IM FL Race Report (long)

I actually slept the night before. That makes me 2/2 in Ironman sleeping. I woke up at 4:00 that morning. I forced a banana, ensure and PB bagel down. I was relatively calm which pleased me. I retrieved my bottles from the freezer and double checked my special needs bags. I made it to transition around 5:15, found a body marker (missed Sarah by 10 feet...doh!) dropped off the bags, pumped the tires and did a brief walk through. I had tons of nervous energy and felt like there was so much more to do in transition. (per previous blog, you drop off your bike and gear the day before so there really is nothing to do). I decided to get away from transition and find a quiet place. We decided to enter the host hotel and hang out in the hallway. I was able to just lie there, relaxing before the big day.

Around 6:15 the nervous energy was getting to me. I needed to be moving. I roamed the hallway for a few minutes shaking out the legs. And then I decided it was time to put on the wetsuit and get moving. At 6:30, I entered the chaos otherwise known as IM swim start. 2200 athletes in black neoprene. 100s of volunteers and 1000s of spectators. I luckily found my parents and gave them the only acknowledgment they would receive for the next 12 hours. I jumped in the water for a few minutes to splash around and see how I felt...so far so good.

In retrospect, it is really funny to look at pictures from that morning. I was locked in. I don't recall the pros going off. I don't recall the national anthem. I assume that I was mentally prepping for the day. Or peeing myself.

Last year at IM CDA, I feared the swim. I lined up far to the right and about 10 people back so I would steer clear of the melee. And I still got the snot beat out of me. This year, I had a different approach. I lined up right on the buoy line about 3 deep...right behind a big guy (this never works). I was going to fight it out.

The cannon went off and we waded into the water across the sandbar. Some dolphined, some swam, some just walked. I hit the water with a shot and instantly found my stroke and a place to swim. Well until I came upon two women. My goal was to go hard for the first 3-5 minutes and try to get out in the front. Well that worked for the most part. Until everyone else caught me. And the war began. Someone once described the IM swim as a whirlpool of hands, elbows and feet. That's correct. You are getting hit from every direction. I luckily managed to steer clear of any shots to the face. But arms and hands were all over my legs and lower back. That just causes you to sink. I recall thinking that I finally understand how people drown in this sport.

I have a disadvantage in the water. One I am not big enough. Two I am not aggressive enough. So I don't fight back as much. So the the next 10 minutes were a blur of trying to swim, clearing my goggles and surviving. There was no need to site as I followed feet in front of me and seemed to be inside the buoy line. Just before the first turn buoy it cleared up for a few moments, then back into the clusterf*ck. I rounded both turn buoys and set my sights on returning home for the first lap. People were everywhere. I wasn't drafting very well and couldn't see ahead very efficiently.

As we made it closer to shore people began standing up and walking. I stayed in the water and just glided with the waves. It was effortless. I finally stood up as I was closer to the shore. I glanced at the blurry clock and it read 31:xx. Sweet. I went to clear my goggles and realized my vision was still blurry. As I am walking towards the shore, I realized that my left contact in no longer in my eye. A million thoughts race through my head. There is NO way I can race with only one contact...I would get too nauseous and be a risk on the bike. I search for it some more hoping it is resting in the corner of my eye, but I can't feel anything.

When I reach the beach, I look in my goggles hoping that it didn't get washed away. My pace slows to a crawl as I move to the side and let other athletes through. I FIND it...just hanging on the lip of the goggle. I proceed to the water station and grab a cup from the volunteers. I proceed toward the water and grab the nearest volunteer for help. She was shocked and didn't know what to do. I told her to hold my arm and to keep me calm. At this point I am doing my best to NOT freak out. I keep reminding myself that it is a long day and I have only competed for 30 minutes.

The contact is folded over. And it didn't want to unfold. My biggest fear at this point is that sand was going to tear it. Her hands are full of sand so I tell her to keep doing what she is doing. We solicit the help of another volunteer who brings me some water. I pour it in my hand hoping the water cause the contact to open. Nothing. I keep rubbing it hoping it will unfold. Nothing. I recall looking up and taking a deep breath. The funniest parts are that both volunteers are frantic and are telling me to calm down. I reply, I am calm. The crowd around us has gone silent. They are eager staring wondering what the outcome will be.

I tell the second volunteer to pour some more water in my hand. As he does, he adds too much and it washes out. Patience at its finest. I tell the first volunteer to not move. I lift my hand to make sure it isn't clinging to a hair follicle or something. I look at her hands and then look down. The water made imprints in the sand so I know where about it may have landed. As I begin to squat down, I see it hanging on the first volunteers thumb. BINGO! They both let out a huge sigh. I add more water and it finally unfolds. I let her guide me in putting it in my eye and I have sight again!!! The small crowd cheers and I take off running for the water. Total time lost: 3-5 minutes. I will add that in 3 years of swimming, I have NEVER lost a contact

I spent the first half of the second lap trying to mentally re-engage. My body thought it was done swimming with the whole contact fiasco. The situation definitely threw me off my game. It was really hard to not focus on the issue. I tried to maintain the long swim strokes. I made the second turn buoy and started thinking about transition and hopping off the bike. I made it to the shore and saw 1:10:xx on the clock. Sweet. That was my goal.

I found an available wetsuit stripper to take off my suit. I nearly bypassed this part because I didn't want sand all over me. I came out of the water with a whole heap of people so I knew transition was going to be a madhouse. Experience really pays in Ironman transitions. I wasn't going to change so that cut down the time. My plan was to run to the transition exit to find a spot and a volunteer. So many people take the first seat they see and the congestion starts there. This worked flawlessly. I got the seat next to the exit and grabbed a volunteer who was standing outside.

He dumped my stuff in front of me while I briefly dried off. He then sorted everything out and even put on my race belt for me. He rolled up my arm warmers and pulled them up my arms. How awesome is that. I was in and out in no time. I went out running and beat the volunteer to my bike.

I spent the first few miles on the bike trying to get settled. It was really cold out and I mentally kept telling myself to stop bitching. After about 10 minutes I started my nutrition plan. My goal for the first portion of the bike was to get my HR down into z2. It is really difficult to not get caught up in the race when you have dozens of people flying past you. I wished the hammerheads well and knew that I would see them again.

I set a pretty aggressive goal for the bike. My bike fitness has come so far, I just wanted to have a good bike. 20+ mph or roughly 5:30-5:35. I set my garmin to take splits every 14 miles or 1/8th of the course. I knew I had to average 42 minutes to meet my goal. I hit the first 14 miles at 43:23. Hmm. I could tell I was going slower than anticipated but my HR was down so I tried to remain calm.

As I continued north on 79, I was growing increasingly unhappy. I felt like my legs had no power or energy. It was too early to kick but I wasn't having fun and was losing my mental edge. 28 mile split: 42:55. A bit better but not where I want to be. Now I am a bit more concerned about my race.

The difficult part of a flat Ironman is that people get bunched together very easily. Florida is notorious for drafting. As expected 1000 athletes got on the bike within 5 minutes of one another. Around mile 30 they caught me. I tried to fight the urge to jump into the peloton, so I moved to the right. Next thing I know, I am boxed in and can't move. Not good. I work my way through the peloton but don't want to over exert myself trying to pass them only to have them catch me again. This games goes on for about 10 miles. At some points we were riding 5 wide and sitting up on the bike chatting.

This didn't do much for my mindset. It was nice because the drafting caused my heartrate to bottom out. Put I was pissed because I knew I was a much better rider than this. So I decided to make a move. I pulled into the other lane and started hammering. I was going to force a good ride out of myself. And this seemed to work. I just set my eyes on the athlete in front of me and went for them. I let go of HR for a while and worked on finding my groove. This seemed to work. 42 mile split: 38:22. Sweet.

The special needs bags came a bit earlier than anticipated at about mile 46. I exchanged my bottles for new ones. They were still frozen. Oops. Oh well, gotta go. I got through special needs MUCH faster than most people. I gave the volunteer my arm warmers (even got them back). That was it. No issues, no decisions. When I turned onto 231 I was back in the zone. I made it to the 56 mile mark in 2h 44m. Right on target. Split was 39:30 including the brief stop.

I put the hammer down on 231. I just lowered my head and watched the white line below me. A couple of guys were on my wheel and I let it go. Ride my race. We turned onto the next road which was brutal. It had rivets about every 10 feet. They were brutal enough to make you think your wheel was going to flat at each moment. Then we turned north and I felt the first headwind of the day. It didn't make matters easier that it was a slight incline. I just shook my head at the people trying to hammer it.

The next turn was a brief out and bike. It still had a small incline and slight wind. I hit the 70 mile mark with a 41:40 split. Not bad for the conditions. I made it to the 73 mile timing mat. Then some ass tried to shoot through the turnaround and it bumped me around the cones, hence I missed the mat. People started telling me to go back because I was going to get dq'd. Right. I am sure I am the only one to miss a tight turnaround. Plus, I have the course loaded on my garmin. I am sure that is the least of an IM ref's concerns.

My race plan said to pick it up at mile 75 and push it. I decided that it wasn't time. I was in my rhythm again and felt really good. There was a slight tailwind on 388 and I came zipping through to the 84 mile split at 39:13. I was feeling really good. I tried to pick it up a bit at mile 85. The body didn't want to push. I decided that I had an aggressive pace and felt VERY comfortable. No need to change that. When I hit 79 again, I still felt fresh and I was picking off people left and right. I hit the 98 mile split in 38:22. Even better. I felt like I was getting stronger as the ride was going.

The final turn onto Front Beach was the worst stretch. You knew that you were so close, yet so far away. I swear that road continued on. It seemed like 3-4 miles on the out but 50 on the return. I just focused on keeping my head down occasionally chatting with the 2-3 guys I was riding with.

Two things worked really well for me on the bike. My nutrition plan was solid. I made it through 5 bottles of Infinit for a total 1425 calories. I had a 6th bottle as backup but didn't need it. I also stopped taking on calories with about 15-20 minutes to go. Secondly, I stayed cool. I took a water bottle from every station starting at mile 40. I would always dump the excess on my head before disposing of it. The day wasn't hot but getting warm was something the plagued me big time in training.

So I made it back to the transition in 5:23 or 20.7 mph. Awesome. And the best part is that I didn't feel trashed at all. I felt like I had really sandbagged the last 30 miles but it worked.

I hopped off the bike, handing it to the volunteer as I made my way to get my bag. My only complaint in the day is that this part was a bit chaotic. I could have gotten my t2 bag much quicker than the volunteer. Oh well. I entered the tent with a plan to be quick. I again saved time by not changing. I quickly wiped off my feet, added some body glide and slid on my shoes. I was off in 3:21 and heard Jess yelling on the hill

The run was literally my achilles. Given my ITBS injury, I had NO clue what to expect. My plan was to run until I was tired and then begin to improvise to just get through it. I instantly felt some pain in my kne and I wasn't happy. I just needed to settle into a groove and go. I instantly grabbed some sponges to keep me cool. I put two in my tri top, one on the back of my neck and one on the small of my back. I saw the Marcs early on and hollered at them. I felt like I was moving at a snails pace. I hit the first mile-8:17. Oops. WAY too fast. I spent the next mile trying to establish that race pace.

I passed my family during mile 2. I acknowledged them briefly but I was locked into my race at this point. I just wanted to have a good run out to the park. I thought that would dictate the rest of the day. So I gave them a slight wave and moved forward. I stopped mile 3 for a gel and some water. I needed to gel every 3 miles. At this point it was getting hot. It was roughly 2 pm and though the temperature was moderate the sun was beating down. I did a good job of grabbing 2-4 cups of water and dumping them on my head (the sponges catch them and keep you cool).

At this point I decided to switch to walking every aid station. This was going to be the only way I would stay hydrated and cool. So the game became-make it to the next aid station....make it to the next aid station. I was still holding a solid 9 minute pace. I made it to the 6.55 turnaround in 58 minutes. Awesome. I knew that was a bit fast but I was a quarter through the marathon.

The best part about an out and back is getting to see friends. You can encourage one another at several points. Around mile 8, I felt the day's intensity set it. I was beginning to really tire. I looked at my watch and was about 1:15 into the run. My longest run in training was about 80 minutes. I was at the wall. This is where breaking down the marathon into shorter increments really help. I was still locked into my run so I concentrated on just making it to the next aid station (theme of the day).

I cruised through the next 6.55 miles in just under 65 minutes. I was half way home. I finished the first marathon in 2h 4m or roughly 9:30 pace. My most optomistic goal for the day was 9:30-10:00 pace. I was feeling good. I also peaked at the finishers clock. I started calculating splits in my head. Needless to say that after 9 hours of working out your math is a bit off. It was fuzzy and I couldn't make sense of it at all.

I bypassed my special needs bag as there was nothing I needed. I continued to play the aid station game and just focused on making it back out to the part. On this stretch, I realized I was behind on my nutrition. I was starting to slow down and wonder if the wheels were finally coming off. My walks at aid stations started to become a bit longer. I was grabbing anything wet I could...gatorade, water, cola, water, ice. Repeat.

In retrospect, this was the difference in the race. A week later I am still shocked that I didn't crack during this stretch. It was a struggle to make it back out to the park as I took me about 70 minutes at a 10:37 pace. Once I hit the turn around, I let out a huge sigh. I had a 10k to run. As I made it past the Inspirational Mile, I saw the race clock. Grrrr. It read 10:02:xx. That means I have 57 minutes to push a 10k and break 11 hours. That's going to take a lot...but I am going to push it.

I push and the body pushes back. The legs ask what the hell I am thinking. I still try to push through the pain. It hurts. I hit the next aid station, take a final gel and one of everything. I continue to push, grimacing at nearly every step. I am looking at my watch trying to do more fuzzy math. It isn't happening. I came out of the park and just starred down Thomas Dr. I knew that just beyond my sight was the finish line. It was just my job to get there...in one piece. I could feel my pace beginning to slightly increase.

At mile 23, I prepared to start skipping aid stations. But the pain was too much. Just like the bike, what I was doing was working and it didn't seem worthwhile to change that approach. I thought about it again at mile 24. Just keep doing what you are doing and you will get there faster. The wheels were just barely hanging on and I didn't want to disrupt that process. With about a 1.5 miles left I could hear Mike Reilly's voice in the background. That is always motivating.

I pushed harder and prepared for the pain. A quick glance at my watch said it was going to be really close. I knew I was in the range of sub-11 and I wanted it really bad. But my body wanted to stop. I pushed and my pace dropped under 10:00 miles. When I saw my 25 mile split, I knew I wouldn't make it. It needed to be low 8's. I passed the Marcs and Street started trying to pace me. I pushed but couldn't keep up with his drunken jog. I really thought I would be overwhelmed with emotions as I was last year. I guess pushing at a more intense pace for 4 hours will drain you of everything. My final mile, however, was at a 9:21 pace. Final marathon time 4:20...just under 10:00 pace

The emotions really show at the finish line. I wanted to enjoy a slow job and take in the moment. But the emotions got the best of me because it was just a blur. I crossed the finish line at 11:03:36.

I think I was finally able to acknowledge my parents as I saw them standing to the left of the finish line. I grabbed a volunteer to guide me through the melee at the finisher's line. I nearly bypassed the photo. Then I found my parents and siblings. I was extremely nauseous and lightheaded. The minute I stopped I was ready to drop as the adrenaline was quickly leaving my body. I told Jess to get me to a place where I can lie down. Unfortunately the only place was the medical tent. They took my vitals and brought me hydration. About 20-25 minutes later I was ready to go. I just needed some warm clothes. I made my way to the food tent, grabbing a few slices of pizza and more importantly a place to sit down. I was done. Ironman Florida 2008...Done!