I Am Half Iron

I am cursed.  I just can't sleep.  I fall asleep no problem these days, despite the enormous state of finding myself in a transitional state.  But I don't stay asleep.  One might think that after competing in a 1/2 Ironman event, I would sleep like a log.  Rachel asked me last night if I was going to sleep in today.  "I wish..." I responded, longingly.  Sure enough I was up at 4:30 this morning, which is even earlier than usual when I don't have my alarm set.  What a waste of a triathlon.  The least I could have gotten out of it was a good night's sleep!

So here's the recap of Syracuse 70.3...

I was up at only a slightly earlier 4AM on Sunday morning.  Actually, that's when the alarm on my iPhone rang, but I had already woken up on my own about 5 or 6 minutes earlier.  I ate my bagel and banana, drank a bit, covered myself in body glide and got dressed.  I was surprisingly calm.  I woke Rachel at 4:45 and by 5:15 we abandoned our hotel room for the parking garage.  The girls were still sleeping in the room next door with my in-laws, who were kind enough to let them stay in their room.  The lady inside the GPS barked out directions, but even at that hour we were able to just follow the crowd.  We parked and schlepped all my stuff towards the transition area.

As we approached, I was stopped by a pink-shirted volunteer who marked my body with my number, 716, in permanent marker.  I made my way to my spot in transition and set up my stuff in my typical orderly, anal manner.  I tracked down Rachel and we headed down to the waterfront.  I asked one of the volunteers if she knew the water temperature and she reported that it was 75.1 degrees. 

Crap!  Now I was going to have to make a decision.  At 76.1 degrees, wetsuits become illegal.  Just the day before the water temperature reached into the 80s.  So it's obvious.  Wear the wetsuit.  Right?  Not so easy.  As I learned from Coach Dan, wearing a full body wetsuit in water that hovers close to the wetsuit illegal temperature can cause an athlete to overheat, thereby destroying his race.  I didn't want that to happen.  On the other hand, the buoyancy offered by my wetsuit gives me a heightened level of comfort in the water and allows me to swim faster.  I put my feet in the water.  It was definitely warm enough to swim without.  But as I looked around, it became clear that virtually every athlete was wearing a wetsuit, though some with a sleeveless suit, helped prevent overheating.  I made my final decision.  I would wear the wetsuit.  When I saw Coach Dan a few minutes later, he told me that I made the right decision.  Phew!

Per Coach Dan's suggestion, I put my face in the water and swam easy for a few minutes.  The water was a bit murky.  Even right near the beach, I couldn't see a thing.  That made me a little nervous, but after a few breathes I found my stroke.

Now it was time to wait.  The race started at 7, but the swimmers would be sent in waves.  Pros first, and them age groupers.  Men 35-39 whose last names start in the first half of the alphabet would be sent off at 7:35.  So, as I predicted, the pros were out of the water before I got into the water.

7:20
7:25
7:30

My wave was next.  My family came down near the beach to see me off.  I did what I could to stay calm.  I hung out at the back of the group, knowing that I was a particularly slow swimmer. 

90 seconds. 

I looked back and waved to my family.

60 seconds.

I waved again.

30 seconds.

I gave them a thumbs up.

10 seconds. 

I put my finger on my watch's start button.

GO!!!

Well, my start wasn't as dramatic as those you might see on television.  I didn't dive into the water enthusiastically.  I didn't sprint until I was too deep to run.  Instead, I casually waded my way into chest deep water, allowing the faster swimmers to pass, and then I put my face in the water and I swam.  And I swam some more.  I noticed something I've never experienced before.  I passed people in the water.  I noticed a few who were stopped dead in their tracks, looking nervous, trying to collect themselves.  I felt for them but I was relieved that I wasn't in that position.  And maybe a little surprised.  I swam a pretty straight line from buoy to buoy.  I felt that I was swimming easy, never pushing myself.  That was basically my plan.  I did feel my body heat up quite a bit in that full-body wetsuit and took the opportunity to stretch open the neck a few times to let the water in.  Instant relief.

I've read all sorts of accounts and advice regarding mid-race urination.  Most of them just don't fly with me.  My mother raised me to be, well, a bit OCD.  When I traveled in Egypt with my parents, my mom became quite dehydrated one day because she refused to drink so that she wouldn't have to use the public bathrooms.  I'm not much different, though a bout with salmonella while traveling in Europe and Morocco when I was a college student taught me how to make an exception in an emergency.  There are, indeed, porta-potties along the route for people like me.  For others, well, tri shorts have an absorbent chamois.  I did figure, however, that a "natural break" towards the end of the swim would be borderline acceptable.  In fact, I saw a number of swimmers just hovering towards the end of the swim whom, I imagined, were doing just that.  I gave it a go.  I really did.  I just couldn't do it.  It's just something I'll have to work out with a shrink one day. 

Along the way I wondered what my time would be when I entered transition 1.  I guessed close to 50 minutes.  Slow but sure.  When I took my first steps onto dry land and saw 43 minutes and change on my watch, I was stunned.  I swam the 1.2 miles at about 2:02/100 yards, which was much faster than I had been swimming lately.  And without pushing.  Ironman results gave me my proper time, but miscalculated my pace.  How dare they!  I'll be happy to teach them the math.

The run to transition was long.  I took it easy, as Coach Dan suggested.  "You went under 45!" my father-in-law shouted, clearly sharing my excitement.  "You want help?" shouted a couple volunteers.  "You bet," I responded.  I laid down on the grass, raised my legs in the air, and a split second later they had me successfully divorced from my wet wetsuit.  I found my bike, calmly put on my helmet and sunglasses, socks and cycling shoes, downed an energy gel and a gulp of water and ran my bike to the exit.  I mounted my bike, kicked off a water bottle onto the ground, silently cursed my clumsiness and hit the 56 mile hilly course.

I have to tell you, I was intimidated by this course.  After a flat mile, the elevation profile showed the next 10 or 11 miles going straight up.  From there on it all looks basically downhill, but Coach Dan warmed me that there would be more steep hills, just not as long.  The plan was to ride a controlled race, pushing my power at a designated wattage range, and closely monitoring the heart rate.  I kept my power within my zone, being cautious not to ride too high above that level in the hills.  My heart rate was higher than it was supposed to be.  That's what my computer said, anyhow.  My body didn't believe it.  I just never felt like I was working as hard as my displayed heart rate indicated.  So I continued to stay within my power zone.  Those first 12 miles were relatively slow on account on the extended climbing.  But things sped up significantly once I reached mile 12.  I wanted to achieve an average of at least 20MPH.  I don't know why.  Just because.  In the end I averaged about 20.5 MPH with a lot more to give.  Rachel asked me later in the day if I was having fun because, she said, I had a huge smile on my face as I rode into transition 2.  My only mistake during the bike, which could have been disastrous, was that I didn't take in quite enough fluid.  That will haunt me later in the day.

Transition 2 was quick.  I jumped off my bike, removed my helmet and shoes, threw on my running shoes and visor, downed another energy gel and a swig of water and off I went, feeling great.  I felt great heading into the run and through the first couple of miles.  It was getting hot out and I took fluid at ever aid station and tried to stay focused.

And then we hit the hills.  I made the elevation profile for the bike out to be more than it was in the end, and I did just the opposite for the run.  As headed downhill, the monster in front of me seemed to grow with every step.  I saw a long line of people.  Walking.  I would not walk.  I refused to walk.  It was steep and hard and it sucked and I wanted to throw up.  I slowed down.  A lot.  But I did not walk.  Then I turned right where the course flattened out, before it turned skywards once again as it lead us to the turn around.  I got to the turnaround and told myself to forget about these last 2 hills into I was forced to conquer them once again. 

Just past the bottom of those hills was a wonderful neighbor who was spraying suffered athletes with her hose.  Thank you!  Relief.  But brief.  And just a little bit down the road from there was the next aid station which had, in addition to aid, freezing cold wet sponges.  That was the greatest blessing!  Only, I think the cold water did something funny to my heart rate monitor because for the remainder of the run my heart rate was hovering between 0 BPM and about 70.  Add nearly 100 to that last number and we're talking business!  I made my way back to the transition area where I would see my family once again before setting out on my final 6.6 miles.  "How ya doin'?" Rachel asked.  "Hurting," was all I could muster.  I was dreading these final miles.

I finally arrived at the foot of Mt. Everest again, intent on scaling it's face in a run-ish.  Turnaround and down the hill.  That's when, after 65 miles of racing alone, another athlete decided to strike up a conversation  I wasn't really in the mood for conversation, but I did my best to be friendly.  Turns out that Matt from Boston was a bit faster than me.  I sped up a bit to stay with him for a few 100 meters, but I knew it wouldn't be long before he and I parted ways.  "Have a good finish," I bid him.  "I hope so," he responded, and then slowed down a notch to stay with me.  We headed down the steeped part of the decline and I flew past him.  Not intentionally.  I simply had so little muscle control at that point that if I didn't just let my legs go with gravity, I would have had to work too hard to slow myself down.  Sure enough Matt passed me once the road flatted out.

Cold wet sponges again.  Thank you, God.  Or whatever the volunteers name is who handed me the sponges.  Time to finish this thing.  Somewhere between 1 and 2 miles from the finish, someone scrawled on the road in chalk, "Last hill."  I was plenty relieved to be get that behind me.  I made my way towards the transition area where spectators lined the course.  I could see the finish line and I picked up the pace as much as I could.  I could see my family ahead in their neon green "Team Pig Vomit" t-shirts.  I waved.  I sprinted.  I smiled.  I raised my arms and I grabbed a bottle of water from a volunteer.  And a bottle of chocolate mile from another.  Matt from Boston was near the finish line and he shook my hand, wishing me well.  I saw Coach Dan just beyond the finish line and checked in with him.  And then I found Rachel.  A minute later the rest of the family caught up with us and Coach Dan asked us to get together for a picture.  I gave Rachel a big, tight, sweaty hug and smiled big, telling Coach Dan that I'd pay for that later.  "You earned it!" he said.

I grabbed the worst piece of pizza I've ever had from the athlete's lounge and threw half of it away.  And after a while we made our way back to the parking lot.  We loaded the cars and headed home, Rachel driving, me barely conscious in the passengers seat.  After 20 minutes or so I started to feel not so good.  The nausea was building and the world was spinning.  I couldn't close my eyes and I couldn't keep them opened.  1 closed and 1 shut minimized the dizziness just a touch and then I made Rachel pull over.  After 10 minutes at the side of the New York State Thruway, my stomach settled just enough to get some Gatorade into my body.  The more electrolytes I ingested, the better I felt.  When I finally finished the bottle, I felt like myself again, albeit tired and sore. 

In the end, I couldn't be any happier.  Without fully knowing what to expect, I was really hoping to finish in a hair under 6 hours, and I finished in 5 hours 23 minutes and 10 seconds.

Hmmmm.....  Maybe next year I can break 5 hours...

So, 1 Ironman 70.3 down, I'm not yet an Ironman, but I am 1/2 iron.