Ironman World Championships 2011

What can I say? I made it to the World Championships in my third Ironman and I am very grateful and tired. The race didn't go exactly as I had planned. But you know what? I had fun even though I was injured.

I have always been competitive – with myself, the clock and the field. With this race I knew that no amount of training, no amount of weights, no amount of track speedwork would put me in the top 5% of the field at Worlds. Maybe if I worked at it for another year, but not in 8 weeks. I just wanted to perform as well as I did in Lake Placid. So I took a solid 2 weeks off and then started excercising again hoping to hit the training peaks I realized in June and early July.

But I was tired, both physically and emotionally. My tri bike has logged 3,700 miles since March. I have run 1138 miles and swum countless laps. At my peak I was putting in 24-28 hour weeks, mostly solo. The accumulated exercise stress took its toll on my body and mind. I needed a new way to train through to Kona.

So, instead of training for performance, I decided to train for fun. I still managed to hit many of my weekly targets, but did so by working out with others much more. If there was a track workout, an open water swim or a group ride, I tried to be there. This camaraderie got me to the start line in good, if not top shape.

Bri and I flew into Kona on Thursday before the Saturday race. We decided to put more days into our vacation after the race than before, so we could enjoy the sights without compromising my race legs. Unfortunately, this had two consequences, (1) I wasn't as acclimated to the weather and (2) I didn't have time to familiarize myself with the course as much as I usually do. In the long run, neither of these mattered all that much: the temperature was fine for me and my race unfortunately suffered from other mishaps.

The scene in Kona was different from any other race. The majority of the 2000 talented, international athletes got to Worlds on their own merits, by racing and beating others in their age group. There are only 200-300 lottery slots available to the general public. When walking around town you are reminded of this. No one is smoking, no one is eating fried food; everyone is wearing tight-fitting clothing to show off their zero-fat, toned, tanned bodies. It is very intimidating.

With that said, everyone I met was incredibly friendly. For instance, on race morning I stood out at Ali'i drive in front of our condo and waited for a bus to take me to the start. After seeing 3 full shuttles pass me by, an athlete from Paris (France) picked me up and gave me a ride as far as he could. The morning was full of scenes like this. Athletes sharing gatorade, powerbars, bike pumps and stories while we got body marked, weighed in, waited in the porto-potty lines and stretched.

In transition it was very dark and the atmosphere at 5:30 AM was filled with confident, but nervous energy. After stretching for a while and hearing the pros start I filed down the stairs with the other amateurs. The water was cool and clear. The sun had just come up.

Amateur Athletes Getting Into the Water

After lingering at the shore break for a few minutes I swam out to get a good position. The start line was long, stretching 100 meters or more from the pier to someplace near shore. I lined up near the pier, 5 or 6 people from the line.

Swim:

I looked over at the starting officials, and waved to both the TV cameras and Mike Reilly. Ten seconds later the booming cannon report sounded directly into my right ear, temporarily deafening me. So, as I started to swim, my left ear took in the sounds of the race: the splashes, the cheers and the music. My right was ringing like a bell for five minutes.

Swim Start

In Lake Placid or in Wisconsin I didn't have any trouble starting at the pole position; there would be a lot of bumping in the first couple hundred meters and then everything would settle down and I would have clear water. But this was a different swim – I got to the first buoy and was in a large pack. Another two buoys later I was still in the pack. I was kicked, punched and elbowed almost constantly until I shifted my course away from the line and out of the pack.

As I swam I passed over the most amazing sites – coral reefs, sand, and schools of fish. With 30-60 feet of visibility, I never lost sight of the bottom. At one point I saw 2-3 black-tipped reef sharks (small ones – maybe 1-2' long). Cliff Rigby told me that I would be in for a treat, but I had no idea. I was swimming in an aquarium – a far cry from the Navesink.

At one point I swam over a reef and noticed that I wasn't moving quickly relative to the view below. No matter how hard I pressed on, I wasn't making the progress I expected. The currents and small waves rippling through the bay were strong, pushing us back into shore. I hoped they would help push me on the way back. As I rounded the far turn and headed home I felt a long way from transition. There was still a good pack around me and I stayed on the outside, away from flying fists and feet.

At that point I started to notice chafing around my neck. I had applied Glide to all the critical regions but forgot my neck – how did I forget? Ouch. Truly bad chafing around my neck would lead to a miserable race, because I couldn't take the suit off for the bike or run. The same seams causing raw skin now could slowly cut into my neck over the next 9 hours. So while I should have been pulling hard I was worried about the bike and run. My mind was overthinking – worrying about the rest of the race instead of concentrating on the task at hand.

I got out of the water and expected to see a relatively fast time. In Lake Placid I swam 1:04 without a wetsuit and figured the salt water would make me more buoyant and would speed me up a bit – maybe allowing me to break an hour. The clock showed a dismaying 1:09. Ugh. What did I do wrong? I should have started a bit to the outside, been a more familiar with the course and the currents and not stressed out about the chafing (or remember to apply glide before the race!). Oh well – keep moving.

Total Swim Time: 69:28 (5 minutes slower than LP)

Overall swim place: 772

Transition Area

Transistion 1

In transition I hosed off the salt water, got to the tent and put on all my gear, including my Headsweats band. I had the volunteers lather my back with sunscreen and made sure it was on my face and legs, too. All sloppy and white, I rushed out to get my bike.

Starting Out on the Bike

Bike:

Right out of transition, there was a thin line of bikers on the course. We all pedaled easily, grabbed some nutrition and got used to the new activity. A half mile into the route the guy a few bike lengths ahead hit a bump and something fell off his bike. He waited a few seconds and grabbed his brakes hard, suddenly cutting left to right across my path.

Unfortunately, I didn't comprehend what he was doing or where he was going until it was too late. I hit my brakes but still clipped his rear wheel. In a split-second I tumbled over my front wheel to the ground, hitting hard on my back and hip and ejecting my bottles. The rider picked up my bottles quickly and helped me back on my way. Nothing was said between us.

Back on the bike I took stock: my back hurt from scraping the road, but a policeman at the next corner inspected it and told me there was no blood. The bike was in good shape – a few scratches on the aero bars but the frame and wheels were fine. I wasn't grievously injured, so I pushed onward.

Then I got to the first hill and realized I had an interesting ride ahead of me. My left leg was fine, and when I pushed with my right everything was good. The pull up on my right was the problem. I didn't have any power contracting my hip and every revolution I had to use the left leg to reset the right to the push position. The hills amplified this deficiency. I must have done a split as I dismounted in the crash, injuring my right leg.

The Queen Kaʻahumanu Highway

As the course progressed around town I continued to ride to 80% of my ability due to my injury and when I got out to the Queen Kaʻahumanu highway toward Hawi everything seemed to be okay – if not great. I wasn't able to pull up with my right leg all day, but the pain wasn't debilitating and I pushed further on. The first couple hours passed without drama until I got to the base of the hill to Hawi. At that point the road tipped up slightly for 7 miles and the wind pushed into my face at 20-25 mph. It was brutal, particularly with one-and-a-half good legs.

At the Hawi turnaround I took a bottle of Accellerade from my special needs bag. I froze the bottle Friday night and now it was cold and refreshing for the last 50 miles of my ride. I need to do that in future races - it was great. On the way back to Kona I tried to keep up as best as I could, but found riders continuously passing me. Uphills, in particular, took too much effort to summit, but I continued. I arrived back at transition with plenty of energy and could have kept riding. I wasn't in a lot of pain and I was well hydrated. Bring on the run!

Here is the Garmin Output from my ride: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/126231988

Bike Split: 5:43:28 (21 minutes slower than LP)

Bike Place (overall) 1080. I lost 308 places on the bike and T1.

Transition 2:

When I stopped riding and stepped off my bike things fell apart. I gave my bike to a handler and with one step knew the rest of the day would not be racing but survival. My right leg would not move forward, I could not lift my right knee without excruciating pain. I hobbled around the transition area in my biking shoes while people passed me racing to get to their bags. How would I get through the next 26.2 miles?

When I got to the changing tent I met Jesse – a sports chiropractor that helped me out for a while. He stretched me and diagnosed a partially torn hip flexor (psoas). I couldn't sit up from the therapy table. In a chair I couldn't lift my leg to get on my running shoes. But, with help and encouragement from the volunteers and after 25 minutes of impromptu physical therapy (and more sunscreen), I hobbled out of transition and onto the marathon course.

Run:

Running the first couple miles was out of the question - I simply couldn't lift my right knee to run. Instead, I swung it ahead of me and used my left to propel myself. I limped forward on the right side of the lane for 45 minutes letting everyone pass me. The math of ironman seemed to be on my side, though. I had ten hours to walk, limp or feebly run home before the course closed.

I really didn't feel that bad. I wasn't too hot, I wasn't cramping and had enough calories, salt and conditioning to continue if my leg would allow. Spectators at the side of the road and even other runners mistook my limp for a cramp and offered to help, but I had to explain that it was an injury. After several conversations like this I stopped trying to explain myself and got on with the marathon.

In the first mile someone came by me on right very suddenly and bumped into me. It turns out it was Craig Alexander finishing. He only had a mile to go and was on his way to a record finish. The course uses this section twice and he had nowhere to run because of the traffic in the street. It was the first time I had ever been lapped in an ironman (or marathon). Later at the midnight finish I met up with Craig again and I congratulated him on the win.

At mile 2 I was very hungry and paused at a water stop. Some wonderful volunteers made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich which tasted better than anything I had eaten in a long time. With that in my belly, I tried to shuffle along for a while. I would "run" 100 meters and then walk 100 meters. Downhills seemed to be easier than uphills – I started to figure it out.

At mile 3 on Ali'i Drive I passed the condo and saw Bri and my father-in-law. They were both very concerned; I should have passed by an hour earlier. So, I convinced Bri to go back in and put on her running shoes and I continued on. At the mile 5 turn-around Bri caught up and joined me for the 2 miles back to the condo. I jogged on and off during this time and stopped once for more sunscreen on my back (fourth application of the day!).

I continued to jog intermittently for the next few miles and finally got back out to the Queen K. At this point I was running more than walking and managed to time a couple miles, finding a 9:20 pace. Not great – I usually race almost two minutes faster per mile - but not awful either.

If I sped up or slowed down my hip flexor let me know and I had to walk for a couple minutes. So I only had one speed and drifted to and from various temporary running partners. In this way I met a lot of interesting people from all over the world. Turning into the Energy Lab I started the downhill run to the ocean and the final turn around at mile 19.

My goal was to finish around 7:30 so Bri could cheer me to the finish before her volunteer shift in the medical tent at 8 PM. If my even pace continued, I would arrive in time.

Coming out of the Energy Lab I turned around and walked backward up the hill to gaze on a beautiful sunset over the Pacific. It was a serene and peaceful point far from the lights and sounds of spectators, floodlight generators and music. It was just perfect. The injury slowed me down and helped me to enjoy parts of the race I wouldn't normally appreciate. If I were truly racing I would have never looked back.

I collected glow-in-the-dark bands and ran into the quiet night on the Queen K. Coming back into town I could hear the party at the finish line from two miles away. I kept running and finally saw Bri and my in-laws. As I ran through the finish chute I slapped as many hands as possible and breathed in every last moment.

I managed a jump for joy at the finish line and landed - just barely.

My run split was a 5:11:22 (1:48:00 slower than LP and the slowest 26 miles I have ever run)

Run place (overall): 1554

Overall:

12:33:58

Place (overall): 1432 out of 1855 starters (1773 finishers). On a brighter note, I beat the top two finishers at Lake Placid (they DNF'd)

Finish:

On the other side two catchers got me and guided me towards the finishers' tent. I found Jesse and he congratulated me and then stretched me out for a little while. When I stood up again my head spun, I couldn't maintain my balance and my legs buckled. Bri and a police officer dragged me back to the medical tent. (Bri had to remind me about the officer- I don't remember him).

Inside they first weighed me (152.5 lbs - I lost 4 pounds from the morning). Bri had just started her volunteer shift at the medical tent and turned out to be my nurse! After taking vitals, she brought me a sprite and an apple. I started to feel better as I ate. Thirty minutes later I was "discharged" and wandered to the food tent for some pizza, ice cream and my medal.

At the end of the day, I was happy and relieved to have finished. I wish I could have done better but understand it wasn't in the cards. I should be angry that some random guy cut me off and destroyed my race, but it was an accident and I really can't change that.

My post-race back, featuring bad sunburn, road rash and wetsuit chafing

I thoroughly enjoyed the race and the run – even though it seemed to go on forever. It was by far the longest duration run and longest workout I have ever completed.

But, I am frustrated and feel like I have unfinished business out in Hawaii. How do I get out there again to redeem myself? Do I dedicate another year of my life and untold thousands to travel and compete? I don't think my bank account, nor my sanity could survive another journey like this next year.

Over the next few days my hip started feeling better (but not great). Eventually walking wasn't so much of a chore and the rest of our vacation was great.

Thanks:

There are several important people that deserve many thanks.

Gerry Goldberger. Gerry and I often worked out together between Lake Placid and Kona. His companionship and advice was invaluable. I don't think I would have been able to get in nearly as much training without him.

The Brielle Cyclery. Brielle has been a constant companion during my quest this year and enabled some incredible biking. They sold me my super-fast Cervelo P3, nutrition and a sleek race suit; they provided some quick tune ups and gave me valuable advice. In addition, Brielle helped me out by lending me a pair of awesome wheels. I could not have made it to Hawaii without Kathy, Clarence, Patrick, Digger and John. Thanks everyone!

Joe Donahue and Don Griffen. I tried to get to the Point Pleasant track on Wednesdays as often as I could in August and September. I enjoyed the workouts but mostly I wanted to talk with Don and Joe. Both have competed in Kona and I wanted to learn everything I could about the weather, the course and the facilities from them. I planned out my race strategy largely on their advice (except for the crash).

Greg Smith, Cliff Rigby and Alex Rossano. It was great to have their company while riding this summer. Cliff also raced Kona (more than once) and helped me plan my race strategy.

My in-laws (Marianne and David Zimmerman). Thanks for coming out and supporting me in Hawaii! I had a great time and hope you did too. When I was injured after the race I could not have returned to the condo or lamely danced at the midnight finish without your support.

My wife (Brianne). It has been a long year of training, with sore muscles, long bike rides and crazy races. I couldn't have done any of this without your love and support. Thanks honey. I love you! Next year it is your turn to enter a few races!

Kona. From the athletes to the fans to the race officials to the townies. Your friendliness, welcoming attitude and support made this a wonderful trip. It was a hard race and a long trip, but I enjoyed every minute of it.

Mahalo!