“…and the home of the braaaaaaaave.” BOOM!!! Not more than 1 second following the finish of the national anthem, the cannon fired and the pros were off. I gave Nancy a hug and we swam over to our preferred starting spots. As I was swimming up to the starting line, I noticed a few scuba divers capturing a few underwater shots of the athletes treading water awaiting the start. After a few more moments and without any warning the cannon fired again. I started my watch, put my head down and began the hardest race of my life.
The Swim
I seeded myself about a four rows back from the front of the pack. I tried to get to the far left as the course is a clock-wise swim and I wanted to be on the outside, but everyone else had the same idea so I settled for a middle-of-the-pack location. My choices suited me fine and I felt comfortable during the whole of the swim. Compared to CdA, everyone seemed to swim a lot straighter and, when things got really tight, no one seemed to lose their cool. The cool blue salt water felt great. I saw fish and coral and white sand beneath me. The sea swells were minimal. It was sometimes hard to see the bouys when at the bottom of the swell, but I quickly adjusted the timing of my sighting to the swell peaks. At the turnaround point a 50-ft boat was parked at the inside of the turn and I could see spectators looking at us, grinning and pointing, through glass windows of the boat and enjoying their choice location. Coming back toward the pier with a hundred yards to go I relaxed and let the feet in front of me pull me in.
T1
I quickly showered and doffed my skinsuit and pulled on my trisuit. I struggled with the suit for a while as the upper half got twisted with itself. Note to self: I’m going with a two piece next year. I ran past the aid station hoping to get some more sunscreen (I applied some prerace), but the line was too long. I elected to skip it in hopes that there might be something out on the course. Hurrying over to my bike I satisfactorily noted that it was not the last one on the rack. I grabbed my bike and I was off.
The Bike
From the beginning, my plan was to actually hit it a little harder than I had at CdA. I just wanted to experiment a little and perhaps learn a few lessons first hand. I always heard, “don’t go out too hard!” Well, I wasn’t convinced I fully knew what “too hard” was. I wasn’t planning to go anaerobic or anything, I just wanted to put a consistent load on the legs and see how they faired at the end of the day. After tooling around Kona on a few fast roads, the course led us out the infamous Queen Ka’ahumanu (Queen K) highway.
I had noted earlier in the week after having driven the course out to the turnaround point at Hawi how absolutely mind-numbing this long highway is. There are few major landmarks along the road. Vast black lava fields hug the road’s edge for miles and there are several mild rollers along the way before the road turns and begins the roughly 15-mile graduated climb toward Hawi. From some perspectives, the lava fields look like they belong on some alien planet rather than a tropical island here on Earth.
So pedaling down this endearing oasis-like road (please re-read previous paragraph if you’ve missed the subtle sarcasm), I find myself in a long chain of cyclists. Thus far, I’ve ridden 7 miles and I’ve already emptied my bottle of water (my other bottle has my CarboPro 1200 mix) and I’m desperately looking for the first feed station for some more water. Not long thereafter I approach the first feed station. The water happened to be at the end of the feed zone. I reach my arm out to grab some water, but the guy right in front of me takes the last bottle! Crap! I looked back and the volunteers were quickly trying to fill new bottles of water and failing to keep up with the pace of all the riders seeking water. No one wanted the Gatorade at that point after just having finished a salty swim. So I had to go dry for another five miles.
The next several aid stations had water and I started drinking heavily, grabbing water at nearly every station. I mentioned that I was in a large group of cyclists. Looking up the road, there were cyclists as far as the eye could see. Just about then I heard a motorcycle slowly pass me. It was a course official and she flashed a red card to a girl a few spots in front of me. Drafting is not allowed and you are required to ride no less than four bike lengths from the person in front of you. Well apparently she was drafting. The red card meant that she had to report to the penalty tent and suffer a four minute penalty (the penalty doesn’t really sound that bad when you find out you get to rest for four minutes in a shaded area). Well when we passed the penalty tent at mile 35, the tent was FULL of people penalized for drafting. The officials were serious about drafting and they definitely cracked down.
At about mile 45 I began my ascent up to Hawi. The climb wasn’t too bad. But I began to notice that the clothes of everyone around me were caked with salt. I hadn’t taken any salt tabs up to this point since I felt I had a few grams still in me from the swim. However, that did start to get me thinking that I had already drunk a lot of water and, as of yet, I hadn’t any urge to pee. No more time to dwell on this now--must climb hills.
At about mile 55 the pros started to come back after having made their turnaround at Hawi. I was enjoying watching Torbjorn and others when all of a sudden a huge gust of wind nearly took me off the road! Holy hell! My knuckles turned white as I gave my handlebars a death grip. I noticed that the pros, too, were out of their aero position as they were descending due to the wind gusts. The wind gusts continued for five very long miles before I reached the turnaround. It was at the turnaround that I started to take the salt tablets because some new muscle I never knew existed in my inner thigh region locked up in a cramp. The salt eventually kicked in and the cramps went away.
On the way back down the hills the wind gusts continued and I hoped that Nancy would fare well once she got here. People were blowing all over the road! Legendary winds indeed!
Back on to the Queen K highway at about mile 75, the gusts of wind were more mild but were nonetheless relentless. But what concerned me more at this point was that even though I was only at mile 75, my body was acting like it was mile 95. My quads began to feel tired from having worked a little too hard earlier in the ride and from tensing up throughout the wind gusts at Hawi. Mile seventy-five was a turning point in the race for me. From this point on, I was no longer racing for time. I was no longer racing to beat the person in front of me. I was now just trying to get my sore ass to the finish line to get that damn finishing medal around my neck.
So I shifted down to my small ring and just spun a nice easy cadence. A man with the numbers 60 on his left calf passed me. A woman with a 55 on her calf passed me. And my friends, those were not race numbers. And so that continued to the century mark of the bike portion of the race. All the people that controlled their pace earlier in the race were now easily riding past me with strength still in their legs. I have now learned my lesson about going out too hard early on the bike.
At mile 100, my legs began to awaken so I shifted up and increased my pace. But I did so with caution. I still hadn’t had any urge to pee. I continued to drink all I could and continued with the salt tabs. Finally rolling into town I saw Tracy, Sam and Brad and was pretty psyched to be off this bike.
T2
It was here that I finally forced myself to urinate. Feeling a sense of accomplishment with this trivial task I was ready to take on the world. It was “Go Time!”
The Run
Well, “go time” lasted for about one mile. After one mile I had to slow my pace to get my heart rate down. It was at this point that I noticed the searing heat and humidity. It was also here that my quads started a very persistent conversation with me. I slowed even further at mile 3 and started to walk through each feed station (at one mile intervals) so as to fully get the water and nutrition I desperately needed. Many athletes were walking at this point. It was hot! I slowly plodded past most and gained only a few spots over the next several miles.
At mile 11 the course headed out of the village of Kona and, again, out the Queen K highway. My quads raised the conversation level to a scream. I was very disheartened to know how far I still had to go with so much pain. And, as if to pour salt into my wound, no singular cloud would, for even a brief moment, blot out the intensity of the searing sun.
But a distant commotion caught my attention and briefly helped me to focus on something other than my misery. The media helicopter flew overhead and a few motorcycles were coming the opposite way. I knew that the male winner had already finished the race so I knew that this could only be the female leader. Sure enough, Chrissie Wellington comes racing past, smiling, looking like she’s running a 5K. But even better I look on the horizon and I see a huge white form coming my way. It’s Torbjorn Sindballe. Chrissie has passed him and from the look on his face he is in a world of hurt. Well, misery loves company. I took satisfaction in this and continued on my way.
At this point in the race my singular goal was to finish before dark. This meant I had to be finished in an hour. I was at mile 20 and my body was telling me it was done. Nearly at the very pit of despair along this long lonely road, I hear from afar: “You are looking great!” As though an angel had been sent down from heaven in the form of Brad Williams, Brad Williams was there, standing on the side of the road! What a welcome surprise. Brad made conversation and jogged along side me. This was both comforting and disturbing. I mean I deeply appreciated Brad’s company, but knowing that I was running as fast as I could as Brad Williams easily jogged beside me making conversation assured me that I indeed was in the ninth circle of Dante’s hell.
The Finish
The rest is history. I ran my last “free” mile on complete adrenaline. I found my seven-minute mile pace and flew by several unsuspecting souls. I was smiling from ear to ear. The more I smiled the more the crowds cheered. I dashed down the final hill in town that leads to Ali’i Drive and made the final turn. The last few hundred yards along Ali’i Drive were electrifying. I could distinctly smell the cool ocean breeze and I could see the waters from which this whole ordeal began only eleven hours and eighteen minutes ago. I looked into the sunburned faces of the cheering spectators and I could see reflections of the weariness that consumed me. I was the only athlete in the final hundred yards and I had the crowd of cheering fans all to myself. Going into the final chute I cheered along with the crowd and gave high fives. I would have kissed babies if someone were to shove them in my general direction. I crossed the finish line and threw my arms in the air. In this brief moment there was no pain. There was no fatigue. There was only light and sound. And there were the words than hung in the air, “You are an IRONMAN!”
I then made a beeline for the pizza.
