IronMan Wisconsin 2006 Race Report
My Ironman Wisconsin
Dodd Foreman
Obviously from a first timer. This one is long.
For the short version,
scroll down to the “Warming Van” paragraphs. They pretty much sum it
up.
The plan for this race really started on October 25th 2004. Yes,
2004. I
know that sounds crazy but that is the day that I decided that I wanted to
do an Ironman. I planned to get in at least two
half IM’s and one open
marathon along the way, sprinkled with some sprints and
Olympic distance
events. All of that went pretty much according to plan.
Before talking about the training for this race or the race itself, I have
to say a couple of things.
Something I wrote for myself along the way: 4/8/05
-“ Just read Trevor
Casper’s race report from Gulfman. It got me thinking. Am I
blessed? You
bet I am. Blessed with superior
athletic ability? High Vo2 max?
Abundance of slowtwitch muscle? A knack for endurance? High
tolerance for
pain?........ Nope, none of the above.
I have been blessed with an
opportunity. The opportunity to train for and race an
Ironman. So many
people are not afforded that opportunity.
So, if you’re reading this,
you’re probably blessed too. Thanks to
God, family, friends and co-
workers we are able to do this for
ourselves. The opportunity is not
wasted on me. I appreciate the chance and I’m going to take it.”
Also written along the way: What drives us to our first Ironman? I
didn’t
really pick Ironman. It picked me. I was just living my life,
minding my
own business, when this challenge appeared and stared me down. At
first I
was afraid to admit that I wanted to do one. Then, I finally
had to come
to terms with the fact that the only thing holding me back was the fear of
what I might see in myself. A challenge like this has the potential to put
you in a situation which you may have never been in before.
Two years ago I had done just enough training and racing to know
that the
Ironman would be hard. Too hard? Maybe. I had no way of
knowing. I had
to race to find out.
In endurance training and racing eventually you will be put in a situation
where you really, really want to quit. I have had
glimpses of this but
could Ironman take it to another level? You know when you have gone as far
and as hard as you think you can go? You feel that you have
reached your
limits. You know, when it’s all broken down? I mean really broken
down to
the least common denominator. You have to
concentrate just to make one
foot go in front of the other.
You’re too tired to cry. It’s like a
marathon times two, or three. You just want to quit.
You are left with
only yourself. Your true self. You are stripped naked. You are
bare. No
facade to hide the real person. Will you hit that point? If so, what
will
you see? Will it scare you? Will you be ashamed? Will you be
proud? How
will you react? Will it change you? How can you come
back the same man?
There were some unanswered questions.
My training for this race took me
through twenty one weeks of very
carefully thought out sessions. I took a little from a few different plans
and worked out what I thought would be best for me. Now, after
it is all
said and done, I’m not so sure how important all of that is. Right
now, I
feel like it’s basically the volume of training hours that
really counts
the most. The rest is just splitting hairs.
Given reasonable race day
execution of your fitness, either you have done
enough training or you
haven’t. Having said that, I had no clue how much of
an effect race day
conditions could have on your day. What exactly
could that mean? Stay
tuned.
My buddy Jody and I started our trek
to Madison, Wisconsin at 5:30 am
Wednesday morning with Keith and Marty in tow, along
with a trailer and
twelve bikes. Thursday at noon we were in
Madison with no problems to
speak of. We got settled in to our hotel and got everyone their
bikes. I
was nervous about the swim, as usual. So, I convinced Jody to
go down to
the lake with me and do a practice swim. The
weather was perfect. The
lake was calm. We only swam about 500 meters but all was good.
Friday passed with the necessary tasks of checking in with race officials,
carbo loading, short workouts, and double checking all of the gear. A cold
front was on its way and the wind was pretty significant.
When we went
for the Gatorade swim on Friday morning,
the water was choppy. The
conditions were rougher than anything that I have ever swam in.
Again, I
only swam about 500 meters but this time it was not good. I got out of the
water thinking that if it stayed that rough, I was in trouble.
After the
swim, all of the Lafayette guys were standing around, getting out of their
wetsuits and shooting the breeze. I was as nervous as a cat and
wondering
why I was the only one. Finally, I got Jody alone and said,
“Dude, if it
stays that rough, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Why doesn’t anyone
seem to be concerned?” His reply, “I’m concerned”.
Saturday came and went and the weather just got worse as the day
went on.
At least, it seemed that way. Amy and the kids
flew in around noon and
that was nice. Having them around settled me
down a bit. The biggest
decision of the day seemed to be what to wear for the bike and run. All of
the information that we were getting was something like 49 for the low, 59
for the high, windy and rain. I decided to go with what I had
brought, a
singlet, one tight fitting long sleeve under armor shirt
over that, one
long sleeve under armor-ish, tight fitting
shirt over that, and arm
warmers. Oh yeah, gloves too. In retrospect, a
wind breaker would have
been the ticket. I didn’t have one and probably would not have
worn it if
I had, dumb. I had not an inkling of a
clue what it would be like to
compete in 50ish degree weather, wet and windy, for fourteen hours.
But,
I’m getting ahead of myself.
After Saturday evening's fifteenth bowl of pasta in four days,
brutal, we
checked our gear for one last time and hit the sack. But,
before that we
discussed nutrition for the next day and decided that because
of the low
temperatures it would be necessary to cut our fluid intake.
All summer I
have been taking one bottle of 300 cal. Infinit, one gel, and one bottle of
water per hour. We decided to delete the one bottle of water per
hour and
just go with the Infinit and the gel. Did the usual midnight two pop
tart
routine and then woke up for good at 4:00.
We went to transition and dropped off our bags, aired up the tires and had
about 45 minutes to relax. At about 5:45 I felt the first rain drop hit my
head and I would have to say that it pretty much rained until I walked into
my hotel at 11:30 pm that evening.
Beginning to get a picture of the
weather situation?
But, the weather was the weather and about 2,500 of us had an
Ironman to
do. Not to mention, I had to contend with the water / lake / wind / wave /
breathing is good / drowning is bad / fear, thing.
The Swim - The announcer was pushing to get all of the competitors
in the
water before the start. The entry into the water was
only about fifteen
yards wide and he had to get all 2,500 competitors into the
water before
the start. Actually, I’m not sure if all were in when
the cannon fired.
But, I soon learned that, in or not, the cannon goes off at 7:00 and
it’s
every man for himself. Oh, and, the cannon went
off at 7:00 and it was
every man for himself.
I started wide and back. I figured, it’s going to be a long day.
This is
my first try at this. Every effort should be made to stay calm and steady.
Wide and back sounded good to me. When the cannon fired,
I just started
swimming and tried to make an angle for the first turn buoy which was about
1,000 yards away. It was a two loop rectangular course, total 2.4 miles.
There was really no navigation whatsoever for the first 1,000 meters.
You
are so surrounded by people that your direction is your direction and your
speed is your speed. When I got to the first turn, I
noticed that I was
quite wide, maybe 40 yards. I was out of the draft but at
least I wasn’t
getting pummeled any longer. I made the next
turn wide also and began
swimming back in the direction of the start. This
is where it got bad,
fast. We had turned into the wind and waves and I felt
like I was going
absolutely no where. I had enough wits about me to swim back towards
the
buoy line and try to take advantage of the draft. The bad part about
that
was the contact. So, I spent that entire 1,000
yards swimming into the
crowd, hanging in there as long as I could and then when I had
enough of
the contact I would swim back wide and fight the waves on my own.
It took an eternity to swim that 1,000 yards but finally I was back at the
starting line beginning my second lap. I looked at my watch and saw 41:??.
I really had no reaction to the time. It was
not good or bad, fast or
slow. I guess I was too focused on swimming. The time check meant
nothing
to me. It was just as if I had never looked at my watch.
This time, with the waves to my back, I purposefully swam wide and let the
waves push me. I concentrated on breaking my wrists,
grabbing the water
and gliding. These are things that you can do when some 200 lb dude is not
handing you a jaw jack with his elbow. I made the
two turns on the far
side and headed back toward the start again. This time the waves were just
as bad but I was more prepared. Before too long I was making my way to the
bank and standing on ground again for the first
time in........1 hour,
twenty four minutes and something, seconds. (I don’t know exactly
what my
splits are for this race. Today is Thursday after
the race and I can’t
bear to look at them yet. So, for now, I’ll give close estimates.)
Transition 1 - I got a hand from a volunteer to get out of the
water and I
ran straight to the wetsuit strippers. No.......not that. They
strip off
my wetsuit. Out of the 4,000 volunteers for this race, I would have to say
that these two guys were the most impressive. I hit the
ground and they
had my wetsuit off of me in about ½ second. One of two things was going
to
happen. My wetsuit was going to come off, right now, or it was going to be
ripped in two.
I grabbed my suit and ran up the helix and into the ballroom.
I had this
great plan for T1. I was going to take
my T1 bag and dump all of the
contents on the ground. That way I could see everything,
pick the items
that I wanted and make an informed decision on the items that I
would not
use. So, I had the “dump bag” technique
on the brain. Rookie mistake
coming... So, I was guided into this
huge room with about a million
transition bags in it and volunteers helping you
get your bag. No big
deal, I ran right to my bag, # 1222 and proceeded to dump the
contents of
that sucker all over the place. Right then I realized
that what you are
supposed to do is grab that bag and run into another room to change.
The
volunteer yells at me,“No, not here, in the other room”. I
pleaded, “you
have to help me pick this up, please” She did and in no time I was
running
into the changing room with half of my contents in my bag and
half in my
arms. I realized later that somewhere in that confusion, I lost my gloves.
I found an open chair, struggled to get the two under armor shirts over my
wet body, pulled on my arm warmers,
grabbed my three gels, put on my
helmet, grabbed my shoes and took off. I ran to my bike, holding my shoes.
A volunteer was waiting for me with my bike. I put
on my shoes and ran
with my bike to the mounting area. I saw Don Cassano at the mounting area.
He was waiting for Elizabeth. I figured that they would catch me
later on
the run.
Bike - I took off on the bike and
rode through town. It was cold and
raining. I was cold and my h.r.
was up but it was falling quickly.
Throughout the ride, heart rate was never really an issue. I
was able to
keep it in check. Probably because I was so cold, throughout.
I could go on and on about the bike split but here is the
short version.
It was cold, wet and windy. It was basically all hills.
The hills were
challenging but actually the down hills were
much more scary than the
climbs. I stayed on my nutrition plan but never really felt good.
I just
could not put the power to the pedals. It was just not there. I was
flat.
I looked at my computer clock one time. It was at three
hours and I was
still a good ways from Verona, half way. I was not in difficulty but I was
just not rolling like I usually can. I had no clue why.
Another issue was the bathroom. Because it was so cool, the one bottle per
hour was just not being used and my body was getting rid of it.
I had to
pee seven times. As of yet, I have not mastered the pee on yourself
thing
so I had to pull over and run in a corn field seven times.
Not sure how
much time that cost me, but it was significant.
Got to learn that pee
thing. But hey, it took me three years to
learn not to pee on myself.
I’ve only been trying to pee on
myself for about a year and a half.
Finally, I rolled into T2 in something like seven hours. No offense to any
one but I would have never thought that I
would ride an IM split, 112
miles, in seven hours. I was
disappointed but more focused on how
unbelievably cold I was.
Transition 2 - I rolled into T2 and handed my
bike off to a volunteer.
Ironman, where an age grouper gets treated like a pro. Very, very cool.
I
got into the change room with my transition bag. I can’t remember
getting
my bag. Somehow, I just had it. I sat down to put on my socks
and shoes.
I was cold, really cold. Marty was there and we each managed
to muster a
smile and a few seconds of small talk.
On my way out of T2 I had to go to the bathroom again so
I stopped at a
porta potty. I was shivering uncontrollably.
Not just your average
shivers. They were those total body, shake
your butt cheeks, shivers.
Just imagine trying to pee while shivering violently. I
totally trashed
that porta potty. I swear, I hit everything but the hole. It was
comical.
I just laughed. I didn’t know enough to be concerned. All I knew
was that
I was cold.
This was the only point in the race where I was not sure
whether I would
finish or not. I was so cold that I was sure I could not finish a marathon
unless I warmed up. Hopefully, once I started running, that would
happen.
The Run - I began the run and just tried to hold on
until I felt better.
After about three miles, I was warming up a little and beginning to feel a
little more human. It was at this point that I knew I
would finish this
race, no matter what. At about mile seven or eight I realized
that I was
not going to be able to run the entire marathon but that was
ok with me.
So, I set a goal to run at least up until mile thirteen and at that point I
would start letting myself have short walk breaks. Yeah, whatever.
All of a sudden, at around mile ten, I was walking.
I didn’t decide to
walk, it just happened. From about mile ten to mile fifteen or
sixteen I
ran when I could and walked when I had to. At around mile
sixteen it got
bad. I could not muster a run. It was a continuous
walk for about four
miles. I was trying everything to turn it around
(every food and drink
available) but nothing was working.
Warming Van - Everyone says that there will be low points to your race.
So
just keep moving forward and it will get better. I had
no idea that the
low points would come and stay around for so long.
The warming van was
somewhere in the middle of my lowest point of the run. I was walking.
Not
walking/running, walking. I can’t remember if I had my trash
bag yet but
probably not. I came up on this big, long, Ford
van on the side of the
course with the engine running.
There was a volunteer outside of the van and he addressed me,
“Sir, would
you like to step into our warming van?” My verbal reply was, “no
sir”. My
non verbal reply went something like this, “Warming van? I
don’t need no
stinking warming van. Do I look like I need a warming van?
Maybe my lips
are always sort of blue like this. Maybe I like walking. Besides,
there’s
nothing but cold miserable people in there. Do I look cold and
miserable
to you? You want to get me something? You
could get me a finish line.
And, I don’t know if you have noticed but the finish line is behind me
and
I’m moving away from it right now.........warming van.”
Hats off to IM for thinking on the fly. There were some
cold people out
there and IM was conducting damage control. Problem was,
I didn’t think
that I was one of those people in need of damage control.
I ate and drank everything I could get my hands on. I
finally found the
answer but didn’t know it at the time. It was a trash bag. They
were hard
to come by but I finally got my hands on one from a volunteer.
I poked a
little hole for my head and two little holes for my arms.
I walked with
the trash bag until about mile nineteen or twenty.
It was one of those
really long ones that went almost all the way down to my
ankles. It was
like a trash bag dress. What I looked like was the furthest thing
from my
mind. But, I guess it helped me warm up enough to get back to a jog.
At mile twenty I started jogging again and held that as long
as I could.
Nearing mile twenty five, I could no longer run any incline or even a flat.
Only the downhill sections were joggable. Much of the race has faded
into
this fuzzy blur of a memory for me. Some details are
clear but a lot is
still sort of missing. I do however remember the finish line. The
guy who
finished before me was acting like an airplane and flying from one side of
the finish chute to the other and high fiving the cheering
crowd. I let
him go ahead just enough to have a nice clear finishing photo.
I crossed the line and soon saw Amy, Emily and Ross. It was
great to see
them. My support crew of three that made it
possible for me to attempt
this race. Training for an IM is
hard enough, but almost impossible
without support from your loved ones. My wife was
one of the best. As
race day got closer and the training got harder,
her support grew more
solid.
I don’t know what my run split was
but it was not good, even by my
standards. That four miles of straight walking puts your time right in the
toilet. But here’s the deal. I have no right to whine about
my times. I
have six friends that worked just as hard as me all summer long and
didn’t
come home with a finisher’s medal. They have the right
to complain, not
me.
Post Race - After I met with Amy and the kids, I had to find a place to
sit
down. I tried that for a few minutes but I was feeling really bad. I
made
my way to what they called the warming room. They
got me out of my wet
clothes and wrapped me up in a bunch of blankets. My body
temperature was
dangerously low and it was a good thing that I went there.
After an hour
of trying to warm me up while monitoring my vitals and
temp. the doctor
decided that I needed to visit the medical tent. The medical tent
was the
ticket. The doctors there wrapped me in some really
thick wool blankets
and had some turbo heater blowing on me. After about half an hour, my body
temp. has risen to 95 deg. and they released me.
By the time I exited the med tent it was about 11:30 pm and my
kids were
standing out by the finish line, in the rain,
watching the competitors
cross the line. They looked like a couple of little wet puppies. I
was so
proud of them, my eyes filled with tears.
Strangely, that was the most
emotional part of the entire day. My wife and kids spent
the entire day
wondering and worrying about me, in the rain. The benefit of their support
is just hard to put into words.
I made my way back to my hotel room and found six of my boyz
hanging out
drinking beers and telling war stories. High fives were in order now
that
everyone was finished, dry and warm.
In the end there was no great epiphany. Yes, it was hard.
Harder than I
expected. I was never scared with what I saw in myself, surprised,
proud,
or ashamed. I do, however, feel changed. Even if only a little.