do with this run. My legs (and ribs) felt fine. It was just an overall feeling of sloth. A muddled and confused “forward is technically a pace” adventure.
There was a period of time when I felt outside my body, only be reminded by some very nice liar that I was looking good. “You look good, Mike, hang in there!”
I looked like shit and have video to prove it (which I will soon be releasing for the world to make fun of). It will be a public humiliation like never witnessed before. Life of Brian shit.
But, seriously, I’m glad I had the sense to spend time cooling my core. It could have been a very bad ending and we wouldn’t have had any video to laugh at later this month.
I did make it, but in typical me fashion, I’m a little pissed that I walked at all. I may not have been “run ready” for this race, but I think my legs where there. I really do. It is this core temperature thing that I don’t quite understand.
I was over an hour slower at Louisville than Wisconsin. I think I was in at least as good of shape . . . and clearly 20 degrees makes a big difference, but when and how did it go off the rails?
Racing Ironman is nearly as complex as the human immune system, and just like the body, sometimes it’s best not to overthink how it works.
My goal for this race was sub 12 hours and I was quietly confident it would be a reality. I was pretty sure I’d hit the run with about 4 1/2 hours to spare and that was true, but I was not prepared for furnace.
Pre-Race
Everyone gathered at the Downtown Marriott at 5:30 and we walked to transition. I carried a couple of pre-sliced Power Bars, some pretzel bits, and two water bottles. I had a tech fill my tires to 108 psi then racked my bike.
The age-grouper across from me was getting assistance on how to fill his tires and the volunteer kept telling him to stop pumping. The racer insisted he rolled at 140 psi and I couldn’t help but think that was asking for trouble in the heat.
Robbie and I decided to start in the back of the swim and waited for the line to come to us. We watched the pros, then about 1,000 others jump in before going to the top and loosening up. I’d put in a lot of time on swim and felt pretty good, but starting last had me a little nervous. You never know with Ironman, you just never know.
My goal was to swim below 1:15 with much less effort than I put in at Wisconsin to get 1:20.
The Swim
At about 7:30, the end of the line finally showed up and we climbed on the back. I had that eery pre-race calm again, but this time it felt like denial. A mere 5 minutes before an Ironman, it didn’t feel real. I didn’t believe I was actually doing it.
I took that as a good sign as Robbie and I walked down the pier completely calm. We exchanged a hand slap and jumped in the Ohio seconds apart.
I’d been working hard on my swim and my stroke was there from the beginning. I felt smooth, under control, and in no fear of panic. But, I had totally underestimated the congestion.
I’m not going to say the contact was like the mass start at Wisconsin, but it was close. Typically you feel the wake of someone as you approach and either sit in it or move around to pass them, but when they are breast stroking or treading water, it’s a different story.
I’d looked at the channel the day before by bike, so I knew it was longer than most thought, but despite many warnings I underestimated the distance to the turn buoy once you clear the island.
I’d heard stories about the Ohio River. The channel was just like any other body of water, but once I got out into the river, my under-water-visibility went from two feet to the other side of my goggle lens. There was about 50 yards when all I could see was brown silt. It was a little claustrophobic, but went away quick enough.
I’m guessing it’s around 400 yards from the end of the island to the turn buoy. Once I got around that, it was smooth sailing.
My swim strategy was to go easy to the end of the Island, go hard to the buoy, then find a nice-long-stroke-groove down stream. It worked nearly perfectly to the tune of 1:06.
T1
I can honestly say this may have been the best I’ve ever felt getting out of the water in a triathlon. Typically I’m breathing hard, and battling equilibrium, but on this day I was ready.
I jogged up the ramp and into transition. A volunteer handed me my bag, I put on shoes, shades, and my helmet, then bolted out of transition for sunscreen. I was about to pull my bike off the rack when I realized I was still wearing my swim skin!
I just started laughing and asked the volunteer if they would throw it into my bag, and of course, they said yes.
I grabbed my Trek and started walking. Then jogging . . . then naturally hit another gear. I felt great as I ran through the Swim Out and mounted my bike for a mysterious 112 mile ride. My time goal was to be at about 6 hours with less energy than I used at Wisconsin for 6:03.
The Bike
My plan was simple. Take the bike easy, stay in aero as much as possible, and occasionally push myself on the flats.
I was taking it by feel with an overall goal to ride easily through the first loop, work on the second, then cruise the final 25-30 easily back into transition.
I don’t wear a Garmin, heart monitor, or ride with a power meter. I totally go by feel and for the most part nailed this ride.
There were a lot of hills but none that made me notice or think about getting out of my saddle. Most of the time I found downhill momentum taking care of the next climb on the many rollers.
I’d talked with a lot of people about this course and by all indications the toughest section was the early out and back. It was two tough climbs with some fast and hairy downhills.
I didn’t find the climbs that difficult, but the hairiness was real.
Though not as narrow as I expected the road was jammed with people and on my first downhill (which I road in 1/2 aero with one hand on my back brake) I had a difficult time stopping before nearly slamming into a group at the bottom.
Once back onto the main road I thought to myself, if that was the worst of it, I may crush this ride. Well, it may have been the worst, but there was plenty of formidable challenges waiting.
In all, the hardest part for me was the mere distance. My longest ride of the year was 80 miles and that’s about the time my fatigue began to show.
It wasn’t so much my legs as it was my back and neck. It was getting very hard to look up from aero and hurt nearly as much to look down. It was a constant fight the last 30 miles.
I’d ridden mostly in aero during training, but after some reflecting I’ve decided the nature of my riding (which was mostly on a protected 1.2 mile loop) was with my head down. There was no traffic or danger of leaving the road so my neck didn’t get the training it needed.
I also swam mainly in a pool and wasn’t used to sighting as much so that awkward neck pain may have started with sighting the swim.
The ride was smooth, if not boring. Other than LaGrange and one little section right before it, there was virtually no crowd support. LaGrange helped, but the last 40 miles were barren and lonely.
They were also fast and it was hard to stick to my plan of taking it easy. Especially the last 15 miles when you’re so close and mainly downhill in the shade.
Speaking of which, the sun was behind clouds most of the bike, which was a huge break. I didn’t really notice it much at all, but did start thinking about it as I cruised home on River Road under the trees. I knew it was there, but didn’t want to acknowledge its presence.
I felt strong cruising in at 5:56 and, other than my neck, thought I was ready to finish Ironman Louisville with a bang.
T2
I didn’t hear the part about Bike Dismount being moved to the edge of the road instead of right before the “Bike In” and it cost me. Instead of leaving my shoes on the pedals 15 yards away from handing off my bike I was now running 100 yards down a concrete path in my bike shoes.
It was not going well and I actually stopped early to take them off and run the rest barefoot. This, didn’t go very well either, but I made it into transition, grabbed my bag and headed to the tent for round two.
I was rolling the dice with this run. Nothing was pointing to a good time. My achilles forced me to more or less take the last two months off. My longest run in that time was 5 miles. I upped my bike and swim frequency, did a lot of strength and balance exercises, but not much running at all. Still, I believed I could pull off a miracle and as I ran out of transition, I thought it would come true.
The Run
My support crew was waiting right outside transition and gave me a huge boost. Jim ran along with me for a couple hundred yards checking my vitals and I assured him “I felt great.” We slapped hands and I was off on a journey I will not soon forget.
I really did feel good. I had no foot pain and my bruised rib hadn’t bothered me all day. Could I pull this thing off with virtually no run training? I would soon have my answer.
By the time I reached the first Aid Station, my fortunes had taken a dramatic turn. I suddenly felt like I was in a sauna for the last 9:38 (Despite my effort to go slow, my first mile was much too fast). I couldn’t get enough ice water in or on me.
I was so hot that a mere ten minutes into my run I was concerned about my health. If I couldn’t get my core temperature under control, there would be no finish line.
This would be my ultimate test of patience.
I held ice in my hands, dumped more in my shorts, and tied a bandana full of it to secure on my head. I was a moving melt down.
My Garmin band broke in T2 so I was resetting my chrono watch at every mile marker. My vision was playing tricks in the heat, but I was becoming more disappointed by the moment as I kept seeing 11+ minutes for my pace.
I’m sure a minute of that time was being spent walking through Aid Stations. I mean, I was loading up with ice. I couldn’t get enough. I was walking through all the sprinklers and even crossed the road to have a guy to hose me down front, back, and sideways. It was desperation mode and I had no answer.
Adding to the discomfort was a stomach cramp for which I had no solution. This was all new territory for me. I was digging into my gut trying to release that pressure. I tried yelling it away, drinking chicken broth, Coke, downing salt, all to no avail. It was fruitless, and on top of it all I felt like there was not enough water in the world to quench my thirst. I pounded water, which I’m guessing only fueled the cramps.
My first 13.1 miles were around 2:15 and if I could have repeated that feat, I would have hit my goal of sub 12 hours. But as I limped halfway into the Finisher’s Chute, I could think of nothing in the world I wanted to do less than run that loop again. I was an emotional wreck as volunteers held out my Special Needs bag, which I regretfully declined.
In reflection, I cannot believe I did not change my socks at that point. In fact, in the future I will have a spare pare of insoles waiting too.
My feet were soaked and dry socks may have been a huge relief, but I was still in cooling mode and knew I would pour water on them at the next Aid Station. It all seemed hopeless as I headed out to another “turnaround” that seemed like it would never come.
Everyone I asked about this run course said there was “zero shade,” and I was finally starting to believe them. It got to the point where I would see a 10 foot patch of shade from an overhanging tree and get an erection.
I ran the entire way (other than Aid Stations) to mile marker 16 but there was something about that number, and more specifically the fact that I had 10 miles left (and had to run them all at 10 minutes or less to hit my goal) that ruined me. I started to run/walk.
I honestly didn’t know if I could make it. Ten more miles seemed unreasonable and frankly not worth it. My core was still hot, but now it was the blisters.
At mile 20 I sat on the side of the road to take off my shoe because I thought a toenail had fallen off and was lodged under my foot. That was the sensation, but my toes were “fine.”
I was highly disappointed in myself for walking. I have never understood or been a fan of walking the marathon at the end of an Ironman. In some ways it seems like a failure to me, like you don’t deserve to be called an Ironman.
But even walking was hard.
My walk/run plan was 2:00 of walking followed by 4:00 of running. It was holding up fairly well, but somewhere around mile 22.5 a guy in my age group walked next to me and said, “I want to run right now, but can’t really think of any good reason to do it.” I agreed with him and that was my longest walk section of the day, probably a half mile.
He was right. It didn’t seem worth it.
It is very cruel to watch your dream dwindle away while the clock is still ticking. I knew 12 hours was long gone and even 12:30, but I did not want to flirt with 13. So with roughly 3 miles to go, I wished him luck and decided I was done with Aid Stations and walking. I would run this home.
Shortly thereafter, I surmised that it was now less painful to run than walk. I focused everything I had on consistent, short strides and barreled ahead. That is what I wanted to do for the entire race, but for some reason, I couldn’t get it straight in my mind. I didn’t want it bad enough.
Now, I just wanted it to be over.
I was nearly 140 miles into my journey and I was running. This sport is so mental.
The finish line tugged at me and I no longer needed water or ice. I just needed to be done.
When I turned the final corner and saw the majestic Louisville finish line, I was temporarily ready to do it again. I zipped up my jersey, straightened my visor and floated down the chute. Where was this energy 10 miles ago?
I was all alone as I ran down the carpet, scanning the crowd for my team. And right before I crossed under the arch, I saw them on the left and veered off for a quick hug. It was perfect, and I stood on the finish line 12 hours and 42 minutes after I started.
The hardest thing I’ve ever done, was over.
My brother, Rebekah, and my mom. The best support crew on the planet!
Me with Pete who drove down from Wisconsin. We’ve stayed friends since freshman year of college.
So, I’m living most men’s dream come true. In a downtown hotel with a bachelorette party in the next room. Too bad it’s the night before my Ironman.
I ran into the mother of the bride and told her the deal and she suggested I meet the girls. I explained that I have spent a lot of years in their shoes and don’t want to be a dick about it, but just wanted to know their schedule.
They assured me they will be going out fairly early, coming home late and passing out. Last night they were true to their form. I actually woke up around 3:30 and heard them coming up the hallway going, “Shhh” to each other.
Pretty cool… in reality, if I get to sleep early enough and they come home around 4:00 that would be a perfect way to wake up. I’m still weighing the option of trading rooms with my mom, however.
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We’re headed to transition soon to cheek our bikes and drop bags. I hope to have a pre-race report after dinner.
One note, we did a practice swim, bike, run today and the most noticeable factor is the current of the river. It rained like mad last night so the current is pretty strong for the down stretch. Swimming into it, however, is no picnic. Luckily most of that .6 or so miles up stream is protected.
It is definitely hot, but appears it won’t be the reported 100 degrees. I am serious when I say this, but I truly think I would rather be biking or running in this heat rather than walking. Yeah, I say that now.
