Ironman Arizona - Race Report

These days a lot of people are making a bucket list, a list of things they want to do before they die. I've certainly got a list floating around in my mind. On November 21st 2010 I checked a huge box on my bucket list: the Ironman. It was surprisingly more difficult than I even ever imagined it being. It truly did push me to my limits. But when I crossed the finish line after 16 hours and 41 minutes, I was absolutely euphoric. 2.4 miles in the water, 112 miles on the bike, and 26.2 miles on foot. I didn't set any records or qualify for any championships, but I beat the clock and I beat the beast. No one can ever take this away from me because I earned it.

I have always loved playing sports and always had a passion for running. Once I got to college I kept pounds off by playing IM sports but otherwise I wasn't racing. Once out of school, I started working and began to feel my metabolism start to slow down. I wasn't eating all that great, and sitting at a desk all day wasn't doing my physique any favors. I did happen to be working with a group of dudes who shared my passion for getting outdoors and maximizing the little free time we had to try cool stuff like whitewater rafting, mountain biking, snowboarding, etc. And that's precisely when the triathlon bug bit me. Our group decided to try our hand at an Olympic distance triathlon, and despite probably being a tad under trained (I cramped during most of the run), we all finished and loved the experience. Maybe it was the fierce competitor in me, but I knew I wanted to keep going with it. I did a few more races, spent way too much money on gear, and dove right into triathlon culture. Our group even made t-shirts calling ourselves the High Sigma crew (a nod to statistical outliers) with a quote from Desiree Ficker, a pro triathlete on the back: "If it's hurting us, it's killing them". It wasn't long before I was DVRing NBC's coverage of the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii and asking myself if it was sane to think about finishing an Ironman myself. This video answered that question for me:



So it came to pass that in 2009 I signed up for Ironman Arizona 2010, knowing that I was committing to something that took extraordinary training and mental toughness. Mentally I was ready, but in early 2010 problems started to surface physically. I had been getting my weekly long bike rides up to 80-100 miles and my long runs up to about 16 miles. Then pain struck me in my right kneecap. I couldn't run more than a mile without feeling the inside of my right knee rubbing on cartilage. I battled this problem by reducing my running, stretching, foam rolling, seeing a plethora of doctors, getting MRIs, seeing a PT, etc until I had exhausted just about everything. The knee problems would sometimes seem to go away a little bit, only to return. Further into the year I began to also have problems with my lower back and glutes, pain around my sacrum, and what felt like a nerve entrapment near the adductor canal in my right leg. MRIs, neurological tests, and ultrasounds came back clear. There's a story worth telling here about finding out what I believe may be the crux of the issues and something that I am potentially on the verge of solving in the next couple of weeks, but I will leave that for later. Suffice it to say that 2.5 months prior to the Ironman, I quit biking and running altogether. I was swimming regularly to keep some level of fitness, but I did not believe that would be enough to carry me through the Ironman distance in the allotted 17 hour time frame.

Because I had already paid the entry fee, the flight, and the lodging out in Tempe, AZ, I decided I would at least head out there to support my training teammates and experience the swim portion of the race. I also had a rollover for bike shipping so I figured I would use it to send my bike out there and maybe bike part of the course. When I arrived in Tempe on Thursday morning, the weather was fantastic. It was a little chillier than it had been in prior weeks and getting pretty cold at night, but there were no clouds to be found. In the sun it was warm and the air was crisp. I thought this boded well for race day. I would be wrong of course.

I happened to share a flight with some of my teammates, including Travis M. who graciously gave me a ride back to the condo I had secured a room at. My condo mates were Chris G., Kevin  B., and Veronica C.  I absolutely could not have asked for better roomies, especially for my first IM. Kevin and Veronica were seasoned IMers, and although Chris was a first timer like me, he is one of the most meticulous planners I have ever met. Any concerns or questions I had about the race or stuff leading up to the race could be answered in full by these guys. As an added bonus, there were tons of other great Austinites who were hanging around or in our condo as well. Guys like Kevin R., Amit B., Brian R., Eric C., Matt R., John J., etc etc. We registered, bought IM gear, shared stories, ate meals of food, grabbed last minute gear, took some team pictures, and so forth from Thursday to Saturday evening. Our condo at Dorsey was also about a mile away from the race start, so logistically things were about perfect leading up to the race. Well everything except my bum knee that was still bothering me even though I hadn't been running or biking much at all. I actually woke up on Friday with some soreness in my left (other) knee, which I think must have just been from sleeping on it wrong somehow. In my head I remember thinking that there was no way I could finish an Ironman with these problems going on, and yet I knew I would be so disappointed if I did not because everyone around me was going to finish and cherish the experience. Still, overall my spirits were high as the atmosphere around IMAZ was awesome. The pre race banquet the night before the race featured an 80 year old nun, Sister Madonna Buder, who would be attempting to create a new age group by finishing. The pro field was stacked with big name triathletes. I even won some sweet sunglasses from Tribe Multisport, a great tri shop in Scottsdale. By Saturday night though, things were getting quiet and introspective all around me.

I woke up easily at the scheduled 3AM wakeup call. The race start wasn't until 7AM, but there was still food and hydration to be had, "special needs" bags to be dropped off, and various other last minute preps. We awoke to 48 degree temperatures outside, which for someone like me who HATES the cold, was a real punch in the gut. Water temps would only be about 60 degrees for our 2.4 mile swim. I had swum in 55 degree temps or so at Escape From Alcatraz, but that was with a full wetsuit. I also had brain freeze headaches for a few minutes at Alcatraz even with a neoprene cap. I had only brought my sleeveless wetsuit to Tempe because my old full suit was pretty much toast and the water temps had been much warmer even a week or two before. This made for a brutal start. We were shouted at to "GET IN THE WATER!" several minutes before the starting pistol went off due to the nature of the mass start where everyone began in the water. My energy was already being depleted before the gun went off. I don't recall getting brain freeze headaches, but perhaps it was because my goggles were leaking at the start and I was so focused on fixing that. I managed to reduce the leak just before the gun went off, which was a huge relief. Multiple miles of swimming without vision, in a sea of 2000+ other humans crammed into a tight river, would have been a nightmare. It really ended up being somewhat of a nightmare anyway, just a little less so! Although I had experienced tight swimming conditions in other races, nothing compared to the washing machine at IMAZ. I was literally kicked, clawed, and punched repeatedly for the first 10 minutes of the swim. Some of the claw marks were visible for days. I was somewhat mentally prepared for it after hearing stories from others about the "washing machine", but I still underestimated the energy that it took to fight people off and keep a straight line. When we hit turn buoys, the crowd would bunch up again, trying to keep their swim distance as efficient as possible and creating the same havoc experienced at the start. When I found open water in the first half of the swim, I felt great. I was focusing on my form and trying to remind myself to not swim too hard. By the time I had reached the turnaround of the swim (it was an out and back), I started to feel the effects of all the fighting. I was more tired than I expected to be after swimming less than 1.5 miles. But I wasn't going to stop, so I just kept swimming. By the 2 mile mark I really felt the need to pee but for some reason couldn't get it out while swimming and I wasn't going to stop in the sea of swimmers. I was also starting to feel the bite of the cold as I tired. Once I saw the swim finish I was definitely ready to be out of the water. I hoisted myself out, and that's when my first REAL troubles began.

I don't remember the wetsuit stripping, but it certainly happened, and I immediately began shaking and shivering. It was so bad that I couldn't talk normally and my arms were actually cramping. A volunteer helped me into the changing tent which felt 10 degrees warmer and that started to help me a little bit. Thankfully this volunteer helped me gather my bike gear as my teeth chattered and I shook Pure Sport all over my face/chest. Looking back, I may have been a little bit hypothermic. It took me over 20 minutes to transition from the swim to bike, which is an eternity in just about any race. But I wanted to see how far I could bike, so I finally got out of the damn tent.

I began the 112 miles on the bike at a really slow pace, not only to test my knee but also to rehydrate and get some calories in. For some odd reason (the cold perhaps?) my legs started cramping about 2 miles out on the bike. I got off the bike, stretched a little bit and took some salt/electrolyte pills. After a minute or two I got back on and fought off the cramps for a couple miles until they mostly went away for good. My knee felt a little funny for the first loop of the bike (each loop was about 37-38 miles) but by the second loop it felt fine. I never really noticed it after the first loop, which I never expected. It was a mini race day miracle. It did start raining on the first loop however, which just made me laugh. Here we were in the desert, where it almost never rains, and it was f**king raining? We had perfect skies for days prior to the race and after the race, but of course not on actual race day. A mean headwind was also developing on the return portion of the bike loop. Bikers were gritting their teeth on the opposite side of the road and I knew it would soon be my turn. I took care to stop at most of the aid stations so I could stretch my legs for a second and take in some more calories. I knew the stretches would be needed for these legs that hadn't biked 100+ miles in several months. I also knew I had to eat several thousand calories on the bike so I just kept eating every few miles. I hate gels and stuck to solid foods (bars, bananas, oranges, sandwiches, chips, trail mix, etc) and that worked perfectly for me. That theme pretty much stayed true throughout my race. I more or less nailed nutrition by being consistent and eating foods I normally would in my everyday routine. I also threw in salt pills, salty foods, and some Ironman Perform drink they had at the aid stations whenever I felt like the cramps might be about ready to roar back.

I was pumped when I finished the first loop, especially as the crowd was so awesome back in town. Coach Mo, Kevin R, Kevin B, Chris Sellers, Jan, and a host of others were there shouting at me to keep going hard. It absolutely made a difference in my effort and motivation. This was key, because the second loop did soon begin to give me physical trouble. My legs started to really ache at about the 50 mile mark. No matter, I expected this and I suspected that barring some knee problem or unforeseen collapse that I could finish the bike. I kept doing pace calculations in my head, and I was pretty certain that I could make the bike cutoff at 5:30pm if things didn't totally fall apart. I was stopping at every aid station at this point to try to release the tightness in my legs, use the bathroom (#1 only for me all day, thankfully...those portas get gnarly), etc. It was costing me time, but I figured in order to beat the cutoff I needed to stave off major cramps and other big problems that could cost me more time later. The headwind really SUCKED on the way back in on the second bike loop. I'm guessing I was averaging around 10-12mph on that portion (left the bike computer at home of course), which felt like I was moving through mud. Once again though, when I hit the crowd at the end of the second loop I got a boost of adrenaline/energy/optimism and I mouthed to Kevin R, "one more, here we go, one more". I headed back out on the final loop, and there were scores of people finishing their third loop but I shook that off. I had to focus on me.

I wanted to push a little bit hard on the third loop to make sure I beat the bike cutoff, but also to see if I could make it in by 5 PM which would give me about 7 hours to do the marathon. I knew speed walking a marathon could be done in under 7 hours. It was at that point that I realized finishing the entire Ironman was in the realm of possibility. Despite my legs, back, and other body parts feeling completely destroyed, I found a way to push that third loop pretty aggressively. I made very quick stops at a couple of the aid stations on the way out of town, but support was thinning out too. I saw fewer and fewer bikers around me. It got pretty desolate out in the desert near the turn around point. The turn around point also seemed further on the third loop than any other. As I hit the turn around and started coming back, I saw some trucks picking up stuff from the race site and preparing to sweep competitors off the course. Yup, the cutoff was getting close for those still not at the turn around. I was PISSED when I saw that the bike special needs station had closed despite me being there well before the sag wagons started picking people up. I really wanted another couple bites of my PB and honey sandwich. Oh well, it just made me push even harder. I came in to the bike finish, with a big group of supporters still cheering me on, at about 5PM on the nose. I had just under 7 hours to do the marathon and I would be an Ironman.

My bike-run transition was on the slow side as I used the bathroom, changed, got some more fluids, and made sure I didn't cramp putting on my shoes and running shorts. But then I was off. I had my Polar watch and footpod so I could track my pace and distance. I noticed right away that a brisk walk put me at about a 13-14 minute mile pace. I also noticed that any attempt at running hurt my right knee in the same tender spot and also provoked pain on the outside of my left knee which must have been due to those muscles being undertrained for a 112 mile bike ride and subsequent run/jog. I could hobble jog for about 10 steps before the pain was too much to bear. I figured I was better off speed walking the whole marathon unless I absolutely needed to hobble jog. I just had to keep moving at that pace because there wasn't much cushion between my estimated finish time and the midnight cutoff.

Now, I am not a marathoner, but I have certainly run my fair share of miles. And I never thought much of walking as an exercise. BUT, I can tell you that walking a marathon is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Granted it was after all that swimming and biking, but I think even a standalone walk-marathon could be very very challenging physically and MENTALLY. The first 8-9 mile loop (of 3 run loops total) was not too difficult, just LONG. Due to fatigue and occasional aid station stops for fluids/calories my pace dropped to 15-16 minutes per mile by the end of the first loop. My first loop took about 2 hours and 20 minutes. That is a long time to be walking, especially on a day of intense exercise that started 12 hours prior. And I knew I had 2 more loops like that to go. It was dark by the end of my first loop. Many competitors were already finishing their entire marathon/Ironman. I knew I had 4+ hours of this still to go. I saw Veronica C briefly at the beginning of my second run loop (the start of her third loop) and that gave my morale a slight boost. We chatted briefly until she shot back off into the night. Then I noticed I was starting to feel pain on the bottom of my feet and toes. Blisters perhaps. SHIT! I had forgotten to Body Glide or double-sock my feet. This would turn out to be a huge mistake. Every step I took began to reverberate in my knees and my feet. But I still had miles and miles to go. I kept passing aid stations and the volunteers, God bless them, were absolutely awesome and helpful, but they also kept saying "Good job! You're almost done!". Of course I knew that I really wasn't almost done. I would see them again in a couple hours (if they hadn't already left for the comfort of their homes yet). It was very tough mentally to block out negatives that kept popping up in my head. To counteract these thoughts I kept telling myself (sometimes out loud): "You're going to finish this thing. You're going to gut this thing out no matter what. You're going to be a f**king Ironman"

It was about that time too, as I crossed one of the bridges, that Coach Mo and Dr Sellers found me and were telling me "just keep moving, you can finish this". They'd cross over the course at the myriad of bridges I was traversing to find me every few miles and give me mental support. I wasn't able to verbalize it to them at the time, but it meant the world to me during the race. By the end of the second loop, the aid station workers that dressed up as Reno 911 characters were just assholes to me. They were funny/entertaining on the first loop of course. But their grilled hamburgers and beers were making me consider what was to be had by quitting this long journey in progress. Also giving me fits was the fact that the run special needs people had handed me my bag (not the items inside) and I had been carrying the stupid plastic bag full of stuff in my hand for the entire second loop. It had clothing items I didn't want to throw away so I was forced to carry the damn thing for several hours until I came back around to shove it back in the damn dropoff box. At the end of the second loop and the beginning of the third loop, my body and mind were shattered but I had 2 hours and 45 minutes before the midnight cutoff. I stopped for a second to make sure I wanted to go for that last loop. Then I started my speed walk for one last loop, with no competitors in sight and the sounds of Ironmen finishing behind me.

The third loop was all mental. I now know what "mind over matter" truly means. It's not a bullshit colloquialism to me anymore. Every step of that third run loop hurt me. Each time I put my foot forward on the ground, the racquetball sized blisters on my feet and heels made it feel like someone was lighting my feet on fire. My knees and quads had been toasted several hours prior. By putting my feet one in front of the other, despite the pain, I was able to get to a place where the pain no longer registered in my mind in the same way. It was bizarre. I could still feel all those spots, but my brain accepted that the signals weren't going to be heeded. I wasn't stopping now. I was mildly worried about making the time cutoff, given that any need to stop could kill the 20 minutes or so of cushion I had with my pace. In one dark corner of the course, when no one was within sight of me, I actually peed into the bushes while continuing to walk. That's how committed I was to finishing. I walk-peed because I didn't want to stop for 1 minute at the porta!!! Do what you gotta do, right? With several miles still to go (which was 45 minutes to an hour time-wise at my pace) I saw Chris G. working his way through the last mile or so of his Ironman. I was really glad to know that he was about to be an Ironman finisher. He certainly worked his ass off for it. I ventured for the last time through the dark, hilly neighborhood with about 3 miles to go, and my only companions were my thoughts. I thought about my grandmother who used to live out here in AZ but passed away too young. I wished she could see my finish and wondered if in some sense she could. The thought of her, if not some spirit of her, gave me some comfort and motivation for the final push. There were few spectators left on this part of the course, but just before the Reno 911 aid station with about 2 miles to go, Coach Mo and Dr Sellers once again appeared. Heck yeah, thanks guys, you were right, I was going to finish this.

As I got back into the lights of downtown Tempe, passed the ASU stadium, and neared the winding path from the back of the expo to the street where the finish chute sat, I began to ready myself for the final push. I wanted to see if I could run (jog) through the finish chute. Nope, knees were saying no. Then I got to the street with the chute around the corner, I could hear the crowd yelling, my eyes were welling up with tears, and I was thinking "screw the knees"! I started jogging, which was really just a gimpy shuffle, and turned the corner. There was the chute, 50 meters ahead. The crowd was unbelievable, still packed to the brim on both sides of the chute. My vision blurred from the adrenaline and I started pumping my fists and shouting "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAH!!!!!" "YEEEEEAAAAHHHH!!!!". I crossed the line. I. WAS. AN. IRONMAN! I sort of blacked out as I finished. I remember seeing teammates, Chris, the Kevins, Veronica, Coach Mo, Dr Sellers all sort of at once and in a blur. I wanted to high five them all but I also had to take my finisher photo, get my finisher gear, and get off my legs. The whole thing was a whirlwind. It was bad-freaking-ass.

Post race I received some killer attention from a volunteer/PT, Larry J. Within 5 minutes I was so stiff I could barely walk, but he loosened me up enough to get back to the car where the roomies so patiently waited. Larry J, if you ever read this, thank you again for the post race treatment and I think it's cool that we shared similar Ironman finishing stories/times. Also thank you roomies and supporters for waiting for my finish despite being completely exhausted yourselves. I took 16 hours, 41 minutes, and 15 seconds, a time which beat the cutoff by less than 20 minutes. It was a journey that I will cherish for a lifetime. Whenever something difficult comes up, I'll say to myself "yeah, this sucks, but you finished an Ironman...this is a piece of cake compared to that pain fest!" Indeed.

I said I would never ever ever do another Ironman at the end of this race, but it is such an awesome experience that once I was able to walk normally again (at least 1-2 weeks later), I decided that I'd probably give it another shot and try to shave a few hours off my time if I can rehab my knee successfully. We shall see. To all who supported me before, during, and after the race thank you. To Jessica T for supporting me during training and my injury frustrations, thank you so very much. Had I thought finishing was more than just a pipe dream leading up to race day, I would have had you out there in a heartbeat. You were in my thoughts throughout the day regardless. To any readers still left at this point, thank you for being patient and tolerant of my verbose and rambling narrative. And if you have the desire, YOU WILL DO THIS!

What Took You So Damn Long?

HELLO WORLD, first post here, it is long overdue. I have been itching to do this for awhile now, to put up a blog and make time now and then to write about some of the important things rattling around in my brain, going on in the world, or merely taking place in my little personal sphere. It feels good to have a place to get my thoughts out into the cloud, if for no other reason than to maintain a working archive of all my thoughts and major life experiences. I think it makes a lot of sense to have one's own place to do so.

This will probably be a space for a huge mishmash of topics, both in my life and outside of it. There are a number of pretty complex topics that I hope to spend multiple posts addressing, and it is my hope that I'll find some smart people to engage in discussion on these topics. My job in the real world is investment analyst at a buy side investment firm so I spend a lot of time analyzing change and future outlooks in business, economics, government, and sociology. A lot of what I think about and would like to write about involves intersections of these topics as well as other broad areas such as energy policy, technology, education/training, health, and religion. I'll even have some personal posts about my own life because hey, it IS my blog after all.

Tying all these posts together will be some core beliefs/characteristics of mine. One, I am an optimist who believes in change, progress, and the collective capacity of the human race. I have recently been reading Matt Ridley's "The Rational Optimist" and it has certainly reinforced these ideals. More thoughts on ideas from that specific read later. Second, I value problem solving and problem solvers. I do not value idealists who can't reason or change their position when new facts are presented. One of my favorite quotes is from John Maynard Keynes, who said: "When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do sir?" We all come to our own deeply held beliefs in life via circumstances largely out of our control: where we were born, what religion our parents/community have embraced, the organizations that taught/trained us, who we made friends with, etc. It is hard to challenge deeply ingrained opinions, but we MUST do so in order to progress as individuals and as a species. If I ever attract any commentators here, I want to foster an environment of civility and careful, clear thinking. Ideas may be attacked, but not people. This just may be an unusual and refreshing change from a lot of the mainstream "discussion" circles out there.

Thus it begins. Hopefully I am able to post as frequently as I would like.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. " - Robert Frost