THE BIG PICTURE
This part is based on hearsay, anecdotal evidence, and conjecture, but I believe paints a pretty good overall picture of the the day.We knew going in that the forecasted high temp was 103. We knew to hydrate, increase our sodium, slow down our pace, and watch our core temp. I knew this. I had a plan for this. I also had raced in hot temps (Eagleman 2012 with 96 degree temps and very high humidity) and new that I had done ok. I knew that riding in the heat didn't usually bother me, and I knew what worked to help me survive the run.
What we didn't know was what would happen on that 40-mile stretch of 95. The massive stretch of blacktop absorbed and radiated the heat, creating something much worse than the actual high temp of 105. I heard claims that the heat coming off the highway was anywhere from 118-140. This was the game changer.
Looking at a reasonable sampling of self-described finishes (50+, from a FB IMCDA 2015 group), it seems that if you were a strong enough swimmer and, more importantly, cyclist, you were able to finish your ride and get off that highway without suffering too much damage. Maybe the heat hadn't fully built on the pavement yet, or maybe it was just less time in that oven, but either way you were able to get off the bike with the energy for a solid run. These lucky folks finished mostly under 12:30, many had great races and even PR'd.
Then there were the rest of us. We baked out there on the pavement. We suffered. We were destroyed by the time we got to T2, and we mostly walked the marathon - assuming we even made it there. I heard a report that over 140 people either dropped out mid-bike or were pulled from the bike course by medical. For those of us that made it out on the run course, our finishes mostly ranged from 14-17 hours.
MY RACE
I was pretty nervous going in. I knew I had done the training - I hadn't missed a SINGLE WORKOUT since my training plan had started the Monday after New Years. I knew my body was ready and able to go the distance. But frankly the concept of 140.6 still seemed a little insane. And I was obviously nervous about the heat. I thought I'd be ok on the bike, but the idea of running in triple digit heat, especially when the sun somehow seemed to get stronger in the early evening as it got lower in the sky, was intimidating. I was already preparing myself for a long walk of survival. And I was kinda of questioning the logic/safety of allowing the race to go on in that heat.That being said, with all the talk of shortening the course swirling around in the week leading up to the race, I'd had a lot of time to contemplate what it would look like to toe the start and not come home an Ironman. I was not willing to accept that outcome. So in the days leading up to the race I coined a new race mantra: Believe. Stay in the moment. Finish the journey.
SWIM - 1:12:26 / 26th AG / 148 F / 619 Overall
On the whole I was pleased with my swim. The water wasn't as flat as I'd hoped, and the first lap was a little more clogged up than I expected, but the water felt cool the whole time (73.6 was the morning reading) and I was comfortable in my wetsuit, which had been giving me a few minor issues in practice swims. I probably started a little fast, but by the end of the 1st loop I'd settled into a nice, leisurely pace. I managed the jostling fine, even dealt with a major ankle grab without issue, and mostly swam to the outside to find clear water. By the 2nd lap it really did feel like a long swim, but in retrospect it really was just the tiniest, most peaceful portion of the day.T1 - 8:55
I'm sure I could've gotten through T1 faster, but I wasn't worried about rushing. I methodically dried off, put on all my bike gear, found my bike, got my Garmin and GPS tracker set up, and headed out.BIKE - 7:35:40 / 47th AG / 251 F / 1087 Overall
In some ways this was my most disappointing leg. I'd thought I would come in around 6:45 moving time, 7 hours including stops. My moving time was closer to 7:10, and by the end of the first loop when I realized the split (just for moving time) would be 3-1/2 hours I was a bit discouraged.But let me backtrack. The first 14 miles, the short out and back through town and around the lake, felt good. My 2nd and 3rd 5 mile splits were solid, I successfully filled my torpedo bottle on the fly, and I felt comfortable. I was paying attention to my watts, even on the hills, and drinking and eating when the alarms hit. I was even thinking at the time that the temp wasn't feeling bad at all, better than I expected even for that time of day.
Then I headed out of town for the 42 mile out and back along highway 95. The first challenge was the big 2 mile climb at mile 20. I was super conservative, didn't worry about people passing me (as they'd been doing for 20 miles), and stuck to my plan. I got up the climb without any problems, and was thankful for all the time I had spent going up Lefthand Canyon. Then, shockingly, I was flying by people on the downhill. I never pass people going downhill, so that was fun. I got up the next climb, and stuck it out for the long false flat to the aid station. This was my first actual stop, and honestly was glad that I was consuming the right balance of water, salt and electrolytes and I was hitting the potty on schedule.
The next 10 miles out 95 to the turnaround were pretty much long and boring, but I pedaled through them and got to the turn. Heading back I immediately had a headwind, which surprised me, because you're supposed to have the wind heading OUT 95, not heading home. It tapered off a bit after a mile or two and I continued on to mile 50, the top of the 2 mile climb - now descent - and just a short stretch before hitting town again and the start of the 2nd loop.
Heading into this point I was feeling weary, but I'm not sure why. I kept pointing out to myself that my legs felt fine, so my fatigue was only mental - maybe because the ride is long and kind of boring, or maybe it was just the prospect of the long day ahead of me. At that point I was at about 3:15 ride time, so I already knew I was "behind schedule." Maybe it was due to my being conservative in my watts range, maybe it was the climbing - and being conservative on my watts there - or maybe it was the wind coming back that denied me the pace bump to balance out the climbs and false flats on the way out. Whatever it was, it was discouraging. And then at mile 50, at the top of the descent that was going to propel me back into town, I got a flat.
I think it took me 15 minutes to change the flat. For me, that's not too bad. I was methodical, making sure to do it right so I didn't screw up and cause a 2nd flat. I didn't have any major problems getting the tire off or back on, my CO2 worked perfectly, and I was actually pretty damn pleased with myself once I was done. In hindsight I'm thrilled that I pulled it off because apparently I could've been waiting an hour or two for bike tech. (Also in hindsight, I should mentally adjust my time to 7:20, it might make me feel a little better.) On the plus side, I was pissed off enough about the flat that it reinvigorated me, and I was really needing that.
The one big bummer about the delay, though, was that I'd lost my pack. At some point after the turnaround on 95 the stream of people passing me slowed to a trickle, and I was finally in a reasonable pack of people all going similar paces. After the flat, though, it felt like I was in a wasteland. The pack was gone and I was suddenly left with just one rider here and one rider there. Pretty lonely.
Regardless, I headed back toward town, sailed through and started thinking about special needs. I had been pretty religious about sticking to my alarms for Perpetuem, gel blocks and Endurolytes. But because the bike had taken longer than I expected and because I'd gone through my Perpetuem bottle more quickly than I expected, I was out of both. I'd thrown some Gatorade into my torpedo bottle at the halfway aid station to carry me through, but I needed to restock.
At special needs I grabbed my spare tube and restocked my gel blocks. By some actual miracle, my 2nd Perpetuem bottle - which I'd frozen a put in a big bag of ice - was still cold. Everything I'd been drinking for the last two hours had been room temperature at best, so cold fluids were about the greatest thing ever. That, at least, made me smile. Then I downed 2 Fig Newtons and headed out toward town. One more potty stop at mile 70 and I headed out 95 again.
By the time I was heading up the big 2 mile climb for the second time I was starting to find people again, and I was passing them. In fact, I may have continued to pass people for the remainder of the ride. At this point it's hard to remember, because after completing the next climb on that 2nd loop is when the real suffering began. There are 13 miles between the aid station heading out of town and the aid station after the climbs, and that's when the miles got really, really long. The temps at this point must've been in triple digits and pavement on 95 was practically on fire. I didn't realize how much the pavement was radiating heat, but I was hotter than hell, my water was practically boiling, my thighs were sunburned, my feet were baking and I had a major headache. I remember feeling like I was cooking.
I finally made it to that aid station, mile 83, and they were out of water. Actually - almost out of water - I think I got the last bottle. I was grateful to have that, but it meant that I only had enough to fill my torpedo bottle and put a tiny bit on my arm coolers, head and feet. I would've taken a whole other bottle to pour over myself if there had been one.
From that point on, I just focused on making it from one aid station to the next, sticking with my alarms for nutrition and Endurolytes, and drinking water. The not really cool water I got at the aid stations was absolutely hot after just a few miles, but I assumed my headache was due to dehydration and wanted to drink it away, so I sucked down hot water and drank the hot Perpetuem even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. The time between aid stations seemed like an eternity, even though it was only about 10 miles. And to boot, the headwind after the turn had picked up so the final 21 miles were even slower than they were on lap 1.
Finally, though, I was headed back down that 2 mile descent toward town. I hadn't gotten another flat, and I would soon be off the bike. That was the good news. The bad news was that I was just destroyed by that bike. I was committed to finishing my journey, but had no idea how I was going to get out there and run. (In part, I think, because I didn't realize it was maybe 20 degrees hotter on the bike than it would be on the run.)
**Also see someone else’s description of lap 2 of the bike at the end of the write up.
T2 - 14:34
I went into the change tent in an absolute daze. I was trying to get my bike kit off, my run kit on along with my arm coolers, shoes, etc. and at the same time trying to gather myself for the run. I did notice that I was sweating in the tent, which I took as a good sign hydration-wise since I still had that headache. I was still concerned, though, because I hadn't needed a potty stop since mile 70 and I'd been sucking down a fair amount of water. I was moving slowly, and I knew it, but finally had everything together and somehow headed out. My new mantra: Run when you can. Walk when you can't.RUN - 5:37:52 / 36th AG / 223 F / 888 Overall
I headed out of T2 and still felt pretty crushed. But after getting everything adjusted and set I started running. Probably more like "running." Either way, I knew that if I didn't run then I never would, and walking a marathon takes a long ass time. For the first 3 miles I ran some (probably no more than a few tenths of a mile at a time, if that) and then walked some. Going through town and the surrounding neighborhoods there was a decent amount of shade, and lots of hoses and sprinklers, and those helped a lot.Then you hit Coeur d'Alene Lake Drive. After the first half mile it's predominantly in direct sunlight. That's when my walks got a lot longer, and my runs got shorter. They may have actually vanished for a while. But I was speed walking at least, keeping a 15-16 minute pace per mile. I just wanted to get it done. I also had grabbed a Gu at mile 2 and put some Gatorade in my handheld water bottle (which was a godsend) to continue to get some nutrition and work on getting rehydrated. I still had that damn headache, and couldn't put ice in my hat like I usually do because it made my headache worse.
From 3.5 till the turnaround at 13 or so it was a long slog. I don't know how much I managed to run, but there was a lot of walking involved. I think the Gu, Gatorade, Endurolytes and potato chips that I was downing were helping though. Plus I'd grabbed some Advil from special needs (I finally realized that my headache was likely from caffeine withdrawal, since I'd also had one the prior 2 afternoons). And I had my laminated index card that read "Finishing is Your Only Fucking Option."
After the turn I was starting to perk up. I wasn't necessarily thinking I could run for 13 miles, but I knew I could walk it. I knew my stomach would hold up and I wasn't too dehydrated and I was damn well going to make it to the finish. And I was ready to just get it over with, so I start running a little more. I think I ran more frequently, and for longer stretches, and finally I was starting to hit mile markers in the high teens. I knew the final turnaround was at mile 20, and that's what I'd been looking forward to all day. That final 10k. If I could make it there, I could hit it home.
While I was walking I kept trying to calculate my time. I didn't have my watch on for the swim, and I apparently hadn't turned off auto-pause so I didn't know my total bike time. I was trying to cobble together the pieces that I had - the clock time when I started and finished the swim, my moving bike time, the clock time when I hit T2, the actual time of day, and my current run time. Math was very, very hard at this point and it took me lots of tries, but I finally figured out that if I pulled off a negative split on the run I could possibly break 15. I really, really wanted to break 15.
And then I hit that turnaround at mile 20. Once I got up that hill after the turn, I ran down the hill. I'd done that on the first lap, I knew I could do it. I walked through the aid station at the bottom of the hill and realized the sun was finally, FINALLY low enough that it wasn't hot anymore. So I started running again.
I ran more consistently between 20 and 23 than I think I'd done all day. And once I hit 23 I knew I was close. REALLY close. I was going to make it. I started running more, and maybe faster - it felt faster. I still took some walk breaks but they were shorter, and my runs were longer, and anytime I made eye contact with someone all I could say was "it's so close!"
The final blocks down Sherman Avenue were as phenomenal as everyone told me they would be. The crowds were two and three people deep for blocks, and they were cheering like crazy. I was ecstatic, and also trying not to start crying. I took it all in, and savored those last blocks just like I was told to do. And then Mike Reilly told me I was an Ironman. According to my dad, who said he watched my finish video 5 times, after I crossed the finish line I stopped, wiped the sweat out of my eyes, and said, "Finally."
Total Time 14:49:27
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FINAL THOUGHTS
Knowing now what I didn't know then about the bike (in the time it's taken me to write this I've read that a medic took a measurement of 147 on the pavement at the turnaround on 95, that someone's Garmin was getting consistent readings in the 110-115 range on lap 2 of the bike, and that a police officer fried eggs on the hood of his car and on the pavement on 95), I'm incredibly thankful that I was able to make it through, no matter my time. Those conditions were unimaginable, and there were plenty who succumbed to them. I think my survival out there was in part due to forcing down all the water, nutrition and Endurolytes and in part due to the fact that it never occurred to me that not finishing the bike was an option.As for the run, I may always wonder if I could've pushed myself to run more than I did. I know for me that once I blow up / start walking that's usually the ball game, but I do wonder if I gave in a little too easily. At the same time, I know the heat on the bike nearly destroyed me, and I was pretty dehydrated starting the run, and I think it legitimately took me a while to recover from that. I am and will always be damn proud of my major (25 minute?) negative split on the run and the fact that I fought for every one of those minutes.
This was supposed to be my one-and-done Ironman. And if I was only going to do it once, I really wanted to make sure to do it right. So I hired a coach, diligently completed every workout, staved off injury, dialed in my nutrition plan, and battled through some ridiculous weather patterns. I had a tight race plan and a picture of how I expected my race to play out. I had a "hope" finish time, more than a goal time, but truly did expect to do well. Hell, I was nothing if not well prepared for this race.
At the same time, I knew there would be curve balls thrown my way. I knew my success would come down to how I handled those curve balls. And if that's the metric you use to measure success (or at least the metric I'm going to choose to use), my race was a phenomenal success. I stuck with my nutrition and hydration plan when the heat on the bike made me want to do anything but that, and substituted when I ran out instead of going 30+ minutes without calories. I didn't force my watts when I knew I would pay for it later. I adjusted my marathon strategy to one that I could get my head around after being decimated on the bike. A mile and a half into the run, once I came out of the daze of the bike, I knew I needed calories to take me the 26.2 miles, so I found nutrition on the run course because what I'd put in my gear bag was hot to the touch. I added Gatorade to my water bottle and drank, drank, drank, and then popped an extra Enduroltye when I thought my stomach was getting sloshy. I kept reevaluating how I felt, asking myself to do more, pushing toward the finish. I fought for every mile, and I earned my title of Ironman.