Ironman Coeur d'Alene: Part 4

The Run

I begin to stride away from the timing mat after exiting transition. Slowly....very slowly at first. Having absolutely no idea how my body, and more importantly my legs, would feel after 8-9 hours of physical activity(my longest workout EVER at this point), my goal for the run was to hopefully find a comfortable pace that I could maintain for 5 or 6 hours. I really hoped that this "comfortable pace" would be faster than walking. My fastest marathon ever was just under 4 hours. With fresh legs. What have I got now?

Something else.

I'm going with an easy shuffle....not too horrible. Legs feel heavy, but that's normal....luckily I have done at least a few brick workouts this season. My ankle and hip have not complained at all today...and they continue their silence at least for the moment. I notice that I'm now actually running. And what's more, I'm running at a pretty decent pace. And the most amazing thing is that I'm not really hurting that bad. I really didn't want to care what my pace ended up being on my run, but out of habit I glance down at my watch. I had intended to remove the Pace indicator from the display of my Garmin, but having failed to do so, I look and see that I'm running a sub 10:00 pace. And it doesn't hurt.

Say what?

Yes...that's right. I'm actually running, decently fast, and I'm not in extraordinary pain. I still can't quite comprehend how this is possible, but I go with it. A notion that occurs to me is that these aren't my legs. They've never felt this good in any previous triathlon I've done, so there must have been a mixup. I don't know whose legs these are....but they appear to be getting the job done. The foolish part of my brain does some stupid math and starts envisioning setting a marathon PR...at the end of an Ironman. The reality-based part of my brain dismisses the foolish part and we continue on our happy way.

The first portion of the 2 loop run course is a 2 mile out-and-back. I spot Delaware coming the other way very early in my run. He gave words of encouragement in the form of letting me know that I was looking strong and would likely catch him. Whether or not that was true...who knows? However, at the time I didn't know how far I had to go until I reached the turnaround....he could be a mile ahead...2 miles ahead....more? The important thing was that I was feeling strong. The "importanter" thing was that once again, he had planted the seed of belief in my head. Could I catch Delaware? The guy who has already done an Ironman? The guy who inspired me to believe I could do one too?

If there was a chance in hell I could catch up to him, or even dare I say it, beat him....I was going to find out. Perhaps riding on this wave of excitement, my first 3 miles were 10:00 or faster. The aid stations continued to be wonderful....the first one was tropical themed I think. Hula skirts, leis, floral shirts. I think there was some sort of water mister that was heaven to run under, though it did cause a few not-so-great side effects. 1. All the dried sweat(also known as salt crystals) on my face starts dripping and getting into my eyes. 2. My Garmin 405 has a fancy-schmancy touch bezel that becomes utterly worthless when it's wet. I make a mental note to cover up my watch when running through sprinklers from here on out.

My routine for the aid stations was either water or gatorade in my handheld water bottle(a generous gift from my good friends Chris and Karli Lockard), a cup of ice dumped into my hat, and an ice cold sponge or two wrung out on my head and shoulders. The ice in the hat proved crucial for keeping the core temperature down between aid stations, as it would slowly melt over the course of a mile and continuously drip cool water down my face, neck, and shoulders. As previously mentioned, I planned on taking in only liquid and gels for nutrition on this run. I brought my own gels because I had trained with them and knew that they caused no digestive issues for me. I had another bagel with PB+J in my run special needs bag just in case, but I wasn't sure if I'd even eat it. Solid food has never agreed with me while running and it seemed risky.

After the first out and back, the course meanders through neighborhoods for a bit before it takes a gentle climb to meet up with the road that follows the edge of the lake. This first climb is where I first begin to experience "reality" and the pain arrives. I am most certainly tired, and my pace slows accordingly....but not as much as I expected. I'm still running...still moving forward.

There is a racer who is in the Marine Corps who was honored at the pre-race banquet. He does Ironman triathlons and received accolades because he runs the marathon portion of each race while carrying a large American flag to honor his fallen comrades, which are sadly quite numerous. Judging from the video telling his story, he looks pretty fast. Shortly before the course met up with the lake, I catch up to this guy. I get an immediate boost in self-confidence to have caught somebody who I considered "fast" and I think it helped my mojo for a few miles. Of course I later found out that he was on his 2nd lap and was indeed way faster than me....but the effect was a positive one, and I was certainly honored to be running alongside him for a while.

The next section of the course that followed the lake shore was another out and back, which climbed a huge hill and turned around at around 7.5 miles(first lap). Somewhere along this section, I again saw Delaware coming back the other way. He again shouted words of encouragement, insisted I'd catch him, and I again had no frame of reference for how far ahead of me he was...I again didn't know where the turnaround was. I just kept the hope alive that catching him was possible and put one foot in front of the other. Through all of this, I was amazed that I was actually able to keep a fairly high cadence. Instead of slogging through the miles, I felt like I was dancing through the course.

Until I hit The Hill.

I knew it was there...I had ridden up it earlier on the bike. My miraculously high pace and cadence were about to meet their match. The gradient of The Hill began and I shortened my strides a bit and went into conserve mode. The agonizing thing about The Hill is that it disappears around a corner, so you really have no idea how far you have to go until you reach that blessed turnaround. My legs are not happy, no sir. I get maybe a fourth of the way up, and I spontaneously, without actually deciding to, stop running. I'm walking. I allow myself a brief rest and then resume running. It happens again....I'm suddenly walking, as if my legs are no longer under my control.

I decide to listen to my body and after some brief but tense negotiations my brain and my legs reach a compromise and we begin power striding. I imagined myself as a 30-something housewife who doesn't believe in actual cardiovascular exercise, but likes to pretend that "powerwalking" is a way to stay in shape. In my head, I've got puny 2 pound dumbbells in each hand, ankle weights, and some pastel colored sweat band, but I'm not actually sweating....I'm gossiping with my neighbor about the jerk next door who mows his lawn, but doesn't cut it short enough and it just totally ruins the whole look of the neighborhood while at the same time damaging the property values of our homes and......what? Where was I going with this?

Lord almighty....my arms are SWINGING! I am hiking up a damned mountain. Long powerful strides, big majestic strokes with my arms. I wonder why I haven't been doing this all along, as I'm passing everyone else who is walking. I powerstride all the way to the top of the hill and breath a sigh of relief that this particular torture is over(at least until around mile 20). I resume my high cadence trot down the hill and now I'm letting gravity work FOR me, instead of letting it kick me repeatedly in the balls.

Another aid station was rock and roll themed, complete with Elvis impersonators and maybe karaoke? The Ford trailer had young attractive girls dancing....awesome. A kickass house party in the neighborhood section had easily 200 people in attendance...some people playing badminton, good loud music, and people in the streets drinking, dancing, and cheering. Every time I passed I either played air drums or air guitar, which elicited more cheering, drinking, and dancing.

Around mile 10 I met one of several temporary race friends. These race friendships are a funny thing as they are based purely on having one thing in common....the same pace for some appreciable amount of time. You meet, and begin attempting to learn as much as possible about the other person. The company is so nice, as the miles pass by faster, and sometimes any break in the monotony of running is welcome. But there's a catch....every single race friendship can be immediately dissolved and ended as soon as one of you changes your pace.

Her name was Kelsey and she was a local. I don't remember how the conversation started....probably some dorky comment from me, because if I hadn't mentioned this yet, despite any pain or difficulty I've experienced thus far, I am having the absolute time of my life!

She tells me that she likes my pace, so I settle in to maintain it. I learn about her, she learns about me. We talk about racing, school, life, where we've lived, who is here to cheer us on, etc. We're both gunning for a sub-5 marathon, but at this point I'm not sure I'll be able to manage. Sure enough, we pass the halfway point, mile 13.1, and as we begin the 2nd lap, she drops me like a bad habit. Easy come, easy go. I didn't remember seeing her again for the rest of the race. A few miles into the 2nd lap I am approaching special needs. It is cooling down and I know I'm hydrated enough to ditch the handheld water bottle for the rest of the run. A volunteer tells us to raise our hands if we'd like to get into our run bag. I raise my hand and another volunteer radios my number ahead. Like on the bike, I approach the special needs stop and somebody yells out my number and beckons me toward them.

The woman holding my bag looks eerily familiar.....IT'S ANDREA!!! The same amazing volunteer who retrieved my bike special needs bag, against all odds, is now the same volunteer who has been assigned to assist me with my run special needs! I excitedly greet her, though she doesn't immediately recognize me because she's been helping hundreds of racers all day. After a brief moment of searching, she does remember though. Like before, she's got my bag open, and everything I had in it is ready for me. What do you want? Can I take anything? I grab the bagel and without any regard to my original plan, I tear into it. Then she starts asking me questions....How are you feeling? Do you want to sit down while you eat? This idea seems utterly foreign to me....sit down? But I'm racing! But then again....why the hell not? So I sit down on the ground with my bagel and a bottle of water. She then blows my mind by asking the following question.

Do you want me to rub your shoulders?

Uh.....hell freaking yes. So as I sit on the ground, eating a bagel with peanut butter and jelly, a woman named Andrea who I had only met that day began massaging my shoulders. And it was amazing. I finished most of the bagel, ditched my run bottle, tossed my empty gel wrappers and grabbed some new ones. I stood up, curious if my legs would even allow such a thing. They were shaky, but they still had some fight left in them. I'm pretty sure I hugged Andrea, but if nothing else I probably thanked her 15 times for being so amazing, helpful, and cheerful.

I continued onward, meeting people occasionally, but for pretty short periods of time. Temporary friendships. Anytime a normal friendship ends, there is usually a lot of animosity...not out here. When you dropped somebody who you had spent a few miles with, nothing but positive energy came. "Hey man, it was great talking to you...you're looking really strong! Keep it up!"

As I go through miles 15...16....17....I start to notice some things. I'm passing tons of people. These people are either walking, or their pace has slowed to a crawl. I wonder if that same fate awaits me at some point down the road. Then I see the truly sad images....people aren't even walking. They're not standing. They're sitting down. They're lying down. They're unconscious and being attended to by medical personnel. Many of them are crying. They are heartbreaking to see....their day is over, or perhaps their finish is simply out of reach. At the same time though, I am filled with hope. I'm still moving. I'm still intent on staying that way, and I am still in the hunt for catching Delaware if it is even possible.

Mile 18 passes....I know I'm going to see Delaware at some point coming the other way. I get closer and closer to the turnaround and I still haven't seen him. I've got to be within a mile of catching him. Mile 19 and I still haven't seen him. Each step I take decreases the theoretical distance between us by two steps. I'm not a competitive person by any stretch of the imagination, but the thought of catching somebody I've considered to be a hero for a long time is putting fire in my stride. My pace has slowed considerably since the halfway point(especially after my long stay at special needs) but now it is actually climbing again. I'm speeding up somehow. I remind myself to write a thank you letter to whoever loaned me these fantastic legs. I approach The Hill. I still haven't seen Delaware. At this point, I'm pretty convinced that I missed him...perhaps he was in a portajohn and I didn't see him. Probably won't catch him after all. As I begin The Hill...off in the distance I see an orange jersey. Could it be? I decide that powerstriding up this hill just isn't going to cut it. 13 miles ago I walked this hill, and now I'm running up it....I've got to know. Orange jersey makes the turnaround about 200 yards ahead of me. He is getting closer now.....

It's Delaware. I'm going to catch him. As we pass I yell, "What one man can do, another can do!" and I proceed to devour the remainder of the hill. The volunteers and spectators, at this point in the race are used to seeing a relatively slow pace from the racers going up that hill. As I come bounding up The Hill, I hear lots of cheers from them as well as other racers I am passing. They didn't know where I was getting it, but they were encouraging me all the same. I make the turnaround, get a few pats on the back for my effort, and resume the hunt, nearly sprinting down the hill. Well.....you know what I mean. At the bottom of the hill, I see him. He is about 100 yards in front of me and I'm gaining. I hit an aid station first....I get some fluid and take a gel with it. Then I see something overwhelmingly enticing. All of the aid stations have offered a wide variety of solid food options, but I hadn't considered any of them according to my original nutrition plan. I see a large bowl of potato chips, and without so much as a second thought, I grab a huge handful and immediately stuff them into my mouth. As I chomp down, the salt hits my taste buds and for a moment, time stops....children sing....butterflies dance in the air....young couples fall in love....dreams are realized....and I am tasting the best thing I've ever tasted in my life. It is maybe the closest I've ever been to crying tears of joy because of junk food. I leave the aid station behind, still running with a mouth overflowing with salty potato chip goodness, chewing and relishing every moment until I swallow it.

Delaware is right there. I can see that he is running, but I know that the pace he is holding to stay ahead of me isn't comfortable for him. He holds out for a little while longer before he stops to walk again. As I pass him, words of encouragement are exchanged between us, but I couldn't even begin to tell you what they were. It's odd the moments you remember clear as day, and the ones that are just understood to have happened.

I leave Delaware behind and I look forward to seeing him at the finish line. His run isn't going great, but I know he will finish strong. Searing jolts of emotion begin to hit me as I realize I am within 6 measly miles of finishing an Ironman. A lazy 10k. My normal campus loop. Down and back on the Trolley Trail. One moment I'm laughing out loud to myself, the next I'm stifling tears, and the one after that I'm in shock that this is actually happening. I offer encouragement to every racer I pass. I thank every volunteer. I high five spectators. As I approach the house party, I envision myself embracing some lovely young lady and planting a kiss on her, much in the style of the V-Day celebrations in Time Square after World War II ended. Of course I didn't do this, but it didn't stop me from pausing to dance with a group of girls who were shimmying in the street. One of them gave me a congratulatory hug, but I believe she immediately regretted it when she realized she was now covered in sunblock, sweat, and many of my excreted electrolytes. I continue onward...

I have vivid memories of the last 4 or 5 miles of this event. Faces I saw. Things I thought about. There is one thing I have absolutely no recollection of though....pain. I was 12-13 hours into the longest day of my life. The pain should have been overwhelming. Excruciating. Every part of my body should have been screaming for mercy. But it just so happened, that I felt no pain for the last few miles. It seems that my body had stopped utilizing carbohydrates, fat, and protein for its fuel, and had instead switched to running on pure euphoria. I was a man possessed by the greatest joy I had felt in a long time, and I was getting closer and closer to the end of a long journey.

The final turn onto the finishing straightaway nearly took my breath away. I could see the lights of the finish line off in the distance. I nearly cried again. My eyes saw, but my mind refused to comprehend, instead just playing the role of the passive observer. Attempting to understand what was going on proved to be futile, so instead I just tried to experience every moment as fully as I could. And it wasn't hard because every moment was overflowing with raw emotion. I knew my parents and brother were up there somewhere, and I wanted so very badly to see them before I crossed the finish line. I was getting closer and closer and I started scanning the crowds lining the street. I zig-zagged down the street, high-fiving 20 people at a time on one side before shooting over to the other side. I approached the final 50 yards where the grandstands started. I saw my brother and I saw my parents. I waved and loved them with everything I had from far away, and with that taken care of I turned and faced the finish line. Still in stride, I ran strong and proud, head held high, my thoughts completely absent...

The race announcer said my name and my hometown, and then said "You are an Ironman!"

I didn't hear a word of it. As I crossed the finish line, a year's worth of anxiety, self-doubt, anticipation, and fear combined with a year's worth of emotional and physical preparation, confidence and excitement to form possibly the most hair-raising rush of pure emotion I have ever experienced in a single moment. This outpouring of feeling first manifested itself in what I can only describe as a primal scream, and I believe this victory cry took the form of the word "Yeah" but multiply its meaning by 140.6. That's how many miles I had just covered. The event photographers captured this moment for all eternity. I feel grateful that they captured this moment because the exact next moment after I was photographed, I began crying uncontrollably. A volunteer placed a medal around my neck and I continued to stumble forward. Two more volunteers grabbed me by each arm and began to escort me through the post-race area.

I cannot put into words what I felt like, so instead of leaving good enough alone, I will now attempt, and fail, to describe it. It was over. That mere concept didn't sink in immediately...or a few minutes later....or that night before I went to bed. In fact, it would be a few weeks before I kinda started to realize it. My race was over. The Ironman. Done. With that fairly obvious conclusion suspiciously absent from my consciousness, and most of my logical processes on leave as well, my limbic system took over completely(science geeks will recognize that as the emotional processing center of the brain). I stumbled around with a volunteer on each arm for a few dumbfounded moments, or it could have been an hour. I didn't quite care. All I was aware of was that I had been given permission to stop running and that I had just completed something vaguely massive, but indescribable.

It was over.

Final run time: 4:53:27, at an average pace of 11:12/mile.

Final event time: 13:29:34

For some perspective, before the race I had made some fairly modest projections concerning how fast I thought I could finish. I determined that under the absolute most perfect conditions, if everything went right, and if I raced to my maximum potential, I could finish somewhere between 13:30 and 14:00. I beat my best-case-scenario time by 26 seconds. Of course I wouldn't even realize this until later that night because I hadn't glanced at the event clock when I finished and was forced to do the math in my head, coming to the conclusion that I had finished in a respectable 14:30. My parents tried to argue that I had actually been an hour faster, but I insisted their math was wrong and that there was no way I could have been that fast.

Back in the post-race area, my brother greeted me at the fence and we embraced. I was still crying as he told me how proud of me he was, and I thanked him for coming. I walked over to have my official finisher photo taken. I wiped the happy tears from my eyes and asked the photographer if I looked like I had been crying. He said I looked fine and I stepped forward. I put on my biggest shit-eating grin and put on my new Ironman Coeur d'Alene finisher hat before he took my picture.

At this point the volunteers have concluded that I am ok to walk on my own and I begin to walk towards the food area. I mill around for a few minutes before I see the pizza tent. Game over folks. Mine is a hunger that causes mortal men to quiver and women to faint. I am pretty sure I got 5 slices of pepperoni and then sat down to dispose of them. I also got a nice warm cup of chicken broth. I saw Delaware enter the post-race area about 10 minutes later. He looked tired, but he was standing on his own so I knew he had finished strong and proud. We sat, ate pizza, and exchanged race stories while we waited for our post-race massages. His was apparently excellent, but mine was a little disappointing....not enough pressure, but I wasn't in any mood to complain. I was absolutely overjoyed, but in a really vague way that lacked any true grasp of the situation.

After a good long while we left the post-race area and met back up with my family and with Jess. We checked our bikes out of transition and headed back towards the car. Loaded up, headed back to the house. Delaware and I hobbled inside as Jess and my parents went into full-on pamper mode. My father had gone to the store earlier to pick up a bunch of ice so we could have ice baths after the race. I soaked in the cold water for awhile and then got dressed and ready for bed. Everyone was tired....I know from experience that just WATCHING an Ironman is an exhausting experience, and I know my parents and brother were definitely feeling it, though they were troopers! Best cheering section I could possibly ask for! Love you guys!

I crawled into bed, and as midnight approached I grabbed my laptop and loaded up Ironman Live so I could watch the streaming video as the final finishers crossed the line at close to 17 hours. The last guy to cross had about 3 minutes to spare before the 17 hour cutoff time. It turns out he had raced there last year and had missed the cutoff by 5 minutes. Now, a year later, with a level of persistence I can't quite fathom after so narrow a failure, he improved his time by 8 minutes and finally got his finisher's medal. It was a poignant moment, and I drifted off to sleep...happy for so many reasons that I didn't have the energy to contemplate yet.

This concludes the race recap, but stay tuned for Part 5: The Epilogue where I'll try and delve into the personal significance and meaning this event holds for me, as well as the aftermath of the biggest race of my life.

Thanks for reading!