IronMan Florida 2004 Race Report
By: John Fell
When I look back at my journey to
the start line of Ironman
Florida
, so many thoughts, emotions, and quotes fly through my mind.
What you are about to read is a first hand account of my experience and
encounters leading up to, and during Ironman.
I in no way fabricated any of these stories for the sake of humor, nor
did I change any names to protect the innocent.
Car
loaded, everything I’ll need for the race, and plenty of spare crap that I
shouldn’t bring, but makes me feel better if I have it. Check, check, and
check. Off to
Panama City
Beach
. Well, the weather man sure gave a
great day to travel. Wind, rain, and hurricane reconstruction.
Tack that on with the fact that some people headed east on I-10 drive
about as well as a driver’s Ed student, and this was gonna be a fun travel
day. The trip was pretty uneventful
until we hit the
Florida
state line. Benny Hawn was gracious
enough to send out detour directions, and a suggestion to stop at the
visitor’s center to find out delays. When we stopped, I noticed my disc wheel
had managed to lose it’s high tech garbage bag cover.
So I recover it, we get our information, and we’re off again. This is
where the weather gets horrendous. I
think I would have been better off playing Marco polo with the semi’s on the
highway. We’re hungry, and
Niceville looks like a good place to chow. We
find a top tier Mexican restaurant (You know, the authentic one that took over a
building that wasn’t a restaurant, and “transformed” into one.) So we pull
into this gas station, I mean restaurant, and I back up the truck so no one can
pilfer any of my high priced trash bags. My
mom is talking about something I’m not really listening to, and my world just
collapses around me.
“John, what’s wrong?”
“My disc! Where
is it? There’s no way!
I put it in the back, right next to these. It’s gone.
How is this possible? Oh my God. I have to sit down. That’s my disc. I
don’t race without one.”
“You sure it’s not back here?”
Ok, this is where we’ll break the story for a second. If
you are a bystander or witness of someone who loses something important, that
question is the worst one you can ask. Well, that question, and “Where did you
have it/see it last?” could be tied for first. Back to the story…
“Hell yeah it’s not back here. I put it in the trash
bag at the visitor’s center, then back in the truck. It’s not here.”
Enter the quote that I dread, “The best laid plans of
mice and men…” into my head. After
a few calls, Ashley (my hero) says that she went back to
Lafayette
to get a disc for me. I also had
Benny Hawnna and Phyllis scouring I-10 for the most expensive trash bag on the
road. These three landed on my
Christmas list indefinitely. I also
talked to my buddy at Zipp who said that they had a rep in
Florida
, and he might be able to help me out. I
really wasn’t much fun after the disc losing episode, and any confidence I had
going into the race was pretty much gone. We
got to
Panama City
, and started the tedious unpacking process.
Thursday was less fun, especially with gargantuan waves slamming into the
shore, and me with a 15 minute swim on the schedule.
I thought I would have plenty of time to relax, enjoy everything, and
just rest. Well, the expo is about as addicting as late night Oreo’s and milk.
I found myself walking there for no reason.
Ironically, the expo was the only negative Ironman experience for me
(besides my disc taking up flight). Why was it negative?
Well, because everywhere you walked, other athletes are sizing you up,
and giving you the look. At first, I
honestly thought I had some seaweed or something stuck to my face.
Boys, this isn’t pro wrestling (except for maybe the swim), and
there’s no need to try and intimidate me.
The magnitude of the venue is doing a good job of intimidation (Oh, and
the fact that I’m discless. Did I mention that?)
Friday was the calm before the storm.
Me, being the student of procrastination that I am, had no idea we had to
bring our bikes in between
noon
and
3pm
. I had no rear race wheel. Jerry
generously offered his HED 3 for me to use (Has Jerry ever been mean to
anyone?). I said thanks, but I was
gonna try and fix my back up race wheel to go on the bike.
I find the Zipp rep, Rick, and he hooks me up with the part I need free
of charge. Rick, buddy, looks like
you made the Christmas list too. Friday
was also the day of me putting my foot in my mouth.
Some fine examples include asking Michellie Jones if they made a guy’s
version of her chrome running shoes, and her explaining to me that I had to be
in the Olympics to get these, me saying smooth move to some German for riding
his disc/4-spoke combo in training down the glass infested main drag. Terry was
kind enough to point out to me that the German I spoke of was Lothar Leder, and
he could probably ride that combo if he wanted. And last but not least, was me
forgetting I had my headphones on, and telling Jeremy when I saw a really hot
girl “Oh, she must be married.” Uh, Johnny, volume check buddy. Because she
heard, laughed, and said “How come?”
In true procrastinating fashion, I brought my bike and transition bags
down 20 minutes before it closed. I thought I was having issues, until this guy
starts talking to me. He asks me
about my bags, what they’re for, and when we have to have them in. And what is
in my special needs bags. Wow. I’m glad I saw him on the run course, so he
made it to the start line. It was at
the bike check in that things really started to hit me. These were a lot of
bikes. And what was ironic was the general aura of positivity from the racers.
On the way back, I just got a chance to reflect on what a special, wild
journey it’s been so far. I got
back to the room, ate for the 5th time in 8 hours (Thanks for cooking
8 pounds of pasta, Kel), and read some good luck cards and letters.
My dad showed up Friday night about
5:30
. It’s always good to see him, and
he loves this sport because he got me started in triathlons.
We visited, and he said that he needed my help getting some stuff out of
the truck. Uh dad, do you remember Indian Creek? When you wanted me to move that
generator the night before. And I threw my back out.
Well, this race is a little bigger and longer, so I’m gonna pull a
Keyshawn Johnson, and whine how I’m not doing anything.
After my dad reintroduced me to the fact that he is a giant of a man, and
I am about as intimidating as a miniature pinscher, I went out to the truck to
help him. He told me to get the
chairs out of the back of the truck. When I opened the canopy, there was my
trash bag! Uh, yeah, the trash bag with the disc in it. How did you? Where did
you? I don’t F$&*in’ believe it! No way. He told me that he started
looking at the border, and the yellow ties were blowing in the wind, and caught
his eye. He told me that he didn’t
even open the bag, and I should be the one to open it and see.
You’ll never believe this, and I wouldn’t have if it didn’t happen
to me, but the disc was perfect. No road rash, no cracks. Just a blown tubular,
and a nick on the carbon the size of a pen tip.
The trash bag wasn’t even torn. Then it came to me. Dad, I have to race
this disc. It’s a gift from God. So we haul down to the Dragon Sports tent,
and they put a tubular on it, while myself and Terry just stood in shock. My dad
got a kick out of the whole thing because he was a hero yet again.
We then went to Wal-Mart for some last minute items, and for the cashier
to tell me that she was here to save the people of
Panama City
Beach
. Uh, ok.
Next time, open the garage before you start the car.
Then it was back home for sleep, and time to race.
Now sleep is a relative term when you’re about to do your first Ironman.
You basically just lay in bed with your eyes closed, and your shoulders tight
against your neck. So
3 a.m.
rolls around, and the 44 ounce big gulp of Ultra Fuel that I had to drink
before bed tells me that it’s time to wake up.
So after the wake up call, I pretend to sleep for another hour while I
mentally count down the minutes until I can actually wake up.
4:02 a.m.
FINALLY rolls around (I’m superstitious about not waking up at normal times
like 4,
4:15
, etc., and I have no idea why), and I get up.
Now, here is where I will confuse more than a few people.
I don’t really have a pre-race ritual for breakfast.
I know I can’t take vitamins, because they don’t sit well in my
stomach. But other than that, I
kinda just eat just whatever I see. At
the ½ Ironman, I ate a clif bar, a banana, and some chewy fruit snacks.
This seemed to work out pretty well, so I figured since this was a full
Ironman, we should double that. So I
had 2 clif bars, a banana and two packs of chewy fruit snacks.
After the breakfast, it was time to focus.
I read my pre-race Lance article, and some inspirational letters (Thanks
Doug E Fresh, Elyse, and Tara) while I listened to my pre-game music genre’ of
choice: Gangsta Rap.
Body marking opened at
5 a.m.
, and there was no way that I was pulling any last minute shenanigans with this
race. So I made my way down with my
entourage, Mike Tyson style, to the transition area.
I had all my special needs bags, my disc (which will referred to here
forth as the Jesus Disc), and my lucky pre-race beanie cap.
The disc got slapped on, and everything worked surprisingly well. Did I
mention it was thrown on the interstate at 75mph?
I took my nutrition to special needs, and in a genius move by me, I froze
my bottles for special needs so that when I get there, they will be perfectly
chilled. Wow, it pays sometimes to
be so intelligent. As I was making
some last minute adjustments and fidgeting with my bike, I noticed that Jeremy
Johnson’s bike still had the plastic on the seat, and no bottles on it.
Now, it’s like
6:15
. We have to be down to the water in
like 15 minutes. J, we all know
you’re a night owl, but this not the time to make a casually late appearance.
I called him a few times, and finally heard that he was on his way.
Everything else was uneventful as we went to the water for the swim
start.
In a move I still applaud, but fashion experts might frown upon, I wore
some socks down to the swim start because the sand would be so cold.
Now, I know that black pants (even wetsuit pants) and white socks are
unacceptable, but I had to stay warm. As
we waited for the gun to go off, I saw Pam Neef.
We exchanged well wishes, and I was really excited to see her.
Not just because she is someone in the sea of people that I knew, but she
always gives off such a positive energy, that it was very calming right before
the chaos. And in a move that only a
superstar of his magnitude could pull off, Jeremy came strolling down to the
beach about 10 minutes before our start. Now,
many people think that Jeremy, myself, and Will Boggs are big rivals.
The truth is, I beat them both down badly in races and training all the
time, so there’s no rivalry to speak of (Jokes, boys, jokes.).
Seriously, Jeremy and Will have helped me immensely this year getting to
the starting line, and getting me motivated to train when I didn’t.
So we gave each other props, and got ready for the swim.
Now, there were like 2100 athletes starting the swim.
And by the aerial pictures, or what the spectators see, it looks like
chaos, or a barrage of ducks landing in a pond simultaneously.
From my eyes, it just seemed like 70 or so people getting ready for the
start. I thought that I would be
nervous about the mass start. But
there was an eerie calm that fell over me, and I never really tried to put my
mind around the distance we had to swim or the amount of competitors starting.
The gun went off, and I either slipped into a coma, or I just hit the
water. I’m assuming that I hit the
water, because the infamous Ironman swim started.
Now, this isn’t really swimming, and I’ve been trying to figure out
what to compare it to. The best I
could come up with is mixing bumper cars, a huge group of seals trying to swim
in the same direction using various routes, and all this while getting groped
like a prom date. If you are
training for your first Ironman, my advice is to never panic, and try to protect
your face from getting whacked. As
long as you can prevent your goggles from coming off, you’ll be ok.
And if you need some practice, let me know.
I’ll get in the Red’s pool with a little kayak, and one of those
jousting sticks from the American Gladiator TV show, and hit you intermittently
while you do laps. One thing I
really tried to focus on is not swallowing a whole lot of salt water.
I am infamous for drinking half the pool during workouts, and I knew
I’d be in a bind if this happened today. The
first lap was as I described it, plus the fact that I again swam like a drunken
seal. Sighting would shave minutes
off my time. I hit the beach, and
there were the people. And the clock. It
read 41:xx. Now, no offense to
anyone, but there was no way I swam that slow.
I’ll have the only bike left on my transition rack.
Any chance I had of doing well went right out the window. With a time
like that, any thoughts of
Hawaii
instantly vaporized. Then the voice
came into my head. “Get a hold of yourself. You’re babbling like a
kindergartner. Who cares about
Hawaii
. It’s just like
Louisiana
, only prettier, and no swamps, and volcanoes, tropical fish, etc.
But we have Mardi Gras. Quit
focusing on
Hawaii
. Focus on the fact that there are a
bunch of people here and back home that you’ve inspired, and that are pulling
for you. Tough it out, get it done,
and don’t worry about things you have no control over.”
Well, the voice tightened me up, and the second loop of the swim wasn’t
as bad. I still can’t sight to
save my life, but my goggles didn’t fog up (thanks Tara), didn’t get knocked
off, and I swam a lot by myself in kind of a zig zag pattern.
I finally hit the beach, literally, and got to my feet.
I never understood why people stand up as soon as they can touch the
bottom. I’m always faster swimming than trudging (living in the swamp taught
me that.). I start to run through
the chute, and there is the crowd again. And the clock.
It read
1:05
:xx. What? Excuse me, clock
malfunction again. Maybe it can’t
operate in a salt water environment. No
time to worry about that now. Maybe
my Michael Phelps impersonation worked, cause I was blazing on that second lap.
Now it’s time to get down to business. (Author’s note:
What really happened is that they didn’t adjust the first lap clock for
the pros’, who went 10 minutes early. So
I’m not that fast, but it did help with the confidence.)
I got into the change room, and got my bike gear on.
Arm warmers, toe warmers, and gloves I believed were a must.
Hey, what do you expect? I’m tropical.
Anyway, as I was running out of the change tent to the bike corral, I
almost ditched my gloves. It’s so
“warm”, I thought. This is where
you have to come to grips that you just drank salt water for an hour, and that
your brain function may not be the sharpest.
For some odd reason, I didn’t ditch the gloves.
Terry was in the corral to hand me my bike.
It was good to see him. He
said something to me, but everything was moving so fast, that I didn’t really
hear. But I did hear that if you
mount your bike before both tires are past the line, it’s a penalty.
So I get on the bike, and the insanity begins.
The start of the bike reminded me of a hot rod/ sports car gathering.
Everyone is trying to intimidate/impress everyone else.
I have a tendency to try and break out the whoopin’ stick on people who
flagrantly pass closely, and snidely say “on your left.”
But today was different. It’s
not that I’m turning over a new leaf, it’s that this is 112 miles of a bike
ride. I’m saving all the energy
possible. During the first 30
minutes, I remember reading an article in last month’s Triathlete or Inside
Triathlete where Mark Allen says not to drink a whole bunch, and let the blood
flow get from the arms to the legs before you send it to the stomach.
So I did, and just sipped a bit before I started eating/drinking.
This was a great idea, and that Allen guy might be on to something.
He could be big time one day, maybe the best ever… Sorry, I digress.
Well, here’s were the “Trains to
Hawaii
” were forming. I mean, I get the
3 bike lengths rule, and in the first 30-50 miles, I understand you’re gonna
be closer. It’s the nature of the
beast. Hell, there were times when I
was closer than 3 bike lengths. But it’s another thing entirely when you are
blatantly sucking wheel. Most of the
time, I just laughed. But it got old
after a while, especially when they pass you and blow off the back of the group
like a mile later, then you have to use energy to pass them again.
Anyway, the headwind out was pretty tough, and I just focused on my power
words, my friends and family wanting me to do well, and where exactly is Jimmy
Hoffa. I mean, we can find a
satellite in the nether regions of space, but we lose the most famous Union boss
ever. Funny what you think about on
the bike. Well, the nutrition is
going down like a puréed filet mignon, and the hydration is spot on.
About mile 35, I realized what a smart idea the arm warmers, toe warmers,
and gloves were. Here comes mile 50,
and the special needs station. Wait, 112 divided by 2 is 56. Shouldn’t special
needs be at the halfway point, i.e. mile 56? Well, that’s what being a geeky
engineer will do to you. Mile 50 was
good enough, and my plan was to use my almost retired, somewhat shaky roadie
skills to scoop up my special needs bag on the move, and reload.
Um, it’s not such a good idea, especially when the kid who’s handing
you the bag says, “Whoa, this one’s heavy.”
So I grab my bag, and continue my 5 mph assault on the course while I get
all my stuff. 2 new flasks of
Perpetuem, check. One Payday bar,
check. One tube of chapstick, check. (Don’t laugh, because I would’ve paid
$50 for a tube out on the course if I didn’t have one).
3 frozen bottles of sports drink with Endurolytes in it, check. Wait,
frozen bottles? Uh, yeah. Apparently
the super-intelligent idea of me freezing the bottles so they will be thawed out
by the halfway mark doesn’t work so well if it is 45 degrees to start race
morning, they keep the special needs bags in a big pile, in the shade, and
probably close to other cold stuff. Remember
my intelligence comment earlier? It was in complete sarcasm.
What do I do now? Well, I give the bottles a toss at the next aid
station, and just switch to water. It
is a risky move, but I needed the hydration, and I lack patience to wait for
those bottles to unfreeze. Thank
goodness I had a backup plan of bringing Endurolytes just in case.
During the bottle episode, we finally have a tailwind.
Oh yeah, nothing like 27mph when you feel like you’re doing no work at
all. I decided that this is where I
would notch up my effort, and start pushing a little.
The buzz of the people and the idea of the halfway point wore off about
mile 65. Things started to suck, big
time. I couldn’t focus to save my
life. I was the only rider on the
road, or so it seemed. My energy was
there, but I desperately needed someone to make me keep my focus.
And sure enough, here came a guy, going a little faster than me.
Perfect. I told myself to not
let him get further than 50 feet away. Keep
this guy 50 feet. No more, no less. He
helped me cure my concentration problem. About
mile 80 is where I saw a lot of people who passed me.
I had the pleasure of passing them back.
What a good feeling, and a confidence booster.
As I see it, no one needs the boost at the beginning of the ride, because
you just finished one leg of the race, and the adrenaline is high.
You need it at the
3:30:00
mark of the bike. Anyway, after
passing a few people, I got involved with two guys that did a good job pace
making. I would go 21 to 23 for a
while, and when my mind would start to wonder, and I wasn’t paying attention,
one of the guys would pass me. I’d
regain focus, keep him 50 feet ahead. A
couple of times it was one guy, then another.
This helped with my focus. About
mile 95 I passed my first woman pro. That
was a really humbling, and kind of cool experience.
She had a smile, and that smile is something I definitely saved because I
knew she was having a bad day, yet she still gave me a grin. Cool personified.
Now comes the bummer of my race. I’m
sure you’ve seen the results, and that I got a penalty.
Well, this is what went down (or lack thereof).
The leapfrogging went on until about mile 105.
About mile 100, a guy passes me. The
same guy whose passed me 3 or 4 times. This
guy accelerates, he gets about 40-50 feet away, holds it steady for 3 or 4
minutes, then slows down. And after
awhile, you just get numb to it. Well,
the guy does his signature move, and I’m not worried, nor am I grabbing my
brakes, cause I know he’s going to accelerate out of my zone.
So I grab no brakes, nor attempt to leave the zone.
I look up about 10 seconds after the pass, and the dude didn’t
accelerate. He’s about 20 feet
ahead of me. That’s not cool.
But at mile 100, 20 feet looks like 3 bike lengths.
In all honesty, I thought it was 3 bike lengths.
I look to my left, and there is the judge and jury, sitting on the
motorcycle of truth. I ask him,
“What? Does it look like I’m drafting? Is this 3 bike lengths?”
Well, at 20+mph, and a nice headwind, plus a helmet, I don’t think he
heard me, nor did he accept my rebuttal. Oh
well, let it go. It just ruffled my
feathers because of all the blatant wheel sucking that I saw, and this dude was
gonna ding me for something that was unintentional and not even benefiting me.
After that, I focused on getting in all my nutrition, plus the Payday
bar. At about mile 108, I said in my
head “I don’t know why all these people talk so tough about the Ironman. I
mean, my legs hurt, but this isn’t that hard.”
How wrong I was.
As I’m coming into transition, my mind starts to shift to the marathon.
But it doesn’t shift too far, because I pass my second female pro.
She’s Brazilian. I’ve
been to
Brazil
. I love
Brazil
. All I can say is God Bless
Brazil
! Anyway, I dismount the bike, and
somehow miraculously pull off the shoes on the bike dismount right into a run.
Now this would be no big deal on a 20 mile sprint race bike, but I’ve
never done it after that long. I
think part of it had to do with the fact that Terry let me borrow his Griffen
for the race, instead of me riding my trusty P3.
Ok, I’ll admit it. I said
in the past that the Boron Carbide “Metal Matrix” added to aluminum was hog
wash. If you believe all that, I
said, I’ll sell you some ocean front property in
Arizona
. Well, I was wrong. It’s the most
comfortable time trial/triathlon bike I’ve ridden. Period. I’ll eat my
words, and buy my ocean condo. I
hear
Tucson
is nice this time of year. Into the
change tent, and onto the run.
With the frozen bottle incident, I had clipped my supply of Endurolytes,
but had some more in my run bag. The
ladies gave me a good coat of sunscreen, and I was off.
All I wanted to do was run mile to mile.
I tried not to think about the marathon ahead.
Especially since I’ve never ran a marathon.
So I’d just focus on each mile, and my nutrition.
Seeing my parents, sister, Jeff, and the
Lafayette
crew right away gave me a boost, and I felt really good.
The run was gonna be easy, or so I thought.
I continued with my nutrition of Endurolytes and Perpetuem.
Well, the Perpetuem was getting old, and its heaviness was not a welcome
guest in my stomach. So my stomach
and I had a meeting that basically went like this:
Stomach to me: “If you keep eating that stuff, I’m
returning it to sender. FED EX!”
Me to Stomach: “Ok. I’ll
nix the Perpetuem.”
Here lies the lack of common sense.
I just quit eating. No Gu,
just water and Gatorade. Everything
was spot on, and I saw Jeremy just up the road at the 7 mile turnaround in the
park. I knew if I was close to him,
I was doing well. I kept playing
leap frog with this guy who had a
University
of
Kentucky
uniform on. Now I like
Lexington
, but I’m gonna have to drop you, I thought.
The first loop was great.
1:47
:xx. Everything as planned.
Well, exercising is simple. It’s
all about calories in versus calories out. My
nutrition was spot on until the run. And
as they say, everything shakes down in the run.
About mile 14 I started feeling effects of not eating.
I started with coke, and Gatorade. Some
Gu went down well, and even 3 pretzels. This
is where I really started to struggle. Just
keep running, is what I told myself. I
looked down at my shoes, and saw those baby blue laces.
See the baby blue laces reminded me of a very important group that I am
lucky enough to coach. And a lot of
them were watching on the internet, and expecting me to do well.
So I decided stopping is not for me.
As John Deshotel told me, “It’s 11 miles that way, and it’s a whole
year back that way.” I don’t
think you can fully appreciate this quote until you train for something like
Ironman or a marathon. At about mile
16 or 17, the
Kentucky
guy passed me back, this time for good. I
didn’t know it at the time, but this
Kentucky
guy was in my age group, and coincidently got the last Kona spot in my age
group. Pat LaFontaine and his
cronies past me. I’m getting
outrun by a hockey player? For the
record, it was his first lap. For
me, the last 6 miles was total hell. I
fought off cramps, my hip flexor completely messed up, and nothing left in the
tank. I was running on guts, and the
hopes and prayers of others. That
and the caffeine in the coke. But
that wasn’t getting me too much further. Then
came mile 24. And it all came to me.
The sacrifices that I’ve made throughout the year to come to this race.
The countless nights of training after soccer practice, or at
5am
so I could get to work. It was all
for this day. All this work, and the
people who’s lives I’ve touched. But
more importantly, the people who have helped me in my journey, and touched my
life because of this Ironman journey were flying through my mind in these last
2.1 miles. The emotions were
overwhelming. Then it happened.
Let me say that the crowd support and volunteers were awesome throughout
the day. However, it was getting
dark, and harder to see every minute. It
was in these last 2.1 miles that people were actually bending down to try and
figure out my name so that they could cheer for me.
I gave the best thank you to every one of them that I could, and just
kept moving forward. It was the
emotions of all the help I’d received on my Ironman journey, coupled with the
roadside supporters shouting unconditional encouragement, that got me to tear
up. Well, actually, it wasn’t
crying. Not that I’m a tough guy,
but when you’ve been going for 10 hours, you’re kind of dehydrated, and
there isn’t any spare water so that you can have a teary eyed moment.
So I just wheezed a little, told myself to pull it together, and finish
this strong. When I hit the turn at
Sugar
Beach
, down the main drag, it felt like I was floating.
There were a few
Lafayette
supporters at the Team LIT tent. I
wanted to stop and visit, but I had a date with destiny and I knew where I
needed to be.
Let me say now that the finishing chute in the Ironman is quite possibly
the most addicting thing on earth. I
was lucky enough to have a solo flight into the chute, with no one behind me for
a bit, and the finisher in front of me already done.
When I heard the chirp of the final timing mat, I knew I completed what I
came here to do. That chirp was the
sweetest sound that I heard all day. The
emotions in that chute were so overwhelming, that I didn’t really hear what
song was playing when I crossed, but I do remember hearing, “
John Fell
, You are an Ironman.”
After I crossed the line, my family was right there.
I don’t really think I’ve ever seen my parents prouder, and that
includes finally graduating college. One
of my best friends who drove from
Mobile
to see this race, summed it all up when he said, “What you did out there
today, that was strong.” My sister
drove all the way from
St. Petersburg
to see this, and all she could do was hug me.
Now if you knew my sister, you would know that Haley’s comet has passed
about as many times as she’s been speechless.
This was one of those times. It
was cool all of these special people could be there to share this moment with
me, and it meant a lot to finish this race with them there.
After the gathering, Tara, bless her heart, tried to guide me to the food
and massage area. Well, for some
reason, I kept wanting to take a hard left after walking 5 or 6 steps.
She kept grabbing me, and guiding me the right way.
Finally, I looked at her and said, “How are you gonna catch me if I
fall?” She laughed, since she weighs about a buck o-five, and knew that I
would be snacking on the concrete if I did fall.
She finally got me to the massage place, where I heard the dumbest
question of the day. The lady asked
me, “Where do you hurt?” Now I
know this is protocol, and all, but cut me some slack.
I’ll be lucky if I can actually get myself on the massage table, and
you want to know where it hurts. I
withheld any smart comments because she was hooking me up with a massage.
About five minutes in, I hear, “We are gonna double team you.” What?
Every guy’s fantasy. Except
I’m so tired that I can’t laugh, and I have to let another opportunity to
add a smart comment go. Bummer.
After the massage, I gather my stuff, and the realizations of Ironman set
in.
When you are at a race that lasts this long, you obviously have a lot of
time to think. Using this time, I
came to three conclusions during the day:
- You
can’t fake an Ironman. You
either did the training or you didn’t. The race will let you know if you
are prepared. You don’t even need to worry about it.
- Life
is too short to drink crappy coffee.
- You
can’t do Ironman alone. No
matter how organized or tough you think you are, you need a support network.
Make sure to let this support network know how vital they were to
your success.
With that said, I really want to say that this Ironman
experience was a wild ride, and I couldn’t have done it without my support
network. If I start thanking people,
I will leave some out, but you know who you are, and I am forever grateful for
your encouragement and support. Even
if it was just a question like “How’s the training going?” or paying a
compliment like “John Michael Phelps, my two year old son swims faster than
that!”, it gave me an emotional boost that let me know that people cared about
me, and wanted me to do well at the race. And
sometimes I know that I get caught up in the race, and forget about the journey.
Ironman brought me to this realization of the journey, and the group that
I am grateful to be a part of. We in
Lafayette
are very lucky to have such a large, diverse group of fast, fun triathletes.
I hope that we continue to encourage one another, and show new people to
our sport that it is not about times, but it is about the ride to start line,
and all the cool people that you meet along the way.
Being in that chute, with all the screaming fans, and your friends and
family in there is a ride that money could never buy.
The price of this ticket can only be purchased through hard work,
sacrifice, a bit of humility, and a realization that this is a race against your
biggest nemesis, yourself. My advice
for people who have just signed up for Ironman, or are going to sign up, is to
know that no one can walk this Ironman journey for you.
However, also know that in this Ironman journey, you will never walk
alone.
Thanks for reading.