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Ironman Wisconsin 2005

Race Morning
The alarm was set for four, but I was already awake at three-thirty. I had not expected to sleep, but had actually slept quite well. I credit my father and sister, who arrived the night before. Visiting with them took my mind off the race and kept nerves in check. The effect had worn off, however, and I drove myself ill waiting in bed for the proper time to start my planned routine. I just got up and pre-emptively turned off the alarm and launched into preparations. First use the restroom, then put on warm-up clothes and cook breakfast. Breakfast (three eggs, two bagels with jelly and all the OJ I wanted) was the first hiccup in the plan. My stomach was just too nervous and I couldn’t get it all down. I prepared my race food while I waited for my stomach to settle. The plan was for a predominantly liquid diet. I mixed four sports bottles of fuel mixture for the bike at 600 calories per bottle, and two bottles for the run at 300 calories each. For a contingency, I also made two PB&Js for the bike. I hit the restroom one more time and left for the race site.
All of my race gear was checked in with the race organizers the day before, and with all that handled, the first order of business was to place my race fuel in the proper positions. Two fuel bottles went on the bike, the other two in the “special needs bag” that will be available halfway through the bike course along with the sandwiches. One run fuel bottle belonged in my bike-to-run transition gear, and the other went in the run course “special needs bag” along with a long-sleeved shirt. I checked my bike and ensured that tire pressures were okay. That is when I had my second and last panic of the morning. I thought that I could get cold water on my way out of the bike transition, but that wasn’t the case. I needed a water bottle for the first 15 miles, but had no bottle to put on my bike. After some frantic running around, I stopped a guy throwing away a Gatorade sports bottle, cleaned it out, and filled it with bottled water. Breakfast was still not sitting well, and I was out-of-body nervous. My sister, who had been helping me through all this, pointed out the music playing over the PA in this pre-dawn chaos. The race organizers intelligently chose and Enya album to keep the athletes sane. It helped.
I walked over to get bodymarked with race number on the arms and age on the left calf. It was now a half-hour before the race start and time to start thinking about getting in the water. The race organizers encouraged everyone to leave the transition area and head down to the water. Enya was replaced with Hanson to expedite the process. The transition area was a community center on the banks of the lake and its associated parking garage (designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, incidentally). The bikes were on the top level of the parking garage, so after changing into my wetsuit and handing off my warm-ups, I had to walk down the garage ramp “helix” to the swim start. My family was standing on the ramp for a good aerial view of the swim and to see me enter and exit the water. All preparations were done, nothing left to do but run the race.

The Swim
The swim start was the only part of the race from which I had no idea what to expect. All triathlons that I had done to this point started the swim in waves of no more than a few dozen. This race had two thousand participants, and everyone started from the same starting line at the same time, a “mass start”. It was also a treading water start and not from the beach. I entered the water with about ten minutes to kill, giving me a chance for a few warm-up strokes. The sun was just rising over Lake Monona, and everyone was nervously finding their position. I placed myself near the back and in a sparsely occupied area, setting the tone for what would be a very conservative race. The cannon went off at precisely 7am without any warning from the PA. I started swimming down the first straight, and instantly felt better. Nerves faded and my stomach settled within the first few strokes.
It is a good thing I was able to calm down, since it would be easy to panic on the swim. They call the swim start the “washing machine” because of all the churning and the proximity of the swimmers. Visibility in the water was not very good, but every time that I came up for air, there was another swimmer within inches of my nose. I could feel the other racers in the water. There was plenty of jostling and several collisions.
The swim course was a two-loop rectangular course. I was able to settle into a reasonable stroke in the crowd, but realized that I may have been too conservative in my starting position, and passing slower swimmers was difficult. I picked my head up occasionally, but with all the other swimmers around, it was very difficult to pick out my sighting points, or even the marker buoys, so I generally followed the crowd.
After a while, I started to swim wide in order to find clear water where I could pass swimmers more easily. This didn’t work well, since I couldn’t swim as fast in clear water. I had never had much of a chance to play with drafting in my swimming work, but it was a powerful effect. Being in the crowd sweept me along but if I swam on my own, I had to do all the work. So I went in search of another swimmer whose feet I could follow, and I spent most of the remaining swim moving from behind one swimmer to the next.
I was hit a few times. One chick who didn’t like me crowding her had quite a left hook. I got a hard kick in the face too, right before the fifth turn. I got too close and got a heel in my right eye. My goggles were knocked from my face, but not lost. This is why goggles go beneath swim caps, people. I wasn’t fazed by any of the contact, since I knew it was coming and had prepared for it.
I left the water in under 1:30, which was at the slow end of my expectation. Take away all the overhead, like starting well behind the line, swimming wide, and struggling to pass slower swimmers, and you have a respectable split.
I ran up the bank, trying to get my land legs under me. Just under the swim exit archway was an army of volunteers. These “strippers” are there to aid in removing wetsuits; I approach a pair of them and flop onto my back and they have my neoprene skinsuit off in less than a second (this is usually a difficult solo process). Then the wetsuit went over my shoulder and I ran back up the helix to the transition area. There was a quick stop at the portajohn before running inside to the ballroom to grab my gear bag from the rows of gear bags (I was pleased to see so many bags left in the room -- that means I wasn't last out of the water!), and then I was off to the changing room. While I dried myself off, a volunteer dumped my bag and staged all my gear for me. Another guy helped me with my jersey. As I finished changing into cycling gear, the volunteers packed up my swim gear and took care of it. I was out the door toward the bikes where I passed through the sunscreen station. A dozen volunteers in rubber gloves with vats of sunscreen waited to slather me with the good stuff. Great service. From there I up to the top level of the garage. (in cycling shoes … very dangerous) My bike was all the way at the end of the transition area with all the other young participants' bikes. Some volunteers saw me coming and pulled my bike from the rack for me. I rode the bike down the helix on the other side of the parking garage to ground level and was on my way.

The Bike
The bike course is difficult, with more than 50 turns (many quite technical) and dozens of climbs. None of the climbs are long, but many are steep and they can come in quick succession. I had a great advantage in that I had visited the course about a month prior to race day, and ridden most of it twice.
I felt good at the beginning of the bike. The road was crowded with athletes. Again, I am not used to racing with so many people. The rules require that three bike lengths be kept between racers, but there was simply not enough room on the road. The race marshals were reasonable, however, and only penalized people who gained advantage by drafting. At some of the early hills, we were forced to race four wide in order to accommodate everyone’s pace. Not surprisingly, things thinned out over the 112 miles.
I focused on keeping the pace conservative at the beginning of the bike, and concentrated on fueling. It is not possible to take in fluids and calories during the swim, so there is ground to make up once on the bike. It is also easier to absorb fuel while cycling than while running. This means that the bulk of your calories need to be taken during the bike, which makes the bike leg the most critical part of the race. I started working on my fuel and water bottles. I would take a mouthful of the fuel mixture and then follow it with water to keep the carbohydrate concentration in my stomach reasonable. I took more water than usual to prepare myself for the predicted heat. I paced my consumption so that I would take in calories steadily, but finish both bottles by the 56-mile point, where I could replenish stores.
The first lap went very well. I could tell that I was doing well compared to those around me. I would spin up the hills with much more ease, and generally seemed to be getting along with much less effort. Everyone was taking the day very seriously, and there was no discussion for the first fifty miles or so. Eventually, people started to get bored and started to talk with the riders who shared their pace … mostly about each other’s bikes and weather conditions and the like. I wish someone had told me that my flat kit bag had come open behind my seat. I nearly lost some critical equipment.
At the halfway point, things were going according to plan. I finished off my first round of fuel just in time and stopped after a volunteer handed me my special needs bag. I replaced empty bottles with the full (but warm) ones, and inhaled half of a sandwich. The rest of the sandwich went in my jersey and I was moving again.
This is the point in the race when the heat of the day started to set in, only compounded by a (somewhat unexpected) stiff wind. The wind was bad for several reasons. It meant that us riders had to generate more power, and would be dehydrating faster. Starting the second loop, I saw a long line of riders who seemed to be going absurdly slow. This was the part of the race where I was allowed to take stock of my energy levels and lift my pace if possible, so I thought this would be a real opportunity to pick up some position. But when I tried to pick up the pace, I discovered that my bike wouldn’t move any faster than theirs. Thank goodness I kept my pace conservative early, because the second loop would require all those energy stores. My pace slipped.
The heat also made fueling more difficult. Everyone knows how difficult it can be to eat when you are hot. Still I had to force myself to keep taking in fuel. The sandwich I ate didn’t settle perfectly and it is hard to absorb warm fluids. Even so, my stomach didn’t shut down. In fact, I was drinking so much water that I was finishing my bottles early, forcing me to stop taking in fluids and calories until the next aid station. So I tried taking two water bottles per station, putting one in the carrier behind my seat. Unfortunately, the carrier couldn’t grip the cheap bottles properly. Nearly all the bottles I put back there were launched into the air when I hit a bump in the road, and I benefited from very few of them.
Other riders on the course were having a very difficult time. I passed more and more riders stopped at aid stations or pushing bikes up hills. Eventually, I started seeing riders pull to the side of the road and lay down in the ditch. Ambulances drove by on many occasions, and a siren could almost always be heard. I would speculate that people’s fueling and hydration strategies simply weren’t working as well as mine. I suppose that all of the hot weather training that I did this season paid dividends. About mile 75, I pulled over for a restroom break. There is no better indication that hydration strategy is working.
I felt pretty ragged as I approached mile 100 and left the loop part of the course for the ride back to Madison. My feet hurt. I was having a hard time choking down the last of my sun-warmed fuel mixture. As we came back into town there were a few stretches with a perceptible tailwind for the first time, which was welcome. Still, I just wanted to get rid of my bike.
My mother and sister had volunteered to help with the race, and were stationed very near the end of the bike course, keeping an eye on racers and helping them navigate corners. I was able to see both of them, but was too anxious to get into the air conditioned transition area to stop for a chat.
Approaching the community center again, I had to ride back up the helix to the top of the parking garage. This was the first shade for hours. At the top, a volunteer took my bike from me, and I jogged inside while my bike was racked. My bike split was just under seven hours, for a pace of almost 16.5 mph. This is slow. But I am happy with how well I handled the conditions. In fact, after hearing about what was actually happening to people on the course, I am glad I survived.
It was back through the ballroom to pick up my next gear bag and into the changing room. New socks, running shoes, hat, sunglasses, some body lube, and most of the contents of my more dilute fuel mixture bottle, and I was on my way. While still on the bike, I thought that I might sit in transition for a while to cool off and recover. But I felt better almost as soon as I handed off my bike and stood upright. I was also encouraged by the fact that almost nothing could stop me from finishing at this point. It was about four in the afternoon, and the course didn’t shut down until midnight. There was ample time to walk the whole marathon at this point, and even stop for a slice of pizza and a beer (if I were so inclined). Now it is all about finishing strong. I set out on the run course to do just that.

The Run
As drained as I had felt at the end of the bike, I was a little worried about the amount of pain I would have to endure during the run. Those worries disappeared only a few yards onto the marathon course. My legs were strong and I felt hydrated and comfortable. I settled into a good pace and just ran. My run felt essentially like a stand-alone training run, with no impact from the previous nine hours. It helped immensely that the day was cooling as it got later. The course was also almost completely shaded at this hour.
The run course was convoluted and confusing. It ran through downtown Madison and the campus of U of W. It was essentially a two loop course on a 13.1 mile out and back. As I headed out, I could see the faces of people at the halfway point, as well as the frontrunners finishing the race.
At this point in the race, I had planned on trying some solid foods: powerbars and pretzels and fruit from the aid stations. My stomach didn’t want that, though. So I stayed with what was working. I had taken in several hundred calories during the transition, so I stayed with diluted Gatorade for the first half and some cups of cola for the caffeine. This was a strategy that I was very comfortable with from training, but wouldn’t sustain me for a whole marathon.
The course was quite interesting. The highlight was a lap around the playing field of Camp Randall (football) stadium, where the Badgers had won only the day before. The university students had put together some wonderful and amusing aid stations complete with themes, music and costumes.
I looped back to downtown Madison for the half-marathon point, still in the same rhythm that I discovered out of transition. As I said, I knew that I would have to supplement my caloric intake to keep things moving, so I picked up my special needs bag and grabbed by other run fuel bottle to carry with me.
Then came the turn around. This is just cruel. The course makes a right hand turn in front of the capitol building, where I was surrounded with crowds behind barriers. The finish line was only a few hundred yards in front of me, I could hear the music and the PA announcer calling names. My name wasn't going to be called, though. Not yet. I got to turn around and head back the way I came. There was still 13.1 miles before my moment. I understand that many people dropped out right there.
I was still enjoying the run. On the second trip through the stadium, I paused in front of the photographer and struck the Heismann pose. Of course as I did this, my hamstring started to grab and I stumbled out of it and kept running, but the photographer and I both got a laugh out of it. I think he missed the shot.
So I plugged away, taking mouthsful of fuel and washing it down with water from aid stations. Everything felt great. It was taking progressively more effort to maintain my pace, but was entirely workable. In the middle of the campus, there was one big hill. It was the only considerable one and it came about mile 19 or 20. I hadn’t broken stride yet, so I charged up the hill. At the top, my stomach suddenly revolted without warning. I had felt no nausea, but now I was dumping my stomach contents in the street in front of a couple sitting in their dorm lawn watching the race. When I was finished, they asked me if I was okay. I said I was, which was true. “I’m fine. I’m just sorry you had to see that…. Oh, I think you might have to put up with a bit more.” I don’t really know what happened, but it seemed like I wasn’t absorbing my fuel mixture anymore. I think maybe I let the concentration get too high in my stomach. The good news is that I still felt good and I was still able to take in fluids after the incident.
Soon afterwards, the sun started to set. This is when the countdown started. “Four miles to go, Kevin. No sweat. Just a few more turns and it will only be three miles.” After talking to myself like that for what seemed like a very long time, I approached the finish line. It was the same chute, in front of a crowd that seemed to have grown larger. The capitol was lit up behind me, and this time, I was allowed to go straight through the turnaround. I looked in front of me and behind me to make sure that everyone coming in was spaced out enough to get their own moment at the tape. I ran down the last 100 meters taking it in: the crowd, the lights, the announcer calling my name and the call I had been waiting and training to hear, “You are an Ironman!” I broke the tape with my arms in the air.
My Ironman marathon time was nearly five hours. I was surprised by the slow split. Not only do I know that I am capable of much faster, I actually felt like I was moving better than that. Still, I was racing by feel, so that must have been the pace that my body needed.
On the other side of the finish line, I was met by the “catchers”, volunteers who flank each finisher and walk them away, talk to them and evaluate them. I was taken over to where my timing chip was retrieved from my ankle, asked my T-shirt size, given a bag of finisher schwag, and taken for a photo. They asked me how many Ironman races I had done. When I told them it was my first, they complemented me on being the most together first-timer they had seen all shift. By this point, my family had found me, so the volunteers made clear where I could find food and medical help and let me go.
It was great to see my family who had come to experience this with me, but of whom I had seen so little during the day. I have said that I was pretty together, which is true, but I am not saying that I was perfect. My brain wasn’t working perfectly. I couldn’t for the life of me decide where to go or what to do with myself. I had focused for so many hours on getting to the finish area, I had no plan for what to do now. I went to the med tent even though I felt fine, hoping I could be evaluated for my peace of mind. I should have known that they were overwhelmed and I would not get past triage. Food did not sound good at all, so I just sipped on some chicken broth. I wanted to stay and enjoy the finish line a bit, but was tired. As my mind came back to me I decided to gather my equipment from the transition areas and get back to the hotel. Unfortunately, my sister and father had to leave. It was past eight on a Sunday, after all. So I went back to the hotel with my mother, who had been nice enough to accompany me on the whole race trip, and started my recovery.

Summary
I knew that I had found the bike course challenging, but didn’t understand how bad things were until the race meeting the following day. The race organizers described the race as “carnage”. One in five people who toed the line in the morning failed to cross the finish. It’s humbling.
I also need to mention how impressed I was with the production of the race. You will not find anything better executed than an IMNA race. The way they handled the troubles with the elements was as impressive as the rest of it. The volunteers and police who helped out were wonderful as were the spectators. Being out in that heat and keeping us going must have been quite a test of endurance itself.
I comfortably broke 14 hours in my first Ironman, and in one of the most brutal races that the organizers have seen. I am proud of myself for putting together a plan with the help of my coaches and friends that worked so well. I am also proud of myself for preparing properly and having the discipline to run a conservative race. I was not fast, but I was consistent, and it paid off. I was in 1690th place out of the water, but I didn’t fade in the conditions and was 1124th off the bike and climbed to 766th by the finish. It was an incredible experience, all of it: not just the 14 hours on the course or the five days in Madison, but the months of preparation as well. Triathletes are a great group, and triathlon is a great sport.

Posted by kpjoyce at September 14, 2005 3:25 PM