Middle finger to COVID-19

I have 11 months to train for my third Ironman race. I'm starting this week. Of course, the pandemic changed my plans to do it this year. If the worst happens again, and there are no races in 2021, then I'll figure out a way to do an Ironman virtually. I didn't consider a virtual race this summer because doing it on my own just didn't seem to push me forward in any way. I felt motivated to do my first Ironman in 2016 to see if I could do it (I did it!). I felt motivated to do my second Ironman in 2018 to see if I could do it faster (I didn't). I signed up for my third in 2020 to see if I could do a challenging course with lots of hills. Despite there being a lot of hills around my home, I didn't think a virtual race this summer would really accomplish anything. Perhaps I was wrong. I think doing a virtual race of 2.4 mile swim plus 112 miles on the bike plus a 26.2 run, done in sequence on the same day by myself, sounds like a different kind of challenge that I will do in 2021 if the real race at Lake Placid gets cancelled again. Doing it virtually won't give me the finish line experience of a real race, but it would give me a sense of accomplishing something which the pandemic can't take away. So here's my middle finger to COVID-19! You're not going to stop me anymore. 

By the way, here's a photo of Dan's cousin, me, Geoff, and Dan after the Presque Isle sprint triathlon in 2013. This is what showed up on my Facebook newsfeed and prompted me to write this post.

Feeling sick after Ironman

Thank you to all my cheerleaders! My Ironman was a success, and I am home now. I feel lousy. I had an earache on Thursday morning and thought maybe I was getting sick. I didn't notice anything wrong on Friday or Saturday, but today I have a bad sore throat, so it appears I picked up something last week while my defenses were down. They say taking a little zinc may help fight off a cold, but I prefer Iron!

Ironman Maryland Race Report

Race: Ironman Maryland

Date: September 28, 2018

Location: Cambridge, Maryland

Time: 14:21

Overall Rank: X out of XX 

Age Group Rank: X out of X 

Results: http:

 

I returned to work today and met with a few students to help them review for an upcoming exam. One of them got an average score on her first quiz and a below-average score on her second quiz. She told me she wants to be a surgeon. I wouldn’t rule that out as a career for her, but her first few quiz scores suggest she’s going to struggle to achieve that goal. In my role as a professor, youth-group leader, and step-parent, I know of so many kids that dream big. They want to be the best in everything they do. However, that kind of success is very rare. As an adult, I find that I am good at doing lots of things, but there is always someone better or something more I could have done. So what does this all have to do with my second Ironman race? Everything. I am like that student who scored okay on her first quiz but not so well on her second. I finished the race but didn’t perform as well as I wanted. I’m never going to be at the top of my age group. I’m never going to win, but the drive to be better next time remains. Until I became an adult, I never knew that athletic endeavors were a true metaphor for life; success comes from hard work; success may come a lot later than you expect; your definition of success may change with time; and success usually has more to do with how you deal with adversity than it does with how many competitors you beat. I don’t know yet whether or not I will do another Ironman 140.6-mile race. I think I will. I had an amazing time in Maryland, and I’ve still got some work I’d like to do. Here are some stories from this weekend:

Sandwich Snafu

My “secret sauce” that boosted my spirits during my first Ironman in 2016 was a 6-inch Subway sandwich I ate halfway through the bike route. I attempted this again this year, but after picking up the sandwich Friday night, I forgot to put it in the motel room refrigerator. Discovering this error at 4:15am when I got up, I threw the sandwich out and had less of a lunch on Saturday than planned. I didn’t anticipate that missing a sandwich would have much impact on my race, but in retrospect, my body really did miss the extra 340 calories and 1,090 mg of sodium.

 

Porta Potty Problem

I narrowly avoided a disaster right at the start of the race. There were only 33 porta potties set up for 1400 athletes and family members to use during the hour before our 6:45am start time. I got in line at 6:22am. My turn to use the facility didn’t come until 6:44am. While I was in line I went through my two options: (1) start the race on time in an uncomfortable state, or (2) use the toilet and start late. I decided on the second option. This was to be a 13- or 14-hour race, so I figured starting a few minutes late wouldn’t be a big deal. This choice would have been fine had I brought my wetsuit, goggles, and morning clothes bag with me to the porta potty. However, I left these items in the transition zone with my bike (because I never anticipated spending 22+ min in line), and had to go pick them up after I was done using the bathroom. 

 

The huge crowd of athletes and guests trying to use the portable toilets prior to the race at Ironman Maryland. This almost cost me any chance of finishing my race.

The problem was that according to the rules, the transition zone closes at the start of the race. When I attempted to enter, a volunteer stopped me and said “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you through.” I lingered and paced for a moment, thinking about what to do. I wondered if I was finished already, without having begun. Then I wondered if I could swim the 2.4-mile course without a wetsuit and without goggles. I wasn’t about to quit now, so this is what I was going to do. Swimming in open water without goggles would have been a severe hardship. I was nearly ready to accept this fate when I saw a race official, and I pleaded with her to gain access to my wetsuit bag. She said no, but she decided she could get my stuff. “What do you need?” she asked. I said “grab everything!” Of course I needed my wetsuit and goggles, but the clothes bag contained my wallet, keys, and phone. 

Mine is not a fancy bike, but it gets the job done.

 

Maybe the official broke a rule on my behalf, and for that I am both sorry and thankful. She saved my race. I ran over to the drop-off site for my clothes bag, put my wetsuit on, and lined up with other swimmers. Fortunately with the time-trial entry, there were plenty of athletes who had not yet entered the water, and I had time to regroup and settle my nerves.

 

Waiting for our wave start of the swim at Ironman Maryland. Not my photo. I'm not sure where I downloaded it from.

 

2.4-mile Swim Course

I really enjoyed the swim. It was not as crowded as I anticipated, and I saw no jellyfish. Apparently there were some this year, but not as many as in past years. I honestly looked forward to encountering a few because it would make for an even better Ironman challenge. The water was not choppy, but a strong current pushed the swimmers to the left as we started the loop and to the right as we finished up. The swim course was actually two loops around the same set of buoys, and as I finished my first loop I could hear the announcer at the water exit cheer for the “first woman to finish the swim!” How do people swim that fast!? Maybe I wasn’t a fast swimmer, but my body was handling the distance well. My arms did not feel fatigued and I could have gone on for another mile or more. The only pain I experienced was early in the swim when my lower back started to hurt. At first I couldn’t figure out why I’d get pain in that area since swimming doesn’t tax the muscles there. However, the biologist in me realized that it was “referred pain,” that is, pain felt in one location due to a problem at another location. In this case, the wetsuit was too tight at my crotch and was causing “my boys” to be unhappy. I stopped swimming for a moment to adjust their position. In case you didn’t know, athletes regularly talk about bodily functions, so my testicular discomfort is just another detail to keep this story interesting. You are going to be okay.

 

Swim course at Ironman Maryland. Good weather and calm waters. Not too crowded, and no jellyfish. A great swim!

I finished the swim in 1:29, which was 1 minute slower than in 2016. This difference is insignificant and I was pleased. Compared to my gender age group, I was 109 out of 199 athletes (top 55%). My swims at other triathlons usually put me in the top 25% of my age group, but not at Ironman. These are more experienced and better trained athletes than the weekend warriors I usually compete against.

 

112-mile Bike Course

There were so many athletes exiting the transition zone at the same time that it took a dozen miles for me to filter through them and go the speed I wanted. There are penalties if athletes are caught drafting (following too close), blocking (riding side-by-side), or passing too slowly (a pass must occur within 25 seconds), so it took some time and effort to pass someone. I didn’t want to burn too much extra fuel by repeated passes, but I was feeling some adrenaline and wanted to! To my credit, I kept my speed nice and steady at 18.5 mph for the first 43 miles. Between miles 43 and 52, my Garmin shows I slowed to around 16 mph. I just looked at the course map and this section matched up precisely with my travel on the west side of the loop going north on Route 9. Guess what direction the wind was blowing? That’s right; I was getting a headwind in this section.

 

I remember someone asking me a few days before the race, “Will all the birds in the National Wildlife Refuge distract you?” My answer was “No, unfortunately, I’ll be keeping my head down and concentrating on going fast,” but that’s not entirely what happened. There were beautiful, open, and watery sections of the landscape where I looked for birds to keep my mind occupied and my spirit playful. I saw a heron, some egrets, mallards, cormorants, and fish crows. In addition, I heard blue jays and cardinals, woodpeckers and wrens.

Typical scene on the bike ride at Ironman Maryland. I took this photo the day after my race.

 

Given that people were not supposed to ride side-by-side, there was very little talking among athletes. It would not have been easy to share my sighting of an egret with anyone. It was heartening to find at least two sets of partners doing the race together. In one case, I heard the guy behind me giggle as he passed me, and I asked what was funny. He said he just saw his girlfriend up ahead, and watching their reunion was fun, if only fleeting. He passed her and kept going; that’s fine. In another case, in the windy section I came upon a man and woman, both in their upper 50s and in matching triathlon suits. He was following her, and as I passed him I asked if that was his wife. He said “Yes, we are doing this together. This is her second Ironman, and this is my first!” It was mile 86 and he was still very excited. I truly hope that my wife and I will go on some big adventure like this when we are that age. It’s important to keep doing new things, and do them together.

 

Lunch was at mile 64 in a high school parking lot. Mom and Dad had ridden a bus to get to that spot in an effort to see me, and there they were at the entrance to the parking lot! I couldn’t stop right there, though, so I continued a little ways to the place where they were giving the athletes the “special needs bags,” which we had packed for ourselves. This is where I was missing my Subway sandwich, but I had packed an apple and a bag of chips. I ate those as I walked through the parking lot to see my parents. My Garmin tells me I stopped for only 10 minutes to eat and talk. This is less time than in 2016, and that’s probably good. In fact, the walk was good for me because I was experiencing a lot of hip discomfort on the left side during the bike ride, and this cleared the pain up for the remainder of the day.

My bike speed during the Ironman Maryland race (blue line, right vertical axis). My heart rate is shown by the gray bars. Lunch occurred midway through the race.

 

I feel like a lot of people passed me during my short lunch. The second loop featured far fewer cyclists. I got a burst of energy after lunch and went more than 22 mph for the first 10 miles. This also corresponds to a tailwind, but I didn’t know that at the time. I just felt good, and despite worrying about burning out, I pedaled hard in high gear.

 

I knew I was still “on track” when I finished the bike leg. I knew that in 2016 I had completed the bike course in 6:42, and my official 2018 results show a bike time of 6:38. Isn’t that extraordinary? The two bike courses were in different states (I was in Ohio in 2016) and under different weather conditions, but yet my performance was nearly the same. In fact, if I remove the “lunch break” from my bike data, in 2016 I spent 6:19 on the bike going an average speed of 17.8 mph. In 2018, I spent 6:15 on the bike going an average speed of 17.8 mph. Amazing!

 

Nutrition and Hydration

Done with the swim and the bike, I was ready to start my run. I felt good, but that feeling wouldn’t last. They say that nutrition/hydration is the fourth leg of triathlon and this is where I floundered. An endurance athlete is supposed to consume about 200 calories per hour of exercise (this is a simplification of data in a book by Matt Dixon). For me on the bike, that would be 6.5 hrs x 200 = 1,300 calories. I didn’t document every GU energy gel, Honey Stinger waffle, banana, and mini Clif Bar that I consumed, but I tried to stay on a schedule where I ate and drank something every 20 minutes, and I think this would add up to at least 1,300 calories.

 

My fluid intake was not far off recommended parameters. I should have been drinking around 24 ounces per hour. For me, that would be 6.5 hrs x 24 = 156 ounces = 5.5 bottles of water/Gatorade. I recall discarding 3 empty bottles from my bike (aid stations were placed every 15 miles on the route to resupply athletes), and the two still on my bike at the end of my ride were nearly empty.

 

I think I got into problems with sodium and other electrolytes. Guidelines suggest a sodium intake of at least 700 mg per hour during an event like Ironman in cooler weather (today’s air temperature was around 70 degrees). Looking at my intake, I estimate I was getting 375 mg from food, 143 mg from Gatorade, and 66 mg of salt supplement per hour. That’s only 83% of what I should have been taking in. These are pretty rough estimates, but what if I had consumed that Subway sandwich for lunch? That would have raised my salt intake to an average of 752 mg per hour. I never would have thought a sandwich would be so important!

 

Having just finished the 112 mile bike ride, I'm about to start my 26.2 mile run at Ironman Maryland.

26.2-mile Run Course

After a quick visit with Mom and Dad in the transition zone, I started out on the run. I felt great. In fact, the bike shoes had felt tight and getting into running shoes gave me some relief. I started with an 8:15 min per mile pace, and quickly dialed it down because I knew that wouldn’t be sustainable. However, just two weeks earlier I maintained an average 8:45 pace for the Air Force Half Marathon, and I felt optimistic about today’s run. I therefore chose to stick to a 9:00-10:00 min pace for today’s race.

 

My Garmin watch data shows I stuck to this goal for about 3.5 miles. From there, I steadily slowed down. At mile 5, I had a 10:51 pace. At mile 6, I had a 10:48 pace. At mile 7, I had a 10:53 pace. By this time I was feeling dizzy and weak. There were other runners around me who were experiencing some of the same symptoms; they were weaving back and forth, and some had already knelt to the ground as if they were trying not to faint. Just a little before mile 8, I decided I was in bad enough shape that if I continued to exert myself, I would lose my balance and fall over. So I walked. I walked for 38 minutes. This section of the running route took me into the town of Cambridge where crowds were cheering for early finishers. Since the course was looped, I would have to pass by this point twice more before I was done. Spectators didn’t have any way to know how far along I was, so most of them seemed to think I was finishing. As they encouraged me, I got emotional. They were so happy and yet I was so sad because I was walking and had many miles to cover before I would finish. I never doubted that I would finish; I just knew I wouldn’t finish early, and I felt like I failed. I eventually convinced myself that I was feeling a little better in the head (not dizzy), so I tried to run again. Immediately, I got an abdominal cramp and my calf muscles were twitching. I pushed through this for 16 minutes to the next aid station where I stopped to walk and get food and drink. Attempting to run again, I found that I couldn’t get my legs to move fast enough, and my calves were going to seize up at any moment.

I walked for another hour and 28 minutes. I really, really wanted to run, so I tested my legs twice more during this period to see if the cramping was over. No success. I stopped at a porta potty and found my urine to be thick and dark. The muscle cramps, weakness, and dark urine suggested my water and salt levels were still out of balance. At that point, at mile 17.5, I determined that I couldn’t run and so I would just concentrate on walking fast and trying to have a good time doing it. Today wasn’t my day. “Let’s move past it,” I thought. I turned off the “run” setting on my watch and switched it to “walk.” I started to converse with a few other walkers. I started to look at the colored clouds and the setting sun at dusk. I thanked God for helping me get to this point in my race and my life.

 

Run cadence measured over the first 17 miles of the Ironman Maryland run segment. Green levels indicate pretty efficient running for a person of my height. But then as I started to suffer from electrolyte imbalance, I slowed (orange) and eventually had to walk (red).

My running pace during the first 17 miles of the Ironman Maryland run segment is shown by the blue line. Heart rate is in gray. I had to walk after mile 7 and again around mile 12.

Ha! That didn’t last. Six minutes later I thought “I’m at mile 18 and if I keep walking at a pace around 15 min/mile, that’s 2 more hours to go! I won’t finish until 9:45pm.” That would be well before the midnight cutoff, but I wanted to be done now, not two hours from now. So I started to run. I ran 4 miles without stopping. I saw Mom and Dad cheering for me along that stretch but I could not stop for fear of losing my momentum. I did the second loop through the town and saw all the same spectators there, and they could see I was feeling good and they thought I was about to finish. I let them think that, and I gave them a bunch of high-fives. My calves started to seize up after 4 miles, so I slowed to walk again, but my spirits were high and I had just gotten to mile 22. This thing was almost done. I could do the rest. My watch battery died, so I don’t know how much of the remaining 4.2 miles I ran and how much I walked, but it was a mix. I was walking at mile 25 and knew I could run the rest of the way, so I started up one last time and entered the town again for all the spectators’ support. Unfortunately, the dinner hour was done and a lot of them had either gone home or moved to the finish line.

 

Indeed, the finish line was lined with spectators. I wanted to get the most of it so I started on the left of the chute, slapping hands as I passed, and then I switched to the right side. I immediately saw my parents with their cow bell, white board sign, and the two funny, spinning, colored light toys they acquired somewhere during their own life journey (One showed up in 2016 but I didn’t remember them having two!). I ran past them and got to the finish line with my arms in the air. I really felt like I was hamming it up, but when I see the video of me finishing, I look pretty tired and not as enthused as I felt.

 

Me at the finish line

of Ironman Maryland 2018.

 

Volunteer Catcher

There were hundreds of volunteers helping with this race, and one position some of them had was “catcher.” These folks are at the finish line and grab you by the arm just as you finish, making sure you don’t fall over. I didn’t need catching, but I appreciated the calming presence of my catcher. He steered me by the arm to where I got my finisher’s medal and where they removed my timing chip. He steered me over to another volunteer who gave me a hat and a shirt. He steered me to the photo area where they took my photo. Then he asked me what else he could do, and I asked him “Where’s the food?” For those of you who know me well, that was a very “Jim” thing to say. If I had lost myself during the marathon, I was back now. I was well.

 

My official run time was 5:54. This compares to 5:01 when I did my Rev3 race in 2016. I’m surprised that walking about half the marathon only slowed me down by 53 minutes (compared to 2016 when I was able to run nearly the whole thing). But the math helps me understand it; a fast walk is only 3 or 4 minutes per mile slower than a slow run.

 

I admit to being disappointed in my finish time of 14 hours and 21 minutes. This is 43 minutes slower than my personal best in 2016, but it’s only a 5% difference. I really can’t complain! I didn’t do it to win. I did it to have fun and feel alive. I tell my students all the time that life is full of challenges and you grow the most when you have to struggle. Things that come easy are not worth much. So yes, I think I’ll do another. I’ve got more work to do, and there will be more joy to come.

Ironman Maryland goal time

I’ll be racing in Ironman Maryland on Saturday 9/29. The triathlon consists of a 2.4 mile swim + 112 mile bike ride + 26.2 mile run. I will start around 6:45am and I hope to beat my previous IM finish time of 13 hours and 38 minutes, set in 2016. I will have family cheering at the finish line, but I am even less likely to stop or quit if I know that people back home are supporting me, too. If you want to see how I’m doing on Saturday, please download the Ironman Tracker app onto your smartphone or go to www.ironman.com on race day, find live coverage of the Maryland race, and search for me by last name or bib (#1312).

Full of Spark

Ironman Maryland is one week from today! I'm having trouble concentrating on anything else. This is why I'm doing it. It makes life full of spark. There's always a period of anticipation before a big event. This week, for me, is like Advent before Christmas. (um, sorry Jesus. This is probably not my best analogy).

August 2018 update

August totals: 18 miles swimming + 338 miles biking + 75 miles running = 437 miles. Well, it's time to reckon with the truth about my Ironman preparedness. Compared to 2016 when I did my first one, I have a deficit for the year in the amount of 373 miles of swimming, biking, and running. This represents 16% of my total. In August alone, I have a deficit of 25 miles, all of which is running. This is entirely Kennywood's fault. On July 31, the inertial forces of a roller coaster caused me to smash my knee into the metal seat in front of me. My knee is 90% better now, but pain and a forced limp caused me to limit my mileage. Well, the reason doesn't matter much, now does it? I feel unprepared for the run segment next month at my race, and since I should be entering my taper soon (the period before a race when an athlete decreases volume, allowing the body to recuperate), I shouldn't do too many more long runs. Ironman is as much a mental endeavor as it is physical. I'll have to work on my confidence in September!

July 2018 update

I'm in trouble with my ironman training. This July I managed to swim 11 miles, bike 198 miles and run 57 miles. This sounds good until one considers that in the same time frame in 2016, when I was training for my first ironman, I swam 18 miles, biked 389, and ran 90. Two vacations this July and a greater dedication to family activities and home projects have reduced my mileage this year. I've got no regrets, but I'm getting worried now.

Decision time

I registered for Ironman Maryland today.

Deciding on my next big race

Will I be an IRONMAN at Cambridge, Maryland (Oct 7, 2018) or an IRONMAN Louisville (Oct 15, 2018)? I've narrowed my next big race down to those two. The Maryland course would be easier but it is flood-prone and could get cancelled. It takes place within a wildlife reserve, so it would be a beautiful ride. I'd be able to visit my aunt and uncle, and it's an hour less each way in terms of getting there by car. I'd have to take two days off from work. There are no hotels near the race site, so getting there on race morning would mean an even earlier wake-up time. The Louisville race would be a little more physically challenging, it would not involve visiting family, the route is more urban (not so pretty, but maybe less boring), take a little more time in the car to get there, but only require one day off from work instead of two.

I am an Ironman!

Race: Rev3 Cedar Point Full Triathlon
Date: September 11, 2016
Location: Cedar Point, OH
Time: 13:37:57
Age Group Rank: 9 out of 11
Results: http:

I am an ironman now! When my friend Dan and I did a half-ironman (70.3 miles) in 2014, I had so much fun that I wondered if doing twice the length would be twice as much fun. Today, having finished a 140.6 mile race, I have the answer: it was just as much fun as the half-distance race with an even greater sense of accomplishment and inner strength. There is an often-used saying that you can do anything you want if you are dedicated enough. I am not sure that is always true because there are so many factors beyond your control, but I am happy to illustrate a case where the saying did come true.

Let’s do my report by time of day. I looked at my watch regularly to make sure I was on track to finish the race in 15-16 hours. Are you ready to spend the day with me? Let’s go:

5:00am. Dan and I wake up in the shared motel room. We had gone to bed around 9:30pm the night before, after having dinner with my parents and stopping at two stores for supplies. One store was a Subway where I bought a 6-inch cold-cut sandwich for me to pack in my “Special Needs Bike” bag.

5:37am. I took my time eating Corn Pops cereal so we were late for my target departure time of 5:30am.

5:50am. I entered the transition zone. I racked my bike and dropped off 4 bags at different locations, each containing the supplies and food I would need at various stages during the triathlon. I was so nervous on Saturday that I would forget to put needed items into the proper bags.

6:25am. Transition zone was closing. It was time to walk 800 yards to the boat launch where the swim would start. The swim was taking place in a marina sheltered from the bigger waves of Lake Erie. I didn’t mind swimming in the marina, but the swim was supposed to be in the open water of Lake Erie. The race director decided to change the location due to wind conditions.

6:50am. The sun was still below the horizon when they played the national anthem. Today was the 15^th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, so we also paused for a moment of silence. I chose to look at the hundreds of small American flags that race organizers had placed around the boat launch. The flags were fully extended in the 14 mph wind. I was happy to be wearing my wetsuit because it kept me warm in the air as well as in the water.

7:00am. The racers lined up two-by-two and we were sent into the water every 10 seconds. The water was a perfect 75 degrees. The “time trial” start meant I didn’t have to worry about running into as many people on the swim as what would have happened if we had had a mass start.

7:05am. I immediately started swimming toward the wrong buoy. We were supposed to swim counter-clockwise around the marina, keeping the big yellow buoys on our left. I headed for the first buoy I could see. This buoy was on the far side of the looped course so eventually I would encounter it again, but not now. A kayaker intercepted me and pointed me in the right direction. I over-corrected and started swimming too close to the rock breakwater. My right arm hit rocks underneath, so I veered back into deeper water. This incident took my confidence down a notch. I had a long race ahead of me. How many more mistakes would I make today?

7:15am. I didn’t like this swim course. I was swimming right next to giant yachts (was I too close?), alongside a breakwater (would I run into more rocks?), and sometimes under branches emanating from trees growing on the breakwater (creepy, but kind of cool). Sometimes I was swimming right next to someone else (stressful), and other times the nearest swimmer seemed too far away (was I doing something wrong?). About this time, another kayaker got my attention and pointed to other swimmers a little farther off shore. He said “there is a better current over there.” Oh, I thought to myself. So that’s why they were over there and I was seemingly swimming all alone among the weeds and water snakes. I shifted into the deeper water and felt the propulsion of current. I felt like a sea turtle. It was a thrill. I just wish I had known about that earlier. At the southeastern end of the marina the water grew choppy, but I had just done the Presque Isle Sprint Triathlon a month before, and the water there was worse. This swim was going fine after all.

7:44am. I started my second loop of the swim course and felt more confident about my bearings. My arms were too warm, my calf muscles felt slightly crampy, but nothing was too bothersome. The sun was just now breaking through clouds on the horizon. The mix of patchy gray fog and a white cloud-speckled blue sky with rays of golden sun spurred a sense of thanksgiving within me.

8:20am. I saw Dan on shore with his camera. I gave him an “a-ok” signal with my hand as I took a stroke.

8:27am. I finished my swim in 1:27, about 18 minutes faster than I had anticipated. This put me in 31^st place overall, out of 90 racers. The calmer waters of the marina (versus the open lake) and the reduced need for sighting probably helped me keep to a straighter line and finish sooner. Upon exiting the water, volunteers helped me strip out of the wetsuit. Then I put the wetsuit, swim cap, and goggles into a mesh bag with backpack straps, put it on, and retrieved a pair of running shoes I had left in the designated location. After a few wobbly strides, I ran stiffly the half-mile distance to the transition zone.

8:32am. In transition, I was directed into the changing tent to prepare for the bike segment. The changing tent was a surreal and dreamy experience. There were plastic folding chairs for athletes to sit in as we changed our shoes.  A volunteer visited each athlete, asking if we needed water, Gatorade, or energy bars. I asked for water, and he returned in an instant with a cup of ice water. I think maybe if I had asked him for a hot towel and a glass of wine, he would have gotten that for me, too. It was like I was flying first class in an airplane. We spoke in muted tones, honoring the performance in which we all played a role.

8:39am. I left the changing tent with food stuffed in one pocket of my tri suit and the Quarq GPS tracking device in the other pocket. The Quark would transmit my position every minute to a website where my friends and family could watch my progress in real time. It was the size of a bar of soap and besides taking up valuable space in my pocket where more food would have gone, it was a great thing to have.

9:30am. The bike route coursed along a narrow strip of land with a beach on one side and homes on the other. As soon after it reached the mainland the course weaved through a neighborhood near a school. It was at this spot where I saw an ambulance crew loading an athlete onto a stretcher. I was moving at an average speed of 20mph so I didn’t have the chance to gawk, but it didn’t look good. I remember my first thought was “that’s so disappointing that she had an accident at the start of the race.” This reasoning isn’t quite logical, as it shouldn’t make any difference whether the crash was at the start or the finish. It would still be a bad day for the athlete. But what my thought process suggested was that I was having a good time, and I wouldn’t want to crash so early in what I hoped would be a very fun day.

10:00am. I had been following another guy on a bike for maybe an hour. Drafting was illegal for this race so I maintained a following distance of at least three bike lengths. He knew I was there because at every intersection controlled by police, he would thank them for being there, and then a second later, I would do the same. I really wanted to keep following him because it takes less mental energy to follow than to lead. However, we encountered a small hill and he slowed down. Having trained on the hills of Pittsburgh, I am a really good climber. I just couldn’t slow down for the hills, so I passed him.

11:00am. I passed through an aid station with a bottle exchange. I had been taking sips of Gatorade every 15-20 minutes so by this time, one of my bike’s bottles was empty. I slowed down a little, discarded the empty bottle, and grabbed another from a volunteer. It was effortless, like a pro. I had an emotional moment after passing through that aid station. I had tears. Was I grieving the loss of the water bottle? No, that couldn’t be it. I had planned to discard the bottle during this race. So maybe it was just a moment of reflection on how well this race was going for me.

11:15am. For food, I had been eating some Stinger Waffles I had stuffed in my pocket. I like the Waffles a lot better, but I wanted something different so at another aid station I stuck my hand out and grabbed a pre-opened portion of a PowerBar from a volunteer.  No one was stopping to eat, so I didn’t either. The PowerBar was so dry, I almost choked. It’s hard to eat and exercise at the same time.

11:30am. I came upon the half-way point on the bike route where our “Special Needs Bike” bags were distributed by volunteers. One person stood along the road well out ahead of the aid station and read our numbers. By the time we pedaled to the aid station, some Boy Scouts had found my numbered bag and handed it to me. I pulled over and took out my Subway sandwich. I stood there eating it for about 15 minutes as numerous cyclists grabbed their bags and went on. If they happened to see me, they looked at my sandwich with great envy. The volunteers were laughing at what I was doing; here I was, stopped, and eating a sandwich. I was joking with them and asking about their day. I was so relaxed and in good humor that they couldn’t believe I was doing a race. “I like this guy!” the Boy Scout leader kept saying. I am a slow eater. I finally finished, retrieved a few more Waffles and Clif bars from my special needs bag and put them into my pocket, and started on my way. Then I turned back and asked the volunteers where the porta-john was. They laughed some more and pointed me to a nearby intersection. After a few more minutes, I was on my way.

11:36am. I saw Dan and my parents along the roadside with signs, cheering for me. My mom’s voice carried more than anyone’s. She was so proud of me.  I am 41 years old, and the love and support of my parents still means a lot. I was heading downhill and couldn’t stop to say hello. I felt bad that they must have been sitting there for an hour waiting for me, and within 5 seconds I was gone.

1:00pm. I finally found another cyclist to follow and this helped pass the time. After a few minutes, though, we came upon an athlete who had pulled her bike to the shoulder. She had a flat. Proper etiquette required we pull over and assist her. Fortunately, though, the guy I was following encountered her first, so he was more responsible for helping than I was. The woman had a patch kit but no pump. That’s poor planning, you know? I don’t want to sound too critical, but you can certainly fix a flat with a patch, but that does little good without some way to re-inflate the tube. I’m not sure whether or not the guy in front of me stayed with her and used his pump to assist her, but since he was there, I felt I could move on without violating my ethical code.

1:28pm. By this time I was well into my second loop of the bike course. The field of competitors had really spread out and there was no one within view ahead of me or behind me. There had not been a lot of people passing me during the day, but I spent almost 18 minutes off the bike at lunch, so I guess a lot of folks passed me then (race data show about 20 people doing the full length race passed me between miles 22 and 60). My lower back was sore. The wind was no fun. I had maintained an average speed of 17.0 mph for 80 miles. I tried to think about how few miles I had before I could stop, but 112-80=32 miles and that still equated to two hours more to go. That wasn’t really a comfort so I stopped doing math.

1:32pm. I wasn’t feeling right. My leg muscles felt fine but my thought process didn’t feel sharp anymore. My speed had slowed to 13-14 mph. I also realized that my performance’s soundtrack had gone quiet. You see, I sing silently to myself when I exercise. I make up random tunes in my head and sing them over and over, coordinating my limb movements with the song in my head. Sometimes I sing tunes from church, or Christmas carols. But now on my bike ride, my mind had stopped singing. This was a clue that I was bonking; that is, running out of fuel and/or electrolytes. I pulled over and ate several handfuls of the pretzels I had stuffed in my seat bag. Another cyclist pulled over to see if I was ok. I explained that I was bonking, and he said he was too, and that we would do so together. I’m not sure he was all that ill—he might have just been caring for me. I recovered within a couple minutes and we started up again. He followed me until we encountered a hill, and since I am good on hills, I slowly left him behind.

3:20pm. I was finally done with the bike. I had seen my parents a couple more times, I had drunken another gallon of Gatorade (approximately), I had choked down another terrible PowerBar, and I had pushed through the back pain so that I was no longer feeling it anymore. I had also taken several salt tablets from aid stations, and that really seemed to help. As I approached the transition zone at Cedar Point, I yelled out the number of miles I had left: “10 miles!” then “9 miles!” then “8 miles!” and so on. I verbally congratulated myself for riding my bike farther in one day than ever before, and I reminded myself that I had never swam 2.4 miles in one day before, either. My official time on the bike was 6:41:42, averaging 16.7 mph, but that included lunch and several quick stops. My bike computer tells me my bike was in motion for 6:18:53, averaging 17.8 mph.

3:40pm. I racked my bike in transition and headed into the changing tent to change my socks and shoes. The tent experience was a lot less special the second time around. There were only a couple other athletes in the tent and they seemed spent. The volunteer was tired and nonverbal. In contrast, my legs felt amazingly fresh. I felt I could start running with no difficulty, but first, I wanted to thank my cheering squad. I left the tent and walked to greet Dan and my parents who were waiting at the fence. We hugged and chatted and it helped me relax. I wanted them to know I appreciated their presence on the course. I spent almost 16 minutes in transition.

3:47pm. I was running an 8:07 min/mile pace after the first mile of the run. I had 25 miles to go, so I decided to slow down. I had trouble thinking about the fact that I still had 5-6 hours to go before the end of the race. At every mile marker, I would do the math, and it was never good: “Great! I’ve run 5 miles. Just…um…21 miles to go.” Yeah, I stopped saying that to myself. I stopped thinking ahead and just concentrated on the present moment. I looked at the architecture of buildings. I greeted the athletes going the opposite way on this out-and-back course. I whooped and hollered with the volunteers at every aid station.

5:39pm. By this time I had run 11.4 miles and was maintaining a 9 to 10min/mile pace. The course consisted of a complicated 4-loop system around a marina, through a city park, through downtown Sandusky, through neighborhoods, and along the causeway back to Cedar Point. The looped nature meant that I would visit the same aid stations over and over, and I got to know the volunteers. Each station was fully stocked with water, Gatorade, Coke, salt tablets, energy gels, and PowerBars (none for me, thanks). Two of them had bananas in the beginning but they stopped offering these late in the run. As I would approach, I would call out what I wanted, and the volunteers would get it. As the miles went by, I really didn’t know what I wanted so the volunteers started listing what they had. One offered chicken broth. I turned it down the first time, but for the next 11 miles I looked forward to encountering that station again and having some.

5:53pm. I got to the halfway point of the run where I was given my “Special Needs Run” bag to rummage through for treats I had prepared for myself. I added a few fruit snacks to my pocket and changed my left sock because I was developing a hot spot and thought that would help. Dan was there and I talked to him as I changed my sock and examined my foot. I was fairly tired at this point and walked about 50 yards until I got the motivation to start running again. My pace had slowed to a 14:15 min/mile during this section because of my temporary pause in running.

6:33pm. In 2015 when I ran my first marathon, I ran continuously for 16.5 miles and then started to run/walk (i.e., run for 3 minutes and walk for 1 minute). I wanted to do better than that this year, so my goal was to keep running for at least the first 17 miles. Except for the pause at the midway point, I met this goal. In fact, the only time I walked was at the aid stations, but this was sometimes a necessity; the chicken broth was too hot to chug! My parents had joined with a few other spectators at a city fountain. I would stop to talk to them for about a minute each time I passed by that point. Then I would cross a city street and drunk people would cheer for me as I ran past a restaurant with outdoor seating.

7:11pm. I was maintaining a running pace of 12 min/mile at milepost 19. I wasn’t in any pain. My legs were certainly tired, but they didn’t feel stiff and debilitated like they felt in 2015 at this point in my marathon. I was still joking with volunteers and city residents who were always happy to cheer. There was a house with lots of spectators holding signs and being rowdy. On my last loop past them, I ran into their yard and exchanged high-fives. There was a street corner where another spectator had been sitting, and I told her I was happy to never see her again. She had a puzzled, somewhat offended look on her face until she figured out this was my last loop. “No offense,” I said. There was a grandmotherly whisper of a woman who had been sitting on her front porch all afternoon, ringing a bell as runners passed. On my last loop I ran up onto her porch and shook her hand. I hope I made her day. I had a great amount of endorphins and my body was still whole, so I wanted to take time to thank everyone for contributing to this experience.

7:50pm. With about 4 miles to go I hooked up with another runner who had a similar pace. That is, until he stopped to walk. When I passed him, I encouraged him to keep going. He started up again, and together we started running faster. He was more tired than me, so I took responsibility for keeping the conversation going. Shannan was watching my GPS tracker all day long, and she tells me my pace had quickened to around 10 min/mile. Eventually, my companion told me to go on. He stopped to walk; I kept running, and I was running faster and faster because I knew the end was near. I even had the concern that I would beat my parents to the finish line because they had to get into their car and drive across the causeway on their way from downtown Sandusky where I saw them last to Cedar Point. As I was thinking of this, several police cars followed by fire trucks raced past at an extraordinary rate of speed.

8:10pm. It was dusk now, and I had just passed the second-to-last aid station. A worker ran up to me and told me that I would have to stop running at the next intersection. There had been a car accident on the causeway and police had shut down the road. She said they were stopping the race clock, and she wrote down my number so they would know how far I had gotten. I had 1.83 miles left before the finish line. More runners came to the intersection, and eventually we backtracked to the aid station. No one knew when we would be allowed to start up again, so we kept walking around and stretching in order to stay loose and ready for our final push to the finish line. Constant movement was also a necessity in order to avoid an ambush of hungry mosquitoes. I am not exaggerating when I say I got two dozen bites. It was a fitting, miserable end to our run. However, the volunteers at the aid station more than made up for it. One man ran to his home and got some bug repellent for us. Another volunteer heated more chicken broth. Someone else retrieved a bunch of extra shirts for us to wear so we wouldn’t get too cold.

8:30pm. We runners had given up now. Many of us sat on the ground. Most, including me, were accepting of the situation and took this in stride. We couldn’t change the course of events, and look how far we had gotten! The race official at the aid station informed us that the race was now canceled; we would not be allowed to run the last couple miles.  A shuttle van would arrive in about 30 minutes and take us to the finish line where we would be given our finisher’s medals.

9:00pm. The shuttle arrived and we drove the run course in reverse for several miles, looking for any other runners we could pick up. There were still some people running their last remaining loop who would need transportation to the finish line. One athlete refused to get on our bus. She wanted to keep going. Fellow racer Christopher Jarc got off our bus to try to convince her to stop. When that strategy failed, he came back to our bus and told us to leave them both. He would run with her for as long as she could go on. Christopher was a 30-something bearded character who ran his race in jeans shorts and sandals. There are reports that he stuffed chicken fingers in his shirt pockets and offered them to fellow racers. It was an honor to be in his presence. He comforted people as they boarded the bus. Several were in tears because they couldn’t finish the race. I understand their tears. They would always feel like their race was incomplete, that because they didn’t do all 140.6 miles, they didn’t reach their goal, and all the training they did over the past year was a wasted effort that might never be repeated. I didn’t feel this way.  I accepted that my race would be 139.2 miles (I am including the 0.45 mile run between the swim and the bike transition), and it doesn’t bother me that I couldn’t finish. The race length of 140.6 miles seems really arbitrary. I still achieved my goal by doing something I had never done before, and because I was still having a good run at the end, I knew I could have gone another couple miles with no difficulty.

10:00pm. The shuttle bus took a 10-mile detour to get us back to Cedar Point. The president of the Rev3 company greeted us as we got off the bus and reiterated how our race would end. We would be given an estimated finish time based on our running pace when the race was stopped. We would be allowed to run through the finish line chute, one at a time, to receive cheers from the remaining spectators, and to be given our medals. I hadn’t noticed Dan or my parents at this point, but as soon as it was my turn to run across the finish line, my mother joined me in the run. The Rev3 company brands itself as family-friendly and they encourage family members to enter the finish chute with their athlete because this recognizes the fact that training for such a race takes a family-wide commitment. Mom had brought a couple little multi-colored spinning flashlights from home and spun them around as we ran. I was so amused by this that I never heard the announcer say my name and state that I was an official finisher of the Rev3 Full Distance Triathlon. It was official.  I was an ironman!

So what’s next for me? I would consider doing another ironman, but I’m not sure when. What I do know is that it will be very strange to get back on my bike and go for a ride. It’s been a long time since I have ridden it without a training plan telling my how long or how far.

I’ll end with some numbers:

Total Race Time (estimated)= 13:37:57. This is much faster than the 15-16 hours I had predicted.

Age Group Ranking = 9 out of 11.

Total swim time = 1:27:54

Total bike time = 6:41:43

Average bike speed = 17.8 mph

Maximum bike speed = 31.3 mph

Elevation gain on bike route = 1,637 feet

Total run time = 5:00:40. This is only six minutes slower than my marathon finish time in 2015, and back in 2015 I hadn’t just swam and biked beforehand!

Today’s high temperature = 73 degrees

This morning’s low temperature = 56 degrees

Today’s peak hourly wind speed = 14 mph

Number of blisters: 2, but these didn’t really bother me on race day.

Number of Tylenol tablets I had placed in my special needs bags = 6.

Number of Tylenol tablets I used today = 0.

Miles of training in 2016 before this race = 2,428.

Hours of training in 2016 = 223. I log my hours when I log each workout’s mileage.

Financial cost of doing this race = A lot. But I am really proud to have done it without buying anything beyond the basics. Most triathletes at this level have $3,500+ bikes, GPS watches, and professional coaches. I did buy a new jacket at the finisher’s brunch the day following the race. It was $75. Shrug. Nobody’s perfect.

IM bike course

My wife and others have asked if the bike course for the ironman I will do in September is going to be hilly. The event is in Ohio near Lake Erie so I figured it wouldn't be. However, I never really looked at the elevation profile so I just guessed and said "Nah, it's mostly flat."

Today I checked out the 111.5-mile course. The elevation gain is 1,429 feet. That's 12.8 feet per mile. There are definitely some hills, but they don't look too bad. For reference, the MS150 ride I sometimes do includes 4,114 feet of elevation gain on the first day over a distance of 74.7 miles. That's 55.1 feet per mile. The second day on the MS150 is 2,007 feet of elevation gain over 63.4 miles, or 31.7 feet per mile. Anyway I look at it, the ironman bike course will be 2.5 times easier than the MS150. Good news!

Why I Race

I'm reading a book by Diana Tracy Cohen called "Iron Dads," which will hopefully help me find out how to balance my responsibilities between work, family, and training for an ironman. In Chapter 3, the author covers some reasons why men sign up for an ironman race. It has been 4 months since I signed up, so my decision is not a new one. Plus, I remember wanting to sign up for more than a year before I actually did, so this has been a long-term goal. But why? It's a fair question, and it applies more to just my ironman training. I have frequently wondered why I compete on a masters' swim team. So let's see if Cohen's book will help:

(1) Iron Distance as a Catalyst for Bodily Change: Some men sign up because they want to improve their outward appearance or inner physiology. At 6' 4" and 175 pounds, I have no weight to lose, so that can't be my motivation. Maintaining good physical health is important to me, but I don't obsess over it. So the only aspect of this category that applies to me is my desire to appear more muscular. I do want to work more weight lifting into my training, but that isn't really necessary to be an ironman. So this is a side benefit at best...if I do the extra work.

(2) Being a Role Model: Some dads do it to teach their children the importance of a physical lifestyle. My step-daughters are already athletic, and so is my wife. Besides, I decided to do an ironman before I even got married. So this isn't directly applicable to me, unless I consider other people I want to influence. As a professor of Human Biology, I certainly want to impress upon my students the importance of physical activity. I used the word "impress" on purpose, because I want my students--and others--to be impressed with my status as a triathlete. It would be great if my training and races creates within them a desire to compete as well. However, I think my motivation for being an ironman is not to influence others.

(3) Iron Distance as a Means for Doing the Extraordinary: Men sign up for these events for the experience of doing something they know is going to push them to the limits of possibility. There is a distinct chance of failure, but also a solid chance of accomplishment. I think this explains my own motivations well. I like to work hard at improving myself in all areas of life. I set goals and I work toward them. I keep lists and enjoy crossing things off as I do them.  Maybe becoming an ironman is just another milestone. I am an Eagle Scout. I got my Ph.D. I got a job as a professor and have received tenure. I bought a house. I have a family. I chair important committees at work and church. I want to continually grow and accomplish new things. Becoming an ironman is now on my list. Today as I write this, I admit that I am not sure I can finish the race this September. But I am now certain that that will not stop me. If I DNF this year, I will try again next year. Just saying this out loud makes me proud of myself. I am thriving on this idea. I will keep doing the extraordinary, this year, and next year, and for the rest of my life.

(4) Coming to Iron Distance through Media Influence: Some men sign up for an ironman because they see it on TV and they think they could be like the athletes appearing in the media. I admit this has influenced me. I saw a video of an 81 year-old man completing an ironman and I thought "If he can do it, so can I." I was also so influenced by swimmer Michael Phelps in 2008 that I signed up for swim lessons the next year and have been a swimmer ever since. I thought "that looks fun, so let me try." I have also enjoyed watching the Tour de France. I dream a little of what my life would have been like had I discovered swimming or cycling or triathlon when I was in my teens or twenties.

(5) The Appeal of Proximity: Some men sign up for a race because it is geographically convenient. Well, sure. But there has to be more to it than that.

(6) Something Larger than Me: Some men sign up for an ironman because they are fundraising for a cause, or they are promoting and evangelizing their faith. Faithful as I am, this is not my motivation. My faith is held private unless someone asks about it. As for fundraising for a cause, I actually hate doing that. I have had to raise money for my MS150 bike rides. It makes me uncomfortable because we all have our own interests and charitable causes, and support for that has to come from within. I only give to charities that I have some interest in. I don't see how I can influence the decisions others make.

(7) Exploring the Extremes of Pleasure and Pain: Some me sign up to experience great pleasure and pain, and to share the experience with others. I can see how this works, as it may explain why people form triathlon or marathon relay teams, or why the MS150 would be far more fun with a friend or group (I've always done it with a friend, but am considering a solo ride this year). But this isn't why I signed up for an ironman. I decided to do it solo, though Dan might join me on race day for the Half.

In summary, I think (3) best explains my motiovations for signing up for an ironman. I am driven to live a life of personal growth and fulfillment. Ironman is my next goal. Something will come along after that.