Well, Ironman number 5 is in the books. The question always comes up. "What are you doing next?" Well, I've made at least one decision. I joined the TNT run team, and am doing the Honolulu Marathon.
Why? Well, I've never run a marathon. Well, sort-of. I've never run "just a marathon." It's something I'd like to try. And what better way to do it, than through TNT. I haven't been a TNT participant in five years, so it's fun to go back and re-live the excitment of the first time.
What about Ironman? Well... My current plan is to take 2007 off from Ironman. Of course, I am still coaching Ironteam 2006 and 2007, and will be watching at least two Ironmans in the next few weeks. So it's entirely possible I'll get caught up in the excitement and sign up for number six.
The annual "Run with Louie" day for the Ironteam is always good for some inspiration. A good reminder of why we choose to train with the team, and to raise so much money. It got me thinking, and reflecting on the last time I saw Louie smile.
It was a cold early morning in January 2002. My friends and I made the trek up to San Francisco before sunrise. Louie was carrying the torch. He didn't have much time left. He had been given a couple months to live. There were lots of logistics involved in getting Louie from the hospital to Fort Point that morning, especially when he didn't have his doctors' permission. In a rather bizarre version of the "telephone" game, the story got wilder and wilder as it passed through the TNT grapevine. At one point it involved our TNT manager flirting with paramedics at Starbucks to get them to donate their time.
We had been talking, at the hospital, about who would push Louie in his wheelchair. Everybody wanted to do it, but we figured it would be Aggie. I think none of us knew what to expect that morning. I was expecting to stand on the side of the road, and watch Louie "ride" by in the wheelchair.
When the morning arrived, there were hundreds of spectators. TNT shirts everywhere. Old friends, Louie's relatives, everybody was on hand to watch the torch relay. The ambulance came and Louie was lowered down in his wheelchair. When the torch was near, Louie surprised us all and stood up. It was a quarter mile, and no matter how he hurt, and no matter how weak he was, he was going to walk it.
So who was going to push the wheelchair? Nobody. Who was going to walk with him? Everybody. In what must have been unique in the entire torch relay, it was one small, frail man carrying the torch... surrounded by hundreds of cheering supporters... walking en-masse towards Fort Point and the Golden-Gate Bridge.
There was no shortage of cheers or tears that day. It was amazing to know that just four months earlier, Louie had finished the Ironman. Just four days earlier, he had been diagnosed to be in the Blast Crisis, and given two to four months to live. Just hours earlier he expected to be pushed in his wheelchair. But when the time came, he stood up, smiled, and carried the torch held high.
After posing for what must have been hundreds of pictures, Louie went back into the ambulance and back to the hospital. The word went out that hospital visits would be limited to family only. Louie went to sleep that afternoon and never woke up. Over the next few days his bedside was visited by a steady stream of friends. We all came by to pay our respects to our fallen hero, and say one last goodbye. He passed away a few days later, in the middle of the night, with his father at his side.
My last picture with Louie (and Rain)... 1/19/2002
It's been two weeks since CDA. In those two weeks, I can't remember how many times I've been asked, "How long does it take to recover from an Ironman?"
It's a complicated question.
The first recovery is at-rest. The swelling in my feet went down in a couple days. The muscle soreness was gone in about 2 days. By day 3, the small sunburn and chafing was all healed. Certainly within a week, I felt almost normal. Luckily, for the first week I was off work, since I was sleeping 9-10 hours a night!
The second recovery is while exercising. I've tried to do my active recovery on the bike. On July 4th, I went for an hour ride around the Portola Loop. I felt great, and my time was quite fast for me. Then, I realized that the wind was blowing me up the hills. I've done 2-3 other rides, either short, or slow (supporting runners). The legs feel ok. Ready to take the next step.
Monday I did my first run. I started easy - just two miles. It felt... ok. My heartrate was a bit high for the pace I was running, but that's to be expected. Legs were a little heavy, but it usually takes me three miles to feel normal anyway, so maybe that's a good sign.
The hardest recovery is mental, and it really comes in two parts. First, you need to have the mental desire to get back out there... to deal with the inevitable post-Ironman let-down. In that case, I'm doing fine. I have some goals for the off-season, and am starting to think about my goals for next season (we'll talk about that later). Second, I just need to do it. Get up... stop watching the Tour de France... Get out there... GET OFF THE COUCH!
In the weeks leading up to Ironman Coeur d’Alene, I would look at least once a day at the weather report. On the weekend before the race, it was mostly cloudy and 73: Ideal conditions for an Ironman. When race day (Sunday, June 25) came into the “long-term forecast,” the weather sites were predicting mid to high 70s. As best I can tell this is the “average” temperature for this week in Northern Idaho. I had high hopes that the weather sites were right. They weren’t.
I arrived on Thursday afternoon, the weather was beautiful, in the high 70s. According to the shuttle driver, they were predicting high 90s on race day. WHAT?? Yahoo only showed the mid 80s. As the gang arrived and we spent the next few days getting ready, every time I checked the forecast, it was rising. In the morning they forecast 88. After lunch it was 90. It was going to be a scorcher! Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.
By Friday morning, most of the crew had arrived. We spent the morning going through all the Ironman rituals: Registration… merchandise tent… checking out the transition area… merchandise tent…short swim… short bike… short run… visit to the ART tent to work out all the kinks in our bodies. In general, the stress level wasn’t too high, we had fun basking in the glow of all the Ironman experience.
In one tent at the expo, they were selling a super-fancy “Ironman” scale - $130 if you’re interested. Several of us tried it out. Two things that I have been saying for a long time are now scientifically proven to be true:
I am big-boned.
Mike Booth is a skinny-ass-punk.
After a fitful night’s sleep with some strange dreams, Saturday morning dawned. From our hotel parking lot, we could see one of those lighted message boards… “No Credit… Bad Credit… We can help!!…. 9:15 AM… 83 F”
Most of the gang went off to drive the course. Since I’d raced here last year, I decided to spend the morning packing my transition bags and getting ready to race. The demeanor of Ironman village was bit more somber on Saturday. Athletes were a little more serious and focused… The temperature was a little higher. I racked my bike and dropped my transition bags. I stopped by the Timex tent to replace my suddenly dead heart-rate-montior, and bought my last-minute supplies for the race.
We got the gang together for an early dinner… Really early… 4 PM. There were some folks there, but not too many. When we left at 4:45, the place was packed. Back to the room for final preparations… Dan and I watched the 2nd half of “O Brother, Where Art Thou.” Or at least I did… Dan was asleep by 7:30. I tried. I may have actually slept some… Then, in the middle of the night (about 9:45) I realized that I hadn’t cut up my Clif-Bars for the bike ride. Rather than gamble on remembering to do it in the morning, I got up and chopped four Clif-Bars into 8 pieces each. Per my race plan, I would eat one piece every 15 mins along with additional calories from Sustained Energy. This should give me plenty of food for over eight hours of riding… Much longer than I could imagine being out there.
In northern Idaho, two days after the Summer solstice, the sun rises about 4:40 AM. So when we made our way to the transition area it was already light outside. It was a pretty relaxed morning as Ironman Pre-Race days go. Body-marking went quickly, I pumped up my tires, put my food on my bike and made it to the porta-potty with plenty of time to spare. The Booths, the Rocks, and Dan, and I relaxed on the grass putting on body-glide and sunscreen.
The Swim
I jumped in the lake to get a warmup and was quickly told to get out of the water… There’d be plenty of time for swimming after 7AM. Ok. I turned around and looked up on the beach. “Wow – look at all those people.” It was really an amazing sight. Twenty-two hundred black wetsuited, capped, and goggled athletes of all shapes, sizes, and ages looking back at me. You could feel the nervous energy building… smiles, tears, hugs, jitters all around. After the national anthem, the PA system music started to build to a creschendo.. Fatboy-Slim: Right Here… Right Now… and BOOM. The cannon went off. As I waded into the water, I heard the announcer say “One of the most amazing sights in sports… An Ironman mass start.” He’s absolutely right.
Coeur d’Alene Lake is a beautiful clear body of water, usually quite calm. Not today. Two thousand swimmers can kick the water up a little. Ok. A lot. The term swimming in a washing machine was used by many, and I think that understates it a little but I can’t come up with a better metaphor. Dr. Steve, however with his 61 minute swim saw no problems – he had lots of clear water…I guess it pays to be really fast!
The beach start is about 200 yards wide and the first leg of the swim is about half a mile long. If you do the math you realize that even if you start all the way on the outside and aim for the turn-around, you will only swim about 20 extra yards (on top of over 4200). But people don’t like to do math. They’re smart enough to know not to aim for the first buoy. Instead, they all aim for the second buoy. So, just like last year, about 8 minutes into the swim, everybody comes to a complete stop right at the 2nd buoy.
The mass eventually cleared itself up and we got to swimming again. I got smacked in the head, the face, and the arms. I got pretty good at predicting swimmers, so I could avoid most of the arms. The only problems came when, in the middle of a pack, some idiot would start doing breaststroke. Smack! A kick in the ribs. Oh well. Just keep swimming! Around the buoy, left turn right into the sun, and another half mile back to the beach.
First loop done, hand touches the ground and I stand up. There was a huge crowd of cheering people. I heard my name, but I don’t remember if I saw anybody I recognized. A quick jog down the beach and back in the water.
The second loop wasn’t as bad as the first, but was still pretty busy. A few times I got boxed in between two swimmers who couldn’t swim straight. I took that opportunity to pick it up for a bit and swim over them. As usual things got bunched up at the turn buoy. I was on the inside with 30 swimmers bearing down on me. I used Coach Claire’s backstroke-around-the-buoy trick and turned into the home stretch.
The last leg was pretty smooth. As I got into the shore, the lake got shallow, and I started to be able to see the bottom. Suddenly, I saw a body on the bottom of the lake! I jumped, then realized it was a safety diver, just keeping an eye out for trouble. I hit the beach and stood up. 1:31… Right on schedule.
A quick jog to the wetsuit strippers… Rrrriiiip! Wetsuit off. The changing tent was packed. After a leisurely change, I jogged out and grabbed my bike.
The Bike
The course begins with a 15ish mile out and back, starting through downtown, with thousands of cheering fans. It was 8:30 in the morning, and I was still soaking wet, but I was warm… Not a good sign of things to come.
Along the lake, I started to see my teammates on their way back from the turn-around. They all looked great and were smiling. I made the turn and saw a few more behind me. Back up the hill, past the giant inflatable sun and the cheerleaders… Back down the hill, and into town. Turning right onto Northwest, I saw my parents who gave me a big cheer as I headed out onto the “hilly” portion of the course.
After crossing the Spokane River, the course turns uphill. It’s not a really steep hill, but it’s about 2 miles long. My legs felt pretty good, so I dropped into a good spinning gear and tried to keep 90 RPM. Dan came up behind me and we chatted for a bit. I expected him to be ahead of me, so I was surprised to hear of his troubles in the swim and T1. He passed me, but I kept him in sight for quite a while. It’s not a good sign when I can see Dan on a ride – either he’s having a bad day, or I’m pushing way too hard. Luckily, after a few more miles, he got his legs back and left me in the dust.
Each of the hills reward you with a downhill, but some are fairly technical, and you need to watch your speed on the tight turns. At this point, my bike computer was doing some really strange stuff. I was watching my cadence. I felt like I was moving pretty well, and I wanted to check my average speed. Based on my watch, I expected that I was averaging about 16 mph. But my computer said 12. What?? Then I looked at the distance. I had covered about 30 miles, but my computer said 21. Hmm, guess that magnet’s not in the right place. Oh well, at least my cadence works.
The hills end with a nice out-and-back across the Washington border into Liberty Lake. I was flying. I felt great, my nutrition was working, and I was well hydrated. The message sign in Liberty Lake read 81 degrees. Not bad at all.
As you might imagine, a town called Liberty Lake might have a bunch of flags up. In fact, there were hundreds of flags out. All blowing away from me. That’s right… I had been flying with a tailwind. This being an out-and-back meant that I would now do the rest of the bike ride into the wind.
On the plane on the way home, I met a guy who described this as riding your bike into a bunch of hairdryers. A good analogy. I was tucked down into the aerobars trying to minimize the effect of the wind. Through the industrial park, around the dog track, over the railroad tracks, through the neighborhood, and up a little hill. Finally, I turned right for an all-too-brief flirtation with a tailwind. Another left along a horrible logging road, and back down into town.
My folks were out in the sun, waiting, cheering, and looking forward to getting into the shade while I did my next out-and-back. I finished the first loop in about 3:30, which is right where I wanted to be.
Special needs is at the end of the out-and-back. I ran into Dan, Steve, and Scott. Steve was having a tough day. Four flats so far! He was searching for tubulars. I handed him my spare CO2. We chatted for a bit, reapplied some sunscreen, and I headed up the hill – fully expecting them all to pass me in the next few minutes.
When I hit the hills on the second loop, I knew the heat was up. Riding by the lake had kept it cool, but suddenly the hill was in the direct sunlight and there was no breeze and no shade. Welcome to loop number two. Scott caught up to me and we chatted for a while, and he took my picture from his disposable camera… I wonder how that one came out!
At Riverview drive, there’s a hard left, and a steep hill. I remember last year, I was convinced that they changed the course between loops because there was nothing this steep the first time around! True to form, it was steep and hot. I still felt ok, but my feet were starting to hurt.
On the flat before Liberty Lake, I heard “LEEEROOOYYY” which would only come from Dana. (It’s a long story, and this is too long already – actually, it’s not really that long, but if I explained it, it still wouldn’t make any sense)… Dana was on the side of the road sitting under a tree. Needless to say, I was surprised to see her there. I yelled “What happened?” She yelled something back that I couldn’t really hear. A volunteer who was putting her bike in the car said “She’s OK,” so I kept going.
On the out-and-back, I caught up with Scott again. We discussed the temperature. He guessed 95, but said it was probably 120 six inches off the road. His feet were hurting too. Sure enough, the sign in Liberty Lake said 95! I was excited to see that the flags were hanging pretty low. The wind had died down. This was going to be easier – or so I thought.
Just when I tried to pick it up, my feet gave out. Last year I had a similar problem. My feet just hurt. It was hard to pedal and I had to slow way down. I thought it was because my shoes were too tight. I got new shoes. Apparently that wasn’t the problem. It was worse this year. I stopped to take off my socks. That didn’t help. I poured water on my feet. That helped some, but basically there was nothing to do. I just had to gut it out. I couldn’t push down on the pedals, so I was working hard to push forward on every stroke.
So with the heat and my sore feet, I was down to about 10-12 mph on the last leg of the bike. I have never been so excited to get off my bike and start running. Because of the heat, my nutrition was down to Gatorade and a little Sustained Energy. No more solid food. My nutrition was fine. I’d be doing great if I could just pedal!
Because I’d been through this before, I knew I’d be able to run. Last year, I was expecting to walk the whole run and finish at 2AM, so this year, knowledge was power. As I rode into town and got off my bike, I knew I’d be able to finish… I just didn’t know when. My “glacial” second loop ended up being almost an hour longer than my first!
The Run
From experience I knew my feet would get better. I say this from experience, but really there isn’t too much. This has only happened once before, at this race last year, never in training or any other race. But I knew the feet would get better.
I walked the first mile where I saw Mike Booth and Lori both starting their second loops… so jealous. After mile 1, I started to run some. By mile 3 I was doing about 2 minute walk, 2 minute run. There I ran into the team.
Mike, Christy, Jeff, Dana, and a bunch of others were out on a corner cheering. Dana got up and walked with me. She told me about her problems on the bike, then immediately turned into my coach. “Ok. Are you getting enough salt? Have you eaten? How much are you drinking at the waterstops? Have you peed yet? How many times?” My feet were still killing me, and I was a bit choked up talking to her, but it really helped get me going. When she left me she asked, “Do you need anything?” I replied “Clouds.” Unfortunately, I guess she’s not that well connected… the sky remained completely clear for the rest of the night.
From about mile 4, I started my 5 minute run, 2 minute walk. The foot pain had reduced to a dull ache. It was still hot, but cooling off as the sun got lower in the sky. Early on I had hopes of finishing in daylight, but as the day wore on, I couldn’t wait for the sun to set. I was popping Endurolytes like candy, drinking Gatorade and water at all the waterstops, and pouring ice in my hat at every opportunity. I felt good. I was keeping my heartate up in the mid 150s and maintaining about 13 minute miles. I found my parents around mile 10. They had walked out to see what the course looked like and to see if I was going to make it. I told them not to worry, and that I was feeling good. Coming back into town I saw the team again… Big cheers and big smiles all around. Support is a great thing 13 hours into an Ironman.
For the most part, I really like the 2-loop course on the run (not so much on the bike). You get much more support, and you get to see your friends more often. The only part I don’t like is getting near the turn around and hearing the fans yell “Just 2 more miles!” when I’ve got 15 to go. Oh well, that’s just part of life – and next time I see them, they will be right!
I kept doing 5 and 2 for what seemed like an eternity. As the sun went down I started to look at the time. I thought it would be possible to come in under 16 hours, but I’d have to pick it up a bit. So for about 2 miles (between about 17 and 19), I stopped the run/walk, and just ran. It felt great to see that even 130+ miles into the day, I could run solid for 2 miles… now I’m sure I wasn’t running fast, or pretty, but I was running.
Around mile 22 the wheels came off. I hit the wall. My running was just about over. With 4 miles to go, and no worry about missing the cutoff, I walked most of the rest of the way. When I hit Sherman Ave, with 3/4 of a mile, I picked it up and tried to jog the rest of the way, but stopped after a few steps. I was walking until I got near the chute.
Then I heard my name. I looked up and saw the gang. Those who finished, those who dropped out, and those who came to watch were all on their feet cheering and giving high-fives. Ok. I guess I could run now! The last few blocks were downhill and thousands of cheering fans were there. To my right, I saw Mike Pickels running alongside me. Then I saw my folks on the side – no mistaken identity this time. Down the chute I slapped hands with the fans and pumped my fist as I crossed the line. Whew. I was glad to be done. 16:22:40. About 14 minutes longer than last year.
The Aftermath
My “catchers” handed me off to my parents. I quickly went to the porta-potty (well hydrated!) got some pizza, and got my name down for a massage. I’m not sure the massage did anything, as best I can tell, she just kinda put her hands on me and did very little massaging. By the time it was over, I was ready for bed. I waddled over to my folks’ car and got a ride back to the hotel. I took a quick shower and didn’t really sleep that much.
The next morning around 5AM I wandered out to the ice machine in my underwear and got a bucket full of ice. My feet were killing me and quite swollen. I made two ice packs, took four Advil and went back to bed. The rest of the day involved massage, finisher-gear-shopping, lunch, nap, and a great post-race dinner with teammates and family. We topped off the day at 10:55 PM with a trip for ice cream right before closing.
I saw a podiatrist when I got home, just to rule out major problems like stress fracture. He doesn’t know what’s going on either. But I was fitted for orthotics, so hopefully this will never happen again.
