Ironman Coeur d'Alene: Part 1

It has been over a week since I did this event and I'm finally putting "pen" to "paper" to try and encapsulate everything that happened, how it felt, and what it all means to me. It's going to take awhile, but I'm going to try.

Race Morning

I had an expectedly restless night of "sleep", also known as waking up every 30-45 minutes to look at the clock to see if it was time yet. My alarm was set for 4:15 am, so the sun would not have been up yet, and I had to actually LOOK at the clock to confirm that it was not yet time. Think back to your childhood, trying to sleep on Christmas Eve, except imagine it as if you were terrified of presents.

My final premature awakening occurred at 4:00 am. I figured that was good enough and decided to give up and started getting ready. Oddly enough this involved lying back down, not to sleep, but to do some slow and deep stretches. Time passed, but only just so...it felt like an out of body experience, very dreamlike despite being more awake than I've ever felt in my life. Maybe more alive than I've felt in a long time. And dreamlike. Yeah, I know.

This was The Morning. 2.4 swim, 112 bike, 26.2 run. Today.

I eventually heard stirring in the house, giving me the impression that Delaware was also up and about, getting ready. Upstairs....bagel.....OJ....something else which I ate but don't remember what it was called, what it looked like, or tasted like. Mystery food. More stretching, more massaging my left calf, hoping to alleviate any potential achilles pain later in the day. Worries.

I begin to find all the little notes I've left for myself from the previous night.

"Get bottles out of freezer."

"Don't forget your Garmin." (Delaware did this a few years ago before his first Ironman, so I made a point to learn from his mistake)

The rest of the morning is way less clear....I have no recollection of doing many of these things, but I have solid proof that they actually happened: packed bags, loaded the car, drove to the event site, dropped off T1 and T2 bags, loaded bottles on bikes, possibly used the toilet(1 and/or 2). Del and I donned wetsuits and went to meet up with Jess and my family. Some lighthearted conversation, joking, pictures, hugs, well-wishes. Time seemed frozen, though this has been disproven as evidenced by the fact that the race did eventually happen.

Del and I say our final goodbyes and join the long, somber funeral procession of neoprene-clad athletes trudging towards the beach entrance. I wouldn't have flinched to hear a priest giving us our last rites. We're a little late getting there for my preference, but we cross the pre-race timing mat with 10-15 minutes to spare. Light conversation with other racers, squishing sand between my toes, looking very likely like a deer in the headlights. I remember to have some quiet time before the race begins, because it proved a very successful technique in my 70.3 in Galveston. To escape the world, I squat down and close my eyes. Breath in. Out. Calm thoughts. Quiet mind. I even check my own pulse to make sure I'm not overexcited.....60-70 bpm.....perfect. While I'm in my quiet place, a very odd notion strikes me.

This is it.

What?

This. What you're about to do. The thing you've been wrapping your mind, body, and soul around for the last 11 months(and in a certain sense, for the past 22 months). You are about to begin an Ironman.

I stand up. Del is standing there, looking prepared, focused, and confident. I actually said the following words.

"Is this really happening?"

He replied that it indeed was.

If anything else was said, I don't remember. We were far enough down the beach that we couldn't hear the announcer's voice. Apparently there was some kind of countdown and then they fired a cannon.

All I was aware of is that, all at once, everybody on the beach started running into the water.

Chaos.

To be continued....