Tom's IMFL Race report (long, boring) - Triathlon Week

11-08-2004, 09:59 PM

Ironman Florida 2004 Race Report
Tom Henderson
November 6, 2004

Introduction:

There's a tradition among the triathletes I've met online of writing
"race reports" when they've completed events that were significant to
them. I've had the opportunity to read many of them, and my eventual
decision to attempt an Ironman was at least partially prompted by those
stories. It is out of a sense of obligation to that online "support
group" that I am writing this one. I also want to share it with a few
friends and family as a feeble attempt to explain why anyone would
voluntarily try one of these events.

As a brief background, I became interested in triathlons because I
happened to find a flyer for one at a gym I had joined in an effort to
regain at least a little conditioning. I've never been much of an
athlete, but several years of sitting in front of a terminal as a
computer programmer had transformed me from a scrawny non-athlete to a
rather chubby non-athlete. The race was the 2nd annual Santa Rosa Island
Triathlon, which consisted of a 600-yard swim, an 18-mile bike, and a
3.1-mile run. All of the distances seemed at least remotely possible by
themselves, and since the race was 8 months away at the time, it was a
great fitness goal.

There are a lot of people who train so that they can race. That is, they
are using their training to hone themselves into the condition required
to win an event, achieve a certain ranking, get an age group trophy, or
something along those lines. I'm convinced that there are even more
people out there like me. These are the people who race so that they will
train. They need a goal sitting out there on the horizon to keep them
going. That's why I signed up for my first race, and it's been a big part
of the reason for signing up for every event since.

So eight months later, I had trained my way up to race day, and showed up
to attempt my first triathlon. The wind had been blowing for days, and
the surf was too treacherous to allow a swim. The race directors
substituted a 2-mile run for the swim, and my first triathlon became a
duathlon. It didn't really matter though; I was hooked as soon as I saw
that finish line. There's something special about finishing a multi-sport
event. It gives you a sense of accomplishment that's unlike anything
else. As soon as one event is complete, you find yourself pouring over
the statistics is the results and thinking "I bet I can do that just a
little faster." Or worse yet, "I bet I can do one that's just a little
farther."

It was this self-challenging spiral that led me through many sprint
races, triathlon club membership, training group participation, and
eventually through three half-iron distance races. Yet as recently as
three years ago, if you had suggested that I take on the combined
challenge of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run that
comprise an Ironman race, I'd have told you there was no way I'd ever
reach that level of insanity. Then I went to Ironman Florida to volunteer
with our local tri club, Tri Gulf Coast. We had several members who were
attempting their first Ironman, and wanted to have a strong contingent of
supporters. We worked in the transition area, which meant that we got to
see each athlete as they left for the bike, and again when they handed us
their bike and headed out for the run. Being that close to those amazing
people and seeing the looks on their faces at various stages of such a
challenging event is one of the most inspiring experiences I've ever had.
After two years of volunteering, I decided I had to try the event from
the athlete's side. The next year when I went to volunteer, I stayed over
the next day to sign up.

Training:

With a whole year to go until the event, it's not easy to figure out how
to train properly. If you try to swim, bike, and run ironman distances
for a whole year, you'll end up injured, unemployed, flat broke, and
divorced long before race day arrives. Plus, a year is just to far away
to be a motivational goal for me. I decided to break the year up with
some intermediate goals.

I only had three triathlons on my 2004 schedule, the Abitaman Tri in
April to get the season started, my favorite Santa Rosa Island Tri in
September, and the big dance in Panama City Beach In November. In the
winter, I followed a marathon training program to build my running base.
I had run my first marathon the year before, and used the same program to
get up to about 18 miles before backing off again. When spring came
along, I trained for the Pensacola Bay Swim. This 3.6-mile swim is a
favorite fix for my accomplishment-junkie training style, and I hoped
that being able to swim that far would help me to cope with whatever I
might encounter during a 2.4-mile mass-start swim with 2000 other
participants. As the weather warmed up, I began paying more attention to
cycling, building up to 40-mile rides over time.

In what seemed like no time, I hit the beginning of my 18-week ironman
training program. Now I had a strict regiment of training to follow,
instead of my informal, flexible schedule I had been on. It turns out
that when you have a job that requires occasional travel, a family with
kids and dogs and a spouse who all deserve time and attention, and you
don't have superhuman resistance to allergies and sickness, strict,
regimented training schedules don't tend to fit all that well. I quickly
learned to be flexible with the schedule. I tried to anticipate when all
of the workouts wouldn't fit, and would pick out the key sessions and
make sure I did them first. When I started to feel allergies or a bug
coming on, I tried to be reasonable about when to push myself versus when
to back off. I had learned a few years back that attempting to push
through sickness only makes things worse.

Another thing I tried to do on a regular basis was to assess my readiness
for each portion of the event. I knew I was most prepared for the swim.
It was the only event I felt I could walk out my front door on any given
day and accomplish. I had done one marathon, but was by no means a strong
runner. I also knew that after swimming and biking the distances
required, there was no way I was going to be able to run the whole
marathon. I hadn't even accomplished that in my half-ironman races. The
goal was to be strong enough after the bike to walk-run the marathon. To
do that, I needed to get better at biking long distances.

My longest bike ride ever prior to this training had been 60 miles. I
built my way up to 80 before attempting my first century (cycle-speak for
a 100 mile ride) as part of an informal group. Most of them were much
stronger riders than I, but the ride organizer, Mike, was nice enough to
hang back with me. Early in the ride, I had pushed a little to try to
hang with the group. I was feeling the effects of that early push by the
time we hit the turnaround point. That was the first valuable lesson I
learned that day: Always ride conservatively early on. Lesson two came
just two miles later: Never buy the cheap tires to save money. My front
tire was punctured by a small piece of metal and came off the rim,
stopping the front wheel and slamming me to the road in front of traffic.
Fortunately the nice man in the minivan was attentive (thank you,
wherever you are!) and I was able to call it a day with damages limited
to skin loss and minor bicycle damage. It was over a month later before I
finally rode my first century, a solo ride to my brother's house in Gulf
Shores and back.

Another major setback in my training occurred in the middle of September.
Northwest Florida is normally a wonderful place to live and to train, but
we do pay a price for our moderate climate-- the risk of hurricanes. This
summer our card was finally up after dodging the first two bullets, which
had hit the Florida peninsula. Hurricane Ivan destroyed thousands of
homes in our area. Several of my friends were left without homes. My
parents' house, which had ridden out several hurricanes without damage,
was flooded with 18 inches of water. Training went out the window while
we all spent time digging out. Even when training started to seem like a
possibility again, the roads were littered with debris. Many of my
favorite routes, including the one I took for my first century, were
completely washed away. After two weeks, I attempted a short ride and cut
my tire on debris after only 15 miles. I lost the better part of three
weeks of training due to the storm. I was left with three more weeks to
train and two to taper. I managed a 75-mile ride and another century in
those last two weekends before the taper. On the 75-mile ride, I thought
I wasn't going to be able to finish. For whatever reason, I felt better
after completing the century ride the next weekend than I had on the 75-
miler.

I considered dropping out. My training was definitely off track. Several
of my friends had decided not to go, but all of them had completed an
ironman at least once before. I finally decided that I had to at least
give it a shot. The other first timers I spoke with seemed to feel the
same way. The Northwest Florida first timers, Meri, Vicky, Bill, the
other Tom and I were committed to the starting line. The race was paid
for, the hotel reservations were made, and I knew I wasn't over-trained!
Besides, if I bailed out this year, I would HAVE to try again next year,
so I might as well be at the race site to sign up!

The Race:

What race? I know it's a race for a bunch of people, but for me, and I
suspect for many like me, it's an objective to be accomplished. The race
is on Saturday, but you have to register on site by Thursday, and put
your bike in transition on Friday. It seems like a long time to have to
be there before the race, but I would imagine it takes a while to process
over 2000 athletes. My plan was to carefully inventory and pack
everything I'd need on Wednesday, and then drive over on Thursday to
check in. It's very convenient to have an Ironman race just 2 ½ hours
from home!

I knew the atmosphere was going to be full of energy. It's been like that
every time I've come as a volunteer. Everywhere you turn, people are
squeezing in one last bike, run or swim, and their anticipation is
contagious. It turns out that the effect is amplified when you're one of
the people who are about to toe the line! The day was filled with "Oh my
God, I'm doing an Ironman!" moments. The first one was seeing my name on
the transition rack, and they just kept on coming. Getting the race
number and timing chip, attending the pre-race dinner, seeing last year's
female winner in the transition area, all of these made me even more
aware of what I was about to attempt. The nerves were definitely starting
to kick in!

Meri, one of the triathletes from the tri club, caught up with me late
Thursday and we planned a very short brick (a bike ride followed by a
run) for Friday morning. At least that would keep me busy until it was
time to check in my bike! Friday morning I ran out for a few supplies. On
the way back into the hotel parking lot, I saw Michellie Jones out for a
run. That was another one of those "this is for real" moments. The ride
and run went well, and after that I stayed busy preparing to check in my
bikes and transition bags. It's amazing how obsessive you can get over
the contents of a transition bag. I guess it's driven by the fear of
discovering you've forgotten something in the middle of the race and
trying to bike 112 miles with just one shoe, or perhaps without
prescription sunglasses. Finally, everything was checked in and we
attended the pre-race meeting. The race organizers go to great lengths to
make sure everyone is well informed, and even manage to make the meeting
entertaining.

Just about the time I would have started getting nervous again, my wife
Jo and kids Steven and Carole Anne arrived. It was wonderful to have a
nice dinner out with them before the big day. When we got back, they were
all very supportive of their crazy dad/husband, and kept the TV volume
low so I could get to bed early. I actually managed to get some sleep!
In the days leading up to the race it had been warm and windy. The south
wind had kicked up red-flag surf, and everyone was nervous about the swim
being canceled. Fortunately, the weather channel was right! Saturday
morning was cool and dry, with temps in the 40's, and the front that had
come through Friday had turned the Gulf into a mirror-flat swimming pool.
I walked down to transition, got my race number written on both arms and
one leg (I guess in case I lost a limb or two during the race?) and put
my sunglasses in the swim-to-bike bag and regular glasses in the bike-to-
run bag. I knew I wouldn't need sunglasses for the run, since I expected
to finish the bike about 4:30, or 30 minutes before sunset.

When I walked by my bike, I realized with horror that I had forgotten to
get my jug of Gatorade from the hotel room to fill the bike bottles. This
was not according to plan, and even though it might seem minor to you, I
was terror-stricken! OK, no problem, there's still time. I was planning
to go back to the room and chill for a few minutes, then put on my
wetsuit and take a leisurely walk to the start. I'll just revise the plan
to include a mad dash to the room and back with a jug of Gatorade! No big
deal, it's good to get your heart rate up before a 140.6-mile funfest!

I made the extra trip with time to spare, and aside from one more brief
panic session when the zipper on my wetsuit didn't seem to want to
cooperate, I made it to the beach in plenty of time for a short warm-up
swim before I got into the start corral. The announcer kept giving us a
countdown of the number of minutes to the start, and speakers blared out
music designed to build everyone up for the start. HA!! Like we needed a
buildup! At ten minutes to 7:00, the cannon went off for the pro start.
Just ten minutes left before I get to find out if I can do this or not!

Finally the cannon for our start went off. I've watched this from the
beach before, and all you can see is water and thousands of arms flying
about. There's a lot of talk among triathletes about the beating you can
take in a mass-start swim. My strategy was to start way to the outside
and not to work my way in until the crowd thinned out a bit. All in all,
it worked pretty well. The swim was two rectangular loops of 1.2 miles,
about ½ mile out, 200 yards east, and ½ mile back to shore. Before I knew
it, I was approaching the first turn, and the crown was beginning to
thin. By the time we were headed back to shore, I was beginning to think
all that talk about the brutal swim was just-- THONK!! Ouch! I took a
hard elbow to the right eye from the guy next to me. I stopped for a
second to straighten my goggles and felt the swimmers behind me start to
plow over me. I quickly got the goggles straightened out and sprinted
just long enough to get out of the crowd, then resumed my normal swim
pace. Hmm, that wasn't so bad, as long as it doesn't happen again.

As we hit the shore at the end of the first lap, I was surprised to find
I was ahead of schedule, with a 33 minute first lap. Was I swimming too
hard? I was beginning to discover that my day would be full of worrying
whether I was going too fast, too, slow, eating too much, too little, and
a million other things that might keep me from completing my first
Ironman. The second lap went well, and before I knew it I was standing in
from of a stripper on the beach.

No, no, not that kind of stripper! A wetsuit stripper! You walk up and
flop yourself down on the carpet, and they whisk off your wetsuit and
send you on the way to the changing area. The changing area was a large
section of the hotel ballroom partitioned off into men's and women's
sections. The men's section had about 200 chairs in it, and 400 guys
trying to change clothes and start their bike in as little time as
possible. Pure chaos would be an understatement. I forced myself to
remain calm, reminding myself that it's much better to take a couple of
minutes extra in transition than to forget something. I went through the
mental checklist as I got ready for the bike. Helmet, bike shorts,
jersey, arm warmers, sunglasses, socks, bike shoes, heart rate monitor,
race number, and away we go! A race volunteer helped me get my bike out
of the rack and I trotted to the transition exit and hopped on the bike.
2.4-mile swim done in an hour and 12 minutes, followed by a very slow 14
minute transition, now just 138.2 miles to go!

I was still getting used to being on the bike in the first couple of
miles when I heard a strange beeping noise. What was that? My heart rate
monitor? Ack! My heart rate monitor was set to beep when I got to 165, to
warn me to take it easy. My plan was to keep my heart rate below 150 for
the majority of the bike ride. What in the world was going on? I finally
realized that my body was on overload trying to move blood from my upper
body, which had done most of the work on the swim, to my lower body,
which would be taking over for the remainder of the day. Calm down and
take it easy, Tom, it will be OK in a few miles. Fortunately, I was
right. My heart rate finally dropped into the high 140's and I managed to
keep it there.

The first leg of the bike ride was due north into the wind. The wind was
mild, only about 7 miles an hour, and if I was going to face a headwind,
I'd much rather face it early in the bike ride. So this was just about
perfect! I resumed my normal race activity, which was worrying whether I
was doing anything wrong. My biggest fear was going too hard on the bike
too early and paying for it later in the race. I'm not a great cyclist,
and it's so hard not to get caught up in the race and pick up the pace
when the people who are great cyclists blow past you. To keep myself
under control, I would occasionally pick someone I was slowly catching up
with and force myself to stay three bike lengths back. Under the race
rules, once you get within 10 meters, you must pass or drop back to avoid
being penalized for drafting. The idea is that you complete the bike
portion with as little outside assistance as possible.

Eventually we made a right turn about 20 miles into the ride and the
headwind was now a mild crosswind. By the time we turned again, we'd be
half way through the bike! The only hills on the course are a bridge we'd
already crossed on the trip north and some undulating rollers on this
section of the bike. I kept my focus on riding conservatively, and the
number of bikes passing me (lots of people) and bikes I was passing
(maybe 10) continued to lessen as the field stretched out over the
course. At the half way point we got to stop for our special needs bags.
I dropped off the arm warmers, restocked my bike with those yummy GU
packs (small Mylar packs of gooey sweet stuff with bout 100 calories
each) and grabbed my first prize of the day, a snickers bar I had left
myself! Halfway through and still feeling good! The next big turn on the
course gave us a direct tailwind, and also had a couple of nice long
downward grades. Whoopee, 25 miles an hour and almost no effort! Then a
section with several turns on smaller roads that got us to the westbound
section of the ride.

In order to get the distance they needed, the course designers had us
turn east first, then double back after 5 miles and ride all the way back
to the road we had taken north from the beach. This section of road was
horrible. It was cracked, and bumpy, and even the sections that had been
patched were very rough. It was here that I began to feel the miles. By
the time I hit mile 80, the slight uphill or upwind sections would cause
a short warning from the heart rate monitor as I spiked above 165. Signs
every five miles marked the distance, and they seemed to be taking longer
to arrive than they had before. By the time we were ready to turn back to
the south for the final leg back to the beach, I was being very
conservative. When I got to the only real "hill", the bridge, I decided
to walk the bike up to give the legs a break and let the heart rate
recover a bit. From there I rode carefully to keep the heart rate down
and finally made it back to the race site.

Dismount, walk the bike into transition, hand it to a volunteer, and back
to the changing room. It was much better this time since the pack was so
thinned out. I had expected to be here about 4:15 pm, but had actually
arrived at 3:45 due to the improved swim and a slightly better bike time
(7:19) than I had expected. By about 3:55 I was out of transition and
starting the run. The first thing I saw as I stepped out on the run
course was my whole family (wife and kids, not dogs) standing at the
railing. I stopped for a quick chat and kisses and hugs and off I went.

It's hard to imagine getting off of a bike after riding 112 miles and
actually looking forward to a marathon, but I was. I was so glad to be
doing something other than biking! I felt pretty good, but reminded
myself to be conservative. I walked the first mile to stretch the legs
out, and then started mixing in some easy jogging. So far so good, I
thought.

The run is two 13.1-mile trips out to St. Andrews Park and back. By the
time I had made the first trip to the end of the park, it was completely
dark and starting to cool off. On the way back, my feet began to start
feeling the wear and tear. I had packed an extra pair of socks and shoes
in my run special needs bag thinking that a fresh dry pair might help. At
least I can look forward to that change when I get there, I thought.

Remember that yummy GU I mentioned earlier? At this point I had had about
15 packs of GU and at least a dozen bottles of Gatorade. I never wanted
to see GU again in my life! Even the Gatorade was starting to make my
stomach turn. Fortunately they also offer pretzels, water, flat coke, and
chicken broth on the run course, so I started on those just before the
turnaround.

The hard part about the turnaround at the midpoint of the run is that you
can see the finish line just 100 yards away, but you have to turn and
head back out into the cold, dark world. The good thing is that you get
to use the stuff you have in your special needs bag, which included a
second snickers bar and a long sleeve shirt, which I was ready for at
that point. I did some quick calculations and determined that if I could
maintain my current mostly-walk/little-run pace, I would finish in about
15 hours and 40 minutes, which was my estimate before the race ever
started. This was going great!

The new shoes didn't really help the feet as much as I had hoped, but I
trudged along anyway. I started another 3 minute round of jogging and the
monitor began beeping at me again. Bummer! I decided I had better get to
work on staying hydrated. A water and coke every mile should do the
trick, and cut back on the running for now. Just two miles later I
realized that even walking seemed to be getting harder. When I tried to
throw in a jog, I was immediately greeted by more beeping.

When I ran my marathon, I didn't get a single blister. But I didn't walk
any of the Marathon, except for the aid stations. In My half iron
distance races, I had encountered blisters before, but only when I had to
start walking. Someday, I'll have to figure out what I do wrong when I
walk. The feet were beginning to complain loudly. Strangely enough, it
hurt less to shuffle along in a weak jog, but when I did that, the heart
rate would spike within a minute. I was beginning to think my body would
shut down on me before I could finish. I decided the best strategy was to
walk the best pace I could, ignore the pain, and keep going.

I could hear a couple guys talking about 20 feet behind me, and knew they
were also walking because they didn't seem to be gaining on me very
quickly. When they caught up, I sped up just a little and joined in the
conversation, within a few miles, one of the guys was able to pick up his
pace and leave us, but another fellow and a woman had joined us. We were
all in the same sad shape, and we had two things in common; the fear of
not finishing, and the determination to make it back before the cutoff at
midnight. When we reached the turnaround we all did the math together and
we knew we would make it if we stayed under 20 minute miles. At the next
marker, we measured ourselves at 17 minutes. Great! It was still
possible. We decided to celebrate by stopping for a second at the next
aid station while one of our band used the portolet.

When I stopped, bad things started happening. I got very cold very fast.
My feet started throbbing, and my legs felt weak. I told the gang I would
walk slowly until they caught up. I was afraid if I stayed stationary any
longer, I'd be toast. It seemed very hard to get moving again, and I
couldn't match my previous walking pace. Now even walking fast was making
that stupid monitor beep! This might be bad. I couldn't imagine having to
bail out just five miles from the finish. I pushed on at whatever pace I
could manage without too much beeping from the monitor. Sometimes I would
walk for several seconds with my eyes closed. A hot bath and bed sounded
like absolute paradise at this point.

When the gang caught up, I apologized profusely for abandoning them and
explained why I had decided to forge ahead. They told me not to worry and
to join back in for the last four miles. I quickly discovered I couldn't
match their pace any longer, and wished them a great race. At every mile
marker, I would keep my mind off of the struggle by calculating my new
pace against the remaining time. As long as things didn't get any worse,
I still might make it, but it was going to be close.

In that last two miles a few people passed me, but I knew there were more
back there in the dark that hadn't yet. I also knew that if they weren't
catching me they might not finish at all which seemed quite sad after
such a long day. In the last 1.5 miles, I recovered, just slightly, and
managed a shuffle for a few yards at a time. The monitor wasn't beeping
any more, I think because I simply didn't have the energy to bring my
heart rate up that far anymore. And yet I seemed to feel just a tad
better.

A mile from the end of the race, you can hear the announcer and the
crowd. As the midnight deadline approaches, the crowd grows and their
cheers get louder and louder. One of the greatest things about an Ironman
race is that the last finisher at midnight gets a more enthusiastic
greeting from the crowd that the guy who won the race almost ten hours
earlier. As I made that last turn a quarter mile from the finish, the
crowd let out a roar for someone ahead just reaching the finish line.
Ahead in the glare of the lights, I could just make out my wife's worried
face about half way to the finish line. When I finally shuffled my way up
to her, I grabbed her hand and said "Come on! Run the finish with me!"

"Is that OK?" She said, apparently concerned about breaking a rule and
disqualifying me.

"Sure," I said "you deserve it for putting up with this! Come on, I have
to run this part!"

The crowd was so loud I couldn't recognize anything the announcer said
other than my name. But I had been here many times as a spectator, so I
knew what he was saying as he reached out for a high five.

"Tom Henderson, you are an IRONMAN!"

Several friends who had also done the race were waiting at the finish
line were waiting for hugs. With my arrival, the entire Tri Gulf Coast
contingent that had started the race had finished, some spectacularly.
Meri and the other Tom made it in less than 13 hours, Vicky had come in
just behind me on the bike, but passed me during transition to complete
her race, and Bill managed a sub 12!

I'm writing this Monday night two nights after the race. I still can't
walk very well, and I don't know how long it will take before I can. The
race was the hardest physical thing I've ever done, and rivals the
hardest emotional tests I've faced. I almost didn't make it at all. It
will be a while before I consider trying something like that again, and a
number of things will have to change next time. I want to have more
experience on the bike, and I'd like to carry a lot less body weight next
time. But I must say, it was worth it.

Let me know how yours goes!

11-08-2004, 10:25 PM

Great story Tom. I started at a similar point to you, not much of an
athletic background and too much time in front of a computer. Two years
ago I was training for my first Tri (300m, 10km, 2km) - I couldn't run
for more than 2 mins without taking a rest when I started training - ,
last year I moved up to sprint distance (750m, 20km, 5km), and this
winter (southern hemisphere) did a half marathon (run only) in
preparation for an Olympic distance Tri in January. I was wondering how
long it has taken you to move through the various distances to get up to
Ironman??

DaveB

11-09-2004, 03:05 AM

DaveB <[Only registered and activated users can see links. ].au> wrote in
news:[Only registered and activated users can see links. ].au:

> Great story Tom. I started at a similar point to you, not much of an
> athletic background and too much time in front of a computer. Two
> years ago I was training for my first Tri (300m, 10km, 2km) - I
> couldn't run for more than 2 mins without taking a rest when I started
> training - , last year I moved up to sprint distance (750m, 20km,
> 5km), and this winter (southern hemisphere) did a half marathon (run
> only) in preparation for an Olympic distance Tri in January. I was
> wondering how long it has taken you to move through the various
> distances to get up to Ironman??
>
> DaveB
>
>

About 7 years. Of course, an Ironman wasn't really my intention until
about 2001.

Thanks for your kind words!

Tom

11-10-2004, 05:52 AM

Tom,

It's interesting how we arrive at destinations in life. It sounds like
our journeys were somewhat similar, though you arrived at your IM
quicker than I did.

Great race report.

>It will be a while before I consider trying something like that again,

Eh, give it a week... <g>

>and a
>number of things will have to change next time. I want to have more
>experience on the bike, and I'd like to carry a lot less body weight next
>time. .
>

I'm going to throw this out, just for consideration. Are you sure you
didn't mentally limit yourself by paying such close attention to your
heart rate monitor?

What I mean is, when you're out there battling those demons, it's easy
to convince yourself that you're worse off than you are. The HRM could
easily re-inforce that negativeness and then it builds on itself.
Don't underestimate the power of your mind to limit your performance.

I'm not saying that's what happened, but it may have contributed a
bit.

BTW, I know exactly what you were going through at the end with the
chilling and need to keep moving to keep your body temperature up. It
happened to me at my first GFT (2nd IM.) Similar circumstances - cold
front moved through, I bonked big time and had to walk a lot. I
started chilling big time and had to leave a guy I was sharing the
misery with.

>But I must say, it was worth it

Oh, yeah. Definitely.

Mike Tennent
"IronPenguin"

11-10-2004, 09:56 AM

Very cool report, Tom. Regardless of what you might think about your day (and
night), you are indeed an Ironman...and there will be no other race like your
first IM.

And as Mike T. says, give it about a week...you'll be thinking about which IM
to do next. Trust us on that one.

Well done, Ironman.

Mike C

>From: Tom Henderson

>Ironman Florida 2004 Race Report
>Tom Henderson
>November 6, 2004
>
>
>Introduction:
>
>There's a tradition among the triathletes I've met online of writing
>"race reports" when they've completed events that were significant to
>them. I've had the opportunity to read many of them, and my eventual
>decision to attempt an Ironman was at least partially prompted by those
>stories. It is out of a sense of obligation to that online "support
>group" that I am writing this one. I also want to share it with a few
>friends and family as a feeble attempt to explain why anyone would
>voluntarily try one of these events.
>
>As a brief background, I became interested in triathlons because I
>happened to find a flyer for one at a gym I had joined in an effort to
>regain at least a little conditioning. I've never been much of an
>athlete, but several years of sitting in front of a terminal as a
>computer programmer had transformed me from a scrawny non-athlete to a
>rather chubby non-athlete. The race was the 2nd annual Santa Rosa Island
>Triathlon, which consisted of a 600-yard swim, an 18-mile bike, and a
>3.1-mile run. All of the distances seemed at least remotely possible by
>themselves, and since the race was 8 months away at the time, it was a
>great fitness goal.
>
>There are a lot of people who train so that they can race. That is, they
>are using their training to hone themselves into the condition required
>to win an event, achieve a certain ranking, get an age group trophy, or
>something along those lines. I'm convinced that there are even more
>people out there like me. These are the people who race so that they will
>train. They need a goal sitting out there on the horizon to keep them
>going. That's why I signed up for my first race, and it's been a big part
>of the reason for signing up for every event since.
>
>So eight months later, I had trained my way up to race day, and showed up
>to attempt my first triathlon. The wind had been blowing for days, and
>the surf was too treacherous to allow a swim. The race directors
>substituted a 2-mile run for the swim, and my first triathlon became a
>duathlon. It didn't really matter though; I was hooked as soon as I saw
>that finish line. There's something special about finishing a multi-sport
>event. It gives you a sense of accomplishment that's unlike anything
>else. As soon as one event is complete, you find yourself pouring over
>the statistics is the results and thinking "I bet I can do that just a
>little faster." Or worse yet, "I bet I can do one that's just a little
>farther."
>
>It was this self-challenging spiral that led me through many sprint
>races, triathlon club membership, training group participation, and
>eventually through three half-iron distance races. Yet as recently as
>three years ago, if you had suggested that I take on the combined
>challenge of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run that
>comprise an Ironman race, I'd have told you there was no way I'd ever
>reach that level of insanity. Then I went to Ironman Florida to volunteer
>with our local tri club, Tri Gulf Coast. We had several members who were
>attempting their first Ironman, and wanted to have a strong contingent of
>supporters. We worked in the transition area, which meant that we got to
>see each athlete as they left for the bike, and again when they handed us
>their bike and headed out for the run. Being that close to those amazing
>people and seeing the looks on their faces at various stages of such a
>challenging event is one of the most inspiring experiences I've ever had.
>After two years of volunteering, I decided I had to try the event from
>the athlete's side. The next year when I went to volunteer, I stayed over
>the next day to sign up.
>
>Training:
>
>With a whole year to go until the event, it's not easy to figure out how
>to train properly. If you try to swim, bike, and run ironman distances
>for a whole year, you'll end up injured, unemployed, flat broke, and
>divorced long before race day arrives. Plus, a year is just to far away
>to be a motivational goal for me. I decided to break the year up with
>some intermediate goals.
>
>I only had three triathlons on my 2004 schedule, the Abitaman Tri in
>April to get the season started, my favorite Santa Rosa Island Tri in
>September, and the big dance in Panama City Beach In November. In the
>winter, I followed a marathon training program to build my running base.
>I had run my first marathon the year before, and used the same program to
>get up to about 18 miles before backing off again. When spring came
>along, I trained for the Pensacola Bay Swim. This 3.6-mile swim is a
>favorite fix for my accomplishment-junkie training style, and I hoped
>that being able to swim that far would help me to cope with whatever I
>might encounter during a 2.4-mile mass-start swim with 2000 other
>participants. As the weather warmed up, I began paying more attention to
>cycling, building up to 40-mile rides over time.
>
>In what seemed like no time, I hit the beginning of my 18-week ironman
>training program. Now I had a strict regiment of training to follow,
>instead of my informal, flexible schedule I had been on. It turns out
>that when you have a job that requires occasional travel, a family with
>kids and dogs and a spouse who all deserve time and attention, and you
>don't have superhuman resistance to allergies and sickness, strict,
>regimented training schedules don't tend to fit all that well. I quickly
>learned to be flexible with the schedule. I tried to anticipate when all
>of the workouts wouldn't fit, and would pick out the key sessions and
>make sure I did them first. When I started to feel allergies or a bug
>coming on, I tried to be reasonable about when to push myself versus when
>to back off. I had learned a few years back that attempting to push
>through sickness only makes things worse.
>
>Another thing I tried to do on a regular basis was to assess my readiness
>for each portion of the event. I knew I was most prepared for the swim.
>It was the only event I felt I could walk out my front door on any given
>day and accomplish. I had done one marathon, but was by no means a strong
>runner. I also knew that after swimming and biking the distances
>required, there was no way I was going to be able to run the whole
>marathon. I hadn't even accomplished that in my half-ironman races. The
>goal was to be strong enough after the bike to walk-run the marathon. To
>do that, I needed to get better at biking long distances.
>
>My longest bike ride ever prior to this training had been 60 miles. I
>built my way up to 80 before attempting my first century (cycle-speak for
>a 100 mile ride) as part of an informal group. Most of them were much
>stronger riders than I, but the ride organizer, Mike, was nice enough to
>hang back with me. Early in the ride, I had pushed a little to try to
>hang with the group. I was feeling the effects of that early push by the
>time we hit the turnaround point. That was the first valuable lesson I
>learned that day: Always ride conservatively early on. Lesson two came
>just two miles later: Never buy the cheap tires to save money. My front
>tire was punctured by a small piece of metal and came off the rim,
>stopping the front wheel and slamming me to the road in front of traffic.
>Fortunately the nice man in the minivan was attentive (thank you,
>wherever you are!) and I was able to call it a day with damages limited
>to skin loss and minor bicycle damage. It was over a month later before I
>finally rode my first century, a solo ride to my brother's house in Gulf
>Shores and back.
>
>Another major setback in my training occurred in the middle of September.
>Northwest Florida is normally a wonderful place to live and to train, but
>we do pay a price for our moderate climate-- the risk of hurricanes. This
>summer our card was finally up after dodging the first two bullets, which
>had hit the Florida peninsula. Hurricane Ivan destroyed thousands of
>homes in our area. Several of my friends were left without homes. My
>parents' house, which had ridden out several hurricanes without damage,
>was flooded with 18 inches of water. Training went out the window while
>we all spent time digging out. Even when training started to seem like a
>possibility again, the roads were littered with debris. Many of my
>favorite routes, including the one I took for my first century, were
>completely washed away. After two weeks, I attempted a short ride and cut
>my tire on debris after only 15 miles. I lost the better part of three
>weeks of training due to the storm. I was left with three more weeks to
>train and two to taper. I managed a 75-mile ride and another century in
>those last two weekends before the taper. On the 75-mile ride, I thought
>I wasn't going to be able to finish. For whatever reason, I felt better
>after completing the century ride the next weekend than I had on the 75-
>miler.
>
>I considered dropping out. My training was definitely off track. Several
>of my friends had decided not to go, but all of them had completed an
>ironman at least once before. I finally decided that I had to at least
>give it a shot. The other first timers I spoke with seemed to feel the
>same way. The Northwest Florida first timers, Meri, Vicky, Bill, the
>other Tom and I were committed to the starting line. The race was paid
>for, the hotel reservations were made, and I knew I wasn't over-trained!
>Besides, if I bailed out this year, I would HAVE to try again next year,
>so I might as well be at the race site to sign up!
>
>The Race:
>
>What race? I know it's a race for a bunch of people, but for me, and I
>suspect for many like me, it's an objective to be accomplished. The race
>is on Saturday, but you have to register on site by Thursday, and put
>your bike in transition on Friday. It seems like a long time to have to
>be there before the race, but I would imagine it takes a while to process
>over 2000 athletes. My plan was to carefully inventory and pack
>everything I'd need on Wednesday, and then drive over on Thursday to
>check in. It's very convenient to have an Ironman race just 2 ½ hours
>from home!
>
>I knew the atmosphere was going to be full of energy. It's been like that
>every time I've come as a volunteer. Everywhere you turn, people are
>squeezing in one last bike, run or swim, and their anticipation is
>contagious. It turns out that the effect is amplified when you're one of
>the people who are about to toe the line! The day was filled with "Oh my
>God, I'm doing an Ironman!" moments. The first one was seeing my name on
>the transition rack, and they just kept on coming. Getting the race
>number and timing chip, attending the pre-race dinner, seeing last year's
>female winner in the transition area, all of these made me even more
>aware of what I was about to attempt. The nerves were definitely starting
>to kick in!
>
>Meri, one of the triathletes from the tri club, caught up with me late
>Thursday and we planned a very short brick (a bike ride followed by a
>run) for Friday morning. At least that would keep me busy until it was
>time to check in my bike! Friday morning I ran out for a few supplies. On
>the way back into the hotel parking lot, I saw Michellie Jones out for a
>run. That was another one of those "this is for real" moments. The ride
>and run went well, and after that I stayed busy preparing to check in my
>bikes and transition bags. It's amazing how obsessive you can get over
>the contents of a transition bag. I guess it's driven by the fear of
>discovering you've forgotten something in the middle of the race and
>trying to bike 112 miles with just one shoe, or perhaps without
>prescription sunglasses. Finally, everything was checked in and we
>attended the pre-race meeting. The race organizers go to great lengths to
>make sure everyone is well informed, and even manage to make the meeting
>entertaining.
>
>Just about the time I would have started getting nervous again, my wife
>Jo and kids Steven and Carole Anne arrived. It was wonderful to have a
>nice dinner out with them before the big day. When we got back, they were
>all very supportive of their crazy dad/husband, and kept the TV volume
>low so I could get to bed early. I actually managed to get some sleep!
>In the days leading up to the race it had been warm and windy. The south
>wind had kicked up red-flag surf, and everyone was nervous about the swim
>being canceled. Fortunately, the weather channel was right! Saturday
>morning was cool and dry, with temps in the 40's, and the front that had
>come through Friday had turned the Gulf into a mirror-flat swimming pool.
>I walked down to transition, got my race number written on both arms and
>one leg (I guess in case I lost a limb or two during the race?) and put
>my sunglasses in the swim-to-bike bag and regular glasses in the bike-to-
>run bag. I knew I wouldn't need sunglasses for the run, since I expected
>to finish the bike about 4:30, or 30 minutes before sunset.
>
>When I walked by my bike, I realized with horror that I had forgotten to
>get my jug of Gatorade from the hotel room to fill the bike bottles. This
>was not according to plan, and even though it might seem minor to you, I
>was terror-stricken! OK, no problem, there's still time. I was planning
>to go back to the room and chill for a few minutes, then put on my
>wetsuit and take a leisurely walk to the start. I'll just revise the plan
>to include a mad dash to the room and back with a jug of Gatorade! No big
>deal, it's good to get your heart rate up before a 140.6-mile funfest!
>
>I made the extra trip with time to spare, and aside from one more brief
>panic session when the zipper on my wetsuit didn't seem to want to
>cooperate, I made it to the beach in plenty of time for a short warm-up
>swim before I got into the start corral. The announcer kept giving us a
>countdown of the number of minutes to the start, and speakers blared out
>music designed to build everyone up for the start. HA!! Like we needed a
>buildup! At ten minutes to 7:00, the cannon went off for the pro start.
>Just ten minutes left before I get to find out if I can do this or not!
>
>Finally the cannon for our start went off. I've watched this from the
>beach before, and all you can see is water and thousands of arms flying
>about. There's a lot of talk among triathletes about the beating you can
>take in a mass-start swim. My strategy was to start way to the outside
>and not to work my way in until the crowd thinned out a bit. All in all,
>it worked pretty well. The swim was two rectangular loops of 1.2 miles,
>about ½ mile out, 200 yards east, and ½ mile back to shore. Before I knew
>it, I was approaching the first turn, and the crown was beginning to
>thin. By the time we were headed back to shore, I was beginning to think
>all that talk about the brutal swim was just-- THONK!! Ouch! I took a
>hard elbow to the right eye from the guy next to me. I stopped for a
>second to straighten my goggles and felt the swimmers behind me start to
>plow over me. I quickly got the goggles straightened out and sprinted
>just long enough to get out of the crowd, then resumed my normal swim
>pace. Hmm, that wasn't so bad, as long as it doesn't happen again.
>
>As we hit the shore at the end of the first lap, I was surprised to find
>I was ahead of schedule, with a 33 minute first lap. Was I swimming too
>hard? I was beginning to discover that my day would be full of worrying
>whether I was going too fast, too, slow, eating too much, too little, and
>a million other things that might keep me from completing my first
>Ironman. The second lap went well, and before I knew it I was standing in
>from of a stripper on the beach.
>
>No, no, not that kind of stripper! A wetsuit stripper! You walk up and
>flop yourself down on the carpet, and they whisk off your wetsuit and
>send you on the way to the changing area. The changing area was a large
>section of the hotel ballroom partitioned off into men's and women's
>sections. The men's section had about 200 chairs in it, and 400 guys
>trying to change clothes and start their bike in as little time as
>possible. Pure chaos would be an understatement. I forced myself to
>remain calm, reminding myself that it's much better to take a couple of
>minutes extra in transition than to forget something. I went through the
>mental checklist as I got ready for the bike. Helmet, bike shorts,
>jersey, arm warmers, sunglasses, socks, bike shoes, heart rate monitor,
>race number, and away we go! A race volunteer helped me get my bike out
>of the rack and I trotted to the transition exit and hopped on the bike.
>2.4-mile swim done in an hour and 12 minutes, followed by a very slow 14
>minute transition, now just 138.2 miles to go!
>
>I was still getting used to being on the bike in the first couple of
>miles when I heard a strange beeping noise. What was that? My heart rate
>monitor? Ack! My heart rate monitor was set to beep when I got to 165, to
>warn me to take it easy. My plan was to keep my heart rate below 150 for
>the majority of the bike ride. What in the world was going on? I finally
>realized that my body was on overload trying to move blood from my upper
>body, which had done most of the work on the swim, to my lower body,
>which would be taking over for the remainder of the day. Calm down and
>take it easy, Tom, it will be OK in a few miles. Fortunately, I was
>right. My heart rate finally dropped into the high 140's and I managed to
>keep it there.
>
>The first leg of the bike ride was due north into the wind. The wind was
>mild, only about 7 miles an hour, and if I was going to face a headwind,
>I'd much rather face it early in the bike ride. So this was just about
>perfect! I resumed my normal race activity, which was worrying whether I
>was doing anything wrong. My biggest fear was going too hard on the bike
>too early and paying for it later in the race. I'm not a great cyclist,
>and it's so hard not to get caught up in the race and pick up the pace
>when the people who are great cyclists blow past you. To keep myself
>under control, I would occasionally pick someone I was slowly catching up
>with and force myself to stay three bike lengths back. Under the race
>rules, once you get within 10 meters, you must pass or drop back to avoid
>being penalized for drafting. The idea is that you complete the bike
>portion with as little outside assistance as possible.
>
>Eventually we made a right turn about 20 miles into the ride and the
>headwind was now a mild crosswind. By the time we turned again, we'd be
>half way through the bike! The only hills on the course are a bridge we'd
>already crossed on the trip north and some undulating rollers on this
>section of the bike. I kept my focus on riding conservatively, and the
>number of bikes passing me (lots of people) and bikes I was passing
>(maybe 10) continued to lessen as the field stretched out over the
>course. At the half way point we got to stop for our special needs bags.
>I dropped off the arm warmers, restocked my bike with those yummy GU
>packs (small Mylar packs of gooey sweet stuff with bout 100 calories
>each) and grabbed my first prize of the day, a snickers bar I had left
>myself! Halfway through and still feeling good! The next big turn on the
>course gave us a direct tailwind, and also had a couple of nice long
>downward grades. Whoopee, 25 miles an hour and almost no effort! Then a
>section with several turns on smaller roads that got us to the westbound
>section of the ride.
>
>In order to get the distance they needed, the course designers had us
>turn east first, then double back after 5 miles and ride all the way back
>to the road we had taken north from the beach. This section of road was
>horrible. It was cracked, and bumpy, and even the sections that had been
>patched were very rough. It was here that I began to feel the miles. By
>the time I hit mile 80, the slight uphill or upwind sections would cause
>a short warning from the heart rate monitor as I spiked above 165. Signs
>every five miles marked the distance, and they seemed to be taking longer
>to arrive than they had before. By the time we were ready to turn back to
>the south for the final leg back to the beach, I was being very
>conservative. When I got to the only real "hill", the bridge, I decided
>to walk the bike up to give the legs a break and let the heart rate
>recover a bit. From there I rode carefully to keep the heart rate down
>and finally made it back to the race site.
>
>Dismount, walk the bike into transition, hand it to a volunteer, and back
>to the changing room. It was much better this time since the pack was so
>thinned out. I had expected to be here about 4:15 pm, but had actually
>arrived at 3:45 due to the improved swim and a slightly better bike time
>(7:19) than I had expected. By about 3:55 I was out of transition and
>starting the run. The first thing I saw as I stepped out on the run
>course was my whole family (wife and kids, not dogs) standing at the
>railing. I stopped for a quick chat and kisses and hugs and off I went.
>
>It's hard to imagine getting off of a bike after riding 112 miles and
>actually looking forward to a marathon, but I was. I was so glad to be
>doing something other than biking! I felt pretty good, but reminded
>myself to be conservative. I walked the first mile to stretch the legs
>out, and then started mixing in some easy jogging. So far so good, I
>thought.
>
>The run is two 13.1-mile trips out to St. Andrews Park and back. By the
>time I had made the first trip to the end of the park, it was completely
>dark and starting to cool off. On the way back, my feet began to start
>feeling the wear and tear. I had packed an extra pair of socks and shoes
>in my run special needs bag thinking that a fresh dry pair might help. At
>least I can look forward to that change when I get there, I thought.
>
>Remember that yummy GU I mentioned earlier? At this point I had had about
>15 packs of GU and at least a dozen bottles of Gatorade. I never wanted
>to see GU again in my life! Even the Gatorade was starting to make my
>stomach turn. Fortunately they also offer pretzels, water, flat coke, and
>chicken broth on the run course, so I started on those just before the
>turnaround.
>
>The hard part about the turnaround at the midpoint of the run is that you
>can see the finish line just 100 yards away, but you have to turn and
>head back out into the cold, dark world. The good thing is that you get
>to use the stuff you have in your special needs bag, which included a
>second snickers bar and a long sleeve shirt, which I was ready for at
>that point. I did some quick calculations and determined that if I could
>maintain my current mostly-walk/little-run pace, I would finish in about
>15 hours and 40 minutes, which was my estimate before the race ever
>started. This was going great!
>
>The new shoes didn't really help the feet as much as I had hoped, but I
>trudged along anyway. I started another 3 minute round of jogging and the
>monitor began beeping at me again. Bummer! I decided I had better get to
>work on staying hydrated. A water and coke every mile should do the
>trick, and cut back on the running for now. Just two miles later I
>realized that even walking seemed to be getting harder. When I tried to
>throw in a jog, I was immediately greeted by more beeping.
>
>When I ran my marathon, I didn't get a single blister. But I didn't walk
>any of the Marathon, except for the aid stations. In My half iron
>distance races, I had encountered blisters before, but only when I had to
>start walking. Someday, I'll have to figure out what I do wrong when I
>walk. The feet were beginning to complain loudly. Strangely enough, it
>hurt less to shuffle along in a weak jog, but when I did that, the heart
>rate would spike within a minute. I was beginning to think my body would
>shut down on me before I could finish. I decided the best strategy was to
>walk the best pace I could, ignore the pain, and keep going.
>
>I could hear a couple guys talking about 20 feet behind me, and knew they
>were also walking because they didn't seem to be gaining on me very
>quickly. When they caught up, I sped up just a little and joined in the
>conversation, within a few miles, one of the guys was able to pick up his
>pace and leave us, but another fellow and a woman had joined us. We were
>all in the same sad shape, and we had two things in common; the fear of
>not finishing, and the determination to make it back before the cutoff at
>midnight. When we reached the turnaround we all did the math together and
>we knew we would make it if we stayed under 20 minute miles. At the next
>marker, we measured ourselves at 17 minutes. Great! It was still
>possible. We decided to celebrate by stopping for a second at the next
>aid station while one of our band used the portolet.
>
>When I stopped, bad things started happening. I got very cold very fast.
>My feet started throbbing, and my legs felt weak. I told the gang I would
>walk slowly until they caught up. I was afraid if I stayed stationary any
>longer, I'd be toast. It seemed very hard to get moving again, and I
>couldn't match my previous walking pace. Now even walking fast was making
>that stupid monitor beep! This might be bad. I couldn't imagine having to
>bail out just five miles from the finish. I pushed on at whatever pace I
>could manage without too much beeping from the monitor. Sometimes I would
>walk for several seconds with my eyes closed. A hot bath and bed sounded
>like absolute paradise at this point.
>
>When the gang caught up, I apologized profusely for abandoning them and
>explained why I had decided to forge ahead. They told me not to worry and
>to join back in for the last four miles. I quickly discovered I couldn't
>match their pace any longer, and wished them a great race. At every mile
>marker, I would keep my mind off of the struggle by calculating my new
>pace against the remaining time. As long as things didn't get any worse,
>I still might make it, but it was going to be close.
>
>In that last two miles a few people passed me, but I knew there were more
>back there in the dark that hadn't yet. I also knew that if they weren't
>catching me they might not finish at all which seemed quite sad after
>such a long day. In the last 1.5 miles, I recovered, just slightly, and
>managed a shuffle for a few yards at a time. The monitor wasn't beeping
>any more, I think because I simply didn't have the energy to bring my
>heart rate up that far anymore. And yet I seemed to feel just a tad
>better.
>
>A mile from the end of the race, you can hear the announcer and the
>crowd. As the midnight deadline approaches, the crowd grows and their
>cheers get louder and louder. One of the greatest things about an Ironman
>race is that the last finisher at midnight gets a more enthusiastic
>greeting from the crowd that the guy who won the race almost ten hours
>earlier. As I made that last turn a quarter mile from the finish, the
>crowd let out a roar for someone ahead just reaching the finish line.
>Ahead in the glare of the lights, I could just make out my wife's worried
>face about half way to the finish line. When I finally shuffled my way up
>to her, I grabbed her hand and said "Come on! Run the finish with me!"
>
>"Is that OK?" She said, apparently concerned about breaking a rule and
>disqualifying me.
>
>"Sure," I said "you deserve it for putting up with this! Come on, I have
>to run this part!"
>
>The crowd was so loud I couldn't recognize anything the announcer said
>other than my name. But I had been here many times as a spectator, so I
>knew what he was saying as he reached out for a high five.
>
>"Tom Henderson, you are an IRONMAN!"
>
>Several friends who had also done the race were waiting at the finish
>line were waiting for hugs. With my arrival, the entire Tri Gulf Coast
>contingent that had started the race had finished, some spectacularly.
>Meri and the other Tom made it in less than 13 hours, Vicky had come in
>just behind me on the bike, but passed me during transition to complete
>her race, and Bill managed a sub 12!
>
>I'm writing this Monday night two nights after the race. I still can't
>walk very well, and I don't know how long it will take before I can. The
>race was the hardest physical thing I've ever done, and rivals the
>hardest emotional tests I've faced. I almost didn't make it at all. It
>will be a while before I consider trying something like that again, and a
>number of things will have to change next time. I want to have more
>experience on the bike, and I'd like to carry a lot less body weight next
>time. But I must say, it was worth it.
>

11-10-2004, 04:10 PM

Mike Tennent <[Only registered and activated users can see links. ]> wrote in
news:[Only registered and activated users can see links. ]:

> I'm going to throw this out, just for consideration. Are you sure you
> didn't mentally limit yourself by paying such close attention to your
> heart rate monitor?
>
>

Entireley possible. My big fear was going too hard early and not being able
to finish. Towards the end of the marathon, my concern was finishing AT ALL
because I took such a turn for he worse and didn't know if the decline
would continue or not.

The good news is, next time <g>, I'll be willing to take more risks in
order to improve my race time.

11-10-2004, 06:47 PM

On Thu, 11 Nov 2004 00:10:08 GMT, Tom Henderson
<[Only registered and activated users can see links. ]> wrote:

>Mike Tennent <[Only registered and activated users can see links. ]> wrote in
>news:[Only registered and activated users can see links. ] :
>
>> I'm going to throw this out, just for consideration. Are you sure you
>> didn't mentally limit yourself by paying such close attention to your
>> heart rate monitor?
>>
>>
>
>Entireley possible. My big fear was going too hard early and not being able
>to finish. Towards the end of the marathon, my concern was finishing AT ALL
>because I took such a turn for he worse and didn't know if the decline
>would continue or not.

You did the right thing for this race - you adopted a safe strategy to
finish. You were in a place (IM fatigue) that you'd never been before,
feeling awful, unsure of the outcome, and that's pretty scary.

Once you've been through it and survived, you have a different
perspective and can more realistically assess what's happening.

If nothing else, you have something to compare all other races to,
i.e.

"Is this the worse I've ever felt? Nah. IMFL was MUCH worse.." <G>

>
>The good news is, next time <g>, I'll be willing to take more risks in
>order to improve my race time.

<chuckle> Yeah, I figured there'd be a next time.

Congrats, again.

Mike Tennent
IronPenguin Electronics
[Only registered and activated users can see links. ]
Special Effects lighting,
Traffic lights, Crossing guards

11-15-2004, 03:40 PM

I got some questions from a lurker, and with his permission, I'm posting
the questions and answers in hope that they are useful to other lurkers
out there. Feel free to add your comments to my answers. See Below:

> How cold was the water on the swim?

Almost too warm. I'm a strong swimmer, and a big guy. I was concerned
that I'd overheat. I think the temp was around 77 degrees. Plan on
anything between 72 and 82.

> You said you had about a 14 minute t1. What exactly took the time?
> Were you just going really slowly, or did you stretch for a while?

Two things. First, I've never been really fast with my transitions, and
my focus was more on making sure I left for the bike with everything I'd
need. Second, the place was packed! i had to wait for another guy to
finish so I could use his chair. My swim time was just a little faster
than the average for the field, which brought me in at the height of the
traffic jam.

> Did you completely change your clothes in t1 (i.e. New bike shorts,
> etc.)?

Yes, complete change. I wanted to wear tri shorts under the wetsuit for
the swim, but wanted a good pair of real bike shorts for the bike ride,
and wanted them to be dry.

> A lot of people I have heard from tell me to watch out for t2, because
> apparently a lot of people are complaining about either how they feel
> or the fact that they have to now go run a marathon. Apparently, the
> advice is to get out of there as fast as possible. Did you experience
> any of this and did it motivate you to move quicker in t2?

I had heard the same thing, and was resolved to stick to business and
get out on the run in short order. When I actually got there, i found
that I was more excited about doing something other than biking than I
was intimidated by the run.

> How warm did it get during the bike (how long did you use the arm
> warmers)?

I put them in my special needs bag at the half way point. About 10 miles
before that, i had bunched them up around my wrists. I was glad I had
them at the beginning. I don't think I mentioned it in my race report,
but I had never owned a pair until the day before the race. i bought
them from dragon sports, a bike shop from my home town (pensacola area)
that comes to the race every year. The temps here can be anywhere from
40s to 80s this time of year.

> When it got dark out on the run, were there lights from the street?
> Where there still people cheering along the course? Also, how did
> they differentiate who was on lap 1 vs lap 2?

The race staff sets up very large construction lights along the run
route. The only really dark section is St. Andrews Park. That's a tough
section of the course, because there are far fewer spectators. The rest
of the run course is fairly well populated with well-wishers.

As far as lap-tracking, they do it with timing mats at both ends of the
run course. Are you familiar with races that use timing chips? They are
able to log the time every time you cross one of the mats.

> When you crossed the line, after you got your medal, what did you do?
> Did you visit the medical tent? How long did you stay up before
> sleeping that night? Were you able to sleep?

I was exhausted! I mustered the energy to collect my bike and transition
bags, and my wife took the bike while I shuffled back to the hotel room.
I took a hot shower, laid down in the bed, and fell asleep immediately.
I woke up at 6:30 and felt like I had gotten decent rest. I had a bit of
a cough brought on by "lung burn" from breathing all of the cool, dry
air, and my feet were a mess, but otherwise I felt OK.

> I remember after my first marathon, I didn't recover well, and I
> blamed my during and post race nutrition (I couldn't walk well for
> days). Last year, however, I did a half iron, and had no problems at
> all, thanks to very good race and post race nutrition. Anyway, I am
> curious about your caloric intake in total for the race and directly
> afterwards, and how that might or might not have effected your
> recovery.

I'm still not sure if the crash at the end of the run was due to poor
nutrition, or if I just ran out of gas in general. I probably had 15 GU
packs and at least that many bottles of gatorade. By the time the run
started, I didn't want GU any more, but did eat bananas, orange slices,
some more gatorade, and pretzels. On the second lap, I switched to coke
for the caffeine kick. My recovery issues have more to do with the
damage I did to my feet. For some reason, I have much more trouble with
my feet when i have to walk than i do when i'm able to run more.

11-16-2004, 07:01 AM

what is "really good pre and post race nutrition"? I'm running in the St.
Jude Half Marathon and besides eating pasta the night before I'm not sure
how I should eat....
Thanks for the awesome race report..not too long and not at all boring!!!

11-16-2004, 08:13 AM

Leafing through rec.sport.triathlon, I read John's message of 16 Nov
2004:

> what is "really good pre and post race nutrition"? I'm running in the
> St. Jude Half Marathon and besides eating pasta the night before I'm
> not sure how I should eat....

The number one thing to know is don't eat anything unusual. Don't try
anything that you would normally eat before a long run. Hopefully you've
tested out some foods to see if they don't cause any intestinal issues.

Phil M.

--
"What counts in battle is what you do once the pain sets in." -John Short,
South African coach.