I’m sore!
It’s a good soreness - I earned it. And I’m glad to have a day off to regroup, recover, and get a massage. I don’t think I’ll be eager to do any hard workouts for a week or so.
Ironman Louisville was an amazing experience. Twenty-one years after my first Ironman, I got the bug again. What was I thinking?
One of the things I’ve learned about myself over years of endurance athletics is that I need to give myself challenges to keep it interesting. The Longest Day double century, Hillier Than Thou, a cross country ride, the LBI 18-mile run. Doing another Ironman was an experiment: how would my almost 41-year-old body fare, compared to my 20-year-old body. I didn’t have lofty expectations. 21 years ago I was racing my bike professionally, running 50 miles per week, and swimming almost every day with some really talented training partners to push me. Aside from a couple of hours of college classes each day, I had plenty of time to train and get quality sleep. No responsibilities or obligations. Things are different now: a hectic full-time job, a thriving coaching business, a wife, a dog, a commute, and never enough hours in the day.
It can be said that the reason a marathon is such a challenge is that it will reveal any weakness you have. This is so much more true where an Ironman distance race is concerned. Knowing this, I was foolish to set any goals. Twelve hours? It sounded feasible, but I knew it would be tough. Here’s the story in statistics (I was bib#1461) and photos.
I began to taper down my training three weeks ago, lessening the intensity and volume after a killer week where I did a 2.5 mile swim followed by a 70-mile hard hill ride, attacked hard 2-miles out and foiled the sprint on the Wednesday Night ride, rode 102 miles and ran 4 miles on Saturday, then ran 22 miles in 3:05 on Sunday. I tried to get more sleep than I had been (I’ve been subsisting on 5-6 hours per night for a long time). I tried to stay off my feet when I could (although that’s tough with my jobs at Jay’s and Endurance Guru). Regardless, I was exhausted the day before we left for Louisville. Fortunately, I was able to get a couple of good nights of sleep prior to the race.
Jen, Winston and I drove partway out on Thursday, spending a few hours in Columbus with our friends Matt and Carolyn and their little girl Lauren. It was awesome to catch up with them for the first time in over a year. We joined in their regular Thursday volleyball match, then enjoyed huge plates of spaghetti and meatballs. Then before it got too late, we hit the road south to Mom’s house outside Wilmington, Ohio. Arriving tired at 10:30, we went straight to bed and slept for 11 hours straight. We spent the day with Mom, enjoying a nice walk in the woods around the farm, and breathing in clean country air. I took my bike for a final test ride, an easy hour to loosen my legs. After dinner we drove to Dad’s house in Cincinnati, then hung out and relaxed until he got home from the airport with my sister Catherine. Dad hosted brunch in the morning, with Martha, John, Jim and Curt joining us. It was a nice sendoff. We gave Winston hugs - poor dog thought we were abandoning him - and hit the road for Louisville.
We arrived in Louisville, checked into the hotel, and scrambled to get to check in, stow the bike in the transition, and drop off gear bags for the bike and run. All deadlines met, we had dinner at Maker’s Mark. It was really tough to dine in the capital of Kentucky bourbon and not have a sampling. A quick dessert at the Seelbach Hilton, then up to our room for some sleep.
I woke easily with the 4:45 wakeup call. Nervous energy, I suppose. Ate a banana and a cranberry muffin, then got the last of my gear together. We walked the mile to the transition area in the dark, charged with adrenaline. Jen was more tense than I was, with jagged nerves from restless sleep. Double-checked the bike, then walked the 3/4 mile path to the swim start. The swim was a time-trial start, so even though the gun went off at 7 am, the officials sent us off into the water every couple of seconds to minimize congestion in the narrow channel between Towhead Island and the riverbank. Finally, at 7:29 I leapt off the dock and into the murky Ohio River.
Leading up to this race, my swimming was my biggest concern. I have never been a good swimmer, and I basically started from ground zero in my buildup. My friend Amy, who is a fantastic and patient coach, was a tremendous help. Without her help I couldn’t have done it. Everything went okay, though. Swimming in open water before sunrise with 2300 other jostling bodies is never easy, especially when you start out swimming upstream. Between the island and the riverbank it wasn’t awful, but then we veered out past the end of the island into the main current, and the real struggle began. I had a tough half mile to the turnaround, which took me twice as long as a half mile usually would have. But after the turn I could relax a bit and use the current to help me a bit. I found a rhythm and tried, with little success, to swim straight downriver. Fortunately, my zigzagging only added perhaps a hundred extra meters to my swim. My lower back was getting really sore, and I was having difficulty gliding as a result. My calves and feet started cramping too. But finally the last bouy appeared ahead, and I was climbing onto the dock 1:57 after I started. Jen was so relieved to see me, and I was celebrating a minor victory already. But I had started about 1900th of 2300, and there were only about 65 swimmers still in the water behind me. I had some work to do.
My transition was fine, about 4 minutes. I struggled a bit putting on my jersey, and tried futilely to slap on some suncreen. I wolfed down a gel and another banana, then hit the road. Swimming makes you tired in a different way than running or cycling. You feel spent, but there is no soreness. You just are aware that you aren’t as strong as you should be. I started fine, cruising easily at 21 mph into a slight headwind, passing other riders by the dozen. On every climb I passed more and more riders, trying to spin and conserve my strength. The wind from the east picked up, and the heat and humidity began to rise. The Ohio Valley is famous for its jungle-like humidity, and this day was a shining example. I was feeling really good 4.5 hours in when I reached Lagrange, KY where Jen, Dad, and Catherine were waiting to cheer me on. It gave me a boost to see them. But the next 20 miles started to get tough. The course was hilly, which was fine, but it was starting to take a toll. The wind got stronger, and the heat rose to 93º. I was drinking a bottle of gatorade and a bottle of water every hour, plus a Powergel. But pushing hard into the wind was starting to kill me. I started fighting off cramps at mile 55, and soon had to stop for a moment to cool off in the shade and massage my screaming feet and quads. I got back on the bike after a couple of minutes and felt great until the pros, who were on their second lap of the bike course, 28 miles ahead of me, started passing me, their carbon aero wheels making ripping noises as they blasted past. When I passed through Lagrange again at mile 73, my feet were on fire and my gut was a mess from way too much Gatorade Endurance and Powergel. I fought off nausea, and my back started to ache. As my body tightened up, the strain in my neck and shoulders worsened, and I just began to feel weak. Without warning, cramps would seize my quads. My average speed dropped, and I wasn’t passing too many other riders anymore. When I finally made the turn west back toward Louisville around mile 85, I didn’t have the strength to capitalize on the tailwind. I wasn’t alone, though. Far ahead and far behind, a long line of riders looked like they might fall off their bikes any second.
I arrived back at the transition area just under 9 hours after I started. The bike, usually my strength, had been a vicious struggle. Almost 300 competitors never made it past this point. I sat in the shade of the changing tent of a few long minutes, battling my tight quads and hamstrings to reach down and tie my running shoes. Some ice water down my back, half a banana, and I pulled myself up and started to run. 3 steps. And then I walked a bit. And then I ran 20 steps before walking again. As I left the transition area, Jen joined me and ran alongside me for half a mile, pushing me on. I picked it up again and kept going, starting a marathon in 93º heat at 4:30 pm on the shadeless streets of Louisville. Even crueler, the course was comprised of two out-and-back laps on 2nd Avenue, so all the elite athletes who were about to finish were running the opposite direction, flying strongly toward the end of their suffering. 21 years ago, that was me. Different time, different body, different life. But that was something I had to let go of a long time ago. This time I cheered them on as they pushed to the finish.
I ran as much as I could, but between dehydration, minor back spasms, and very tight legs, I could manage only a half mile of running at a time. I would hold a slow but steady 10-minute mile pace as long as I could, but would feel like I was going anaerobic. When you’re dehydrated you lose blood plasma volume and your pulmonary system is compromised. As a result, my muscles couldn’t get enough oxygen to go even that slow without redlining. So I would powerwalk at about a 14-minute mile pace. I drank icewater, gatorade, and de-fizzed Coke at every fluid station, and munched on pretzel sticks to get some salt. Sponges with ice cold water provided a few moments of heat relief. The thousands of volunteers who worked so hard at every aid station were amazing, and their cheering and encouragement kept me moving forward. The balls of my feet were on fire, and the toenails on my left foot felt like they were starting to come off. The first 10 miles of the run seemed interminable, but the the sun started to drop, and so did the temperature, bit by bit. Coming back into downtown at mile 13, Dad and Cath and Jen were waiting, cheering loudly. Jen handed her camera to Catherine and started running with me again, determined to stay with me the rest of the way. The loop passed 50 yards from the finish before veering away for another long lap, tantalizing and crushing all of us.
It was awesome to have Jen with me. We managed a steady run/walk as the sun set, eating up the miles. My gut and legs were feeling better as I rehydrated and cooled off, but my back was trashed. I had to stop twice and lie down flat to stop the spasms. The pain robbed me of so much strength. But Jen wouldn’t let me rest too long, and we made slow but steady progress. As we passed other runners, we cheered them on, inspired by the forward momentum of so many others suffering in unison. I began to run for longer and longer stretches, and finally the mile 25 sign approached. Jen dashed ahead to wait for me at the finish, motoring even after enduring a half marathon with me. I can’t remember how my body felt over that last mile. I was numb but celebratory. Coming into the finish I felt stronger than ever. Thousands of people were cheering me on, and adrenaline pushed me forward.
And then, relief.
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