All I can say is “Wow. What a journey”.
I guess the journey began for me at the end of my first 70.3 at Vineman. It was 100 degrees when I finished with mild heat stroke, and I remember thinking “I have no idea how people finish a full Ironman, and I have absolutely no desire to EVER do one!” But somewhere in the back of my mind was a curiosity and intrigue about it. Then two more seasons and two more 70.3’s later, the curiosity grew, and I started to ask around about the experiences of fellow club members. I distinctly remember the sort of humble sense of quiet I noticed in Josh Schulz and Sarah Mandes after IMAZ, and I became even more curious. So, after a conversation with Mike Swan to see what it would take in time and training, I registered. I remember clicking “register” on Active.com and thinking… “Oh crap, unsend, unsend!”
I’ve always felt that one of the main reasons to race is to have a reason to train, for the lifestyle. Racing is great but 95% of the time is spent training, and training for IMAZ was a LOT of training. I skipped lots of ski weekends and other stuff in order to train, and in the end it was worth it. There are so many landmark days that I will remember. Especially when training for my first full Ironman, because as the volume builds, each weekend became my longest ride ever, or my longest brick ever, over and over until I started my taper. I’ll never forget the ride to Malibu and back.
After lots of pre-race anxiety/excitement, hyper-focus on any little ache or pain, remembering to not try “anything new” on race day, the time finally arrived. I got so much great advice from so many helpful friends. A few stood out that I really tapped into on race day:
Fred Maggiore – “This is a big day, in many different ways, which can be overwhelming for anyone. On race morning after you’re all set up in transition, waiting to head to the swim start, try and find a moment and a quiet space that you can just be in to think about what you’re about to do.”
Eric Schmitz – “Race with perseverance in your soul, gratitude in your heart, and joy on your face, and you be an Ironman.”
Fredrik Rosvall – “You will never be the same after this”
Sarah Mandes – “Be an energy giver”
Andy Proft – “Relentless forward progress”
Jarrett McFarland – “Remember to thank the volunteers”
Ironman race announcer – “Let the day come to you, don’t go out and try to control it”
The swim start is unreal. 2600 racers treading water for a mass start. BOOM! The canon goes off. I took Kyle’s advice and got right in the middle of the pack 5 back from the front. He was right, uncrowded in the middle, crowded at the edges. I had clear water (relatively) until the first turnaround buoy and then it was solid white water and chop the whole way back. I swallowed lots of Tempe Town lake’s finest. (I was dismayed to learn that the sewer treatment plant dumps the “treated” water directly into the lake). Even the locals are in disbelief that anybody would ever swim there. So far I have not gotten sick, so that’s good. Even with lots of hurry up and wait, bumping into swimmers who stop, slow down, pile up, I was out in under 1:20, which was my goal – time to get on the bike, my favorite part of the race.
As you cannot set up transition at your bike, you pick up your “swim to bike” bag and head to the changing tent. 9 minutes later (ouch) I crossed the timing mat to head out on three 37 mile loops. The first loop was a blast. I heard Fred in my head: “the first loop will feel easy, it’s a long day, don’t get caught up in the hype, you will pass those guys on the run”. I held back even though I felt great. The last 10 miles to the turnaround in each loop is a steady easy climb, and the first loop had a decent headwind, holding speeds down, until the turnaround with a straight tailwind back down the hill, screaming over 30 miles per hour “YEEEHAW, this is going to be fun”. Then back to the start to the cheering crowd and the beginning of my second loop. The second loop was WAY different that the first with the wind switching directions with a nice tailwind up the hill but far slower downhill speeds. As the wind picked up and stayed steady over the remainder of the bike, I started to feel fatigued. On the third lap, my nutrition mistake started to take its toll. I was told by Patty Bryant, Mike Swan, and Fred to “train my nutrition and don’t do anything differently on race day”. I got the thought in my head that I had never tried to run a marathon after 7 hours into a workout, and I would need more than the 300 calories an hour I had been training to bring in on the bike.
I never want to have another syrupy, cough medicine tasting, gag reflex inducing swallow of CarboPro 1200 orange flavored liquid death again in my life. After belching out half a mouthful of the final forced dose, I switched to Ironman Perform. By the end of the bike, I felt worked, fatigued, and NOT looking forward to a marathon on a bloated stomach full of 2000 calories.
Back in the change tent, and it’s hot (sorry for the shift to present tense here). I’m sitting looking at all my run crap and not happy about the situation. “A f*&$%g marathon, now, are you kidding me?” Then my friend Liz Inglese’s voice in my head: “keep your mind straight!” Shoes on, out and running now. Immediately the stomach hurts – bloated, crampy, not good.
8 miles in and I start to feel chills. Not the good chills like goose bump chills. Bad fever type chills – not good. That was the first time in the race that I really started to think that I may not make it. 18 miles to go is a long way, and I’m starting to feel like I’m in trouble.
Coming around on the second of three laps, I can see people running all around the lake – and I feel like crap. Some people have reported religious experiences in major challenges, and it was then that mine began. I remember seeing all these people running in endless loops, around and around, seemingly never to end their toil, and I thought “this would be a good version of hell”. You know, you’re feeling like crap, stressed, sick, chilled, and if you just have to keep running for all eternity. That would be a pretty good hell, or at least purgatory. Not empowering mental self talk. (“Keep your mind straight, John!”)
After throwing up once, Taj passes me at mile 12.
“How’s it going, John. You doin’ OK?”
“Not really. Just barfed, not good”.
“Hang in there, bro. Try not to walk”.
Just after Taj moves on (great race by the way at 10:24), I throw up again.
It was time for the next chapter of my spiritual experience.
Just before the 13 mile marker I said a little prayer. Not one of those you say when you’re sick. Not a bargaining type of prayer like: “God, get me out of this one and I promise I’ll never do X again”. It was more of a humble, real, connected prayer. More like “hey, I could use a little help here, I’m at the end of my rope.”
After the 13 mile marker my stomach just went “whoosh”, and settled. Maybe it was knowing that I was half way done with the marathon and I was in the second half, on my way home. I think it was divine intervention too. And it was welcomed.
From then on life got better. I was eating grapes and smiling. I was having fun. I knew that I had it in the bag. I was going to finish. I felt like I was running faster, and my Garmin showed that I had picked up the pace, but my splits online showed that I really had not. My pace was pretty steady straight through.
I loved the Reno 911 style aid station. I’ll just leave it at that.
One of the best moments in the race was hitting the 25 mile marker with a straight shot back to the finish. As soon as we hit that marker, the group I was with and I unanimously started looking at our watches.
6:48 pm and we’re calculating. 12 minutes to run 1.2 miles. We got this! Sub 12 hours is in the bag. Hoots, hollers, and we pick up the pace.
Now, I’m not sure where it came from, but running the last 1.2 miles in under 9 minutes certainly led me to think that I had a whole lot more to give out there on the course. I came through fresh and feeling great. Endorphins sure played a part, but I was left thinking there was more to give. All in all, I suffered as much as I was willing to, and I remembered Sandy’s excellent advice throughout my race: “Remember to enjoy it, this is your Ironman.”
If I had to point to one thing that made my race great, it was the support of my amazing friends and family. My mom is 83 and uses a walker and she rallied the whole time and stayed all day. My sister flew out with my nephew from Florida and my friends Tokie, Liz and Jane came out to support my in fine fashion: posters, pom poms, pictures and never ending enthusiasm. The icing on the cake was seeing girlfriend Laura as I exited the swim. She had flown out to surprise me. I looked forward to every loop, past their smiling faces. Thank you.
Now I understand the look that I noticed in Josh and Sarah, and what I think Fredrik was talking about. In as much as Ironman can be full of egocentricity and machismo, I feel humbled and peaceful as a result of the experience. That is the overriding post race experience, a sense of humble peace and awe. I am moved by having completed this journey, and I will indeed never be the same……….John
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