Iron Dreams

IRONMAN

When I was a kid, I watched the Ironman on TV. I was glued to ESPN for hours and hours marveling at the amazing athletes who would go out there and do that. It all seemed so impossible. Something that I could never do. I wasn't an athlete, and I had no desire to ever become one. Life is strange, though. In 2016 I ran my first 5K. I was 38 years old and had never run in my life. A year later, I ran my first half marathon. Then in 2018 I celebrated turning 40 by running my first marathon and biking my first US century (100 miles in a single day). That August, I did my first triathlon. As I was retrieving my stuff, an Ironman coach - an Ironman finisher himself - approached me and introduced himself. He said that he believed I had what it takes to be an Ironman. I thought he was crazy. I was a complete novice with no clue what I was doing. I was over 300 pounds until I was 37. No way could I be an Ironman. Sure I had done one sprint, and I did OK enough in it to finish second in my age group, but this coach had to be insane. There's a whole world between a sprint triathlon and an Ironman. This coach is nuts. There's no way.

Celebrating my first triathlon finish

Intrusive Thoughts

Three months later his voice was still in my head, and I signed up for the Ironman Ohio 70.3. The following July, I went to Delaware, Ohio for what would only be the second triathlon I'd ever attempted. I still had no idea what I was doing, but now I was going to go do it on a much bigger stage. On 29 July 2019 at 41years old, I heard my name on the PA as the announcer called my first Half Ironman finish. 

 

That moment when all the pain leaves you

I started to wonder if that crazy coach guy was right. Could I become one? Could I actually be an Ironman? Since the race's inception in 1978 (coincidentally the same year I came into being), only around 400,000 people including repeat finishers have ever heard those four words. "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN". It's about 1 in 20,000. The 0.005%. Could I be one of them? The mental wheels were turning in earnest.

 

Deciding to do IRONMAN

I had a lot of conversations with myself over the next few months, and the latter half of 2019 was still a busy race season for me. I went to Ragnar Trail for the first time (ten days after the 70.3), I did a Spartan Trifecta weekend in WV running a Beast, Super and Sprint in 36 hours, and I ran some smaller road and trail races. After a trip to Germany and Ireland, I participated in my first ever GORUCK event. Then to wrap up the year, I went and did one of the most fun races I've participated in, the A Christmas Story 10K in Cleveland, Ohio with my awesome friend Cheryl whose willingness to babysit my dog makes it possible for me to do a lot of these events that require travel. All the while this voice, the crazy Ironman coach's words, rolled around in my head. "You have what it takes to do an Ironman." Only there was something different about the voice. It was starting to sound like my voice. I started looking at venues. Where would there be a swim that wasn't in the ocean? Where could I find a pretty flat bike course? No longer could I do an Ironman, but where could I do an Ironman?

Cheryl and me in costume for the race

The Speedbump

The wheels came off the world in 2020 when COVID hit. I didn't race. Nobody raced. I started to flounder. The voice in my head kept whispering to me. Do it. Do an Ironman. I signed up. I returned to Ohio in 2022 and had a horrible day and a DNF in the 70.3. I got COVID and missed the Ironman Maryland 140.6, so I deferred the dream to 2023. 

 

Back on track

At 45 years old, once again I returned to Ohio and this time I completed the 70.3 for the second time. September seemed so far away. I did Ragnar Trail. I kept busy. I packed up my gear and my clothes. I got my nutrition and hydration and recovery ready. And just like that, it was time to leave for Maryland.

 

Redemption in Sandusky

Iron Week

Ironman is and isn't a one day event. Race day is the one everybody sees, but the athletes and Sherpas are busy days before doing preparing gear and themselves for what is to come. Writing checklists, planning places to eat, packing up, printing out schedules and athlete guides. I'm old school, I love paper. There is no race-day check in at an Ironman. It's a one day race and a three day event. Sherpas work their asses off to keep their athletes supplied, fed and hydrated. 

 

Sherpa Jason and I join Crabby Nation

 

Two Days Prior

 

Thursday Jason (who I cannot thank enough for serving as Sherpa) and I headed for Cambridge, loading up the truck and leaving before the sun rose. 

 

 

On the road to Ironman with Sherpa Jason

 

We arrived at Ironman Village and while he circled the busy streets, I checked in and got my race packet and wristband. Each athlete got a hand drawn picture for good luck from a local kid. Mine was from Cameron. 

 

From Cameron

We grabbed some food at a little diner that had delicious crab soup and sat outside under a tree reviewing strategy for the weekend. Eventually I got the text that things were ready, so we checked in at the hotel. Did a little walking around the hotel, out on the pier, trying to relax my mind about the event, while I looked at all the chop in the water and freaked out about having to swim in it. Heineken Had some dinner in the hotel restaurant (crab dip, crab sliders, all the crab) and put on the Eagles game to unwind. Friday morning was going to be another busy one.

 

Seeing the choppy water did not ease my mind.

One Day Prior

After some coffee, Friday was gear day. While I worried about and double checked all the stuff I'd need in all my transition and personal needs bags, Jason helped me go through the checklist again and again, pointing out things I overlooked. We loaded up the truck and headed over to Gerry Boyle Park. Took a test spin on my Cervelo P3 and decided to ride it after a little last minute adjustment to the seat height. Grabbed all the stuff and went up to the transition to check it all in. Rack the bike, place the run bag, place the bike bag, and take a look at the swim exit and the water conditions. Still windy. Still choppy. Still terrifying. We went over to RAR Brewing to eat more delicious crab with images of Chessie toasted into the buns. Jason teased me with real beer while I stuck to non-alcoholic. There were Gremlins everywhere. Finished up lunch and went to the village a bit before heading back over to the hotel for a quick swim in the pool. Jason kicked Sherpa mode into high gear and went to pick up some take out from Carmela's Cucina. Penne chicken Alfredo for me, carbing up. I tried to go to sleep early because race morning was fast approaching.

 

 

Obsessing over the transition bags

 

Racking my bike in transition

Last minute bike decisions

 

 

 After not nearly enough sleep...

Zero Day

 

It's still full dark when we arrive at the park

 

Saturday morning, waking up before the alarm even goes off. The day began at 4 am with getting the tri suit on, having some coffee, and trying to eat. I was so nervous and my stomach so shaky I could only manage half a bagel. The wind and the chop hadn't improved at all and I was not optimistic about my chances in the water. The fear of having to be fished out by a rescue boat was looming. It was still dark when we arrived at the Tamplin's parking and I went into the transition area to place my hydration and nutrition. We began to hear whispers of a delayed start. A shortened swim. Jason went to find out while I paced nervously and hit the porta john again. He came back with the info and we got the official announcements that the start was pushed back an hour and the swim would be one lap instead of two. I was still horrified about having to swim 1.2 miles in the rough water. We went back to sit down in the truck a bit. I tried not to panic. I finished my coffee. And just like that, it was time to go to the swim start and work on getting the wetsuit on. After putting on tons of Sea Safe and Tri Slide, got the wet suit on and got into the starting chute. In the back with all the slower swimmers, I learned that the swim would be 918 meters. 1003 yards. 0.6 miles. I finally started to calm down a little bit. I could do this. Another athlete heard me say I had a high chance of failure. She told me that as long as I started, I didn't fail. I might not finish, but I didn't fail. 

Sunrise at Ironman

 

 

The best Sherpa ever!

Zero Hour  - The Race

Into the water to face the waves

 

At 9:18 am I went into the water. Do it because it is hard. It's more than four hours after we arrived at the race start. The waves were a foot high and coming every one second. It was impossible to take a full breath. I had to dodge around the back of a volunteer in a kayak and I struggled with the chop. It was barely longer than a sprint swim, but it was one of the hardest I have ever done and 26 minutes after I went into the Choptank, I came out of it. No jellyfish stings. I heard Jason yell to me my time. I very quickly got a crash course in what wetsuit peelers do. There's no time to think, just go grab that bike bag and into the changing tent. I don't do a full clothing change, so I just had to get my socks, shoes, gloves and helmet on. I sprayed on sunscreen, put on hydration vest, grabbed my sunglasses and started eating jelly beans as I headed over to my bike on the rack. I heard Jason tell me he'd see me at the bike out. Just keep moving. 

 

Biking out of transition

 

I got on the bike and started hydrating while riding. I felt pretty good with the swim behind me, and as I settled in on the aero bars I liked my odds for the rest of the day. I expected to finish long after dark, but I was finally expecting to finish. And that's how it went for the first nearly 25 miles. But then something happened that I didn't predict. Something I hadn't even worried about. The very aggressive riding posture on my P3 started to take a toll on my back. I felt the muscles stiffen and the pain set in. I suddenly found it difficult to pedal, to lean, to stay balanced. I had to stop and stretch my back. Every stop is a price paid in overall time, and as things wore on I had to stop more and more often. I kept pushing. At mile 47 I was in pain, I was angry, and I was still trying to make it to the second lap before the cutoff, but I had to stop at the aid station to use the porta john. That's where the second thing I didn't predict in my wildest dreams happened. One of the volunteers started asking for my phone number as I was trying to get to the porta john. Covered in sweat, having peed my pants a couple of times, and smelling like a rotting donkey corpse, this guy actually hit on me. Weirdo. He was still trying when I came out of the porta john and got back on my bike. The only thing on my mind was that second lap. I wouldn't know if I had made the cutoff until I got there. Time of day told me nothing. I wasn't sure what the effect of the extremely delayed start was. But when I got there, at 58 miles, the course marshal was all I needed to see. I had missed it. My race was over. And I still had to bike 12 miles back to the transition. 

 

The DNF

I admit it, I ugly cried. This wasn't how I wanted things to end. Tears flowed out of my eyes and I sobbed as the faster riders finishing the last of their 112 yelled "Good job!" and "Almost there!" to me. I felt defeated. I felt like a failure. But the words of that athlete in the chute came back into my head. I may not have finished, but I didn't fail. I looked into the face of a full Ironman and I kept going. Before I'd made it back to the transition area, I resolved to fix my training, to put in the hours and the miles on my P3 to make sure my back does not fail me again. When I circled back, Jason made sure I got my recovery Tailwind while I put on my sweats. Seventy miles is a hell of a long way to go and still not hit a finish line. We got my bike and my bags from transition and went back to the hotel. Got a shower and we went for a nice steak dinner, reflecting on the day and the effort. It was not success, but it was not failure. I learned so much from this experience. I faced fear and I did not back down. I am proud of myself for going head long into it. 

 

Full of optimism and grit

The Future

One day after returning home with my DNF, I signed up for the Ironman Maryland in 2024. I now believe that coach who spoke to me way back in 2018 was absolutely right. 

 

Anything is possible. I will become one.